Elvenhome

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see in the Foreword.

Author’s notes: Nornorë is a rejected canon character; a Maia, called the herald of the Gods (= Valar), presumably a forerunner of Eönwë. I made him one of Lord Námo’s Maiar because – well, because I needed one, and canon does not always gladly deliver what we need. ;)

Being Maiar, Erunyauvë and Nornorë are communicating telepathically when among themselves. Dialogue in *asterisks* is supposed to mean telepathic communication.

The name Minas Elenath means “Tower of the Stars” and was invented by Cirdan (the Silmfic writer, not the character). She has once allowed me to use it, so I hope she will not mind if I do so again.

Melian’s fate after returning to Aman has been established in my story “Garden of Dreams and Memories”, many years ago. It is not exactly canon, of course.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

25. Old Friends, New Lives

Celebrían’s decision to visit her old friends in Tavrobel was met with understanding by everyone. Well, almost everyone. Elenwë was very upset when she learned about it, for she had taken an instant liking to her great-granddaughter-in-law. She might have been close friends with Meril once, but the experiences of three entire Ages had changed her erstwhile friend so much that it frightened her.

Celebrían, on the other hand, she simply found nice.

“That is only a short journey, for a short time,” Celebrían tried to comfort her when she burst out in tears, learning about the travel plans. “I will come back, soon.”

“Promise?” asked Elenwë through tears, reminding Celebrían of Arwen, way back when her daughter had been less than a yén old and had to leave Imladris for Lothórien for the first time.

“I promise,” she said, taking Elenwë in her arms and rocking her like a small elfling. “Besides, we are not leaving right away. Daeradar wants to meet the Town Council of Kortirion to discuss new trade agreements with them, now that he is already here, so it will be a few more days ere we can leave.”

“Can we go and explore the town while you are still here?” asked Aracáno, who rarely left Elenwë’s side, eagerly. “The handmaids of Merilindë say the market will be going on for another two days. And I want to see Ingil’s Tower, too.”

Celebrían shrugged. “I am sure that will be possible. But I do not know the town well enough to be your guide, I fear. I have not been here all that long myself, and in all that time, I hardly ever left Meril’s house before Daernana would come.”

“Perhaps one of the house servants can come with us,” suggested Aracáno, impatient to get out and see things, and who could blame him for that? His only adventure had ended quite abruptly on the Grinding Ice, and he had spent the following three Ages in Mandos – not what his adventurous nature would have yearned for, even though he had not been aware of the passing of time in Mandos, of course.

Celebrían nodded. “We can always ask Nielthi, I assume. She is Meril’s chatelaine and thus she makes the duty roster of the servants; she would know when someone is available.”

The two Reborn found that a good idea, and – after Elenwë had dried her tears – the two of them went on to find Nielthi, unaware of the fact that they had been watched.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

*Our Masters were right,* said Erunyauvë to Nornorë, her fellow Maia, who lingered in Meril’s garden, unclad and therefore invisible to everyone else. *Responsibility is good for Celebrían. She has made more progress in the recent days than during all the time since her arrival.*

*She is a mother, with all her heart,” replied Nornorë. *Caring for Elenwë and Aracáno will make her miss her own children less; and it will help them to adjust to Life again, before Anairë can take over. ‘Tis Merilindë who concerns me more. It seems she had not healed as well as we all thought. Our Masters might want to do something about her.*

*Do what?* asked Erunyauvë. *They cannot force her to heal; and even if they could, they are not allowed to do so. The Children were granted the freedom of choice the same way we were – she can do as she sees it fit. It is her life and her decision.*

*Even if her choices are wrong,* added Nornorë sourly.

Erunyauvë shook her head. *Are they truly? Elenwë was right in one thing: we cannot understand the profound changes death wrought upon those who were never meant to know death.*

*The Laws and Customs of the Eldar still apply, though,* said Nornorë.

*Perhaps,* allowed Erunyauvë. *But we cannot be certain about that, either. As far as I know, no-one ever bothered to instruct the Moriquendi about them; can we blame them if they have created customs of their own?*

*But Merilindë is not one of them,* pointed out Nornorë. *She is of Aman.*

*She was of Aman,* Erunyauvë corrected. *She has changed well beyond the ways of the Amanians, even without going through Mandos. I am no longer certain that we can expect her to follow the old ways.*

Nornorë thought about that long and hard – even though it did not take any actual time for him to do so.

