100: Eärendil

Darkness enveloped him, warm and comforting, and he felt no fear or pain and had to assume that he was once again dead. Yet, Glorfindel thought perhaps that he might be mistaken, for surely if he were dead he would be standing before the dread Lord of Mandos, but he was not. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure if he was even standing. It felt more like he was floating, floating in darkness and feeling safe. He had a sudden irreverent thought that perhaps Lord Námo was so busy dealing with other recently dead folk that he had stuck Glorfindel in this nice warm darkness until he could get around to dealing with him.

He felt himself grinning. “Probably he’s putting off dealing with me as long as possible,” he thought smugly to himself and wondered if this time around he would have to endure another trial before the whole assembly of the Valar. He hoped not. He didn’t think he had had enough time to get into that much trouble since being re-embodied. Well, he would just have to wait and see. For now, he was content to float in the darkness.

But that contentment did not remain for long. The darkness did not lighten but there was a change nonetheless. Sound. He realized he was hearing something, a low buzzing that only slowly began to increase in volume until he realized he was hearing words but he only caught a few at a time so that the sense of what was being said eluded him somewhat. He only knew that there were two people speaking, but he did not recognize their voices. The longer he listened though, the clearer the words became.

“....wait so long?” he heard one voice demand.

“I... my orders.... and....” the other said.

“Though I...ages of Arda... never understand... Maiar,” the first voice retorted.

Hmm.... so one of them was a Maia, Glorfindel thought. Well, he had been half expecting one of Lord Námo’s Maiar to show up at some point and say something like, “The Lord of Mandos is ready to see you now”, so he wasn’t too surprised at the revelation.

“As I still have difficulty understanding you Mirroanwi,” the second voice which had to belong to the Maia said and Glorfindel detected a smile in the voice, which now sounded familiar but he could put no name to it. He found himself mentally running through a list of all the Maiar he knew and trying to match a name to the voice but nothing clicked and then his attention was diverted by the words of the first voice.

“Well, it’s a good thing I came when I did, else I think you would have had a lot of explaining to do to Lord Manwë and Lord Námo.”

The Maia laughed and it was warm and comforting like the darkness in which Glorfindel floated. “I had everything under control, my friend.”

“So you say,” the first voice retorted with a snort but there was no sense of condemnation in the words, rather a hint of amusement and Glorfindel had the feeling that these two were old friends.

“You can open your eyes now, Glorfindel.”

It took a moment for him to realize that he was being addressed and the words, eerily echoing the words Lord Námo had spoken to him when he had wakened in Mandos and overheard the conversation between the Lord of Mandos and the Lady Estë sent an unexpected shiver of dread through him and he wanted to retreat back into the darkness.

“No, child,” the Maia said. “It is well. Open your eyes now and see who has come.”

His curiosity piqued by this, Glorfindel struggled to remember how to open his eyes, for he realized he had no sensation of anything physical about him. Finally, though, he managed to remember and cracked his eyelids open, closing them almost immediately against the glaring light.

“Take your time, Glorfindel,” the Maia said. “There is no rush.”

Glorfindel was grateful for that, at least. He opened his eyes to slits again and waited for the light to become more bearable before opening them further and found himself lying in someone’s arms staring up into two concerned faces.

“This is getting so old,” he said with a sigh.

“What is?” And Glorfindel recognized the voice as that of the first speaker.

“Being mauled half to death by some evil creature,” he replied. “How bad is it this time and how long will I spend recovering?”

The person holding him — it had to be the Maia, Glorfindel surmised, for he was surrounded by bright light and it was hard to make out his features — laughed. “You are barely injured, my friend.”

“I had three huge alatyauli land on me,” Glorfindel protested, “and if I am barely injured, as you say, why can’t I feel anything?”

“Because I am keeping what pain you may have at bay,” the Maia said.

“I would rather have the pain,” Glorfindel said.

“But why?” the first person, an elf by all appearances though there was something else there and Glorfindel was sure he should recognize the ellon but he was finding it difficult to concentrate fully on what was going on around him.

“Because then I would know that I was truly alive,” he replied and closed his eyes, sure that he was forgetting something... or someone. He opened his eyes again. “Mánatamir! Alagos! What....?”

“Peace, child,” the Maia said soothingly. “Alagos is well and as for Mánatamir... do you not recognize your traveling companion?”

Glorfindel stared up in confusion at the Maia’s face and then it suddenly dawned on him why it seemed so familiar and yet was not. “Ma-mánatamir?” he ventured, not quite believing what he was seeing.

“Yes, my friend. I am Mánatamir of the People of Manwë,” the Maia said with a warm smile.

“Then... you’re not really a Telerin sailor? And Cundu, is he....?”

Mánatamir laughed. “Oh, Cundu is a wolfhound in truth and he actually was a gift from Lord Oromë. As for not being a Teler, well that is not strictly true. I have been a Teler, a Noldo, even a Vanya when my lord has required it of me.”

At that particular moment, the wolfhound made his appearance, bending down to give Glorfindel a lick on his face before Mánatamir shooed him away.

