Yet Were Its Making Good, For This by LadySternchen  

Awed

Mablung paused in the act of collecting pinecones for playing and raised his head, listening. Had that been his mother calling him? He hastily climbed down the tree he had been sitting in, trying his best to wipe the sticky resin off his hands, and made his way back to the shores of the lake. As he drew closer, he could tell that a vast number of people was already gathered there, and more were approaching -like he was- out of the woods or from further down the shoreline. Amidst the crowd stood Oromë, towering over the Quendi, yet looking as excited as a young boy. Despite the serene expression on the Vala’s face, Mablung felt rather cowed by him, and when he spotted his mother at last amid the crowd he hurried to her side, pressing his face into the rough fabric of her gown. She stroked his head reassuringly and took him by the hand, leading him closer to where Oromë stood.

Clutching her fingers tightly, Mablung allowed his gaze to wander over the assembled crowd, and marvelled- never before had he seen so many Quendi in one place, or at least he could not recall it. They all looked towards the lake, where Lord Oromë stood central by the water’s edge. By the Vala’s side was a golden haired elf that Mablung had seen only a few times, and of whom he knew nothing apart from his name being Ingwë, and that he was a prince of the Minyar. Ingwë smiled a little, a smile that showed both his excitement and his confidence, even as he comforted the young child in his wife’s arms.

Mablung did not understand much of what was being discussed, only enough to grasp that Oromë wished them all to leave (which was no news, of course), and that, given that the Quendi were hesitant, he intended to take three ambassadors with him to the Blessed Realm, so that they could see with their own eyes that Oromë’s tales were true. Ingwë , it appeared, had at once volunteered, despite having a small family of his own to look after, and as Mablung now watched, Finwë rose from where he had sat on a boulder with his betrothed, to stand beside Ingwë, thus volunteering himself for that journey. Mablung rolled his eyes a little. He dearly loved Finwë for all the adventures they shared and more still for his kind heart, but he was as indecisive as a leaf caught in the wind. Not so long ago, Finwë had been convinced that the Vala told naught but lies, and now he was prepared to follow him into the unknown. Oromë nodded appreciatively.

“It fits well.” he said. “The last in direct line of the house of Imin- or at least the last that can make such a journey, the last in direct line of the house of Tata…”

Mablung, with a feeling that bordered on foreboding, glanced quickly to where Elwë sat with his brothers. Surly Oromë would not think of taking Elwë with him, who had so recently lost his parents and now was responsible for raising his youngest brother?

It appeared, however, that the Vala was thinking along precisely those terms, for he looked at Elwë too, saying gently: 
“Rightly, as the last in line of the house of Enel, it falls upon you to take the place of the third ambassador, Elwë. Are you willing to accompany me to Aman, representing your house and the tribe of the Nelyar?”

All around Mablung, a murmur went through the crowd, and they all watched silently as the young prince stood, proud, but also very obviously trembling with fear.

“I am!”

A kind smile lit the Vala’s face, but even as Elwë bowed, little Elmo jumped to his feet as well, wrapping his arms around his brother’s legs, nails digging into his tunic.

“Don’t go!”

Elwë gently stroked his little brother’s silvery head, looking down at him with a sad smile on his face.

“I’ll be back! And then I’ll tell you all the stories of…”

“Don’t go!” Elmo repeated, sobbing now. “I don’t want to hear any stories, I just want you to be here with us.”

Mablung’s heart clenched with pity, for it needed little imagination to guess how Elmo must feel. Mablung himself was several years older than Elmo, and yet the mere thought of losing his mother and father and then being left also by the sibling that now acted the role of a parent brought tears to his eyes. Trying his best to chase them away, he pressed himself harder against his mother, feeling her reassuring warmth, comforted by the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder.
Elwë had meanwhile detached himself from Elmo’s clutches and knelt down so that he could look the crying child in the eyes.

“I promise I will return.” he said quietly, with as much reassurance as he managed to put into those words while his own voice shook with suppressed emotion.

“Take me with you Elwë, don’t leave me, please!” Elmo pleaded desperately.

“I am not leaving you, Elmo. I will return, Lord Oromë will see that we will come to no harm, and everyone here is going to protect you. But I need you to be very brave now, to be brave for me. And to keep an eye on Olwë, or he’ll think he can do whatever he wants while I’m gone!”

This small jest did nothing to cheer Elmo up, and as Elwë rose, Olwë lifted their little brother up from behind, cradling him softly. For a long moment, Elwë and Olwë just looked at each other, saying a wordless farewell, then Olwë lowered his gaze, pressing Elmo yet more tightly to his chest, whose sobs rang in Mablung’s ears.

“What will happen to Elmo now, Ambe?” Mablung asked his mother timidly, snuggling still closer to her.

“He will be cared for by his wider family. The Quendi care for their orphans, you know that! It has always been so, and shall ever be!”

Mablung watched as Elwë turned away from his brothers, and as he did so, his face was briefly illuminated by the light of the campfire, and Mablung saw the tears glistening on his cheeks. Still Elwë walked over to Finwë and Ingwë and Oromë, and Mablung felt strangely moved. He thought about all the times he had come running to Elwë like the other children, to ask him to play with them, or to help whenever someone had got themselves hurt under, well, circumstances the adults wouldn’t approve of, as they liked to call it. He thought of the countless adventures all the children of the Nelyar and the Tatyar undertook together under the guidance of Finwë and Elwë, and about the feeling of love and admiration he always felt for them, he along with everyone else.

But there was another feeling now that stirred in his chest as he saw Elwë’s tears- the urge to run out to him and comfort him, as no one else seemed ready to do so. Mablung could not understand why all the others would just stand by and watch. After all, Elwë was little more than a child himself, and someone, anyone, ought to have taken notice of his distress. But nobody moved, nobody spoke, they all just watched as Elwë straightened his shoulders, now standing proudly beside Finwë. Mablung felt awed by the sight of the three, and he knew, without knowing how he could know, that they were their lords now, and that they would rise above all their sires. Glad though Mablung was to be still a child untouched by those matters, he nonetheless felt a fierce pride flame in his heart at the thought of one day calling Elwë his lord, and to follow him wherever it was he might lead him.