*Our Masters must learn of this,* he then said. *I believe this is a development not even Lord Námo has foreseen.*

*Then go and tell them,* said Erunyauvë. *I shall stay here and watch.*

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nielthi, Meril’s chatelaine, was a tall, silver-haired Sinda, formerly of Doriath, wearing a gown in muted tones of grey and green that reminded one of the forests in a dense mist. Once she had been one of Melian’s handmaids, then the nursemaid of Elwing, whom she followed to the Havens of Sirion after the sack of Doriath. There she had been slain by the Fëanorians, but got released among the first Reborn, just before the War of Wrath, and sent to Tol Eressëa to prepare the isle for the returnees.

There were whispered rumours among the oldest Elves of Tol Eressëa, about a great, unrequited love that had once bound her to Círdan the Shipwright; and that she would still be waiting for him. Yet no-one could tell for certain if those rumours were true at all. One thing was certain, though: that she seemed content with her life in Meril’s house.

She listened to her lady’s quest with patient attention, as was his wont. Then she nodded and smiled.

“That will be easily done,” she said. “As it happens, I am just about to visit Minas Elenath myself, as Ingil’s Tower is known among us. I go there once a week, to exchange tidings with the Guardian of the Tower; you are welcome to join me.”

Celebrían and the two Reborn found that a good idea and followed Nielthi, who was carrying a large, leather-bound tome in a wicker basket, to the centre of the town. Like its counterpart in Aman, Tirion upon Túna, Kortirion was built on a terraced hill, albeit on a much lower one. However, it had no protective walls, just the forests of Alalmninórë holding it in their green embrace.

Crowning the flat summit of said hill, near the roofed market, a tall, white tower stood, shining out against the sky, built of some marble-like white stone and glimmering as of made of pearl and silver: tall and fair and shapely, and its pinnacle glittered like the scales of silver fish, for it was indeed roofed with pure silver. On its ground level, there were several grey-shuttered windows – although the shutters stood open at he moment – but its mid-section was smooth and unbroken; and the higher windows, right under the pinnacle, were unshuttered and looking into the direction of all four winds.

Surrounding the tower was a large square, paved with the same smooth, marble-like white stone, and on that square the people coming from the market mingled and chatted away. There was also a marble well, placed under a domed roof that was held by slender marble pillars shaped like young trees, their leaves and flowers so masterfully carved that even the veining of the underside of the leaves was clearly visible. A lonely ellon – by his looks one of the Teleri – sat on a stone bench within the well-house, playing his silver flute.

“Behold Minas Elenath, the Tower of the Stars,” said Nielthi, looking at the marvellous tower with almost proprietary pride, and the newcomers to Tol Eressëa had to admit that her pride was well-founded.

“It looks much like the Mindon Eldaliéva in Tirion!” exclaimed Aracáno in surprise.

Nielthi nodded. “It was also built as homage to the Mindon. As you know,” she glanced briefly of Celebrían who alone of the three could be expected to have any knowledge about such things, “after the War of Wrath, when Beleriand sank to the bottom of the Sea, many of us chose to leave Ennorath, exilic Noldor and Sindar alike. However, at that time Aman was closed to us. Only a few were allowed to go on to the mainland at once; Lady Meril was not one of them. Thus they sailed to Tol Eressëa, where they first established the haven of Avallónë. Many of them, though, grew restless there soon, and went further inland, to build another, greater city: Koromas, ‘the resting place of the exiled of Kôr’.”

“You mean Kortirion, here,” said Aracáno.

“That is how it is called now,” Nielthi agreed. “For Prince Ingil, the haryon of the High King, raised this tower in memory of Tirion, which was lost for his granddaughter, the Lady Meril, so that she would not miss her home of old so much. After that, the town came to be called Kortirion indeed.”

Elenwë frowned. “Ingilmo raised a tower for her that matches the one of Ingwë in Tirion, and still she chose to build a modest house in a korin and live there? How strange. The Merilindë I used to know would never have done that.”

Nielthi shrugged. “She wanted to leave her old life behind and to begin anew. Thus Minas Elenath became the place where the palantír of Kortirion is kept.”

