48: Echoes of the Past, Storms of the Present

Glorfindel and Ingwion left Lord Ulmo’s mansion shortly thereafter, never knowing that the two hundred Maiar had come and gone, though a contingent of warriors still ringed the two elves on Manwë’s orders. The elves made their way back to Eldamas, wandering the streets in a random manner, stopping to admire a building or a fountain or to buy a sweet. Glorfindel decided to take Ulmo’s last words to heart and set out to enjoy himself. He had seen little of the town and wanted to explore. Ingwion was more than willing.

The Maiar in their midst smiled indulgently at the two elves, especially when Glorfindel reacted to something with childlike glee. Everything fascinated him and he often stopped to speak to this person or that, asking questions about the town and its inhabitants. Most recognized the prince who was obviously this strange elf’s companion and so remained respectfully polite in his presence, though not a few looked askance at Glorfindel’s outlandish braids shimmering in the afternoon sun. Glorfindel ignored the looks, determined not to let them upset him. He meant what he had said earlier: he was tired of apologizing for his life and was no longer going to do so. The Amaneldi would just have to accept him as he was... or not.

Ingwion found himself seeing Eldamas and its people as if for the first time through Glorfindel’s unjaded eyes. He took delight in "discovering" the town with his friend, and was surprised to find that one or two places were completely new to him.

"I never knew this was here," he said in surprise when the two came suddenly upon a small fountain in a courtyard off a narrow alley. It was a graceful structure of gleaming white marble with veins of deep blue depicting Ulmo and Ossë riding sea creatures that neither elf could put names to.

"I wonder who made it and why they hid it away here?" Glorfindel asked. The elves remained in the courtyard for some time enjoying the quiet and admiring the play of water plashing from the fountain. The Maiar warriors, of course, could have told them about the fountain and its maker, but as the elves were unaware of their presence, they weren’t asked.

The sun was setting as the two friends made their way to the inn where they joined the others for the evening meal. As before, no one pressed them to speak of their meeting with the Vala. Instead, they entertained each other by describing their favorite sights in the city. Alassiel was intrigued by Glorfindel’s description of the fountain and said that she would like to see it before they left. The others nodded in agreement.

"When do we leave?" Glorfindel asked Ingwion curiously.

"When the Valar say we may," Ingwion replied with equanimity.

Glorfindel looked surprised and somewhat concerned. "I-I don’t understand."

Findis leaned over and placed a hand on Glorfindel’s arm. "You were summoned here by Lord Manwë, Glorfindel. You may not depart without the Elder King’s leave to do so."

"Are you that anxious to return to Vanyamar, otornya?" Ingwion asked with a smile and Glorfindel shook his head. "Good. Because I for one am enjoying myself. Now, what should we do tomorrow?"

With that, everyone but Glorfindel began offering suggestions. Glorfindel sat back and let the flow of conversation pass over him. He would not mind remaining in Valmar for another day or two, but for some reason the thought of remaining for longer than that made him nervous. He was unaware that he was rubbing the peridot ring, though the Maiar took note and passed the information along to their lords.

No one noticed the hooded figure sitting in a dark corner of the common room observing Glorfindel and his friends for a time before leaving. No one, that is, but the Maiar.

****

It turned out that no one in their party had yet gone out the west gate of the city to see the Trees and the Ring of Doom.

"It would be a pity not to see them while we are here," Lómion had said the night before.

"Then you should go," Findis had said, indicating the four younger Noldor. "The rest of us will take our ease here."

So it was decided, but in the morning, as they were readying themselves to leave, Glorfindel joined them, much to everyone’s surprise.

"Are you sure?" Elessairon asked, looking at the golden-haired elf doubtfully.

Glorfindel gave him a grim smile. "Am I sure I want to do this? The answer to that is... no. Do I need to do this? The answer to that is... maybe. If I find it too distressful, I will turn back."

Ingwion offered to accompany them, but Glorfindel said he did not need a minder and anyway, it would be fun just for the Noldor to have an outing of their own. "I don’t know about the others, but you Vanyar are beginning to get on my nerves," Glorfindel joked and Ingwion obliged him by sticking out his tongue at them. They left the inn in a merry mood.

