I Dhaerlend Dadui - The Second Great Journey

by Aearwen22

Not all who eventually sailed West were content with what they found there. Facing an eternity before them, plans are drawn up to take their destinies into their own hands.

4. Chapter 3 - Consultations

Consultations

"You know that there are areas of Aman with Elven settlements other than just the major cities, yes?" Finwë gestured with the wine carafe and a raised eyebrow.

"Of course I do," Gildor answered evenly, giving a slight nod as he watched the King pour a liberal goblet and then return the carafe to the keeping of one of the house elves. He was pleased that Finwë had agreed to see him so quickly, and appreciative of the relative privacy offered by this small garden in the heart of the palace in Tirion. "My people and I have visited many times with the Vanyar upon the plains of Yavanna, or with the few Noldor who dwell near the Halls of Aulë. However, both of these are peoples and lands that have openly shunned company with the returned exiles or the Teleri, content with their own council and that of the Valar. What the sons of Elrond and the other Newly Arrived intend, at least at first, is to penetrate and explore areas left untouched since the days of Melkor and Ungoliante: Avasar, Araman."

Finwë waved away the servant and then frowned at Gildor with a look of anguish. "You have spoken of the discontent of the warriors who fought until the bitter end. But I ask now, do these latter day warriors not value peace above warfare? Do they still lust for blood? Is that why they would undertake such a difficult and dangerous task?"

"Nay, do not misunderstand them. It is not the conflict that the warriors crave, but the feeling of being useful to others, of serving a greater good." Gildor struggled with the words to explain properly. "In Eldamar, there is no need for guards, for there are none to be protected against."

"And they all share the thought that they no longer are useful to others when bettering other skills than fighting?"

Gildor nodded. "To a man." He sipped at his wine. "And I must admit that I also feel some of their discontent."

"You?" Finwë leaned closer in surprise. "Why?"

Gildor's grey eyes gazed kindly at the King - an Elf who had remained in Valinor - who had nonetheless spent his due time in Mandos' Halls before being re-housed. "I see what, perhaps, you cannot," he said after considering carefully how to proceed without causing offense, "that our people have become over-cautious, constrained. Where is the fire of curiosity or innovation that drove one like Feanáro to create the Silmarilli?"

"Long extinguished, thank you!" Finwë exclaimed, throwing up his hands and shaking his head. "We need no more Feanáros to commit abominable acts out of grief or greed or vengeance. Have we not suffered enough as a people from the evils of unchecked curiosity and innovation? Have those who were exiled in Endor not suffered from the inability to return for long Ages?"

Gildor blinked in surprise at the vehemence in Finwë's voice and had to school himself not to shake his head in disbelief. Finwë, for all his faults, was not necessarily lacking in courage; what kind of experiences - and when - would have led him to repudiate his own son in such an absolute manner after doing anything but long ago? He was certain he would never know the answer, however; as a far-distant relation to the King, it was not and never would be his place to inquire.

"And yet, much that was good in Ennor arose from the ills that came before. Morgoth himself was finally overthrown with the help of the Valar and Sauron was defeated without them lifting a finger except to send five Maiar to offer advice alone. These things would never have come about had Feanáro not drawn his people back across the Sea," Gildor reminded the King gently. "I do not excuse or defend the kinslayings along the way, but I cannot simply dismiss the good that arose from all that evil."

The King shook his head firmly once more. "If there is anything that those who remained behind here find old and stale in these latter days, it is this particular debate."

"With all due respect, when you shut down all discussion on this topic in this manner, you and all of those who left Ennor behind at the first crossing ignore matters of great import to a great many Elves - namely, those who recently returned or who obeyed the call after being born there Ages later," Gildor countered mildly. "To them, this debate is anything but old or settled. To dismiss it so casually and finally is to dismiss their concerns; and on the receiving end, I tell you, it is a bitter medicine indeed."

Finwë frowned. "But is this not what they crossed the Sea to find - a land free of conflict or even memory of conflict, where knowledge itself has become a lifelong personal quest, and where the life of the Eldar stretches forth to the Breaking of the World in an unending and smooth ribbon?"

