Chapter 27 – Permission

Within this tome is chronicled a history some may dispute. They must, in fact, for herein is recorded the tale of one ellon's life and experience, and each of us, having our own unique perspective, may recall the same events differently. Being so agreed, I beg your permission to present this history through the eyes of one who was present during pivotal events of the First Age and who, without question, saw them differently.


Valinor
Fourth Age

A breeze swept in from the east across the Bay of Eldamar. It brought with it the smell of the sea and dark memories. For Eruanna the memories lived not only in her mind or on the wind but also upon the pages resting on her lap. She flipped through them one at a time as she did every night for the last month. They were all in order, the drawings and the tales that went with them. The story they contained spanned millenia. There were holes, great gaps in space and time and understanding, but it was everything Eruanna knew. All she had seen or been told was held in the pages. She closed the cover of the leather folder before the breeze took them pondering what she would do with them next. She sat in the tower each night pondering that same question, but the stars and the wind never answered.

Eruanna tried to enjoy the breeze and ignore the dark thoughts circling her mind. She sat alone under the stars for several hours before she was disturbed by another visitor. He made no sound on the stair. It was only when he appeared in the doorway that her attention was drawn to him, an ellon she had never seen before. He was as tall as Elrond and had long flowing hair so pale it glistened under the starlight. His eyes were warm and bright and aged, his face flawless and serene. Eruanna had seen age and power and beauty before. She had seen the light of the Valar in elven eyes, but there was something alien about this one, a strange quality hinting at something beneath the surface. He smiled at her and nodded in such a way as to suggest he knew her well, though she could not recall if they had ever met. She should have greeted him with words, but instead she merely returned the nod and followed his movements as he stepped out onto the tower and looked west. He clasped the edge of the tower wall and breathed deep the night air before speaking.

"This is a good spot. I can see all the way to the western shore from here."

It was a curious thing to say, or so Eruanna thought. The distance to the western shore was immense. Not even Glorfindel could see so far. And what's more, there were few in Tirion who would admit to looking west. To the west lay the Halls of Mandos and the souls of the dead. It was a place of which even Eruanna despaired.

"You look west?"

The stranger nodded. "I make it a habit to look in all directions, and in so doing, I see many things."

He turned and looked at her then, or more rightly, he looked right through her. His gaze chilled her to the bone and she felt all at once that her secret thoughts and wishes were known to him. His gaze fell from her face to the leather folder in her hands. "You are nearly finished with your book."

It was not a question and it did not surprise Eruanna in the least that he knew what the folder contained. "Nearly."

"And what do you plan to do with it?"

Eruanna shrugged and shook her head in answer to the very question that plagued her each day. "I don't know. Place it on a shelf in my room somewhere, I suppose. There is nothing else for it."

The stranger seated himself gracefully on the bench across from her. His gaze held hers captive. She could not look away.

"I thought books were meant to be read."

Eruanna thought so too, but she shook her head. "No one wishes to read these tales."

"But they must. Is that not what you believe?"

She believed precisely that, but she also believed something else. "I do, but you see, they are not my stories to tell."

"No. They are not." Silence followed the stranger's words and he closed his eyes. Eruanna wondered what he was pondering as his expression grew thoughtful. A frown pulled at the corners of his lips before he spoke again. "I always loved the sound of his voice. I have missed it greatly these many ages."

Eruanna heard Maglor sing only once before, and she, too, was haunted by the memory. It was strangely comforting to know that this stranger remembered something good of Maglor. It was reason to hope that others would as well. "He claims his gifts of music and poetry were destroyed by time."

The stranger shook his head. "He lies – to you – and to himself. The song is inside him. All that you have written there and more. Noldolantë."

He spoke the last in a whisper too soft for Eruanna to hear. "Pardon?"

"Noldolantë," he repeated. "It is a song."

"I have never heard it."

A smile spread across the stranger's face, lighting his eyes. "Nor have I. It is buried deep within him. He began it long ago – and adds to it still. But just as books are meant to be read, so songs are meant to be heard."

"Will he ever complete it?"

The stranger nodded. "I believe he will – and soon."

"And when it is done?"

"Then he must share it and start anew. Where one song ends another begins. Such is the way of the world."

Eruanna wanted nothing more than to agree with him, but she was not so sure the world was ready to listen to Maglor or permit him move on. "Will he ever be forgiven?"

"He must forgive himself first. For those who go to the Halls that is always the hardest part. For those who never pass through its doors it is harder still."

Eruanna knew this but still she hoped to help Maglor down this path. "What could possibly convince him he deserves forgiveness?"

He gestured towards the pages she held. "Give him the book."

That was not the advice Eruanna expected and she was not sure it wise. "What if it angers him?"

"What if it brings him peace?"

Eruanna shook her head and clutched the pages tighter. She could not imagine how her intrusion into Maglor's past could bring him peace. "How can reading my poor summary of his life do that?"

The stranger smiled knowingly at her confusion and pointed again to the pages in her hands. "Do you think he has ever before shared those secrets with another? The importance of that book is not that you recorded his tales, but that you listened."

Eruanna considered his words and found truth in them. She offered him a smile, grateful for his help. "I will give him the book."

He returned her smile with a nod. "A wise decision." He rose from his seat in one graceful motion. The wind caught his hair and his robes floated behind him as he moved to the stairway door. Their conversation was over.

Eruanna hesitated only a moment before her courage and curiosity caught up with her. She had come to the tower struggling with questions and had hoped the Valar would send her a sign. Instead, they sent her a messenger and when his eyes met Eruanna's again they sparkled with an ancient light. They felt familiar, and for a moment she could almost see the gray beard and hear a deep, rumbling laughter as he shared a meal with Elrond.

