Elvenhome

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see in the Foreword.

Author’s notes: Tinwë Linto was an early, rejected name of Elu Thingol in the “Book of Lost Tales”. Vëannë’s name comes from the same source.

The nature of the palantíri is discussed in some length in the “Unfinished Tales”. The description in this chapter is based on that.

The brief description of Gondolin and its gates is based on what is written in the “Book of Lost Tales 2” and the “Unfinished Tales”, respectively.

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

26. Of Seeing Stones & Rings of Power

Climbing the central staircase of Minas Elenath was a breakneck enterprise, even for Elves, who generally were not bothered by the same fear of heights than many mortal Men were. The stairs were steep and narrow, and the railing, made of silver filigree, was more for aesthetic reasons than to save anyone’s life, should they lose their balance. Master Tinwë nevertheless climbed before them with great vigour that no-one would have expected from someone so ancient and fragile as he seemed.

Celebrían, used to climb the rope ladders in Lothlórien – even though there had been mobile staircases, at least at the royal mallorn, to save her mother’s dignity – was not particularly bothered by this way. But she could see Elenwë becoming increasingly pale the higher they climbed, and even Aracáno seemed more than a little uncomfortable by the time they finally reached the upper chamber.

“Here we are!” announced Master Tinwë brightly.

He laid his palm flat on the black metal door blocking their way. ‘Twas an elaborately-wrought door that showed neither a lock nor a doorknob, making Celebrían wonder how they were supposed to open it – unless by magic. The little master, not the least out of breath from their long climb, murmured something that sounded like Old Qenya in her ears – a language she did not understand but recognized by its sound, for Glorfindel had used it sometimes when discussing ancient lore with Elrond.

It must have been an opening spell, for the door split in the middle, and the wings swung inward noiselessly, allowing them entrance into a small, circular chamber. ‘Twas not even half the size of Master Tinwë’s study, as the Tower was broad enough on the ground level to give room for several chambers, smaller and larger ones alike, but narrowed gradually and considerably the closer one got to the pinnacle. This upper chamber was just large enough to give room to a round table and half a dozen people – at most – to stand around it.

The table was quite low, made of black marble, and it had a shallow depression in its centre, much like a large cup, about a foot in diameter. In this central depression a perfect sphere lay, appearing to be made of solid glass or crystal, deep black in hue.

“Stand on this side,” instructed them Master Tinwë, shepherding them to the western window of the chamber. “I need to re-set the Stone, so that it would look to the East, if you want to see that which is – or once was – in the Outer Lands.”

He deftly revolved the stone with a light touch, so that its permanent nether pole would be at the bottom, and righted its fixed east-looking face in the direction where it would be able to see at all. They were amazed how easily the Stone could be handed, for it seemed to be very heavy. And yet the tiny scholar barely needed to touch it; it rolled smoothly and with the barest of noise around in its central depression, aligning itself with ease.

“As I said, the Lesser Stones are not powerful enough to see beyond the Bent Sea on their own,” explained Master Tinwë. “Thus I need to connect ours with the Master Stone in Avallónë; and from there, my good friend Elentirmo will connect both Stones to the one kept in the White Tower of Elostirion.”

“But I was told that the Stone of Elostirion was turned permanently towards the West, so that our people can at least look at the Blessed Realm,” said Celebrían in surprise.

Master Tinwë nodded.

“That is true; it is – on its own. But the Master Stone can change the direction of its sight, and thus enable us to see events happening in Endórë; both past and present ones – if the Stone is willing.”

He came over to the western side of the Stone, touched its glossy black surface lightly and looked into it. At first the globe remained dark, black as jet, with the sunlight gleaming golden upon it. Then there came a faint glow and stir in the heart of it, and it held their eyes, so that they could not look away, even if they wanted. In a moment, all the inside seemed on fire; and the Stone appeared to be spinning, although only the lights within were revolving.

