What Better Companion?

There were no scars.

He ran his hands over his limbs and naked flesh, the palms and fingers not quite touching the skin, yet still close enough to feel the warmth emanating from his body. He inspected every inch of himself, as the water trickled over him, the beads of moisture catching the light of the unveiled sun above.

Even amongst the Eldar, often there were scars. Some marks of battle stubbornly refused to fade, long after the wounds themselves had healed, as though some part of the fëa forbade them to disappear utterly. A reminder, perhaps, that longevity did not equate to invulnerability.

Yet as he checked each muscle, each joint, each digit, Glorfindel found not a trace of the horrors that had passed. He saw only a lithe, supple form, better even than he remembered.

Even after many years, it still intrigued him to remark that fact.

He finished washing in the stream and rose slowly, his movements languid and heavy from the strain of lazy days. His clothes lay in a neat pile upon the bank, but he sat a while on the soft grass by the stream’s edge, allowing the sun to dry him before he dressed himself.

Every sound seemed infinitely distant, as though a vast and empty land lay between Glorfindel’s secluded glade and the rest of Valinor, though that was not the case. Distances and senses often seemed distorted somewhat in that land, Glorfindel mused, and though it no longer surprised or startled him, he was not yet accustomed to the effect either. It was a land where mystery hid beneath every leaf, where he had the constant impression that there were clues to the thoughts of Eru written into every flower and stone, if only he could decipher them. Perhaps it was an effect of his ordeal, for he did not remember noticing such things in his youth, when these lands had been his home. But then, he had been born in the Swan Havens, and raised in the fair green places. It was only by his exile, by severing his ties with the Blessed Realm, that he had learned to sense its wonders.

Glorfindel dressed, observed only by the fluttering, gaudily coloured birds that dipped their narrow beaks into the bells of lush flowers nearby. The leaves rustled in sporadic little bursts and the scent of those flowers filled the air, potent yet not overwhelming in the still, warm air. Insects buzzed around the Elda’s ears, moving so quickly past him that he never caught a glimpse of them. Perhaps they knew the answers, Glorfindel mused, if only he could delay them long enough to ask.

Once clothed, he checked the glade to ensure he had left nothing behind, and saw only the same, tranquil haven he had come to visit daily. Only the meandering line of trampled grass attested to anyone, other than the humming birds and insects, having ever been there, and that was how he liked to leave the place. That way when he returned, he could discover the place anew.

It had become his place of meditation and of introspection, something that, as the days wore on, consumed more and more of his time. He had grown to accept his new life, if not to understand why it had come about. That question lingered about him as the birds hovered by the flowers. Once he had regained the memories of his former self, an indication that his fëa had fully recovered from the effort of mapping his new body, he had searched the dwellings of the Eldar for faces he knew, but so far he had concluded that he alone of the hosts of Fëanor and Fingolfin had been granted this reprieve. His protests to the Valar were heard, but not heeded, he believed. More than once he stood in the Ring of Doom and asked why he alone was deemed worthy, ‘when his valour was no greater than that of Fingolfin himself, or of Fingon’.

Always Manwë answered, ‘such it is, and such it shall be. Things shall be resolved when ‘tis their time. No sooner.’

To know that there was some plan behind his existence gave Glorfindel a little hope as he left the Ring, yet he knew no more than when he entered it. And though the Eldar in Aman showed him nothing but the warmest welcome, their smiles to him seemed to hold secrets he could not yet know. Though a child of Valinor, he was not quite at one with them. With a deep sigh, as he walked through the trailing willows and curtains of catkins embracing the glade, Glorfindel mused that he was neither one thing nor the other; his life on Middle-earth had reached its conclusion, yet he could not resume his existence in the Blessed Lands completely. He was incongruous, though he loved the place, so long as he remained dogged by doubt and questions.

The leaves about him rustled once again, and for the first time, Glorfindel realised that there was no breeze to move them. He frowned for a moment, watching the dense bushes with their long, pointed leaves and clusters of small white flowers, laced with yellow elanor that had grown up around the branches of the bush and had pushed through to steal some of the sunlight. Some animal must have stopped to forage in the cool shadows beneath, Glorfindel thought.

