43: Meeting With the Elder King

Varda led him down a wide hall floored with alternating squares of beryl and meneluissar. Evenly spaced columns of white marble stood on either side of the central nave. The walls were made from blue quartz and the ceiling was a clear crystal that allowed one to see the sky. When Glorfindel looked up the heavens were full of stars all ablaze. Starlight seemed to be the hall’s only illumination, yet it was enough to see by. At the end of the hall was a tall door with two long panels, one of burnished gold, the other of mithril. Both panels showed a tree and Glorfindel knew that these were the Two Trees of distant memory. Varda looked down at her visitor and smiled, for Glorfindel could not see how the light of the Trees still shone through his own eyes, bright and clear.

As they approached the door, it opened of its own accord, the two panels splitting to admit them. Glorfindel took a deep breath and hoped that he would not do or say anything embarrassing. He wasn’t sure what to expect and his one other encounter with Manwë was no help to him.

"He won’t bite, you know," Varda bent down slightly to whisper in the elf’s ear. "He is particularly fond of elflings... and those who are elflings at heart."

Glorfindel blushed at that, still feeling a bit lost. He could well understand why Ingwion felt the need to scream when he had first come here as a child. Varda stopped before the door and turned to Glorfindel, placing her hands on either side of his face and gazing deep into his eyes. "Take a deep breath, child, and let it out slowly...again...and once more."

Glorfindel had no choice but to comply. As he followed Varda’s instructions he began to feel steadier and his mind felt less skittish, more focused.

"That’s it, child," Varda crooned. "There’s nothing to fear. All here are your friends."

Glorfindel took one more centering breath and nodded. "Friends," he echoed and Varda smiled and took him by the hand again and led him into the audience chamber, the doors closing silently behind them.

Glorfindel looked around and found that the room was smaller than he thought it might be, perhaps no larger than the royal family’s dining hall in Tirion. There were only two thrones on a dais which took up the back third of the room. The thrones were made of clear quartz that looked like ice, and the dais was made of blue quartz. The floor of the room was tiled in pure white marble. The walls were plastered and painted with colorful scenes from Aman depicting daily life among the elves and the Powers. The ceiling was made of the same clear crystal that formed the ceiling in the entrance hall. There were tables and chairs of richly grained wood and brocaded seats scattered about the room that oddly enough did not look out of place. It was towards one set of chairs that Varda led her charge.

Glorfindel saw that, beside the Elder King, two others were there. He was unsurprised to see Lord Námo but the other...

Glorfindel stopped short, shock making it difficult to breathe and then somehow he was kneeling on the floor and memory flooded him and his own sense of shame took him. He started to weep and stammer an apology but he found himself being lifted up and staring into the concerned face of Lord Ulmo.

"What tears are these, child? Why weep you so?" Ulmo’s voice was gentle for all that it was deep with the echo of the sound of the ocean in it. He stood tall, though not overly so, his long hair and beard were the blue-green of seaweed, trailing nearly to the floor. His eyes were a deep purple. He wore a sleeveless robe that fell to mid-calf. It glittered with cold iridescence in the starlight, reminding Glorfindel of fish scales. The robe was belted with coral in shades of pale pink and deep red. On his head he wore a garland of nénur entwined with hrívezellar. The dark green of the wintergreen leaves along with the nodding white flowers and scarlet berrylike fruit of the plant were a stark contrast to the yellow water lilies. His feet were bare as were his legs. The Ulumúri, the great horns of Ulmo, large conches nearly twice the size of Glorfindel’s head, hung across his chest.

Glorfindel could only shake his head at the Vala, unable to form the words he knew must be said. Slowly he went to his knees again, his eyes locked with those of the Lord of Waters. Ulmo allowed him to kneel, knowing that this was important to Glorfindel, though it was of no import to himself. Sometimes he forgot that these Children existed exclusively in linear Time and needed to act out what had already happened in their hearts.

"I’m... I’m sorry, my lord," Glorfindel sobbed. "Turgon wouldn’t... and I didn’t know..."

