53: Clearwater Glade

Glorfindel climbed out of the darkness of unconsciousness and wished that he hadn’t. The pain was excruciating and his body felt as if it were on fire. He tried to will himself back into oblivion but voices caught his attention.

"...our fault, lord," someone said. The voice sounded familiar but Glorfindel couldn’t immediately place it.

"How is it your fault?"

Ah, Lord Námo! Glorfindel felt pleased that he could recognize the voice, then immediately worried that he might be in deeper trouble than he suspected if the Lord of Mandos was there. The Vala’s tone had been... dark.

"We deliberately kept our awareness at Glorfindel’s level," the first voice answered and now Glorfindel could put a name to it: Nyéreser.

"That’s why we never felt the ulcamorcor," Glorfindel heard Tiutalion say. "They apparently had been hunting and were on their way back to the lake when they found us."

"You are assuming they were hunting at the time," Oromë said. "Yet, where is the game? They would not have returned without any. No. They knew you were there, or at least they sensed Glorfindel, who, unlike you, is mirroanwë , and laid an ambush."

"Impossible, lord!" Lisselindë protested. "We would have seen them entering the woods. Yet, they were already there when we arrived at this spot."

"It was Glorfindel who saw that there were only five of the creatures by the lake," Nyéreser said, sounding rueful. "Until he pointed it out, I did not notice."

"Nor were you meant to," Oromë said and the silence that greeted that statement was so profound that Glorfindel opened his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t alone and discovered he was lying on his stomach. He raised his head and tried to twist his body and nearly passed out from the pain.

"Easy now, child," he heard Oromë say as several hands braced him so he could look up to find five pairs of eyes staring down at him. Automatically, Glorfindel’s gaze centered on Námo’s.

"Whatever possessed you to throw yourself on one of the ulcamorcor, best beloved?" Námo asked with a smile, though there was a hint of worry in his eyes that Glorfindel did not want to examine too closely.

The ellon smiled weakly. "I attacked a balrog," he said in a hoarse whisper, his voice laced with pain. "What else would you expect from me?"

The Maiar all rolled their eyes while the two Valar merely grinned. Lisselindë handed him a cup and helped him to drink some water.

"What happened?" Glorfindel asked after taking a sip or two, grimacing as he fought back the pain and forced himself to remain focused.

"You almost were killed, is what happened," Oromë said in a forbidding tone. "Trust me when I say that if you had died, Lord Námo would not have been the only Vala displeased by your stupidity."

"Sorry," was all the ellon could think to say, closing his eyes. He felt his body sag, his strength dissipating and he wanted desperately to fall back into oblivion but the pain was too distracting. He did not see the looks of concern that crossed the faces of the two Valar as he lay there.

*He lost a lot of blood,* Oromë bespoke Námo.

*But his wounds are not life-threatening,* Námo countered, *else I would have called for Estë to help us keep his fëa within his hröa until we could repair the damage.*

*Perhaps we should call her anyway,* Oromë suggested.

*To do so, I think, will defeat the purpose of all this,* Námo said. *You and I can do what repairs are necessary to keep him alive, but I think it best that he heal on his own. It will serve as a lesson for him.*

*One of many today,* Oromë said with a nod. *He can’t be moved then.* He then directed his thoughts at the Maiar. *Set up camp beside the lake. Construct a lean-to. Until he can stand on his own, Glorfindel’s not going anywhere.*

The Maiar bowed and went to do the Vala’s bidding. Námo, meantime, caressed Glorfindel’s brow, soothing away some of the pain. When the ellon opened his eyes Námo saw that they were full of gratitude and relief.

"We will repair the damage to your hröa," Námo told him, "but most of the healing must come from you."

Glorfindel nodded, then sighed, looking defeated. "Sorry," he said, "I guess I messed up again."

"No, child," Oromë answered, giving him a warm smile. "You were splendid. Now, we will put you into healing sleep for a time."

