A TALE OF NEVER-ENDING LOVE
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL
told by Soledad Cartwright
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.
Fíriel belongs to Deborah and is borrowed fom her excellent story ''A Little Might Be Thought''. You all should read it.
Only the Lady Aquiel and Tindriel belong to me.
Rating: PG - 13, for violence, and implied m/m relationship (a married Elvish couple - both males - actually).
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
The parts of Elven lore told here are based partially on ''The Silmarillion'', partially on ''The Lost Road'', a collection of Tolkien's writings considering his own universe. There are slight alterations, though.
In this chapter, events of a much later part of my other story, ''Innocence'', are referred to. I won't go into detail, in order to not spoil that story, where everything will be presented firs-hand. Let's only say that I presumed an attack on Imladris by Saruman's forces, based on Gandalf's statement in the movie that Saruman ''will come for the Ring''.
The siege of Imladris lasted from the 6th to the 13th January, while the Fellowship of the Ring crossed Hollin, failed to pass the Redhorn Gate and fought the Wargs. Therefore, Glorfindel continues his tale on the evening of January 13, telling about how Oromë had finally found the Elves at Cuiviénen.
Warning: because of the slightly bigger audience, a few lines from Chapter 1 will be repeated here, though I tried to alter the expressions in order to make it less boring.
To Lindir, his ancestry, his relationship to Erestor and his place in Imladris see: ''Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love'' and ''Innocence''. More about Fíriel can be find in ''Innocence'' as well.
CHAPTER THREE: THE LIGHT OF AMAN
The siege was finally broken, the Orc-hords beaten and slain, slave a few survivors only who escaped to carry the tidings of the wrath of Elves to their masters and their kin, and in Imladris the slow and painful work of healing and re-building has begun.
The last battle at the Fords of Bruinen had been brutal, and they might have been lost, despite all the power Vilya protected the valley with, had the huge and vicious Wargs not been summoned away for some other, mayhap even more evil purpose.(1)
But even so, this new, much stronger and even more hideous bred of Orcs, who could endure the sunlight, very nearly had broken thorugh the defenses of Imladris. Though only four of the Elves of the valley were actually killed, there were many injured, most of them badly, for the truth was that there remained very few true warriors in Imladris: Glorfindel himself, of course, and the children of Elrond. All the others had had heir share of fighting during their long lives, but they had long turned their backs on the matters of war and led a peaceful life in the safety of the valley, caring only for lore and the seasonal work on the terraced fields and in the greenhouses - or spent their time with art and music.
Now the Healing House (or Infirmary, as it was commonly called) was full with the wounded, even though only the gravest of injuries were tended here, and Fíriel, lead healer of the valley (if one left Elrond out of consideration, of course), had both her hands full of work, despite the many volunteers who came to help.
Elrond himself had not rested ever since the last packs of Uruk-Hai were chased away and the valley finally freed, and now he had come to an end of his strength, for using his unique healing abilities in this manner drained him greatly, but he did not spare himself, for in many cases his rare gift was the only thing that could have saved his severely injured people. And how cold he abandon any of them for something so insignificant as his own exhaustion?
Yet Fíriel saw all too well how much he had drained his strength, having known him since the day of his birth (for she was one of the very few survivors of Tol Sirion, Elrond's city of childhood that was bunt down by the maddened sons of Fëanor), and she went to him and touched his shoulder lightly and spoke:
''My Lord, 'tis time for you to retreat. You have done everything you could. Those who where not already beyond healing, have been saved. Go now and rest. You need to regain your strength, for it shall be asked for very much in the upcoming days.''
''What about you?'', Elrond examined the angular face of the woman, marred by very old scars and deep lines of sorrow. ''You should rest, too.''
''And I shall - in the morrow'', Fíriel replied. ''Tonight I wish to watch over those who might become feverish from their wounds. 'Tis something I cannot leave in the hand of my pupils, though for they are well-learnt and eager indeed, they have no experience with battle injuries. But after sunrise all will be relieved, and then I shall go and have some sleep. I promise.''
''Call me if someone should turn critical'', instructed Elrond, already on his way.
''I will'', said Fíriel with a wry grin.
She knew her own abilities well; and also she knew that she would never be able to achieve the same results by plain herbal lore that his Lord achieved due to the unusual gift he was given by birth.
Elrond nodded, glad that at least one of his people was old and wise enough to know what really needed to be done, and retreated to the Great House to find some rest ere the night came, for he still might be needed, should the state of one of the wounded become life-threatening.
In the antechamber he met Erestor, his foster son and the seneschal of his house. Not wearing his armour any more, the broken arm of the young Elf rested in a sling, but the pain that lignered in his clear, grey eyes seemed to come from deeper than his injury only.
Elrond, of course, knew the reason for his anguish.
''How is Lindir faring?'', the Lord of Imladris asked. Erestor sighed.
''There is no change, my Lord. He is sitting in his old chamber, glaring at the naked walls and speaks not. I fear that I shall lose him.''
Elrond shook his head in pained sympathy. It seemed so cruel that Erestor should lose his beloved spouse after twelve centuries of happy marriage, only because Lindir saved his life - by giving up a crucial part of himself in the process. A more crucial one, indeed, than any of them might have thought.
''Does he still obey you?'', he asked, remembering an other occasion, almost two and a half thousand years ago, when Lindir had fallen in a speechless and partially unresponding state of deep shock, only able to handle when given direct instructions.
Erestor nodded.