Gildor sighed. "I am certain that if the Newly Arrived viewed things in precisely that fashion, they would indeed be content. And I am also certain that if you and those who left Endor behind long ago could see the situation through the eyes and minds of the Newly Arrived, you too would be discontent. Be that as it may; the fact is that while I would prefer to have your blessings on the endeavor the sons of Elrond are proposing, my main duty was to inform you of what is intended. All that remains is to inquire whether there are laws in place forbidding the Eldar from entering Avasar or Araman. Are there?"

"No, but…"

"Then those who wish to participate in this exploratory venture are free to do so without fear of reprisal?"

"Yes," Finwë stated reluctantly, his eyebrows furrowed, "however we would rather they did not."

Gildor nodded, his habitual calm undisturbed. "I understand this. I will faithfully communicate your displeasure. May I ask for a reason why you would rather they refrained, so that I might help them understand you better?" It would help if I came away from this able to engender understanding in at least one person - myself!

"Because there is enough, here, in already settled lands, to keep any Elven mind active and content for hundreds of Long-years. One craft or skill leads to another, providing an endless path of learning and experience and eventually teaching, ultimately rendering all here of equal footing in due time. Our people are not so numerous that the cities and settlements that already exist cannot absorb any transfers of domicile, or children born in a land where all is at peace and safety is fully assured," Finwë stated firmly. "Such should satisfy all Eldar until the Breaking of the World. To desire more is unseemly - presumptuous." He set aside his wine and rose regally. "Please present our misgivings and reasons, and convince your friends to reconsider their actions."

Gildor knew a dismissal when he heard it. He quickly drained his wine and rose as well. "I will do my best," he promised, and bowed deeply. "I am grateful for the time you have given me today."

"I look forward to seeing you the next time your people come this way." Finwë returned the bow shallowly and beckoned for a servant. "Travel in safety and comfort, my friend. Mistor will see you out."

Gildor turned and followed the liveried servant back into the palace and through elegantly accoutered hallways to the massive front doors. "My thanks for your assistance," he told the young Elf as the doors opened slowly on silent hinges. Mistor bowed in response, and then gestured to the guards to close the doors again against the departing guest as he re-entered the building.

"Well?" Darion demanded of his lord, even as he handed over the reins of the spirited chestnut mare.

Gildor's golden head shook slowly. "It was as I feared; he would not listen - or he could not hear. Either way, this King is not happy with the idea and wants us to reconsider our actions."

"Thranduil will not be pleased. He is like a war stallion smelling battle; he chafes at every possible obstacle." Darion's own opinion was obvious in the sour look on his face.

"Thranduil has never been pleased when forced to deal with the Noldor; I doubt relocating across the Sea would change thousands of years of precedent," Gildor snorted as he leapt into the saddle. "No doubt, he is far more concerned about how his own father - or King Thingol - will react. But I have it from the King himself that no law exists that would bar any from joining the proposed expedition. That, in itself, is reassuring. Our plans may continue, although I personally would have preferred to travel with King Finwë's blessing."

Darion sprang onto the back of his own gelding. "So our path leads us back to the camp, then?"

"No. Best that we report to the sons of Elrond first and then Thranduil." Gildor gently used his knees to direct his mount across the great square, past the towering Mindon Eldaliéva. "We should hope that Glorfindel is having better luck with his assignment."

oOoOo

Glorfindel suppressed a shudder as he passed through gates intricately carved with the sigil of the one he had come to see surrounded by stylized vines. He quietly berated himself for feeling intimidated; he'd already borne and survived the entire gamut of experience Námo had presented him between when he'd lost his first rhaw to the Balrog and when he'd been released to make his way to Imladris. He had even survived standing before the thrones at the Máhanaxar and reviewing all of his actions in his previous life beneath the knowing, discerning gazes of all twelve Belain at once. This was only to be an interview, a short encounter with the Elder King alone; and he was there as a petitioner, not as one being judged.

Still, the peace that pervaded the Hall and its environs inspired considerable awe. The garden inside the gate held every imaginable flower, both those native to Valinor as well as a few found otherwise only in Ennor. Oddly, the sight of those foreign blossoms gave Glorfindel's faer a boost. Perhaps Manwë would not be quite so difficult to talk to after all, if he actually found pleasure in blooms from a place now virtually abandoned to the Second-born. Or perhaps it was Elbereth herself who tended these little bits of a land lost to the Eldar; either way, seeing the dandelions, periwinkles and thistles amidst the nephredil, alfírin and delicate Elven lilies had been a comfort unsought.

