10: Tea with the Fëanturi

Glorfindel could only stand there in open-mouthed astonishment, unable to accept what he was seeing. The two Valar sat there gazing at him with evident amusement and Glorfindel could feel himself getting angry, replaying his journey through the maze in his mind. No doubt they had found him quite amusing as he floundered about like an idiot. He was surprised all the other Valar weren’t there laughing at him as well. Probably because I’m not considered high enough entertainment for them, he thought sourly.

"No, yonya," Námo said, his mien sobering somewhat. "No one is laughing at you. Come here." He gestured and, in spite of himself, Glorfindel found himself moving towards the pavilion, though every step was slow and reluctant. He wanted nothing more than to just turn around and go back into the maze and to Angband with them all.

Irmo cast a glance at his brother Vala and raised an eyebrow. "He’s a stubborn one, isn’t he?"

"He’s always been that way," Námo said with a nod, never taking his eyes off Glorfindel who continued to approach them however reluctantly, fury written all over the ellon’s face. "Just the sort you like, if I recall."

"Hmmm. But there’s stubborn and then there’s stubborn. I’m not sure I like what I see in this one." He gazed dispassionately at the elf who felt himself getting angrier by the second, all reason fleeing.

"Well," Námo said, "he’s your problem now and..."

"STOP TALKING ABOUT ME AS IF I WEREN’T THERE!"

Silence reigned for an eternity as the Fëanturi gazed with some consternation at the elf now standing before them. Then, with a stifled sob, Glorfindel turned and started to run back towards the maze but strong arms stayed him. He struggled to get free but to no avail and finally he collapsed into Námo’s embrace, shame and exhaustion taking their toll, as he wept. He waited for the Vala to lift him into his arms like an elfling, as the Lord of Mandos had done countless times before, but instead, Námo merely guided him towards the pavilion, sitting him in a chair.

"Drink this," the Vala said as he handed Glorfindel a crystal goblet and Námo’s tone brooked no argument. Glorfindel took a hesitant sip of the clear liquid in the goblet. He gasped in spite of himself. Miruvórë! The mead of the Valar. It had been long ages since he had drunk any. He felt his spirits lift and his emotions steadied with just that first sip.

"All of it, yonya," Námo ordered and Glorfindel had no problem obeying the Vala in this particular instance. When he had drained the goblet Námo took it and set it on the table before sitting down. Glorfindel stared at his lap, refusing to look up.

For long moments there was only silence, save for Glorfindel’s breathing, which had been somewhat ragged with tears but had calmed a bit with the miruvórë. When it had become slow and even again, Námo spoke, his tone soft.

"I apologize for any distress you have felt, child. It was not our intent for you to be so distraught. You have to understand something." Here Námo leaned over and placed a hand on the ellon’s chin, forcing him to look up. Glorfindel saw no condemnation in the Vala’s eyes, only love. "The Eruhíni are an endless source of wonder and delight for us, for we had naught to do with your making. You belong to Eru Ilúvatar alone and we Valar rejoice that it is so. If, at times, it seems we are laughing at you, it is not so. Rather, we laugh with you, delighting in all your ways as you struggle to become that which Eru has destined you to be."

"I...I don’t recall you laughing when you... when you uttered your Doom against the Noldor," Glorfindel said in a small but still defiant voice.

Námo sat back as he lifted an eyebrow at the ellon’s words, refusing to respond to such impertinence. Irmo sighed, shaking his head.

"Stubborn as the day is long."

Námo turned to his brother with a wry smile. "Perhaps, but would you want him any other way?"

The Lord of Lórien stared at Glorfindel for a moment and the ellon tried not to squirm under his intent gaze. Irmo looked much like his brother, but whereas Námo’s hair was black as to be almost blue, Irmo’s was more a black-brown and his eyes were hazel rather than silver-grey. The Vala smiled. "No, I suppose not. Where would be the fun in that?"

Glorfindel started to make a retort, but stopped in time, the words that he had been about to say, words he knew he would regret saying as soon as he had spoken them, dying on his lips. The Valar nodded their approval, though Glorfindel did not see that, for he had returned his gaze to his lap.

"I...I’m sorry, too," he finally said quietly. "I shouldn’t have yelled like that."

