40: The Road to Valmar

Maglor stared at what had been his room, trying to recognize some aspect of it, but nothing was familiar except the view, which looked out onto the lower gardens and the orangery. Even the bed was not the same as the one he had slept in once he was old enough to leave the nursery.

“I thought you said your room was no bigger than mine,” Estel exclaimed. “The entire suite is twice as large as our house back home.”

Maglor just shrugged, not really caring to answer his son. He walked out onto the balcony and stared down onto the garden, his thoughts far in the past when the Trees still lived.

“Leave your adar alone, dear,” he heard Glóredhel admonish Estel. “He needs some time to himself. Now I believe we should see about bathing and readying ourselves for tonight’s feast.”

“Another feast,” Russandol groused. “Everything is so confusing, Nana. I don’t like it here.”

“I know, love, but we have to make the best of it for your ada’s sake. Now, do you think you could force yourself into these fine clothes just for the night? I think this green tunic will go well with your hair and Míriel, I can put your hair up in intricate braids like those the Lady Galadriel and Queen Eärwen were wearing. I think I remember how they should go….”

Maglor shut the voices out. He had already decided that he would wear the fine brocade tunic that Olwë had gifted to him. He was tired of looking so uncouth and barbaric in his leathers. Someone came out onto an adjacent balcony and Maglor saw it was Arthalion whose family had been shown to what had once been his brother Maedhros’ rooms.

“A lovely view,” Arthalion said, not looking at Maglor.

“Yes, it is. I’d forgotten how lovely. I remember how the scent of oranges and lemons wafted in the air, and the birds singing in the trees…. so long ago….”

“Are you going to be all right?” Arthalion asked, turning to face him, his expression one of concern. “I think this is more overwhelming for you than it is for us. You’re the only one who actually lived here. All the rest of us were born in Endórë.”

“Until I saw the Mindon rising over the city, I really did not think about it, but suddenly it all came back to me and… I am beginning to agree with Estel. We should just find ourselves a nice little island far away from here.”

“I can sympathize, but I do not agree,” Arthalion countered. “I think we need to do everything we can to fit in. Most of the people here may look down at us as latecomers, no better than the Avari who would not make the Great Journey, but two out of the three high kings have welcomed us warmly and I have no doubt that if Ingwë were here he would do the same. They are the ones who matter. They will set the tone for everyone else, they and the Valar, I imagine.”

Maglor nodded. “I’m sure you’re right about that. Well, we should go get ready. Glóredhel is trying to convince the children to dress appropriately and I should offer her my support in that, for I do not wish to appear at the feast in these rags.”

Arthalion grinned. “Beggars at the door are we and we should look the part.”

“Perhaps, but not tonight. Tonight I only wish to be Macalaurë of Tirion and not Maglor the Cursed.”

Now Arthalion frowned. “You were only cursed in your own mind, my friend. But, by all means, let us see what a prince of the Noldor you truly are. Do you think you might outshine even Finrod?”

Maglor chuckled. “One thing I know for sure is that no one can ever outshine Finrod.”

“Arthalion! Stop gossiping with Maglor and come get ready for the feast.”

Both ellyn grinned as Amarthamíriel came out onto the balcony and began pulling her husband back inside. “We’ll see you in a while,” Arthalion said and Maglor nodded, going back inside his own rooms where he found Glóredhel chivvying the youngsters toward the bathing room, reminding them not to use up all the hot water.

“Save some for your ada and me,” she admonished them as they trooped out.

Maglor came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She gave a slight purr of contentment and settled into his embrace as he nuzzled the space between her ear and neck. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Hmm…. perhaps you can show me later,” she replied coyly and Maglor chuckled, knowing full well what she was implying. “So this is where you grew up,” she said.

“Hmm… yes. Once I reached my majority I was given this suite for myself. I had my own household of body servants and squires. Most of them followed me to Ennorath. Most of them died there.”

“I’m sorry. I know how painful this must be for you.”

“I still have not found the courage to ask after my brothers or my naneth or even Elrond,” Maglor said with a sigh, releasing his wife from his hold so she could face him. “At heart, I fear I am a coward.”

“No, love, you are not, but I think it wise of you to take things slowly. There will be time enough for reconciliations and learning what has happened to your family. I suspect that we will find many of your questions answered once we reach Valmar. What can you tell me about the city of the Belain?”

