Chapter Five: Eru is my father
The first lights of day crawled up to the site of the camp, searching and poking with cool dawn fingers. Estel opened one eye and took in the pale blue glow of all forms at the end of night. His teacher was sitting as he was, contemplating one more time the miracle of light slowly blooming.
"Arien comes, Master," he said in greeting.
"Indeed," said Glorfindel in response.
"Have you recalled your dada in the night, Master?" Estel shifted his position to more clearly observe his teacher.
The elf said nothing, gazing at lightening sky. He sighed and smiled to himself. It is plain to see that the boy is set on this conversation, he reflected, and perhaps it best so. He is still young to stop overmuch on the issues of mortality and life unending, he has not yet these questions. Only this, of father and son.
"I was born in the Blessed Realm," he began, "in the noontide of Aman. My mother was Mivanë of the Vanyar, and my father..." he paused, deep in memory.
"Your dada, Master?" encouraged Estel.
"He was of the Noldor, Engovan he was named. He was close to the sons of Fingolfin, perhaps kin on their mother's side... I disremember... Ever he was in the counsels of Fingon and Turgon, as was I when I came of age. In those far days..." his voice again drifted off.
"Master," whispered Estel.
"We stood with the lords of the Noldor when they forsook the Blessed Realm to pursue Morgoth and take vengeance for the slaying of Finwë, the High King. We followed not Fëanor and his sons, but the lord Fingolfin. We crossed with him the Grinding Ice, the dreadful Helcaraxë. Engovan was lost there, as were countless more of our people. The wife of Turgon." Glorfindel added mentally, your far-removed foremother, and sighed once again in sadness immeasurable. "But not so her babe Idril, who grew to be the lady of Gondolin, wife of Tuor and mother of Eärendil."
"Eärendil of the Star?" Estel sat up and gestured towards the carving on the rock.
"Indeed," said Glorfindel, "your long forefather and sire of our Lord Elrond."
"But your dada... Engovan..."
"He vanished into an abyss broken open in the ice, a stone's throw behind me. I saw him not, and heard only his cry among the many, falling. Then all was again covered by the blasting of the snow and wind."
"Oh, Master..." Estel gazed at his teacher in this sorrow suddenly shared. "So you know..."
"I do, my son." Both sat quietly, remembering. "The pain never fades, fully."
"And the lady Mivanë?" ventured Estel at last.
Glorfindel stirred. "Like many others of the Vanyar, she remained in Aman," he said. "She had little liking for Fëanor, and counted the Silmarils as the root of all sorrow. I came to believe, later, that she was in the right."
"Your momo stayed in Aman, and your dada crossed the grinding ice with the lord Fingolfin," repeated Estel. "Why, Master?"
The tall elf-lord pressed his hands to his face for a moment. "For me," he said with ancient regret. "He would not have me go against Morgoth, alone. When we set out, in defiance of the Valar, there was no shadow of foreboding in our hearts to measure up against all the dreadful sorrow yet to come. And not the least, for me, this loss..."
"This is very sad, Master," whispered the child.
"Indeed, my son. Eru my father alone can see the part that Morgoth and his progeny must play in the story of Arda, when it is fully told."
Estel meditated for a moment on this statement, then folded it away to further consider at another time. "And your momo, the lady Mivanë, did you return to her?" he asked, following the other line of his interest.
"Much passed, much joy and sorrow, and then I did see her once more. But this story I will save for another day," said Glorfindel as he saw the spark in the child's eye. "Now we must appease our bellies with Vaneta's wonders."
The ruse, if indeed a ruse it was, worked on Estel at once. He scrambled for his pack and produced the food-bag. "Good strong bread," he said happily, laying the wrapped loaf out, "and a little pot of nutbutter. See? And another of sweet stuff..." He set up the goodies in an ordered line and removed his knife from a sheathlike pocket on the side of his pack. Glorfindel watched the child cut thick slices from the bread loaf, then spread them with nutbutter and scoop finally a gob of dark red jelly on top, and fold each slice over.
He handed the first one to his mentor. "Take it with care, Master, or the sweet stuff will spill out." Glorfindel obeyed, most gratified both by the boy's skill with the knife and his natural polite manners.
