Of Ingwë Ingweron by heget

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Of the Choosing of Ambassadors

The earth tremors ceased, and as the duration of their absence lengthened so grew the easing of the Kwendî’s tension and fear. Such mollification was not universal. Enel, chieftain of the Third Tribe, monitored the volume flow of the waterfall beside his village with lingering trepidation, for the quantity of water had diminished in the shakes, and the song of the waterfall had altered. Nervously he awoke and listened for its roar, irrationally fearful that if the cascading water was ever silent, then he that was The-Third-to-Awake would no longer wake. In those first seconds of life, opening his eyes to see the bright stars without knowing what he saw, only their beauty, Enel’s ears had not yet opened as his eyes had. But in the irrational yet deeply emotional center of his mind Enel thought that it was music, not starlight, that woke him. He could not prove this thought, but he believed that when the first drops of water poured into the lake the beautiful sound that was created was the cue that awoke the Kwendî. He wished not to hear of logic establishing that the waterfall flowed over the rocks beside his village in a time before he awoke, because to Enel all time before his existence was null. The song of water hitting the surface of the lake only started when his lungs took in breath, and the working of his lungs only persisted with that song. Waterfall and wakefulness were one and same to him that was The-Third-to-Awake.

Enelyë, his spouse, chastised her spouse for his paranoia, dragging him away from the stakes that he had driven into the muddy bank to measure the water depth and fret over each shift in the watermark and change in color. She told Enel that he saw nothing more than the progression of tides, ignoring the evidence of the receding shore. The Great Mother Lake was eternal. Enel must be wrong. The hammer blows of lightning had not dislodged the stars from the black sky. Thus it followed that none of the earth shakes had touched the water. The shells and beads of her netted cap rattled as she shook her head. Her hand on her spouse’s arm, tugging him from the riverbank, her own ankles sinking deeper into the mud, her voice pleading with Enel to return to their village and attend his duties as leader of the Third Tribe - all noise of Enelyë, all pointless. “Something eats my lake,” Enel muttered. “Something drains it. Enelyë, release me. I must see it. See the proof. You must see it, too. My waterfall.”

Daunted by the ineffectiveness of her efforts to erode the stubborn stone that was her spouse, Enelyë returned to their village and her cold pillow.

Enel stood at that waterfall when the Vala Oromë rode out of the northern shadows atop the luminous silver Nahar. A piercing horn blast heralded Oromë’s arrival, so Enel was not startled when the rider pulled out of the mist. He did not care. The call faded into the darkness beyond Enel’s torch lamp, and silence hung over their meeting. Enel’s wide umber eyes met those of the Vala, unconsciously begging for reassurance but wary of what new missive might upend his world. Before the unseen war to capture Melkor Enel would have treated the arrival of Oromë with glad hope, most eager of the first awoken three to celebrate the Vala’s arrival and aid, but now after the earth tremors and lightning-filled skies he was chary of the Rider’s gifts. His trust had receded with the shoreline. Enel did not yet directly blame Oromë for all the ills that would follow, cursing the Valar along with their apostate Melkor, as they who would name themselves the Penni[12] did. Those were the words of the Unwilling and the first division of the Eldar, a time that had not yet come to pass.

Nahar’s footsteps slowed, the horse reluctant to approach the waterfall, as if he sensed the doubt and coldness of Enel’s thoughts. “I know of your fears,” Oromë called above the roar of the water and the mist that hung above its churning wake, “and I bring a proposal that shall soothe it.”

Oromë’s proposal irrefutably did not.

Of the grave conference between Oromë and the first three elves: Imin, Tata, and Enel, little is known and details unspoken. Only Oromë’s words were recorded, his offer of the Valar’s own homeland to the elves, that the Children of Eru should relocate across the vast sea and be enriched by their protection and gifts, greatest of all being the light of the Two Trees. The reluctance of the three chieftains is known and their reasoning easy to guess at. The shores of Cuiviénen, the Great Mother Lake, was all of the world that they knew, and Oromë’s words alone would not cleave them from the site of their birth. The war against Melkor to lay Utumno to its foundations had fostered dread in all Powers that were not the familiar Hunter and his shining horse. Oromë anticipated their reluctance. “Let me choose three to bring with me to Valinor, one from each of your tribe, to see the truth of my words and return to you with their validity, as I myself tarried among you to learn your ways before I returned to my king and kin.”