''He does what he is told to do - nothing more. 'Tis as if he had lost his will completely. How I wish that he were stubborn and light-headed and thoughtless as always!''
''Nay, he had lost more than just his will'', Elrond sighed. ''By killing another living being, even if it was an evil creature, he had lost his innocence. I fear he shall never be the same again.''
''I know'', answered Erestor, swallowing hot tears of despair. ''But I would be happy to just keep him, in what state ever. Yet I fear he has already given up himself... that he would flee his body and leave me. He... he is *fading*, atar!''
Elrond swallowed hard. Even in his childhood, Erestor very rarely called him 'father', and he never demanded it from the young Elf, wanting him to keep the memories of his true family that he had lost so early and in such a brutal manner. For Erestor to call him thus, it had to be a very deep shock, indeed.
''If he still obeys you, then mayhap 'tis not too late'', he said encouragingly. ''Bring him to the Hall of Fire tonight. I shall ask Glorfindel to continue his tale from the Dawn of Days; hopefully, it shall catch his interest. He always loved old tales, and Glorfindel is a very good storyteller.''
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Shortly before sunset, the family of Elrond gathered in the Hall of Fire again; this time not only the Lady Aquiel joined them but Erestor, too, with his obedient but strangely detached spouse. When all the others took their seats around the small table, Erestor sat down as well, but a little further away, choosing his usual listening place: a low wooden bench in the shadow of a huge pillar. Lindir curled into a fetal position on his side, resting his head on Erestor's lap, his face hidden in the folds of the seneschal's robe.
Finally Glorfindel arrived (with Erestor incapacitated through his injury and his spouse's state, a large amount of his work dropped into Glorfindel's lap), and almost literally collapsed on the seat that had been prepared for him.
Elladan reached him a cup of wine and the ancient Elf accepted with a thankful nod, emptying the cup with small, slow sips.
''The Lord of the Valley has asked me to set my tale forth tonight, since everyone is too exhausted to do any real work'', he then said; ''but are you not too weary to listen to old lays?''
''Nay'', Arwen answered for all of them, ''for it shall gladden our hearts to hear about the light of Aman after these days of darkness.''
For indeed, the ''warrior Princess of Imladris'' took her part in the defense of her home, wielding the sword with as much vigour and determination as her brothers have done. Just as her father, Awen Undómiel has pledged her heart to wisdom and lore, but she could be a fierce warrior if the need emerged.
Glorfindel shot a glance at Lindir's limp form and nodded.
''True; it might be the most proper tale for tonight to tell. Now, if my memory serves me well, I was telling you about the fate of Iarwain and my beloved sister, Tindómerel, whom he called the River-daughter, last time...''
He watched intently whether Lindir would react to the name of the two people he had spent his childhood with, and indeed, the young minstrel raised his head for a short moment, and in his sea-hued ees there flickered a tiny sparkle of light again.
''Now I shall tell you about the coming of Oromë and, if time allows, about the journey of the Eldar to the Undying Lands'', Glorfindel continued, ''For, as you all know, the Great Hunter often rode eastwards in his hunting, and on a time it chanced that he turned north by the shores of Helcar and passed under the shadows of Orocarni, the Mountains of the East...''
''What was he hunting for?'', the soft voice of Lindir, muffled by the clothes of Erestor where he had buried his face, asked. ''Do the Valar need food, too?''
It was a very childish question, for sure, and Lindir, who had spent centuries with studying ancient lore, tutored by Elrond and Glorfindel themselves, should have known better than ask it. Yet it seemed that he had retreated to a very early, child-like state of mind, seeking comfort in the reminder of his now-lost innocence, and, truth be told, everyone was glad that he at least spoke again.
''Nay, little one'', answered Glorfindel gently, ''they need no food, and you know that. Oromë was hunting for the dark creatures the Enemy had set in the world before the making of the stars. For though most of the Valar feared to confront Melkor openly, Oromë, and even more so Yavanna, were saddened over the fate of Middle-earth, and they often come to visit it, and Oromë haunted down Morgoth's demons and Palúrien sang in the forests to remaind them the light they had once known, ere Melkor overthrew the Lamps of Valinor.''
''What was he like?'', Lindir continued his inquiries in the same child-like manner, without raising his face from Erestor's lap.
Glorfindel looked at Elrond in askance, and the Master of Imladris nodded encouragingly. Whatever would anchor Lindir's interest to life, he should get every help they could offer. For Elrond doubted not that should Lindir give up his life, not being able to face what he had been forced to do in order to save his beloved, Erestor would follow him to Mandos' Halls without a second thought. Lindir *was* Erestor's life; the young seneschal had long gone beyond the ability to live without him.
Glorfindel thought for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice took on that soft, sing-song tone he had used many long centuries ago, when he told the same tales to Elrond's children, at a time when they were but tiny elflings, lying in their little beds and sucking on their small thumbs in adorable concentration.
''Like a huntsman of great strength Oromë was like, clad in green and brown garb, his thick brown hair braided on the nape of his neck, and he carried a great bow and a quiver, full of long arrows. For a mighty Lord among the Valar he is, and though less strong than Tulkas, more deadly in his anger. A great horn he on his shoulder carried, and its sound was like rolling thunder.
As a hunter of monsters and fell beasts, he delights in horses and in hounds, and his horns are loud in the friths and woods that Yavanna planted in Valinor; but he blows them not upon Middle-earth any more. Not since the fading of the Elves whom he loved...''(2)
''You are getting ahead of yourself, Master Glorfindel'', the Lady Aquiel remainded him gently. ''You not even told us how he had found the Elves... the *Quendi* in the first place!''
