Chapter Fifty-Five: Different Sorts of Teachers
Twilight descended like a deep blue veil of translucent satin over the world, pouring into cracks and gaps as it touched them. Concealed from the night's first stars and from prying eyes, four Valar met in a torchlit chamber for a secret discussion of an urgent matter.
In the red-orange firelight, Mandos seemed to shimmer crimson as he stood facing three companions. Aulë, Oromë and Lórien sat watching him, dread-laced expectancy obvious in their faces. None of them knew what tasks they would receive, but they all knew they would be vital to Elrond's survival. The little knowledge they had told them as much.
"Listen well, all of you," said the Doomsman sternly to his kinfolk. "I will not repeat this. Each one of you will be given a specific assignment to perform with Elrond, to ready him for what is still to come. For the most part, these tasks shall be relevant to your individual natures, and to your duties as Valar of Eru. But there will be some… great exceptions."
The other three Valar stared at one another in silent confusion, but a warning glance from Mandos caused them to snap back to attention like taut bowstrings that had been plucked. The dark-haired Vala addressed each one of his companions in sequence.
Aulë, he began, reverting to telepathic speech, your task is to tutor Elrond the First in the art of controlling fire. He must learn to master his Ring before its energy is claimed by another. You will begin tomorrow evening.
Aulë gave a single nod of agreement; this was certainly something he could do with great ease. Fire was an essential part of his area of exceptional expertise, working and shaping metals. It would be no bother to him at all; in fact it would be beneficial for both of them.
Satisfied, Mandos swiveled his gaze toward Oromë. You shall have the task of training Elrond the Second in fighting with his spear, Aiglos. He shall need every ounce of the aid he can obtain. You are to commence in two days' time.
Oromë consented wordlessly as well; he was extremely skilled with the spear, in addition to being a matchless archer. The Doomsman smiled gratefully at him before turning lastly to his own younger brother. Irmo – your task, when the need comes, shall be to…
But Lórien wasn't listening; he was turned toward the closed door, with an odd, mingled expression upon his face: something between subdued happiness and relief. He rose from his chair in one fluid motion and stepped toward the door, remarking evenly, "Duty calls, Námo. I have some dreams to deliver in person tonight."
"You will stay," Mandos replied curtly, his brows knitting in obvious disapproval. "Or do you not accept your task?"
"As I do not yet realize what my assignment is to be, I can neither readily agree to it, nor can I decline it," the Dream-lord told him matter-of-factly. "Do you really wish for me to keep my subjects waiting for very long? You must know they have come to expect me."
"They can wait for a moment," said the Doomsman, his hushed voice slowly sharpening like the blade of a knife. "I must inform you of what you are to undertake."
Lórien nodded slowly, and calmly seated himself again. "If you insist… go on."
Mandos nodded as well, and mentally revealed the Dream-lord's obligations to him.
Even before he heard the last words, Lórien's face went as pale as his brother's. He stared up at the Doomsman through scared, but unyielding eyes, and spoke a single soft word.
"No."
"No?" Mandos repeated softly, his slender eyebrows lifting dangerously. "You refuse?"
"No," said the younger Vala once again, with a shake of his silver head. His gaze slowly strengthened as he stared his brother down. "I can't do this, Námo. I will not… I refuse to accept it."
The Doomsman's eyes flickered a weird, frosty crimson hue, and he drew himself up to a fearsome height. His voice rumbled like thunder around the chamber, causing the torches to almost extinguish themselves, as if they too were frightened of him and wished to hide.
"You dare to defy it?" he hissed.
"I do," said Lórien, drawing himself up as well. The Dream-lord was a little shorter than Mandos most of the time, but in the might of his resistance he seemed even to tower over his brother. "I will not manufacture nightmares, and nor will I deliver them to anyone."
"That decision is not yours to make," said Mandos coolly. "You forget that these words, these judgments, are not of my devising. They come from the very mouth of Eru Himself. Ask forgiveness now, or face the wrath of your Creator in His condemnation."
Aulë and Oromë had been wordlessly watching the scene unfold, still seated side-by-side. Now, Aulë in particular shuddered visibly at the Doomsman's words. For he himself had once blatantly disobeyed Eru, and had created the race of Dwarfs even before the first of the Elves and Men had been made. The Smith knew exactly how it felt to face Eru's rage; he hoped the Lord of Dreams would fare better than he had.
