45: Sea-longing

When Lisselindë appeared at the cottage the next morning after Glorfindel’s meeting with Niondil it was to find him up on a ladder with a paint tub in one hand and a brush in the other, white-washing the lintel. Of Tiutalion there was no sign.

"Why are you doing that?" she asked curiously.

Glorfindel glanced down at her with a wry smile. "Well, you were right about one thing. This isn’t a prison so I’m erasing this bit of childishness on my part."

Lisselindë raised an eyebrow. "So what will you paint instead?"

The ellon shrugged as he continued to dab white paint over the words. "Haven’t decided yet. Perhaps I’ll just leave it blank for the next person who resides here." He leaned back and gave the lintel a critical eye. "Well, that’s done." He then proceeded to descend the ladder. Lisselindë held it steady for him and he gave her a smile in thanks. He capped the tub and washed the brush, setting it out in the sun to dry. Then he turned to the Maia who had stood by watching.

"So what do you want to do today?" he asked.

"Me?" she exclaimed in surprise. "I thought I was supposed to follow you, not the other way around."

Glorfindel shrugged. "Well, in that case, let’s go for a walk."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"No. Pick a direction and we’ll just walk and see what we find."

For a moment Lisselindë said nothing, staring at the elf, trying to guess at his intentions. Finally, she shrugged and pointed east where the woods lay. Glorfindel nodded and set off with the Maia beside him.

"So what did you do yesterday?" he asked, making polite conversation as they wended their way towards the forest.

Lisselindë grimaced slightly. "I spent the day in Lórien helping Lord Laurendil to tend to some recently arrived elves from Tol Eressëa."

"Oh?" was Glorfindel’s noncommittal reply. "What was wrong with them?"

"From what I could gather they were suffering from Sea-longing."

"Ah... a condition I never experienced, thank the Valar," Glorfindel responded with all sincerity. "Were they very bad off? I understand from speaking with Laurendil and Manwen that they both suffered terribly from it."

"They were pale and weak and did not seem to understand where they were. One of them kept babbling about the war."

"War? What war?" Glorfindel stopped in his tracks, his expression one of concern mingled with confusion.

Lisselindë couldn’t help feeling superior to the ellon at the moment. "The War of Wrath, of course."

For a moment, Glorfindel just stared at her, his eyes dark, then he shrugged and resumed their walk. "An experience I am thankful I never had to endure."

Now Lisselindë stopped, looking puzzled. "But you are a warrior," she said. "You live for war, do you not?"

Glorfindel looked at her with a surprising degree of sympathy. "If you truly think that, Lisselindë, then you have no concept of what a warrior is. Perhaps you should ask Manveru or Eönwë how they feel about it."

"But I’m asking you," she retorted, though her tone was civil. "It is, after all, why I am here, to learn about the Firstborn."

Glorfindel nodded. "Let’s sit here then, under this oak, and I will try to explain." So saying, he moved to where a wide-spreading oak stood sentinel over the landscape. The tree silently greeted both elf and Maia as they approached and they politely returned its greeting before sitting on the ground beneath it. Glorfindel did not immediately speak, gathering his thoughts as he gazed towards the forest in the middle distance.

"I spent the day yesterday gardening," he said without preamble. Lisselindë forbore to comment. "Niondil and I... we talked. I did not become a warrior by choice but by necessity. Granted, I could have remained here in Aman, never taking up arms, but when I joined with Turgon, I accepted the fact that I would live and possibly die by the sword. While there were people who were not warriors who joined in the Rebellion, most of us, especially those who were scions of noble families, took up arms."

"Do you regret it?" Lisselindë asked softly.

Glorfindel gave her a puzzled look. "What? Taking up arms or joining in the Rebellion?"

The Maia shrugged. "Perhaps I mean both, but I leave it to you to answer as you will."