Estel made another three rolls, keeping two more slices in reserve. He took one roll and bit into it with such zest that the elf could not refrain from laughter. "Even Keni would not wolf down his dainty so," he said finally. As if hearing the call to morning meal, the wolf-pup snapped out of sleep and sat up with a single bark. "Your wolf-brother calls for his sustenance, Estel. What have you for him?"
"Ah, Vaneta would never allow Keni to go up the mountain without his biscuits. They are here, good boy." He set aside his own food to unwrap a large biscuit made in the shape of a thick twig. "Take, Keni," he ordered. The little wolf strained towards the boy's hand, containing himself bravely, and took the biscuit gently between his jaws. "There is my good boy," said Estel in approval. Keni backed away and busied himself with his meal, gurgling with pleasure.
"What is this biscuit, Estel?" asked Glofindel.
"I know not surely, Master," he said. "Vaneta says it is a matter between Keni and herself. One day I asked her many times, and at last she said that I would gain not a foot to my height by knowing, and that I was not to ask again. So I know not." He watched the pup gnawing as he chewed his own second roll. "But he likes them very much, his biscuits."
Meat, said Glorfindel to himself. I believe Vaneta is counting on Keni to bring Estel around to eating again the flesh of the kelvar. As the pup grows, so shall the boy. She is so very wise, he concluded, finishing his last bite of bread.
Estel was already wrapping up the remaining loaf, but suddenly stopped. "Would you want another, my lord?" he said in a fluster. "I did not ask..."
"I am full-satisfied, my son. Much thanks to you and to Vaneta." He eyed the boy going forth with his packing. "But have you a cause for haste?"
Estel tied the final cord on his pack. "Indeed, Master, we must ride with the early time of Arien, to reach the place we are going. Is this not so?"
The elf-lord gazed at him in perplexity. "What know you of the place we are going?" he asked at length.
"It is wonderful, and far from all eyes save the eyes of the soaring eagles," the boy said without hesitation.
"And how would you know this?" asked his teacher.
"It came to me in the night," Estel said seriously. "I was there, with you, Master, and it was a high, high place. Keni and Rogarin and Savoron were below, we looked out over a vast land."
Glorfindel long studied the boy's face, searching his eyes. "There is such a place, Estel of the dreams," he said finally, "but we are not going there today. That is a far journey that we will undertake one day with the brothers Elladan and Elrohir, when you have grown to the height of my shoulder." The elf stood up and marked his shoulder, then extended his hand to show the boy his promised stature.
"Tall, as your shoulder, Master." He frowned. "I am at your waist, now," he figured quickly. "When will I be as your shoulder?"
"Perhaps four round journeys of Arien, four bloomings of spring-tide," the elf said with assurance. A mere wink of an eye, he added mentally.
"Four," said the child, "and I have not yet six, says Momo." He counted quickly with his finger in the air. "So when ten times I have seen new leaves born on winter branches, I will be tall and we will travel to the place I saw, sleeping."
"Just so," said Glorfindel. "But now we will return to Imladris. They would await us for the evening meal."
Estel looked up at the sun in speculation. "There is much day still before the evening meal."
"There is, but the ride is long and we may want to tarry. And you have yet to collect bits for your studies. The sons of Elrond will demand them of you."
"This is true, Master! I have no tokens for my cousins... From this lovely valley I am taking stars in my head." The boy touched his forehead.
"Stars, Estel?"
"The Cave of Stars, and the star of Dada. Here they abide, but also I have them."
Glorfindel looked deeply at the boy again, considering the uncanny depth of thought and feeling he showed more and more often. "Perhaps you will collect some bits on the road returning," he said finally.
"Perhaps," said Estel, but his mind seemed to drift elsewhere.
They walked the valley up and down, followed by Keni and the horses perhaps a little bored and curious about what their men-brothers were poring over. Estel was not quite his chirpy self, and Glorfindel refrained from questioning him. His mind is seeking the boy Arathorn, the elf reflected. The body of light that abides here still.
Arien reached the height of her day's journey, the final tidbits were eaten, and the ride back to Imladris seemed welcome. Rogarin and Savoron came easily to bit and saddle, anxious themselves for a good run. As they were entering the forest up the slope, Estel turned back for a final look.
"It is beautiful, Master. We will come another time, perhaps?"