"Tush, child," Ulmo said, pulling the ellon to his feet once again. "I’ve never blamed you or anyone else for Turgon’s folly. Now, dry these tears." And much to Glorfindel’s surprise, the Lord of Waters gathered the ends of his long beard and began wiping the elf’s face. "Now, there. That’s better," the Vala said, a pleased smile on his face. Without further ado, he turned and brought Glorfindel to where Manwë and Námo still stood, patiently waiting. Manwë’s expression was warm, Námo’s was inscrutable.

The Elder King, Glorfindel saw, wore an ankle-length tunic with three-quarter sleeves of soft wool dyed a deep blue, almost indigo. It was slitted on both sides to the hips, the hem, neck and sleeves trimmed with grey squirrel fur. Underneath was a white shirt of the finest linen and breeches of undyed kid leather. The sleeves of the shirt were bloused and gathered tightly at the wrists. White on white embroidery covered the cuffs. Knee-length leather boots were on his feet. His chestnut brown hair was unbraided and was wreathed with a garland of laurel and golden oak leaves. His only jewelry was a mithril chain upon which hung a large uncut sapphire held in the claws of an eagle in flight, also made of mithril.

Námo was a study in contrast to the Elder King. He was dressed in an ankle-length tunic of unrelieved black velvet trimmed at the hem and wrists with sable fur. It had a high collar heavily embroidered in silver filigree and the sleeves were tightly gathered at the wrists. The tunic was belted with silver disks alternately etched with either Isil at full or with a representation of Telperion. His long blue-black hair was elf-braided, including, Glorfindel noticed, Sindar warrior braids entwined with moonstones, black opals and sea pearls as well as mithril and onyx beads in a pattern unfamiliar to him. He wore a coronet of mithril wrought in the shape of two stylized birds facing one another with their claws outstretched, their long tails joining in the back. Between the claws lay a single large diamond, its facets shimmering blue in the soft starlight that was the room’s only illumination.

Glorfindel belatedly noticed Varda’s attire and was amazed to see that the Queen of Stars wore only a simple sleeveless overgown of white samite slit up the center to just below her breasts so that the undertunic of blue watered silk showed through. The skirt of the overgown flared at the hem. The sleeves of the undertunic were tight to the wrists. She wore no crown nor garland save for the wreath of living stars above her head and a single star sapphire hung from a silver-linked chain that nestled between her breasts.

Of the four Valar, Varda’s dress was the most understated, yet Glorfindel could see that her ethereal beauty outshone them all. Manwë smiled wryly as he watched the elf take in their sartorial splendour and winked. "We peacocks can never compete with my beloved in either beauty or grace."

"But not for lack of trying," Námo quipped, a small smile gracing his face and the other Valar laughed. Glorfindel found himself relaxing as he listened to the light banter, the sick fluttering in the pit of his stomach easing.

"Come, child," Manwë gestured, "sit and be at ease. For all that we are formally dressed, this is a very informal meeting."

Glorfindel waited until all the Valar were seated before taking his own seat. A low table near the chairs contained plates of light sweets and fruits, a carafe of fruit juice and another of wine. Glorfindel eyed the table with interest, especially the carafe of wine. Varda smiled knowingly and began pouring some fruit juice into a cut crystal glass.

"I think you should not have the wine tonight," she said as she handed Glorfindel the glass, giving him a shrewd look. "You have not eaten much these past two days and the wine might prove somewhat intoxicating in your present state of mind."

"Yes, Lady," Glorfindel said meekly and dutifully sipped his juice while the others looked on with grins.

Manwë leaned over and placed a hand on Glorfindel’s arm and the elf gave him a questioning look. "I know what you hope to learn from this meeting, my young Balrog-slayer," Manwë said, "but I will not answer any questions concerning Turgon or his family." Manwë gave Glorfindel’s arm a squeeze to still any protest and Glorfindel closed his mouth and nodded meekly, looking down at his feet with a sigh, the light of anticipation that had been in his eyes since the day before suddenly going out.

