Hillside of Taniquetil, Valinor
GLORFINDEL squinted. The rising sun spread golden rays on the field of green dotted with scarlet river lilies like rubies strewn on green silk. The light was bright and crisp, unlike the ambient light of the two trees, the light under the sun was almost blinding, burning and vivid.
Tirion on the green hill of Tuna no longer looked like a glittering crystal surrounded by misty morning, surreal as if it was a city within a dream. Instead, every leaf and stone, all the colors of the flowers and feathers glistened, shining as if dipped in silver dust. And the reds of the river lilies were like fire and the celandines by his feet were drops of golden topaz.
A fragrant wind swept down from the height of Taniquetil. The blond warrior leaned back onto the fragrant green grass letting his hair fall on them like melted gold. With his hands tucked under his head, he looked down at Calacirya, the pass that the Valar built through the Pelori Mountains to allow the light of the two trees to reach the Lonely Isle, the island of Eressëa.
In the center of the cleft, the white towers of Tirion, sitting atop the green mound of Tuna, gleamed under the sun.
Letting out a sigh, Glorfindel closed his eyes and smiled, feeling the tickle of grass on his face. He inhaled a sweet perfume of nameless flowers in the air. Somewhere a lone wood thrush sang its enchanting song and a warbler chimed in, adding the delicate thrills to the crystal clear sound of the thrush.
Glorfindel could not help his lips pulling up at the delicate sounds. At Gondolin, the city was too north and the air too cold, and the trees too few for many songbirds to stay but a short while each year. Most of the times, it was the cries of the white doves about the king's courtyard and the music of the water from the many fountains that he had to contend with unless Ecthelion would entertain them with his melodious flute. He missed them: the silver voices of the fountains and the ethereal sound of Ecthelion's flute.
Ondolinde (Gondolin).
The happy memory of Gondolin was marred by a throb in his heart.
Glorfindel sat up, his breath suddenly catching in his throat. He looked down the slope toward the Shadowy Sea where the blue-green waters danced dotted by the white waves. Beyond the Isle of Eressëa, he could not see. It was shrouded in the gray mists.
He glanced at the gray mist again. But it was no longer gray but red. The flames licked and danced. The red of the fire crackled and burned, a dark smoke rose like black worms of Morgoth encircling the King's tower.
Glorfindel turned away and squeezed his eyes tight. He did not want to remember. And as soon as he wished it, the images of the burning city smoldered and disappeared like a cloud of smoke before a whiff of wind.
But the peace he had felt, the bliss of being back home also diminished.
A sound of wings made Glorfindel look up just as a gigantic eagle alighted on a rock left of him. When he turned to it, the eagle shimmered into a form of an Elven warrior clad in silver mail and sky blue tunic.
Glorfindel knelt.
Arise, Slayer of Shadow. A strong, clear voice rang in Glorfindel's head. No need is there for formalities, Laurefindele or do thou prefer Glorfindel?
"Glorfindel. Although held shorter, it felt dearer."
Glorfindel, it is then. Eonwë smiled.
The Noldo looked up expectantly. Although Ainur walked among them, they rarely revealed themselves.
"How doth thee fare in the body remade?" as if to answer, Eonwë asked using his voice.
Glorfindel padded his heart. "I feel as if I just woke up from sleep and the past few days- or has it been months—were just another day. Not much has changed except the quality of the lights. There is sun and the moon instead of the golden and silver lights of the trees or the twilight of the stars. The brightness of the sun is the only thing that tells me that I had been gone." The Noldo looked around him. "Other than that, everything is as I remembered them. I am happy to be home, but I need to know. If you would, my lord, how long has it been since I awoke?"
It was hard to determine the time in this place. The flow of time was not something the residents of Valinor ever thought about. And maybe it was the thoughts of Gondolin, but Glorfindel wondered about all others who had gone before him. He had not met anyone whom he had known at Middle-earth. And the old memory came slowly and sporadically.
Amongst all the lost, only one of them he had heard the news, and that was Lord Findarato (Finrod), Finarfin's son.
"Ah, have thou not met thy kin who returned from Mandos only short while before thee?"