It is said that Imin nodded first, and that Tata tapped his lips and agreed, and that Enel turned away to look at the waters behind them before he turned back to Oromë and said, “We know the three that you wish to take with you, the three boys that found you.”

“It is fitting,” said Tata, and Imin looked, it is said, to the stars above them as if seeing solace or sign.

“Those three I wish as the ambassadors,” Oromë replied. “They were the first to speak to me and speak on behalf of all Speakers, to inform me of your woes brought upon you by Melkor, of your lives and joys and sorrows, your needs and dreams. Let them speak again in the Maharaxë before the full council of my peers and let them see and hear of what we offer up to the Children of Our Father. They are the three that I choose.”

“Who else but them?” murmured the first leaders of the elves.

 

After their discussion with Oromë, each of the three elves mounted a horse and rode towards a village, leaving in one direction whereas they had rode in from three. To the village that Rúmil founded did Tata ride, and Finwë greeted the news of his task with loquacious delight. Praise flowed like a torrent from his lips, and Tata applauded himself for his wisdom. This orphan boy with his mountain of words and ingratiating attitude was the perfect choice to send to Valinor and bring back accountings of its land. Rúmil and the other Unbegotten adults of their village watched as clever Finwë charmed Chief Tata, nervous that the clever lad would tip the scales into an unctuousness of obvious falsity or his clever tongue edge into an offense. The villagers piled gifts onto their chieftain: beautiful items of metal and ceramic and salt. With loaded bags to weigh down his horse, Tata rode home, head full of new words and Finwë’s eager promises.

Further west at the village at the river’s mouth Enel beheld tall Elwë appoint his brothers as stewards to watch over their people, officially bequeathing their parents’ hut to Elmo. “I know we promised a telu[13] celebration to build you and Linkwînen a new house in which to welcome your firstborn child, but if I am to leave to this land of the Balî, there is no time, and our parents’ house has space,” Elwë said as he clasped his youngest brother’s shoulder.

“I will help,” Olwë added with laughter in his voice to mask his fear. “And sleep in the house of Nôwê when the infant’s cries drive me to tears.” Olwë smiled at his brother, and Elwë rolled his eyes and pointed his knowing gaze to Nôwê’s comely sister. The teasing interplay between the three brothers amused Enel. The-Third-to-Awake regretted that his own son had no siblings, thinking that Nurwë would be strengthened by the support of a brother or sister. The shift in Enel’s mood -and the return of her husband’s attention to her- pleased Enelyë. Of this thought’s naivety one should not be quick to judge, for the third generation of Kwendî were yet unborn and dynastic struggles between siblings and cousins likewise nascent. And the sorrows that this began among the Nelyar Avari, grave as they were, paled to those of other tribes.

Only to his own village did Imin return, the sprawling singular Minyar home ringed by a mighty palisade and pasture pens full of horses and sheep. His son, Inkundû, was not at the gates to greet him and turn the horse loose in a pasture. His son’s absence neither surprised nor consciously aggrieved Imin, and Inkundû was found, as expected, in the cleared circle of the dueling ring, wrestling with Asmalô over leadership of the next hunt. A minor squabble, the bout lasted only to the first ground pin, and Imin watched his firstborn win the match. Inkundû failed to notice his father’s observation, preoccupied with crowing victory as Asmalô rolled his eyes and grumbled a final time about herds moving away from depleted grazing fields. Nor did the chieftain stay to congratulate his son. The dueling ring was a sour reminder of the one that never partook in the rituals. Imin asked if the young man that would be Ingwë was inside the palisade or once more roaming the darkness far from his people. “Skarwô-iondo, where is he?”

Feinting an ignorance of the peevish tone of Imin’s question, Elnaira bowed to her chieftain and answered, “Inside, as he has been since before the Nelya messenger came for you.” Imin turned to the approaching Iminyë and sighed in relief as his wife looped her arms through his and led him deep into the village. He poured his concerns over the meeting into her waiting ear.