Elenwë and Aracáno gave her identical blank looks.

“The what?” they asked in unison.

“The Seeing Stone,” replied Celebrían in Nielthi’s stead. “A crystal globes, wrought by Noldorin smiths of Eldamar, that can see far in time and space. There has been several of them, in fact; I always thought that the Mater Stone was kept in the Tower of Avallónë, though,” she added with a frown.

“It is,” confirmed Nielthi. “Ours is one of the Lesser Stones. There is one in each larger town, and they are mostly used for exchanging urgent messages… or simply to study the past, or far-away places we have no means to visit otherwise.”

“Can they… can they see as far as Middle-earth?” asked Celebrían shyly. The sudden hope to see her family again was almost too much to bear.

Nielthi shrugged. “To see perhaps; but they are not powerful enough to communicate across the Bent Sea. Not even the Master Stone can do that, I am told.”

“Do you think I would be allowed to look into it?”

“That I cannot tell. You will have to ask the Guardian.”

With that, Nielthi went to the front door and knocked on it. The door opened almost immediately, and out peered a small, fragile-looking elleth, with snow white hair braided and coiled under a woven net on the nape of her neck and the grey-green eyes of the Teleri. She was also clad in old Telerin fashion: in muted blues and soft greys. Her skin, while generally smooth, had a somewhat dry quality, presumably from high age.

“Greetings, Mistress Vëannë,” said Nielthi with obvious respect. “Is Master Tinwë in residence?”

The little ancient one – she must have been the oldest female Elf Celebrían had ever seen – smiled at them with merrily twinkling eyes.

“Indeed, he is,” she replied in a high, almost child-like voice. “You will find him in his study, as usual. Go on, he has been looking forward to seeing the young ones.”

Elenwë and Aracáno were clearly surprised by that statement, but Celebrían just smiled knowingly. If the Guardian used the palantír regularly, it would long have become attuned to his will. Finding out who was coming to visit would be an easy task for him.

Nielthi obviously knew her way around inside the Tower of Ingil, for she went briskly forward, showing the others the way. Walking down a short hallway, they came to a large, circular chamber on the other end of it. The curved walls of the room were lined with shelves, interrupted only by four doors that most likely led to other chambers. The shelves were overflowing with dusty old scrolls, heavy, leather-bound tomes, strange artefacts, the purpose of which they could not even guess, and even the odd piece of rock, veined with rare metal ores. High-set windows over each door spilled sunlight into the study.

In the middle of the chamber a pillar of white stone rose, around which a winding staircase was built, presumably leading to the upper levels of the Tower. Next to the pillar stood an old-fashioned writing desk, artfully carved of dark, polished wood; one of the kind at which the scribes had to work standing. It seemed rather too low for a grown Elf to write on it, though, and soon they found out the reason for that.

Working at the desk was a strangely diminutive Elf, who seemed every bit as ancient as the housekeeper who had opened the front door for them.

He was clearly of Telerin origins, too, but seemed to prefer a more flamboyant style in clothing. His long gown of warm earth brown was richly embroidered with yellow and dark red at the hem, the high collar and along the wide sleeves, which were pinned back to his thin shoulders, so that they would not get in the way of his work, revealing the tight sleeves of a deep ochre undertunic.

His hair, not white like that of the housekeeper but iron grey, was unusually short for an Elf. It barely reached between his shoulder blades and was held together by a simple bronze clasp on the back of his head. Another sign of his extreme age was his short, neatly trimmed grey beard that gave him a somewhat rakish look, reminding Celebrían of the robust elders of the Edain, despite the obvious differences in looks and stature. His eyes were grey-green, like those of Mistress Vëannë, and every bit as merry.

Seeing the visitors enter, he laid his quill aside and stopped the inkwell carefully. Only when that was done did he step down from his desk to welcome them.

“Nielthi, my dear!” he exclaimed with obvious delight. “Come in, come in and bring your friends, too,” he clasped forearms with every single one of them enthusiastically, which was an amusing gesture from someone so obviously not a warrior; not to mention that it was no way to greet nobly born ellith. But the old one seemed not to make much of formalities.

“I am Tinwë Linto, the Guardian of Ingil’s Tower and the Keeper of the Stone,” he introduced himself. “Welcome to Minas Elenath.”