“But come. We should be on our way,” he said as he gently helped Glorfindel to a sitting position. Looking down at himself, he could see that his right arm was in a sling and his chest wrapped in bandages. There was also a little dried blood and not a few scratches, though none of them appeared to be deep.

“On our way where?” Glorfindel asked, still feeling muddled in his mind. He was trying to grasp the idea that the ellon who had traveled with him, argued with him, and fought beside him had been a Maia in disguise all along.

“Why, to my home, of course, Lord Glorfindel,” the first speaker replied with a huge smile.

“Your home?” Glorfindel shook his head, trying to focus, but he was suddenly having trouble and he felt unaccountably weary.

“Dost not recognize me, Glorfi?” the ellon asked gently.

At the sound of the childish nickname Glorfindel felt his attention snap into focus again, if only for a brief time, and he stared hard at the ellon with his golden locks and eyes that were bluer than the sapphires in Lord Manwë’s robes and there was that strong chin jutting out that reminded him so much of Turgon....

“Eärendil?” he whispered, feeling a mix of shock and joy at the revelation and then to his utter horror he burst into tears and could not stop.

Eärendil took him into his embrace and rocked him. “Shush, yes, it is I and I have waited these many years for thee to return to us. Hush now, mellon nîn, hush. All is well.”

It took some time, however, before Glorfindel could get himself under control and then he felt himself being lifted into Mánatamir’s arms. “It is well, child,” the Maia said soothingly. “You will see. And look! We will be traveling in style.”

Glorfindel turned his head and gasped in amazement, for there floating only a foot or two above the beach, ropes tied casually around a couple of the black stone pillars, was a ship, a ship without sails or oars, its sides made of mithril and elven-glass and there was a wavering flame, pure and bright, all around it. High up on the mast hung a lantern within which was suspended a bright jewel.

“My ship!” Glorfindel cried out in surprise.

“Thy ship?” Eärendil said with a laugh. “I beg to differ, my lord.”

Glorfindel blushed. “Sorry. I only meant this is the ship in my dream or vision or whatever.”

“Ah, yes. I remember that it was... um... borrowed one night,” Eärendil said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Not my idea, I assure you,” Glorfindel said with a quirk of his lips.

Eärendil laughed. “Oh, I know. Do not concern thyself, my lord. I am merely jesting.”

“Thou didst use to call me Glorfi,” Glorfindel said. “Why all this formality now?”

“But that was when I was a child,” Eärendil replied, “and I did not think thou wouldst want me to call thee that before others now that I am no longer a child.”

“Then call me Glorfindel, I beg thee, for I was thy parents’ friend and would be thine as well.”

“Then, Glorfindel it is,” the Mariner said, “and now, let us board thy ship” — he gave Glorfindel a smirk and a wink — “and be on our way. Aerandir, Falathar,” he called out, “let us have the ropes.”

Glorfindel glanced up to see two ellyn throwing what looked to be a mass of ropes over the side of the ship. Eärendil neatly caught them and expertly unraveled them to reveal a litter. Mánatamir placed him on it and before he could protest, he felt himself being pulled up and was presently being lowered onto the deck of the ship. Looking about, he could see Alagos standing placidly to starboard, apparently no worse for wear, for it seemed that he had been healed of his own wounds. Mánatamir was beside him in an instant, lifting him gently and placing him on a cot, making sure he was comfortable. Eärendil was already climbing aboard, giving orders.

“Let us away, friends,” he said, gesturing towards the other side of the ship and Glorfindel saw the two sailors go over and begin releasing the ship from its moorings. Eärendil then turned to where another ellon manned the wheel. “Erellont, set the course.”

“At once, lord,” the ellon said and then the ship was floating away.

It was a strange sensation, yet oddly familiar to Glorfindel as he began to recall in greater detail his own voyage aboard Vingilot. He still could not decide if the voyage had been for real or only imagined, but in the end it hardly mattered; it was the results of that voyage that counted.

“How bad is it?” he asked Mánatamir.

The Maia stared down at him for a moment before answering. “A dislocated shoulder that has been put to rights and a couple of cracked ribs. Truly, nothing to be overly concerned about. I know you have suffered worse. I have deadened the pain until you are strong enough to bear it.”

“And for that, I thank you,” Glorfindel said, “but truly, as you say, I have suffered worse injuries and pain is a familiar friend. You need not protect me overmuch.”

“I know,” Mánatamir said, looking suddenly guilty, “but it was my fault that you were injured at all. I fear I left it rather late to... to reveal myself.”

“At least you didn’t leave it too late,” Glorfindel replied with a wry grin. Both Mánatamir and Eärendil, who had overheard the conversation, laughed.

“I have already scolded him for his tardiness,” Eärendil said to Glorfindel. “He’s been suitably chastised. And now, rest, my friend. Our voyage will be swift for you were not too distant from the cove where Elwing and I and our friends make our home.”

“Friends?” Glorfindel enquired with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” was Eärendil’s reply and Glorfindel had to be content with that.