Manwë looked at his fellow Valar and raised an eyebrow. Námo stood up and went over to Glorfindel who looked up with some trepidation, clutching the glass of juice as if it were his sole defense against whatever might come. Námo placed a comforting hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder as he leaned down to speak to him.

"I think you have more recent questions for us, hinya," the Lord of Mandos said quietly. "Questions of a disturbing nature, if I’m not mistaken." His voice was warm and his expression inviting and Glorfindel relaxed somewhat under his gaze and nodded.

"Then ask your questions and we will do our best to answer them," Manwë said as Námo gave the elf a nod and returned to his chair.

Glorfindel sat for a long moment thinking. So much that was strange had happened to him and he was not sure where he should begin. He finally asked the first question that came to him. "Wh-why did they restrain me?" It was spoken barely above a whisper and there was a hint of fear in his voice as if he were afraid of the answer.

The Valar sighed and Námo looked somewhat grim, which only made it worse for Glorfindel, believing that it was somehow his own fault.

"You did nothing wrong, child," Varda said, divining his thoughts. "Put your mind at ease there. The restraints were a mistake on the part of the healers who were unaware of what had happened to you and were unsure of your mental state. They sought merely to protect you and others from your hysteria when you finally awoke."

"What happened to me?"

"Tell us what you remember, Glorfindel," Námo commanded.

Glorfindel looked towards the Lord of Mandos, not really seeing him, his eyes becoming somewhat unfocused with memory. "I woke up and the High King was missing. I went in search of him but could not find him."

"My people tell me they discovered you with a sword in your hand," Manwë said, his expression carefully neutral. "Did you not relinquish your sword to my brother?"

The elf looked down for a moment before turning to the Elder King, his expression set. "Ingwë was missing, everyone else was asleep. I did not know what had happened and thought that some enemy had entered Aman and meant us ill. Even a thrall will arm himself with what weapon is at hand to protect himself. I relinquished my sword, Lord Manwë, I did not relinquish the right to wield one at need."

Manwë raised an eyebrow at the nearly belligerent tone of the elf sitting before him and hid a smile, though he was laughing silently, his fellow Valar joining him. "What happened next?" was all he said and Glorfindel could not tell if the Elder King approved or disapproved of his reply. Not having any other choice, he continued his tale.

"The Maiar... they said they knew where the High King was. They led me..." Glorfindel began to tremble, his face white with distress at the memory and tears fell from his eyes. He fell on his knees before Manwë without conscious thought of doing so.

"I-I wanted to so much...and they wanted me to... but I knew I couldn’t and... I’m sorryimsorry...." He was sobbing by now, his eyes closed in anguish, clutching the now empty glass to his chest and rocking slightly.

Manwë reached over and took the ellon’s head between his hands.

"Glorfindel, look at me," he commanded and Glorfindel opened his eyes. The Elder King’s gaze was warm and merry and Glorfindel found himself stilling as Manwë continued staring at him, willing him to calmness. "I place no blame upon you, child. Your reaction was commendable, if misplaced. All is well. Get up now and be comforted. Give your glass to Námo and let him fill it for you. That’s it."

Glorfindel found himself getting to his feet with Manwë’s assistance and retaking his seat, handing his glass to the Lord of Mandos without actually looking at anyone, shame at his childish action foremost in his mind. Manwë gave him a light kiss on the brow. "Now, none of that, my Balrog-slayer. Self-recrimination is a useless exercise. No one here thinks the less of you for your honest reaction. The fact that you tried to honor our ban however much you wished to do otherwise is all that matters here."

Námo handed Glorfindel his glass. "Drink," he commanded softly and Glorfindel complied, nearly choking on what turned out to be wine rather than the expected juice. Námo laughed at that. "I said ‘drink’, not ‘spit’."

"Th-this is wine," Glorfindel stammered in surprise and the Valar smiled.

