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Elf, Interrupted: Book Two: Glorfindel's Quest  by Fiondil

56: Return to Tirion

The next week or so went quickly for Glorfindel. He continued training, though, in truth, there was little more that the Maiar could teach him and so they concentrated on honing his skills more fully. They all noticed a new level of maturity in the ellon since returning with Olórin. When Glorfindel told them where they had gone, the Maiar nodded in understanding, knowing exactly what lesson Lord Manwë had wished for the elf to learn. They were pleased that Glorfindel was attempting to be more compassionate toward himself, the same compassion they saw him exhibit toward others, even those undeserving of it. Not that Glorfindel had become completely mature — and some of them wondered if, in Glorfindel’s case, that could even be possible — for they knew it would take many more years for him to reach full emotional maturity, but they were pleased that he had made advancements in that area.

"The Valar say it takes a Reborn about a hundred years to achieve the same level of maturity as they had when they died," Erunáro reminded his fellow Maiar when they were discussing this matter. "Of course, that is probably an average, taking into account elflings who are released from Mandos and must now contend with being adults, so I imagine that someone like Glorfindel might advance more quickly than others, given his past."

The other Maiar agreed, mentioning how Findaráto had reached his own maturity much earlier than the norm. "Though, once Glorfindel showed up, I detected something of a regression in his emotional responses," Fionwë said with a smile and they all laughed.

"But taking on the responsibility of those elflings helped steady him," Olórin pointed out, "to the point that Glorfindel, Sador and even Beleg are now complaining that he’s no fun anymore."

That set everyone laughing even more. "It’s hard being the older brother," Manveru said with a wink to his twin who merely smirked.

Thus, the Maiar continued to tutor Glorfindel in the ‘fine art of slaying’, as Lisselindë put it while she herself continued to work on honing his senses as fully as possible. At one point Glorfindel remarked that he hoped more monsters would find their way over the mountains so he could see if his abilities had improved any, but Lisselindë stated that there were bound to be other opportunities and a better test of his ability would be if he were unaware, because no one told him, that any evil was attempting to infiltrate Aman.

"There are always monsters," she pointed out to him. "I’m sure eventually you’ll meet up with them." She refrained from saying that it might not be until he went to Endórë that he would do so. All knew that Glorfindel was not to know the ultimate reason for all this training.

"Let him assume it’s in preparation for the Final Battle or simply to keep him amused and out of trouble," Eönwë told them, speaking for Lord Manwë, and there were many smiles as bets were made as to which reason Glorfindel might be holding to.

In the end, of course, it hardly mattered. Glorfindel was an eager student and even taught the Maiar a thing or two. Finally, the ellon decided that it was time for him to return to Tirion. "I am hoping to have a chance to speak with Sador and perhaps Finrod, if he’s there, before Atar goes on this Royal Progress," he said to Eönwë as he was taking his ease in the bathing pool after a strenuous workout. He and the Maia were alone at the time. "I know I have no chance of dissuading Atar from this course of action, but I want to consult with my gwedyr to see what security measures have been taken." He gave the Maia a somewhat sheepish smile. "I know Atar fought in the War of Wrath, and he is an excellent Noldóran, but sometimes I think he’s a bit... um... naive." He ducked his head to scrub his neck so he wouldn’t have to look at the Maia. When he heard no response, though, he lifted his head slightly to give Eönwë a shrug. "Just my opinion," he said apologetically.

"Arafinwë had the misfortune of having to learn to be the leader he is the hard way," Eönwë replied softly. "His lessons during the time of the Darkening were, in many ways, as harsh or even harsher than the lessons the Exiles learned over the years in their war against Morgoth. If you detect a certain level of naivety in him, it is a naivety born of deep pain, a conscious choice to not be as cynical as others or as circumstances might dictate. Some will see that as a weakness, others as a strength."

Glorfindel did not reply immediately, but climbed out of the pool, while Eönwë mentally released the sluice gate to empty it. The ellon grabbed the towel sitting on the pool’s edge and dried himself off, but he did not dress at once. Instead, he wrapped the towel around his middle and sat on a flat rock, running a comb through his golden locks, letting the warmth of the sun dry them.

"So you’re saying that Atar has decided to keep a certain innocence about him?" Glorfindel finally asked, shaking his head. "Innocence or blindness?"