“The scarred ones’ son is with Elnaira’s spouse, dutifully helping him butcher and dress meat. I decreed that we roast a sheep to celebrate your return. And if Great Arâmê graces us, a lamb we shall roast.” Iminyë smiled as she walked her husband to the large campfire prepared with grilling racks and beyond to where several elves knelt over animal carcasses with various stone knives. Two elves who were butchering a young sheep carcass, carefully separating the ribs into beautiful racks, lifted their heads at Imin and Iminyë’s approach, but it was the third elf still focused on the least-desirable offal that Imin wanted. “Skarnâ-Maktê’s son, attend us.”

Ingwë raised his head. 

“Great Arâmê made a request for you and your friends. End this task and hear what you have been commanded to do,” spake Iminyë.

With blood-dried fingertips the young man answered Iminyë, “If the Great Hunter calls for me, I obey.”

Imin’s eyes narrowed. There was an insult buried in those words that he could not see, but Iminyë smiled. Imin trusted his spouse. Her judgment was his.

Judgment is not foresight.

Imin and Iminyë believed that there would be no danger to himself or his position as the chieftain paramount of all Kwendî in sending this boy to the abode of the Valar.

 

One person who slept in the finest house in the Minyar village was still doubtful. Inkundû returned from a disappointing hunt to learn the specifics of his father’s meeting with Oromë and the other two chieftains. He sulked through the feast repurposed into a farewell gift for the chosen ambassador. Imin’s son listened with growing alarm as his mother, already appraised of the details, saw no need to listen to a tale repeated and commentary made upon it, more concerned with the final food preparation. Iminyë’s displeasure with her son’s recent failures was subtle, but of its two most recent causes which had more weight was unclear: that his judgment on the hunting trip resulted in little quarry to show for the expenditures or that Inkundû had not been ready to greet his father at the village gate. Inkundû regularly disappointed Iminyë. This Imin knew and accepted, as he knew and accepted Inkundû’s jealous and untrusting moods. To his father alone did Imin’s son make his displeasure known.

“If to be sent as scouts to the homeland of the Powers is a task of great trust and honor, then why do we send Ûkwendô? Father, why not me?” Inkundû petulantly asked.

Imin framed the choice as one that the three leaders had come to independently of Oromë, and perhaps in Imin’s mind he had refashioned the decision as a debate that he had won, such that was his pride. Inkundû would have still protested Oromë’s decision had he known the truth of who made it. He would have argued that Imin should counter Oromë’s decree, as Imin had once done to a poor decision of Tata’s or his reprimands to Enel about the various Nelyar that ran free, like wandering Denweg or Awaskjapatô who lived out on rafts on the lake. Imin’s role was to rule over all elves, even fellow chieftains, and curtail their blunders.

Again the twinge of dissatisfaction with his first-born child bobbed to the surface of Imin’s thoughts before sinking once more, like one of the giant salamanders that swam in the lake.

“Ûkwendô can be spared, and if mortal doom befalls him, our tribe is not greatly harmed by his loss.” Disposable, like the Noldo orphan, the chieftain did not say aloud. Or that the third one, the Nelyar young chieftain, had two capable brothers as suitable replacements. Great Imin frowned. “I have decided that the scarred ones’ child has proven himself useful and able to fulfill responsibilities to his tribe that he has neglected. This is my test of the gift of my trust, as it is also a test of the Powers and if Their promises can be believed or honored.”

“And what if the Powers speak the truth of how wondrous their Paradise is? Do we believe then that Ûkwendô will return to us?”

Imin turned to stare across the village to where Maktâmê struggled to adjust the infant daughter strapped across her chest, shifting Indis’s head so that the small infant could nurse with ease. “He will return for his sister, even if the sullen boy has no sense of duty towards his tribe.” Inkundû scoffed at this evaluation of Ingwë’s motivation, how unbalanced the scales were if the home of the gods was half as glorious as promised. His younger sister, Ravennë, watched her father and older brother in keen, frownful silence.

