149: Epilogue: Return to Middle-earth

Second Age 1195:

Námo entered the throne room in Ilmarin to find the other Valar already gathered for their weekly conference. He did not bother to give any of them a greeting but went directly to stand before Manwë. "It is time," he said, and they all knew what he meant.

Even so, Manwë still asked, "Are you sure?"

Námo nodded. "I have seen it."

Manwë sighed. "Eönwë, Olórin," he said and almost at once the two Maiar appeared before their lord’s throne, giving him their obeisance. "Olórin, where is Glorfindel?" the Elder King asked without preamble.

"Last report had him and Findaráto visiting Vanyalondë," the Maia replied, speaking of the city that had been built in Avathar when the lands south of the Pelóri were finally opened to the elves for colonization. Vanyalondë had been the first major port built. "They are due to return in two week’s time, I believe. Indeed, they should already have sailed."

"I can send Ossë to speed their ship along," Ulmo suggested. "I’ll have him create a storm that will drive the ship northward at a speed that will bring them to Rómenhópa in half the time."

"Very well," Manwë said, "but make sure Ossë doesn’t get carried away. I want the ship arriving intact and its crew and passengers none the worse for wear."

"Not to mention giving Glorfindel a chance to reclaim his stomach," Námo said with a wicked grin. The ellon never did well in rough waters.

Ulmo smiled and nodded, shedding his fana and disappearing. Manwë turned to Olórin. "When the ship arrives, inform Glorfindel and Findaráto that I wish to see them as soon as possible. Let them know that I will expect them within a week of their reaching Tirion. That will give them plenty of time to get their land legs back."

There were chuckles among the Valar. Manwë then spoke to Eönwë. "Go to Eärendil and let him know that the time has come to send Glorfindel back to Middle-earth. He and Elwing should plan to be here in two weeks."

The two Maiar bowed and thought themselves away. Manwë gave his fellow Valar a considering look. "And now we wait."

They all nodded, but there was no sense of impatience to them. Instead, they all had looks of anticipation on their faces, as Manwë called them to order. "I believe Nessa was about to give us a report."

The Valië nodded. "There have been a series of volcanic eruptions on Mornanórë," she said, naming the continent that lay between the Inner Seas and the East Sea, "eruptions that are likely to cause severe disruptions in normal weather patterns throughout Arda, including Aman...."

****

Glorfindel and Finrod made their way up the mountain to Ilmarin after having left Ingwë and his family at the north gate of Vanyamar where they had seen them off.

"Do you think this is it?" Glorfindel asked as he and Finrod crossed the Rainbow Bridge. "Do you think I will be sent to Endórë now?"

Finrod shrugged. "Perhaps. I do not know. The summons may be for a different reason. This isn’t the first time you’ve been sent for, thinking Lord Manwë would be sending you to Endórë only to learn that he had a different task for you."

"But those other times, I usually went alone," Glorfindel pointed out. "I think this is the first time in a long time that you were asked to accompany me, like the first time I went to Ilmarin."

"Well, we’ll find out soon enough," Finrod said with a smile and to that Glorfindel could offer no arguments.

As they continued climbing, he mused on the possibility that this might be it, this might be when he would be sent to Lindon and Gil-galad and... Elrond. He was not sure how he felt about it. It had been nearly five yéni since he had been told of his mission. In that time he had striven to learn all that the Maiar and even some of the Valar were willing to teach him, not only in the warrior’s art but in matters of diplomacy and politics, for the Valar meant for him to become one of Gil-galad’s most trusted councillors. And there had been other, more esoteric lessons....

Glorfindel stole a glance at Finrod walking beside him. He’d been surprised when Lord Manwë had asked Finrod to teach him about Songs of Power, but in retrospect, he realized that, given their history and Finrod’s own abilities in that quarter, it made sense. Of course, the Valar weren’t taking any chances. He smiled to himself, recalling how there had always been at least a dozen Maiar and two Valar in attendance whenever those particular lessons were being taught and always in some remote corner of the continent where there was little chance of others being harmed if things went wrong.

Glorfindel’s reverie was broken when he felt a touch on his arm and looked at Finrod who was pointing up. Glorfindel felt the blood rushing from his face when he saw where his brother was pointing. There, floating before the gates of Ilmarin was Eärendil’s ship. Finrod gave him a sympathetic smile. "It looks as if this may indeed be the time," he said, and there was a wistful note to his words and Glorfindel gave him a fierce hug.

"We knew this day would come," he whispered. "You and I have been preparing for it for almost seven hundred years of the Sun."

"I know," Finrod admitted. "But until now, it’s all been... theoretical."