''I know'', Glorfindel laughed, ''and I would be coming to it in a moment, would you let me finsih this first.''
Aquiel blushed and bowed her head in silent regret, for even for a respected young lore-master as she was, it was considered unbecoming to interrupt the teachings of her own tutor.
''Forgive me...''
Glorfindel smiled and dismissed her apology with an elegant wave of his hand.
''Now, as I said, Oromë is very fond of horses'', he said; ''and the name of his own horse is Nahar, and this great steed is white in the sun and shining silver in the night; and as you know all well, the horses of Imladris descended from Nahar, and their kind has been protected and cheerished ever since the First Age - for their forefathers returned with the Exiles of the Noldor from the Blessed Realm.(3)''
The young Elves nodded in agreement. The ancestry of Imladris' magnificent horses was a well-know tale among them. Glorfindel (the major source of their knowledge) smiled again, and continued in the same sing-song voice:
''And the great horn of Oromë is called Valaróma, and its thundering sound can be heard in the woods that Yavanna brought forth in Valinor, for there Oromë would train his folk and his beasts for the pursuit of the evil creatures of Melkor...''
He was forced to interrupt his tale once again, for young Tindriel, one of Fíriels healer-pupils, entered silently the Hall of Fire and whispered something into Elrond's ear. The face of the Lord became clouded and he rose, saying in a low voice to Glorfindel:
''Continue without me for a while, old friend, I pray you. It seems that I am needed in the Infirmary after all.''
''Should I go with you, my Lord?'', the Lady Aquiel offered, but Elrond shook his head sadly.
''Nay, I think not that you could be any help, Lady Lalaith, but I thank you nevertheless. Do listen to Glorfindel with the others; it would not take me very long, I fear.'' Casting a glance at Lindir's still form, he added with a lowered voice: ''I leave you in charge here while I am gone. You are his closest kin, you might be needed.''
Aquiel nodded her understanding, giving her young cousin a compassionate look, then she turned back to Glorfindel.
''Now, let us hear about the coming of Oromë, Master Glorfindel!''
''Oh, the impatience of youth!'', the ancient Elf laughed, but in his eyes there was deep sorrow, for all loved young Lindir and were concerned about him.
Even Elladan forgot his own painful loss and came out of his self-woven cocoon of grief, which, at least was *one* useful result of the siege. A good fight had always set Elladan's mind straight, and he *was* a compassionate person - a lot more so than any average Elf.
''Now, were have I been before so rudely interrupted?'', asked Glorfindel playfully, noticing the slight, pained smile on Erestor's pale face with some relief. ''Ah yes. Oromë. Well, he was coming under the shadows of the Orocarni, as I said, for he was hunting once again; but this time he came alone, for Yavanna remained back in Palisor.
As he was riding alongside the mountains, on a sudden Nahar set up a great neighing, and stood still. And Oromë wondered and sat silent, and it seemed to him that in the quiet of the land under the stars he heard afar off many voices singing...''
''Was it then that he had found our forefathers?'', Erestor asked quietly.
He knew the tale already, of course, all of them knew, but he wanted to keep Lindir's fading interest awake.
''It was'', Glorfindel nodded, ''and I was told later in Valinor that looking upon the Quendi, Oromë was filled with love and wonder, for our coming was not in the Music of the Ainur but hidden in the secret thought of Ilúvatar. Beings sudden and marvellous and unforeseen we were in his eyes; for so it shall ever be with the Valar. From without the world, though all things may be forethought in music or foreshown in vision from afar, to those who enter verily into Eä each in its time shall be met at unawares as something new and unforetold.''(4)
''I understand this not!'', Elrohir voiced the bewilderment of all; ''do the Valar not know what the thoughts of Ilúvatar intended for Eä?''
''The Valar are the offspring of Ilúvatar's thoughts, and they were with Ilúvatar, before aught else was made'', Glorfindel answered, ''yet though they took part in the forming of Arda, they, too, had been called to life by Ilúvatar and are therefore part of the Creation and no gods. They are not above of making mistakes and straying from the purpose of Ilúvatar, albeit with good intent. The Wise say, indeed, that maybe if they had decided against summoning the Quendi to Valinor, the world had been a fairer place and the Eldar a happier folk.''(5)
''I believe not that such a difference would have kept Melkor from turning evil'', the Lady Aquiel commented with a shrug.
''Nor do I'', Glorfindel agreed, ''Yet many of the Noldor thought that had our people remained in Middle-earth and learnt and grown strong, the Enemy would have been restrained and many things that once had been beautiful, preserved.''
''Is this what *you* think, too?'', Aquiel asked.
''These are the thoughts I shared once'', Glorfindel said, ''or else I would not have followed te Exiles back here. But I have changed more since my first death than you can imagine. So, while I still believe that the Valar erred in summoning us to Aman, I also know that the fate of the world cannot, in the end, be contrary to Ilúvatar's design.''
''And yet 'tis said that the Quendi were at first unwilling to hearken to the summons'', Arwen said. ''Is this true?''