He had a lilting accent, similar to and yet somewhat different from what Celebrían had heard from Tol Eressëa’s resident Teleri so far. He ushered them to the other part of the room, where low armchairs stood around a small table, and called for Mistress Vëannë to bring them some herbal tea… and some hot apple tart, he added cheerfully.

While they were waiting, Nielthi handed the little master the book she had brought with her. It turned out to be a register of all inhabitants of Tol Eressëa.

“Lady Meril had her scribes list all the new arrivals; both from Endórë and from Lórien,” she explained. “We have included the reports from Avallónë, Tavrobel and the smaller towns as well.”

“Excellent, excellent; at least I shall not have to bother with such things and can save the time for more important studies,” the small scholar climbed onto a two-step wooden ladder standing in front of the shelves and shoved the heavy tome into an empty place, between similar volumes. Then he clapped his hands together, as if wanting to get rid of the dust, and returned to the visitors.

“So,” he said contentedly, looking at them with bright, bird-like eyes. “I see that Lord Námo finally saw fit to release some members of the royal family. It was about time, I would say myself, but…”

“… but we know that all times are soon for the Valar,” Nielthi finished for him, and they both laughed.

At that moment, Mistress Vëannë entered, serving fragrant herbal tea in cups that were made of some strange kind of pottery; they were thin like vellum, and through the floral pattern the beverage in the cups was clearly visible. Celebrían remembered her mother’s rarely shared tales about life in Aman; one of them mentioned pottery like this, but she could never imagine its existence… until now.

Aracáno, however, was more interested in Master Tinwë than the marvellous handiwork of Aman’s potters (which he had probably seen in his former life), or even the mouth-watering apple tarts the housekeeper was serving with the tea.

“You know who we are?” he asked.

Master Tinwë laughed. “Child, I saw your grandsire board this very island to be towed to Aman by Lord Ulmo. And I watched you trudging towards your doom across the Ice through the Seeing Stone often enough to recognize you.”

“Truly?” Aracáno became excited about that. “Do you think I could watch myself crossing the Ice, too?”

To his dismay, however, the little scholar shook his head.

“Nay, youngster. I am afraid that would not be possible. I have come to understand that certain events – or certain places – are shrouded from the sight of the Stone. And it appears that, for some reason, one’s own death is one of such events.”

Aracáno scowled unhappily. “Bother; I would like to see how far to the Outer Lands I actually got on the dratted Ice.”

“And what good would that do to you?” asked Master Tinwë.

Aracáno shrugged. “It might tell me what am I worth.”

Master Tinwë shook his head. “That is plain foolish, youngster, and if you thought about it reasonably, you would see your folly, too. Not the number of leagues you have managed to lay back on the Ice is what defines you. ‘Tis the fact that you did not hesitate to give up your life to save another one.”

And he nodded with his sleek, iron-grey head in Elenwë’s direction.

“All the good that it did for her,” muttered Aracáno darkly. “I could not even save her. We both died, and in the end, my death was in vain.”

“Was it?” asked the diminutive scholar. “Are you saying that, given the chance again, you would watch her drown passively, without even moving a finger to save her?”

Aracáno scowled at him again. “Of course not; what kind of beast do you think I am?”

“Then the outcome of your deeds matters not,” concluded Master Tinwë with unmerciful logic. “Only the fact that you did hurry to her help, even though you must have known how little hope there was to succeed, does matter.”

“Perhaps,” allowed Aracáno reluctantly, still not willing to let go of his guilt and disappointment entirely.

“And what does it say about my death?” asked Elenwë quietly. She was clearly upset, all blood had left her pale face. “What have I achieved, save for dragging Aracáno into a watery grave with me?”

“Have you not saved the life of your daughter?” asked back the little master sharply. “Did you not throw her into Glorfindel’s arms, choosing to get her to safety, instead of clinging to your own life?”

“I only did what every mother would have done,” replied Elenwë with a shrug.

“Not so,” intervened Nielthi firmly. “You did what every good mother would do – there is a marked difference.”

“And as you chose to give up your life for your daughter, Idril could reach the Outer Lands, grow up, meet Tuor and give life to Eärendil, without whom Morgoth could not have been defeated, and Endórë would most likely still be groaning under his iron yoke,” added Celebrían; then she said with a smile. “And your sacrifice made it possible for my wonderful husband to be born, for which I shall be eternally grateful.”

