Finrod tries to look into events in Beleriand by scrying and gets a nasty shock. King Olwe's palace is thrown into chaos.
15. Things to Come
They returned to Alqualonde late into the night. One of Osse's tempests had delayed their arrival. Arafinwe had written that he would spend the Bonfire Festival in Alqualonde. Both Amarie and Mornel had taken ill from the rough crossing. Queen Falmiril fussed over them. Finrod hardly ever got seasick but he relented and allowed his grandmother to dose him with her special tea for settling queasy tummies. His uncle and Serelinde had declined to return for a few more days, after Nerdanel finished installing a statue of King Olwe in the courtyard. Now he was alone in his room.
Finrod had first broached the idea in Formenos to Amarie one night. Pious Vanya that she was, Amarie had discouraged him from attempting it. Visions and foresight were gifts from the Vala Irmo. It was not proper for one to seek them out. Yet the Teleri and Noldor had delved into such matters, as did their sundered kin in Beleriand. In Doriath, Melian had taught both Finrod and his sister the finer points of the art. His uncle Earlindo had warned him that his fea was not yet strong enough to endure the strain of such an undertaking, even though he had improved much under his uncle's care.
Finrod took a deep breath and cleared his mind in preparation for what he was about to do. The water in the bowl was calm. Artanis. Nothing. Nerwen. Nothing. Finrod scrunched his brow with the effort of delving into…
He saw Amarie crowned with orange blossoms and a veil. The great hall of his father's palace was decked in spring flowers and silk. It was their wedding. Finrod frowned. This was not what he sought. Galadriel. Beleriand. He had to know the fate of his remaining kin on the Hither Shores. He had to know his sister was safe. The images trembled.
He saw war banners trampled into the mud. He heard the clashing of steel. His atto rode into battle astride his charger, clad in shining armour. No! A great lizard roared and spat fire as it stretched his ugly bat-like wings. It swooped down on… Eru, no!
The bowl of water crashed to the floor as the prince fell in a dead swoon. He would lie there until dawn broke among the spilled water and shattered porcelain.
She was walking along a pale shore. Ghostly ruins of abandoned buildings and charred skeletons of ships littered the shore. Mornel shivered. There was someone playing a harp. She followed the music. A hooded figure sat on a blackened rock playing a mournful dirge.
"Finrod?" Mornel ventured. The figure turned to face her. His features were hidden in the shadows of the hood but the strands of hair which escaped were dark, not blond.
There was a clatter of steel at her feet. A sword, her mind registered as she looked down. She reached down to take it in her hand.
"Protect my atto, they will not allow me to return there…" Finrod's voice whispered as if in her ear.
Mornel snapped awake. She was in the guestroom of King Olwe's palace. A sword? She had handled such weapons before, but only in a ceremonial capacity. The noble houses of the Noldor all had at least one sword gracing their halls, relics of a time past. The Avari preferred the spear and bow in their hunting. The strange dream had unsettled her. Perhaps it was a message from Lord Irmo. Or was it a glimpse of things to come? She shivered. Dawn was a few hours away but she knew she could not possibly return to bed. Her roommate Amarie lay in blissful reverie in the bed beside hers, dreaming no doubt of her Findarato. Silently, Mornel made her way to the stables. There she found the horses unattended and mostly asleep. It was too early for even the servants to be about their chores.
Princess? Fearocco leaned over the stall door and nuzzled Mornel. Her steed was very much awake. You are early.
"I had a bad dream…" Mornel entered the stall. She took a brush and ran it over Fearocco's coat.
An early morning ride should fix that. Fearocco tugged at the sleeve of Mornel's robe with his teeth.
A ride always made things better. Soon Mornel was wandering through the wildflowers with her horse, her unease forgotten. The rising sun caught the gleam of the golden banners of the approaching riders. Uncle Ara's entourage had arrived. Mornel climbed onto her horse and dug her heels into her steed's side. Fearocco neighed and galloped off across the hills towards the city. The royal entourage would take an hour or so to cover the distance to the gates following the road.
She found the palace in chaos. After Finrod had failed to appear at breakfast, Amarie had gone to his room and discovered him in a swoon on the floor. Healers were hastily summoned and Finrod put to bed. Queen Falmiril sat at her grandson's bedside, stroking his brow. Amarie chafed his limbs with warm towels as urged by the healers. Athelas and other herbs were boiled over burners, filling the air with their fragrance.
Mornel found King Olwe watching from a corner of his grandson's bedroom. She plucked at his sleeve and informed him of Arafinwe's impending arrival in a whisper. With a nod, the king went to receive his guests. The rules of hospitality demanded that of him. Mornel went to aid the healers in preparing poultices to lay upon her cousin's chest. The dream of the night before returned to her. Could it be that her cousin had received a shock to his fea as she had once done and was lingering in the twilight world on the threshold of Mandos?
She leant close to whisper in his ear but before she could speak, the door burst open and Arafinwe strode in with Earwen close behind. Both parents took their places on either side of the bed. Earwen was weeping openly and her husband was ashen. Mornel excused herself. The room was getting too warm and crowded, even with the windows thrown open.
"You have not eaten… Come join me," Olwe urged when she ran into him in the corridor. Mornel nodded as her stomach growled, betraying her hunger. Olwe led her to the terrace where a half-eaten breakfast was laid out. Mornel loaded her plate with muffins and smoked herring. She rounded up the meal with a mug of thick milk laced with berry-jam.
Olwe had sent an urgent message to Tol Eressea to summon both Earlindo and Serelinde back to the palace. He had his own suspicions on what might have triggered Finrod's relapse.
