Chapter Three - Of Promises Made
There was a storm brewing, without a doubt, and moreover a storm which had been so long foretold would be all the more violent when it did come.
– C.S. Forrester, Horatio Hornblower.
Year 583 of the First Age
“These are fast ships.” This particular comment came from a slender Telerin Shipmaster, who stood alongside Finarfin, King of the Noldor. “Their design is such that the ships do not part the water. The water parts for the ships.” But then his voice dropped slightly. “Of course, nothing can ever replace our beautiful Swanships, which were burnt by…them.”
Finarfin nodded slowly, for he understood whom it was that the Shipmaster referred to. It also did not escape the king’s notice that the Shipmaster expressed his grief over the destruction of the Swanships instead of the Kinslaying. Obviously it was something that the Teleri had not come to grips with yet. “Shipmaster, you have my eternal gratitude, as well as King Ingwë’s, for agreeing to ferry us across the Belegaer.”
“’Twas King Olwë’s request, my lord.” The Shipmaster allowed his eyes to rest upon the polished brow of the nearest ship. “Had it been our way, we would never go back there.” For the Shipmaster was of the ancient, and in the days of his youth, he had been a friend to Cirdan. Briefly Finarfin wondered if the two old friends had not already communicated; it mattered not anymore, for in a week’s time, they would lay eyes upon each other again.
Their conversation was interrupted by Ingil’s aide, Ar-Kaliel. Elder sister to Glorfindel, she was Ingwë’s most devoted vassal. Tall and strong, she could never be considered beautiful, but she was very arresting. But aside from that, she was also a devoted warrior, and she could be trusted in all matters. “My lord king, Shipmaster,” she greeted politely. “Lord Ingil has asked me to commence the boarding of our supplies.”
The Shipmaster inclined his head. “By all means, warrior. My own people shall assist you.” He beckoned several mariners, and within moments, the docks were a flurry of activity.
The two men watched for a few more moments, and then Finarfin touched the Shipmaster’s shoulder lightly. “Regardless of whether King Olwë ordered you or not, I am still grateful. I know how much this is costing you and your mariners.” The sincerity shone in Finarfin’s clear blue eyes, and the Shipmaster’s countenance softened slightly.
“As it is costing you, no doubt.” His silver hair floated in the breeze as the golden rays of the sun made it gleam all the more brightly.
The words echoed in Finarfin’s mind. As it is costing you…as it has already cost my brothers and my sons. As it is costing my daughter right now.
Far away on Taniquetil, Ingwë pensively sat on a bench in his garden. On this particular day, his heart was very heavy, for he would soon be parting with two sons – one of flesh and the other of heart. Ingwë had originally planned to lead the Vanyar himself, but it had been Mandos who had cautioned against it. As the Vala had said, Ingwë would be needed here after the war. The Valar had agreed to pardon many of the exiles, and undoubtedly some would return, along with many of the Moriquendi. And Ingwë, as High King, would be needed to welcome and reassure them.
The other point had been that if Ingwë died, the Eldar would fall into even more chaos. There was no replacement for Ingwë. Ingil, while an excellent warrior, was not so excellent a politician, Olwë was too wrapped up in the turmoil of his own people, and Finarfin was simply too inexperienced. If Finwë still remained alive, then he would have been a possible replacement.
But then again, if Finwë still remained alive, many things would not have happened.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. “Friend, you seem to be brooding.”
“If the superior powers of the Aratar include stating the obvious, I find myself gravely concerned,” replied Ingwë dryly.
Manwë chuckled. “There are other observations I could make, but perhaps it is not the best time.” Taking a seat next to Ingwë, Manwë continued. “Why are you not in Alqualondë right now? They will be departing soon – the next morn, I think.”
The king shrugged. “I will get there before they leave. But I would rather remain here until the last moment.”
“You wish to go with them.” The statement fell flatly from Manwë’s mouth.
“Not to live there,” laughed the king. Sobering, he added, “But the blood fever has not yet left my veins, even after so many years.”
The Vala stilled. “Ingwë, our friendship is something so deep that it almost is a spiritual bond. But there are some things that you have never revealed to me, things that you have kept hidden.” He gazed into the blue depths of his friend’s eyes. “My life has always been open to you, from the time I joined the Music to the last decision I made. Now will you not share yourself with me?”
Ingwë fidgeted slightly, something that the graceful king rarely did. “You once asked me why I did not condemn Fëanor for leaving Middle Earth.”
“You never answered.”