The ellon nodded his understanding and soon was deeply asleep, unaware when Námo gently lifted him up and carried him to the lean-to which the Maiar had constructed. They had been tempted to call for a proper bed and other furnishings, but decided to construct a sleeping pallet made from the furs of the dead creatures after they were properly cured, a process that the Maiar speeded up once they had stripped the furs from the ulcamorcor.

"He’s started quite a collection, hasn’t he?" Oromë said with a chuckle as Námo placed the ellon on the pile of furs face down. "I’ll save out the one he killed first and have it made into a cloak for him."

"I’m sure he’ll appreciate it," Námo said as he called forth a light cotton blanket to cover the elf’s naked form now wrapped in bandages from neck to heel. They had had to cut his clothes off him in order to address his wounds.

Once Glorfindel was settled, Námo took his leave, bespeaking Oromë so that the Maiar, all of whom had troubled looks upon their faces, could not hear. *Keep me posted. Call me if you need help with them,* indicating the Maiar who were hovering over the sleeping ellon like three hens with a single chick. *I suspect Nyéreser is the most upset, as he was their nominal leader.*

Oromë nodded. *I think they’re all going to be very unhappy with me for a while,* he said ruefully.

*Goes with the territory,* Námo replied with a smile. Then he faded from view, leaving Oromë to deal with the Maiar while Glorfindel slept on.

The Vala gazed upon the three Maiar, his expression warm and loving, as they continued to hover protectively over the oblivious elf. He could see that they were all distraught over the near disaster, though on the surface their expressions were calm. Looking upon them at the electro-magnetic level, however, he saw that Lisselindë’s aura fluctuated more than the other two, her usual bright green muddy with hues of red and purple, a sure indication of confusion and anguish. Tiutalion’s aura was shifting from its normal golden-yellow to deep orange and then brightening to almost white before shifting again to yellow. Oromë knew that the usually unflappable Maia was fighting to remain calm. Nyéreser’s aura was a steady cold blue and it did not fluctuate much from its normal frequency, yet Oromë sensed that the Maia’s emotions were hanging by a thread and he was more likely to explode in real anger than the other two.

"Who wants to start?" Oromë asked gently.

For a long moment silence hung over them as the three Maiar tried to figure out what the Vala meant and then Nyéreser finally asked a single question. "Why?" His voice was taut with barely restrained emotion.

Oromë resisted a sigh and indicated that they should all follow him. "Glorfindel isn’t going anywhere," he said with amusement at the hesitation of all three Maiar. He led them closer to the lake and for a moment or two no one spoke. Oromë gazed across the waters to the distant mountain waterfall. The Maiar remained respectfully silent. When Oromë did speak it was with a question of his own.

"Which one of you plans to go with Glorfindel when we Valar finally send him back to Endórë?"

The Maiar stole glances at one another, the unexpectedness of the question throwing them. "What do you mean, lord?" Tiutalion finally asked. "Do you truly intend to send him back?"

Oromë turned his gaze upon the Maiar and nodded. "It was our plan all along, almost from the moment he died."

"We guessed that it was your intent to send someone back," Nyéreser said, "but I always thought it would be Findaráto."

"No," Oromë said shortly. "That was never an option. It was always Glorfindel whom we meant to send. So, I ask you again, which of you plans to go with him?"

Now there was open confusion on their faces. It was Lisselindë who finally spoke. "I would go with him, but I do not think you would permit it, not after... well not after." She looked more embarrassed than anything at that moment.

Oromë gave her a fond smile and placed his hand gently on her head in benediction. "You are correct, my dear, but not for the reason you assume. In truth, none of you, indeed none of the Maiar, will be allowed to accompany Glorfindel. He goes alone."

"Then I do not understand your question, lord," Nyéreser said. "If you never intended...."

"Who will protect Glorfindel in Endórë?" Oromë asked abruptly.