An instinct, however, stirred within him and advised him in a wary tone that the sound seemed too loud to be a rodent or cat. And to his knowledge the only larger beasts in Aman would be hounds or horses, which would be too large to hide completely in the foliage. His senses pricked and he resumed his path only after casting a sweeping, suspicious glance around the quiet landscape and the lolling hills. Beneath his cascade of white-gold hair, he felt the skin on his neck tingle, usually a sign that he was being watched. Yet he saw no one.

Unwittingly, his muscles tensed, an old reflex from his soldierly days. Despite knowing that no harm could come to him in Aman, he had still unconsciously readied himself for a fight. He walked on, listening to every sound about him, sniffing the air for unfamiliar scents, and heightening his awareness of the shifts in the wind.

The path wended through the trees, and mottled sunlight fell upon the ground before him. Birds bobbed in the air, crossing in front of him, and clouds of small insects hovered around the leaves and flowers. Glorfindel continued on his way, and after a moment he convinced his body to relax. Though he still felt that he had a shadow, echoing his movements, he remembered that there was no malice in this land. If something chose to follow him unseen, it could only be the work of the Valar, or of their servants. Once again the Ainur carried out their secret work about him and yet again he felt as though he should know what was going on.

Finally after what he felt was an adequate amount of time (though it was impossible to judge the passing of moments in Valinor; even the passing of years oft went by unnoticed), Glorfindel paused and turned, his sea blue eyes narrowing as he regarded the path behind him. All seemed quiet and still, yet if he concentrated, he could make out the faintest outline of a figure, barely three yards away from him, standing in the centre of the path. As Glorfindel stopped, so too did the unseen figure and the two regarded each other for a long while.

Glorfindel cocked his head to one side and frowned thoughtfully. It did not feel proper to ask for an explanation, though he did not know why this would be. Above all else, he wanted to know why one of the Ainur would follow him, and if it somehow related to his being there in the first place.

In the end, all he said was, "May I ask who you are?"

It sounded slightly more impatient than Glorfindel would have liked, and he held his breath for a moment, hoping he had not irked the being before him.

Yet a moment later the outline moved, and as though he had stepped through a curtain that washed away his spell of invisibility, he slickly, naturally became solid. He was of equal height and build to Glorfindel, though his hair was far lighter, nearer in hue to the snows of Taniquetil. Though his face was youthful and fresh, with a roseate tinge about the cheeks, his grey eyes seemed to hold the memories of a million years. Glorfindel found it hard to look into them for very long. When he did, it was as though he stood on the brink of a great abyss, at the bottom of which lay the dark secrets of the universe, that only Eru and his folk could ever know.

"I," said the figure, "am called Olórin."

A Maia then, thought Glorfindel as he gave a gracious bow, his hand placed upon his heart.

"Why would you follow me unseen?" asked the Elda.

"Habit," replied the Maia. "I have only recently mastered your form. It is far more comfortable to travel in my natural state, not to mention the convenience. I do not know how you could live all your days in flesh. It seems…so cumbersome."

"I remember nothing of my time without it," said Glorfindel. "Though I would not like to experience it again. I am quite pleased to have ‘cumbersome flesh’ once more."

Olórin regarded him with a frown of curiosity, as if the Maia had listened to every word Glorfindel had said and now was analysing each syllable in turn. Finally he smiled and gave a little nod, as if he understood.

"You are content with what you are," mused Olórin. "Proud of what you are."

"Certainly," said Glorfindel. "Though perhaps my kin have stained themselves with their deeds, they are still my kin, my brethren, and my birthright. Certainly I am proud, and love them all the same."

The Maia regarded Glorfindel the way one of the Eldar might have regarded a talking, dancing rock, eyes ablaze with fascination. Despite the creature’s obvious wisdom, there was an aura of naivety that was almost childish about him. Glorfindel waited a moment, wondering if this ‘Olórin’ might yet explain why he was following, then finally glanced back at the path.

"I was on my way home," he said. "Do you wish to walk with me?"

Olórin grinned. "Walk. Yes. To walk on foot."

"Yes," murmured Glorfindel, wondering what other ways there were to walk.

Together, ellon and maia wandered beneath the trees, staying in silence for a while, before Glorfindel finally found the right way to phrase the most prominent question in his mind.