The servants within the hall were Vanyar, and hearing the language and idiom of his home also lifted Glorfindel's heart. Patiently he followed the Elf assigned as his guide up a wide set of white marble stairs that gleamed as if stars themselves were imbedded in the stone, down a hallway lined on the right with tall windows that opened out onto the vista of Valinor spread far below the mountain, and finally to a tall door of very plainly carved dark wood. "You will be summoned," the nameless Elf told him in a soft voice, his Quenya lilting and musical, then bowed and walked back in the direction they had come.

Almost immediately after the Elf vanished down the stairs, the huge doors opened on silent hinges. "Come forward, Laurefindil of Ondolinde," stated a deep and echoing voice. Glorfindel shivered and obeyed.

The warmth from the fire on the huge hearth cut through the briskness of the rarified air at the top of the Holy Mountain, something Glorfindel had not expected. This was no throne room to which he had been led; the comfortable appointments of the chamber lent a feeling of intimacy and privacy to the grandeur. Cushioned chairs were arranged before the fire, and a sideboard holding a crystal wine carafe and goblets amidst a bounty of fresh, ripe fruits stood to one side.

Glorfindel's eyes were drawn as if by magnets to the tall, formidable frame of the High King of the Belain himself in the guise of the Eldar as the latter turned from leaning an elbow on the mantle over the roaring blaze, a crystal goblet of liquid ruby held to his breast. Clad in a blindingly white brocade, Manwë Súlimo revealed himself as so much more than a mere ellon with midnight hair cascading to below his waist; his crystal clear eyes caught and held Glorfindel's gaze with hints of power and authority that were breath-taking and daunting. He gestured slowly toward the sideboard. "Might I offer thee some refreshment?"

"My Lord," Glorfindel bowed gratefully. "I would be honored."

Manwë strode to the sideboard, put his own goblet down and reached for the fresh one. "I find myself intrigued to be petitioned by one of thy standing among thy people. And I must wonder what thou wouldst wish from me?"

Glorfindel accepted the proffered goblet and raised it to his forehead in a very formal salute before sipping. His eyes slid closed at the taste of wine and spices that warmed him from the very soles of his feet to the tips of his ears. "My Lord, I come to you representing many who were among the last to obey the call Westward, and am charged with bringing their petition before you."

"Be seated and comfortable." The Elder King followed his own direction and took a seat in one of two upholstered chairs close enough to the fire to enjoy the warmth but far enough away not to be in danger of singeing clothing. When Glorfindel had balanced himself on the very edge of the cushion, Manwë leaned forward. "Tell me specifically, in whose name dost thou come?"

Glorfindel took another sip of his wine for courage. "Elrond Peredhel and his sons Elladan and Elrohir, Celeborn of Lothlorien and his chief warden Haldir, Thranduil Oropherion and his son Legolas, Erestor of Sirion, Gildor Inglorion, Círdan of Tol Eressëa and me," he listed carefully.

"That is indeed the highest among those who remained long in Endor," Manwë commented appreciatively, his eyes widening slightly. "And art thou all of one mind with thy petition?"

"We are, my Lord."

"Then I will hear what thou hast to say. Speak." The Elder King settled back in the chair and sipped at his wine.

Glorfindel swallowed hard. "We… I… We all…" He swallowed again and determined to push through his feelings of inadequacy. "We find ourselves less than content with the lives we now lead in Eldamar…" He stifled a flinch at the unintended bluntness.

"Thinkest thou that I have not heard the mumbles of discontent?" Manwë asked with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. "The sons of Elrond have been most strident in their complaints, I note."

"I… We… I was not certain you knew…" Glorfindel began, broadsided by the idea that the Belain had indeed been paying attention - at least to some degree - to the affairs of the Eldar of late. This is either a very good thing or a very bad thing…

The Elder King sipped at his wine. "We have learned through painful and tragic experience not to interfere overmuch with the lives of the Children anymore; but that does not mean that we do not watch their comings and goings, or that we approve of all that is done by them." Those crystal eyes bored straight through Glorfindel's faer. "To know that so many of the highborn who remained in Ennor until the very last feel the Blessed Lands to be less than blessed is of grave concern to us all, and has been since the first grumbles of discontent began to rise. But if thou art here, then a solution to this must have occurred to thy company. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"And is this the substance of thy petition?"