''It is'', Glorfindel nodded. ''For many of us were filled with dread at Oromë's coming, and this was the doing of Melkor. For by afterknowledge the Wise declare that Melkor, ever watchful, was first aware of the awakening of the Quendi, and for he hated and feared the ridings of Oromë, either he sent his dark servants as riders, or he set lying whispers abroad, for the purpose that we should shun Oromë, if we ever should meet him.''(6)
''The fact that many of you were captured and dragged to the back pits of Utumno might have given those whispers quite some weight'', Elladan remarked drily.
''It did'', Glorfindel admitted. ''Thus it was then, that when Nahar neighed and Oromë, indeed, came among us, many of our people hid themselves, and some fled and were lost. But those that had courage, and stayed, understood very swiftly that the Great Reader was no shape of darkness; for the light of Aman was in his face, and all the noblest of us were drawn towards it.''
''Did *you* stay?'', Lindir asked, his face still buried in Erestor's clothes.
Glorfindel shook his head with a sad smile.
''Nay, little one, I did not. Too deep the fear, caused by Iarwain's fate, run in my blood; and I remembered the grief of my beloved sister and the pain over her loss. So I listened not to the encouraging words of my friend, Imin(7), who was later called Inwë by our kin, and ran away in horror and hid behind a waterfall. But others had more courage in their hearts: Inwë, Finwë and Elwë above all the others, and they came forth and dared to speak to Oromë, and their voices were sweet in his ears, or so I was told later.''
''And he chose these three Kings and took them to Aman with him as the emissaries of all Eldar'', Lindir quoted the Ages-old teaching, sounding not only child-like but very sleepy now, too.
''Oh, no'', said Glorfundel with a quiet laughter, ''*that* happened much, much later. First, he rode swiftly back over land and sea to Valinor, filled with the thought of the beauty of Elves, and he brought the tidings of Valmar. But'', he added with a mischievous smile, ''this is an other tale for an other night.''
The younger Elves protested, reminding him his promise that he would tell them the tale of the journey of the Eldar, too, but Glorfindel stayed adamant.
''You have just come back from battle'', he said, ''and even those of you who have not, are in sore need of some rest. And so am I, to be honest. Now, I promise you to be here tomorrow evening and continue when we all have recovered a little. For what comes next is a long tale, indeed, and not known to many in Middle-earth, for it was told me by Fui Nienna(8) herself while I dwelt in the Halls of Mandos.''
Still murring slightly, the younger Elves accepted, and one by one they left the Hall of Fire, til only Elladan, Erestor and Lindir remained, the latter already fallen asleep on the lap of his spouse.
Elladan crossed the Hall and leaned against the pillar next to the troubled couple.
''He seems to recover'', he said in a low voice, meaning Lindir.
Erestor sighed.
''I cannot be sure of that. He is broken, Elladan, and I know not if there is aught on Eartrh that can heal him.''
''Not even your love?'', Elladan asked gently. Erestor gave him a rueful smile.
''I am the reason he is in this wretched state. He saved *me* by slaying that Orc. He had never even swatted a fly before, you know. I know not how he can recover from this. *If* he can recover at all.''
''Had you been slain in battle, that would have killed him even more swiftly'', Elladan pointed out the obvious. ''He could never live without you.''
''Nor could I without him'', Erestor murmured. ''How can you bear it, Elladan?''
''Bear what?''
''You are bound to a mortal. One day, you shall lose him - soon, as we count time. How will you go on without him?''
''I am only Half-Elven, you know'', Elladan said with a sorrowful smile; ''I have a choice, like all my kind. And I have Chosen.''
''That I have heard'', Erestor nodded, stroking the long, pale gold hair of his spouse gently, ''but you still have thrice his lifetime before you. *And* he has left you.''
''That is not true!''
''I know: you can feel his thoughts through the bond; yet he is not *here* now. He might never come back to you. How can you bear it?''
'''Tis hard'', Elladan admitted; ''but what other choice do I have?''
''True'', Erestor remained silent for a moment, caressing Lindir's silken tresses lovingly; then he looked up again, his eyes haunted. ''Do you believe that in the Blessed Realm there could be found healing for him? That I should depart with him over the Sea, just as the Lady Celebrían did, seeking out help there?''
Elladan gave no immediate answer.
''I cannot say'', he finally said; ''for that way now is closed for me, for ever. When *my* time comes, I shall leave the house of my soul and go wherever mortal Men go when they die.''
* * * * * * * * * * * *
END NOTE:
Well, this did not exactly turn out as I planned, but it is some headway nevertheless.
Below some footnotes for the lore-masters among us.
Happy nitpicking!
(1) You all know where they went, I presume. No? Well, then check out ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves''!
(2) Quoted loosely after ''The Lost Road'', p. 226, with small supplements inserted from ''The Silmarillion''.
(3) A ''fact'', made up completely by me. At least I've never seen anything in this matter, but if anyone else has, I'm always ready to process new information.
(4) Quoted loosely from ''The Silmarillion'', p. 46
(5) See: ''The Book of Lost Tales'', I.117
(6) See: ''The Silmarillion'', p. 46
(7) Here I deliberately contradict ''The War of the Jewels'', presuming that Inwë, indeed, was one of the very Firstborn. In my interpretation Elwë, Olwë and Elmö are considered brothers because they awakened together - it was the same process for the Firsborn as a birth of triplets. But remember, please, this is only my take on the facts, and when someone has the urge to hold all the different (and sometimes contradictional) theories in the HoME-books equally canonical, well, that is their good right. I do not.
(8) One of the Valier, Lady of pity and mourning; the sister of Mandos and Lórien. Numbered among the Aratar (the ''Exalted''), the eight Valar of greatest power.