Now the Maiar became silent as they thought out the implications of the Vala’s question. Oromë noticed absently that Lisselindë’s aura was now only fluctuating in the green spectrum, from her usual bright green to a deeper blue-green, an indication that her emotions were more under control. Tiutalion’s aura was now a steady copper orange showing deep thought on his part. Nyéreser’s aura never shifted from its normal cold blue.

"He will have to protect himself, or other elves will if he is unable for some reason," Tiutalion finally said.

The Vala nodded, a smile gracing his visage. "And there you have it, my children. It is very easy to forget that Endórë is not Aman. There are none of us guarding the Children in the Outer Lands, though that is not to say there are none of us keeping watch. Glorfindel should not become so complacent in believing that anytime he lands himself in trouble a Maia will be there to pull him out, otherwise, he will be of no use to us or to the peoples of Endórë to whom we will send him."

"He could have died," Lisselindë said, her expression blank.

"Possibly," Oromë conceded, "though even I am not so foolish as to get on my brother Námo’s bad side by allowing that to happen." He gave them a deprecating grin and the tension that was palpable between the Maiar eased noticeably and they grinned back. The Vala nodded, satisfied. "You and others will continue to train Glorfindel, but keep in mind that you are not his ultimate protectors. Leave that to us. When you find yourself in a situation such as occurred here, accept it. It is no slight against you, but Glorfindel needs to learn not to depend on being coddled or he will never become what we need him to be."

The Maiar all nodded. "I guess Glorfindel is not the only one in need of lessons," Nyéreser said, looking rueful.

Oromë smiled. "You are all worthy Maiar, even you Lisselindë. We are very pleased with all of you and your willingness to help with Glorfindel. He is not the easiest student, to be sure." They all chuckled at that. "Do not think we Valar are unaware of the sacrifices you are making on his behalf. I assure you, your efforts will be suitably rewarded. Now, let the elfling sleep for another hour or so and then rouse him so he might have something to eat and see to personal needs. If he becomes feverish alert us."

The Maiar nodded their understanding as Oromë faded from view. They stared at one another for a moment in silence and then Lisselindë shrugged. "I’ll build a fire," she said and the other two nodded.

"We’ll do some hunting," Nyéreser said and together he and Tiutalion headed into the gloaming while Lisselindë gathered dry wood.

Glorfindel continued to lie in dreamless sleep.

****

Glorfindel was tired of being roused with, in his mind, interminable regularity. All he wanted was to sleep. Every time he was wakened to take sustenance or to tend to other needs the pain was excruciating.

"I didn’t feel this bad when I died," he muttered at one point, grimacing as fire swept along his back when he attempted to sit up.

He didn’t notice his three caretakers grinning at the quip. Sometime after midnight though he woke on his own feeling hot, groaning from the barely suppressed pain as he struggled to remove his blanket and then almost at once began to shiver with cold, groping for the very same blanket he had thrown off only minutes earlier. The pain was not as bad as earlier but it was bad enough. He felt a cool hand on his brow and he heard soft words he couldn’t make out and then there was blessed darkness.

When he next woke on his own it was bright daylight. Birds were singing in the nearby trees and the sun was warm on his back where her beams stole into the lean-to. The pain, he noticed, was much less and at a more manageable level, but he still moved cautiously, attempting to roll over so he could sit up. Almost at once hands gently held him down.

"Do not try to move yet," he heard Nyéreser say in a soft voice. "We need to change the dressing first, then we will help you to sit up so you may have something to eat."

"How long have I’ve been asleep?" Glorfindel asked while Nyéreser gently lifted him up so the bandages could be unwrapped.

"The ulcamorcor attack happened four days ago," Nyéreser said.

"Pui-en-orch!" Glorfindel spat.

"Such language!" Lisselindë exclaimed in mock dismay. "And on such a lovely day as this."

