Epilogue: Another Conversation Among the Valar

“Well, they’re finally settled.” Irmo said as he joined the other Valar in Ilmarin about a week later, taking his usual seat next to his brother, Námo, with Estë sitting on his other side.

“Arthad went with them?” Varda asked as Ilmarë handed Irmo a goblet of miruvórë.

“Yes,” Irmo said, then took an appreciative sip before continuing. “He refused to be separated from his brother. Their parents went as well. I had to provide another pavilion for them. I’m glad the kinfolk of the other Harthadrim agreed not to move in as well. I’ve given them permission to come and visit later. I want to give these people time to acclimate themselves to their new environment.”

“Lady Nerdanel and her sons reached Vinyalondë from their settlement yesterday,” Ulmo informed them. “They were able to find passage on a ship leaving for Avallónë tomorrow. I will see to it that they have calm waters and a fair wind, so they should be here in about three weeks.”

“That is well,” Manwë said. “I wish for Macalaurë to have some time to heal in spirit before he meets with his brothers. That meeting will be fraught with much emotion.”

“Estë and I will be on hand when that meeting occurs,” Irmo assured them. “We will not allow them to meet alone and in fact I plan to monitor that meeting very carefully. Unlike his brothers, who have passed through Námo’s realm and been purged of all their darkness, Macalaurë still has darkness in him, though the greater darkness has finally been purged with his renunciation of his Oath. It will take some time for him, for all of them, to be purged of what darkness still clings to them and enter into our Peace.”

The others nodded in understanding and agreement.

“What plans do we have for their children?” Vairë asked.

“Well, Macalaurë’s children are accounted for,” Manwë said. “When the time comes, young Estel will go to Valmar and enter Aulë’s service.”

The Earthsmith nodded. “He already has great talent in manipulating gemstones and capturing the light of the sun and moon in them, but he could do with more finesse. His technique is still a bit crude.”

The others smiled. Then Oromë spoke.

“Macalaurë and Glóredhel have given me their permission to approach Russandol and have him trained as a Ranger. I think Findaráto will be willing to give him his first lessons while he’s living in Lórien and, with your permission, Irmo, I want to call in Vorondil Herendilion and perhaps even Beleg Cúthalion to come to Lórien and start training him as well.”

“I have no objections,” Irmo said. “I can redesign part of Lórien as a wilderness preserve where they can take him and anyone else. I would imagine that others would like to join the Rangers once they know of them.”

“Yes,” Oromë said, “and I do intend to ask them, but they are all much older. Russandol is, technically speaking, too young to be considered for training as a Ranger, but his life experiences have been such that I think the sooner I get my hands on the ellon, the safer we’ll all feel.”

Everyone chuckled at that.

“Círdan reached Alqualondë yesterday,” Ulmo said with a grin. “He took one look at the ships the Harthadrim built and demanded to see young Míriel immediately. He was rather put out by the fact that she was in Lórien when Salmar told him.”

“Does he plan to visit her?” Estë asked, smiling slightly. “I can’t imagine Círdan being that far away from the Sea.”

“Well, if he does come, I refuse to reconfigure Lórien with beachfront property,” Irmo declared with a huff and they all laughed.

“I’ll let him play on my lake instead,” Estë said with a wicked grin and they laughed even harder at that, for they knew that Estë’s lake was not for swimming in or even for boating. It was far too dangerous for any of the Elves, none of whom were aware of the Maia who was forever on guard against any of the Children attempting to enter the waters of Lórellin.

“As for the other children,” Manwë said, getting back to the original discussion, “we will have to see. Your people should be able to ascertain what skills and interests they have and how best to teach them what they need to know.” This last was directed at Irmo, who nodded.

“And that holds true for their elders, as well,” Estë said. “Too long have they spent simply trying to survive. I’m sure they will appreciate relearning old skills or perhaps learning new ones that their circumstance never allowed for.”

“Do you think they will remain in Eldamar or will they emigrate to Hyaraman?” Nienna asked.

“Hard to say at this point,” Manwë answered. “I suspect that wherever they decide to live they will not be separated from Macalaurë. They will follow him wherever he may go. These Elves are now each other’s family. That won’t change any time soon, if ever. I think they would do well to go to Hyaraman. Certainly Macalaurë will not want to be separated from his brothers or his amillë again and we know that they will go back to where they now reside. They will not remain here for very long.”