The Maia shrugged. "Perhaps it comes down to the same thing," he said, "but I do not think so. Arafinwë has chosen not to become jaded in how others act and react to situations. He could have easily chosen that route, given the history of his own family. He learned from others when he went to Beleriand, about the treacheries between various members of his kin and where they all led. He was there when Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë attempted to steal the two remaining Silmarils. Many would say he has every right to be cynical about other people’s motivations, but he made a conscious effort not to be."

"He’s chosen the harder way," Glorfindel said with a nod as he began braiding his hair.

Eönwë nodded. "And not everyone thinks that is a good idea where the Noldóran is concerned. Yet, Arafinwë is not alone in this. Both Ingwë and Olwë exhibit similar types of naivety, if that is what it is. None of them walked away from what happened during the Darkening unscathed, but they all chose not to let those events darken their spirits."

For a long moment the two sat in silence, but finally, Eönwë asked a question. "What is it about the idea of Arafinwë and Olwë going to Tol Eressëa that disturbs you? Are you saying that none of the Eldarani should concern themselves with the people of Tol Eressëa?"

Glorfindel shook his head as he rose and began pulling on tunic and trews. "No, but I think there might be some people, especially those from Tol Eressëa, who will see any interest by the Amaneldi and particularly by their kings as interference in their affairs."

"And yet, it was a delegation from Tol Eressëa that approached Arafinwë and not the other way around," Eönwë pointed out.

"True, but I doubt if the idea of sending the delegation was universally approved," Glorfindel replied as he sat down to place some sandals on his feet. "Certainly what happened to Sador afterward is proof of that. Look, all I’m saying is that I think it might be too soon for the kings to go to Tol Eressëa, given recent events, rather than they should not go at all. But since I know Atar is set on this, then I plan to do what I can to minimize the danger for him and everyone else."

"And for this reason, among many others, have you been trained by us," the Herald of Manwë exclaimed.

Glorfindel nodded. "I leave tomorrow," he said simply, standing again and collecting his bathing things to return to camp.

Eönwë nodded. "Lisselindë will take you to where your horse will be waiting for you," he said. "From that point you only need to head directly north and you will meet up with a road that winds through the Southern Fiefdoms. Follow it north and it will bring you to Tirion. If you leave tomorrow around dawn you will reach the city before dusk."

With that, the Maia gave him a slight smile and a bow and faded from view. Glorfindel took a last look around the hot springs and then headed back to the camp.

****

When Glorfindel awoke the next morning he was surprised, yet gratified, to see all the Maiar with whom he had been training for the last month or so there to see him off. Only Nyéreser was missing and Glorfindel knew the Maia had gone to fetch his horse.

"If you feel you need a refresher," Manveru said to him with a smile and a wink, "just let us know."

Glorfindel laughed. "I will and thank you, all of you, for your... patience."

"It was truly our pleasure, child," Eönwë said gravely, though there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes when he spoke. "Off with you now."

And Glorfindel went with Lisselindë by his side. They walked in companionable silence for the entire length of the journey out of the forest, Glorfindel feeling relaxed yet alert, moving preternaturally through the underbrush, barely making a sound. He thought that Beleg would be pleased by his efforts and smiled gently at the thought. It would be good to be reunited with his gwedyr, though he wasn’t sure if Beleg would be in Tirion. Still, it was likely that they would meet up on the Progress, since Glorfindel knew that Olwë intended to join Arafinwë when he went to Tol Eressëa.

They made good time and it was only mid-morning when they came out of the woods once more to find Nyéreser patiently waiting with Alagos by his side. The Maia gave them a brilliant smile. "So, here we part company," he said as Glorfindel slung his haversack over Alagos' hindquarters and greeted the horse with a soft word, stroking his forehead. "Remember all that we have taught you, Glorfindel, and you will do well."

"Will I see you again?" Glorfindel asked, suddenly feeling bereft for some reason.

"Perhaps," Nyéreser said, not wishing to commit himself either way. "It will be as the Valar decree, but even if you do not see me, I will know how you fare."

Glorfindel gave him a nod and turned to Lisselindë. "I hope you learned from me what you needed to learn, Lisselindë, and I hope it stands you in good stead."

"I did indeed, Glorfindel, and I thank you for your... patience." She gave him a sly smile and he laughed, enjoying the jest.

"Well, if you ever feel you need a refresher, you know where to find me," he said with a smirk.

"Travel well," Lisselindë said.