“It is not a city as we think it,” he replied. “There is a town to the northeast called Eldamas, where those Elves who pledge their service to the Belain live with their families. Valmar itself consists of eight mansions belonging to the Belain and there is a wide stone-paved avenue lined with mellyrn between the mansions. I would guess a good quarter mile separates Lord Manwë’s mansion from Lord Námo’s. To the west and south of the mansions rises Ezellohar, the Green Mound of the Trees, and beyond that is the Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom.” He gave a small shrug. “When last I saw Valmar, it was in starlight, for the Trees had only just died.”

“It seems odd to me that the Belain would even need mansions,” Glóredhel said.

“On one level I suppose they do not, for they are not as we, they are not incarnates, but they have voluntarily taken physical form and so they have built mansions to house themselves and their Maiarin servants, though most of them do not seem to take physical form except rarely. I only know the names of a few and I suspect that no Elf knows their number, for they do not interact with us all that much.”

“So what are the mansions like?” Glóredhel asked as she went out onto the balcony to look at the gardens. Maglor followed her. “Are they all the same?”

“No, they are different from one another, reflecting the personalities of those who dwell in them.” He proceeded to describe the various mansions, dredging up long-ago memories. Glóredhel listened with obvious interest as he spoke of his time at Aulë’s forge and speaking to the Earth Queen. He was describing the four gates that were the entrances into the city when Glóredhel interrupted.

 “I hear the children. They must be done with their baths. Why don’t we go bathe? The feast will be starting soon.”

Maglor nodded, giving her a brief kiss on the forehead, and together they left the bedroom for the sitting room where they found Estel and Russandol wrapped in robes, drying their hair by the fire which was lit, more for cheer than for comfort. Míriel was sitting in a chair, combing her hair while perusing a book she apparently had found in the small library attached to the suite. Maglor and Glóredhel exchanged amused smiles as they made their way to the bathing chamber.

****

Word must have gotten around among the Harthadrim, for when Maglor and his family joined the others in an anteroom off the feast hall, they found everyone else had eschewed their leather tunics for fine brocades and silks. The older Elves looked genuinely happy to be wearing the finery and complimented one another on their sartorial splendor, but the youngsters all looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“I feel ridiculous,” Estel muttered as he scowled down at the gold brocade tunic he was wearing.

“You look very handsome, my son,” Glóredhel said with an indulgent smile, “and see how lovely Ivorwen looks in her new gown.”

Maglor watched with amusement as his oldest son finally noticed the elleth standing beside her parents, looking the very picture of a shy young elleth attending her first adult affair. She was wearing a silver-shot blue silk gown that brought out the blue of her eyes, her hair intricately coifed in braids and blue ribbons. Estel just goggled at her and visibly gulped, apparently unsure just how to approach this vision of loveliness. Maglor and Glóredhel exchanged knowing smiles.

Before either could offer their son encouragement, the door opened and Arafinwë’s chamberlain entered and sought out Maglor. “If your Highness is ready, I will announce you,” he said with a bow. Maglor nodded, ignoring the raised brows of the others at the form of address. The chamberlain then turned to the others. “When I call your names, please exit through this door. Pages will escort you to where you will be seated. Remain standing until their Majesties arrive.”

“I hope my uncle is not going to insist that I and my family sit at high table,” Maglor said with a frown. “I refuse to be put on display.”

The chamberlain gave him a supercilious sniff. “Trust his Majesty to show a little sense, Highness. Now, if you are ready?”

Maglor grimaced slightly and nodded. The chamberlain bowed and went to the door, banging his staff on the floor. “My lords and ladies, Barahir and Hareth of Bârwain and their son, Halmir….”

Amazingly, the chamberlain apparently had memorized the names of all the Harthadrim and introduced them one-by-one without consulting any notes until only Denethor and Maglor and his family remained in the anteroom. Maglor expected the chamberlain to announce Denethor and was surprised when he heard his name being spoken.

“His Highness, Prince Macalaurë, and his wife, the Lady Glóredhel, and their sons, Estel and Russandol, and their daughter, Míriel.”

“Hey, that’s us!” Russandol exclaimed.

Denethor gave Maglor a grin. “I guess as leader of our people, I outrank you.”

Maglor pulled himself together enough to grin back. “Have fun at the high table.” He offered his arm to Glóredhel and together they went out with their children trailing behind. Maglor steeled himself and kept his eyes on the back of the page, an elleth of about thirty, who led them past the other feasters to a table situated just below the salt on the left side of the dais. He saw that the others had been seated at other tables nearby. He and his family were seated with Arathalion and his family but the others at the table were Amanians whom he did not recognize. He gave them a slight nod of his head in greeting but did not speak.