"Then we will speak no more of it," Námo said gently. "But to answer your questions..."

Glorfindel looked up at the Vala in confusion. As far as he knew, he hadn’t said anything except to yell at them. What questions?

"The questions that are constantly in your mind, elfling," Irmo said, not unkindly. "They roil about like flotsam on a raging river and even we have trouble keeping up with them."

"Oh... those questions." Námo and Irmo both grinned at the sheepish look that crossed Glorfindel’s face.

"There is no shame in such questions, my child," Námo said. "They are part of what delights us about you. Now, let us take tea together and speak of many things. You have not eaten since this morning and you need nourishment."

"Th-this morning? But...I mean.... the maze...I was...that is..."

"Time runs a little differently inside my brother’s maze," Námo said as he proceeded to pour out tea from a ceramic pot into dainty cups that hadn’t been there a moment before. Plates of tarts and cheese, fruits and cakes also graced the table where before there had been three crystal goblets and a decanter of miruvórë. Glorfindel had ceased to wonder at such feats and simply accepted them as what one would expect around the Valar. "You entered the maze at noon, and it is barely an hour past that. Now drink your tea and have one of these tarts. No questions and no answers until you’ve eaten."

Glorfindel gave a sigh and complied. He was hungry, true, but he much preferred having his questions answered. However, after taking the first bite from a tart that proved to have strawberries inside it, all questions fled his mind and for several minutes he devoted himself to eating his fill. The Fëanturi sat there watching him with indulgent looks on their nearly identical faces.

When Glorfindel’s eating had slowed and he was content to sip his tea and nibble on some cheese and fruits, Námo nodded. "That’s better. Let us begin."

Glorfindel dropped his cup, which landed on the table, tea spilling everywhere. He felt the blood drain from his head. The last time he had heard such words he had been surrounded by....

Suddenly he felt as if he were going to be sick and he put a hand to his mouth and started to get up, afraid he might embarrass himself before the Valar. Irmo was at his side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on his forehead and holding him steady.

"No, Glorfindel. That is not the way of it. Hush now. All is well. Take a deep breath. All judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. There is nothing to fear now, child. That’s it. Breathe deeply."

Glorfindel followed the Vala’s instructions and began to feel better. He slid back into his chair and Irmo released him. Námo said nothing, merely pouring more tea into Glorfindel’s cup and handing it to him. Glorfindel accepted it gratefully and drank the soothing liquid. There was no sign of any spillage; the table was as pristine as before.

"Irmo is correct, Glorfindel," Námo said after a moment, looking grave. "All judgments were made a long time ago. This is a time of healing and renewal, not punishment. Let your spirit be easy on that score. I sit here not as Judge but as Consoler, for after judgment comes forgiveness and a need for comfort. We, the Valar, have forgiven you. It is now time for you to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself? Forgive myself for what?"

"That is what you will need to discover while you are here in Lórien," Irmo said, looking at the elf in sympathy. "Until you can answer your own question, you will not be permitted to leave and take up your life again in Aman."

Glorfindel scowled. "But I have no life to take up. My life was in Gondolin, serving my king. I know no other life than that. What life can I possibly have in the Undying Lands? I fear all whom I ever knew and love are either dead or dwell still in Middle-earth."

"Not all," Námo reminded him. "Finrod waits for his friend to join him, and there are others. Your life in Aman will not be what it was even before you left with Turgon for the Thither Shores, and it will not be what you remember of your life in Gondolin, but it will be your life and you need to accept it for what it is: a second chance."

For several minutes Glorfindel sat there silently thinking about what the Valar had said. Finally he looked up at Irmo. "What was the purpose of the maze? Was it just to provide you with idle amusement at my expense?"

Irmo raised an eyebrow at that and Glorfindel waited for an explosion, or at least a bolt of lightning, but none was forthcoming. Instead, Irmo chuckled and shook his head. "Stubborn child," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "The maze has nothing to do with me and has everything to do with you. The maze is nothing more than Choice writ large. Along every path there is the chance of having to make a choice, of going one way and not another. All choices are equal, and all choices seem evil, but only from a certain point of view. It would not have mattered which path you had initially taken, you would have ended up here in the center one way or another eventually."

