Ereglas and Silmë: convergent point by Encaitariel

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Chapter 1

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Ereglas and Silmë: convergent point

 

 

FA 20 – Mereth Aderthad, Ivrin

  

The afternoon before the ceremony inaugurating Ñolofinwë’s great Feast of Reuniting found Findárato sitting in his pavilion with his brother Angárato. They had just spent a very enjoyable couple of hours entertaining Círdan; and all in turn being entertained by Findárato’s young foster-son, Cálion.

 

Finally, his over exuberance had led Angárato’s sister-in-law, Ëarnyellë, to come collect him to begin preparing for the evening’s festivities. Cálion had reluctantly allowed himself to be led away, all the while continuing to fire rapid questions at the lord of the Falas. He left with the laughter of his elders trailing after him.

 

Círdan had taken his leave shortly thereafter, but not before leaving the elder sons of Arafinwë with another exhortation that they at least be completely honest with their kinsman Thingol about the Noldor's sudden return. Adding, with a forbidding countenance, that he feared the fate of the entirety of Arda depended on how this issue was handled now.

 

And thus for a time afterward, Findárato and his brother sat in silence, Anor’s slowly waning light and the sounds of the bustling camp around them filtering through the pavilion’s walls. Both thought on the truth in the Shipwright's warning, yet neither was able to see a way around it. Their thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the tent pole.

 

Edrahil stuck his head into the pavilion, looking between the two elder sons of Arafinwë. His concern at the sudden gravity of the atmosphere was plain, but he did not comment.

 

"Herunya," he said, entering and addressing Findárato. "There is a lady of the Ingaran's court waiting to speak with you."

 

"A lady?" Findárato asked, puzzled. He looked to Angárato, but his brother just shrugged and got up to pour them both some more wine. "Did she give you a name, Edrahil?"

 

"Yes, herunya. She says she is Sívëa Caineniel, and is here to speak with you about some children who are in her care."

 

Angárato chuckled. "Planning on turning Minas Tirith into a nursery are you, brother?"

 

Findárato shot his brother a jaundiced look. "Valar-forbid, little brother." Suddenly, he leapt up from his chair and paced over to his desk. As he began leafing through the papers in his strong box, he snapped his fingers at his steward. "Edrahil, what was that letter I received shortly before we left? You know, the one that was counter-sealed with my uncle's endorsement?"

 

Edrahil walked over to Findárato, smirking. "You mean the one tied with the lavender ribbon, herunya?"

 

"Lavender ribbon, hanno?” Angárato laughed long and hard this time, almost overfilling his goblet. “Was it drenched in perfume, as well? Anything in particular you wish to share with the family, Finda?"

 

Findárato directed his glare at Edrahil this time.

 

The steward just grinned unrepentantly, pulled a letter out from under a pile on Findárato's desk, and handed it to his lord. After Findárato snatched the letter from his hand and began reading it, Edrahil leaned against the desk and turned to Angárato. "You laugh, nildo, but you don't see the stacks of frilly, perfumed letters your brother receives every day. In both Quenya and Sindarin," he said with mock seriousness. Then he added, with a grin in Findárato's direction, "And, you don't have to deliver them to him with his morning tea and have your ears assaulted by your brother's very… creative language." He ducked just in time to miss the slap Findárato aimed at the back of his head.

 

"That's enough of that, tócar," Findárato said. "It's not nearly as bad as you make it out to be."

 

"As you say, herunya," Edrahil replied with a mock obeisance.

 

Findárato merely sighed and shook his head. "You're as bad as Cálion, nildonya. He at least has his age as an excuse. What's yours?"

 

Edrahil spread his hands. "You know what they say, Findárato, 'familiarity breeds contempt'," he said with a smile.

 

Findárato laughed and shook his head. "Contempt, indeed. Between you and my brother, here, I get no respect at all." He gestured at Edrahil with the letter, before handing it to his brother to look over. "I remember this case, now. Show the lady and her charges in, Edrahil."

 

Edrahil threw his lord a smirking salute and left.

 

“If it is respect you want, Finda” said Angárato, still chuckling, “then you need to cease spending so much time with those who know you as well as we do. Perhaps you can awe some of these Úmanyar into showing you the respect you think you deserve, condonya.”

 

His brother merely sent him an unamused glare.

 

Suddenly, a loud splash sounded from the back of the pavilion, and Cálion’s whining rose in a crescendo. Findárato raised his eyes beseechingly to the ceiling.

 

Angárato chuckled into his wine, eyes twinkling evilly. "You know, hanno, Artaresto was never this much trouble when he was Cálion's age."

 

Findárato leveled his best 'righteous older brother' glare at his younger brother and said, "But, as I recall, you were."