“I will now.” Ingwë stretched out his legs. “People assume that the Vanyar remained behind because we regard the Valar as our masters. But that assumption is wrong. We have chosen to stay in Valinor because we wish to, just as the Noldor wished to leave. Life in Valinor appeals to us, and we greatly love the companionship of the Valar.” The king continued, “But I am the king of my people, and their loyalty is to me, just as mine is to them. That loyalty is of a different sort than the loyalty that we feel toward you.”
Manwë looked slightly puzzled. “Then how is it different?”
The king smiled gently. “The loyalty we feel toward you is one of our own choosing. If we so wished, we could have been loyal to Morgoth.”
The Vala smiled as he pictured the beautiful king serving Morgoth. “His temper was always unbalanced.”
“But the loyalty among our people for each other supersedes any other bond that we have made. That is why we still remain together. The only exception is Elenwë, wife to Turgon – and that is only because Turgon himself was very like-minded to us.”
“But then Feanor?”
Ingwë nodded. “Fëanor was only exercising the same right that we did to make our own choices. I cannot defend his later actions, but I do understand why he left. Life in Valinor is not blessed for everyone.”
Manwë digested this slowly. While he did not deny the fact that his friend had a point, it still hurt him to think so. “Then why live in Valinor?”
“Because we remember the days when we still dwelt on Middle Earth.” Ingwë paused, and then, “And that is what we fear – those early days.” The king exhaled slowly. “And I shall tell you why.”
Ingwë did not speak for a long time, and Manwë patiently allowed the king to gather his thoughts. Finally, “When I first awoke, I did not know who I was, or indeed, what I was. I did not know what to do, whether to eat or sleep. How could I?” He turned to Manwë. “Can you imagine what it is like not to know anything?” The pain was still raw in the king’s voice.
“In the beginning, I was very much alone. The rest of my people still had not woken, so I wandered the lakeshores. It is strange – those early days are very blurry to me, and I, who remember everything acutely, cannot remember what it was like to sate my hunger and thirst for the first time. I knew no cold or heat, and I was nude the entire time. Shame and modesty were concepts that had not occurred to me.”
“But what I do remember clearly is the first creature I spoke with. It was a duck, you see, and it was waddling about on the shore. I was so lonely, and in my desire for companionship, I beckoned it to me. The duck approached me in a friendly manner, and it began to quack. I assumed that the duck’s language was also my own, and so I began to mimic it.”
“I spent the next several days quacking, and once I knew enough, I decided to speak with other creatures as well. The duck came with me, and together we ventured into the forests around the lake.”
Manwë snorted with laughter but otherwise remained silent. Ingwë quacking?
“We came upon several creatures – birds, rabbits, deer – but none could understand us. It was then that I discovered that each species had its own way of communicating. So I began to wonder what mine was. However, as I was making these discoveries, a wolf appeared in front of us. The wolf was hungry, and since I was a far harder prey to kill, it attacked my friend instead.”
“And once the duck was dead, I knew my first rage. In my anger, which I had never experienced before and thus had never learned to control, I jumped at the wolf and killed it with my bare hands. After it was dead, I realized that I had sustained my first injuries.”
“Afterwards, I remember thinking how intoxicating the blood was – the scent, feel, smell – of my blood combined with the wolf’s. I wanted to kill more.”
Ingwë paused again, and then: “I knew no morals, and I did not interpret the sad feeling within my breast for what it was.”
“And I shed tears, although I did not know why. Beyond that, the wolf changed many things for me. I ate the meat and took its skin for clothing, and I used its bones as instruments.”
Ingwë stopped, and Manwë eyed him with concern. “You need not continue, Friend. I can see how much pain this is causing you.”
The golden-haired king shook his head. “No, I will finish my tale.” He took another deep breath. “After a while, the other Minyar awoke, and I was very happy. I remember that the first person I embraced was the woman who would later become my wife.”
“The High Queen.” Manwë’s voice held genuine fondness.
“Indeed.” Ingwë’s voice grew soft as he thought back to that moment. “Among us, we crafted a primitive sort of language that would not evolve until the Tatyar awoke.” Ingwë laughed mirthlessly. “Iluvatar may have provided us with life, but he certainly did not provide us with anything else. We built huts, made clothing, and learned how to cook. My wife made the first weapon – a wooden spear. I remember watching her use it upon a bear. The blood flowed out of the wound, and it cried out in pain. The noise made me sad again, and slowly we began to realize the cost of hurting others: that we would end up hurting ourselves.”
