11. Days of Future Past

For quite a while, my life was all but limited to the triangle between my place in Elrond's homestead, the communal facilities in the estate, and the area where my public service was happening. I literally had no avenues for... aught else, trying to carve out as much time for studies as I could – and still ending up with not enough of it, by far. If I had been thinking that life in Valinor would be boring and much too uneventful for someone used to the hectic existence of Men – the speed dictated, of course, by their too short of a lifespan – I would be proven wrong. However, I still found solace in the notion of having enough time ahead of me once the initial rush of acclimating, settling down and serving my probation would be over. That was something the Edain could not count on, I thought regretfully, as I had witnessed their sense of finality pushing them both to untold feats of knowledge-seeking... and to the deepest depravities.

Speaking of seeking knowledge... At the outset, I was still unsure about what kind of pastime did the Elvendom, as a whole, and the Vanyar especially, have in Aman. If they had been really studying the universe, what was the use for their insight if they were not putting it to good practical use, and the Blessed Land was still looking mediaeval? However, when studying the inner workings of the realm, I could not help being fascinated still – and retracting my earlier statements. The cloak of mediaevality was cleverly disguising the sprouts of modernity that appeared – once they were to be distinguished – all in the places where it mattered. Yes, the world was still using swords and arrows, not knowing gunpowder, let alone the more powerful explosives – but what, pray tell me, would have been the use for such tools of destruction in the place frightened into eternal peace by the events my kin (and my own sorry self) had had a direct hand in? Of course, explosives could have had industrial application in themselves – but here, with the power of the word and the mind still very much reality rather than fiction, masses of soil could be moved with a song, not directed blasts, and trees similarly shifted without the need to cut them down. Even swords and arrows were more a sign of position, not the actual tools to be used daily, and these weapons being drawn against me during the standoff outside Tol Eressëa was, by far and away, an exception rather than the norm.

Yes, Aman had the communal facilities, the waste processing, the printing press, the... rather advanced methods of metal moulding and construction, if not Earth's gadgetry and mass culture. Very loosely and crudely, it could be compared to Europe of the early 19th century - but only parallel to it with some areas clearly ahead of that timeframe and some ostensibly falling way behind. Besides, I could not have missed the local variant of modernity being so, so much more graceful and natural than what I had witnessed back on Earth, where the progress was being born in anguish, breaking through the crust of religion-induced obscurantism, the hells of wars and violence, the horror of ubiquitous disease and famine... and the errors and blunders that led to whole swaths of land and water becoming tainted by grisly chemicals. Even the early modern cities were not a nice place to be – reeking of smoke, offal, sewage, horse dung and a thousand other unsavoury things, ridden with pollution and corruption, regularly ravaged by fires and sieges, while outside them what thin veil of prosperity was barely masquerading the squalor would peel away, leaving behind naked misery and destitution.

Back then, I had only one measuring stick by which to judge the state of the world – the wonders of Aman that I'd left behind, and even against that example, faraway and long forsaken, what I had witnessed on Earth was clearly appalling. By the time of my return, I was able to appreciate the gifts of humanity's progress in full, but – apart from those serving the creative endeavours, including my own – they still ran against the grain deep inside, so coming back to my birth land has healed the invisible wound that had been festering somewhere within me... even if I was not consciously aware of it most of the time.

Given a chance again, would I have exchanged this natural, blessed evolution – after all, the Elvendom did not have to fight against nature, or each other... mostly, anyway – for the struggles and the chaos of the world I'd left behind? I was wondering at first, but I was able to resolutely say "no" to that question after spending just the first few months again amongst the Elvendom. Which was far from universally friendly and forthcoming, of course – but at least, as a whole, not intent on enacting the rule of the strong against me as I had felt, more often than not, in my interactions with the Edain, leaving me ever wary of them and their judgement.

And where the extant technology had proven deficient, the subtle power of the Ainur – and their chosen ones, the Elves – more than made up for the slack, and the interbreeding of the two forces appeared completely effortless and inartificial... to the natives, of course. I, on the other hand, having been shaped by my millennia of experience back on Earth, could not help being perplexed at first. Then, the possibilities became intriguing as I weighed the benefits my creativity could enjoy when being suffused – and, should I say, re-imbued – with the spiritual power that had long since faded into the subconscious for me. With all of my instruments still functioning the way they were intended – despite being transported to a very different realm – I intended to put them to good use.

