4. Light and flame

February 14th 3019 T. A.

Something will happen today. I feel it in the air. The heavenly winds whisper, tell something, but I do not understand their voices. They are not the voices of the world below. Not even the voices of Valar. It is something else, like the feeling of change before the turning of the tide. It drives my sight to one place. A lifeless place, high in the mountains. I didn’t look at it for many days – there was nothing to see... I don’t want to look at the peak of the mountain – but I have the feeling that the mountain is looking at me. Or is it something – someone – else that is looking?

A strange tension is in the air. I try to catch the voices. No, it’s only one voice, sounding like a chorus of the entire world. I hear music. A song... It resonates in every fibre of my being. It makes the light of Silmaril shine brighter, pulsing in its rhythm. For a moment, it seems I’m close to grasping the melody, but immediately it eludes me, and I’m left with a feeling of loss, of something greater than this world that I can’t comprehend. Yet it seems to me I was so close to it – so close... Like the country that I see sometimes in my dreams, the soft green country behind a grey curtain of rain. It seems so close – I need only reach my hand and touch it, but when I do, I touch only empty air. But the voice... it’s coming from that country, and fills my soul with longing to touch the music and be a part of it. It comes from that place, where I didn’t want to look, yet I must – from the peak of Celebdil.

I strain my ears, but I do not hear the music anymore. I look. Two eyes are looking into mine, and for a moment I’m lost in them. There is immeasurable depth. There are mysteries of far places and times that are beyond the time that flows here in one direction. They are the eyes of one who has seen beyond the stars, beyond the circles of the world, the eyes of one who has wandered paths out of thought and time, and returned through flame and water, on the place where the earth touches the air. No longer are those eyes dim and unseeing – there is life in them! They are the eyes of... Olórin?

Olórin, is that you? I recognize you, and yet I do not... You are the one who stood on the deck of a white ship sailing eastwards, a grey figure against the grey waves of the sea. You are the one who travelled long and far to know the hearts of Elves and Men, who travelled many miles with Aragorn – miles that would be hard and lonely without your company, and for that I was thankful to you, Grey Pilgrim. Yet I do not see Grey anymore. I see White. The purest white, shining more brightly then the snow around. The Grey Wizard is gone forever. I am the first one to behold Olórin the White.

I think I can understand Eönwë now, and his words to me when I first beheld him. Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendour of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel in the sunset, radiant in the morning!, he said, and I felt myself blushing at those words, awed and a bit afraid of the Herald of Valar. But for him, I was not a man awed by the splendour of Valinor and afraid to never see his family again. I was the fulfilment of hope, looked for for a long time. How much more are you, Olórin? A fulfilment of hope unlooked for...

Hail Olórin, of Istari most faithful, the unlooked for that cometh at unawares, the lost who returneth beyond hope! Hail Olórin, bearer of the flame of Anor! Splendour of the thought of Ilúvatar, white flame in the darkness, messenger from Valinor, voice of Manwë, giving hope to Middle-earth!

Much have I heard about you in Valinor in the last days. Laments sounded in the streets of Valimar, wistful and beautiful like the ripples on a calm sea before sunset, when the water surface burns with the last rays of Sun like a road leading to the West. There were songs about the Battle of the Peak, heroic and glorious, but many more songs were about your gentle spirit and tireless work, and I began to truly understand the loss about which they spoke.

One of the songs spoke about the council of Valar after they beheld the new shadow growing in Middle-earth. They made a mistake before, they said, when they wanted to separate and keep the Eldar with their power, a mistake that sowed the seeds of treachery into the heart of Fëanor, and laid the words of a cursed oath into the mouth of his sons. Then they revealed they might to the Edain,a mistake that helped Sauron Annatar sow the seeds of pride and treachery into the heart of Númenor. Now they would not show might and power, but humility and understanding. Theones who would be sent to Middle-earthwould wear the bodies of Men, not like clothes to give shape to the fëa when dealing with the Children of Ilúvatar, but a true body that can be injured and killed, that feels pain and weariness of the earth. They would not command, but listen and encourage. Their fëar bound to a body, they would forget much that they knew, and have to learn much, and the West would be only a dim memory and a deep longing to them, a hope when their labours are accomplished. Much have they sacrificed to be able to help. We have more in common then I thought, Olórin...

He came late for that council, returning from his errands, and sat behind when the ones who wanted to take this task stepped forward. Yet Manwë asked him to come, despite his protests that he is unworthy of the task. That is even more reason for you to come, the Elder King said – oh yes, the Valar too learned the price of humility... And so he sailed, chosen as last, but not last, as Varda said. Were those words of hers the soil for the seeds of pride of the one chosen as first, of Curunír who is called Saruman? Humility is a hard lesson to learn, and often it does not hold in the many tests of the world. Pride taints the pure white then, and shatters it to many colours, changing before the sight and deceiving. Now there is white once again, pure and untainted. Olórin returned!

His eyes follow me across the sky, as if they areout of time still; they follow the dance of stars and the ship of Moon, the heavenly patterns unchanged by the battles, by the falling and rising of kingdoms and realms below. He lies still and unmoving high above the clouds, on the peak where all sounds of the world reach like distant echoes. Yet his chest rises and sinks in a barely visible movement, in a breath of life. He lies naked as every Man comes to the world, and yet there is no indignity. A sword lies beside him, where it has fallen after the fight, and it is Glamdring, the blade of Turgon forged when Gondolin yet stood in the hidden valley of Tumladen. It is the same as it was before. The ring on his finger shines with the same flame, matching and rekindling the flame of his spirit. But the flame filling him shines brighter then ever before – it is the flame that changed: the light and flame.