Then the spinning of lights stopped, and the heart of the Stone cleared up. Master Tinwë smiled, as if greeting someone. He spoke not, though, and that surprised Celebrían. Neither Elrond nor Mithrandir had ever mentioned that people could use the Stones for communicating via ósanwë, yet that was very obviously what the little guardian did with the warden of the Master Stone.

After a moment or two, Master Tinwë stepped back from the table.

“It is done,” he announced. “We can look into the Outer Lands now. Well, who will be first?”

Elenwë raised her hand timidly. “I would like to try, if the others do not mind.”

Celebrían and Aracáno nodded in agreement, and thus Elenwë stepped closer to the table.

“What do I do?” she asked uncertainly.

“Just touch the surface and focus on what you wish to see,” replied Master Tinwë. “The Stone will do the rest.”

Elenwë reached out, a little fearfully, and did as she was instructed. For a moment, the Stone remained unmoved; then it became illuminated, and images appeared in its depth, clearly visible for them all.

It showed them the shore of some lake, bathed in such a brilliant golden light that it nearly blinded them; a light the likes of which Celebrían had never seen before. From the shore, a golden-haired elleth was approaching. They all recognized Elenwë, wearing a gown of pale, gossamer-fine silk, and over that a sleeveless blue robe, richly embroidered with gold. Her hair was unbraided and fluttered in the light breeze.

Another shape appeared now, closer to them, strolling towards her leisurely. They could only see the back of a dark-haired ellon, clad in white. Nonetheless, Aracáno recognized him at once.

“Turucáno!” he exclaimed. “That is my brother! But if Elenwë is there, too, then it cannot be Gondolin.”

“No,” whispered Elenwë through tears. “This is Lórien, near Lady Estë’s lake. This is where Turucáno and I met for the first time. But why would the Stone show me this?”

“Perhaps because you needed it,” said Celebrían gently. “You needed to remember a happy moment ere you would take a look at darker things. Look, the image has already changed!”

Indeed it had, showing now a city of white stone, standing on a hill surrounded by great mountains of dizzying height. They seemed to approach it along a deep ravine from the southwest, looking down from an eagle’s perspective at seven masterfully wrought gates blocking the way of those who would come by foot or on horseback.

The first gate was a wide arch, framed by tall pillars, carved from the living rock and equipped with a great portcullis of crossed wooden bars, studded with iron nails. The second one was an archway cut into the stone wall that was built across the ravine. A white lamp hung above the actual door in the midst of the arch, its light gleaming upon the dark and polished surface of the stone door. Two stout towers rose on either side of the gate; and the grey-clad guards watching it were armed with long swords.

The third gate was a large, twofold door of bronze, richly adorned with bronze reliefs depicting scenes from ancient legends and strange signs that looked like some early version of the Angerthas runes. Three square, copper-roofed towers sat upon the wall above the lintel, their caps gleaming like living fire in the light of the red lamps arranged on the wall like torches.

The guards were all Sindar, by the looks of them, clad in copper-washed mail that seemed to glow like embers in a dying fire. They were armed with red-bladed battle axes, their faces grim and watchful.

The fourth gate was made of wrought iron and unlit, cut in a high, black wall and guarded by four iron towers. The image of a Great Eagle, also wrought in iron but seeming as if it were alive, was set between the two inner towers. The guards of the iron gate wore black mantles and carried long, black shields, and they wore beak-like iron visors before their faces, as if they were some kind of wingless eagles themselves.

The fifth gate was wrought in the likeness of the Moon, of silver and pearls, and was guarded by white-clad archers. Those wore silver mail and white-crested helmets and resembled of seagulls. Five great globes of marble adorned the white wall of the gate, which was also built of marble, and upon the middle globe the silver-and-green image of the White Tree stood, its flowers made of pearls.

The sixth gate looked similar, only made of yellow marble of gold. In the middle of the six globes sitting upon its wall rose, on top of a golden pyramid, the image of the Golden Tree, with clusters of topaz flowers hanging on golden chains from its branches. The gate itself had golden images of the rayed Sun upon its surface, and it was guarded by archers with long bows, whose mail was gilded, and from whose helmets tall golden plumes rose. They carried round shields, red like flames, also adorned by the rayed Sun, depicted in gold.

