A Tale of Two Lirillos by Kaylee Arafinwiel

Lirillo's Excellent Adventure

The description of Alqualonde is based on that given by Fiondil in "In The High King's Secret Service".

Read Lirillo's Excellent Adventure

“Well, Child, we meet again. What have you been doing there?”

Lirillo, grandson of Olwë Lindaran, spun round. His eyes widened in surprise, and his hand shot out to rest on the prow of the celmavenë as he focused on the source of the call. Then he came forward to meet the Maia who was his namesake, greeting him with a shallow, but respectful bow. “Naught of import, my lord,” he said hastily. “I had thought to take my boat out for a short journey…”

The Maia Lirillo smiled in answer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ah, but the celmaveni all belong to the Crown, do they not – this is the Lindaran’s boat, in truth. Wouldst thou steal thine anatar’s boat, even for a short journey?”

The young elf fidgeted. “It is not stealing, my lord. I am a member of the royal family. It is my boat, too.”

“Hmm.” Lirillo – the Maia – examined the small canal boat with an expert eye. “And dost thou know how to guide the boat?” he asked.

“Yes. Better than you could, I am sure, my lord,” the young prince retorted. “I am of age, I need not answer to anyone for my whereabouts. So, if you will pardon me, I shall go now.”

Lirillo studied the stubborn elf. His namesake was clearly not going to give in without a fight, and Ulmo’s Maia disdained the thought of forcing the youngster to change his mind – that would make him little better than their Fallen Brother. “Then mind the archway, child, and see thou dost not sail beyond it to the open water.”

“I’m not stupid,” came the princeling’s sardonic reply. He took his place and poled off, pushing away from the royal landing.

“Sometimes I wonder, Little One,” the Maia murmured into the wind. He only hoped his Master would watch over the heedless Child.

***

Prince Lirillo poled the celmavenë through the canals, watching the lines of variously coloured glowing lanterns carefully, so he might not strike any of the wharves by accident. It was thrilling to him to be out by himself, no guards or irritating cousins to watch over him. He was uncomfortably aware that it was unlikely the Maia had gone, but he studiously ignored the thought. He was alone. He was. Anatar Olwë would not miss him, and he could stay out until Wilwarin began her descent into the Sea without being detected.

Of course, he had failed to account for one thing…

Guiding one of the celmaveni as he was, he could be mistaken for a luntequen. A hail was given, and he ignored it at first, not thinking it was for him. But when a gaggle of adolescent elflings chased him down the raised walkway running alongside the canal, he was forced to halt. When he realised they had been drinking, he felt even more irritated. Who had let them drink at one of the inns?

Do not be foolish, Lirillo, he scolded himself as they boarded. Of course, they raided their parents’ stores. No innkeeper would be fool enough. “Where may you be going, young masters?” he asked resignedly as they clamoured for his attention.

“The house of five blue fish on the Celma Uinen,” the elfling who was clearly oldest directed.

“Very good,” Lirillo murmured and set off. He found the house without mishap – it was next to the house of four green shells, where Mistress Tarawen kept her sewing business, and his mother patronized the shop frequently. The elflings each gave him a coin in thanks, and Lirillo pocketed it with a sigh as they disembarked.

Irritated by the detour, the young prince made for the archway. He would be fine, he told himself. It was the Maia who was stupid. But as he passed through the Celma Elenion, he received another passenger, taking him as far away from the archway as he could possibly go.

And so it went.

The more Lirillo desired to leave Alqualondë, the more his plans were derailed, and he spent the day pressed into service as an unwilling luntequen. The only good thing the young prince could see about the whole mess was the coins he was earning. The real luntequeni were employees of the Crown, paid from his anatar’s treasury and only given these tips as customary thanks for their service. Lirillo had never tried to earn his own money before, and it was a novel experience.

Time passed slowly, and Lirillo began to feel less irritated about the experience. Whenever an elf gave him a few words of thanks, or even praise, along with the coin he began to feel a flush of pleasure. Some of the older elves even talked to him while he took them to their destinations, and he learned much from their tales. As the time for the daymeal came, he ate the repast he’d packed for his open sea adventure.  Lirillo wondered what his next patrons would say and do. Being a luntequen, he decided, was almost…exciting.

The latter part of the day was wearing on, and Lirillo was tiring, but he had stopped trying to head for the coral archway that led out to the open water. He was dutifully acting the proper luntequen, almost forgetting he was in truth a prince with responsibilities of his own.

Lirillo picked up his next passenger. He had long ago stopped scrutinizing the elves he took from one place to another, only speaking when they spoke to him first. He got nervous when the elf getting into the boat directed him to the Arna Paca – the plaza fronted the royal palace, and Lirillo finally wondered what his family would say.

Wilwarin was sinking beneath the waves when Lirillo returned to the royal landing in the Arna Paca, occupied by his anatar and parents – Prince Salmar and Princess Faniel Finwiel.

“Thank you, Salmarion.” Hearing his name made Lirillo jump – as did the gold coin in his hand, stamped with his passenger’s face. Ingwë Ingaran!

---

Chapter End Notes

Chapter two is posted and three is nearly ready! Just needs some reworking..

Enter the Ingaran

This is the second chapter of my tale, where a "frenemy" was intended to be introduced. I hope I have succeeded.