“It is your doing, yours and Aracáno’s,” continued Master Tinwë solemnly. “You never got to see Endórë, yet your sacrifice was what ultimately saved it. The mighty kingdoms of the exiled Noldoli have all fallen; even the Girdle of Melian was broken after a while. But Idril Celebrindal escaped from the flames of Gondolin with her son, in whom the blood of all Children of Ilúvatar was mingled, and thus he brought salvation for Firstborn and Second-born alike.”

Elenwë nodded, recognizing and accepting the truth of his words, but Aracáno was not so easily convinced.

“I had not even lived before,” he muttered bitterly. “My brothers had their own kingdoms to rule and died as heroes, their names made unforgettable in lays and songs. My sister, at the very least, got to have a family – such as it was. But what did I have? What life can I look back at, trying to pick up again, now that I am finally back among the living?”

“That, young one, depends entirely on you,” answered the little master. “You have something the others have not: a clean slate, to begin this life anew, without any burdens from the past weighing you down. True, you did not have armies to command and kingdoms to rule; but you were also spared some of the horrible mistakes your siblings and cousins made. You can begin your life now – what you make of it, is your choice.”

“I wonder why Lord Námo would release me first – and why he would toss me out into Life alone, without my atar and my brothers,” murmured Aracáno sadly.

He sounded like an abandoned elfling.

Master Tinwë raised an iron-grey eyebrow. “Did you ask him?”

Aracáno grimaced. “Yea; and all I got was some cryptic nonsense about this being my time and things happening in my best interest.”

“But you do not believe it, not truly,” said Nielthi. It was not a question. Aracáno shrugged.

“Being bereft of my entire family would serve my best interests? I do not think so! I was not even allowed to see Ammë!”

Nielthi shook her head. Being a Reborn herself, and one who had been re-embodied two whole Ages ago, she understood the Valar and their reasoning better than anyone else on Tol Eressëa.

“Believe me who I once was where you are now that the Valar do nothing capriciously,” she said. “If Lord Námo thought you would be better off on your own, you must trust him that he knows what he is doing. I cannot tell you why you were released without the comfort of your atar and brothers’ company, but…”

“I believe I can,” said Celebrían, experiencing a sudden moment of clarity. She turned to Aracáno. “You were the last-born, right? Much younger than your siblings.”

Aracáno nodded, obviously bewildered why that would matter.

“They have overshadowed you all your life – your first life – like powerful young trees overshadow a tiny sapling,” continued Celebrían, having had her own ample experience with being overshadowed by much more powerful family members. “With letting you out alone, the Valar have removed you from their shadow. You were given a chance to live your own life, instead of being their weak mirror image. This is your chance to grow – to become who you were always supposed to be, without them looming over you.”

“That may explain me,” said Aracáno doubtfully, “but what about Elenwë?”

Nielthi grinned. “She, too, is given the chance to become her own person, ere Turgon would storm in and take over all decisions as usual.”

“Was he truly such a tyrant as the King of Gondolin?” asked Elenwë in surprise. “That is not how I remember him. Granted, he could be stubborn at times, but he was never anything but gentle and understanding with me. He never made me feel how much younger and how inexperienced I was, compared with him.”

“Stubborn does not even begin to describe him,” Aracáno was now ginning like a loon, too. “He did have a good heart, I will give him that, and he was as shrewd and careful as he was valiant and adventurous – well, most of the times – but once he made up his mind, he brooked no argument from anyone. Sometimes even Atto despaired about him, for he always believed to know better what was best for other people than said people themselves.”

His slightly exasperated tone revealed that he had been one of those people the late King of Gondolin had been overprotective of.

“And yet he commanded great loyalty from his people, and they loved him dearly,” said Celebrían quietly. “Or so Glorfindel told me uncounted times. After death and rebirth, he still mourns the loss of his King… and yours,” she added, smiling at Elenwë. “It would comfort him greatly to know that you are back to Life.”

“Perhaps you should send him a letter,” suggested Nielthi. “You can leave it with the harbour master of Avallónë, and when a ship comes from Círdan, they can take it back to Mithlond. From there, it should not be too hard to get it to Glorfindel, should it?” she glanced questioningly at Celebrían, who nodded.