"And a very good vintage it is, too," was Námo’s only reply. "Drink, child, and have no fear. It will not intoxicate you, merely calm you. Here, have a sweet." Námo reached down and took a plate, handing it to Glorfindel who stared at it in bemusement before selecting a strawberry tart. For several moments Glorfindel was busy eating the tart and washing it down with the light fruity wine that left him feeling refreshed and at ease, the fluttering in his stomach finally laid to rest.

"That’s better," Manwë said in approval. "Now, why don’t you tell us what you remember next."

Glorfindel took a deep breath before complying. "I was running, but to where or from what I do not know. Then I was... I was in Gondolin but it was...it was dead." He paused and took another sip of the wine. The Valar sat immobile and patient, allowing Glorfindel to set the pace. "Then there were all these Maiar surrounding me, telling me I had to go home. But I was home... at least... I thought I was..."

His voice faded and confusion clouded his eyes as he struggled to understand what had happened and failed. Námo suddenly stood up and then to Glorfindel’s everlasting surprise knelt before him, placing a hand on his knee. "We are so very sorry you suffered that, child. It was never our intention. Somehow you and a few others, like Ingwë, managed to do what you should not have been able to do. We cannot explain it, for we do not understand it ourselves."

Glorfindel stared at the Lord of Mandos in stunned surprise. "B-but you’re... you’re Valar! You’re suppose to understand everything!"

At that all four Valar started laughing, Ulmo’s laughter especially booming through the room. Námo stood up and pulled Glorfindel into his embrace and held him. "Oh child, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages," he exclaimed and gave the elf a fierce hug before releasing him, gazing at him with loving humor. "Only Eru understands everything, my good elf. We Valar may have a better understanding of things than you, but even to us much is still mystery, especially where you Children, Eldar and Atani alike, are concerned."

Glorfindel glanced at Manwë for confirmation at Námo’s words and the Elder King nodded. "When the Third Theme of the Ainulindalë was propounded, none of us had anything to do with the themes that denoted your coming into Arda. For that reason we know little of you and cannot predict the outcome of your actions with any certainty. We can only guess at them based on previous experience. Your presence is a mystery to us and we continue to learn more and more about you each day."

Glorfindel sat down, pondering the Elder King’s words. He looked about and saw the grave sincerity on the Valar’s faces. He finally turned his attention to Ulmo. "Did you know Turgon would ignore your warning, my lord?"

Ulmo shook his head. "Only that there was a strong possibility that he would, but I did not know for certain."

"Would you have sent Tuor anyway if you had known?" Glorfindel asked. He had always liked the mortal who had captured the heart of Gondolin’s beloved princess and was honored that he had been trusted by Tuor to see to his family’s safety on that horrendous night.

Ulmo stared sadly at the elf sitting before him. "Yes, child. I would have sent him regardless." He gave a deep sigh like the sound of surf on the beach. "Tuor’s destiny was always to go to Gondolin, whether Turgon heeded his words or not. More was at stake than Turgon’s pride or Gondolin’s continued existence. If Turgon had listened to Tuor that would still have not been any guarantee that Gondolin would not fall, only that it would not have fallen as it did and perhaps many more could have been saved than were."

Glorfindel felt the blood drain from his face at these words. "Th-then I was always meant to die, wasn’t I, whether Turgon had listened to Tuor or no."

Námo gave the ellon a sharp look. "Meant to? No one is meant to die, Glorfindel. That was not part of Ilúvatar’s original plan. Melkor corrupted Arda and all else flows from that, but Eru is supreme over his creation and will not allow that corruption to rule all. You were not meant to die, but you did. What you do with that experience is for you to decide. Even Eru will not interfere with your will in this. Learn from what has happened... or not."

"But everyone hates me because I died," Glorfindel protested and the Valar smiled at the ellon’s hyperbole.

"Not everyone," Manwë said gently, "but if you mean, there are some among the Eldar of Aman who are less than accepting of the Reborn, then you are correct. It is one reason we summoned you here, Glorfindel, to discuss this very matter."