"What’s so lovely about it?" Glorfindel demanded and hissed at the pain as Lisselindë applied some sort of sweet smelling salve to his wounds. The Maia uttered soft apologies but did not cease her ministrations.

"You’re still alive," Tiutalion answered him.

Glorfindel turned his head slightly to see the Maia grinning down at him and scowled. "If I weren’t in such a compromising position I would wipe that smug smile off your face."

"He doesn’t wake up nicely, does he?" Nyéreser said.

"He’s always in a bad mood when he first wakes up," Lisselindë replied as she began working on his leg. "Haven’t you noticed?"

"I suppose having one’s back ripped to pieces would make anyone grouchy," Tiutalion answered with a straight face.

Glorfindel sighed. "Is it really that bad?" he asked worriedly. "And my leg? Will I even be able to walk again?"

The genuine fear that they heard in his voice sobered the three Maiar and they ceased their banter. Nyéreser reached down and stroked the ellon’s head. "Have no fear," he said. "Bad though your wounds are they will heal fully. You will have to work to strengthen your leg muscles, but I assure you that in time you will be able to walk and you will be able to wield your sword."

Glorfindel sighed again, this time in relief as Nyéreser and Tiutalion gently helped him to roll over and sit up, though the world lurched sickeningly for a moment or two and he thought he might black out. Once they had him settled with soft pillows piled up supporting his back the world righted itself. He couldn’t believe how weak he felt just from that small amount of effort and was grateful when Tiutalion gave him some water so he could slake his sudden thirst.

Lisselindë, who had left the lean-to while the other Maiar were moving Glorfindel, came back bearing a bowl of creamy porridge. "We’ll see if you can handle something more solid than beef broth, which is what we’ve been feeding you for the last four days," she said. "Do you think you can manage on your own if I hold the bowl for you?" she then asked, handing him a spoon.

Glorfindel nodded and, though it took some effort and it was slow going, he managed well enough. When the bowl was empty he lay back against the pillows, his body trembling with fatigue.

"That was very good," Lisselindë said with a smile. "Why don’t you rest for now. Do you want to be placed on your stomach again or are you fine as you are?"

"I’m fine, thank you," Glorfindel said in a whisper, feeling sleep stealing over him. The Maiar stood or sat around him, keeping watch.

****

Days passed and Glorfindel felt himself growing stronger, staying awake longer and taking more interest in his surroundings. When he began to complain about the view (virtually nonexistent as far as he was concerned) the Maiar moved him outside so he could better see the lake and the surrounding glade. His mood improved almost at once and so they left him there for most of the day, bringing him back to the lean-to only at night. About a week after he woke completely he was standing with the aid of the Maiar and was able to walk to the lake though it seemed to take forever. Still, that was the highlight of the ellon’s day and when night fell he walked back to the lean-to, again with aid. He slept better than he had previously and the Maiar took it as a good sign. After that they began encouraging him to walk as much as he could and strengthen the leg muscles. Thus, after another week had passed, Glorfindel was well enough to begin sparring with Nyéreser and Tiutalion to bring his body back to peak performance.

When he was not training with the Maiar, he wandered along the shore of the lake and watched the wildlife around him. Lisselindë accompanied him one time and offered to continue their lessons, which surprised him. "There is no evil presence here in this glade," he objected.

"Your abilities can be used for other purposes," Lisselindë explained. "Come. Close your eyes, reach out and tell me what you sense."

Glorfindel complied and did as she bade, reaching out with his mind as he had been taught to do when hunting for evil and realized that he could sense other less inimical life forms. He heard the rush of wings as waterbirds suddenly fluttered up from the lake only to circle for a moment or two before settling back down. Somewhere further east he felt a herd of deer go bounding across the field and back into the forest. There was the rustling of leaves and the soft breeze brought him fragrant scents which were hard to identify. He recounted all that he could sense with his hröa and fëa, opening his eyes only when he could not think of anything else to mention.