"It is."

"Present thy petition then. What is it that thou and thy comrades wouldst ask?"

Glorfindel gazed at the Elder King with awe and no small amount of fear. He had rehearsed this presentation almost to the point of distraction, and still he couldn't help but worry that his words would be unwise or poorly chosen. Still, the time had come, and bluntness had not been a detriment before… "We would make new lives for ourselves outside of what is now considered Eldamar, where we could be free of much that weigheth heavily upon us. To be specific, we would explore and possibly settle lands that have, as yet, been untouched, such as Avathar."

"Avathar." The Elder King's eyes narrowed as he took yet another sip of his wine. "Much evil walked that land in elder days; and none knoweth how much of that evil remaineth behind. The Two Trees never cast their light there. Avathar was home to one of the most insidious of the traitors! What wouldst thou seek there?" Manwë's voice had not risen, but the intensity had increased such that Glorfindel flinched.

"As I said, my Lord, we seek a place to create our own Elven settlements and societies. We petition to be allowed this exploration without fear of reprisal." There. He had said it all now. Either the Elder King would approve and send him back to his friends with permission, or he would be dispatched carrying back another Doom of Mandos.

Manwë nodded gravely. "Thou speakest bravely, Laurefindil of Ondolinde and Imladris."

"With all due respect, Sire, my people have faced evil before and prevailed." Glorfindel knew the time for persuasion was upon him; what he said now would either make or break the petition's future. "The one who would be lord of that land fought an ongoing battle with the spawn of Ungoliant for almost an Age while fighting the Long Defeat, and did so without any of Celebrimbor's aids. He prepareth, and not unwillingly, to do so again."

"Thou speakest of Thranduil, who was once King of Eryn Galen, later known as Eryn Lasgalen?"

"I do. He and his son welcome the challenges that Avathar presenteth."

"Dost thou intend to bring this land into Eldamar eventually?" Manwë asked, his voice again a troubling neutral tone, "and under the jurisdiction of a High King?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "I cannot speak to the future as yet, but I can assure you that we have no intentions of cutting all ties with Eldamar, Sire. We intend to create new societies, with purposes and goals more in keeping with what we have known for so long in Ennor, but without the presence of the mortal races there or the attitudes we would flee here."

The Elder King rose and stalked over the mantle and leaned on it, studying the flames for a long and painfully silent moment. "We have chosen to pay no mind to the lands outside the protective girdle of the Pelóri since long before the first sailing of Arien, save that of the northern coastal area in and around Alqualondë. Of Avathar and the southern coastlands, we know nothing except that Ungoliante dwelled long in the mountains, and that Melkor no doubt had more than sufficient time to twist to his amusement any other creatures that might have found shelter there at the time. We know not the specifics of the dangers that may linger there of their foul influence, nor do we wish to know of them. Know then, therefore, that if thy people chooseth this course, then they must do so with the understanding that no aid from us would be forthcoming, no matter how desperate the plea." He turned his gaze on Glorfindel once more. "As thou showest due respect in at least offering a petition rather than presenting a deed already accomplished, or speaking wildly of revenge or justice in an effort to coerce or force, we shall not prevent thee from thy intents nor punish any who wisheth to participate with thee."

Glorfindel nodded slowly, a knot of worry loosening in his mind. An agreement to neither help nor hinder was certainly better terms than those offered Fëanor! "While I do not see any of my comrades lessening their reverence for the Valar for the loss of your oversight and protection, I would accept your terms on their behalf. You are being more than fair. After all, we did not petition for help, only permission."

"Wilt thou also explore Araman, and other dark lands?" came the inquiry.

"We know not. Much dependeth on the success of our venture into Avathar, I imagine."

Slowly Manwë began to nod. "Then I accept thy petition and grant thy request. Return, then, to thy comrades. Thy venture shalt not engender reprisal, as neither I nor my colleagues will hinder or assist thee in thy struggles in the abandoned lands. While I cannot give thee blessings on thy endeavor, know that my wish is that thy company findeth whatever it is that thou seekest, so that thou canst find the blessing that thou findest lacking otherwise." He lifted his goblet and drank, then turned back to the fire. "That will be all. A safe and successful journey to you all."

