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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

69: Glorfindel on Taniquetil

Glorfindel woke to bright sunlight and pain. He nearly screamed when he inadvertently moved, trying to shield his eyes from the snow glare that surrounded him. His memory was slow to return and he had difficulty putting the pieces together, though eventually he was able to recall the chain of events that had led him to where he was... wherever that was. He leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside, and tried to ascertain his condition. He was soaked through to the skin from the snow seeping into his clothes. His ribs hurt and he had trouble breathing. He was dizzy and his eyes refused to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. Eventually, the realization that he was even leaning against a wall registered in his mind. If there was a wall, there had to be an entrance.

He began to move, arbitrarily choosing a direction, crawling on his hands and knees, his left shoulder touching the wall for guidance, for he had to keep his eyes slitted because of the intense glare and could see little. It was slow going, not the least because the pain in his body was more than he could manage at times and he had to make frequent stops to catch his breath and convince himself that moving was better than standing (or in this case, lying) still. Also, the snowdrifts here by the wall were deep in places and he sometimes had to make swimming motions as he crawled through them, thereby aggravating his injuries even more. Eventually, though, he reached a corner and turned left.

His head was pounding and his limbs trembled with fatigue. He thought he slept for a bit, for he found himself waking up. He started moving again and came to another corner. Now the glare was less intense with the bulk of the building blocking some of the sunlight and he found the shade a blessed relief. Then the wall ceased altogether and he fell on his left shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain that became a whimper as waves of nausea swept through him. He feared he would be sick and indeed he was, adding misery upon misery. Still, afterwards his head no longer hurt and he could think more clearly. He struggled up to a sitting position and took in his surroundings.

He was at an entrance, tall and imposing, with carved figures of eagles on either side gracing the top of the huge mithril gates which stood open, their wings outspread and touching to form an arch. Crystal globes stood on pillars of ice before the entrance, illuminating the area with a rainbow of light that shimmered above him. Beyond the gates was a flagged courtyard with a fountain that burbled even at this great height amidst the snows, the water dancing around a statue of Varda, her hands outstretched above her, a single living star suspended between them, glowing and pulsating gently. And beyond that....

With growing horror Glorfindel realized that he was where he had been forbidden to come. He was sitting before the gates of Ilmarin, the mansion of Manwë and Varda, on Taniquetil.

Panic set in. It did not matter that he had been brought here against his will. He was not supposed to be here. For a brief moment he considered making his way into the courtyard to seek aid for his injuries but he dismissed the idea almost at once. Injured or not, he had no business being there. He tried to stand but another wave of dizziness brought him back down to his knees and with a muffled sob he began crawling away from the gates. His only thought was to get down the mountain before the Valar or their servants discovered him there. He had an idea that punishment would be swift and highly unpleasant if he were caught anywhere on the mountain.

He crawled, collapsing at times when the pain became too overwhelming or his strength failed him. Somehow he managed to find the road that led between Ilmarin and Vanyamar and the going was somewhat easier, but his relief did not last. Suddenly, as out of nowhere, a fierce wind arose and the light was blocked out by squalls of snow that blew around him. He could no longer see where he was going. Still, he continued crawling, the need to get down the mountain his only thought.

It was too much, though, and finally he sprawled upon the ground weeping in despair until he fell into unconsciousness.

He was never aware of the three Maiar who had followed him and now stood guard over him. Nor was he aware of the cloaked figure who appeared out of the storm, gathering him into his arms and carrying him away.

****

Warmth and the absence of pain greeted him upon his waking. That and darkness. He was lying on something soft, and a fur rug covered him. As his eyes became more focused he realized that there was the flickering light of a fire nearby so he was relieved to know he was not blind. He tried to sit up but someone loomed over him and pressed him back down with a gentle yet firm hand.

"Stay still," the figure said. In the flickering of light and shadows cast by the fire Glorfindel could not see who it was. The voice was soft and he could not decide if it were male or female and decided he didn’t care.

"Wh-where?" was all he had the strength to say.

"You are safe," the figure said. "Go back to sleep. You are still recovering from your injuries."

Glorfindel felt a cool hand on his forehead and before he could utter a protest he felt himself spinning back down into unconsciousness and sleep overtook him once again.

****

He was feeling hot and then cold and he had a terrible thirst and nightmares assailed him. He woke at one point screaming and felt himself being cradled and a lullaby crooned over him until he fell asleep again. He was bathed in cool cloths or additional blankets were piled over him when the fever or chills became too much. He woke two or three times to the sound of his own weeping. Then someone would gather him into their arms and rock him back and forth in an attempt to offer comfort. There was none to be had, but he would eventually fall asleep again, his tears spent.