"That was a very good start," Lisselindë said with a smile. "With more practice you should be able to sense more in greater detail. As a warrior you must be constantly aware of your surroundings, is that not true?"

Glorfindel nodded. "One of my first lessons," he said.

"And one that has held you in good stead," the Maia affirmed. "These exercises will merely reinforce that lesson."

Thus, Glorfindel spent the early mornings training with swords with Nyéreser and archery with Tiutalion. After lunch, he and Lisselindë would wander through the glade and learn of the life that teemed there. Sometimes, Glorfindel would be blindfolded and taken in a random manner to some part of the glade and told to find his way back to the camp or simply to identify everything in that particular place about which his other senses told him.

At night, the four sat around the fire and traded stories. The Maiar regaled Glorfindel with tales of the times before Time began when even Arda had not yet been brought into existence. Glorfindel drank those tales in like someone suffering a great thirst. In turn, Glorfindel spoke of his days in Gondolin, concentrating mostly on his friendship with Ecthelion of the Fountain and the trouble they got themselves into and out of.

"We were the bane of Turgon’s existence," Glorfindel chortled, "and we prided ourselves on the ingenuity of our jests."

"What happened when they backfired?" Nyéreser asked.

"And when they didn’t," Lisselindë added. The Maiar were highly amused by Glorfindel’s unusual lighthearted demeanor. By common consent no one mentioned the Darkening or what happened after the Noldor left.

"Oh, Turgon usually exiled us to the loneliest outpost in the Echoriath he could find," Glorfindel replied with another chuckle. "It took him some time to realize that sending us both to the same lonely outpost only gave us plenty of time to come up with even more outrageous jests, undisturbed by such inanities as attending court or our other duties in the city."

The Maiar laughed at that. "So I’m assuming Turgon sent you to different outposts after that," Tiutalion stated.

Glorfindel nodded. "Not that it stopped us. When we were permitted back in the city we just compared notes as to what we had come up with on our own during our time of exile." He gave them a sly grin. "Turgon never stood a chance, especially after Tuor arrived and he and Idril joined us in our little escapades. When he found out that even they were in on it, he threw up his hands and muttered something about his own family being the death of him."

At those words, Glorfindel sobered, his eyes sad as he gazed into the fire. "He was right, though not in the way he thought."

The Maiar remained respectfully silent. For several minutes Glorfindel just stared into the flames, seeing something that was not there. "When Aredhel died of the poisoned dart Eöl meant for their son," Glorfindel finally said, speaking almost to himself, "for the first time I was honestly afraid of my king. Never have I seen anyone so cold and merciless before or since. After we threw Eöl from the Caragdûr, Ecthelion and I resolved to end our jests, for they seemed out of place now."

"Yet, you said that Tuor and Idril helped you with your jests," Nyéreser said, "and Tuor came afterwards. What changed your mind?"

"Turgon did," came the surprising answer. "About a month or so after Tuor arrived, Turgon asked Ecthelion and me to attend him after one of our council meetings. That was not unusual. Turgon often would invite one or two councillors to share some wine with him after such a meeting. Often we would spend the time speaking of this or that, nothing really consequential; Turgon merely wished to know each of us better."

He paused to throw a few sticks on the fire and to freshen his tea, before he settled back on the log he was sitting on and resumed his narrative. "That day, Turgon spent the entire time reminiscing about the many jests we had pulled in the past, citing his favorite ones, the ones that normally got us exiled or one time got me thrown into prison for my troubles. He never said anything specific but we got the message. When we spoke to Idril and Tuor about it they offered to help with the jest."

"What do you think changed Turgon’s mind?" Lisselindë asked.

"Tuor," Glorfindel said decisively. "When the Mortal came to Gondolin and won Idril’s heart, for the first time since Aredhel’s death, there was genuine joy in Turgon’s eyes whenever he gazed upon his son-in-law. Then, when Idril presented him with his grandson, Eärendil, it was as if the darkness that had shrouded his fëa was lifted." He gave the Maiar a wry smile. "His greatest delight was in Eärendil and he shamelessly spoiled the lad."