Glorfindel sighed, knowing what Finrod meant, for he was feeling the same ambivalence in his fëa. Yet, he had pledged himself to this task and he was not about to renege on it. In spite of the sorrow he felt at the idea of leaving his family and friends, there was also a rising excitement within him at the thought of a new adventure. He gave Finrod a lopsided grin. "Come on. We mustn’t keep the Valar waiting."

Finrod nodded and they continued towards the gate where they were met by Olórin who greeted them joyfully and then led them to their audience with Lord Manwë. Entering the audience chamber, Glorfindel saw all the Valar were in attendance. Eärendil and Elwing were there, as well as Eönwë and two other Maiar. There was something not quite right about the two Maiar, who were clothed in shades of blue. Glorfindel could not put his finger on what the difference was. Putting the Maiar out of his mind, he gave his obeisance to Manwë and waited expectantly for the Elder King to speak.

Manwë smiled at him. "As you have probably guessed, the time has come for you to take up the task for which you have been trained, to go to Endórë and be our emissary to Ereinion and to protect Elrond Eärendilion and his family, should he ever have one. Are you still willing to do this, Glorfindel?"

"Yes, my lord, I am," Glorfindel replied and there was a sigh of relief felt throughout the room, though Glorfindel was unsure from whom it had originated.

"Ulmo has made arrangements with one of the ships leaving for Númenor," Manwë said. "You will travel to Andunië where another ship will take you to Lindon."

"Why Andunië?" Finrod asked. "I know I am not conversant with affairs on Númenor but I would think Rómenna would have been the best place to find a ship going to Lindon."

"Unfortunately, since Ancalimë ascended the throne, she has neglected her atar’s policies and no longer gives any aid to Ereinion," Manwë explained. "So, it would be best if Glorfindel avoids Rómenna. It is too close to the royal city. Eldalondë is the port into which the elves from Tol Eressëa generally sail but we will have the captain make a slight detour to Andúnië where you are more likely to find a ship heading for Lindon. In spite of Ancalimë’s policies, the lords of Andúnië retain their friendship with the elves."

"And you will not be going alone," Varda said with a smile, gesturing towards the two Maiar dressed in blue robes. "Here are two companions for your journey, Alatar of the People of Oromë and Pallando of the People of Nienna." The two Maiar bowed to him.

"Maiar going to Endórë?" Glorfindel exclaimed in disbelief.

There were amused looks among the Valar. "It has been done before," Varda said. "Alatar and Pallando are fully incarnate, just as the Maiar were during the War of Wrath."

And that is what was different about these two, Glorfindel realized. There was a solidness about them that was not present in either Eönwë or Olórin. "So, you will be a part of my embassy or will I be a part of yours?" he asked, feeling both confused and slighted, thinking the Valar still did not trust him out of their sight, or at least out of sight of their Maiar.

"Neither," Manwë said. "Alatar and Pallando have their own mission that has nothing to do with yours. You are merely traveling together for a time. Once you reach Lindon, they will be heading elsewhere."

Glorfindel tried not to look relieved at that. He nodded at the two Maiar. "Then I will welcome the company, especially when we are surrounded by Mortals. It’s been too long since I’ve had any dealings with the Secondborn."

"It has been a while for us as well," Alatar said with a smile. "Not since the War of Wrath, actually."

"Well, the three of you will have plenty of time to compare notes," Varda said firmly. "In the meantime, Glorfindel, you have a month to make your farewells, either in person or by letter. You should be in Avallónë by the First of Lótessë."

Glorfindel nodded, suddenly feeling faint. A month! Not much time, but he would have to make the best of it. Then a thought came to him and he gave them an embarrassed look. "Ah, what should I pack?"

The Valar and the Maiar stared at him, nonplused. Finrod rolled his eyes. "Two tunics and three changes of underclothing," he said. "You don’t need anything more and whatever else you might need I am sure Gil-galad will supply."

"But, I mean, do I bring my weapons, my armor, my horse?"

"I would recommend leaving behind your horse," Námo answered with a wry smile, "but certainly take your sword. Or actually, I should return your other sword to you, shouldn’t I?"

Glorfindel blinked, trying to determine what the Vala was talking about and then a memory welled up of a dream he had had, or perhaps it wasn’t a dream. "I gave you my sword in safe-keeping," he said slowly. "It was the sword I wielded when I died."

Námo nodded. "And I said that I would return it to you when you were ready to accept the responsibilities a sword demands of the one who wields it."

"I remember now," Glorfindel said. He gave the Vala a considering look. "I have wielded many a sword since then."

"But not that particular sword," Námo replied.

"A dream-sword, for the original is forever lost," Glorfindel countered.

Námo shrugged. "It is a symbol, then. A symbol of your readiness to accept the responsibilities that will be demanded of you in your new life, for it will be a new life for you, Glorfindel, no less than when you were re-embodied and everything was new again. You have only your memories of Gondolin to guide you, but Lindon is not Gondolin and Ereinion is not Turgon. It will quite literally be a whole new world for you. Are you prepared?"