When they reached the end of the avenue, however, the mood shifted. They had walked the length of the Landamallë in lighthearted banter, stopping to admire the Mindon Nyellion for a moment before continuing. Glorfindel’s mood darkened as they came abreast of the mansion of the Lord of Mandos and the others became quiet as they all stopped to look through the front gate. There was nothing about the mansion that looked ominous or threatening. The courtyard before it was bright and colorful with many flowers and birds singing in the arbors. There was, in fact, a sense of peace and serenity about the place.

"The peace of the grave," Glorfindel muttered to himself, and only Elessairon heard him.

They did not linger but made their way through the golden gate out onto the Númenya Tëa. The Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar were some distance to the left of the road. A small path led directly to them. As they approached, the elves fell silent, awed beyond measure at the sight of the Green Mound and the dark husks of the Trees looming above them. They did not venture onto the Mound, but remained a respectful distance from it. They were the only visitors.

Glorfindel stood there staring up at the Trees, remembering. He twisted the peridot ring on his finger and its touch brought him comfort. His glance, however, wandered from the dead Trees to a spot to the south of it and without conscious volition he found himself leaving the others, moving along the path past the Ezellohar.

"Glorfindel, wait!" Elessairon shouted, his voice sounding harsh in the silence that seemed to permeate the very air around them. Not even birds could be heard here.

Glorfindel paid no heed but continued walking, indeed, almost running. The others ran after him and Manveru silently ordered a full alert as he and his companions took up positions around the Máhanaxar, still invisible to the elves.

Glorfindel did not stop running until he was in the center of the ring of thrones. The other elves stopped as well, but stood at the perimeter between two of the thrones. Glorfindel turned slowly around, his lips moving, but what he said they did not hear. Suddenly, he stopped and pointed to one of the thrones.

"Lord Manwë sat there," he said in a voice loud enough for them to hear. Then he pointed to another throne. "And Lady Varda was here." One by one he pointed to the various thrones, naming their occupants as the other elves looked on in wonder and consternation. When Glorfindel pointed to Námo’s throne, he hesitated before naming the Lord of Mandos. For a long moment he simply stared at it before glancing at his friends, giving them a brief, sad smile.

"I screamed," he said in a flat voice. "Screamed and screamed and screamed, but it did no good."

The younger Noldor did not move but stared at Glorfindel with a mixture of horror and pity. Glorfindel did not notice.

"They made me see... many things. People think we deserve judgment and they are correct, but they little think of the consequences of judgment, not all of them having to do with punishment." He shook his head and went silent, unwilling or unable to say more.

The others simply stood there, unsure how to react, seeing this Noldo in a new light, for he was far older than they, in spirit if not in body. It was a sobering thought and the ellith found themselves shivering, though the sun was warm on their skin.

Glorfindel gave a final glance at Námo’s throne then turned and walked towards his friends. "Let’s go," he said softly and they followed him silently back to the city.

More than one Maia breathed a sigh of relief to see Glorfindel leave the Ring of Doom. Námo, who had been standing invisibly by his throne and listening to Glorfindel, nodded grimly at the retreating figure.

****

They returned to the Laughing Vala to find that Ingwion and the Vanyarin ellith were not there. When the others decided to go look for them Glorfindel declined to join them.

"I think going out to the Ezellohar was a mistake," he said. "I want to just stay here and relax. Go, enjoy the day. I will see you this evening."

The others reluctantly left him sitting in the common room quietly nursing a goblet of wine.

Hours later, when all of the elves met in the common room, it was to discover that Glorfindel was not there, nor, when they inquired, had any of the inn’s staff seen him leave earlier. A quick glance in his room showed that all his clothes were still there; only his cloak was missing... and his new knife.

"Perhaps he decided to spend the night in one of the malinorni," Elessairon said, half-jokingly, remembering how Glorfindel seemed to like to sleep in trees back in Tirion. Ingwion was near to panic, for he feared the implications of Glorfindel taking his knife and would have rushed out to scour Eldamas and Valmar for the missing elf if Findis had not stopped him.

"He may have simply gone for a walk, Cousin," she said, "and taken the knife to be sharpened. It is still early yet. Let us dine and no doubt he will come in looking none the worse for wear."