Lórien's frame also trembled, as he squeezed his eyes quickly and tightly shut. When he opened them again, they were full to their brims with all-too-familiar, hot, stinging tears.
"Very well," he whispered, his voice hoarse with pent-up emotion. "I will do as you say."
Mandos nodded without a word, but he was sure his brother wasn't speaking only to him.
----
Elrond I perched rather uneasily on the edge of his bed, waiting for Aulë to enter for their first fire-control training session. He stared constantly down at the ring on his right hand, wondering silently how in all of Arda he was going to master it.
With time and practice, the Smith answered him telepathically, smiling reassuringly at him as he swirled effortlessly into sight. His hair glimmered like burnished bronze in the sunlight that flooded in through the bedroom window, and his eyes sparkled pleasantly as Elrond I stood up and bowed to him.
"We are here tonight as equals, Elrond," Aulë laughed aloud, gently chiding him.
"There is still a distinct boundary between us, sire, being as we are, instructor and pupil," Elrond I replied matter-of-factly, but in good nature.
The Vala clapped him amiably on the shoulder with a gloved hand and turned to the elf's desk, conjuring a chair for himself next to the one that was already there. He gave Elrond a nod as an indicator to sit, as he did so himself and snapped his fingers.
Immediately a scroll of parchment, a deep stone basin and a pitcher of water materialized on the desk before them. Aulë tore the parchment into numerous long strips, and handed one to his companion and setting the rest of them aside for the moment.
He looked over at Elrond, who was frowning at the parchment in obvious confusion, and told him, "I will begin with tutoring you in calling up and channeling intense heat, in the hopes of setting this parchment on fire. Although, as this is your first attempt, I would be more than satisfied if you succeeded only in slightly raising your own body temperature."
Elrond I nodded, staring at the parchment in his hand as though he wished to set it ablaze with his eyes alone. Aulë chuckled again when he saw this.
"Determination is always a key factor, but too much can be dangerous. Fire is an unruly thing; it will come to you, but it will not want to be controlled. You must show it that you have domination. You must be firm and demanding, sometimes cruel. When you want the fire to perform as you wish, you do not say 'please'; you stand before it and shout until it obeys. You must make it submissive. You must make it respect you.
"Now, I want you first to relax, and concentrate on summoning heat through Narya. This will entail a gentle appeal, but use caution – the response will be extremely zealous. Bring the heat up into yourself from beneath the surface of the earth, from far below your feet, where liquid stone and metal boil eternally…"
The elf complied without a word, shutting his eyes and letting his body loosen as Narya's ruby flared into crimson light. The sensation was like that of his godson summoning ice, he mused, but in the opposite direction… He asked quite politely for the fire to rise, and it jumped up in exhilaration, infusing his being, bubbling and seething…
Sweat prickled his skin and dripped down, soaking him thoroughly. He had the heat, and it was enough; now he had to cut off the flow and control what he held. But the flames in him were unruly; as Aulë had warned him, they certainly didn't want to be halted, nor did they appreciate being channeled. They kept mounting, surging out of control…
Elrond's mind was blurred by screaming, red-hot mist. He tried to face the blaze, to make his voice heard above the roar of the inferno, but the raucous flames just leapt out at him, taunting him, forcing him to back down, or else feel the perilous passion of their fanatical glee…
"Farn!" (Enough!) Aulë cried out, lapsing momentarily into the Elvish tongue; his strong voice was akin to the tolling of a brazen bell. "Tanya farnuva!" (That will suffice!)
As though they were responding to the Vala's rebuke, the flames died down; the majority of the heat reluctantly shrank away from the elf, but quite a considerable amount was left behind. Elrond I swayed unsteadily back and forth in his seat, but Aulë caught him below the arm, helped him to stand and led him gently to his bed.
"There now, that was very good for a first endeavor," the Smith complimented the elf as he lay down. "We shall try this again in three days; that will grant you plenty of time to recover, and we will make an attempt to strengthen your conviction next time. But for the moment—" here he removed one glove and felt the elf's rather clammy forehead with his bare hand "—I should summon Estë. You have quite a fever."