Glorfindel leaned back, resting his body against the oak. "I do not regret either choice. Both choices — joining the Rebellion and taking up arms — define who I am at this moment. I can’t even imagine myself as other than what I am now. I like to think that had I remained in Aman that when the call to arms came at the end I would have joined the Host of the Valar. But that really is neither here nor there. To answer your question, though: no, I do not live for war. No true warrior, no sane warrior ever does. I would love to not have to be a warrior but until such time as Arda has no need of them, I will continue to do what I do best: protect those who are in need of protection against the evils which beset them."

Lisselindë pondered his words for a long moment. "If you no longer had to be a warrior, what would you be, instead?"

"A fair enough question, I suppose," Glorfindel responded. "Truthfully, I cannot say. All I’ve ever known is war. Even hiding behind the Echoriath we were always in a state of readiness. Turgon feared discovery, determined to keep Gondolin safe, but, of course, that didn’t happen." He paused and gave her a rueful look. "When I was in Lórien, Sador suggested I learn to be a potter so we could go into business together. Perhaps, when my sword is no longer needed, I might just take him up on his offer."

"I suppose there are worse occupations," Lisselindë said a little doubtfully.

Glorfindel snorted. "No doubt, but Sador is truly gifted for all that he is barely out of elflinghood and I am in awe of his talents."

"As he is no doubt in awe of yours," the Maia suggested.

The ellon shrugged and stood, brushing twigs and leaves from his clothes. "Shall we resume our walk?" he asked and Lisselindë stood as well.

They continued along in companionable silence for a while, heading towards the woods. It wasn’t until they were entering them that Glorfindel asked a question. "So, what did you learn while you were following Laurendil around?"

For a time, Lisselindë did not answer and Glorfindel allowed her space to gather her thoughts. Their path through the woods was aimless and the two merely walked in enjoyment of the day. Finally, though, the Maia spoke.

"I don’t think Lord Laurendil was pleased to see me," she said with a quirk of her lips, "and was even less pleased to learn that I would be his... student for the day."

"Laurendil is Finrod’s vassal," Glorfindel said without heat. "He would naturally feel... displeased with how you treated his lord." Then he flashed the Maia a knowing grin. "Methinks Lord Irmo is almost as devious as his brother or Lady Nienna."

Lisselindë laughed and it was neither forced nor bitter. "That’s what Laurendil said...."

****

Laurendil kept his expression polite as he stood there listening to Lord Irmo explain why he wanted Lisselindë to spend the day with him. He gave the Vala a quirk of the lips. "Getting devious in our old age, are we, my lord?" he couldn’t help saying and Irmo burst out laughing.

"You have no idea just how devious, my son," he replied. "Enjoy yourselves," he added. Then he walked away, leaving the apprentice Lóriennildo with the disgraced Maia.

"Well, I’m not sure what I can teach you in a day, Lisselindë," Laurendil said with a sigh, purposely not using the usual honorific, "but I will do my best to answer any questions you might have."

The Maia felt herself grow cold with anger and was ready to berate the elf for his insolence, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly, realizing that Laurendil was not being disrespectful, only treating her as he would any other elf under his tutelage. She nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I will try not to get in the way of your duties."

"Fine, then," Laurendil said a little stiffly. "Shall we go? I understand that some elves have arrived suffering from Sea-longing and are in need of healing."

"So Lord Irmo told me," she said as she matched the ellon’s stride. They were walking through the section of the Gardens reserved especially for those elves suffering from Sea-longing, for it was deemed a particular disease of the fëa which affected the hröa of the sufferer. She gave Laurendil a sideways glance. "You were affected by it, were you not?"

Laurendil nodded. "Yes, as was my wife, Manwen."

"Yet, if I understand correctly, neither of you sought healing here in Lórien." Her tone was not accusing, merely curious.

"Manwen wanted to come," Laurendil averred, "but I was reluctant to do so."

"Why?"

The ellon stopped and Lisselindë waited patiently for him to answer. She noticed that there was a haunted look in his eyes and wondered. Finally, he spoke, but it was barely above a whisper and he did not look at her.

