A Tale of Two Lirillos by Kaylee Arafinwiel

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.

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.