Chapter 4: Healing Plants, Healing Stones

Then the Vanyar and the Noldor embarked upon that isle, and were drawn over the sea, and came at last to the long shores beneath the Mountains of Aman; and they entered Valinor and were welcomed to its bliss. But the eastern horn of the island, which was deep-grounded in the shoals off the mouths of Sirion, was broken asunder and remained behind.

‘Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië’, The Silmarillion

Sam and Frodo listened carefully to everything Elrond was telling them.

“So if you go way WAY back, to the time before there was even a sun and moon in the sky, Finwë was a common ancestor for both you and that Fëanor fellow,” Sam said.

Elrond smiled. “If you go way WAY back.”

“And Mahtan was the father of Fëanor’s wife, Nerdanel.”

“Correct.”

“Fëanor made the silmarils,” Frodo chimed in, “and your father wears one of them, and its light was caught by the Lady in my star-glass. Fëanor’s son, Maglor, raised you and your brother, and his grandson, Celebrimbor, created the Three elven rings.”

Elrond nodded.

“All right, then.” Frodo sat back, satisfied. “We’d love to hear the story now.”

Legolas, about to pop a large, ripe blackberry in his mouth, exchanged an amused look with Elrond. However ancient, accomplished, or legendary Mahtan might be, it had quickly become apparent that the most pressing concern of the hobbits was where he stood in Elrond’s family tree.

From a wild tangle of bushes near the garden Sam had gathered the berries, and he now sat comfortably with the others at a highly-polished wooden table in Mahtan's home.  They had found it arranged with six place settings, as well as fluted bottles of wine, carafes of sweet water, a number of cheeses on a platter, a bowl of juicy apples, another holding a variety of plums and pears, a dish of flat, sweet cakes plump with raisins, several long loaves of bread, and jars of honey the color of amber.

Legolas broke one of the loaves into pieces and passed them around, and Frodo sniffed his portion appreciatively.

“This is the herb bread that Lady Eärwen bakes.”

“And the honey tastes like it’s from Silqeléni’s bees,” Sam added.

“Mahtan must trade his work or skill for what he cannot produce himself,” Elrond mused, “as do many on this island. Anything wrought by his hand would carry great value.”

Mahtan’s house appeared small from the outside, but they found that the majority of the dwelling extended deeply into the hillside, not unlike a hobbit hole, with rooms and galleries leading off from the main living space. Artistically arranged on counters, tables and mantels were a multitude of sculptures, carvings, jewelry and ornaments in exquisite settings of gold and precious metals, miniature statues, and all manner of unique and lovely works. The sun shining through the windows reflected through small hanging crystals, causing them to flash and glitter in colors of every hue. One enormous crystal that amazed the hobbits was of a deep purple color; it stood just outside the entryway and was taller than even Elrond.

“He called himself an artist of modest skill,” Legolas murmured, looking around the dining area. “Never have I seen anything like this.”

Elrond sighed. “All of this craft, and more, he must have taught Fëanor, but the beauty of Fëanor’s creations was outstripped by his ambition, and need to possess.” His features grew grim. “If he had shared even one silmaril with Yavanna, or bent not his skill to fell weapons and armor, a very different destiny would doubtless have been laid before us all.”

“From the beginning, please,” Frodo begged.

“My apologies,” Elrond said with a smile. “Frodo, our host was – and apparently still is – the devoted apprentice of Aulë known by the Dwarves as Mahal, their father and creator. For any Dwarf to encounter such as he...” Elrond shook his head. “That alone would be enough to bring Gimli joy and wonder, but there is surely more to this day than a simple meeting.”

“I was taught little of Mahtan,” Legolas confessed, “other than rumor that he had been so horrified by Fëanor’s betrayal that he felt shamed for his part in what followed, although of course he could not have foreseen the Kinslaying, nor were he or his daughter part of what occurred.”

“Kinslaying?” Sam asked, aghast.