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL
told by Soledad Cartwright
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.
Fíriel belongs to Deborah and is borrowed fom her excellent story ''A Little Might Be Thought''. You all should read it.
Only the Lady Aquiel and Tindriel belong to me.
Rating: PG - 13, for violence, and implied m/m relationship (a married Elvish couple - both males - actually).
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
The parts of Elven lore told here are based partially on ''The Silmarillion'', partially on ''The Lost Road'', a collection of Tolkien's writings considering his own universe. There are slight alterations, though.
In this chapter, events of a much later part of my other story, ''Innocence'', are referred to. I won't go into detail, in order to not spoil that story, where everything will be presented firs-hand. Let's only say that I presumed an attack on Imladris by Saruman's forces, based on Gandalf's statement in the movie that Saruman ''will come for the Ring''.
The siege of Imladris lasted from the 6th to the 13th January, while the Fellowship of the Ring crossed Hollin, failed to pass the Redhorn Gate and fought the Wargs. Therefore, Glorfindel continues his tale on the evening of January 13, telling about how Oromë had finally found the Elves at Cuiviénen.
Warning: because of the slightly bigger audience, a few lines from Chapter 1 will be repeated here, though I tried to alter the expressions in order to make it less boring.
To Lindir, his ancestry, his relationship to Erestor and his place in Imladris see: ''Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love'' and ''Innocence''. More about Fíriel can be find in ''Innocence'' as well.
CHAPTER THREE: THE LIGHT OF AMAN
The siege was finally broken, the Orc-hords beaten and slain, slave a few survivors only who escaped to carry the tidings of the wrath of Elves to their masters and their kin, and in Imladris the slow and painful work of healing and re-building has begun.
The last battle at the Fords of Bruinen had been brutal, and they might have been lost, despite all the power Vilya protected the valley with, had the huge and vicious Wargs not been summoned away for some other, mayhap even more evil purpose.(1)
But even so, this new, much stronger and even more hideous bred of Orcs, who could endure the sunlight, very nearly had broken thorugh the defenses of Imladris. Though only four of the Elves of the valley were actually killed, there were many injured, most of them badly, for the truth was that there remained very few true warriors in Imladris: Glorfindel himself, of course, and the children of Elrond. All the others had had heir share of fighting during their long lives, but they had long turned their backs on the matters of war and led a peaceful life in the safety of the valley, caring only for lore and the seasonal work on the terraced fields and in the greenhouses - or spent their time with art and music.
Now the Healing House (or Infirmary, as it was commonly called) was full with the wounded, even though only the gravest of injuries were tended here, and Fíriel, lead healer of the valley (if one left Elrond out of consideration, of course), had both her hands full of work, despite the many volunteers who came to help.
Elrond himself had not rested ever since the last packs of Uruk-Hai were chased away and the valley finally freed, and now he had come to an end of his strength, for using his unique healing abilities in this manner drained him greatly, but he did not spare himself, for in many cases his rare gift was the only thing that could have saved his severely injured people. And how cold he abandon any of them for something so insignificant as his own exhaustion?
Yet Fíriel saw all too well how much he had drained his strength, having known him since the day of his birth (for she was one of the very few survivors of Tol Sirion, Elrond's city of childhood that was bunt down by the maddened sons of Fëanor), and she went to him and touched his shoulder lightly and spoke:
''My Lord, 'tis time for you to retreat. You have done everything you could. Those who where not already beyond healing, have been saved. Go now and rest. You need to regain your strength, for it shall be asked for very much in the upcoming days.''
''What about you?'', Elrond examined the angular face of the woman, marred by very old scars and deep lines of sorrow. ''You should rest, too.''
''And I shall - in the morrow'', Fíriel replied. ''Tonight I wish to watch over those who might become feverish from their wounds. 'Tis something I cannot leave in the hand of my pupils, though for they are well-learnt and eager indeed, they have no experience with battle injuries. But after sunrise all will be relieved, and then I shall go and have some sleep. I promise.''
''Call me if someone should turn critical'', instructed Elrond, already on his way.
''I will'', said Fíriel with a wry grin.
She knew her own abilities well; and also she knew that she would never be able to achieve the same results by plain herbal lore that his Lord achieved due to the unusual gift he was given by birth.
Elrond nodded, glad that at least one of his people was old and wise enough to know what really needed to be done, and retreated to the Great House to find some rest ere the night came, for he still might be needed, should the state of one of the wounded become life-threatening.
In the antechamber he met Erestor, his foster son and the seneschal of his house. Not wearing his armour any more, the broken arm of the young Elf rested in a sling, but the pain that lignered in his clear, grey eyes seemed to come from deeper than his injury only.
Elrond, of course, knew the reason for his anguish.
''How is Lindir faring?'', the Lord of Imladris asked. Erestor sighed.
''There is no change, my Lord. He is sitting in his old chamber, glaring at the naked walls and speaks not. I fear that I shall lose him.''
Elrond shook his head in pained sympathy. It seemed so cruel that Erestor should lose his beloved spouse after twelve centuries of happy marriage, only because Lindir saved his life - by giving up a crucial part of himself in the process. A more crucial one, indeed, than any of them might have thought.
''Does he still obey you?'', he asked, remembering an other occasion, almost two and a half thousand years ago, when Lindir had fallen in a speechless and partially unresponding state of deep shock, only able to handle when given direct instructions.
Erestor nodded.