"No," Glorfindel replied in all honesty, "but then, when has that ever stopped me?" He gave them a bland look and even Námo laughed at that.

"Then take back your sword, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," Námo said and then there was a sword in his hand, a sword that shimmered in unearthly light. Glorfindel reached out and placed his hand on the pommel, gripping it firmly but even as he did so, it disappeared. He looked at Námo in wonder and the Vala smiled. "A symbol, child. In grasping that particular sword you have shown your willingness to take up the responsibilities that are inherent in the wielding of any weapon."

Glorfindel stood there for a moment, blinking, and then on impulse, he unbuckled the sword belt around his hips and held the sheathed sword in his two hands as he knelt before the Lord of Mandos. "This is Aranna, the sword given to me by King Olwë. Take it, lord, into thy safekeeping as a pledge that someday I will return to reclaim it, however long that might be."

Námo gazed at him for a moment before reaching out and taking the sword. "I will keep it for thee, Glorfindel, and I will return it to thee so long as thou dost behave thyself. Otherwise I will skewer thee with it and stick thy fëa on a post outside the doors of Mandos as a warning to others if thou art ever so stupid as to show up on my doorstep... again."

Glorfindel blinked, not sure how to take the Vala’s words, but decided to err on the side of caution and said with all sincerity, "And if I am ever that stupid, lord, I will fall on the sword myself and save you the trouble."

Someone sniggered and then everyone was laughing. Námo smiled and reached down to help Glorfindel rise, giving him a hug. "Make me proud, best beloved," he whispered in Glorfindel’s ear.

"I will," Glorfindel said in a choking voice, trying to keep the tears from falling. Then, Námo released him and he found himself being passed from one Vala to the next as they each gave him a blessing and advice. When they were done, Manwë suggested that the elves go back to Vanyamar so Glorfindel could start making his farewells. The four elves gave the Valar their obeisance. Eärendil wrapped an arm around Glorfindel’s shoulders as they were leaving, speaking softly to the ellon about Elrond and what messages he was to give him from his parents.

****

Three months later:

Elrond Eärendilion stood on the pier, staring out into the Gulf, wondering what had possessed him to come out here in this miserable wet weather. He shook the rain from his eyes, for he eschewed drawing up the hood of his cloak. For almost a week he had come out here, ignoring his duties, ignoring his friends, ignoring Gil-galad’s own pleas to come back inside. He was not sure why he was doing this. What was he looking for? What did he hope to find out here in the harbor with the rain lashing at him? There were no ships sailing and none were expected. So why was he standing there getting more and more wet by the minute? He did not know; he only knew that he’d been haunted by images or dreams or perhaps even a foretelling and they had brought him here to the harbor day after day for the last week. He had tried to ignore the compulsion at first, doggedly going about his duties with grim determination, but without any conscious thought of doing so, he would suddenly find himself standing on this particular pier, staring out at the grey roiling waves pounding the shore. Only at the insistence, nay, the command of Gil-galad had he bothered to leave his spot to go and eat and rest, though he could not sleep. Gil-galad did not forbid him going to the harbor, but he insisted that he return to the palace at nightfall.

"Whatever you are looking for, it will not come at night," the king had said.

Elrond was not so sure about that, but he dared not disobey his king, so he had spent the nights pacing his study, waiting for the first blush of dawn, at which point he would fling on his cloak and rush out the door, heading for the harbor before anyone was stirring. And then he would stand there, waiting.

The rain seemed to fall more heavily and Elrond knew that soon he would be forced to retire to the palace again, for night was rapidly approaching. He wondered how long he would continue this vigil for what he did not know. How long before Gil-galad had enough and forbade him from even leaving the palace, forcing him to return to his duties.

This was madness! He should just return to the palace and order a hot bath and forget about it. Standing here in the rain was pointless. He was about to turn around, to head back to the city, when something caught his eye, some indefinable movement. He furrowed his brow, staring into the encroaching darkness as rain continued to fall.

Was that a ship? He shook the rain out of his eyes, and looked again, taking a few hesitant steps forward for a better look.

It was! He gasped, frozen in stunned surprise. A ship! In this weather? Through the curtain of rain it plowed onward, heading straight for the pier on which Elrond was standing. He gazed at it in amazement, for it was not even an elven ship, but one of the ships of the Edain of Númenor, lanteen-rigged on two masts, known for their speed and their capacity for sailing to windward. They were well suited for long voyages. He marveled that an Edain-built ship could have made it through the sea storm that had been pounding its way up the Gulf, forcing Círdan to ground all ships until it passed. He could make out the figures of sailors rushing about, reefing what sails were still unfurled and preparing to bring the ship to its berth. He heard voices calling behind him and turned to see people pouring out of the buildings lining the harbor, dockworkers who ran toward the pier, shouting in surprise and wonder at the sight of the ship. Turning back, Elrond saw that the ship was nearly upon them. Lines were thrown out and neatly caught by those waiting on the pier and soon the ship was berthed.