 

With a leather satchel packed tightly with freshly smoked mutton, Ingwë waved a greeting to his two best friends outside the palisade of the Minyar village. To the west, under the dark shadows of the encroaching trees, Nahar shone brilliantly white. Oromë waited.

The travel kits of Elwë and Finwë comprised of many parts: reed woven mats slung as rolled knapsacks across the hip, heavy bags full of tools, blankets, and food, belts hanging with more items like the fine pouches for flint and dried moss to quickly tinder a fire, and in their finest clothing. Everything spoke of their villages’ collective efforts to outfit these favored sons with the wherewithal to face every imagined possible disaster and a hope to impress the Valar. Finwë in particular carried the illusion that he had half his weight in borrowed beads and copper jewelry. Elwë’s hat shimmered with the iridescence of bird feathers, and this was not the only garment of his that played opalescent in the village light.

The Minyar dressed not their Ûkwendô in fancy garments. As a hunting party scout, he was given dried food and a filled water-skin to carry him on the long trek. The only addition to his normal appearance was a line of ritual paint across his heart and outlining his jaw.

Before he joined his friends, Ingwë turned back around. His mother, standing a few feet away from the others at the gate, knew that her son would need this final farewell. Dried paint flaked off of her one good hand as she raised it for a gesture to beckon him towards the patiently waiting Oromë.

Strong hands caught those fingers and lowered them.

Stuttering, aware of the eyes of the First Tribe upon them, Maktâmê repeated the instructions that she had given her son before the feast started and Imin had dropped his world-shattering proclamation. Only after she finished did her son respond.

Ingwë gripped his mother’s shoulders and pulled her close to him, foreheads touching as he pleaded for the final time. “If I don’t return- if you cannot stay, Mother, if you cannot stay in the village,” and the young man could not articulate which dire outcome he feared as more likely, that his tribe force his family out by a formalized banishment or merely through the absence of communal aid or via the internal grief of his absence driving his mother to despair, “then you go to Rûmilo. You go to the Tatyar. The journey is quick. Is safe. You take the goods that I left for you, the knives, you trade. Phinwê left some pottery in your name. They will help, the Tatyar. And if you cannot settle in their village, go only as far as the river. The next village is Elwê’s. It is the closest. The braided river to the shore, the lights are easy to find, reflecting off the water. His brothers lead their village. Kind boys. Promise me, Mother. You take Indis to them. Do not stay in this place.” Years of negligence and cruelty from his people forced Ingwë’s whispered words in a cornered snake’s desperate hiss. “Go to them. Elmo’s spouse is gravid; soon their first child will be born. A new mother will welcome you and Indis. Someone to help nurse, if nothing else. They have food to share, a place at their fire. Please, promise me.”

Crying, Maktâmê kissed her son’s brow. “Stop. This fear, do not carry it with you to the land of the gods. We shall be safe, your sister and I. We are provided for. Go with hope, my son. With joy and excitement. Explore this new land that they have promised with the same wonder that filled your father and I when we first stepped away from the lake shore. The beautiful light when we first saw the stars.” Her voice shook. “When Imin lit fire and gave us all warmth and light. The Powers promise greater than that. Go. See if it is true.” A thumb smoothed away the deep creases of his brow. The dried paint did not leave a mark. “Look forward, as a brave scout of our people. As Alakô’s son, fleet-footed light and sure, Star-beacon. A torch is for the unknown path before us. So look forward.”

Ingwë closed his eyes and willed his heart to steady and slow its rhythm. “I promise.”

Chapter End Notes

"Therefore Oromë was sent again to them, and he chose from among them ambassadors who should go to Valinor and speak for their people; and these were Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë, who afterwards were kings." (The Silmarillion)

 [12]Penni is one of the six attested group-names among the Avari.

[13]telu, tel-u "roof in, put the crown on a building", a barn-raising

Hound of Morwë outlines some of my extrapolations for the Tatyar Avari, but for the other half, the Nalyar Avari that do not become Silvan will split only into the main kingdom led by Enel's family, riddled with the dynastic civil wars between cousins that mirror the War of the Roses, and a small splinter group of pirates. Awaskjapatô (away-shore) leads them.

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