Third chapter is in editing process and should be ready to go soon, I hope :) Taking care of mom put writing on the back burner.

Read Enter the Ingaran

Ingwë, here in Alqualondë of all places! Lirillo’s head spun as the two kings led him into the informal throne room, seating themselves. A third throne had been brought for Ingwë, so the Lindaran and his queen flanked the Ingaran. Lirillo gulped. He had thought the Third Clan mattered little to the lofty and distant Vanyaran, who sat atop the high slopes in his golden city, learning at the feet of the Valar. But apparently it was not so; recently reminded to act in his interests as Ingaran, he had found his way onto Prince Lirillo’s ship…

“Onto my ship, not thine, yonya,” Olwë corrected his grandson with an amused smile, and only then did Lirillo realise he’d been babbling his thoughts aloud for the three rulers to hear.  “For doth all celmaveni, and their luntequeni not answer to me? I do not recall giving thee permission to join their number, youngster.”

“No, Anatar,” Lirillo said meekly. “I did not mean to, truly. It began as…as an adventure, I suppose, but I swear I never intended to be taken for a luntequen.”

“I doubt it not,” Ingwë murmured. “He only wished to run out to open sea in the little boat, something which had to be stopped at all costs. The sea is dangerous for those of Noldorin blood at this time.”  

Lirillo went white. “W-what does that mean? The Sea hath ever been friend to me and my family,” he choked out. “Is my life to be forfeit because of Anatar Finwë? I barely even knew him…”

“Hush.”

That was Lirillë, Olwë’s queen and the young prince’s anamillë. She rose from her throne and moved to Lirillo’s side, embracing him. “Be still, child. None here threaten thee. All the Ingaran said was that the sea is unsafe for thee, and he may well have been told so by the Lord of Waters, whose advice should not be discounted, hmm?”

Lirillo shifted anxiously. He had discounted Lord Ulmo’s advice, or rather the annoying Maia’s advice whose name he shared. It hadn’t occurred to him that Lirillo-the-Maia might be speaking for his lord. “Yes, Anammë.”

“Good. Now, hinya, suppose you begin by telling us everything you have learned while working as a luntequen. Does it please you to serve Our people?”

Lirillo fidgeted. “At first it didn’t, Anammë,” he admitted. “I felt…stupid. Annoyed that I couldn’t make it to the sea wall opening. But then it became more interesting…I’m not sure why,” he admitted. “Nothing really changed, but everything did.”

“Perspective, yonya,” Ingwë told the youngster. “Rulership can be a collar, chaining you down, or a crown, lifting you up – but never above your people, you must understand. Lifting you up only to give a listening ear to your people. They must know and trust you, or you will be no fit ruler at all.”

“Fit ruler for what, my lord?” Lirillo asked in exasperation. “I am the son of Finwë’s sea-loving daughter and Olwë’s youngest son. What am I born to rule?”

“Why, naught,” Ingwë laughed, though there was kindness and sympathy in his tone. “None of us are born to rule forever. We may be born to places of privilege, but we rule at the whims of our people, a lesson your Uncle Arafinwë has learned well. “You were not born to it, but you may have been chosen.”

Chosen?

That thought occupied Lirillo through the next few days of the High King’s visit. It was arranged that Lirillo would resume his duties as a legitimate luntequen, suitably outfitted for it by Olwë himself, and he tried his hardest to focus on his duties when he was returned to them. Still, that one word niggled at the back of his mind. Chosen…for what? Greatness? Kingship over whom?  He knew he didn’t have the answers, and time passed, measured by the cold and distant stars which were all he could remember…

But then it happened. A great storm whipped up unbidden, unlooked for. Lirillo might have dared the seawall to see just what Ossë’s wrath had wrought, but he knew from the pealing of the bell that this was no minor squall on the sea. Great waves were swamping said wall even now, and he fled the wrath of the Sea, heading for the royal landing, scrambling onto the dock.

One of the royal guards, panicking, seeing Lirillo’s dark hair only lightly touched with silver, screamed at him. “Keep back, Noldo!” He struck out at the prince, sending him tumbling onto the jetty face first as the guards barricaded themselves inside.

The waves came one after another. Splashes of seawater tumbled over Lirillo, then real waves, embracing him like a longing lover. He trembled in fear, wrapping his arms around the lantern pole and refusing to be pulled in – and it was then that he saw it.

An orb of silver rising from the western Sea, darkening the brightness of Varda’s stars, though they were still visible. As the silver light – more blinding than any Lirillo had thought to experience – coasted its way across the firmament, Lirillo thought he could only just make out a Maia steering its course.  He wept; for shock, for joy, in relief that the Valar had not been sitting idly by all his short life and doing nothing. For though he had never seen the Trees in their majesty, Lirillo was certain this, the flower he had seen blooming within the vessel, was the last flower of the silver Tree, rescued to light all of Arda.

Lirillo only wished it had not darkened the stars he so loved, but there was naught that could be done about that. He wondered if the orb had a name, and only dimly realised that the storm had subsided.

The next thing Lirillo remembered was his atar lifting him up – as if he were a child rather than an elf newly come of age – and carrying him back to the palace, dripping wet. He clung to Salmar’s tunic, weeping.