Finally, he woke feeling clearheaded. He lay there for a moment or two enjoying the luxury of not being in pain. He felt weak, but not terribly so and slowly he sat up and looked around. He was in a cave, rough-hewn but warm and dry. He was lying on a shelf of rock with several thick piles of fur under him and another covering him. A small fire danced merrily nearby, its smoke drawn towards a slit in the rock above it. He did not see any opening leading to the outside and concluded he must be in an inner chamber. He found a small flagon of water sitting on the floor next to him and eagerly drank from it. Hunger awoke in him then and he wondered how long it had been since he had last eaten. He was about to rise from his bed in search of food when he heard someone approaching the chamber. Realizing he was naked Glorfindel hastily returned to the bed and covered himself up.

The person entered and he found himself looking upon one who appeared to be an elf, and by his beard, one of the oldest. The ellon was dark-haired and grey-eyed, his beard long and flowing. He wore a shapeless brown robe cinched at the waist by a length of rope. He was carrying a tray and smiled when he saw that Glorfindel was awake.

"Ah, awake at last, are you? Good. Good. I’ve brought you some broth to sip on." He sat on the edge of the shelf and laid the tray on the floor beside him, picking up the bowl and a spoon. Glorfindel found himself feeling weak all of a sudden as the smell of the broth assailed him. He had been without food for longer than he thought. With trembling fingers he reached out for the bowl but found it difficult to hold it.

"Here, let me hold it for you," the stranger said and handed him the spoon. Glorfindel leaned over and ladled some of the broth onto the spoon and with his first sip felt as if the world had righted itself and all was now well. He concentrated on finishing the broth, content to wait until later to demand answers to the questions roiling within him. Soon the broth was gone and then he was chewing slowly on a piece of soft bread while the stranger refilled his water flagon.

Finally, having had his fill of food, Glorfindel leaned back against the wall of the cave, wrapping the fur rug around him and gave the strange elf a nod. "Thank you."

"You’re most welcome youngling," the elf said with a smile.

"My name is Glor..."

"Glorfindel, yes I know. You may call me Yáravinyon."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at hearing the elf name himself, but decided to concentrate on more pressing matters. "Where am I?"

"My home," Yáravinyon said simply and gave a small chuckle at Glorfindel’s expression. "Oh, it’s not as terrible as all that, child. These caves are quite warm and offer good protection. My needs are simple and my wants few. I am content. Now, I have made an attempt to repair and clean your clothes but I will admit I’m somewhat lacking in skill in that area, so you will have to make do with one of my own robes. Not as fine as what you are used to wearing, no doubt, but adequate to your needs at the moment."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I am grateful for whatever you choose to give me for my comfort."

Yáravinyon gave him a searching look. "Polite, if nothing else," he finally said as he stood up. "There is a place nearby where you can bathe and no doubt you would like to use the privy."

Glorfindel nodded, suddenly aware of his body’s demands and with some help from Yáravinyon, stood up, the rug still wrapped around him. Yáravinyon led him to another chamber lit by several candles. There was a pool of hot water, the water flowing out at one end and disappearing into the wall. He saw a square of rough cloth on the edge of the pool along with some cleansing sand and a neatly folded robe. The older elf pointed to another opening along one side. "You’ll find the privy that way. Take care in getting into the pool for the water is quite hot, but not scalding. Take your time. When you are finished follow the passage back to the sleeping chamber. I will wait for you there." So saying he gave Glorfindel another smile and left him to his own devices.

Returning from the privy, Glorfindel took some time to undo his braids so he could wash his hair and was glad to see that a comb and a small bowl had been included with the other bathing paraphernalia. He put the beads and gems in the bowl, removing as well the velvet bag around his neck which held the beryl Olórin had gifted him. It was only then that he realized that his peridot ring was missing. He wondered at that but was not sure where he might have lost it. Indeed, it never occurred to him to think that someone might have taken it. He regretted the loss but knew there was nothing he could do about it now. Sighing, he stepped into the pool.

The water was indeed hot, but pleasantly so, and Glorfindel felt his muscles easing and he almost fell asleep. He washed himself and finally, almost reluctantly, he got out, shivering in the colder air as he dried himself off and put the robe on. He picked up the bowl and comb and took them with him back to the sleeping chamber, intending to rebraid his hair later when it was drier.

"Feeling better?" the older elf asked when he entered the chamber to find that the other elf had brought more food for him.

"Yes, thank you." Glorfindel sat on the shelf and looked at the tray of food with interest. He did not think he could be hungry again so soon, but the sight and smell of the thick stew made him salivate and without any encouragement he fell to eating it. Yáravinyon looked on with an indulgent smile. Soon the bowl was empty and Glorfindel felt stronger than he had, but now he was also feeling sleepy again and attempted to suppress a yawn.