The others all said the same and Ingwion was forced to acquiesce, not willing or perhaps unable to articulate his concerns in such a way as to make any sense to the others. But when the hours of the night deepened with still no sign of Glorfindel, even Findis looked worried.

"If he has not returned by morning," she said, "we will search for him."

No one slept.

****

Morning came and with it drear clouds out of the west, though the rain held off. Ingwion refused to break his fast and stated categorically that he was leaving to look for Glorfindel and the rest were free to do as they pleased.

Findis and Indil offered to remain at the inn, in case Glorfindel wandered in while the others were out. Alassiel elected to go with Ingwion along with Elessairon to Valmar; the others agreed to look for him in Eldamas.

"Go to that fountain he told us about," Alassiel suggested at the last minute. "Perhaps he’s been there all along."

Ingwion smiled for the first time since finding Glorfindel missing. "That’s a good idea, Cousin. I had forgotten about the fountain. Glorfindel was intrigued by it and may have decided to find out more about it."

The others agreed to start their search there while Ingwion and his party went to Valmar. "Perhaps he received a summons from one of the Valar," Elessairon said, though he did not sound confident about it.

Ingwion shook his head. "Even if that were true, and Glorfindel neglected to leave us a message, the Valar would have sent us word, knowing we would worry otherwise."

Ingwion walked quickly towards the north gate, then made his way down the main avenue. He never bothered to stop at the Mindon Nyellion, nor at any of the mansions along the way.

"Ingwion, where do you go?" Alassiel cried out. "Should we not stop to ask if Glorfindel is visiting one of the Valar?"

Ingwion shook his head, reluctantly stopping to answer the elleth’s question. "He would not voluntarily seek out any of the Valar... except perhaps for one."

"Lord Námo," Elessairon said, divining Ingwion’s intention.

"Yes, though I don’t think he is there or Lord Námo would have sent us word."

"Then where..." Elessairon began but Alassiel interrupted.

"He’s gone back to the Ezellohar."

Ingwion nodded. "Or to what lies beyond," and they all shivered slightly at the thought.

Ingwion resumed his walk and the other two were quick to follow. Soon, they reached the west gate and made their way towards the Green Mound. By now the clouds were dark and menacing. The wind had stiffened and Elessairon took hold of Alassiel to help her along. There was no sign of Glorfindel anywhere near the Mound and they continued on to the Ring.

It was there that they found their first clue that Glorfindel had possibly returned there earlier.

When they reached the Ring, they found the ground all churned up and Ingwion told the other two to stop and remain where they were until he could ascertain its meaning. He followed the signs back into the Ring, signs of scuffling and what appeared to be someone being dragged away. There, near the throne that Glorfindel claimed belonged to Lord Námo, he found evidence that someone had been attacked by several others. In the gathering gloom of the oncoming storm he saw something he thought he would never see.

Lying in the grass before Lord Námo’s throne was Glorfindel’s new knife, stained with blood.

****

They returned to Valmar with the knife. Alassiel went white at the sight of it in Ingwion’s hands. Ingwion’s expression was unreadable but his eyes burned with a deep flame that made it hard for any to look at him, so terrible was his expression. Without a word to either of his companions, the prince strode up the Landamallë, heedless of the deluge that now burst upon them.

"But surely the Valar would not permit such violence in their midst," Alassiel protested as she struggled to keep up with the longer legged ellyn.

"Lord Ulmo warned us that the Valar would not interfere with the internal strife of the Eldar," Ingwion stated baldly and would say no more. He went straight to Manwë’s mansion, stopping only when he reached the front portico to find two Maiar waiting for him, their expressions grim.

"You cannot enter, Prince Ingwion," Erunáro said gravely, staring briefly at the knife gleaming in the elf’s hand. "Lord Manwë will not see you."

"Then I will stand here until he does." Ingwion’s voice was cold and implacable. "I will not leave of my own volition otherwise."

The two Maiar exchanged glances, then Erunáro bowed. "So be it. Come."

The other Maia stepped aside and the three elves followed Erunáro down the nave to another door which opened silently for them. Neither Alassiel nor Elessairon had yet been inside the mansion of the Elder King and his Spouse and in spite of the gravity of the situation they took the time to admire it. Ingwion, however, ignored everything except the need to see the Elder King and learn the fate of his otorno. They entered what appeared to be a small audience chamber, the same one in fact in which Glorfindel had had his interview with Manwë only a few days before.