“The years passed slowly. We knew no time, save by the movement of the stars. The Tatyar and Nelyar still had not awakened, and so we dwelt alone. But the evil around the lake was terrible, and we were very frightened. Everyone among us became hunters. We made no distinction between man and woman other than in times of mating. We simply did not have that luxury. We were too few, and the evil was too great. But we kept by each other at all times, and never did we wander beyond our established territory.”
“The other tribes can never understand the terror of those early days. They awoke to the Minyar greeting them and telling them what to do. I remember when Finwë first awakened; he knew nothing. Yet he was nurtured and taken care of until he could survive on his own. We watched over them and protected them, and while they refined many things, such as weapons and language, they never had the burden of creating it. And they never suffered from being alone.”
Ingwë stopped and looked at his companion. “Those years were terrible, and we Vanyar have seen far too much to believe that we can find happiness there again. Through the generations, we have passed down the stories of horror to our children so that they know what their forefathers and foremothers suffered.”
“We may dwell in Valinor as a merry, happy people, eager to learn all that the Valar can teach us, but that happiness came at a very large price. To know true joy one must endure true suffering – the suffering of knowing nothing. Perhaps if the Noldor or Teleri had undergone the same thing, their fates might have been far different.”
Manwë covered Ingwë’s hand with his own. “We tried to find you, Ingwë. We tried so very hard. Oromë and Yavanna would wander the lands of Middle Earth to search for the Firstborn. If it had been up to me, I would have greeted you myself.”
Ingwë smiled sadly. “But then I would later have resented you. Because of my experiences, I understand the value of what it is that you offered my people and me.”
“Then the Noldor and Teleri?”
“The Teleri have found peace in the oceans, just as we have found peace on Taniquetil. But the Noldor still retained their restlessness.” The king sighed. “If the truth were to be told, at times I feel that restlessness as well. It is hard for me to dissociate myself from what I used to be. As I said, the bloodlust is still within my veins.”
Manwë chuckled. “So that is why your people still insist on training as warriors – not to fight but simply to control the passion.”
“Yes, although right now, the Vanyar will certainly be going as warriors. Surely it occurred to you why the host of the Valar consists mostly of Vanyar, the race mostly involved in singing and dancing.”
The Vala nodded. “I did wonder that.” In a change of topic, Manwë then asked, “Will you be taking your grandchildren with you to say goodbye to Ingil?”
“No, they said goodbye earlier. I would prefer that they also not be overcome with a burning desire to go battle Morgoth.” Ingwë stood. “I suppose that I should depart now, for knowing Eonwë, he will leave exactly on time.” He gave the Vala an annoyed look. “Really Manwë, must your herald be so prompt?”
Manwë covered his eyes as laughter overcame him. “Promptness is not a bad quality. It would do you well to learn from him.”
“I may be tardy at times, but once I get to my destination, I devote my full attention to all things. You, on the other hand, sit through meetings and festivals pretending to listen, but you are actually flirting with Lady Varda.”
“But no one knows,” countered Manwë. “All my flirting occurs through the link I share with my wife.”
Ingwë gave him an exasperated glance. “I can offer no more comments, for your herald is most likely counting down the time.”
“Goodbye Ingwë!” laughed the Vala.
Ingwë stealthily entered Alqualondë. Generally he did not go through such lengths to avoid people, but if someone found him, then a banquet would occur.
Eonwë would not accept that as an excuse.
Thankfully he was dressed as all the other warriors – in a leather tunic and breeches. His golden hair fell in a thick braid down his back, and small knives were strapped at his waist. He would be unrecognized as long as no one saw his face.
Keeping his face down, he hurried past several docks as he sought for Eonwë’s ship. With Eonwë would ride Glorfindel. Finarfin would ride with his own people, and Ingil and Ar-Kaliel would be on another ship, for in case the ships were attacked, not all the ranking officers would perish at once.
Eonwë’s ship was named Star Chaser, a lovely ship crafted of strong wood. It was long and wide, and it could hold approximately two hundred warriors and their equipment. The primary weapons of the Noldor were swords and bows, but the Vanyar preferred twin daggers and spears. Supplies such as medicine were also being taken in large amounts, for no one truly knew the condition of the Elven colonies in Middle Earth, nor the amount of damage the Host of the Valar would incur.
“Ah, there you are, High King.” Ingwë looked up to see his son standing at near the ship’s mast.
“Why aren’t you on your own ship?” asked the king as he walked up the gangplank.
Ingil shrugged. “We are having a meeting before we set sail.” Mischief crossed his face. “The Herald will be pleased to see you.”