''He does what he is told to do - nothing more. 'Tis as if he had lost his will completely. How I wish that he were stubborn and light-headed and thoughtless as always!''
''Nay, he had lost more than just his will'', Elrond sighed. ''By killing another living being, even if it was an evil creature, he had lost his innocence. I fear he shall never be the same again.''
''I know'', answered Erestor, swallowing hot tears of despair. ''But I would be happy to just keep him, in what state ever. Yet I fear he has already given up himself... that he would flee his body and leave me. He... he is *fading*, atar!''
Elrond swallowed hard. Even in his childhood, Erestor very rarely called him 'father', and he never demanded it from the young Elf, wanting him to keep the memories of his true family that he had lost so early and in such a brutal manner. For Erestor to call him thus, it had to be a very deep shock, indeed.
''If he still obeys you, then mayhap 'tis not too late'', he said encouragingly. ''Bring him to the Hall of Fire tonight. I shall ask Glorfindel to continue his tale from the Dawn of Days; hopefully, it shall catch his interest. He always loved old tales, and Glorfindel is a very good storyteller.''
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Shortly before sunset, the family of Elrond gathered in the Hall of Fire again; this time not only the Lady Aquiel joined them but Erestor, too, with his obedient but strangely detached spouse. When all the others took their seats around the small table, Erestor sat down as well, but a little further away, choosing his usual listening place: a low wooden bench in the shadow of a huge pillar. Lindir curled into a fetal position on his side, resting his head on Erestor's lap, his face hidden in the folds of the seneschal's robe.
Finally Glorfindel arrived (with Erestor incapacitated through his injury and his spouse's state, a large amount of his work dropped into Glorfindel's lap), and almost literally collapsed on the seat that had been prepared for him.
Elladan reached him a cup of wine and the ancient Elf accepted with a thankful nod, emptying the cup with small, slow sips.
''The Lord of the Valley has asked me to set my tale forth tonight, since everyone is too exhausted to do any real work'', he then said; ''but are you not too weary to listen to old lays?''
''Nay'', Arwen answered for all of them, ''for it shall gladden our hearts to hear about the light of Aman after these days of darkness.''
For indeed, the ''warrior Princess of Imladris'' took her part in the defense of her home, wielding the sword with as much vigour and determination as her brothers have done. Just as her father, Awen Undómiel has pledged her heart to wisdom and lore, but she could be a fierce warrior if the need emerged.
Glorfindel shot a glance at Lindir's limp form and nodded.
''True; it might be the most proper tale for tonight to tell. Now, if my memory serves me well, I was telling you about the fate of Iarwain and my beloved sister, Tindómerel, whom he called the River-daughter, last time...''
He watched intently whether Lindir would react to the name of the two people he had spent his childhood with, and indeed, the young minstrel raised his head for a short moment, and in his sea-hued ees there flickered a tiny sparkle of light again.
''Now I shall tell you about the coming of Oromë and, if time allows, about the journey of the Eldar to the Undying Lands'', Glorfindel continued, ''For, as you all know, the Great Hunter often rode eastwards in his hunting, and on a time it chanced that he turned north by the shores of Helcar and passed under the shadows of Orocarni, the Mountains of the East...''
''What was he hunting for?'', the soft voice of Lindir, muffled by the clothes of Erestor where he had buried his face, asked. ''Do the Valar need food, too?''
It was a very childish question, for sure, and Lindir, who had spent centuries with studying ancient lore, tutored by Elrond and Glorfindel themselves, should have known better than ask it. Yet it seemed that he had retreated to a very early, child-like state of mind, seeking comfort in the reminder of his now-lost innocence, and, truth be told, everyone was glad that he at least spoke again.
''Nay, little one'', answered Glorfindel gently, ''they need no food, and you know that. Oromë was hunting for the dark creatures the Enemy had set in the world before the making of the stars. For though most of the Valar feared to confront Melkor openly, Oromë, and even more so Yavanna, were saddened over the fate of Middle-earth, and they often come to visit it, and Oromë haunted down Morgoth's demons and Palúrien sang in the forests to remaind them the light they had once known, ere Melkor overthrew the Lamps of Valinor.''
''What was he like?'', Lindir continued his inquiries in the same child-like manner, without raising his face from Erestor's lap.
Glorfindel looked at Elrond in askance, and the Master of Imladris nodded encouragingly. Whatever would anchor Lindir's interest to life, he should get every help they could offer. For Elrond doubted not that should Lindir give up his life, not being able to face what he had been forced to do in order to save his beloved, Erestor would follow him to Mandos' Halls without a second thought. Lindir *was* Erestor's life; the young seneschal had long gone beyond the ability to live without him.
Glorfindel thought for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice took on that soft, sing-song tone he had used many long centuries ago, when he told the same tales to Elrond's children, at a time when they were but tiny elflings, lying in their little beds and sucking on their small thumbs in adorable concentration.
''Like a huntsman of great strength Oromë was like, clad in green and brown garb, his thick brown hair braided on the nape of his neck, and he carried a great bow and a quiver, full of long arrows. For a mighty Lord among the Valar he is, and though less strong than Tulkas, more deadly in his anger. A great horn he on his shoulder carried, and its sound was like rolling thunder.
As a hunter of monsters and fell beasts, he delights in horses and in hounds, and his horns are loud in the friths and woods that Yavanna planted in Valinor; but he blows them not upon Middle-earth any more. Not since the fading of the Elves whom he loved...''(2)
''You are getting ahead of yourself, Master Glorfindel'', the Lady Aquiel remainded him gently. ''You not even told us how he had found the Elves... the *Quendi* in the first place!''