"I fled Aman because I was frightened of my destiny. I... I accepted Melkor’s lies as truth and Fëanáro’s reasoning for defying the Valar as just in order to excuse my own... cowardice." He stopped, staring at the ground, but whether in shame or for some other reason, Lisselindë did not know. She held herself to stillness, not wishing to break the spell the ellon’s words were weaving. She had watched in stunned disbelief as the Noldor fled the darkness that enshrouded Aman to journey into greater darkness. She never thought to wonder at the motivations of those who followed Fëanáro, believing them to be in the grip of insanity, an insanity born of despair. Now, for the first time, she was hearing about it from one who had experienced it in truth. After a moment or two, Laurendil continued.

"For some time before that, while the Trees bloomed, I had been... plagued, I suppose is as good a word as any, by dreams of... of Lord Irmo calling me to Lórien, dreams that frightened me."

"Why?" she ventured to ask, speaking just as softly as he.

He looked up at her, his face frozen in an expression of pain. "My atar wanted me to follow him into government service. Atar is one of the Noldóran’s councillors now, but at the time, he was secretary to Lord Minalcar who later followed Fëanáro but never made it past Alqualondë. I was reluctant to do as my atar bid, for it would have meant serving under Lord Minalcar and I did not wish to."

"Why?" Lisselindë found herself asking again. She had a sudden image of one of the elflings in Findaráto’s care constantly asking the same question over and over again and forced herself not to smile. Perhaps, in some ways, she was much like an elfling in search of answers.

Laurendil gave her a sour look. "He was one of Fëanáro’s staunchest supporters and forced everyone working under him to ‘speak correctly’, as he put it."

"Ah... You mean using thúlë rather than súlë," Lisselindë said with a nod of understanding. She remembered the debate the Valar had had over the sound change and how they would respond to it. Lord Manwë had finally decreed that they and the Maiar were to speak the dialect of the person being addressed. That was easy enough among the Vanyar and Teleri, but with the Noldor divided on the issue it became more problematic. Many of the Maiar got into the habit of remaining silent, waiting to hear if the elf standing before them used ‘s’ instead of the more expected ‘th’ sound. Such practice inadvertently gave the Maiar an aura of mystery greater than they deserved, but it worked. When Fëanáro led the Noldor into exile, those who remained behind spoke the newer dialect and so it became simpler for the Maiar to converse with the Noldor. Many of her fellows, though, kept to the practice of not speaking immediately, allowing that they rather enjoyed seeing the Children squirm a bit. Lisselindë had to admit to herself that she was one of them.

Laurendil nodded. "Atar was somewhat hypocritical about it himself, using ‘th’ at work and ‘s’ at home and insisting we always used ‘th’ when in public, even though he himself had no love for Fëanáro; he just wanted to remain on Lord Minalcar’s good side. One time when I was visiting Atar at his office, I forgot and used ‘s’ in Lord Minalcar’s hearing." He gave her a wry look that nonetheless held a modicum of pain. "Lord Minalcar was not polite about his displeasure and Atar was even less so. From that moment, I vowed that I would not enter government service, though Atar kept insisting that was my only choice. Then the dreams started." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I didn’t understand them and they frightened me. I tried to speak to Atar about them but he would not listen and Amillë would not go against her husband. She would only tell me to follow my heart." He shrugged. "So I did and fled Aman, Atar and what I perceived as enslavement to the Valar, for I had no doubt that Lord Irmo was indeed calling me to his service, but the Darkening and Fëanáro gave me the excuse to ignore the call."

"Except you could not ignore it forever," Lisselindë said with assurance. "Lord Irmo has a way of... insinuating himself when he is in search of those whom he wishes to enter into his and Lady Estë’s service."

"You mean, he always has the advantage and we poor mirroanwi have no defense against him, or any of the Valar for that matter," Laurendil retorted though his tone was not angry, or even resigned, merely accepting of reality as he perceived it.

"Yet, he did not force you to his service," Lisselindë pointed out. "He allowed you the freedom to flee, knowing though that eventually your destiny would catch up with you one way or the other. But we were speaking of the Sea-longing."