"My gratitude and that of my comrades for allowing me this interview, Sire," Glorfindel said quickly, returning his half-full goblet to the sideboard and then bowing deeply. He backed his way to the huge doorway, which opened without any apparent agency, and then turned and left the room. He managed to maintain his façade of calm and confidence until once more outside the carved gates, where the latest scion of the line of Asfaloth waited for him and stood patiently still when Glorfindel suddenly felt the need to lean heavily and cling to the saddle for support.

oOoOo

Thranduil sighed. The absolute last place he really wanted to be was inside the King Thingol's Hall, waiting on yet another interminable council meeting. Legolas had left Eryn Dínen two days before, planning to spend some time in Alqualondë sparring with old friends from Ithilien and Eryn Lasgalen who had settled there, ostensibly to sound out the mood of the warriors who had been comrades in arms. What he wouldn't give to be out in the sun and the fresh air with his son, sparring, rather than cooped up and forced to listen to yet more trade agreement negotiations.

"Ah, my son! You are returned, then?"

Thranduil turned to see his father making his typical larger-than-life entrance into the foyer where the various parties were all waiting for the arrival of the King. "I got back a sennight ago," he replied, his voice uneven from the enthusiastic pounding on his back.

Oropher's silver head shook in good humor. "And of course you locked yourself away with your pretty bride for all that time rather than let your mother and me know you were back. One would think you and that wild Avar of yours were still newly-bonded." Silver eyebrows worked up and down knowingly over twinkling blue. "Do not tell me you intend to give that somber son of yours a brother or sister after all this time…"

"Father!" Thranduil blanched and then flushed in embarrassment at the way his father's voice easily carried in the chamber. "Please! If you must tease, can it be in private?"

"It could, but then I would miss the interesting expressions on your face when trying to hide embarrassment from the others around us." Oropher grinned unrepentantly. "Methinks, after hearing some of the tales told of your days on the throne of Eryn Galen, you could use some good-natured ribbing. They say you were more often than not completely humorless…"

"I was hoping to get a chance to speak to you privately anyway, as a matter of fact, Father," Thranduil sputtered, gathering his rattled wits and still wishing to escape any eavesdroppers. "You are making it very difficult to ask for that chance, however…"

Oropher's expressive eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, but his voice dropped in volume. "Am I going to be pleased with the topic of this discussion?"

"I suppose we will have to find a more private venue to answer that question," Thranduil replied noncommittally, gesturing toward an open doorway leading to a balcony. "After you."

After a shrug and a look that spoke eloquently of good-natured exasperation to some of those who had ceased their own conversations to pay attention to his encounter with his son, Oropher led the way out onto the small balcony overlooking the central square. He settled his lower back and backside against the stone railing and crossed his arms. "Very well. I can see into the chamber so that we shall not miss the opening of the meeting, and we're far enough away from the courtiers here for this to qualify as private; so what is on your mind?"

"I need to tell you that I will be absenting myself from the duties you have handed me in the relative near future." Thranduil looked into his father's eyes without flinching. Now was the time, if he was ever going to do it, to show his father that he wasn't still an elfling – that he was a mature Elf capable of making his own choices in life. "Certain decisions were made while I was in Tirion, and I am committed elsewhere when preparations are completed."

Oropher's eyebrows rose again, this time even higher than before. "Committed elsewhere? Just where elsewhere are we speaking of?"

"Avathar," Thranduil said the word and smiled at the brush of possessiveness he felt at its mere mention.

"Avathar? What in the name of the Belain would you be doing in that forsaken place?"

"What you did when you left Doriath," Thranduil replied very matter-of-factly. "I wish to start fresh, as you did."

"In Avathar." Oropher's tone spoke volumes.

Thranduil's chin rose slightly. "In Avathar."

Oropher's mouth worked silently for a bit, and then he turned and leaned heavily on the railing, his eyes on the far horizon. "It is an ambitious move you are making, my son, one that would require a great deal of cooperation from…"

"I am not alone in this desire, and I will not be alone in my efforts. As a matter of fact, I think I have almost as talented and determined a group of advisors and comrades to aid me in this as ever you had." Thranduil moved to lean on the railing next to his father. "I even have Elrond Peredhel in on at least planning of the venture, if not taking part in some of it personally."