The Maiar smiled at that but noticed Glorfindel’s pensive mood as he stared back into the fire. "I wonder whatever happened to them? Idril and Tuor, I mean. No one has ever said."

"Nor are we permitted to speak of it," Tiutalion said. "Their fate is in the hands of the Valar and Ilúvatar. Be content that they are well. Beyond that we will not say."

Glorfindel nodded not at all upset. Instead, he decided to change the subject. "What news have you had of Eldamar? Has aught of any importance happened?"

"Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, along with the other prisoners were transported to Formenos. Our brethren from among Lord Tulkas’ People presently guard them."

"I pity them," Glorfindel said sincerely. The three Maiar gave him quizzical looks and the ellon expanded on his words. "To have to stand watch over such as they, it must be galling, not to mention boring."

The Maiar started laughing, much to Glorfindel’s amazement and bemusement. "You little understand our nature, then," Tiutalion said. "We Maiar were created to serve the Valar in whatever capacity they deem suitable. It is both an honor and a special joy whatever the task may be."

Glorfindel shrugged, as if to indicate that he wasn’t going to argue the point even if he thought it silly. The Maiar simply smiled indulgently at his reaction. "Any other news?" he asked.

"There is talk that Arafinwë means to go ahead with the royal progress to Tol Eressëa at midsummer," Nyéreser answered.

Glorfindel sighed. "Sador told Finrod and me about it. None of us are happy with the idea, though for some reason Ingwion, when we spoke to him, did not seem upset by the possible dangers that the rest of us seem to see so clearly." He shook his head. "And that’s another thing," he said, looking up at the Maiar in obvious confusion. "Apprentice to Lord Námo? What could Lord Námo possibly teach him? How to greet the dead?"

"Did you not pay heed to our tales, Glorfindel?" Nyéreser enquired, trying not to laugh at the ellon’s words. "What do you think Lord Námo was doing all those uncounted ages before Mandos was ever built?"

"I don’t understand," Glorfindel said.

"The Halls of Mandos were built only after we settled here in Aman," Nyéreser explained. "Even when we built Almaren there was never a hint of Lord Námo’s future role as Lord of the Dead. Before that he was one of our most able strategists, along with Lord Oromë, in our wars against Melkor."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that, clearly skeptical, but when the Maiar continued to gaze at him without any hint of levity in their eyes, he realized they were speaking the truth. After a moment or two he nodded. "Ingwion has not said anything specific, but he has hinted that he has a role to play that concerns Tol Eressëa, perhaps with the progress itself. Finrod and I resolved to join the progress whether Atar invites us to or not. If Atar means to leave at midsummer that does not give me much time to recover my former strength though. I do not wish to be of no use to anyone if trouble occurs."

"We will continue to work on it," Nyéreser said. "I was thinking of pushing you a little harder than I have been. We Maiar have been fighting at your level, but I wonder if it won’t be wise to try to bring you up to our level of skill or as near to it as you can come being mirroanwë."

Glorfindel nodded. "I would like that," he said simply.

"Then we will start tomorrow," Nyéreser said. "Perhaps, with Lord Manwë’s permission, I will ask some of his warrior Maiar to help. They’re always eager for new challenges."

"I’ll try not to disappoint them," Glorfindel quipped and the Maiar laughed. Soon afterwards, Glorfindel went to his bed while the three Maiar, now joined by Manveru, Erunáro, Eönwë and Fionwë, sat around the fire planning Glorfindel’s new training program.

****

Ulcamorcor: Plural of ulcamorco: Evil bear.

Note: The Caragdûr was a precipice of black rock upon the north side of the hill of Gondolin. The description of Eöl’s death is taken from the Silmarillion, Chapter 16, ‘Of Maeglin’.