"Yes," Laurendil said and with a gesture, they resumed their walk through the groves. "It first came to me during the War of Wrath, but I was able to put it aside during the war itself. Staying alive took priority over everything else. Afterwards, when Manwen and I were helping in the founding of Lindon, it came upon me again, more insistently. I understood what it was but would not heed it, for I truly had no desire to return to Aman. I was no longer Laurendil Rialcarion but Glorendil of Nargothrond, once one of Finrod’s Rangers and now one of Gil-galad’s, and that is all I wanted to be. When Manwen began to exhibit signs of Sea-longing as well, I... well, I panicked and we fled east into Eriador, following Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel to Lórinand. For a time we were both fine, but, after a while, some of the symptoms associated with Sea-longing began to return. King Amroth of Lórinand could see how we were both suffering and made arrangements through Lord Celeborn to send us back, for he needed someone to travel to Lindon for diplomatic reasons. I didn’t think much about it, and in truth, I was looking forward to seeing Lindon and some of my old friends again and Manwen felt the same."

He paused for a moment, grimacing at the memory before continuing. "It was a mistake, of course. Had we remained in Lindon for only a short time I think we would have been fine, but we were there for some months and that close to the sea.... Well, Gil-galad and Elrond saw what was happening and insisted we take the next ship available. By then, of course, neither I nor Manwen were in a position to argue, but when we finally reached Tol Eressëa I flat out refused to travel any further, that is, until the delegation to the Noldóran was proposed and I accepted the position of being its leader. The rest, as they say, is history."

"You apparently recovered from the Sea-longing well enough once you took ship, though," Lisselindë observed. "Why then do these elves come here for healing when proper rest is probably all they need?"

Laurendil gave her a wry look. "Why don’t we ask them?"

By now they had reached the groves set aside for those suffering from Sea-longing, finding that there were three people there, an ellon and two ellith. Only the ellon looked up as they entered and the lines of worry that had marred his fair face mutated into a smile of relief.

"Mithlas!" Laurendil exclaimed in surprise, as the Sinda rose from where he had been crouched between the two couches where the ellith lay. "What do you here, mellon nîn?"

The two ellyn embraced, giving each other kisses as between brothers, then clasping their arms in a warrior’s salute. Mithlas grinned at the healer, but Laurendil could see the worry in the other ellon’s eyes.

"What is it, Mithlas?" he asked quietly. "What has brought you back to Lórien?"

For answer, the Sinda turned to the two ellith, neither of whom had made any attempt to rise from their couches or even seemed to know that they had visitors. "My naneth and my sister," Mithlas said in a hoarse whisper. "They arrived only days ago from Ennorath." He turned his gaze back to Laurendil, deep sorrow now etched on his face. "I fear they left it too late," he said.

Laurendil gave him a warm hug, patting him on the back. "We will see," he said, then he released the ellon and went to examine the two ellith. Mithlas introduced them. "This is my naneth, Lalwen, and my sister, Mitheryn."

Both had silvery-white hair that reminded Laurendil of Beleg, though Mitheryn’s coloring was a shade or two darker. Their eyes were closed at the moment but Laurendil suspected they would be either blue or silver-grey, though green or hazel eyes were not uncommon. They appeared paler than usual and gaunt, as if they had not eaten for some time. In fact, they were both exhibiting all the classic signs of fading.

All this time, Lisselindë had remained silent and unobtrusive. She had thought to go invisible at first but in the end decided to remain clad in hröa in case she was needed. Thus, she stood to one side and watched.

Laurendil examined the two ellith, quietly asking Mithlas questions about them.

"When it was decided I would find no healing for my malady in Ennorath and that I would have to come West," the Sinda answered, "I told Naneth I did not want her and Mitheryn to accompany me. Neither truly wished to leave the only home they knew and I did not wish for them to come with me just for me. As much as their presence would have comforted me, I knew that eventually they might resent being torn from their home because of me. I had no choice but to come. It was either that or fade, and I wasn’t ready for that."

Laurendil nodded, well aware of Mithlas history. "They appear to have fought the call of the sea for as long as they could, though. I wonder why they did not come earlier, knowing that you were already here waiting for them?"