Elrond just stood there, unsure now what to do. Was this what he had been waiting for, this ship? Or more likely, for someone on the ship. A rising sense of both dread and excitement flooded him and he felt as if something portentous was about to happen, something that would change his life forever, though whether for good or for ill, he could not say. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to flee, to run back to Lindon and hide himself like some elfling cowering under the covers, afraid of the orcs in the wardrobe.

He ignored the feeling and forced himself to remain where he was. There was a great deal of bustling about the ship and then the gangplank was lowered and several people came down it. The dockworkers huddled about them, obviously demanding explanations, though Elrond could not hear what was being said. One person pushed himself out of the crowd and began walking — a bit unsteadily at first but with every step more assured — towards Elrond. His features were hidden under a voluminous cloak, so he could not even tell if the person was male or female. Whoever he was, he was no Mortal, of that Elrond was certain, for he walked with the inherent grace of the Firstborn.

The stranger stopped a few feet from Elrond and lifted his hood, revealing an ellon with bright golden hair and grey eyes that seemed to pierce Elrond’s very soul with a single glance. He wore warrior braids, which surprised Elrond, for the ellon wore no sword on his hip. The tunic peeping out from under the cloak was cut in a style unknown to him and dyed in a shade of blue he had never seen before.

"Are you Elrond Eärendilion?" the stranger suddenly asked, speaking Sindarin.

Elrond could only nod, too stunned to speak. How did this stranger even know!? The ellon smiled and it was as if Anor herself had appeared. Elrond took an involuntary step back and then forced himself to remain still. If the stranger noticed, he gave no sign.

"My name is Glorfindel," the ellon said simply by way of introduction. "I have messages from your adar and naneth."

Elrond felt the world shifting and Glorfindel held out a hand to steady him. Glorfindel! Surely not the hero of Gondolin? How was that possible? Then his mind latched onto the last part of what the ellon had said. "A-ada? Nana?" Elrond whispered. "You... you know my Ada and Nana?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, I know them quite well." He gazed about him as if sizing up the situation and then turned his attention back to Elrond and smiled again. "Perhaps there is somewhere a little drier where we can talk," he said, giving Elrond a considering look.

Elrond nodded. "Yes, yes."

"Perhaps you could lead the way," Glorfindel suggested gently when Elrond just stood there.

The Herald of Gil-galad felt himself blushing furiously as he stumbled through an apology. Glorfindel waved it away, throwing his arms out. "Come. I, for one, am getting tired standing out here in the rain, aren’t you?"

Elrond nodded. "This way, my lord...."

"Glorfindel. Just call me Glorfindel," the golden-haired ellon said. "I’ll leave the titles for those who need them."

"Then, please follow me, Glorfindel," Elrond said, gesturing with one hand and the two began walking. "I suppose I should take you to Gil-galad first though," Elrond said.

"Gil-galad can keep," Glorfindel said firmly. "The first order of business is a hot bath for us both, some dry clothes and a hot meal. I’ll deal with the king tomorrow. Tonight, however, is for you."

Elrond wasn’t sure how to take Glorfindel’s statement, but decided not to argue. One doesn’t argue with a legend, does one? He nodded and for the first time offered his own shy smile. "Hot baths and a hot meal sound good to me, too."

"Excellent!" Glorfindel exclaimed, throwing a friendly arm around Elrond’s shoulders. "And while we’re doing all that I’ll tell you about your adar and naneth."

"Thank you," Elrond said fervently.

"It is, after all, why I am here," Glorfindel said with a gentle smile. As the two made their way through the streets towards the palace, Glorfindel spoke of Eärendil and Elwing. Listening to his tale, Elrond forgot all about the rain as something deep within him opened up, some emotion that he barely recognized impinging upon his soul, a warm feeling from a time in his life that he only half-remembered welling up and engulfing him, bringing light to dark places, and for the first time since Elros had left him, he knew himself to be loved.

****

Words are Quenya.

Vanyalondë: Fairhaven.

Mornanórë: Dark Land. The continent is so named by Tolkien; see ‘The Ambarkanta, Map V’, The Shaping of Middle-earth, HoME IV, and Karen Wynn Fonstad’s The Atlas of Middle-earth (revised edition), pages 38-39.

Notes:

1. Tar-Ancalimë was the first Ruling Queen of Númenor, reigning from 1075 to 1280. Her father was Tar-Aldarion, who was a friend and councillor of Gil-galad. See 'The Line of Elros: Kings of Númenor', Unfinished Tales.

2. 1 Lótessë is 8 May in the Gregorian calendar.

-Metta-