"If you speak of Lord Finrod, I missed his wedding to my cousin by mere days. He has gone off now to somewhere only Valar knows where to be with his beloved for who knows how long? I doubt whether I shall get a glimpse of him within a century or so. Long has he waited to be with Amarië again." The thought of the two newlyweds reminded Glorfindel of her.
Laurefindele
A singsong voice, half a whisper, half a melody, beckoned deep inside. The beloved voice reached in and stroked his heart like a silk feather. It was the barest touch, yet his heart trembled to hear it. She had been the first one he had searched upon waking, but he could not find her.
"And how does others fare, in the Hither Lands? Have the people escaped the clutches of that foul fiend or are they lost as I am? "
There was no memory of his time at the Halls of Mandos, but she was..is… better person than he could ever be. If he was released from the Hall of Mandos then surely, she must be, too, if…. Glorfindel shook his head. Perhaps, she was alive, back in the outer lands.
"Did Valar help the people of Middle-earth? Was Morgoth defeated? How fares Princess Idril and her son. I have not seen them here. Does that mean they are alive?"
Eonwe smiled again. "One at a time, Glorfindel. As for time, if it is time in the Hither Lands thou meant, over eight centuries have passed since thou left its shores."
"Eight centuries?" Even for the Elves, it was not a short time. Realms fell, Elves and Men perished and even rivers changed their courses in that time. It was enough time that even rocks crumbled into pebbles.
"If thou hast forgotten, time flows more quickly in the Hither Lands. One year here is a decade there."
"What happened to Morgoth, to Gondolin, to its people? The king, and…"
The fiery tongues of flame and the dark claws of shadow devouring the shiny white tower flashed across his mind. Tears fell on the white face of the golden haired lady, a child held tightly to her bosom.
"Be at peace, warrior of Gondolin. The realm is no more but many survived. And Morgoth is locked behind the Door of Night until the end of time."
A shadow lifted from his chest then. Glorfindel smiled widely. "Then, then it is over. Everyone is safe."
But Eonwe dropped his face and looked toward the Shadowy Seas.
"Melkor is no more, but his servants remain."
"But, surely no one powerful enough…"
"Mairon, the one you know as Sauron, remains as of yet." Eonwe's eyes were dark, and Glorfindel thought briefly, sorrowful.
"That vile lieutenant of Morgoth! That is grave news, indeed. How is it that he was spared when Morgoth was put away?" Something grabbed his heart making it difficult to breathe. The memory was faint as if he was seeing something far away and the mists about them made it difficult for him to see clearly.
Eonwë remained silent for a while before he turned to Glorfindel.
"I wanted to give him time to make up his own mind, to repent with his own will. He was not always what he is now. Once, he was a beloved friend."
They stood, side by side, watching the churning of the blue waters below them.
Maeglin. He had been a friend, not a close one but a friend, nonetheless. Maeglin's betrayal had been devastating. Upon learning of the betrayal, there had been anger, but now the thought of it and Maeglin only grieved him.
Glorfindel let out a sigh that he didn't know he suppressed. The memory of the fire and blood was fading and the breathing eased.
"Why is it that my memory is faint even though I feel as if the destruction only happened yesterday?"
"It is the effect of Mandos. Unlike other residents, thou hast been remade. With the fires of Eru, thou hast been cleansed. Thy body may feel the same, but it is not the same. Thou remember, thou grieve, but the pains and the sorrows of the yesteryears do not affect thee. They are but the shadows of the past."
"And yet, I remember them."
"Thou dost because refused thou has, to give up the memories. And now I come to the reason of my visit. For I come by the bidding of Lord Manwë who seeks thy service, should thou accept."
"My service? Lord of the West needs only to command and I will obey."
"Haste not, warrior of Noldor. It is not an easy task he asks. At Mandos, thou hast asked Lord Namo to send thee back to the Hither Lands. Only one other has Namo sent back: Luthien, the child of Melian, for she had moved the unmovable. But none who comes to Namo's silent halls ever sought to return to the land of sorrow and suffering. And most choose to forget the memory of violence and grief. Only they," Eonwe pointed to the Isle of Eressea below them, "keep the memory and the records of the events of the Hither Lands, for they are not remade as you are, nor are they cleansed of the taint of the world marred by Melkor. But even they from the Lonely Isle do not wish ever to return to Middle-earth."
