Chapter 5: Tirion and Amarie

It was wonderful and a little overwhelming to be home. It wasn't just my parents; the place was full of people I remembered. Every place I went brought back memories. Sometimes the memories were bit too powerful. I knew I must have looked dazed and disoriented, but my parents' friends did not mention it, even if they smiled entirely too much when I was around.

I was still terribly clumsy. I dropped things, tripped over chairs and my fingers would not obey me when I tried to play the harp. As for my handwriting... well, if you knew what I was trying to say it was almost legible. This rather worried my parents, even when I explained that I had been much worse when I first returned from Mandos and that it would go away with time. My mother in particular seemed reluctant to let me be alone: it was as if she was afraid that I might disappear when her back was turned.

Almost as soon as I had arrived home, I asked my parents about Amarie. They told me that they hadn't been sure what had happened to me in exile, but hadn't wanted to to give Amarie false hopes in case I had married someone else or had simply forgotten her. As if I would ever forget Amarie! Thus she didn't know that I was back yet... Unfortunately, I couldn't just go and walk up to her parent's house and ask to see her. I wasn't quite sure how she or they would take my sudden return from the dead, but I suspected they would prefer a warning.

I sent her a letter. I had asked in that letter if I could come and visit her. I did not expect her to arrive at the palace an hour before midnight in the pouring rain two nights later.

I had been getting ready for bed when I heard a clamor at the door. Curious, I threw a dressing gown over my night clothes and went to investigate. I was at the top of the stairs when I saw her. I started running down... and tripped. I grabbed for the railing, but missed and fell headfirst down the stairs.

I landed on my hands and on my nose. Someone yelled something, but I couldn't make out what. I started to sit up, but my wrist gave way and I fell forward onto the floor again. Strong hands took me and helped me to sit up. Dazed, I looked up to find Thorondil, one of my father's retainers, looking at me with concern. "You are bleeding, lad," he said. He fumbled with his pockets, probably looking for a handkerchief.

"Here, take mine," said a familiar voice, thrusting a hankerchief into my field of vision. "It's a bit wet from the rain but you are bleeding all over your clothes."

"Thank you," I said thickly, took the hankerchief, and pressed it to my nose. I suddenly recognized the voice as Amarie's, and I turned to look at her. "Amarie", I said hesitantly, sounding muffled even to myself.

"Yes," she answered, trying not to smile. "You didn't have to come down the stairs to greet me quite that fast, you know. After nearly four Yeni of separation, five extra seconds is not going to hurt that much. Are you all right? You landed awfully hard."

"I think so," I answered. "My nose doesn't feel like it's broken, but I may have sprained my wrist."

"I've called for a healer, so we will be finding out," Thorondil said.

"That's really not necessary," I said, feeling embarrassed and noticing all the people that were collecting in the area. There were a surprising number of people for this time of night. "I'd know if I was seriously hurt; I have been often enough in Middle-earth to know what it feels like." At that moment, my parents arrived, obviously having been wakened by the noise.

"Ingoldo!" My mother cried. "What have you done to yourself? You are covered in blood! Amarie? You are soaked through, child!"

"I fell down the stairs..." I started saying just as Amarie's said "I only just arrived, it's raining outside, and Findarato fill down the stairs." We looked at each other, Amarie dripping water and me dripping blood, and we both began to laugh.

"Where is the injured person?" said someone I didn't recognize, presumably the healer. "Oh," he said as he saw me. "What happened?"

"I fell down the stairs," I said again. "Despite appearances, I am not seriously hurt. I think I sprained a wrist, but my nose is not broken."

"Let me be the judge of that," the healer said. "I don't think we need an audience, so everyone not immediately involved, please return to your own activities."

"I will find you and your brother dry clothes," my mother said, leading Amarie and her brother away. The crowd dispersed, leaving the healer, Thorondil, my father and myself.

The healer, whose name I found out later was Arandur, stopped the bleeding and told me my left wrist was mildly sprained and that I should bandage and rest it for a few days. He also told me not to run down stairs when the balance between hroa and fea was still uncertain, although I had already discovered that for myself. I was lucky I hadn't broken anything.