By now, Denethor had been announced and was led, as Maglor had suspected, to the high table where the ellon was all by himself, for none of the royals had been announced yet. The ellon looked decidedly uncomfortable but smiled in relief when Falmaron was announced and joined him. Soon all the other royals were announced. When Olwë and Lirillë came, everyone bowed or curtsied as they passed and they did the same for Arafinwë and Eärwen. Maglor and the older Harthadrim automatically followed suit, memories of earlier times in other courts coming to the fore, but the youngsters were very awkward and embarrassed looking.

Finally, they were all seated and Maglor took the initiative in introducing himself and his family and Arthalion and his family to the Amanians seated with them, learning that these happened to be members of Arafinwë’s privy council. Servers appeared with the first course and Maglor explained to the children what the dishes were, cautioning them to take only small portions.

“This feast will most likely have at least four removes, far more elaborate than what we were served in Alqualondë, so take your time. You are free to get up and move about if you wish between the removes. If you need to use the privy, one of the pages will show you where they are.”

“Do they do this all the time, Atto?” Russandol asked, looking about with wide eyes at the bustle of activity as pages went about pouring drinks or bringing more bread to the tables.

“No, thank the Valar,” Maglor said with a laugh. “This is a welcoming feast, not just for us, but also for Olwë and his family.”

“I am surprised that you are not sitting at high table, your Highness,” one of the Amanians said. His name, as Maglor recalled, was Lord Herendil, the grandson of Lord Herencáno, whom he remembered from before.

“Please, it’s just Maglor, or if you wish, Macalaurë, and I’m just bloody grateful not to be sitting there on display.”

The Amanians all laughed, assuring him that they felt the same. Herendil’s wife, Lady Vandacalimë, then asked about life in Endórë and the conversation went from there. As Maglor guessed, the feast involved four removes, followed by dancing. None of the Harthadrim joined in the dances, though, feeling shy and awkward. Maglor was content to visit with Finrod, the two of them sitting in a corner of the hall drinking spiced wine and reminiscing about Beleriand and the hunts they had had together and all that had happened between them.

“You have not asked after your family,” Finrod said at one point.

“I have been afraid to,” Maglor admitted.

“I assure you that they are well, but you are unlikely to see them anytime soon.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They are not here in Eldamar. They settled somewhere in Hyaraman and it will take them time to return, for they will need to travel to Vinyalondë before they can take ship. Even then, it will still take them nearly two weeks of sailing, longer if the winds are against them. They blow contrarily in the south; the seasons are reversed from those here. But I promise you will see them eventually.”

“Did… did my ammë go with them?”

“Yes.” Finrod gave him a sympathetic look.

“But they are well, even Maedhros?”

“Especially Maedhros,” Finrod said with a laugh. “He was very happy to find his hand restored to him when he was re-embodied. Kept running around Lórien shoving his hand into people’s faces and waving it at them. It took a while for us to convince him that he needn’t do that all the time.”

“Us?”

Finrod nodded. “Though I am haryon, I resided for long ages in Lórien overseeing those charged with caring for the newly reborn. And I and some others were also responsible for bringing healing to the Once-born, as we called them, for they were also in pain and some had never forgiven nor forgotten what was done to them when the Trees were destroyed and the Noldor essentially went insane.”

Maglor nodded. “What about the Valar?”

“You will have to wait and see,” Finrod said with a gentle smile. “I can tell you that they have been very anxious to see you and resent all this delay.”

“Delay? We’ve only just arrived. Unless you’ve found a way to simply think yourselves to Valmar, it will take a good three days to get there from here. In fact, I suspect it will take a bit longer than that with all who will no doubt wish to accompany us.”

“Oh, I know, but the Valar are like elflings wanting their treat now and not later,” Finrod replied.

Maglor snorted in amusement. “Do they know you think they are like elflings?”

“I tell them that all the time,” Finrod answered with a wink. “Of course, they just ignore me and continue to act as they please.”

“Sounds familiar,” Maglor said and the two laughed.

“So, tell me about you and Glóredhel,” Finrod said when they had both calmed down. “The last thing I expected was to find you happily married and an adar. Russandol could be Maedhros’ twin with that hair and Míriel reminds me of your own naneth.”

“And Estel?” Maglor asked, curious to know what Finrod thought of his eldest.

Finrod grinned. “He is definitely Fëanor’s grandson with that attitude of his.”