"Did you mean to follow me? To watch me? If so, why would you do so?"

"To follow you?" repeated Olórin. "To observe, to learn, to study."

"Observe what? How one of the Eldar walks along a path?" He laughed, and Olórin mirrored the gesture.

"How else can we learn if we do not observe?" mulled the Maia. "Your life here is so very different to ours. You do things in strange ways. You find solutions that would never be within our grasp, for you think in strange ways. Though you are but children to us, you have so much to teach us, if we but observe. Too many of my folk think only of themselves and their own business. They do not see the life blossoming around them. Oh, they speak amongst themselves of rebellions and arguments and events that they have watched from afar, but they have forgotten it moments later."

"And you?"

"I like things that live and grow," sighed Olórin. "I like things that go about their life in innocence and joy. I like beings that have not become antipathetic to the world, things that have not spent so long in life that they no longer care. I like things that run about in the green fields, free and untamed, that love and feel and sense." He smiled distantly and gave Glorfindel a quizzical look. "Even beings that despair at times, or feel sorrow, or that doubt their path."

Glorfindel said nothing. He held his head high and breathed in the natural spices on the air.

"The Eldar are very dear to me," Olórin continued, "all in their multitude and each one alone."

"Then do you follow us all?" asked Glorfindel quietly.

"Those that abide in this realm."

Glorfindel gathered his breath. "Then do you know of me?"

"News has come to me of Glorfindel, who led the rearguard out of Gondolin, who faced the disciple of Morgoth, that others might live. Yes, we have all heard the tales of Glorfindel. Brave, even for one of the Eldar, whose very nature is to defy all odds in defence of their kin and homeland."

"I know that to challenge the servant of the enemy is a great feat," Glorfindel thought aloud, "yet I did not assault Morgoth himself, or his fortress, as some sought to do. I do not even know if I succeeded…"

"If by success you mean the salvation of Gondolin, then no, that was not achieved," Olórin answered candidly. "Yet if success meant the salvation of the city’s people; of Tuor and Idril, then I would not lose hope just yet."

"They are alive?"

"I know only what I have heard from my companion, Aulendil, who hears from the birds and insects," smiled Olórin. "The line of ancient kings still runs."

Glorfindel sighed. "Then something of my life is settled. At least it was not in vain that I brought myself here."

"Not without your sacrifice would things be as they are," said Olórin. "Things have a path, one that must be followed if the world is to know peace, and all things are a part of it. We all must play our melodies in the symphony of Eru, and one day all will be in harmony."

"And is that why I now stand here? Because it is my part in the score? Because that is what ought to be?"

Olórin shrugged. "Because your deeds were enough to make it so, and any crime against your name slight enough to be forgiven."

"But what then? Am I simply to live out my days here? Is my part in the music over?"

Olórin gave him a sly look. "None of us have reached the end of our music yet. We must all play our part. If it is your fate to remain here and find bliss, then that is your part. If not, I feel certain the Valar will make it known when the time is right."

"But how am I to know?"

"When I am uncertain, which despite my long years happens all too often, I am afraid, I have no choice but to listen. We each resonate in tune with the melodies of the world. If we are out of step, the chords jar and jangle until we shift and shuffle. If we are on the right path, it is as though our bodies too are singing, and all feels well. So if I sought to answer that question, I would ask it of myself and consider each possible answer, and feel which one resounds, and which strikes a discord."

Glorfindel was silent for a moment.

"I feel there is something more," he concluded finally. "Something further that I must do."

"Then you shall only know what that duty is when the Valar decide to tell you," said Olórin. "Therefore, why not be content in the knowledge that the day will come, in time? And until then find joy in the living things around you. When the day is right, you will know it."

They came to a clearing, and through the trees ahead could see the vast, open countryside basking in the sunlight. Pausing for a while to consider both the journey ahead and the one just completed, Glorfindel smiled and let out a sigh.

"What can you hope to learn from me, when I do not yet know myself?" he breathed.

"I shall learn," said Olórin, "what it is like to be uncertain, and to live."

Slowly, the two walked on towards the open land.

"Who knows," Olórin went on, "perhaps it is better that we learn from each other?"