 

At that the second son of Arafinwë shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. He began to studiously look over the letter. "So, more children to plague my wife’s poor sister?"

 

"Thankfully, no. These ones aren't my responsibility. They have an uncle willing to take them in. Although what Varyamo thinks he’s going to do with two young children, and no nís to take care of them, I do not know."

 

Angárato hummed in agreement. "I didn't know Varyamo had any siblings."

 

"Neither did I, but obviously he did." Findárato sighed. "How many more children's lives are going to be disrupted by what we did?"

 

Edrahil re-entered with another knock on the tent pole; a tall, pale lady following him. The lady offered a respectful obeisance to both sons of Arafinwë. “My lords,” she said, “I am Sívëa Caineniel, wife of Aran Ñolofinwë’s late chamberlain.”

 

Findárato returned her greeting and offered her a chair at the table nearby. The young boy who followed her remained by the pavilion entrance, and his sister half hid herself behind him.

 

Findárato sent Edrahil back out to find Varyamo, and then took a moment to study the nís and her charges. The lady’s dress and hair were styled in the intricate, flowing style of the Amanyar, however the colors she seemed to favor fell more in the rich, earthy palette of blue and red and green of the Sindar. In her bearing, she exuded confidence and self-assuredness as only one bred in the court of Finwë could claim. Looking at her standing there, respectful, yet proud, Findárato did not think her a lady to be easily swayed by either fear or desire for adventure. He idly wondered what her story was; why she had chosen to become an Exile.

 

The young boy with her appeared to be in his mid-forties. He had his hands jammed into the pockets of his cote, but his eyes were keen and roved about, taking in every detail of place and people. His face was set with a sullen expression, and Findárato had the impression that the young Noldo was searching for a means of escape. But for all of the hurt apparent in his bearing and expression, there was a keen intelligence behind his eyes which gave Findárato hope that healing was possible for this young one; if properly guided.

 

The young girl, appearing no older than Cálion, clung to his arm as if her life depended on it. Her wide eyes gazed at the tall néri before her in bewilderment. Findárato's heart went out to her and what she must have gone through at such a young age, to make her so timid and dependant on her brother. When the girl's eyes found his, he offered her his warmest smile and was delighted when her eyes lit up and she gave him a dazzling one of her own. The young boy noticed, a frown deepening on his face. He drew himself up defiantly, subtly placing himself more firmly between his sister and the strangers around them.

 

After a moment of silence, the lady addressed herself to Findárato. “My lord, I wrote you regarding two children whom I have had in my keeping. This is Silmë.” She held out a hand to the young girl and smiled at her, beckoning her closer. The young girl returned the smile and, with a glance up at her brother, timidly walked over. The boy’s frown deepened to a scowl, but he reluctantly followed. “The boy,” Sívëa continued, smile wearing away somewhat, “is her brother, Ercassendil…”

 

“Ereglas.”

 

Sívëa frowned at the boy and tugged on the hood of his cote. “You will not show disrespect to the princes by interrupting, yonya.”

 

“I am not your son,” the boy said in stilting Sindarin, hostility simmering in his eyes. Then he shifted to glare challengingly at Findárato. “And I call myself Ereglas.”

 

The young girl, Silmë, tugged on her brother’s hand. “Háno,” she said with her own displeased frown. Ereglas turned his glare from the prince to his own feet, muttering an almost inaudible “Sorry”.

 

Sívëa sighed and Findárato could see some of the veneer of calm poise disappear, showing the frayed edges beneath.

 

“They are orphans,” she continued. “They were found wandering amongst our Company after the assault on Angband, when we first arrived in this land. No one knows to whom they belong, and they would not say anything other than that their parents were gone. They are obviously Noldor, even if the boy refuses to speak in Quenya; when he speaks at all. But no one in either Aran Ñolofinwë’s party or in Maitimo’s would come forward to claim them. So, after both my husband and my son were killed in the Assault, I took them in thinking…” She shook her head a bit ruefully. “Honestly, I know not what I was thinking. Only that both they and I were alone. It has not been easy for any of us, however. Peace and healing have been difficult to find, and so when I learned that they may yet have living kin, I felt that it was my duty to attempt their reunion.”

 

“That is a very understandable feeling, my lady,” Findárato said. “These children are not of your blood, so your compassion and desire to take them in are all the more commendable. I see no shame in now wanting to reunited a family. The Valar alone know how many families have been broken and torn apart by recent events.”

 

The prince must have unknowingly touched on something which had been troubling the lady, for she closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them, she was visibly lighter in fëa, and seemed firmer in her resolve.