Manwë was there, sitting on his throne, with Varda next to him. Ingwion was not surprised to see either Námo standing beside Varda or Ulmo standing beside Manwë. None of the Valar looked happy to see the elves. Elessairon and Alassiel suddenly felt ill at ease and slowed their approach to the thrones; Ingwion never faltered. He stopped a mere two feet from the dais, dripping wet, staring straight at the Elder King. Without bowing or otherwise showing his obeisance to them, he threw the knife at the Vala’s feet, the sound of it hitting the floor loud and ominous.

"Where is he?" Ingwion whispered, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "What have you done with him?"

Manwë stared at the knife lying at his feet for a moment before looking up. Alassiel found herself collapsing to the floor at the expression on the Elder King’s face and Elessairon felt the blood rush from his head. He never felt Erunáro grab him from behind and ease him gently to the floor next to the now unconscious elleth. He struggled to remain conscious, willing himself to remain a witness to whatever disaster was about to befall the heir to the High Kingship of Eldamar.

"Is that any way to greet me, child?" Manwë asked gently, though his expression remained stern, even terrifying.

Ingwion refused to be baited. "Where is he?" he repeated, even more softly than before.

Manwë stared at the prince for another moment, shaking his head. "I will not tell you. This is something you must discover for yourselves."

"Is he alive?" This question was directed at Lord Námo.

"For the moment," was that Vala’s only reply, his voice as cold and as implacable as Ingwion had ever heard it.

"I need to return to Vanyamar or at least send a message..."

Manwë raised a hand. "You do not have my leave to do either, child. You and your companions will remain here in Valmar and no message will be sent for now."

Ingwion stared at the Elder King in disbelief, and then the dam of emotion he had carefully constructed all the way up the Landamallë broke. He turned his wrath first on Ulmo, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You said there would be no interference on the part of the Valar," he shouted angrily before turning his attention back to Manwë, "and now you refuse to let me even warn the High King of what has happened? MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MINDS!"

An appalled silence followed, broken only when someone started weeping. Elessairon realized it was the prince, who had collapsed all the way to the floor after his outburst, heedlessly lying in a pool of rainwater. His face was hidden in the crook of his left arm; his right fist pounded the floor in futile rage.

"Ingwion, Ingwion, what are you doing?"

Elessairon turned his head to see two other Valar standing nearby staring down at the supine prince. One was Tulkas, his golden hair shining even in the gloom, for the storm still raged above them, an echo of the storm occurring below the crystal ceiling. The other was Oromë. It was he who had spoken.

The Vala gave a short bow to Manwë before going to the prince who still wept and lifting him up, gave him a slight shake, his expression not unkindly. "Have you forgotten everything I ever taught you about the Hunt, child?" he asked quietly.

Ingwion did not respond, going still, the light in his eyes flaming with something bordering on glee, dark and manic. Elessairon struggled to understand what was going on, but could not. He leaned against Erunáro who had never released him and felt the Maia stroke his hair, sending soothing waves of comfort his way.

"Is this what this is, my lord?" Ingwion finally asked, speaking in a harsh whisper that sent chills up Elessairon’s spine. "The Hunt?"

Oromë nodded.

"And is Glorfindel the Hunted?" Now Ingwion’s tone became dark again with anger.

"Nay, child," Manwë said. "He’s the bait."

Ingwion looked between the various Valar, their expressions ranging from neutral (Ulmo) to feral (Tulkas) and took a deep breath, stepping back from Oromë’s embrace. He walked over to the knife and picked it up, then, turning to Oromë and never taking his eyes off the Vala, he sliced the palm of his right hand and began calmly bloodying his hair.

"When you sound the Valaróma, my lord," he said flatly as he ran his bloody palm through his golden locks, "I will join you in the Hunt... and Eru help anyone who gets in my way."

Lightning lit the sky and thunder crashed above them. Elessairon chose that moment to finally succumb to the terror gripping his heart and fainted.

****

Otorno: Sworn brother.

Valaróma: Oromë’s horn which he sounds before a hunt, especially against any evil creatures of Melkor.