Glorfindel was soon mounted and riding away. When he happened to look back, intending to wave, he was unsurprised to find that the Maiar were gone. He turned his attention to the road ahead. Before him, he could see a fertile land of softly rolling hills and wide stretches of flat land. This was the Southern Fiefdoms, a collection of small farming villages, usually consisting of no more than a hundred souls in any one village, surrounded by fields. This was the breadbasket of Eldamar, Glorfindel knew, where the elves practiced agriculture and animal husbandry. A large portion of the farms belonged to one or the other of the three crowns and it was from these farms that the kings drew much of their income. Some of the farms were owned by the great lords of Eldamar, but a vast majority were freely owned by the people who lived on them.

As he made his way through the farmland, past orchards blossoming and fields burgeoning with grain, he found himself smiling at nothing in particular and started singing a lilting song. He well remembered the fields surrounding Gondolin where Noldor and Sindar worked side-by-side to bring in the harvest. Turgon had insisted that his lords help out and Glorfindel laughed out loud at the sudden memory of his king sitting under an apple tree with a goblet of wine ‘directing the workers’, as he put it, and then being pelted with apples by Eärendil who had climbed up into the same tree without his daerada’s notice. The lad had been six, if he recalled correctly. He shook his head, a slight melancholy overtaking him as he realized that that was the last harvest any of them had enjoyed. By the time the next harvest rolled around Gondolin was deserted and its people either fled or dead, himself included.

Still, after a bit, he found his good mood returning. It was too lovely a day and he refused to let old memories ruin it for him. Around noon he reached the farming community Eönwë had told him about. If the elves there were surprised to see him, they gave no sign, merely greeting him cheerfully. He asked for the road and they pointed to a line of trees — elms, as it turned out — that marked it. They invited him to stop for the noon meal. He hesitated only for a moment before agreeing.

"My name is Laurefindil," he said. As much as he hated his Quenya name, for there were too many bad memories associated with it, he realized that these good folk would not understand his Sindarin name. These farmers were far removed from the cities and the doings of the courts. He doubted many of them had even heard of the Sindar, except as a dim rumor. He eschewed giving them any title. He did not think any of them would be impressed and he would rather just be himself, if only for an hour or so. Time enough when he reached Tirion to reclaim his titles and all that went with them.

The farmers assured him, when he enquired, that Tirion was easily reachable and he was bound to arrive before nightfall. "The road is fairly straight from this point," one of them said as they sat at a table groaning with the fresh produce of the land. There was no wine but the ale was excellent and Glorfindel promised himself to ask for a keg or two of it to be sent to him in Tirion. He was sure Beleg and Sador would appreciate it, even if Finrod turned his nose up at it.

"You should have no trouble reaching the city," the ellon continued with a straight face "unless you do something stupid."

"And what constitutes stupid?" Glorfindel asked with a smile.

The farmer shrugged, giving him his own smile. "Anything that prevents you from reaching Tirion before nightfall," was his answer and everyone at the table, including Glorfindel, laughed.

He set off soon after the meal was finished, having elicited a promise to have three kegs of ale delivered to him. The farmers had been reluctant to do so at first and he was forced to explain who he was, showing them a ring with the Noldóran’s seal on it which Arafinwë had given him as a means of identification. When the farmers saw the seal they recognized it and were more than happy to oblige him. They and Glorfindel soon came to an understanding, so when he left, he left with a light heart, pleased with his bargaining skills.

The day continued fine and the road, as promised, was fairly straight and unencumbered. There were few travelers either to or fro, for this was not a market day. He greeted the few whom he met with a cheerful smile which was returned but otherwise he did not stop to chat, wanting to reach Tirion as soon as possible. Thus, it was dusk with the sun just slipping under the horizon when he saw the great hill of Túna rising out of the plains of the Calacirya. The white stones of the city were stained red and gold with the last of the sunlight and he could see the Mindon Eldaliéva towering over all, its light blazing down the cleft towards the sea as if defying the coming of night.

He made his way through the southern gate, glad that none stopped him. The guards merely gave him polite nods as he rode past them and he nodded graciously in turn, softly wishing them a good evening. Then he was making his way along the main avenue that led to the palace where he was greeted by servants who apparently were waiting for him.

"A message came saying you were on your way, lord," one of them said as he took charge of Alagos. "The Noldóran is waiting for you in the main council chamber."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that, wondering what was going on, but did not comment. He took his haversack and with a word of thanks to the servants made his way through the palace to Arafinwë’s council chamber. There was a guard standing before the door who saluted him as he approached and then opened it to let him pass. It was only when the door closed that he realized that the room was dark.