It seemed as if the inspection of the guards was going on at the Gate of Gold. A very tall, golden-haired Elf, wearing a wondrously crafted, gilded hauberk and wrist guards of damascened gold over his long robe of red brocade, which was richly embroidered with gold thread and slit to the hip, so that he would be able to ride unhindered, was riding along the rows of the archers slowly. He sat very straight upon his beautiful white horse, whose headstall flickered and flashed, as it was studded with gems, and its bridle was adorned with small golden bells.

Reaching the end of the row, the Elf-captain turned his horse around, and now they could see his face, which was bright-eyed and young and fearless and full of joy – a face they all knew.

“Uncle Laurë!” whispered Elenwë, reaching out to him, but touching only the surface of the Stone.

The image vanished immediately.

“Glorfindel!” Celebrían said in awe, at the same time. “That was Glorfindel and the People of the Golden Flower, at the height of Gondolin’s power, was it not? But should there not be a seventh gate in the Orfalch Echor, too?”

Master Tinwë shook his head. “Not at this time; for I believe that we saw Gondolin before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. It was only after the Fifth Battle of Beleriand that Maeglin wrought the Great Gate; the Gate of Steel.”

Elenwë stared at the now blank stone mournfully.

“I hoped to see Turucáno,” she said. “I wanted to see him in all his royal grandeur!”

But no matter how much she tried, the palantír remained blank.

“Let me try!” said Aracáno.

They switched places, and now the Stone came alive again indeed, showing them a closer look at the Hidden City, with its wide streets that were paved with white stone, its fair houses and courts and flowering gardens, its slender towers of white marble and the squares where the water of illuminated fountains sprang into amazing heights, glittering in many colours, and birds of all kinds were nestling in the branches of beautiful, ancient trees.

The most stunning of all houses was the royal palace, though, with its high tower and many fountain courts, and the snow-white birds that were perched on the lip of the fountain basins, bathing or drinking. A long, wide marble staircase led to the front doors of the King’s house. The door was flanked by two trees, one of silver and one of gold, wrought, or so the tales said, by the King’s own hand, in the likeness of Telperion and Laurelin, the Two Trees of Valinor that were no more.

The King himself stood before his doors, robed in white and girdled with gold, with a coronet of garnets upon his brow and a great sword hanging on his side. His dark locks were braided with gold and white pearls, in the same now outdated manner as Aracáno’s, and there was a marked resemblance between the two of them.

He was accompanied by a golden-haired, blue-eyed, wondrously fair elleth standing on his left, also clad in white and gold, but, strangely enough, barefooted. On his other side stood a pale-faced, willowy ellon, clad in dark splendour, whose black hair was braided in a similar manner, and whose eyes were black. He, too, had a great sword of curious made hanging from his belt.

“Itarildë!” whispered Elenwë. “How she has grown! But who is the ellon in black? He seems noble enough, and yet sinister in some way.”

“That would be Maeglin, the only son of Írissë,” Aracáno guessed. “Though he does not look like her at all.”

“No; the lays tell us that he came after his father Eöl, and in more than just in his looks,” said Master Tinwë; then he gave them a stern look. “Now, my children, you have had your chance. Allow Celebrían a look, too; she has been most patient.”

Elenwë and Aracáno gave Celebrían apologetic looks and scurried to the side, letting her take up the best position before the Stone. She accepted graciously, wishing with all her heart to see her home: the valley of Imladris, the Last Homely House, but first and foremost her husband and children, as she remembered them, sitting in one of the parlours, talking and singing.

Nothing happened. The heart of the Stone remained dark.

She tried to see her parents, then; the silver-trunked, golden-leaved mellyrn, the telain built among their branches. Caras Galadhon, encircled by its protective green wall – her parents, sitting in a swan-shaped boat, travelling down the river.

Still nothing.

Upset and with tears of disappointment all but blinding her, she turned to the small guardian.

“Master Tinwë, what is happening? Why does the Stone refuse my request?”