 

“But how did you come to think that they might have kin in my brother’s service?” Angárato asked.

 

Sívëa looked to the boy, Ereglas, who refused to meet her eyes. She laid a hand on Silmë’s head and drew the little girl into her arms. She went willingly enough, but never let go of her brother’s hand. In the brief moment before the lady responded, Findárato watched the three of them, and it nearly broke his heart to see how distant they all were despite their physical proximity.

 

“I overheard them speaking of their mother,” the lady said. “Once I had their mother’s name, it was easy enough for me to discover that her father’s name is Vëon. Fortunately, I had heard Vëon’s name before in passing, and knew that he is in service to Prince Arafinwë. With the King’s blessing and assistance, I sent letters both to yourself and to Maitimo to see if he had any other children here in Endorë.”

 

“Maitimo?” Angárato asked in surprise. “If you knew their grandfather works for Atar, why did you apply to him?”

 

Ereglas scowl fiercely at the lady, who returned his gaze calmly. “I couldn’t be sure, my lord,” she answered, looking away from the boy and back to the sons of Arafinwë, “that they did not have kin in that camp. In any case,” she waved away the suggestion, “I have received no response from the Fëanárioni.”

 

“And their mother does, indeed, have a brother in my service,” Findárato added.

 

At that moment, as if on cue, Edrahil returned. He stood in the pavilion entrance until Findárato nodded to him. “I have found Varyamo, herunya,” he said. “Should I show him in?”

 

Findárato held up a hand, asking Edrahil to wait, then turned to Sívëa. “You have fulfilled your obligation, Lady,” he said. “If you wish to take your leave now, my brother and I would be honored to see these children reunited with their kin.”

 

The lady looked steadily at the prince. “I thank you, my lord,” she said, “for your concern, and indeed for your assistance in this matter. However, I will stay and see for myself what manner of nér this Varyamo is. He may have the higher claim by right of blood, but I will not leave Ereglas and Silmë to a worse situation than what we have now. They have had too much of that, I suspect, ‘til now.”

 

Findárato nodded approvingly and then asked Edrahil to show the children’s uncle in.

 

…

 

Some time later, after the hopeful and emotional meeting of Varyamo and his sister’s children, and after he had been left alone in his pavilion, Findárato sat for a while in deep thought. He was glad that one breach, albeit small, had been healed. That was, after all, what Ñolofinwë had wanted from his Feast of Reuniting. However, as he had asked his brother less than a half an hour earlier, he wondered when their deeds after the Darkening and their coming to Endorë would cease to haunt them; when innocents would cease to be harmed because of Noldorin passions.

 

Ereglas in particular troubled his fëa. The child had the frightened and fey look of a cornered wolf, and the way that he had always placed himself between his sister and strangers… Findárato wondered what it would take, and what kind of sacrifices it would require, to heal that child. The intelligence and depth of feeling he had seen led him to believe that the child could be brought back, if enough love and patience were shown to him.

 

The first thing that he would do, though, was introduce little Silmë to Ëarnyellë. While he knew that the nís didn’t need another child to look after, that Cálion was sometimes handful enough, he also knew that Silmë would need a nís in her life. And he could think of none better in Endorë than his brother’s sister-in-law.

 

He made a resolution to look in periodically on Varyamo and his niece and nephew, and to do whatever he could to help them.

 

"Atto! Atto, guess what I saw!"

 

He was roused from his thoughts by his own foster-son running into the room and leaping into his lap. Cálion’s feet were bare and his hair was still wet from his bath. He was wearing a good pair of dark green leggings and a matching silk under tunic, but he seemed to have run out before putting on his over tunic, or letting Ëarnyellë fix his hair.

 

Wordlessly, Findárato gathered his son into his arms, heedless of his damp squirming. He thanked every Power he could name that he had been in a position to save at least this one child, and fervently prayed that the young brother and sister he had just met would receive the same grace.

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Chapter End Notes

(All words are Quenya, unless otherwise stated.)

Ñolofinwë: Fingolfin

Findárato: Finrod

Angárato: Angrod

Cálion: my childhood name for Gildor

Arafinwë: Finarfin

Edrahil: the one exception; I see him as being a Noldo, but I have not settled on a Quenya name for him.

herunya: my lord (-nya being the possessive ending)

hanno: a word for brother

nildo, nildonya: friend, my friend

tócar: essentially, blockhead

Úmanyar: Elves not of Aman

condonya: my prince

Artartesto: Orodreth

nís: female Elf

Amanyar: Elves of Aman

nér, néri: male Elf/Elves

yonya: my son

háno: another word for brother

Maitimo: Maedhros

Fëanárioni: sons of Fëanor