They all nodded, knowing the truth of Manwë’s words. After a moment or two of silence between them, Oromë turned to Námo. “You’ve been rather silent, Little Brother,” he said affectionately. “Care to share your thoughts on the subject with us?”

For a moment, Námo did not speak, giving Oromë a slightly sardonic look. “I think we have our work cut out for us,” he finally said.

“How do you mean?” Tulkas asked with a frown. “We inspired the Harthadrim to rescue Macalaurë and find the Straight Road and in doing so, find young Arthalion and save him from his despair. Now they have finally reached our shores and are being looked after and soon they will become productive members of Amanian society. Our task is done. Is it not?” He directed the last at Manwë, but it was Námo who spoke.

“As far as the Harthadrim are concerned, but there are other Elves still wandering in Middle-earth whom we should try to inspire to seek the Straight Road, now that the Seas have been unfrozen and the way is open once again.”

“Yet, those who did not follow Denethor made their choice, even as those who refused to leave Cuiviénen made their choice,” Oromë stated. “We have not concerned ourselves with them, so why should we concern ourselves with any of them who stubbornly refuse to heed our call? The Avari are all faded, haunting the woods and dells of Middle-earth, lost in their memories of starlight by the Sea of Helcar, refusing to join their fellows here in Valinor. Those who once lived in the Elven realms of Beleriand and later in Eriador and Rhovanion and did not Sail are as lost to us as the Avari.”

“Some are, yes,” Námo averred, “but not all, and I would fain not abrogate our responsibility toward them while there is still hope that some few will heed our call.”

“And if they don’t?” Aulë asked. “How long do we waste our time on them if they insist on stubbornness over humility and heed our call?”

“Is it a waste?” Námo shot back, his expression darkening somewhat. “I do not recall Atar telling us to close up shop and come home. As long as we are the Guardians of Arda it is our duty to inspire these stubborn Children to come home where they belong. There is no future for them in Middle-earth. For better or for worse, Arda is the realm of Men and the other races have no place in it.”

“And yet, I perceive that not all the Firstborn are destined to Sail,” Manwë said, “nor to fade, but to continue living among the Mortals, quietly teaching them and guiding them in the way they must go.”

“Is this something that Atar has spoken to you about, then?” Námo asked politely.

Manwë shook his head. “Not directly, but whenever I think on it, I feel a sense that while we should indeed continue to inspire the Children to come home, some will not heed our call for Atar has other plans for them, plans that will be revealed in the fullness of time.”

“I have experienced no prescience on the matter,” Námo said, looking disturbed.

“I am not surprised,” Manwë said gently, “for this knowledge has only come to me as we have sat here discussing it. I do agree with you, Námo, that we should concentrate our efforts in inspiring other Elves to Sail, rejoicing in whoever heeds our call and welcoming them joyfully, leaving the rest to Atar.”

“Then, let us by all means do so,” Varda said. “I have in mind to send some of our Maiar to Middle-earth to seek out the Firstborn who linger there and do what they can to inspire them. I don’t know about you, but I’ve noticed many of my people feeling restive and bored. Sending them to Middle-earth should give them more purpose.”

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea,” Manwë said, “and we can send others to perhaps oversee the fortunes of the Mortals. When the south polar ice cap was destroyed during our war with Helcar, the ensuing flood inundated the coasts, destroying what civilizations had existed at the time. The Mortals who managed to escape the flooding will need to rebuild their civilizations. Our Maiar could perhaps help there, as well.”

They all nodded at that.

“So, who should we send among our Maiar to inspire the remaining Firstborn to heed our call and find the Straight Road?” Yavanna asked.

“Olórin,” Námo said without hesitation.

“Fionwë,” Manwë suggested almost at the same time.

Other names were put forth, the Valar already looking forward to the day when all the Firstborn were finally home. Even as he listened to his brethren making their plans, Námo cast his mind to Lórien, smiling to see Macalaurë happily playing with his children in the maze they had just discovered, laughing as they ran down the yew-lined paths seeking the center.

Maglor son of Fëanor was finally home, exiled no longer.

-Metta-