“I am not certain,” confessed the little master. “I told you that certain places and events remain shrouded from the sight of the Stone, did I not? What were you trying to see?”

“Just my home,” she replied, bewildered. “Imladris. And the golden wood of Lothlórien, where my parents dwell.”

“Hmmm,” Master Tinwë scratched his head. “I never managed to see those places myself, either. Something strange must be going on there. What if you simply tried to focus on your husband and parents, instead on their dwelling places? Perhaps that way you shall be more fortunate.”

Celebrían followed the advice, begging the Stone in her heart to show her family. This time the palantír proved more willing to do her bidding. To her surprise, it showed her Elrond and all their children, as well as her parents, participating in some kind of festival, somewhere in a forest. There were a great many other Elves, too, dancing and feasting; most of them seemed to belong to the Silvan folk.

It took her only a moment to remember the event. They had been invited by Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, to celebrate the fact that his only remaining son had reached his third millennium. It had been the most opulent feast Mirkwood had seen for a very long time – or would likely see any time soon. The Woodland Folk had learned early on to deal wisely with their resources, and so had their King.

For some reason, the Stone did not show Thranduil, or his son, or any of his subjects more closely: just Celebrían and her family, meeting her parents on a clearing near the halls of the Elvenking, as Thranduil was generally known in these days, being the only true King of the Firstborn still remaining in Middle-earth.

There was Celeborn, the Lord of the Trees, tall and silver-haired, looking impossibly young in his simple travelling clothes, save for the ancient wisdom in his eyes. There was Galadriel, proud and radiant, sitting in her side saddle like a Queen upon her throne, splendidly decked out in a rich attire of white and gold. They were accompanied by their personal guard of Noldorin archers, all clad in the same shadowy grey as their lord.

There were Elladan and Elrohir, the former wearing royal blue and the latter forest green, riding great white steeds that were every bit as identical as they were themselves, laughing and teasing. There was Arwen, riding her grey palfrey with a skill that matched her brothers’, her wealth of glossy black hair braided with strings of white pearls and wreathed around her head, covered with a silver net that was adorned with small white gems.

There was Erestor, way too sombre as always, keeping a concerned eye on Lindir, who had only eyes for the trees around them, ready to wander off at any moment, ignoring the possible dangers the darkened forest might be hiding. There was Glorfindel, this time wearing simple travelling garb, laughing at the twins’ antics.

Celebrían saw herself, too, merry and unconcerned and not yet burdened by events that would come. And at her side rode Elrond, clad in blue and dark grey, as always in the rare occasions when he would leave Imladris at all, his fine black tresses already beginning to escape the confinement of his braids. This was a matter of many jokes in the valley, with Glorfindel stating that Elrond’s hair had a will of its own – a will that would not be conquered, not even by Celebrían’s skills of making tight and lasting braids.

While everyone admired the gossamer-fine texture of Elrond’s famous hair – them being Elves and therefore very taken by such rare features – the Master of Imladris simply considered it a nuisance and gladly allowed his wife to deal with the rebellious tresses. And Celebrían, now remembering how that wondrous, silky mass had felt in her hand, suddenly burst out in tears that spilled over the surface of the Stone, thus obscuring any images it might have been willing to show them yet.

Elenwë was at her side at once, enveloping her in an embrace that was comforting and surprisingly motherly at the same time, murmuring encouragements in Quenya – long, gentle and liquid words she had never heard from her own mother. For that was what Elenwë had always been, even though as a young elleth she might have had loftier dreams: a mother. Not a Queen of her own realm, not the Warrior Princess of the Noldor (which would have been moot anyway, seeing that she was a Vanya to begin with); just a mother.

“Do not try to force it back,” she murmured. “Let the grief wash over you and cleanse you; for not all tears are evil.”

She sounded more mature than ever since her arrival to Kortirion, and Celebrían reminded herself that while Elenwë might be younger in relative age and experience, she had been born in the time of the Trees, whose light was still reflected in her eyes. And she was a mother, too, with no real hope to ever see her only child before the Remaking of Arda… perhaps not even after that.