"We will," assured Glorfindel. "There is still much deeper to go in the Cave of Stars, and other ways in and out."
They rode on in silence, the elf and Savoron leading, Estel, Keni and Rogarin close behind, until they came again to the top of the ridge. The path was wider here, and master and pupil rode abreast.
"Master," asked Estel suddenly, "why did you say Eru my father alone...? Your dada was named Engovan, you said." Estel had this in the back of his mind, and resolved to open the subject if the elf-lord would comply.
"Eru is my father and yours, young Estel. Elves and men are called the Children of Eru, for only by this power beyond the stars were we brought forth. All else was set here by the grace of the Valar, in obedience also to the will of Eru Iluvatar." He took a sidelong glance at the boy, and continued. "Eru is even the father of the Valar."
Estel considered this, wide-eyed, and said finally, "The Valar, and the elves, and men. We are all children of Eru." The boy was impressed by this new vision. "Tell me more, please, Master."
"When Eru made awaken the Firstborn, by the waters of Cuivenen, our Lord and Protector Oromë sought them out and spoke to them. He said the Valar were calling the Quendi to the Blissful Realm, so they would be preserved from the evil of Melkor and thrive in the Light of the Trees. This is a great story, for another day."
"Tell me this story, please, Master," Estel begged.
"It can be best told to you by Cirdan the Shipwright," Glorfindel reflected, "because he lived in this tale himself. So very long ago, it cannot be counted even in ages."
"Who is Cirdan the Shipwright, Master?"
"He is the Eldest of us all here in Middle-Earth," said the elf, "master of the Grey Havens and Lord of all who still abide in Lindon after the fall of Gil-galad at the seige of Barad-dûr, and the removal of Master Elrond to Imladris." He gazed at the boy, and ventured further. "Have you naught of this story?"
"Somewhat, Master, perhaps..." Estel searched his memory.
"Then you have not heard the tale from Lord Elrond, who has told it to all the fathers of your line during their fostering in Imladris. He will tell it to you, in time. Soon."
Estel considered this in silence, and they rode on for a long stretch. Finally the boy seemed to come awake again and took up his questions once more.
"What is the Grey Havens, Master?" he asked.
"Mithlond, the Grey Havens," Glorfindel answered, "a walled city on the shores of the Great Sea Belegaer." The child's vacant expression brought the elf-lord to a sudden decision. "Here, my son, let us turn aside and visit the Pool of Whispering Reeds. We will drink and rest a bit, and I will make for you an ant-Arda." He held up his hand as the child opened his mouth to inquire. "You will see."
They turned off the wide path and crossed a meadow in fine bloom. As the slope began up towards a higher ridge, they turned away into a copse of trees and dismounted. Horses, elf, boy and wolf trod softly over the thickness of leaves fallen in many autumns, and emerged finally at a small rise overlooking a pool. They made their way down to a little beach, Rogarin and Savoron wandered into the shallows to drink and blow bubbles, Keni dashing here and there. Elf and boy contemplated the smooth surface of the pool.
"Can you see the water moving, Estel?"
"I can, Master. From there, flowing here and that way." The boy gestured first towards the rocky wall to their right, then swept his arm slowly in the direction he perceived the subtle current. He climbed a rocky outcrop and sat to further gaze at the clear depths.
Glofindel knelt at the edge of the water and began digging. Soon he had piled sandy clay and was smoothing a wide circle. "Estel," he called, "come if you will."
The boy jumped up and ran to his teacher, instantly taken by what he was doing. A clay mountain had taken shape in his hands, and another was in the making. The boy watched as more and more mountains were added, small plateaus and niches and finally a waterway. "Observe," said the , and cupped water from the pool in his hands, then released it in a trickle down the little gully. The tiny river came to life for a moment, then disappeared.
"Again!" cried Estel, and cupped water himself, then let it run down the riverbed.
Several times more still seemed insufficient, and the boy could have continued this game perhaps for hours. Glorfindel finally asked, "What is this, Estel?"
The boy looked at the mountain formation from side to side. His teacher took up a lump of clay and quickly fashioned a small cube, then a longer one, and several more. He set them in place on specific spots of the mountainsides, but only when he shaped a rounded dome and placed it atop the largest of the cubes did the boy leap up and cry in amazement, "Imladris! Master, this is the Hall of Fire? And the high chamber?"