“The history of the elves is a noble one, with much courage, resilience, and wisdom,” Elrond said gravely. “However, it is not without its dark times, and cataclysmic decisions. Mahtan must have been delighted to have such an eager and gifted student, and shared with his son-in-law such a wealth of knowledge that I cannot even comprehend.  However, Fëanor initiated a great tumult and much death, whatever his motives at the beginning.”

“Could that be why Mahtan lives alone up here, and belittles his skill?” Frodo asked. “After all these millennia, could he possibly feel guilt for what Fëanor did?”

“Perhaps,” Elrond said slowly. “This Great Work of healing he mentioned... it may indeed not just be the island that has required it.”

“Why would an island need healing?” Frodo asked curiously. “What an odd notion!”

“Not altogether,” Sam reminded him. “The Shire needed healing, sure enough, and other lands, too.”

“Indeed,” Elrond said. “Sam, if you will pass another apple this way, and perhaps some of that cheese, I will tell you both more about Aulë, and why this island is here... and what I now believe is happening above and below this place.”

*~*~*~*~*

It was easy for Gimli to see why the hobbits had only discovered the tunnel in the hill by nearly falling right into the opening; it would be all too easy to lean against the curtain of tangled plants concealing its entrance and tumble through into nothingness. Mahtan held aside a portion of the foliage and led Gimli to the narrow opening in the hillside, then paused.

“I will go ahead and light the lamps,” the elf said. “If you will wait but a moment...”

“I would like to accompany you, if I may,” Gimli said respectfully. “Dwarves do not fear the darkness.”

“Of course,” Mahtan said with a smile. “I have been taught much about the Khazâd, son of Gloín, and should have remembered that.”

Mahtan’s utterance in Khuzdul surprised Gimli, and brought a matching smile to his face.

“Please call me Gimli. I do not recognize your name, Mahtan, and apologize for that, but am very glad we have met.”

“As am I,” Mahtan said. “I will answer all of your questions very soon. This way...” He led Gimli into the tunnel, and down a very gentle grade. The floor was smooth, and the walls glistened in a way that reminded Gimli of the outer chambers of the caverns of Aglarond in Rohan. Shattered bits of crystal, some quite large, lay scattered on the ground as they passed. As Mahtan led him farther in, and the passageway widened, the daylight from the entrance began to fade into dimness. Soon Mahtan’s steps slowed, then stopped, and Gimli sensed ahead of them a larger opening, although there was now only darkness about them.

“Your journey to the cliffside was a long one,” Mahtan said, and Gimli heard a faint echo of his voice from far-off walls. “I know you must be weary and as in need of food and drink as your companions; we need go no further this day. When you visit again, you may go as far as you like, with me or on your own, and explore whatever passageways call out to you.”

“But what is down here?” Gimli asked in confusion. “You spoke of a Great Work.”

“Watch,” Mahtan said softly. Withdrawing flint and steel from a pocket in his tunic, he produced a hot spark that he touched to something above his head. ‘Lamps’ he had said, but the hollow globe on a tall pedestal that burst suddenly into radiance was larger and more beautiful than any lamp Gimli had seen before, even those of ancient Dwarf-make. Mahtan kindled a second lamp, and then a third farther on, until pure, brilliant light flooded the space before them. Gimli stood rooted where he stood, trying to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.

They stood at the entrance to a cavern, and it was enormous – or would have been, had it not been nearly filled with giant crystals the size of which Gimli had never seen nor even imagined. They grew through the walls and floor like giant fingers in a mad profusion, nearly filling a vast space at least 200 feet deep. The gleam of gold could be seen everywhere, as well as sparkling patches of colored gems. The light seemed to ricochet from every direction, some of it being absorbed by the criss-crossing pillars of crystal in a way that made them appear to glow from within. It was stunning, incredible, a sight, Gimli was certain, beyond the experience of any Dwarf.

Mahtan returned to his side.

“Passageways, both large and narrow, lead in many directions from here,” the elf said, “and plunge deeply into the heart of this side of the island. Even I, after so many millennia, have not explored them all. For the most part, I merely visit to allow the energy and silence fill me, and gather those fragments which the earth has loosened from its grasp.” He turned to Gimli, and was surprised to see tears in the Dwarf’s eyes.

