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Feasting with the Lions of Valmar
Dec. 5th, 2018 09:26 amOn the eve of the War of Wrath, Ingwion asks his father to be the one to lead the Vanyar in battle. Afterwards his family dinner highlights a hidden motive in his eagerness to journey to Beleriand.
"Let me lead the armies of our people," Ingwion petitioned to his father. "Let me stand for you and command our people when we cross the sea and wage this final war against the renegade as the Valar have commanded. I will do you proud and bring honor to our people. The Valar shall give only praise to our efforts." I am your son, let me prove it, Ingwion did not say, but knew that raw desire was what showed in his eyes and gave conviction to his words.
His father, Ingwë Ingweron, High King of all the Elves, did not reply immediately. It was rare for him to be in Valmar, to sit in state with the simple feathered crown of high kingship on his brow. The palace of the Vanyar in the foothills between the sprawling city of Valmar and the true slopes of the Pelóri Mountains did not often see its king in residence, and Ingwë seldom gave decrees from the throne room of Valmar. Back during the first few years when his people lived in Tirion among the Noldor, in the Mindon Eldaliéva where Ingwion was born but had few memories of, his father did not sit often in court and proclaim many laws. It was not the style of Ingwë Ingweron, for the will of the king was absolute among his people, and the Vanyar were loyal and obedient. In return the king asked little of them. Once they reached the safety of Valinor’s shores, he commanded of the elves only that they obeyed the strictures of the Valar who brought the elves to their land. For his part the king, once his children had grown, retreated often to the slopes of Taniquetil, the holiest of mountains, and there he meditated on the meanings of the world, wrote poetry and music famous throughout Valinor, and delighted in the antics of countless litters of cats. Ingwion thought fondly of those cats, and peace of the mountain retreat where the high winds sang purely, and the softness in his father’s large hands as he pointed out the beauty of their home.
It was that peace, that love, that begged to Ingwion to convince his father to allow him to take command of their forces.
Ingwë was in Valmar now, having come for the feast of the Lord of the West. That great feast had been interrupted by the Peredhel mariner from the Hinder Lands, the one that had finally turned all of Valinor into frantic motion. During the excitement that followed, there was no lack of intention in the king of all elves to be absent while such momentous decisions were made. Ingwë sat with the herald at the Elder King’s side to listen to the mariner’s plea and approve the new plan for his people. The raising of Vingilot and the Silmaril aboard it was herald of their intentions and a warning to their foes that all the might of the West had not forgotten.
The Valar said now the time was now ripe to go to war against the Black Foe. The Vanyar must gather old weapons and forge new, this time with the wisdom of the Maiar to guide them. All that wished to hearken to the Valar and the Blessed Mariner must go - but there was still need for some to remain in Valinor. The Lords of the West would not leave their homes, their backs, unprotected. And Ingwion wished to be the one to go, not stay.
Ingwë nodded slowly, but did not yet speak.
Ingwion glanced to his mother. Ravennë, queen of the Vanyar ever since her father had been defeated by Ingwë back in the time of Cuiviénen when the Minyar had decided if to listen or not to the ambassador of the Valar and march to Valinor, smiled. It was not a gentle smile, but then little of Ravennë was gentle even in the ages of peace of Aman. Lionesses of her namesake glinted in gold thread of her gown and upon the combs in her hair, shining in the light of Anar and asserting her power. Ravennë needed no crown to proclaim her rule, for with Ingwion’s father often away from Valmar, meditating in solitude in his monastery atop Taniquetil’s slopes, the queen of the Vanyar handled the day-to-day affairs. Since his majority Ingwion had joined his mother and two older sisters in the task of rule. He felt confident of his abilities to lead his people. So he told himself as he met his mother’s dark purple eyes.
Ravennë leaned over to his father and murmured low into his ear.
Ingwion hoped it was in praise of him, knew it must, stood tall and proud and prayed he honored his name.
"You will lead our people with wisdom and glory," Ingwë said, his voice like the slow rumble of rocks crashing down the mountainside. "As my son, raised well in the embrace of the Valar, a source of great pride to myself and your mother, we see no other outcome. Go with our blessing, Ingwion."
Exultant joy coursed through Ingwion, which he knew was readable on his face, but did not care. He felt as if again a young boy not a century grown, crowing the victory songs of how his father had defeated the old first chieftain of the Vanyar back in the days of darkness. Of a victory unblemished to lead all the people of his tribe to the land of the Valar, of how when his father had washed the blood off his body with the water of Cuiviénen’s lake, there had been no mark from the enemy’s weapon. Boastful songs, war songs, songs Ingwion wanted for himself. Songs he wanted to sing to the stars of the Outer Lands, so no songs of sorrow or woe or defeat would echo through the mountain passes of his home.
When he returned to his wife, Laitissë, he told her of what his father had agreed, and that more-so they were expected to attend a private meal tonight with the royal family. Their two young children were welcome to join, as would any family that was in the palace at the moment. His wife smiled, though he made no mention of the faint hints of red at the corner of her eyes. “Helinë and Ingil will be pleased to see their grandfather. It is so rare for him to be in the palace at Valmar instead of his retreat on Taniquetil.” And to spend time with you, she did not say, for which Ingwion found himself grateful. His wife had not decided if she would be joining the armies, for Ingil was not fifty. Their eldest child trained with the phalanx, questioning Oromë on how to turn the spear wall into a defense from all angles. Laitissë was a fine wielder of spears as well, and more importantly a loud voice that did not panic or react with rashness under pressure. Ingwion wanted her strength at his side during the war, but wondered if he should ask her to stay and guard the homeland with his father and mother. He had not, for he also felt that would be an insult to her commitment and devotion to the Valar. And Ingwion was honest with himself. The presence of his wife made him less nervous.