Dark, but not empty. He could sense the presence of several people, although they were all very still, their breathing barely noticeable, but the weeks of training had heightened his senses enough that he could even tell how many were in the room.

"You know how I hate surprises, Atar," he said mildly and chuckled when he heard a stifled groan from Sador.

Then a flame appeared and a candle was lit. Soon the room was awash in light and Glorfindel could see that, besides Arafinwë and Eärwen, Finrod, Sador and Beleg were there, along with Amarië and Alassiel (and that was a surprise!). They were all grinning at him rather foolishly and Glorfindel couldn’t help but grin back.

"I take it you wanted to give me a surprise welcome," he said, coming further into the room to give his obeisance to Arafinwë and Eärwen before hugging them and all the others.

Arafinwë gave him a rueful glance. "That was the general idea, but apparently it didn’t work."

Glorfindel chuckled again. "Blame the Maiar," he said. "They taught me how to sense the presence of others even if I cannot see them."

Ah...." Arafinwë said, then gave him a genuine smile. "Welcome home, yonya. You’ve been sorely missed."

"Thank you, Atar," Glorfindel said. "I’m glad to be back."

He noticed that the council table was set with dishes and platters. Clearly they were meaning to hold an intimate welcoming feast for him and he realized that he was hungry. As Eärwen gestured for them all to take their seats, Sador gave Glorfindel a mock scowl. "Atar had the cooks make all your favorite dishes in honor of your return. He didn’t do anything like that for me or even for Finrod, so you should feel doubly honored."

Glorfindel noticed the Noldóran roll his eyes and Finrod just snorted. Turning his attention to the young Sinda, he sniffed. "Well, what do you expect? I am, after all, the great Balrog-slayer. Even Finrod cannot claim that."

"No," Finrod answered with a slight smile, "I can only claim to be the once King of Nargothrond and slayer of a werewolf, as well as being haryon to the Noldóran. Obviously, the title of Balrog-slayer is far more exalted than any of mine."

"Exactly," Glorfindel said with a laugh.

"Well that may be true," Sador grumbled, "but I still don’t see why you get a welcoming feast and we don’t."

"Actually, this is a welcoming feast for you all," Arafinwë interjected, "including, I might add, to you, my dear." He gave a slight bow to Alassiel who blushed and murmured her thanks.

"Then, by all means, let us sit and enjoy this repast before it goes cold," Finrod said and soon they were all seated and passing around dishes, talking animatedly about inconsequential things. Sador, at one point, asked Glorfindel what he had been up to for the last few months and he regaled them with several amusing anecdotes of his time among the Maiar. There was much laughter and not a few gasps of disbelief at some of what he told them, especially about the existence of the meneldëa coron.

"I cannot believe that such an artefact exists," Amarië said, "except I would not accuse you of lying, Glorfindel."

"Yet it does exist," Arafinwë stated, "for I have seen it myself, though at the time Lord Oromë’s Forest had yet to surround it."

The younger elves gave him considering looks. Finrod furrowed his eyebrows in thought before speaking. "It seems wondrous to me that the globe you mentioned, my brother, though it be made of precious gemstones, can change its shape to show Arda as it is today. That almost defies comprehension. I do not think we will ever know the full range of powers the Valar have. I think they show us only the very least of them."

Glorfindel nodded as he picked up his goblet of wine. "I had that impression when speaking with the Maiar and their telling me tales of days before Days when even Arda had yet to be created. It beggars the imagination, or certainly mine."

There was silence for a while as everyone digested his words and then Glorfindel stirred, giving Arafinwë a hard stare. "You are determined to go to Tol Eressëa?" he asked.

Arafinwë nodded. "Yes, but we will discuss your objections in the morning," he replied mildly, although there was no doubt that he was speaking more as the Noldóran than as their Atar. "Tonight, let us just enjoy our time together as family."

Glorfindel stole a glance at Finrod and Sador. They both gave him brief nods and he nodded as well, returning his attention to Arafinwë. "Yes, by all means, let us just be family tonight. While I enjoyed my time with the Maiar, I found that I was missing all of you more and more. I am glad to be finally back home where I belong."

The others smiled warmly at that and Arafinwë raised his goblet. "To family," he said.

"To family," the others all replied, lifting their own goblets and drinking deeply. Then they moved on to other topics of interest, taking delight in each other’s company, as the night deepened.

****

Eldarani: (Quenya) Plural of Eldaran: King of the Eldar [Elda + aran; cf. Ingaran].

Daerada: (Sindarin) Hypocoristic form of daeradar: Grandfather.





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