“He’s feeling out of his depth,” Maglor said in defense. “He is also a master craftsman. He has a way with gemstones that even my adar did not, for he does not hoard his treasures but offers them freely to all and sundry. He seems to have a special affinity for working with emeralds for some reason. I am hoping Lord Aulë will be willing to take him on as an apprentice, assuming, of course, he would ever want to have anything to do with me or mine.”

“I have no doubt Lord Aulë will look kindly upon your son, Maglor,” Finrod said gently. “So, just how did you and your wife meet?”

“Over Arthalion,” Maglor replied with a chuckle and then proceeded to explain. They were still laughing over some of the things Maglor was telling Finrod when their respective wives came and insisted that they join the final pavane. Finrod was willing but Maglor hesitated, stating he did not think he could remember the steps well enough, but in the end, he allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor and, as the musicians began playing, he found that he remembered more than he thought and stepped gracefully into the dance, ignoring the surprised and amused looks on the faces of the others, especially his children.

****

They left Tirion the next day, the size of their party doubling with the inclusion of the Noldorin royal family.

“We look like an invasion,” Arthalion said softly to Maglor as they rode together out of the west gate of the city. Maglor chuckled and did not disagree.

As Maglor had predicted they took four days to reach the city of the Powers. Along the way they came upon pavilions set up by the side of the road where they stopped for the night. When he asked about them, Finrod explained that they had been set up on the orders of the Valar.

“Once we set out in the morning, Maiar will come and take all this down and set it up again further along the road. Saves us time with so many of us in this cavalcade.”

“I am surprised that the land is so empty,” Maglor said. “I would have thought that after all this time villages would have sprung up along the road.”

“There are a couple of inns further on, as you probably remember,” Finrod explained, “but it was decided to leave these lands untouched. The Southern Fiefdoms supply us with all that we need for sustenance and people enjoy leaving the city on occasion to wander in the wilderness.”

It was midafternoon on the fourth day when Valmar came into view. Maglor saw the east gate of mithril and pearls shining in the sun like a beacon and he heard gasps of shock and amazement from the throats of the Harthadrim at the sight, for the gate, indeed, the city itself, had not been constructed with the Elves in mind and no Elf had had a hand in its construction. The Amanians, more used to the sight, continued on without concern and Maglor had to force himself to keep going. Until then, the meeting with the Valar had been theoretical, but now, gazing upon the gate leading into their city, it was becoming all too real again. He had a sudden urge to turn around and flee, but he squashed that instinct ruthlessly and urged his steed on.

As they reached the gates, they were met by two Maiar, one of whom Maglor recognized.

“Greetings,” Eönwë said with a slight bow of his head. “You have made good time and I bid you welcome on behalf of my masters. We have provided housing for you all. Lord Denethor, if you and your people, and I include you and your family, Macalaurë, would follow Olórin, he will show you where you will be staying. Arafinwë, Olwë, we assume you and your people will be staying at the royal townhouse.”

“I little like the idea of Lord Denethor and his people being separated from us,” Arafinwë said with a frown, “though admittedly the townhouse will be overcrowded as it is.”

“Some of us can find lodgings elsewhere, Atar,” Finrod said. “I would prefer staying at the Laughing Vala myself.”

Eönwë smiled at Finrod. “That is, of course, your choice, Findaráto. I assure you that there is nothing sinister in our separating the Harthadrim from your company for the night. It is Lord Manwë’s wish that they be accorded privacy and that they not suffer the gratuitous attentions of the good Elves of Eldamas.”

Maglor sighed. “You mean, you don’t want people staring at me. I’m willing to go with you, but I don’t think the others, including my own family, need to be punished on my account.”

Both Maiar raised eyebrows. “Rather full of yourself, aren’t you, Maglor?” Olórin said, speaking in Sindarin. “This has nothing to do with punishment. You and the Harthadrim are our masters’ honored guests. Now, we can stand out here at the gate all night debating the issue, or we can all find our way to our respective lodgings and enjoy the lovely dinner awaiting you. I understand there’s plum pudding for dessert.”

More than one elven eyebrow went up, but whether at the Maia’s acerbic tone or the mention of plum pudding was debatable. Eönwë grinned knowingly. “Please, be welcome, all of you, to Valmar,” he said with a bow and Arafinwë and Olwë both nodded, thanking him. Arafinwë turned to Denethor, who had been riding beside him.

“Have no fear! You will be well treated. We will see you on the morrow, then.”

“I will accompany you and see that all is done properly for your comfort,” Finrod said, giving the two Maiar an imperious look, as if daring them to contradict him. Neither rose to the bait and in a matter of minutes, Maglor and the Harthadrim with Finrod in their midst were alone at the gate. Eönwë had disappeared, leaving Olórin to act as host.

