A Tale of Valinor

A Tale of Valinor

The stones were still warm to the touch now that dusk was fast approaching, having retained some of the heat the midsummer sun had brought. The railing was smooth in this spot, as if many hands had been placed on it carelessly by those stepping out on the porch of the Last Homely House to watch the goings-on in the courtyard in the course of the centuries, polishing the stone without actually meaning to do so.

Now, two small hands gripped the stones next to the place where two great ones, strong warrior hands, were resting on the railing already, pulling up a little body far enough to enable two curious, dark eyes to gaze down into the courtyard where lamps were being lit while last embraces, kisses and good wishes were exchanged before the travellers mounted their horses and left never to return.

"Are they departing now?" a young voice asked, and the dark eyes briefly looked up to meet a pair of green ones glancing down.

"Yes, Esteloth", the elf replied, and both turned their heads again to watch the cavalcade set off, a fair sight to behold, smiling faces, brightly coloured caps and cloaks, ladies' flimsy veils fluttering in the breeze, horses moving swiftly and hands raised in a last farewell forming a beautiful tableau lit by finely crafted lamps, a last kind picture to be remembered in later days when those who were going to Valinor now had become but a memory, barely present as living and breathing elves even in mind, reduced to the material of fireside tales and vague recollections.

The two figures on the porch watched in silence, probably unaware that they, in turn, formed part of the last sight the riders would take with them as a memory of Imladris, a tall elf in grey robes, the wind playing with his silver hair rather adorned than held by an austere circlet, and a quiet child, dark locks neatly braided, embroidered garments bespeaking wealth, standing and future lordship.

Esteloth's glance had travelled to his parents who had bidden the riders farewell and were walking up the steps leading to the porch and the doors now, accompanied by his uncle Elladan and Glorfindel, one golden head among the dark ones, the stream of fair hair throwing back a last reflection of the courtyard's torchlight when the four of them entered the house and vanished from sight.

Celeborn lingered on the porch, his eyes following a Sindarin lady, one of the women of his granddaughter-in-law, usually bright and merry as a sparrow, but pale and tear-stricken now, who let herself be led away by friendly, if unhelpful relatives, listening patiently to all those useless, well-meant phrases uttered under such circumstances: "Now, now… He is not dead!" – "Just think how happy your husband will be in Valinor, he wished for this to happen so much!" – "You might follow him even now, it is entirely up to you, my dear…"

Celeborn listened as well, a melancholy smile briefly passing over his face. What did those kind, silly people know of losing a spouse to the lure of the sea, of being unable to follow, of coping with the knowledge that a vague hope of happiness beyond those waves had been chosen over a loving, faithful heart?

Scenes like this one revived old pains that he liked to believe dulled by the long years that had passed, as if a fist hit a half-vanished bruise again with great force; it was no pain great enough to die from, for sure, but enough to feel discomfort and a foolish longing for a remedy that could not be given.

Lost in thought, Celeborn had not paid much heed to his great-grandson who had stayed in front of the doors as well; thus, he was almost startled by the child's clear voice: "Why does Lord Glorfindel not ride with them?"

The former Lord of Lórien turned to look at Esteloth, smiling kindly at the expectant face he saw. "To Valinor? I do not know, Esteloth – he may prefer to stay here, with us, or he senses that his time to go has yet to come."

"But they say he was there before!" Esteloth objected. "If it is so wonderful there, why does he not want to return yet?"

"At times, we are not guided by our wishes, but by necessity or things greater than that, and more obscure", Celeborn replied, sadly well aware that this was true in many cases. Nevertheless, the child's question was one he had asked himself several times already, without finding a satisfying answer. Why indeed should a Noldo desire to stay far from the land his people considered as the blessed one, especially now, in this time of comparative peace, when no duty, no loyalty to a lord in need of help, bound him to remain behind in Middle-earth?

"Not guided by our wishes indeed", a third voice remarked with a slight chuckle, coming close to, but just stopping short of derision.

Both Celeborn and Esteloth turned to face the elf who had walked up behind them with light steps, one hand playing with the tassel hanging from his flamboyant hat.

"I am sure you will enlighten us about the true nature of the matter then, Master Erestor", Celeborn replied, his own voice not entirely devoid of slight irony; as much as he appreciated the advisor's original solutions to certain problems, he found it trying, even slightly irritating at times to interact with him in daily life. Erestor's mannerisms, his Noldorin education that showed too clearly and his vanity certainly did not make him an exceedingly bad elf, but on occasion, he could be an annoyance.

It could have been asked why Erestor himself was still lingering in Rivendell instead of having followed his lord and his own Noldorin kinsmen over the sea, but in this case, there was so simple an answer that the question did not even have to be phrased. There was a lady of Nandorin descent, lithe, little and happily married to a certain advisor since the Second Age, who did not show any inclination of travelling to Valinor any time soon, if at all, and Erestor was unlikely to leave without her.

If Celeborn with honest with himself, he had to admit that he felt the slightest bit of unworthy jealousy at this endearing choice of marital love and bliss over whatever promises Aman held for a homesick Noldo, but it was not a sentiment he would ever have mentioned, and least of all to Erestor, who flashed Esteloth a quick smile now, before he met Celeborn's gaze again.

"If you bid me speak, my lord, I shall certainly oblige", he replied, "for it is an interesting problem that you have mentioned here. Why, indeed, would Glorfindel, who has begun two lives in Valinor and has come to Middle-earth twice, only to find much strife and suffering, ultimately even death, here, stay now that we have seen long, peaceful years that are not going to end too soon?"

Celeborn would have liked to solve this riddle in another way than by hearing it explained by an obnoxious Noldorin advisor, but Esteloth looked intrigued; so it was mainly to indulge him that the elf-lord gave a curt nod now. "Pray speak then."