In that aspect, Celebrían was more fortunate – or so she hoped, as Elladan’s possible Choice still worried her. But that was not something she could have influenced, even if she had stayed in Middle-earth, so there was no use to agonize about it just yet.

Finally, after quite some time – during which Master Tinwë was waiting patiently and Aracáno kept giving them worried looks – Celebrían’s tears ran dry. The small master covered the Stone with a cloth of white silk, and they began their slow and careful descent from the upper chamber to the study.

“We are still getting used to having a hröa again,” Aracáno jested. “It would be most embarrassing to find us in Mandos again, after such a short time, because of simple clumsiness. Lord Námo would not approve.”

Even Celebrían had to laugh at that, even though her laughter was a little shaky.

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

Nielthi looked at them askance as they reached the bottom of the winding staircase.

“Have you seen what you had hoped to see?” she asked.

Elenwë and Aracáno nodded in unison. Only Celebrían shook her head.

“Not truly,” she said. “I did see my family, for which I am grateful, but for some reason I could not see either my own home or that of my parents. Master Tinwë says they are… veiled?”

She looked at the diminutive scholar for confirmation. Master Tinwë shook his head.

“Shrouded,” he corrected. “There must be a power dwelling in both places that interacts with the Stone, hiding them from its sight. Whoever wields it, they clearly can influence the Unseen in a manner I have not encountered before.”

“Oh!” whispered Celebrían in sudden understanding.

Master Tinwë gave her a sharp look. “You know what it is?”

Celebrían nodded, albeit a little unsure of herself. “I believe I do; and so would you, Master Tinwë, if you thought about it.”

“I would?” asked a little master in surprise.

Celebrían smiled. “I am quite sure that you would. You are some kind of historian, due to your work as the Keeper of the Stone, are you not?”

“That I am,” agreed Master Tinwë with visible pride. “But how would that help me in understanding this problem?”

“As an historian, you certainly know what was the ultimate cause of the fall of Eregion and Celebrimbor’s death,” said Celebrían.

The little scholar frowned. “Celeb…who? Oh, you mean Tyelperinquar! Yes, of course I know what led to his fall: he was every bit as enamoured in his own creations as his grandsire, and threw all caution out of the window, just to make even greater things…”

He trailed off, his face becoming stark white from shock.

“The Rings of Power,” he said tonelessly. ”They are kept in Imladris and Lothlórien, are they not? ‘Tis their power what keeps those places shrouded, even from the Seeing Stones.”

Celebrían nodded. “That is right. Elrond inherited the one in his keeping from Gil-galad; and my mother got hers from Celebrimbor himself. No-one but the closest family has ever known about this back in Middle-earth, for ‘tis dangerous knowledge, even with he One Ring still lost. Sauron would do everything in his power to get his hands on the Three; the only ones in whose making he had no part.”

“What about the third one?” asked Master Tinwë. “Do you know who its keeper is?”

“I do,” replied Celebrían, “but I am not allowed to reveal it.”

“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Aracáno. “Who is supposed to tell Sauron in the Blessed Lands? Or do you not trust us?”

“’Tis not about trust,” answered Celebrían calmly. “’Tis simply not my secret to share. I would not know about it myself, had my living so close to the other two all my life not made me sensitive for the presence of such powers. I was never actually told, you see. I simply knew. And I can still be mistaken.”

“Did you never ask either Artanis or your husband?” Aracáno seemed surprised by that.

Celebrían shook her head. “As I said, ‘tis dangerous knowledge in Middle-earth. The less I knew for certain, the safer it was for me.”

“There is wisdom in your words, Lady Celebrían,” agreed Master Tinwë. “Hard-won wisdom; if that, I am certain. Perhaps you could visit me again, at a time of your convenience, to help me interpret what I see in the Stone? I have more than enough helpers when it comes to the events of the First Age, with all those surviving and reborn Gondolindrim living on the island, but my knowledge about the Second Age, and even more so about the Third Age, is sporadic at best.”