"Thank you very much, my lord," Elrond I smiled weakly.
----
Oromë paced calmly in a silent ring around Elrond II, examining him from every angle as they prepared for their first session. Both elf and Huntsman had their hair tied back, and were clothed in loose-fitting robes; Oromë wore deep scarlet garments, while Elrond had sky-blue ones.
They stood in a large room that had been specially set up for this purpose: the floor was covered by mats, just in case a fall needed to be broken. They both held long, blunt-ended staffs in lieu of actual spears. These would be sufficient to prevent any major injuries, but even so, Estë had wisely agreed to stand by on the sidelines.
The Huntsman stopped his pacing before Elrond, and at last spoke to him. His first words came in the form of a question: "Have you had any previous experience in spar- or spear-fighting, Elrond?"
"I… did watch Gil-galad practice fighting with Aiglos once," Elrond II replied with quite a bit of difficulty, "when he was alive."
The Vala nodded, recognizing the elf's pain. "I see."
Elrond II gave a deep sniff, quickly recovering himself. "It's quite all right, sir."
"Very well," said Oromë calmly, though not without compassion. Then his voice adopted a business-like tone. "Now, listen carefully. I will not lecture you much, as I have found the best professors to be Action and Experience. These two have taught a great number of important lessons in their careers."
Elrond II nodded, understanding, and the Huntsman assumed a fighting stance. He spoke only two more words: "Attack me."
The half-elf nodded slowly, gripping the wooden staff firmly in his right hand as his eyes narrowed in determination. He circled Oromë carefully, then all at once gave a shout and lunged toward him, holding his staff as if it was a spear that he wished to thrust through the Vala's heart.
Oromë rapidly raised his spar; he deftly deflected the strike and sent Elrond II staggering sideways. Quickly regaining his balance, the half-elf leapt forth again, only to be knocked aside a second time. On the third attempt, he feinted – he gave the appearance of an intent to strike at the Huntsman's left shoulder, but at the last possible moment, just as the Vala lifted his arm to block him, the elf turned his aim to Oromë's now-unprotected chest.
The ploy was somewhat successful; the force of the attack sent Elrond II barreling into his opponent, and knocked them both to the floor. But Oromë's reflexes then kicked in, and with an almighty heave he flung the elf off himself and into the air. Elrond landed flat on his back a few yards behind the Vala, completely winded, and Estë rushed to assist him.
The Huntsman stood over his wheezing comrade, reaching down to help him upright. His eyes were not uncaring as he asked, "Why did I best you?"
Elrond II coughed for breath as he stood and answered, "Because I didn't really believe I could win?"
Oromë nodded. "You are correct. That is Lesson One. Never assume anything – you must know. Certainty is everything. Every blow you make must be part of your plan. One slip-up could prove to be your downfall."
He handed the half-elf back his staff, moving into the fighting position once more. "Now, attack me again."
----
The weeks trod unswervingly by, and Elrond's sessions with the Smith and the Huntsman proved more and more profitable. A particular schedule had been established; one day the half-elf would train with Aulë, the next day he would fight Oromë, and the third day gave him a chance to rest.
The elf gradually moved beyond fevers and bruises, to a point where he could make strips of parchment smoke, and endure increasingly longer rounds of fighting with Oromë. But he still didn't know what Lórien's task was going to be.
It was a few months afterward when Elrond II approached his godfather, looking acutely unsettled; he clutched a tightly-rolled scroll of parchment in his fist, and his eyes gleamed with a weird light.
"Is… everything all right?" the elder half-elf asked his godson. "Should I be nervous?"
"I'm not sure myself," Elrond II replied. "According to this—" he held out the scroll "—Galadriel, Celeborn and Celebrían are coming here soon."
"And?" Elrond I raised an eyebrow, a slight smile curling the edges of his mouth.
"Well…" Elrond II wrung his hands, his face flushing. His godfather entirely understood.
"You're in love with Celebrían, aren't you?"
The younger elf nodded without a word, his already bright blush deepening even further. Elrond I clapped him on the shoulder, beaming elatedly. "Brilliant! This is wonderful!"
Elrond II couldn't help but grin as well, although he just as soon grew edgy. "There's just one thing…"
"Yes?"
"How do I court her?"