“The forces necessary to produce this...” Gimli could barely speak. “The natural energy of such large crystals, focused in one place...”

“But what of the gold?” Mahtan asked. “Would mining those veins not please you?”

Gimli stared at the elf in astonishment, then reached out to reverently touch the nearest crystalline pillar. “Many wonders have I seen, Mahtan, above ground and below, but this cavern surpasses them all. Nothing here would I touch. This place is...” He shook his head. “You said there was a healing underway. I believe you. What happened to this land, that such tremendous earth-forces should accumulate here?”

Mahtan touched one finger to Gimli’s brow for a moment. “You speak truth. Your heart does not ignite in the presence of this gold.”

Gimli frowned. “The lust for gold has brought more tragedy to my people than I can recount. The Dragon Sickness does not plague me.” He bowed his head in thanksgiving.

“So I have been told.” Mahtan said. “Forgive me for the testing, but I needed to find out for myself. Let us start back to the house, and I will tell you about what you have seen. The lamps will extinguish on their own, after a time.”

Gimli filled his eyes and mind with one more look at the incredible sight, then turned to follow Mahtan back to the surface.

“Saw you the cliffs above,” Mahtan asked as they walked, “how broken and unsettled? And yet over time, the land is calming under Yavanna Kementári's care; she has encouraged plants to grow that can best take root and ease the troubled ground.” His eyes grew distant. “There was once an island isolated in the vast sea, Gimli, which Lord Ulmo caused to travel near to Middle-earth. Upon it a multitude of elves embarked, to be carried across the waters to begin their lives in Valinor. But such stress of movement proved too much for the island, and as the journey westward began, a portion of land broke off and was left behind.  The majority of the island arrived here unhindered, and here it remains.  Understanding the hurt of such a profound disturbance to living rock, Lord Aulë in his compassion – Mahal, as you know him – caused forces within the heart of Arda to be released, bringing forth from the depths those minerals that would grow into crystals of a size to focus the greatest healing energy possible, and encourage this land to settle and find peace. Tol Eressëa this place is called, and it remains high in Mahal’s favor for its part in carrying the Firstborn to these shores. Someday the healing will be complete, and the sundering of old but a distant, gentled memory.”

Gimli shook his head in amazement. “I have never heard this tale, Mahtan. Mahal is first in our histories and our hearts, but to witness such a great work as I saw below, to know that his thoughts and love have been focused here...” He smiled broadly, a great weight lifting from his spirit. “I believe it is this for which I have been searching: to feel closer to the Master, here in the land where he dwells.”

“As this island has been re-rooted, so have you, Gimli,” Mahtan said softly. The tunnel grew brighter, then once again they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun. “I have workshops and a forge nearby. Would you like to see them after your luncheon?”

“Very much,” Gimli said eagerly.

“Would you like to use them?”

Gimli smiled ruefully. “I am honored, Mahtan, but at my age I no longer have the strength for wielding a smith’s hammer. I could bring little to your forge.”

“You could bring a great deal,” Mahtan corrected him. “I have been awaiting inspiration for new works, and am eager to spend time with someone who has traveled far, experienced so much, and shares my love for those things upon which Mahal has poured out his heart and vision. Will you share your tales, sing of your lands, and describe Mahal's wonders across the sea?  In return, here you may enjoy the smelting and fashioning of gold, the faceting and setting of gems, and the carving of soft stone and wood.  These things do not require strength, or youth, but passion, patience, and skill. Have you these things? Does your heart not yearn to bring forth beauty from the Master’s abundant earth?”

“More than you can imagine, and I thank you for this opportunity.” Gimli suddenly looked grave. “The years of our friendship will be brief, I deem. I am old, as my race measures time.”

Mahtan smiled softly. “What is time, to the earth and the stones? We are all but a blink to those who sang Arda into being, and hold us in their hearts.”

Gimli’s eyes glowed with joy, and he bowed deeply to the elf.

“Son of Gloín, all that I have, and all that I know, are yours for the learning, if you so desire it.” Mahtain motioned to the house. “Come.”

** TBC **