An appreciative whistle greeted that news. "That is one wise Elf you speak of there, my son; if even Elrond approves of this, then I hazard there is very little that should stand in your way. Then again, you have said little of how this news was received at home. What says Laeriel?"

"She is not pleased," Thranduil admitted sadly, "although she has not been unapproachably so. She, like me, rejoices to see the planning and anticipation involved bringing Legolas out of his deep grief; but she resents the fact that I intend to leave so soon after arriving when she had despaired of my ever following her West."

Oropher nodded as he clasped his hands beyond the railing and then turned to look at his son, only belatedly adopting a disgruntled expression that Thranduil knew to be false - a ploy his father had used far too often for him to be fooled now. "So you are telling me that I shall have to go back to taking notes for Thingol myself, eh?"

Thranduil shrugged and grinned. "Someone has to do it…"

"I wish that someone did not have to be me." Oropher sighed softly and returned his eyes to the horizon.

Thranduil hesitated and then offered in a soft voice, "You could always join us, you know."

"No, my son, my days of forging new kingdoms are finished. My days of leading are through." Oropher shook his head firmly. "I did not spend time in Bannoth reviewing my many and gross errors of judgment only to turn around now, at this late date, and repeat them." He took in a deep breath, released it slowly and then straightened. "But that does not mean that I would stand in the way of your attempting the same thing in your turn. From what I understand from those who came here before you from Taur-e-Ndaedelos, you were a fine King of Eryn Galen, holding your people together and keeping them strong even under the awful pressure from the Enemy at every turn of the forest path - and doing it without any Golodhren magic." He put a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "I have no doubt that you will be a fine King of Avathar - or whatever you decide to call it in the end."

Thranduil could hardly believe his ears. "You mean, I have your blessings?" he breathed.

Oropher threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Of course you do - and no small amount of envy that you are in a position to distance yourself from all of this." The large hand gestured toward the door back inside, through which he could see people now moving into the council chamber proper. "Do you intend to stay and sit through this one and take notes, or are you already declaring independence?"

"I shall sit through this one for you at least, Father," Thranduil answered, his hand landing fondly on his father's shoulder. "I did not exactly give you time to prepare to be recording secretary again."

"I shall appreciate my respite, my son. Have no doubts about that!" Oropher gestured. "We had best follow them, or Thingol's record of the meeting will be incomplete - and he will not be pleased."

"I will need to speak with him as well," Thranduil sighed, not relishing the thought in the slightest despite his words of confidence to his son only a few days earlier.

"I shall join my voice to yours in convincing him to give his blessings," Oropher promised as they walked. "Not that I think he will deny them you. He is Thinnel, after all, and already has a history of doing things that are unexpected."

oOoOo

"Do not think I am not aware of thy presence," Manwë stated calmly as he moved to refill his goblet with the delightful wine his wife's helpers had created from the late summer berries several Long-years previous. The Vala sniffed the air and chuckled. "Thou hast found my wife's latest patch of pipeweed, I see."

Olórin shrugged into corporeal form – the one that he wore most often when in direct contact with his Master when he was in corporeal state – and moved more fully into the small parlor. "I hope thou dost not mind my loitering, my Lord. It has been long since I have seen any of those with whom I spent the years in Endor."

"I mind not," Manwë replied, pouring another goblet and holding it out. "Frankly, I would have been surprised not to see thee."

"Thou wantest my opinion on what is intended?" the Maia asked hopefully.

Manwë mere chuckled. "I think I need not ask thy opinion, my servant; thou wearest it plainly on thy face." He gazed a little closer as Olórin took the goblet and had his first sip. "But there is more to it, isn't there, than mere approval? Do I see interest? Curiosity?"

"Their plan intrigues me," Olórin admitted easily. "They still show as much stubbornness as they ever had in Endor, when determined to be masters of their own destinies, and yet they attempt to remain faithfully in Aman. And, for once, they have a valid point. Why not explore the regions outside the Pelóri? Morgoth and Sauron no longer are sources of worry or …"

"I would think that the Children - especially those who remained in Ennor struggling so long and with so few rewards - would desire peace and calm in which to spend the Long-years between now and the Breaking of the World."