Glorfindel stared at the Elder King in surprise. "It is?" His voice squeaked, and he reddened in embarrassment but no one laughed. If anything, they all had grave looks on their faces.

Manwë nodded. "Yes, and we will speak of it in due course during your stay here, but let us return to what happened to you recently."

Varda put a hand on Glorfindel’s arm and the ellon gave her his attention. "You are an enigma, my dear. All the other elves affected by what happened were elves who awoke at Cuiviénen. You are the only one from after that time who was affected. We think it’s because you are Reborn, but we do not know for sure."

"During your stay here in Valmar," Manwë said, "we would like to explore the ramifications of what happened further. In short," and here he gave Glorfindel a wry smile, "we would like your permission to... examine you."

"Ex-examine me... how?"

Manwë raised his right hand. "Do not fear. We will do nothing to you physically nor will you suffer any harm. In fact, you will probably not even notice anything, but we are curious and would like to relieve ourselves of that curiosity if you will allow us."

Glorfindel stared at his feet for several minutes weighing the Elder King’s words in his mind. The Valar remained still, waiting. Finally, he looked up. "Wh-what is it you want me to do?"

There was a sigh in the air that came from no one in particular, yet there was an obvious lightening of tension all around. Námo smiled. "Come to us in the morning. Bring Ingwion with you. We will explain all then."

"Meantime," Manwë said with a smile, "your friends are waiting for you outside. Go to them, child. They are feeling somewhat anxious on your behalf."

Glorfindel stood and bowed to Manwë and then to each of the other Valar in turn, ending with Námo. "In the morning?" he asked the Lord of Mandos.

"The third hour," Námo replied with a nod. "One of my people will come to escort you."

Glorfindel bowed again and then made his way to the door which opened silently for him. When the door closed again, leaving the Valar alone, Varda spoke.

"Do you think he suspects the real reason we summoned him?"

Manwë shook his head. "No, he does not, nor will he."

"All the pieces are in place," Námo said. "Findaráto and Sador are where they need to be, Glorfindel is here. Now we wait. It’s just a matter of time before they strike."

"We play a dangerous game, brothers," Ulmo said musingly. "We cannot predict the outcome of what might happen."

Manwë sat for a moment in complete stillness then nodded. "Fionwë," he said quietly and the Maia was standing before him, bowing.

"My lord sent for me?" the Maia asked deferentially.

Manwë nodded. "Double the guard on Glorfindel. Have Manveru and Erunáro remain in constant attendance. They are not to interfere with what will happen but if they think that our favorite Balrog-slayer is in danger of losing his life again they may interfere on his behalf but not before."

"Let’s hope that never happens," Námo said with a frown. "It would not do to tip our hand too soon. The Eldar need to believe that they are in control."

"Until they learn otherwise," Ulmo said with a dangerous smile on his lips and the others nodded in agreement, their own smiles equally dangerous.

Manwë glanced at the Maia. "Go. See that Glorfindel is left in peace for the next two nights. After that we will see."

Fionwë bowed and was gone. For several minutes no one spoke, then Manwë sighed and gave his fellow Valar a deprecating smile. "I’m really getting too old for this you know."

The laughter that followed was long and merry, setting the bells of Valmar ringing.

****

Beryl: Used to ward off demons and evil spirits. It is said to protect travelers from danger. The proper name for the Emerald: brings wisdom, growth, and patience and is considered symbolic of love, fidelity, faith and hope.

Meneluissar: Sky-blue stone or lapis lazuli; symbolic of truth.

Blue quartz: Symbolic of peace and tranquility.

Nénur: Plural of nénu: yellow water lily.

Hrívezellar: Plural of hrívezella "wintergreen", an evergreen shrub (Gaultheria procumbens) often found near water. It has nodding white flowers and scarlet berrylike fruit. [hrívë "winter" + ezella "green" (in Vanyarin Quenya only and adopted from Valarin)].