''I know'', Glorfindel laughed, ''and I would be coming to it in a moment, would you let me finsih this first.''
Aquiel blushed and bowed her head in silent regret, for even for a respected young lore-master as she was, it was considered unbecoming to interrupt the teachings of her own tutor.
''Forgive me...''
Glorfindel smiled and dismissed her apology with an elegant wave of his hand.
''Now, as I said, Oromë is very fond of horses'', he said; ''and the name of his own horse is Nahar, and this great steed is white in the sun and shining silver in the night; and as you know all well, the horses of Imladris descended from Nahar, and their kind has been protected and cheerished ever since the First Age - for their forefathers returned with the Exiles of the Noldor from the Blessed Realm.(3)''
The young Elves nodded in agreement. The ancestry of Imladris' magnificent horses was a well-know tale among them. Glorfindel (the major source of their knowledge) smiled again, and continued in the same sing-song voice:
''And the great horn of Oromë is called Valaróma, and its thundering sound can be heard in the woods that Yavanna brought forth in Valinor, for there Oromë would train his folk and his beasts for the pursuit of the evil creatures of Melkor...''
He was forced to interrupt his tale once again, for young Tindriel, one of Fíriels healer-pupils, entered silently the Hall of Fire and whispered something into Elrond's ear. The face of the Lord became clouded and he rose, saying in a low voice to Glorfindel:
''Continue without me for a while, old friend, I pray you. It seems that I am needed in the Infirmary after all.''
''Should I go with you, my Lord?'', the Lady Aquiel offered, but Elrond shook his head sadly.
''Nay, I think not that you could be any help, Lady Lalaith, but I thank you nevertheless. Do listen to Glorfindel with the others; it would not take me very long, I fear.'' Casting a glance at Lindir's still form, he added with a lowered voice: ''I leave you in charge here while I am gone. You are his closest kin, you might be needed.''
Aquiel nodded her understanding, giving her young cousin a compassionate look, then she turned back to Glorfindel.
''Now, let us hear about the coming of Oromë, Master Glorfindel!''
''Oh, the impatience of youth!'', the ancient Elf laughed, but in his eyes there was deep sorrow, for all loved young Lindir and were concerned about him.
Even Elladan forgot his own painful loss and came out of his self-woven cocoon of grief, which, at least was *one* useful result of the siege. A good fight had always set Elladan's mind straight, and he *was* a compassionate person - a lot more so than any average Elf.
''Now, were have I been before so rudely interrupted?'', asked Glorfindel playfully, noticing the slight, pained smile on Erestor's pale face with some relief. ''Ah yes. Oromë. Well, he was coming under the shadows of the Orocarni, as I said, for he was hunting once again; but this time he came alone, for Yavanna remained back in Palisor.
As he was riding alongside the mountains, on a sudden Nahar set up a great neighing, and stood still. And Oromë wondered and sat silent, and it seemed to him that in the quiet of the land under the stars he heard afar off many voices singing...''
''Was it then that he had found our forefathers?'', Erestor asked quietly.
He knew the tale already, of course, all of them knew, but he wanted to keep Lindir's fading interest awake.
''It was'', Glorfindel nodded, ''and I was told later in Valinor that looking upon the Quendi, Oromë was filled with love and wonder, for our coming was not in the Music of the Ainur but hidden in the secret thought of Ilúvatar. Beings sudden and marvellous and unforeseen we were in his eyes; for so it shall ever be with the Valar. From without the world, though all things may be forethought in music or foreshown in vision from afar, to those who enter verily into Eä each in its time shall be met at unawares as something new and unforetold.''(4)
''I understand this not!'', Elrohir voiced the bewilderment of all; ''do the Valar not know what the thoughts of Ilúvatar intended for Eä?''
''The Valar are the offspring of Ilúvatar's thoughts, and they were with Ilúvatar, before aught else was made'', Glorfindel answered, ''yet though they took part in the forming of Arda, they, too, had been called to life by Ilúvatar and are therefore part of the Creation and no gods. They are not above of making mistakes and straying from the purpose of Ilúvatar, albeit with good intent. The Wise say, indeed, that maybe if they had decided against summoning the Quendi to Valinor, the world had been a fairer place and the Eldar a happier folk.''(5)
''I believe not that such a difference would have kept Melkor from turning evil'', the Lady Aquiel commented with a shrug.
''Nor do I'', Glorfindel agreed, ''Yet many of the Noldor thought that had our people remained in Middle-earth and learnt and grown strong, the Enemy would have been restrained and many things that once had been beautiful, preserved.''
''Is this what *you* think, too?'', Aquiel asked.
''These are the thoughts I shared once'', Glorfindel said, ''or else I would not have followed te Exiles back here. But I have changed more since my first death than you can imagine. So, while I still believe that the Valar erred in summoning us to Aman, I also know that the fate of the world cannot, in the end, be contrary to Ilúvatar's design.''
''And yet 'tis said that the Quendi were at first unwilling to hearken to the summons'', Arwen said. ''Is this true?''
''It is'', Glorfindel nodded. ''For many of us were filled with dread at Oromë's coming, and this was the doing of Melkor. For by afterknowledge the Wise declare that Melkor, ever watchful, was first aware of the awakening of the Quendi, and for he hated and feared the ridings of Oromë, either he sent his dark servants as riders, or he set lying whispers abroad, for the purpose that we should shun Oromë, if we ever should meet him.''(6)
''The fact that many of you were captured and dragged to the back pits of Utumno might have given those whispers quite some weight'', Elladan remarked drily.