The king raised his brows. “Why don’t you take me to him, and we can both see whether he will be pleased or not.” Ingil nodded and led his sire to a room below decks. Inside were several people, including a horrified Finarfin, an amused Glorfindel and Ar-Kaliel, an annoyed Eonwë, and a cheeky Sidra. Ingwë leaned toward his son. “Why does Sidra have that expression on her face? I have seen it before, and it is a portent of danger.”
Ingil smiled. “Sidra apparently saw Eonwë unclothed in his physical form. She has not stopped teasing the Herald about it.”
“If she is not careful, Eonwë will leave her behind in Middle Earth, and then I will have to find a new aide.”
“Father! That is terrible.” But the humor shone in Ingil’s eyes as well.
It was then that the Herald looked up. Giving them a scowl, he invited the king to sit. “We are almost ready to leave. We only wait for the rising of the sun.”
“Do not leave without any clothes,” quipped Ingwë.
Eonwë sputtered while the rest of the company dissolved into laughter. Finarfin shook his head in mock sadness. “If the hope of Middle Earth is gathered at this table, I think that we would do them a better service to remain here.”
Ingwë became serious. “The other Valar and Olwë have blessed this journey, and now I have come to offer my blessings.”
The Herald’s face softened. “It would be most welcome, High King.” The room grew quiet as Ingwë began to speak softly. Later, most would not remember what exactly it was that the high king had said, but they would remember that sincerity that had rung in his golden tones.
Afterwards, Ingwë went around the room and quietly said goodbye to everyone. When he reached his son and Ar-Kaliel, Ingwë’s eyes had glistened. Then he pulled Glorfindel aside. “I would have some words with you ‘ere you leave.”
“Of course,” replied Glorfindel, too experienced to allow his surprise to show on his face. He led the king back to the death, empty of all sailors. “It is quiet here, High King.”
Ingwë unstrapped the knives from his waist. “I wanted to give these to you.” He placed the two daggers in Glorfindel’s hands. The sheaths were black and inlaid with Elvish runes. The blades were of fine quality steel, and the grip was strong and firm. The knives were simple, for no ornament decorated them. “These are mine, from long ago. I did not craft them myself, but our Swordmaster did, long ago.”
“I cannot take this, King.” Glorfindel’s eyes shone with pain. “I am not worthy of such a thing. As you said, I am not even your subject, and you are not my king.”
“Glorfindel, you have no king anymore, especially since both Finwë and Turgon are dead. And perhaps I am taking too many liberties, but I wish for you to have them.” He flashed the stunned warrior a smile. “The Noldor may make superior swords, and the Sindar may have better bows, but the Vanyar will always have the best knives. I want you to have the best of everything, Glorfindel.”
“Ingil?”
Ingwë waved that away. “Ingil has me – he does not need my knives. Besides, I do not think he would understand their significance.” He lightly ran his finger down the flat side of the blade. “These knives have never shed blood before, for steel-making was not a skill we possessed until we arrived in Aman.” He closed his hands around Glorfindel’s. “Take care of them, Glorfindel, and put them to use, for they will never be used here.” Glorfindel nodded mutely. “Remember, accept adversity and use it to grow stronger. Life is not always fair.” The king embraced him then. “I am going to leave now, and I suspect that our next meeting will be a long time in coming.”
Glorfindel, his eyes deepened in its sadness, lovingly cradled the two knives. “I will be alone there.” He did not need to explain his words, for no one on Middle Earth was as Glorfindel, none so like him as Ingwë and the Maiar.
“You will have others to draw support from – Artanis, Ereinion, Cirdan most of all.” Ingwë caressed Glorfindel’s cheek. “But your path shall always be a lonely one until you return here to us. You will find a purpose there, however.”
“I cannot be evil at least,” Glorfindel quipped as he desperately searched for humor.
The king looked off into the distance. “You are not marred, but that does not mean that you will not mistakes. Those choices shall always be yours. But your heart cannot be swayed as easily anymore, and should you choose to do evil, you will be very good at it.” He focused his ancient eyes back upon the warrior. “I can offer no more comfort to you unless I lie.”
Glorfindel straightened. “That is all the comfort I require.”
Ingwë backed down the gangplank. “May Varda’s stars always light your path, and may Manwë’s winds speed you to your destination.” Glorfindel echoed the Vanyarin phrase as he watched the retreating figure of the High King. How long he stood there, he did not know.
He was roused when Eonwë finally bellowed out a call to set sail.
Author Notes:
- All the events of Ingwë’s Awakening are conjecture of course. I am using the premise that Ingwë awoke first. (See The Road to Middle Earth).
- Ingwë quacking? Why not?
Next
Previous
The Continuing Leaf Main
Main Page