"Why don’t you lie down for a bit?" Yáravinyon said. "You are still recovering and will no doubt require much sleep. I know you have many questions, but they will wait. You won’t be going anywhere soon I’m afraid, as there is quite a storm raging outside."

Glorfindel went still at those words. He vaguely remembered being caught in a storm as he tried to get off the mountain. "Am I still on the mountain?"

"Hmm, yes."

"Then I cannot stay, I must get off." Glorfindel started to rise, but Yáravinyon pushed him back down.

"Not so fast, youngling. As I said, no one is going anywhere. A storm rages across the whole mountain range and you would be lost within a minute if you were to step outside. You are safe enough here."

"No, you don’t understand," Glorfindel was beginning to feel panic and anger spurred him. "I cannot stay here. I’ve been forbidden..."

"Ah, so that’s the way of it," the older elf said, the light of understanding in his eyes. "Rest assured, child, that the Valar are neither vindictive nor unreasonable. I have no doubt that they are quite aware of where you are and why. Have you no trust in their mercy?"

Glorfindel subsided then and shook his head. "Lord Námo told me if I disobeyed I would not enjoy the consequences."

"But have you disobeyed them, child?" Yáravinyon asked gently. "Did you deliberately climb the mountain?"

Glorfindel shook his head again. "It doesn’t matter. I’m on the mountain. I’m not supposed to be on the mountain. I have to get off. Please, I have to leave." He was panicking again and weeping in frustration. Suddenly, Yáravinyon took him into his embrace and held him, letting him cry himself out.

"It does matter, child," the elf said soothingly. "The Valar are not tyrants. You need not fear them. You’ve done nothing wrong. Others have wronged you. Now, lie down and sleep. As soon as the storm ends I will lead you to Vanyamar. Sleep now, child... sleep... and do not fear. All will be well."

With that, he laid Glorfindel back down onto the bed and covered him up, stroking his forehead and crooning a lullaby until the younger elf fell asleep.

****

How long he was there, Glorfindel never knew. He slept much of the time, and ate when he awoke. He remembered taking another bath at one point. Mostly he and Yáravinyon sat on the sleeping shelf while Glorfindel told him about his life, both before and after his death. Yáravinyon proved a good listener and encouraged the younger elf to speak. When he came to describing the events leading to his coming to Valmar, though, Glorfindel found himself shaking for no particular reason and could not speak for some time.

"You suffered a grave shock to your fëa, child," Yáravinyon said, laying a comforting arm around the ellon’s shoulders. "It was a frightening experience for you and I do not believe you have recovered completely from the trauma."

"I was back in Gondolin," Glorfindel said, a haunted look upon his face. "It was so dead. Every time I thought of Gondolin I remembered how alive it was, but this was a dead city and its very... deadness frightened me. I didn’t belong there any more and that frightened me even more."

"As well it should, child," the other elf said. "As well it should. The Past is a dangerous place to be, for it is full of regrets and ‘should-have-beens’. It does no good to dwell there overlong. The present moment is all any of us are ever offered, even we who will live until all the ages of Arda are spent. Take joy in the Present and leave the Past where it belongs."

The older elf’s words brought comfort to Glorfindel and he was able to continue his narrative, bringing the tale up to the point of his attack.

"It grieves me, though it does not surprise me, that Vorondil was involved," Glorfindel commented when he was finished. "Ever did he despise me, though I took little account of it, thinking it was only spite."

"That any elf would offer violence to another elf is even more disturbing," Yáravinyon replied with a troubled look.

Glorfindel merely shrugged and that one gesture grieved the older elf even more at the thought of such innocence lost that this child would accept the idea of violence against another elf as all too common an event to comment on.

"I wish this storm would end," Glorfindel said at the last.

"Do you tire of my company so soon, youngling?" Yáravinyon asked with a wry grin and Glorfindel blushed.

"Nay, I do not," he answered, "but I chafe at the enforced inactivity. My friends will be worrying for me and wondering if I am well. And the... silence of the Valar is... deafening."

Yáravinyon raised an eyebrow at that. "An interesting turn of phrase, but I think you are rather missing the point."

"What do you mean?" Glorfindel asked in puzzlement.

Yáravinyon gave the younger elf a piercing glance. "Who do you think told me where to find you?"

Glorfindel stared at the older elf in shock. Yáravinyon merely nodded and took his leave, wishing the younger elf a good night. It was a long time though before Glorfindel could fall asleep.

And the storm raged for three more days.





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