The voyage was indeed not very long and soon Glorfindel beheld a wondrous sight. He insisted on rising from the bed so he could see better and with Mánatamir’s help he made his way to the railing. Before him was a large cove, a bay actually, perhaps half a mile at its widest. There were no cliffs, but gentle swells of bluffs rising to more solid land behind in the midst of which was a white tower with several low buildings surrounding it on three sides. Behind this were fields of grain and a rather large vegetable garden and further back, an orchard. Northward he saw a group of houses forming a small village around a central well where elflings played. They looked up at the sight of the ship and waved excitedly. Glorfindel waved back. Further to the west he saw tree-shrouded hills encircling the entire area so that they were actually in a valley. From the tallest of the hills flowed a waterfall and a stream ran merrily through the farmland and continued towards the sea.

“It is as Telemnambo described it,” Glorfindel said, “though, of course, there was no farmland when he was here or the village.”

Eärendil nodded. “This was pretty much all wilderness back then, but over the centuries we have made it quite habitable. Ah... we are coming into port.”

Glorfindel watched with interest as Erellont steered the ship to a quay that stretched out into the bay, expertly bringing the ship beside it while Aerandir and Falathar threw ropes to some people waiting for them. In short order the ship was moored and a gangplank produced. Eärendil and Mánatamir guided Glorfindel off while Falathar led Alagos. Cundu ignored the gangplank and simply jumped over the side, joyfully greeting those on the quay, among whom was an elleth, her hair so dark as to be almost black with silvery highlights, her eyes a startling deep blue. She wore a simple gown of white, her hair bound with a thin circlet of silver with a single emerald in the center. Glorfindel recognized her from Lindarion’s description.

Eärendil led him directly to the elleth, smiling. “Here he is, my love,” he said, giving her a loving kiss which she returned. Then he turned to Glorfindel. “Glorfindel, this is my beloved wife, Elwing.”

The elleth gave him a warm smile and a deep reverence. Glorfindel attempted to give her his own bow, but Mánatamir stayed him, shaking his head in silent reminder of his injuries which he still could not feel, so he contented himself with a nod of his head. “My lady,” he said.

“Welcome to our home, Lord Glorfindel,” Elwing replied, her voice a rich alto. “We have waited a long time for thy coming.” She stole a glance at her husband who stood there grinning. “A very long time.”

Glorfindel was not sure how to respond to that, but was saved the trouble by Elwing gently taking his arm. “But thou art injured,” she said. “The way is not long but perhaps thou wouldst prefer to be carried or to ride.”

“Nay, lady,” Glorfindel said. “I prefer to walk, if thou wouldst aid me.” He gave her his most winning smile and she laughed, a deep lovely sound that warmed Glorfindel’s soul.

“Then that is what we shall do, my lord,” she responded, “but thou must call me Elwing.”

“But only if thou callest me Glorfindel,” the ellon insisted.

Elwing nodded, then turned to the Maia. “Be welcome, my Lord Mánatamir. Glad I am to see thee again, and thou, too, Cundu. I hope to hear all about thy latest adventures.”

The Maia bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, child. Your welcome is most gratifying. Let us not stand on ceremony, however, for I see that Glorfindel is beginning to tire.”

“I’m fine,” Glorfindel protested, though in truth he was beginning to feel fatigued and hoped he would not collapse before they reached the tower.

“Then let us hence,” Eärendil said. “There will be time enough later for telling tales.”

With that, they made their way off the quay and headed for the tower, taking it slowly for Glorfindel’s sake, but shortly they were there and Elwing was leading him into one of the low buildings that he saw adjoined the tower. He found himself in a well-appointed sitting room and was soon ensconced on a plush sofa, with Elwing wrapping a brightly woven blanket around him and plumping a pillow for his head. He gave a sigh of relief, only just realizing how tired he felt even though he still could not feel any pain from his injuries. He watched with detachment as the others bustled about. Cundu came and laid his head on Glorfindel’s chest and the ellon gently stroked the hound.

When Eärendil came to him a few minutes later to offer him some wine, he found the ellon fast asleep, one hand on Cundu’s head, the hound perfectly still and obviously content to be where he was. Eärendil put the goblet of wine down on a nearby table and then sat quietly beside the sleeping ellon, gazing on him fondly. Elwing joined him, as did Mánatamir, the three waiting patiently for Glorfindel to waken.

****

Notes:

1. Eärendil’s description is based on the following: ‘Now this babe was of greatest beauty; his skin of a shining white and his eyes of a blue surpassing that of the sky in the southern lands—bluer than the sapphires in the raiment of Manwë....’ [Book of Lost Tales II, ‘The Fall of Gondolin’]. Also, Tuor is of the House of Hador and the scions of that particular House of the Edain are noted for their golden hair. We also have this description of Idril: ‘Yet to none were his eyes more often drawn than to Idril the King’s daughter, who sat beside him; for she was golden as the Vanyar, her mother’s kindred, for she seemed to him as the sun from which all the King’s hall drew its light.’ [Silmarillion, ‘Of Maeglin]

2. Aearandir, Erellont, and Falathar were the three sailors who accompanied Eärendil and Elwing on their journey to Valinor. There is nothing in the Silmarillion to indicate their race, so for the sake of this story, I am assuming they were Elves. They were sent back to Middle-earth, but there is nothing to say that they did not return with the other Elves after the War of Wrath.