"But then what...?"

Irmo held up a hand and Glorfindel stopped. "All paths taken in life ultimately come to the Center, but not every one has the courage to reach it. Some become discouraged by setbacks and give up, preferring to sit by a pool and stare at nothing in particular. Others wander from one path to another, mindlessly looking for something that isn’t there, becoming hopelessly lost. And still others stand at the juncture between two paths, or even three, frozen by indecision, afraid to make the wrong decision, not realizing that not making a decision is the wrong decision."

Námo now interrupted. "You experienced all of these things to one degree or another while in the maze, did you not?"

Glorfindel could only nod, feeling a little ashamed at his behavior now that it had been pointed out to him. Námo shook his head.

"Such reactions are typical in every life. What matters is that you didn’t allow such negative feelings to rule you. When you finally decided to accept the consequences of your decisions, right or wrong, you made your way here. Life is the same way. The center of your existence is Ilúvatar, not other people, not material things, and certainly not the Valar, but only you can make the decision to seek Him. We can only point the way for you."

Glorfindel contemplated the Valar’s words, taking them to heart. He realized he had been depending on the Valar and their Maiar servants to make all the decisions for him of late. In Mandos’ Halls, there were no decisions to be made and thus nothing ever changed. Everything was a Timeless Now where children played and sang and slept in complete ignorance of anything else, a womb for those needing one for a time. But eventually, the child must be born and join the outside world.

He thought about his time in the garden. Olórin had been his constant companion, feeding him, clothing him, consoling him, admonishing him, much as a parent would a young child. But he was no longer a child, was he?

He looked up at the two Valar. "I’ve been acting like a perfect idiot, haven’t I?"

Námo shook his head. "You’ve been acting as you should, Glorfindel. There is no condemnation here. All the Reborn suffer from the same condition. You have had your innocence restored, but that innocence needs now to be tempered with experience or you cannot grow to emotional maturity and take your rightful place in the life of Aman."

"Each stage of your journey since death has served a purpose," Irmo added. "When you dwelt in my brother’s Halls you learned what it meant to be a child again, innocent of evil. After your re-embodiment, the garden taught you how to reintegrate yourself to the physical world. Now, here in Lórien, your task is to reconcile with your emotions and to come to terms with who you were and who you are now. That is the hardest task, but necessary."

"So when I leave Lórien, I’ll be emotionally mature?" Glorfindel asked doubtfully and the Valar laughed, though not unkindly, and the ellon did not take offense.

"Nay, not even close," Irmo answered. "But you will have the tools you learned here to begin the process of maturity when you do leave."

"But don’t I know this already from my former life?" Glorfindel remembered every detail of his life before his death, but nothing of that life touched him emotionally, neither joy nor sorrow, and he felt troubled by it, as if it were somehow a failing on his part.

"The memories of your former life have been stripped of all emotional context, else you would be overburdened with remorse and guilt once again," Námo explained. "Your memories cannot help you in this case. You must learn to make new connections and integrate them into your present life."

"Most of the elves who dwell in my gardens," the Lord of Lórien said, "are Reborn who are learning to put their lives back together just as you are. They are your fellow students, if you will, not your teachers, though it is hoped that you will all learn from one another."

Glorfindel sighed, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. It just seemed so daunting and impossible.

"So does it seem to the child taking his first step," the Lord of Mandos commented. "Yet he does and finds that it’s not so difficult as he had thought and another step is taken and before long he is running and dancing and you would never guess that he had started out stumbling and falling and picking himself up over and over again until he got it right."

At that, Námo and Irmo stood up and Glorfindel found himself standing as well. Námo gave the elf a piercing look, then his expression softened. He leaned over and placing his hands on either side of the ellon’s face, gave him a gentle kiss on his brow. Glorfindel blinked and when he opened his eyes again both Námo and the pavilion were gone. Irmo clapped the ellon on the shoulder.

"Welcome to Lórien, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel looked around, not at all surprised to find that he was no longer in the maze. Around him were the lush gardens and groves of Lórien and Estë stood before him with a welcoming smile.

****

Fëanturi: "Masters of Spirits", the name by which Námo and his younger brother Irmo are known.

Eruhíni: Children of Eru, i.e. Elves and Men.