“If you would all follow me,” he said, and even as he spoke other Maiar suddenly appeared, the air full of the mingled scents of different flowers and herbs. Most of the Harthadrim started at the sight of them. “Fear not!” Olórin exclaimed. “If you will leave your horses and bags with my brethren, they will see to them. Come.”

Maglor dismounted and the others followed suit. He and Glóredhel held hands as they followed the Maia past the gate and into the city itself. It was empty of people though Maglor had a dim memory of earlier times when this late in the afternoon the avenue linking the various mansions would have been filled with Elves and Maiar. He suspected that the city was empty for their sake.

“That’s Lord Ulmo’s mansion,” Finrod said, acting as a guide, pointing to his left where they could see the mansion sitting on an island in the middle of a lake. “And there is the mansion of Lord Manwë and Lady Varda ahead of us.”

People oohed and aahed at the sight of the Elder King’s mansion rising before them, with its sapphirine walls, amethyst towers and amber colonnades.

“Are we going to spend the night there?” Finduilas asked faintly.

Olórin turned to address them, smiling. “No, indeed, my dear. We have much nicer quarters for you.”

“Nicer?” Denethor asked in disbelief.

Olórin laughed. “Well, you will have to judge for yourself.” He headed down the wide avenue, everyone exclaiming over the mellyrn lining it.

“Our own mellyrn are not so huge,” Míriel said in awe, speaking of the two mallorn-trees they had been able to grow in a valley in the Ered Luin north of Mithlond, one of two such valleys that had become tree nurseries.

“The oldest of those is only a few hundred years old,” Maglor told her. “These were here long before we Eldar ever reached these shores.”

“Even the ones in Lothlórien were never this large,” Ragnor said, sounding just as awed, and those who remembered the Golden Wood nodded in agreement.

They came to the Mindon Nyellion, the tower of bells, and Finrod told them how the bells had gone silent at the time of the Minglings of the Two Trees. Maglor nodded, remembering. They all gazed in wonder at the sight of the water falling into the fountain.

“Here we are,” Olórin said, gesturing to his left and Maglor recognized the mansion belonging to Lord Oromë and the Lady Vána with its great trees supporting the roof and in the center where there was an inner courtyard, a single mallorn rose majestically above them all. The gate leading to the front courtyard stood open and a Maia wearing Lord Oromë’s golden oak emblem on his green surcoat waited for them, introducing himself as Roimendil.

“Be welcome to my master and mistress’s home,” the Maia said with a bow.

“And here I will leave you,” Olórin said with a smile. “May you have a fair night.” Then he was no longer there.

“And here I will leave you as well,” Finrod said, giving Maglor a hug. “You are in good hands. I will see you all tomorrow.” With that, he gave them a bow and turned back up the avenue. Roimendil gestured for them to follow him into the mansion.

“The Valar thought you would enjoy spending the night among the trees,” he told them as he took them down a dim hall. Maglor looked about him with interest, for he had never ventured into this particular mansion when he had lived here before, though he knew his brother Celegorm often spent his time here visiting with the Lord of Forests and his spouse. Roimendil brought them into an inner courtyard where they saw the mallorn. White stairs wound around it and without a word Roimendil began climbing and everyone followed.

Eventually they came to where a series of flets on different levels had been built and Roimendil was showing them to various ‘rooms’ where they could sleep if they wished. There were even bathing rooms for their refreshment and on the largest flet was laid out a veritable feast with three long tables set up in a U to accommodate them all, and, as promised, there was plum pudding for dessert.

“Here you may rest,” Roimendil said to them. “In the morning, we will escort you to meet with the Valar.”

“We will not see Lord Oromë tonight, then?” Denethor asked, sounding a little disappointed.

Roimendel gave him a sympathetic smile. “My lord thinks that you would do better without his or his lady’s presence. If there is aught that you lack, merely speak out. One of us will hear and attend. Otherwise, I bid you all a fair night and may your dreams be pleasant. Lord Macalaurë, I am bid to tell thee that thou hast naught to fear. Thou art welcome here. The Valar have long anticipated thine arrival and rejoice that thou hast come at last. Until tomorrow.” Then he faded away and the Harthadrim were left to themselves.

****

Mellyrn: Plural of Mallorn.

Note: Herendil and his wife, Vandacalimë, are the parents of Aldundil and Vorondil (Vondo), and friends of Finrod. See The Findaráto Diaries and Elf, Interrupted.