Erestor had obviously only waited for this permission to commence his lecture: "It is widely known that those who have been to Valinor, or have not been there, but have fully grasped what it is and means nevertheless, feel a strong wish to go there, a longing that will never vanish. If anything can hold those affected by it back from sailing one day, it is that they have formed strong ties over here, ties with the land, its trees, hills, mountains, and rivers, the merry woodland birds, the special gleam of the sun on the water, the way the stars are to be seen here at night… Or ties of another nature, not bound to place or time."

For one moment, the eyes of the two elves locked, and briefly, Celeborn asked himself if this silly Noldo with all his allures and flaws understood the quiet grief that the parting of those who had left for Valinor today had brought him better than most; but the split second passed, and Erestor's gaze moved on.

"This may be ties of love, which is not given in Glorfindel's case, or ties of friendship, of service and duty… These latter things could doubtlessly be true, but as he could feel equally duty-bound to Lord Elrond, who has already departed, they cannot be the only reason.

Indeed, we may be asking our question in the wrong way – we should not ask what binds him here, but why he does not feel drawn to Valinor. He could be sick of all the joys and pleasures life over there offers in abundance, but admittedly, that is a thing unheard of – or it might simply be that life in Valinor lacks one thing, true dangers and risks… No Balrogs to be found there, alas, no fell creatures that have to be fought… And mock duels are a dull thing after some time, really."

"There is no Balrog here, either… There are no Balrogs any more." Esteloth pointed out, perhaps intent upon showing that he had paid attention to the history lessons he had received.

Erestor chuckled. "A wise observation, Lord Esteloth – and, indeed, in these times of peace, there is little to do for a great warrior and hero… Of course, I dare not assume that he merely stays in the hope of new war and strife, secretly sharpening his sword every night and praying for new orc-wars, human conquerors, disgruntled dwarves or even the next kinslaying!"

"You wished to give us the reasons Glorfindel has, not the things that might be his reasons, but are not." Celeborn reminded him, getting somewhat impatient with Erestor's way of dragging out the answer in a long speech instead of even trying to be concise.

Perhaps his expression was grim enough to scare the worthy advisor a little; at least, he inclined his head. "Yes, my lord, I was coming to that…" Looking around if noone else was listening, he leant a bit closer to Celeborn and Esteloth, and with a gleeful little smile that would have been more appropriate on the face of some notorious gossiper, he whispered: "The pure and simple truth is that he had gambling debts over there – debts of a height that made it a sufficiently reasonable assumption that the friends and relatives he had over there would not be ready any more to help him out, so that he would either have been stripped to his shirt if he had lingered but a day longer, or would have been forced to soil his fair, noble hands with base work in the service of his creditors for quite a few decades, if not centuries! So he took the last silver he had hidden in a safe place, bribed a fisherman and was ferried across to the Havens… You were right, Lord Celeborn – great need dictated his choice in the matter, as simple as that… Now, what his wishes are, I do not know."

Esteloth gave a delighted giggle, remembering his manners just in time to try to stifle it, though without much success. Celeborn snorted a little, torn between laughter and doubt. "Are you certain that you are not merely repeating one of his most adventurous tales, or one of the even more adventurous rumours spread about him?"

Erestor's brows rose. "My lord, what are you implying? I would never dare to engage in slander or the mere spreading of false rumours… Instead, to prove my honesty, I shall tell you how I learnt the truth.

One evening during the War of the Ring, Glorfindel and I chose to engage in a game of dice, to take our minds off the pressing worries for a while, and while he was doubtlessly hoping for my supplies of fine wine in case he won, he lost, and I named truth as the prize I wished to claim… So, perforce, he answered my question what had brought him back here after his reincarnation – and I will admit that hoping for an answer to this very question had inspired me to play this game in the very first place."

"Honestly won, I assume", Celeborn said, making no attempt to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

"Of course, my lord", Erestor replied, flipping back the tassel over one shoulder with a graceful movement of his head, "but I would not have lost it. Oh! I believe they are calling for me in the hall… So, by your leave…" Giving both Celeborn and the child a quick nod, hardly reverent enough to pass for a bow, he spun around and disappeared.

Esteloth stared after him thoughtfully. "He knows how to beat Lord Glorfindel at playing dice", he observed quite correctly. "Do you think he would tell me, if I asked him nicely? I might play dice with Glorfindel then, and maybe win the bit of Balrog skin he keeps in that silver box in his room… You know, the piece of the Balrog's tail that got caught between the rocks and that the Lady Idril cut off as a memento after Glorfindel's death, and that he received from her in Valinor?"

Celeborn laughed out loud. "That is a most cunning plan", he assured the child, "but I would not ask Erestor – given the tale we just heard about Glorfindel, I believe that you could even beat him at any given gambling game without knowing Erestor's secret magic if you so desire that bit of a Balrog's tail."

Lowering his voice to a conspiratory whisper, he added: "But we could also go into the forest tomorrow so that I can teach you to hunt that special sort of Balrog… I even believe I saw valiant Lord Glorfindel fight that particular specimen that provided that bit of skin."

"You did?" Esteloth queried, eyes wide, and Celeborn could not tell whether the little one's surprise at Glorfindel's fraud or at the fact that his great-grandfather knew all about it was greater.

"Yes, Esteloth", he said with a quiet chuckle. "But this is a tale that is too long to be told now; ask me for it again on our hunt tomorrow. Let us go inside now."

And, with a gaze up at the pale sky of the summer night, allowing himself to wonder for just one hopeful moment if it could have escaped him over the years of his marriage that his wife was, in fact, a passionate gambler, he turned to walk into the hall with its life and laughter.

Finis