And to that end, I needed a band. Those who I could entrust with my vision of the music that began to be born the moment I set sail from Tenerife – how far in time, not just in space, the quaint old island now seemed! – and never really stopped creating itself, being triggered into being by the most subtle changes in my daily life. On one hand, the fact that we elves are, false modesty aside, one rung of the universal ladder closer to Eru Ilúvatar, the supreme composer and divine conductor, the source and end of all melody, was beneficial, as the transcendental music that runs in us all has a far easier time expressing itself in an Eldar than in an average human. Conversely, with so many of us blessed – and so strongly – with the creative spirit, it would make the duty of choosing the fellows whose vision would be at least somewhat in tune with my own... rather more difficult and time-consuming. The fact that I was operating the Earth-modern electric instruments rather than the traditional harp, lute or violin (or, to be precise, the Elvish equivalents thereof) was generating enough of a gap – I couldn't help being reminded of the reaction to the idea of combining hard rock and classical music that Deep Purple first attempted fully half a century ago. Reaching out to my kin and making them warm to the idea of me playing electric guitar – that would probably seem like an outlandish, barbaric instrument – not only to them, but with them, would probably be a separate and difficult undertaking, I thought.

Still I remembered with great amusement how Elrond's household reacted to my first... not a concert, per se, since I only had the voice and the electric guitar as opposed to even a bare minimum of a band, but a demonstration of a piece intended for the instrument – mind you, a very benign sounding composition, not a black metal song... actually a draft of the same tune that came to my mind during the journey on the Straight Road. The sound left most of the listeners bewildered, although no one had the inclination (or the temerity) to disparage either my playing or the composition. The applause at the end was visibly wary and tentative, although I've seen some of the more musically inclined members of the audience nod knowingly at having apparently discerned the underlying melodic foundation that really was the same, no matter the tool used for its embodiment.

Still, I found a fast follower in Lindir, the minstrel from Rivendell, who was still staying close to Elrond's household even after moving to the West, and working as a chronicler and songcrafter in the Peredhil's new domain. As a singer and harpist in his own right, he seemed to quickly recognize both the possibilities brought by the guitar (electric or otherwise), and the methods of composition made available by using it. He also seemed to have harbored little to no animosity directed against me, despite being of Sindar origin, and before long, I found that we were first talking at length about music theory and history (though, in all fairness, it was mostly me describing the history of Middle-Earth's sonic arts), and then sharing stories unrelated to the subject. It was him who first told me of the interest the Elves who have been remaining in Aman – or returned from the Outer Lands at one point or another – had in my humble person, which I found perplexing at first.

"They've been running all kinds of discussions and research into your fate, but with all of the Quendi having been transported to Aman – or fading without – there was no credible way of learning that", he said. "Now I understand the Valar knew all along, but why they decided to bring you back at this time, I do not know. And probably no one else does".

Then he proceeded to describe all the notable theories concerning my ultimate lot – which made for endless entertainment. While some were pretty plausible (and, daresay, run of the mill) – like the ideas that I had either faded out, or gotten myself killed and would be forever kept in the halls of Mandos – others ranged from just improbable to hilariously misguided. The one that got me laughing the loudest – and Lindir was also visibly amused by the idea – was the version that I was actually hiding in Rivendell under the name of... Lindir, one and the same. He chuckled again at recollecting the effort he's had to go through to prove that he was actually himself, and his task was not in the least helped by his own provenance as a descendant of Doriathrim refugees that had few surviving acquaintances and almost no relatives in Middle-Earth after the First Age. That a scion of a family from the Fenced Realm – whose sacking and ultimate destruction, and the murder of the royal family as well as countless other denizens, was committed by my brothers' hands, and mine – would end up conversing with me in such a friendly manner, was really what convinced me that perhaps forgiveness ran in the Eldar to a much greater extent than I had previously believed.

Maybe this status of a "cult character", so to say – and the passage of time – has really helped to pare down the animosity I must have inevitably attracted once as the sole extant Fëanorion, I mused. But after that, my mind grasped onto that notion, and I could not help thinking of the man I had to find as soon as possible.

Telperinquar, my nephew and actually the other remaining member of our ill-fortuned house.

Note: the chapter name is from a song by Iron Maiden (from Senjutsu album, 2021)