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"Let me lead the armies of our people," Ingwion petitioned to his father. "Let me stand for you and command our people when we cross the sea and wage this final war against the renegade as the Valar have commanded. I will do you proud and bring honor to our people. The Valar shall give only praise to our efforts." I am your son, let me prove it, Ingwion did not say, but knew that raw desire was what showed in his eyes and gave conviction to his words.
His father, Ingwë Ingweron, High King of all the Elves, did not reply immediately. It was rare for him to be in Valmar, to sit in state with the simple feathered crown of high kingship on his brow. The palace of the Vanyar in the foothills between the sprawling city of Valmar and the true slopes of the Pelóri Mountains did not often see its king in residence, and Ingwë seldom gave decrees from the throne room of Valmar. Back during the first few years when his people lived in Tirion among the Noldor, in the Mindon Eldaliéva where Ingwion was born but had few memories of, his father did not sit often in court and proclaim many laws. It was not the style of Ingwë Ingweron, for the will of the king was absolute among his people, and the Vanyar were loyal and obedient. In return the king asked little of them. Once they reached the safety of Valinor’s shores, he commanded of the elves only that they obeyed the strictures of the Valar who brought the elves to their land. For his part the king, once his children had grown, retreated often to the slopes of Taniquetil, the holiest of mountains, and there he meditated on the meanings of the world, wrote poetry and music famous throughout Valinor, and delighted in the antics of countless litters of cats. Ingwion thought fondly of those cats, and peace of the mountain retreat where the high winds sang purely, and the softness in his father’s large hands as he pointed out the beauty of their home.
It was that peace, that love, that begged to Ingwion to convince his father to allow him to take command of their forces.
Ingwë was in Valmar now, having come for the feast of the Lord of the West. That great feast had been interrupted by the Peredhel mariner from the Hinder Lands, the one that had finally turned all of Valinor into frantic motion. During the excitement that followed, there was no lack of intention in the king of all elves to be absent while such momentous decisions were made. Ingwë sat with the herald at the Elder King’s side to listen to the mariner’s plea and approve the new plan for his people. The raising of Vingilot and the Silmaril aboard it was herald of their intentions and a warning to their foes that all the might of the West had not forgotten.
The Valar said now the time was now ripe to go to war against the Black Foe. The Vanyar must gather old weapons and forge new, this time with the wisdom of the Maiar to guide them. All that wished to hearken to the Valar and the Blessed Mariner must go - but there was still need for some to remain in Valinor. The Lords of the West would not leave their homes, their backs, unprotected. And Ingwion wished to be the one to go, not stay.
Ingwë nodded slowly, but did not yet speak.
Ingwion glanced to his mother. Ravennë, queen of the Vanyar ever since her father had been defeated by Ingwë back in the time of Cuiviénen when the Minyar had decided if to listen or not to the ambassador of the Valar and march to Valinor, smiled. It was not a gentle smile, but then little of Ravennë was gentle even in the ages of peace of Aman. Lionesses of her namesake glinted in gold thread of her gown and upon the combs in her hair, shining in the light of Anar and asserting her power. Ravennë needed no crown to proclaim her rule, for with Ingwion’s father often away from Valmar, meditating in solitude in his monastery atop Taniquetil’s slopes, the queen of the Vanyar handled the day-to-day affairs. Since his majority Ingwion had joined his mother and two older sisters in the task of rule. He felt confident of his abilities to lead his people. So he told himself as he met his mother’s dark purple eyes.
Ravennë leaned over to his father and murmured low into his ear.
Ingwion hoped it was in praise of him, knew it must, stood tall and proud and prayed he honored his name.
"You will lead our people with wisdom and glory," Ingwë said, his voice like the slow rumble of rocks crashing down the mountainside. "As my son, raised well in the embrace of the Valar, a source of great pride to myself and your mother, we see no other outcome. Go with our blessing, Ingwion."
Exultant joy coursed through Ingwion, which he knew was readable on his face, but did not care. He felt as if again a young boy not a century grown, crowing the victory songs of how his father had defeated the old first chieftain of the Vanyar back in the days of darkness. Of a victory unblemished to lead all the people of his tribe to the land of the Valar, of how when his father had washed the blood off his body with the water of Cuiviénen’s lake, there had been no mark from the enemy’s weapon. Boastful songs, war songs, songs Ingwion wanted for himself. Songs he wanted to sing to the stars of the Outer Lands, so no songs of sorrow or woe or defeat would echo through the mountain passes of his home.
When he returned to his wife, Laitissë, he told her of what his father had agreed, and that more-so they were expected to attend a private meal tonight with the royal family. Their two young children were welcome to join, as would any family that was in the palace at the moment. His wife smiled, though he made no mention of the faint hints of red at the corner of her eyes. “Helinë and Ingil will be pleased to see their grandfather. It is so rare for him to be in the palace at Valmar instead of his retreat on Taniquetil.” And to spend time with you, she did not say, for which Ingwion found himself grateful. His wife had not decided if she would be joining the armies, for Ingil was not fifty. Their eldest child trained with the phalanx, questioning Oromë on how to turn the spear wall into a defense from all angles. Laitissë was a fine wielder of spears as well, and more importantly a loud voice that did not panic or react with rashness under pressure. Ingwion wanted her strength at his side during the war, but wondered if he should ask her to stay and guard the homeland with his father and mother. He had not, for he also felt that would be an insult to her commitment and devotion to the Valar. And Ingwion was honest with himself. The presence of his wife made him less nervous.
( Read more... )