For a moment Mithlas did not answer and Lisselindë saw the sorrow that lay deep in the ellon’s eyes as he gazed upon his mother and sister. "They were waiting for Adar," he said with a sigh. "They were waiting for his return."

Laurendil gave the ellon a puzzled look. "Where was he, then?"

Mithlas shook his head. "We don’t know. He... he was lost to us during the war. We do not know if he survived the final cataclysm that drowned Beleriand or not. I always thought he was in Mandos with... with Glassiel. Naneth and Mitheryn, though... Naneth insisted he was still alive and Mitheryn accepted that and remained hopeful that he would some day find them." He shook his head in dismay and tears started to roll down his cheeks. "They should have come sooner. They should have...."

Without conscious thought Lisselindë went to the ellon and took him into her embrace, holding him through the spasms of his tears, her eyes on Laurendil, who stared back with grave sorrow. Yet, there was a glint of steel in his eyes, a glint that she had seen in Glorfindel’s eyes and Findaráto’s. It was the glint of one about to go into battle. Whether Laurendil knew it or not, he had never ceased to be a warrior, he had simply become a different kind of warrior, one who battled against the maladies that could beset the fëar of elves.

The healer stood. "Mithlas," he said with as much authority and confidence as he could muster, "your naneth and your sister are near to fading, but they have not faded in truth. There is still hope for their complete recovery. Have faith, mellon nîn. We will do all we can to save them, I promise you."

Mithlas stepped out of the Maia’s embrace with a shy smile, which she returned more warmly, wiping the tears from his face as he turned to face Laurendil. "Le hannon, mellon nîn. iPhith lîn annar enni estel."

Then there was a stir from Lalwen, who opened her eyes, though she did not seem aware of them or her surroundings. "El-elendir... man sad ci, hervenn?... Man sad...?"

"She’s calling for Adar," Mithlas said softly, going to his naneth and kneeling beside her, stroking her hair, murmuring gentle words of comfort. It was unlikely she even heard him, but in a few moments she was calmer and soon her eyes closed as she slipped into unconsciousness again.

Mithlas stifled a sob as he looked up at Laurendil and Lisselindë imploringly, his eyes glittering wetly with tears. "Please, help me."

Laurendil put a comforting hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "We will, Mithlas. My oath as a healer."

Only Lisselindë saw Eönwë standing in the corner of the pavilion, calmly recording Laurendil’s words in his book. When he finished, he looked up at his fellow Maia, who gave him a nod of respect. He nodded in turn, giving her a brief smile before fading....

****

"If anyone can help Mithlas’s family, Laurendil can," Glorfindel said firmly as Lisselindë ended her narrative. By now they had come near to the middle of the woods where there was a clearing through which a brook made its way. The sun was high above them and white fluffy clouds raced one another across the cerulean sky. The two of them were seated beside the brook where Glorfindel was throwing twigs in the water, idly watching them float away.

"We spent the entire day with them, singing glad songs and encouraging them to return to us," Lisselindë replied. "Laurendil even ordered warm baths for them, scented with lavender and lovage. I helped the ellith who came to assist while Laurendil took Mithlas to get him something to eat, for the ellon had not eaten since leaving Tol Eressëa."

"Did it help?" Glorfindel asked. "The singing and baths, I mean."

The Maia nodded. "By evening, Mitheryn had awakened and taken some sustenance. Lalwen never woke completely, but her complexion seemed rosier and she fell into a real sleep. Laurendil was very hopeful for them both."

"So what did you learn?" Glorfindel asked.

For a long moment, the Maia did not answer, staring out across the glade where they were seated. "I learned about compassion," she finally said in a low voice.

"That’s a start," Glorfindel said with an approving nod as he continued to toss twigs into the stream.

****

All words are Sindarin.

Lórinand: An ealier name for Lothlórien.

Le hannon, mellon nîn. iPhith lîn annar enni estel: ‘I thank thee, my friend. Thy words give me hope.’

Elendir... man sad ci, hervenn?...Man sad...?: ‘Elendir... where are you, husband?... Where...?’