“There is a regular exchange of missives between Mithlond and Imladris,” she explained. “Lord Círdan can simply send your letter with the others, if you truly want to write it.”

“I think I will,” replied Elenwë with a wistful smile. “I do miss Uncle Laurë so much. He was like a second father to me. Master Tinwë,” he turned to the Guardian of the Tower, “do you believe that I may be able to see him in that Stone of yours? Or Gondolin?”

The little scholar shrugged his bony shoulders.

“’Tis hard to tell,” he said. “The Stone is capricious on a good day; I can never know what it is willing to show me. But when it comes to events not related to your death, we can certainly give it a try… if you feel ready to face whatever it chooses to show you.”

“I believe I am,” said Elenwë, albeit her voice was trembling slightly.

“So am I,” Celebrían declared.

“Me, too,” insisted Aracáno, eager like a little elfling who had been promised a treat.

“Well why do we not climb to the upper chamber, then, and give it a try?” suggested Master Tinwë. “Nielthi, my dear, are you coming with us?”

To their surprise, Merlin’s chatelaine shook her head.

“Nay,” she said, just a little sadly. “My home of old in the Outer Lands is gone, broken and buried beneath the waves of the Sundering Seas. True, the Stone could show it me as it once was, but I see no reason for tearing old wounds open again.”

“You never looked into the Stone?” asked Elenwë, suddenly unsure about herself.

“Not for a very long time,” answered Nielthi. “But you should go and look, child. You have just returned to Life, and there is much that you have missed. Seeing it with your own eyes will make you understand things better than any song, lay or record ever would. For those always make you see events through the eyes of the storyteller or the historian, which is always a biased perspective, one way or another. Go and learn about the past that you never had, so that you can make peace with it and begin your new life, unburdened by whatever happened.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

*A wise suggestion,* said Erunyauvë to her fellow Maia, who had just returned – still unclad and invisible – to Meril’s gardens.

*Yea, it is,* Nornorë agreed. *But Nielthi has always been wise, beyond the measure of the Eldar even. If only Melyanna had listened to her, after Elwë had been slain…*

*Doriath still would have fallen,* replied Erunyauvë soberly. *The Girdle alone would not have stopped Moringotto, had he come down from the North with all his might, after he had enslaved everyone else in Beleriand. Doriath did not have vast armies; and Melyanna was but one of us, weakened by having taken on a permanent incarnation. She would not have stood a chance.*

*Perhaps not,* allowed Nornorë. * Why did she took up residence in Mandos then, not so long after her return, refusing to shed her fana as she was expected to do? Why did she change allegiances? She used to serve Lord Irmo and Lady Yavanna before… well, before Elwë. Why Mandos? Is this what mortal Men call survivor’s guilt?*

Erunyauvë shook her head thoughtfully. This was something she had given a great deal of thought herself, and by now she believed to have figured it out.

*I do not think so. I believe she is simply waiting for Elwë’s return. That is why she has not abandoned her fana, after all; for the form she is still wearing was the one she had once shared with him; and she wants him to recognize her.*

*Would our Masters ever allow the two to be reunited, I wonder?* mused Nornorë. *Bonding with an Incarnate in the Outer Lands is one thing, but in Aman…*

*Had Ilúvatar objected their union, He would never have allowed them to bond in the first place,* Erunyauvë opined. *He would not demand from them to break that bond now, when its greater purpose has been fulfilled. I cannot imagine that. Not while they are still devoted to each other and want to renew their bond.”

*Yea, but do they still?* asked Nornorë. *Melyanna certainly does, but who can tell in what shape Elwë will emerge from Mandos when his time is right?*

*Merilindë’s reaction clearly shows that the consequences of certain rebirths are a great deal more complicated than we might have foreseen… or witnessed, so far,* agreed Erunyauvë. *Speaking of which: has any decision been made what we should do about Merilindë? Are we supposed to do anything at all?*

*None yet,* answered Nornorë. *For now, we are supposed to watch how things will unfold.*

*Then that is what we shall do,* said Erunyauvë, relieved that she was not required to interfere, not yet.

Frankly, she did not have the faintest idea what to do about Meril and her conflicted feelings towards her still dead husband.

~TBC~