"The stables, the workshops... over there, our chambers... Vaneta's kitchen..."
"Oh, Master, what wonders! We are beholding Imladris from the highest mountain!"
"Or from the eye of the mighty sons of Thorondor, as the wing their way across the ranges and plains of Middle-Earth. But would you see more, my Estel?" The boy nodded, and Glorfindel pulled together the clay formations and smoothed the ground once again.
He made now mountains but smaller, and many more, which he placed together in a long, winding range. "Caradhras," he said, building the peak up, "Fanuidhol... and lastly, Celebdil," smoothing the three mounds to sharp summits. "But we are here," his hand wandered halfway up along the mountain range and then down towards a lower ridge, finally delving a small ravine with his fingernail. "Here."
Estel peered closely, then turned to his teacher. "But the halls and chambers? The little river flowing?"
"We are riding most high with the sons of Thorondor, and we hardly see them. Now, this seed... the Hall of Fire..." Glorfindel placed a tiny sphere in the ravine. "But we see very, very far, all the great range of the Hithaeglir, down to the far south. And this is Methedras," he concluded, raising up another sharp tall peak.
He stepped back and regarded his work, then called Estel to observe. "Now from here lie the wide, wide plains of Eriador, its hills and rivers." The land of your people, he added mentally. "This is very large, perhaps to here..." he traced a shape uneven yet rounded, away from the mountain range and then returning to it. Estel saw he was standing within the markings, and quickly hopped out, following his teacher closely. "And here," continued Glorfindel, drawing a sudden large slice out of the circle, "is Mithlond, the Grey Havens." He placed a small stone at the angle of the slice.
"There lives Lord Cirdan the Shipwright, you said, Master."
"Yes. On the shores of the Great Sea Belegaer." He looked intensely at Estel, and decided to go yet further. "Do you understand this, my son?"
The boy gazed at his teacher and shook his head slowly. "The sea, Master... what...?"
"This is land, Estel," he said, touching the mountains and plains he had shaped. "But this is water, from here..." He touched several points of the land's ends, and backed away from its perimeter. "And here, and here... water and more water... and more..."
Estel's eyes widened as his teacher withdrew ten steps, then twenty, ever passing his hands side to side over the water growing in their minds' sight. Finally he stopped.
"The Great Sea Belegaer," he said, indicating the wide expanse. "And know you where I am standing now?" he asked with a smile.
"Where, Master?" Estel whispered.
"Valinor, my son. The Blessed Realm. Again, at last."
Estel stood and watched his teacher across the water. "So far, Master," he said sadly.
You cannot dream how far, he said in his mind. More than days of sailing, now... only to be found by the Straight Path on which mortal ships do not pass. "There is much to be told about the sea, my Estel," he said, coming back to the boy and leading him to the model mountain range. "But there is time enough for that. My intent was only to open this view for you, and to show you the home of Cirdan." He smiled, and tousled the boy's mop of hair. "Now we are here, and let us descend from the eye of the sons of Thorondor and seek our own halls, and the supper that awaits us there."
They called Keni and the horses, and retraced their way back to the meadow. They checked their straps and mounted, the pup settling into his place before Estel on the saddle. The boy seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, and Glorfindel found his own mind wandering back to Aman.
"Will he come to Imladris soon?" Estel asked suddenly. "The Lord Cirdan?"
Glorfindel pulled himself back to the present and regarded the question. "Perhaps, my boy. He is one among the White Council, and may so come upon a day for a meeting of the Wise. Also the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, and the Istari lords Mithrandir and Curumir."
"I do not know these names," Estel said, "only the lord and the lady. Elladan and Elohir speak of them, at times."
"They are father and mother to Celebrían, wife of Elrond and mother to the twins and the lady Arwen."
"I know not the lady Arwen, nor Celebrían wife of Ada," Estel said with finality.
"Arwen abides with her mother's people in the Golden Wood, and Celebrían sailed to the Blessed Realm. We speak of her seldom."
"Why, Master?"
"We are here and now, Estel. So much have we lived and seen, only thus can we meet each day in peace." The elf-lord sighed, and clicked his tongue at Savoron to pick up the pace. Soon the last rise revealed to them the first evening lights of home, below.