''It did'', Glorfindel admitted. ''Thus it was then, that when Nahar neighed and Oromë, indeed, came among us, many of our people hid themselves, and some fled and were lost. But those that had courage, and stayed, understood very swiftly that the Great Reader was no shape of darkness; for the light of Aman was in his face, and all the noblest of us were drawn towards it.''
''Did *you* stay?'', Lindir asked, his face still buried in Erestor's clothes.
Glorfindel shook his head with a sad smile.
''Nay, little one, I did not. Too deep the fear, caused by Iarwain's fate, run in my blood; and I remembered the grief of my beloved sister and the pain over her loss. So I listened not to the encouraging words of my friend, Imin(7), who was later called Inwë by our kin, and ran away in horror and hid behind a waterfall. But others had more courage in their hearts: Inwë, Finwë and Elwë above all the others, and they came forth and dared to speak to Oromë, and their voices were sweet in his ears, or so I was told later.''
''And he chose these three Kings and took them to Aman with him as the emissaries of all Eldar'', Lindir quoted the Ages-old teaching, sounding not only child-like but very sleepy now, too.
''Oh, no'', said Glorfundel with a quiet laughter, ''*that* happened much, much later. First, he rode swiftly back over land and sea to Valinor, filled with the thought of the beauty of Elves, and he brought the tidings of Valmar. But'', he added with a mischievous smile, ''this is an other tale for an other night.''
The younger Elves protested, reminding him his promise that he would tell them the tale of the journey of the Eldar, too, but Glorfindel stayed adamant.
''You have just come back from battle'', he said, ''and even those of you who have not, are in sore need of some rest. And so am I, to be honest. Now, I promise you to be here tomorrow evening and continue when we all have recovered a little. For what comes next is a long tale, indeed, and not known to many in Middle-earth, for it was told me by Fui Nienna(8) herself while I dwelt in the Halls of Mandos.''
Still murring slightly, the younger Elves accepted, and one by one they left the Hall of Fire, til only Elladan, Erestor and Lindir remained, the latter already fallen asleep on the lap of his spouse.
Elladan crossed the Hall and leaned against the pillar next to the troubled couple.
''He seems to recover'', he said in a low voice, meaning Lindir.
Erestor sighed.
''I cannot be sure of that. He is broken, Elladan, and I know not if there is aught on Eartrh that can heal him.''
''Not even your love?'', Elladan asked gently. Erestor gave him a rueful smile.
''I am the reason he is in this wretched state. He saved *me* by slaying that Orc. He had never even swatted a fly before, you know. I know not how he can recover from this. *If* he can recover at all.''
''Had you been slain in battle, that would have killed him even more swiftly'', Elladan pointed out the obvious. ''He could never live without you.''
''Nor could I without him'', Erestor murmured. ''How can you bear it, Elladan?''
''Bear what?''
''You are bound to a mortal. One day, you shall lose him - soon, as we count time. How will you go on without him?''
''I am only Half-Elven, you know'', Elladan said with a sorrowful smile; ''I have a choice, like all my kind. And I have Chosen.''
''That I have heard'', Erestor nodded, stroking the long, pale gold hair of his spouse gently, ''but you still have thrice his lifetime before you. *And* he has left you.''
''That is not true!''
''I know: you can feel his thoughts through the bond; yet he is not *here* now. He might never come back to you. How can you bear it?''
'''Tis hard'', Elladan admitted; ''but what other choice do I have?''
''True'', Erestor remained silent for a moment, caressing Lindir's silken tresses lovingly; then he looked up again, his eyes haunted. ''Do you believe that in the Blessed Realm there could be found healing for him? That I should depart with him over the Sea, just as the Lady Celebrían did, seeking out help there?''
Elladan gave no immediate answer.
''I cannot say'', he finally said; ''for that way now is closed for me, for ever. When *my* time comes, I shall leave the house of my soul and go wherever mortal Men go when they die.''
* * * * * * * * * * * *
END NOTE:
Well, this did not exactly turn out as I planned, but it is some headway nevertheless.
Below some footnotes for the lore-masters among us.
Happy nitpicking!
(1) You all know where they went, I presume. No? Well, then check out ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves''!
(2) Quoted loosely after ''The Lost Road'', p. 226, with small supplements inserted from ''The Silmarillion''.
(3) A ''fact'', made up completely by me. At least I've never seen anything in this matter, but if anyone else has, I'm always ready to process new information.
(4) Quoted loosely from ''The Silmarillion'', p. 46
(5) See: ''The Book of Lost Tales'', I.117
(6) See: ''The Silmarillion'', p. 46
(7) Here I deliberately contradict ''The War of the Jewels'', presuming that Inwë, indeed, was one of the very Firstborn. In my interpretation Elwë, Olwë and Elmö are considered brothers because they awakened together - it was the same process for the Firsborn as a birth of triplets. But remember, please, this is only my take on the facts, and when someone has the urge to hold all the different (and sometimes contradictional) theories in the HoME-books equally canonical, well, that is their good right. I do not.
(8) One of the Valier, Lady of pity and mourning; the sister of Mandos and Lórien. Numbered among the Aratar (the ''Exalted''), the eight Valar of greatest power.