“I would like to help you with that,” replied Celebrían, realizing with some surprise that it was so indeed. The achievements of the later Ages deserved to be remembered, too, she found.

Master Tinwë rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation.

“Excellent! I have been planning to write a detailed history of the Second and Third Ages for quite some time, but the ones who recently Sailed could only tell me small, insignificant details. With somebody who is familiar with the bigger picture, I can finally begin to work in earnest. Now, why do we not have Mistress Vëannë re-heat those apple tarts and have some more tea? I am certain that you can all use a little refreshment, after having faced the Stone. It can be a harrowing experience for one who does it for the first time.”

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

“So, what was your visit with Master Tinwë like?” asked Erunyauvë later on.

They were sitting at the dinner table in Meril’s house, together with the King and the Queen of the Amanian Noldor, who were listening with interest.

“Interesting,” replied Celebrían diplomatically, “and most educational.”

“We got to see Gondolin!” Aracáno was positively beaming. “Well, part of it anyway, but it looked amazing. And Turucáno was most venerable as a King. I only wish I could speak with people who actually lived there. They must have the most wondrous tales to tell.”

“Wondrous… and terrible, I deem,” said Elenwë quietly.

She seemed the most subdued of them all; the experience had obviously shaken her to the bone.

“Glorfindel certainly entertained us with both kinds of stories often enough,” Celebrían agreed. “But as I see it, the wonders far outweighed the terrors. Even for him, who died in a horrible way. He always remembered Gondolin – and his King – with great fondness.”

“I wish I could meet him again, in the flesh,” Elenwë smiled wistfully.

The Maia gave her an encouraging pat. “One day, you will.”

“I wish I could meet anyone who lived in Gondolin,” Aracáno, clearly enchanted by what little he had seen from his brother’s kingdom, was not so easily distracted from his chosen path.

“For that, you would have to go to Tavrobel,” said Meril. “For some reason, most Gondolindrim chose to settle there, or, in the case of Legolas and his people, in the nearby forests – save those who moved on to Aman, and those were very few in numbers.”

“Can I go, Uncle Arfin?” Aracáno turned to the Noldóran with a hopeful expression. “Can I go with you to Tavrobel? I would so like to meet Turucáno’s people!”

“I am not sure it would be the best for you,” replied Arafinwë with a questioning look in Erunyauvë’s direction. “Would it not be too early?”

The Maia shrugged. “It is his decision. I am his caregiver, not his jailor; besides, he must begin to take his own choices, eventually, and this is as good a time as any.”

Arafinwë seemed to have his doubts about the whole affair but chose not to argue with the Maia – not yet anyway.

“What about you?” he asked Elenwë. “Do you wish to come with us as well?”

Elenwë shook her head. “No; I do not feel like meeting any more strangers yet. Not even if they were oath-sworn to my husband. I think I shall remain here with Merilindë.”

“Meril,” the Lady of Tol Eressëa corrected, but not unkindly.

Elenwë gave her an apologetic smile.

“Of course. Forgive me; it will take some getting used to. Life has gone on while I was dead, and catching up with all the changes proves harder than I thought it would.”

“Is it not always so?” asked Meril wryly. “’Tis a good thing that we can afford to take our time.”

“True; but even we have to get things done, eventually,” said Eärwen, giving her royal husband a pointed look. “Do you have a schedule to move on homewards? We are overdue already and cannot afford to linger here much longer.”

“It depends on how long Celebrían and Aracáno need to get ready to leave,” answered the Noldóran. “We can set off whenever they are.”

Celebrían shrugged. “As I no longer have the concern to pack for my entire household, I can leave tomorrow morning if necessary.”

“And I can leave within the hour,” declared Aracáno eagerly.

Meril shared an eyeroll with the other ellith present.

“Ellyn!” she muttered. “They have no idea what it takes to organize the supplies for an entire group to travel. Tomorrow morning is doable, though.”

Eärwen and Celebrían agreed with that, and thus it was decided that the Noldóran’s party would leave Kortirion in the early hours of the following day.

~TBC~