Sent Unto Men: Part II

It had been many ages since he had last walked this world and so much had changed. Seas had risen and mountains had eroded; for long ages the world had even been held captive under ice. Continents had split and reformed until the world no longer looked as it once had. And those who lived in it had no memory, not even a myth, of those earlier days, though, oddly enough, he reflected, one group of Men had kept a garbled account of the Downfall of Númenor, though it no longer went by that name.

He walked slowly, taking his time, enjoying the night breeze blowing off the Inner Sea many leagues to the West. As he walked, he mused, remembering the long ages that had led to this moment. He remembered coming into Eä and helping with the building of Arda; the long wars with Melkor and the longer periods of time spent in the service of Lórien and Nienna; the short time of his incarnation and travels throughout Middle-earth. He grieved when Minas Tirith was finally destroyed, crushed under the onslaught of the Ice that began to cover the earth as the Fourth Age of the world had come to a close, for a hitherto unknown lieutenant of Sauron’s, who had escaped the destruction of Barad-dûr, had risen, exerting his power over the planet’s weather patterns, bringing cold and ice from the Outer Regions of Eä in an attempt to dominate and rule the world.

He remembered the long weary ages of war against the Ice King, with the final battle taking place over the eternal ice fields of the continent that spanned the southern pole; the sudden victory that had ended the grip of evil over Middle-earth, returning Spring to the world, a victory won at great cost as most of the planet was swamped by gigantic tidal waves caused by the sudden melting of the ice covering the southern continent; tidal waves so massive that not even Ulmo could control them all. Most of the world had been destroyed and the return of civilization had been long and halting. This event, too, had entered into the garbled myths of the many lands that had been inundated by the massive floods. He knew that someday Men would gain enough knowledge to be able to read the history of the earth in its very bones, and will speak of ice ages and their causes, yet never know the full truth.

Most of all he grieved for those endearing Hobbits who had become victims of the Ice. Only a scattered handful of these delightful, gentle creatures had escaped to the South, eventually settling in wild jungles, adapting over time to fit their new environment until they no longer resembled the people they had once been, yet still retaining their small statures and their innocence.

So much had been destroyed. Yet, in spite of this, Men had not only survived, but had flourished. No, not all had been lost in that bitter time, he mused. Even the line of Kings was not entirely broken and a remnant of the Edain had survived. Tonight was proof of that, for even now a daughter of the Edain carried within her womb the Hope of Arda itself.

He stopped and shook his head, as if to clear it of dark memories. Looking around he saw that he had nearly reached his destination. There, above him, Eärendil shone brightly, moving closer to the earth than was his wont, by order of Manwë himself.

Well, Eärendil had his orders, and he had his.

He smiled to himself at the memory of the meeting with Manwë and Varda.

“You are my king,” he had said to Manwë with a small bow after the Elder King had told him why he had been summoned, “and I will gladly do as you ask, but surely this is a task more suitable to Eönwë, for is he not your Herald in all things?”

Manwë had only smiled. “In all things concerning Valinor, yes. But in this case, I believe your particular talents shall be better needed. And it is not I who requests this.”

He had gasped slightly at the implications of the Elder King’s words and even now, as he stood on this small knoll overlooking a small village he felt a frisson of joy at what those words meant.

The village lay a distance to his left. So small a place for such an enormous event as was to take place that night and only a handful of its inhabitants with any awareness of it. How like the One to confound even the Wise with His simplicity of maneuvers. Chuckling to himself he turned to where a small band of Men huddled over a meager fire as they tended to their flocks of sheep, keeping watch for predators and mishaps alike.

As he approached these men he saw the Silmaril on Eärendil’s ship blaze forth, illuminating all. He knew by the looks of fear and wonder on the Men that he himself shone with the light of the Silmaril as they took note of his arrival.

“Fear not!” he said, his voice full of compassion for these frail creatures, beloved of the One. “Fear not. Peace be with you. I bring you glad tidings of great joy. In the village below, in the city of David, your Savior has been born, the Messiah of the Lord. Go you, and seek him. And you will find him wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger in one of the caves used as a stable.”

Even as he finished speaking, the sky was suddenly full of light and sound and he heard Maiar and Valar and even Ainur come from the Timeless Halls singing paens of joy and thanksgiving.

The Men cowered in awe, unsure what they should do. He took pity on them and with a gentleness learned in the shadow of the Halls of Mandos, encouraged them with kind words to go to the village below them, leaving him to his own thoughts.

As the Men led their flocks towards the village the music above them began to fade into eternity.

“Greetings Olórin, it has been very long,” a voice as calm and as deep as the Sea said behind him.

Olórin turned with a smile illuminating his face. “Welcome, my friends,” he said to the band of beings shining under Eärendil’s light, “Welcome to Arda.” And laughed as he and the Ainur embraced.

The one who had greeted him first stood back. “So, Olórin, do you regret leaving the Timeless Halls for Arda?”

Olórin thought back over the countless ages, the wonder and the horror, the pain and the glory of it all and shook his head. “Nay, I regret it not. And even less do I regret it this night.”

“Good. I am glad to hear it, for after tonight nothing will ever be the same, neither in Arda nor in the Timeless Halls. You will have your work cut out for you,” the Ainu said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Olórin raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” was all he said.

The Ainur laughed and it was as if all of creation laughed with them.

The first Ainu clapped Olórin’s shoulder. “Come, the One awaits us in yonder village. I will tell you what He has planned for you and the other Maiar and Valar as we go. I do not think you will be disappointed.”

With that, Olórin found himself surrounded by his long missed friends as they made their way to the village Men called Bethlehem where the One awaited them, and around them the light of Eärendil continued to shine brightly, illuminating the now silent night.