Manwë sent him, she was sure of it. "I thought the Valar did not trouble themselves with simple matters."

He smiled at her, that same enigmatic smile she remembered so well. "They never do."


On the first morning after Maglor's return Eruanna caught him up on the palace news and work reports. She did not ask him about his mother, though she knew, as all of Tirion knew, where his travels had taken him. He would tell her if he wished, in his own time, and she would listen.

They quickly fell back into their long adopted routine, working silently for hours, the only noise, the scratching of their pens upon parchment. Every evening Eruanna would straighten up the office and return the ledgers to the shelf. Maglor would organize their work for the following day, jotting down a list of assignments for Eruanna to complete. Not that she needed the reminders, she had done it all while he was away and kept herself aware of the most pressing matters.

Two weeks later the pattern of their lives was back to normal but each day, as it came to close, Eruanna struggled with whether to show Maglor her book. She brought it with her each day, but if Maglor noticed its presence, he made no mention of it. She suspected he did not do so out of respect, but out of distraction. He was quiet, thoughtful since his return. There was something troubling him and Eruanna did not wish to cast the stone that would unleash his dark mood.

Maglor dismissed her for the evening and Eruanna decided with more relief than reluctance to wait one more day. She was almost to the door when it opened on its own to reveal Elemmírë complete with a harp slung across his back.

A rush of joy washed over Eruanna for she had not seen him since his return. "Elemmírë! It is so good to see you."

Elemmírë's eyes brightened at the sight of Eruanna and he took her up in a sweeping embrace. "And you, as well." He set her back on her feet and clucked in Maglor's direction. "Keeping her late, are you? Have you forgotten our date for this evening? Midsummer is almost here and I need a second opinion."

"You mean a first opinion," said Maglor.

"Not at all. My opinion comes first, I merely need you to reassure me that my song will be champion this year."

Eruanna laughed at Elemmírë's playfulness but Maglor did not bother to fake a smile.

Elemmírë did not notice, instead his attention was focused on Eruanna's leather tome. "Are those your drawings you've told me about? May I look?"

Eruanna, thrown, answered with an utter lack of grace. "I...well...yes... but they're... not...I mean to say..."

Eruanna's eyes darted back and forth from Maglor to Elemmírë just in time for the bard to realize he'd said something wrong and for Maglor to finally notice the leather bound tome resting upon his scribe's desk. He noted it was much thicker than he recalled from that night on the tower, but then he knew she was fond of drawing.

"What is the problem? You have shown your drawings to me before? Why would you not want Elemmírë to see them?"

Eruanna, cornered, knew there was little chance of escape and so admitted a hesitant defeat. She felt better about it, with Elemmírë at her side. She was certain he would cover her should she need to effect an escape.

"They are not merely drawings. What I mean is, the book, it contains both drawings and stories."

Here Maglor's face fell and the dark mood dwelling beneath the surface of his thoughts could be seen more clearly in his eyes. "What stories?"

For a moment Eruanna was afraid to answer but she drew up the well of her courage and the added measure Elemmírë's presence offered and told Maglor what she knew he did not want to hear. "From the First Age and before, your stories."

"My stories?"

Instead of the anger Eruanna had been expecting, those words were spoken in disbelief. He did not seem to understand her.

Hesitantly, she lifted the leather binder and handed it to him. "I wrote them down, in your words, what you told me and others' tales as well."

He took it from her hands and rested on his desk before him, a frown on his face, his brow creased. He unwound the string that held the pages closed and slowly began turning the pages.

Eruanna was certain that at any moment he might lift the pages and cast them into the hearth, but he surprised her as he kept on turning them. She was certain he did not read every word but his eyes would be drawn to a phrase or an image and he would pause a moment to study it more closely. Eruanna held her breath the entire time. At some point a hand came to rest on her shoulder and when she looked up Elemmírë squeezed her shoulder in silent support.

Maglor was only half-way through the tome when he spoke again, his voice thick with conflicting emotions. "Who have you shown this to?"

"No one."

"Why? Why would you write a history that none may read?"

Eruanna had asked herself the same question many times. It had taken her years to realize the answer. "I hoped, perhaps, that you could place it upon a shelf, and move on to a happier story."

"It is not that simple."

"I never thought it was," Eruanna replied.

Silence hung in the air but it was soon broken by Elemmírë. "May I see it?"

Maglor read clearly in his friend's eyes that a 'no' would not be met with argument. He closed the book and handed it over to Elemmírë who leafed through its pages pausing here and there as Maglor had before him.

Maglor took the opportunity to pour his companions glasses of wine and handed them to Elemmírë and Eruanna.

"There are blank pages at the end." Elemmírë said to Eruanna.

"Yes, well, I don't know yet how the story ends."

"Then I suppose Maglor must tell it," said Elemmírë.

Maglor shook his head. "I don't have the words."

"You do," said Eruanna. "The song is inside you."

"Well if that is the case," said Elemmírë, "I happen to have a harp with me and I know somewhere in that mausoleum of a bedchamber up there you have one, too."

Maglor shook his head. "I cannot. It is not my story to tell. It concerns so many others."

"Then ask their permission."

Maglor graced Eruanna with an look of bewilderment such as one might expect had she suggested he throw himself from the window and take flight. The idea was absurd and terrifying all the same. But in the back of his mind, Maglor heard his mother's words to him repeated again and again, 'They need to know you repent'. He could only hope to find the right words.

"Where do I begin?" Maglor asked the question aloud but to no one in particular. The task was overwhelming, so much so that Maglor feared he might be paralyzed before his first step.

Elemmírë placed the book back on Maglor's desk and slid it toward him. He opened it to the first page. "How about, at the beginning?"