"Have you ever attempted scrying?" Olwe asked.
Mornel nodded. She had tried it once in Formenos but had seen nothing. Tatie had consoled her and explained that not all elves were gifted with that skill. Olwe chuckled softly when Mornel related her one and only attempt at scryng which ended with her tossing the water out of her window in frustration, copper bowl and all. Olwe informed Mornel that the Teleri preferred scrying with a bowl crafted from crystal, rock or ceramic, but never metal.
"There are limits to the visions and sometimes even they are an illusion… Things which may or may not come to pass, or have already come to pass…"
"Your Majesty, have you ever tried to look across the sea?" Mornel asked.
"Aye. I tried to find the fate of my brother Elwe and my kinsman Nowe. I saw nothing in the scrying bowl although the effort taken from me was great. My dear Falmiril tried too but even her skill was not enough. All we had were pale images of woods and seashores. The Valar fenced Aman well, even in those days. They found the fragments of a porcelain bowl where Findarato fell…"
"You think he might have tried to seek out a vision of his sister and the strain was too great on him," Mornel concluded. "If only there were a way we could find out about the fate of our sundered kin on the Hither Shores…"
"There were some seeing-stones my brother crafted in the Years of the Trees…" a sombre Arafinwe joined them. "Palantirs, I believe he called them. Well before that rift occurred. I believe the Host of Feanaro took most of them along to Beleriand. He left a few in Tirion before the exile. I used one once to contact him to ask if Atto would be joining us for Amme's begetting party but Feanaro told me get lost in a rather discourteous way. I think it is still lying about at the bottom of the palace pond where Aikanaro threw it. I thought it odd that nowhere in my son's journal was there any mention of the palantirs or their use… If they are still in the possession of the Exiles…"
"There is a risk involved in using such objects of power, Ara. Even if Feanaro remembered to unload them in his madness before firing the ships, it would be folly to use so close to Moringotto's power," Olwe explained. "My queen attempted a scrying shortly after hearing our grandchildren had gone with the Host of Nolofinwe… She glimpsed distant flames and frozen seas. The attempt had her abed for a long time. That was on top of our losses in the Kinslaying…"
The three elves, leaders in their own right, sat or stood in silent contemplation. It was Arafinwe who broke the silence.
"The fault is mine. I should never have allowed Findarato or his siblings to go to Beleriand without me… If only…"
"Uncle," Mornel snapped harshly. "You turned back to ask the forgiveness of the Valar, which they granted. Would you have abandoned the wives and elflings who remained behind in Tirion? Would you have left the Lindar to mourn their losses, including Aunt Earwen's brothers? If it weren't for you, where would Tirion and Alqualonde stand? What would have become of the families of those branded Kinslayers who remained in Aman?"
"Lady Mornel is right. The fault lies not with you. Turning back was the wisest decision open to you then," Olwe reaffirmed.
"But Findarato… what state would his brothers be in when they are freed from Mandos? What of Artanis and any Noldo who still…"
"Enough of such dismal talk, Uncle. I have faith Finrod will pull through, Eru willing," Mornel declared with an imperious sweep of her arm, accidentally hitting Olorin smack in the gut. The Maia had just materialized behind her. "Oops! Apologies, Master Olorin…"
"W-when Lord Irmo suggested Findarato be sent here, we were not expecting him to end up unconscious…" the Maia managed the words out between gritted teeth as he bent double. Mornel and Arafinwe hastened to help him to his feet.
"Master Olorin, what can we do for my son?" Arafinwe pleaded.
"T-the same as I-I have advised… A song-master…" Olorin groaned. Mornel had put more force into her action than was proper.
"From the east, hope arises…" Mornel murmured as she spotted the white sail of Prince Earlindo's vessel as he came to aid his nephew. She had to speak to Olorin in private about her unsettling dream.
"Hm, such visions are not easily read, child. It might be from Lord Irmo, or even Eru Iluvatar – and yet it smacks of the Shadow… You heard Finrod's voice, you say?" Olorin asked. Mornel nodded. Earlindo and Serelinde were tending to Finrod and their music had a calming effect on his much-troubled fea. The Maia and his student were strolling in the gardens alone.
"He asked me to protect uncle and said he will not be allowed to set foot on Beleriand a second time…" Mornel scrunched her brow.
"Aye, the Ban still applies to his kin. Lord Manwe had informed me that if ever the Ban were to be lifted, elves reborn are still prohibited from venturing out of Aman as part of Eru's plan…"
"Was it part of Eru's plan the Noldor rebel against the Valar? Likewise for Finrod's current state?" Mornel asked. Olorin only shrugged. Not all of Eru's plans were revealed to the Valar.
"Finrod is strong, and made even stronger from the love he shares with Amarie…" Mornel continued. "Will I have to wield a sword someday, to protect Uncle Ara where his son cannot?"
"Perhaps, child."
"I feel something is happening soon… and…" Mornel jumped as a large swan came charging out of the reeds at the pair. Olorin glanced down at his feet and realized to his horror that he had stepped on a nest of eggs inconveniently left in the path.
"Stupid swans!" Olorin growled as he and Mornel took off running with an irate swan in pursuit.
Author's Notes:
Finrod will definitely recover. Sorry about using Olorin for comic relief. Arafinwe still gets times of self-doubt. About that palantir incident – it must have been to Feanor the equivalent of an insurance salesman calling when he was on a big project. I have tried to explain why there was almost nil mention of palantirs or their use in the First Age although they were later mentioned as being gifted to Men of Numenor by the elves.