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Gil-Estel  by Mirach

October 9th, 2986 T. A.

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Today I sat upon the hill of Ezellohar, under the Trees. They are beautiful even in their death, like a monument of what have been. Now their branches reach to the sky like hands in a sign of farewell, forever frozen in the stillness of death, and their silver and golden leaves have fallen long ago, leaving them naked under the dim light of their last blossom and fruit. Rarely does anyone come to this place - it is a place where Death touched the Undying Lands. The pain of loss is still deep in the hearts of those who have seen their light in the old, glorious days.

To me, it does not bear the bitter memories, just a deep sadness in the roots under the green grass. Here, in the heart of Valinor, I feel a strange connection to the shores that I have left behind, where time is not so kind to their inhabitants. And… it is peaceful here, a good place for thoughts. I sat there for hours, and my face was turned to Taniquetil.

It was a good place to think about the Valar. How long do I already live here, in their realm? Since the last battle when Thangorodrim fell, they didn’t leave it. Since the fall of Númenor Valinor was taken from the Circles of the World. It seemed as if they wouldn’t care for the things out of their realm anymore. But I, I had to sail and watch, see what they didn’t want to see. This I thought just a few nights ago: they didn’t want to see… and maybe I have seen too much: too much of suffering, of the darkness veiling the Mortal Shores.

Valar… I cursed them, and they forgave me. I didn’t even think that they heard me when I said the words of blasphemy. I didn’t think that they care. Can a mortal understand them? Or a sailor who chose immortality because of his sweet wife… No, I think not. But I think that I understand them better now, better as I did a few days ago. They know much, but not all. They do not see all ends like the One that sounded the first chord does. They care, they didn’t stop to. But they do not act – not in this age of world when the Second Theme of the Great Music fades slowly, and the Third Theme resonates stronger than ever before. They shape their own music – Ilúvatar’s Second-born Children. And the Valar let their song sound. They do not interfere with it.

In Númenor, the distant glimpse of Tirion in the Blessed Realm was enough to twist that song and tempt the hearts of Men. Of my descendants... It is a bitter thought. Not the dread of Morgoth, not the flame of his dragons, but the hearts of my descendants changed the shape of Arda most – Númenor disappeared under the waves, and Valinor was taken from the Circles of the World. Yet I saw no wrath in the face of the Queen of Stars – there was love... In some way, they are as helpless as me, bound to not interfere that song to an end that they cannot predict. And yet, I am not as helpless as I thought – I could send the ray of hope, and show the way. And they are doing just that – sending hope and showing the way through the ship that sailed to the shores of Middle-earth carrying the five messengers, five Istari...

The long roads are lost that led thither,
and to mortal Men Manwë speaks not.
From the West-that-was a wind bore it
to the sleeper's ear, in the silences
under night-shadow, when news is brought
from lands forgotten and lost ages
over seas of years to the searching thought.
Not all are forgotten by the Elder King...

For the fight against Morgoth, the whole shipment of Valinor sailed under the billowing flags and with the clear sound of trumpets. For the fight against Sauron – the Istari came in secrecy, in the disguise of old men. They do not fight. They do something else. Like in that night when the Queen of Stars came to me, and made me listen to the song of my own heart. They can make us listen. They can show the way… but we have to walk it alone, listening to our own Song – guided by our free will…

It brings a feeling of responsibility, to know it. I’m not counted among the Mortals anymore, but I feel it too, through my sons, and their children. Something tells me that you will shape the fate of Middle-earth, Aragorn. You are its hope, but if you fall, it will fall with you. Listen to the song in your heart, my child. It will guide you to the right path. And if it would be a path through darkness, I will be there to bring light to it…

Suddenly I realize that through you, I became the messenger of hope twice. First time it was when my pleas moved the Valar to the great battle. Oh, that was glorious… And Gil-Estel has risen. For the second time nobody will praise me, and yet it brings more peace to my heart. It was hard to leave my sons behind, and often I wondered if I made the right decision in my free will. But I know now: through the line of my son, a new hope has risen. Estel... Who can tell all consequences of our decisions, even after thousands of years? Maybe even the Valar can’t. But I can see them, and it is good to know that something good came through the decisions, that the song of my heart is a part of a greater Music in the mind of the One.

No, it hasn’t ended yet. A great fight waits still, and much is uncertain. But where I saw only shadows, now I see light, a fire woken from the ashes. I wish you luck, Aragorn. May the One watch over you…

I feel that the end is near: the end of this age. What will come after that, I do not know. But after the fight ends, after the weapons will silence and you will not look to Gil-Estel anymore - because no stars will be seen in the darkness, or because there will be enough hope for all in the world, then I have my own, small hope. It is not about Middle-earth, not about kingdoms. It is about you, Elrond. The age of Elves ends, already the ships are leaving the Grey Havens. Is there a ship for you, my son? That is my hope – that we will meet again, and I will be able to touch you, to speak to you, to hold you in my arms like I longed to do in the long years of watching.

Yet today, the hope has a faint taste of sadness… I dream about the day when we meet again. But like me, Elrond, you will have to leave your own son behind… He is mortal like Elros, and thus bound to Middle-earth in its fate – good or bad. There is no ship for him, and your parting will be forever. By death, or by the Sundering Sea, you will be divided. That is the reason why the thought of our reuniting is bittersweet.

When I sail again, I seek the now already familiar window in Rivendell. You are there. You do not look to me; your attention is needed elsewhere. Your son lies in the bed, but the sheets are pushed to the side – you are just examining the broken leg. With a look of relief you look up into anxious grey eyes. “It will heal completely,” you say. And the grey eyes smile.

This moment will become a memory, and the memory you will carry to the West. And there will be more, much more. Like one father to another I tell you, you will be proud of him, like I am proud of you. That pride you will carry to the West. And one more thing you will carry, the most important one: your love. That is the bond reaching through the Sundering Sea, stronger then death. That is the bond that connects through distance and time, connects Elves and Men alike.

I love you, my children…

*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-* THE END *-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*


The long roads are lost... - J. R. R. Tolkien: Unfinished Tales

A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful feedback during this story! It was a great experience to post it in real-time, and live the time from September 23rd to October 9th not in the year 2009 of this world, but in 2986 of the Third Age of Middle-earth... And even greater experience it was because of you, who have read it, and encouraged Aragorn and Eärendil in their suffering, and rejoiced with them in their healing. Thank you!

And, I’m promising nothing just yet, but I have an idea for a sequel... ;)





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