Olórin shook his head, tossing back hair as dark as his Lord's. "Thou speakest of Elves more accustomed to fighting the Long Defeat, not sitting about without a single care. They grew used to struggling to maintain an Eldarin foothold, to protecting their people and assisting the Atani. And they grew used to having the Valar as distant and barely approachable assistants only in the most dire of situations. They were left on their own, to succeed or fail as the result of their own efforts; and now, once the battle and the war was won, find those efforts dismissed as unimportant by those who refused to struggle at all."

"And thou feelest those efforts were not unimportant?"

Olórin winced slightly. "I too spent my efforts in aiding them to triumph over Melkor's apprentice during that last Age, my Lord; thou sentest me and my fellows to Endor specifically for that purpose. Of the five of us, only I returned, for one reason or another. So no, I do not feel their efforts deserve dismissal." He took a healthy swig of the wine and lifted his chin. "Actually, I am of a mind to request permission to join in their venture."

Manwë's jaw dropped. "Thou canst not be serious!"

"Consider this, if thou wilt: thou wouldst not need to provide aid if thy servant is there, overseeing the effort and capable of minor feats of assistance from time to time," Olórin answered fervently. "What is more, I can keep thee informed of their progress without thy having to break thy word not to care what happeneth to them either way."

"Hmph!" Manwë turned to lean on the mantle again as he had before Glorfindel had arrived. "Thou tirest of Valinor, as do thy former comrades."

Again Olórin winced. "Nay... well, perhaps. I admit I would enjoy more activity than has been my lot of late. And listening to the squabbles of the Children over trivialities and preferences grows more than tiring."

Manwë grew silent and stared into the flames for a long moment, during which Olórin sipped patiently at the delicate wine and waited. It had been long since he'd spent any real time housed in a fana, and he hoped that he wouldn't have to re-garb himself in the form of an ancient again if he were allowed to go along with Glorfindel and the others. Aching joints and delicate digestive systems were more the lot of the Second-born, and should never be known by Maiar.

"Very well. Thou canst join with thy friends. But just as before, thy power shalt lie in thy staff…" A cautionary finger rose.

"Must I again garb myself in ancient fana, my Lord? The Eldar with whom I would go have no need to be fooled as to my true nature."

Manwë's eyes narrowed, and then his entire demeanor relaxed. "Nay, my servant. Take the form thou hast at present, if it please thee better. But thy access to thy true powers shalt be once more limited as they were before. Thy staff shalt be the repository for all that thou dost not need normally. And thou wilt be sparing of the extraordinary assistance that thou givest. Remember, I have declared that we would neither aid nor hinder. Thy mere presence could be considered aid by some, including the discontented Children themselves."

"I will be certain to make clear to Thranduil – and to the Elronnionnath – that I come on my own behalf, and not thine, my Lord." Olórin could hardly contain the grin that spread across his face.

Manwë gestured at his servant's goblet with his own. "Drink up, then. Thou wilt be a long time having as good a vintage again. Glorfindel stays at an inn at the base of the mountain this night. Thy time with thy comrades will begin as soon as thou canst put together a bundle of clothing and make thy way to him."

Olórin bowed deeply. "I thank thee, Lord, for allowing me this…"

"Oh, go on with thee," the Vala smiled and waved. "Thou didst a good job last time; see to it that thou succeedest again."

Elvish Vocabulary:

Atani - (Quenya) mortal men

Avasar - (Quenya) Avathar

Bannoth - (Sindarin) Mandos' Halls, where elven faer go upon the death of the body

Belain – (Sindarin) the Powers, the Gods (sing. Balan)

Elronnionnath - (Sindarin) sons of Elrond (sing. Elrondion)

Endor - (Quenya) Ennor, Middle-earth

Evyrren - (Quenya) Avarin female

Fana - (Quenya) raiment, physical embodiment of a Vala or Maia

Feanáro - (Quenya) Fëanor

Faer – (Sindarin) soul or spirit

Laurefindil - (Quenya) Glorfindel

Melkor - (Quenya) Morgoth

Ondolinde - (Quenya) Gondolin

Rhaw – (Sindarin) body or physical form

Silmarilli - (Quenya) more than one Silmaril

Taur-e-Ndaedelos - (Sindarin) Wood of Great Dread (Mirkwood)

Vala – (Quenya) one of the Powers (pl. Valar)