"What does Lord Manwë asks of me?"
"Lord Manwë sees far and wide, to the farthest reaches of world, but the shadowy places on earth shaped by Melkor eludes him. And the last war we waged on Melkor had been terrible and had left much destruction. Middle-earth is not what it once was. Thou shall not recognize it now if and when thou see it. My lord wants to avoid the recurrence of that terrible event. He needs someone who blends in to Middle-earth who can assess the danger and the need."
"He needs a Silmacil."
Eonwë smiled. "Yes. I think that is what thy people called it. Were thou not one?"
"I had been until my father retired his title to me as the leader of our House."
His father, a Noldorin noble loyal to King Finwe, had chosen to remain in Valinor with his mother. As a Vanya of the noble house akin to King Ingwe, his mother was a devoted follower of Lord Manwë and Lady Varda and had refused to leave the Blessed Land. Had he not given fealty and friendship to Turgon, Glorfindel would not have left Valinor. But, as a new head of his House, he had a duty to lead his people who wanted to follow Fingolfin and Feanor to Middle-earth.
"Wilt thou then be willing?"
"Without a doubt. I had a duty to protect Turgon's heirs, a duty I could not fulfill before I was taken. It is a regret I harbor still." And there was one other reason, but that was private to him.
"Be warned, Glorfindel. No one who had been re-embodied is ever sent back for a reason. The moment thy feet touches the mortal shores of the Hither Lands, thou shall be as thou had been before. Thou could be slain like any other, suffer sorrow and pain, perhaps even more acutely than others as thy spirit will be more sensitive than they who had not been remade. Worse, all the memories that are gentle as Manwe's breath now shall return to thee as Osse's worst storms. They shall haunt thee and torment thee in thy mind and thy dreams more than they do those Firstborns who have suffered violence. And should thou be slain, thou could not be re-embodied again and must await the end of days in the Halls of Waiting as the ones remade once could not be remade again. No more shall thou hear the birdsongs nor feel the wind on your face. Wilt thou still go back?"
Glorfindel looked down at the sea below and the lonely island off the coast. He glanced at the gray mist, then picking up the golden celandine by his feet, inhaled its sweet scent.
"Thou need not decide now. The Lords have not decided on the right time. And no one shall command thee if thou dost not wish it."
"Where are the ones who had passed to Mandos before me? I have not seen anyone who I had known at Middle-earth."
"I know not. That is the realm of Lord Namo, but it is my understanding that those who have passed to his halls return or don't return based on each individual's will and nature. Fëar (spirits) that are more damaged due to the suffering and the violence they faced before their death, those spirits will take much longer to be cleansed."
"Then, there is no way of knowing?"
"Only through Lord Namo if he is moved to tell it."
Glorfindel knew even asking was useless. It was written clearly on Eonwë's face.
"But, as I said to thee, thou shall have time, be it little as it may be. If thou wilt, seek out Olórin and Melian who knows the most about the welfare of Middle-earth."
Tirion (Quenya. Watchtower)—Largest Elven city in Aman (the continent where Valinor is located) built by the Vanyar and the Noldor. At the center of the city stood the tower of Ingwë, High King of all Elves. Both groups of Elves lived together at Tirion until Vanyar moved to the base of Mount Taniquetil to be closer to Manwë and Varda.
Calacirya (Quenya. Cleft of Light)—the pass in the Pelori Mountains. Valar raised the Pelori Mountains to protect the Blessed Land from the outsiders. The cleft is the only access to Valinor from the shores. Through this cleft, Teleri who settled on the coast of Aman were able to see the light of the trees. The Noldorin city of Tirion built on a green hill of Túna is located within Calacirya.
Amarië (Quenya. Of Home, possibly)—A Vanyarin maid, beloved of Finrod. They were unwed and her family would not allow her to follow Finrod into exile.