The flame burns with the Flame Imperishable itself, and the light of it feels as if it could never truly belong to this world. I look into the depths of your eyes, Olórin, and I see the truth. Your eyes have the look of one who knows what is beyond this world. You returned... but only for a short time. You have a task to finish, and then... then you must pay the price. Splendour of the thought of Ilúvatar, white flame in the darkness, only for a short while will your flame burn in Middle-earth.

Then you will return – where? I do not know. Sometimes I wish I would be allowed to find out, although for me it would be a way without return. That country in my dreams... it is fresh and green, with the scent of flowers in the air, and the humming of bees in apple-orchards. But I know that this is only a picture it takes in my mind, and I will never know what really is behind the silver rain-curtain and the gate of Death.

Eärendil studied the intricate embroidery adorning the hem of Manwë’s robes. Its colour matched the sky-blue garments, but the motifs were clearly visible. They depicted trees with entwined branches full of blossoms and birds taking off from them, yet together they created the shape of clouds and eagles with outlines created of many smaller wings. When Manwë moved, the birds and eagles seemed to be alive and the blossoms of the trees whispered in the wind. It fascinated him, but that was not the reason why he was studying it so intently. He stood before the Elder King awaiting his doom. He did not want to look higher, into his eyes that shone with Flame Imperishable like hundreds of stars and held the judgement for his daring deed.

Elwing stood at his side, and he stepped one step before her in a subconscious gesture, as if he would want to protect her. He felt her awe and fear. He had already seen the Valar before, but he fared no better. Then Manwë spoke, and his voice made Eärendil finally look up and meet the Elder King’s eyes. The sight hit him with its intensity. These were the eyes of one speaking with Ilúvatar in his thoughts, eyes older than Arda. Eärendil knew that their anger would be terrible to behold, but their light was kind.

“In this matter the power of doom is given to me,” he spoke. “ The peril that he ventured for love of the Two Kindreds shall not fall upon Eärendil, nor shall it fall upon Elwing his wife, who entered into peril for love of him; but they shall not walk again ever among Elves or Men in the Outer Lands. And this is my decree concerning them: to Eärendil and to Elwing, and to their sons, shall be given leave each to choose freely to which kindred their fates shall be joined, and under which kindred they shall be judged.”

Eärendil left out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding, and bowed his head. In that moment he found out that his sons were alive... and he realized he will never see them again. Suddenly he felt tired and old beyond his years. When he sailed, he knew that he would not return, yet there was still a small hope. Now there was none. He turned to Elwing, and managed a weak smile at her.

“Choose thou, for now I am weary of the world.”

Oh Elwing, you have chosen to be counted to the Firstborn Children of Ilúvatar because of your grandmother Lúthien, although she herself has chosen a mortal fate out of love. Only two bonds between Men and Elves were in the history of Middle-earth, and we were the only children left from those unions. Is it not strange, how we found each other? We found each other, and we would not be separated anymore, not even by the Sundering Sea, nor by a choice of different fate. My heart was with the people of my father, but more then that it was with my wife.

Later have I heard rumours, bare uncertain whispers about the fate of my parents, telling that my father alone of mortal Men was numbered among the elder race, and was joined with the Noldor, whom he loved; and his fate was sundered from the fate of Men. I wish I could meet him again, but I have not seen him in all the centuries I dwelled in Valinor, and none could tell me something more certain about his fate. A strange irony it is, my beloved. You have chosen immortality for the only Elf in the tales of Arda who became mortal, and for my father who became immortal, my heart belonged to the race of Men. But above that, it belonged to you, my sweet gull, and I would not let us be sundered again. Once it was enough, more than I could bear...

Yet sometimes, in the long hours of night when I watch the tapestry of sorrow enfolding before my eyes, I wonder how it would be, had I taken a different choice. How it would be to enter the gates of Death and reveal the mystery that lies behind them. When I sailed to the West with the Silmaril bound to my brow and my wife at my side, I felt free and ready to face all dangers of unknown waters. When I left the earth behind and sailed the sky for the first time, I could not think on anything for a long while besides the thrill of flight. The lands were small below me, and the wind swept my hair as I stood at the prow of Vingilot. Tilion greeted me. For a while I was young and free, and the sky was a great adventure.

And beyond those gates awaits an adventure greatest of all, I feel. My heart is the heart of an adventurer and wanderer. My spirit is restless, and longs for freedom. Yet I know I cannot pursue that last adventure. I am bound to the fate of Arda - until Dagor Dagorath and the end of Time. You know what is beyond the gates of Death, Olórin. Only for a short time did you return... Hail Olórin, greatest of pilgrims! May Ilúvatar guide your steps to the fulfillment of your task. Light against shadow. Flame against flame. May the light prevail, the light worth dying for!

Direct quotes from: J. R. R. Tolkien: Silmarillion, Chapter 24: Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

The council of Valar is mentioned in the chapter about Istari in the Unfinished Tales