Amarie and I saw each other briefly before each heading to our separate rooms. She looked much drier, and I'm sure I looked much more presentable without blood dripping from my nose. I had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. We didn't really say anything of importance, but I left very much reassured that things would turn out well. I found myself feeling humbled. Most people would have given up on me when the Noldor were exiled under the doom of Mandos. She hadn't.

The next morning dawned fair, so I went out in the gardens with Amarie. I found myself at a loss to know what to say. I owed her an apology for leaving her like that. Even with all that happened, though, I am not sure I could have chosen not to leave, or would if I could. I would have left so much undone, even if the vast majority of it was destroyed by Morgoth. But I still hurt her.

"Amarie," I began, "I want to apologize for leaving you. It was cruel, and I should at the very least have had the courage to come in person to explain why."

"Why did you leave like that?" she asked, still looking at the rockery plants in front of her. "I've never understood that. I think I understand why you might have chosen to go, but leaving in that manner was truly cowardly." She turned to look at me. "I might have gone with you if you had asked, you know. I wondered often enough, since, what I would have done if you had asked."

"I was afraid you would. I was afraid you would get hurt or killed, and I didn't want you to face the wrath of the Valar for my sake. I knew you wouldn't want to go. I was also afraid to face your anger, because you would be right."

"If you thought I was right even at that time, why did you go?"

"I couldn't stop Feanaro, nor could I prevent the others from following him. Somebody had to go with them who would organize things, talk to the people already living there and remember other things than revenge. Fingolfin would try to see that some sort of sanity prevailed, but nobody else among the princes was helping him except my father. Then my father returned... "

"Who is Fingolfin?" Amarie asked, looking confused.

"Nolofinwe," I answered. "I'm sorry, I am so used to the Sindarin form of his name that I forget to use the Quenya form. I will probably do that for other names as well. Please correct me if I do that. I need to remember to use Quenya."

"Sindarin? Is that the language the Moriquendi use?"

"The Sindar do not consider themselves Moriquendi. It is the main language in use in Beleriand, which is the part of Middle-earth where we were."

"How many languages do they have, then?"

"The Sindar are not the only people in Beleriand, and most of those peoples have their own language, or at the very least their own dialect..." I found myself speaking with great enthusiasm to Amarie about Middle-earth and the many things that I had seen. She was quite interested, but asked if I was quite sure that the reasons I had given were the only ones for my going to Middle-earth.

I had to admit they weren't. "I really wanted to see the wild lands of Middle-earth. To walk places that had not been walked hundreds of times before and mapped until the unknown is lost. I had been having dreams about Middle-earth, and I had felt it calling me even before the death of the Trees. When Feanaro spoke, that desire overcame my better sense. He is a truly powerful speaker. It is possible to disagree with and defy him, but you will never reject his words without effort, and it is possible to be influenced by them without yourself realizing it. I was not immune, although I thought I was at the time."

"I wondered if you had completely lost your mind and had been so enspelled by Feanaro that you had completely forgotten I existed. I even thought about following after him and trying to rescue you, although" she gave a wry grimace "common sense prevailed when I realized that I would never be able to drag you back by force anyway!"

I had to grin at the mental image of Amarie abducting me out of the armed camp of all my kinsfolk. Not the most practical of plans, no. Not that being abducted by Amarie would have been such a terrible fate...

"What are you smiling about?" Amarie asked suspiciously.

"Just the mental images you conjured up there," I answered, trying to look innocent and probably failing badly.

Amarie gave me a searching look. "And what sort of mental images by those be?" she asked.

"Well, there was you challenging Feanaro to a duel while waving a steak knife, you throwing me over your shoulder and riding off at a gallop, and you telling me in no uncertain terms what a fool I was being while I sat bound and gagged, unable to argue." I shivered then, unwelcome memories of being bound and helpless suddenly coming to mind. No, don't think of the tol-in-Guarhoth. Think of something else, anything else...

"What is the matter?" Amarie asked, looking alarmed. "Are you well?"

"Bad memories," I answered. "The garden looks beautiful after the rain, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," she said, taking the hint. "I especially like the way Earwen has alternated the Simbelmyne with the dark rocks. The contrast in color and texture works well."

We spoke of gardening and other light topics for a time before returning to the house.

A/N: This is the first time I have ever written anything that contains a recognizable romance element. Constructive criticism is welcome.