Laurië Lassi – Golden Leaves by Esteliel

Loyalty

Loyalty

His father's face has hardened; his mother's face shows her grief more openly.

He loves his parents, just as he loves the land of his childhood. It calls to him: his father's vineyards, the gentle, green pastures and hills, brooks and rivers and forests so glorious, so peaceful that he feels a thousand yéni will not suffice to fully appreciate their beauty.

Sometimes he wondered if this land was made wondrous only by recollection, by the stark difference to the strife and death he saw in Ennor. But now that he has a body to experience once more, he glories in the beauty that has not changed since he left. His childhood comes to life around him once more.

How can he, who has experienced death and grief, desire to leave Aman again? There is no king now to whom he owes allegiance. Turgon is gone, as is all the glory of the Noldorin kings. And there is peace to be found here, the familiarity of home, the love of family – yet something still calls out to him. There is an awareness deep within him of how darkness will taint the Ennor he loves, too, if no one stands against it.

“I can make a difference.” Grief paints further lines onto his mother's face. “I will make a difference. I do not go because I seek greater glory or power, nor do I follow an oath, or the call of allegiance. But I know that this is the right thing to do. I can see it – a single ray of light that by chance may cut through the clouds and banish all darkness. Something calls me, mother. I am needed.”

His mother looks at him with pain in her eyes. She has lost a son – a bright, impetuous youth – only to have a stranger returned to her home, a stern, grown man well used to wielding power.

“If you go, then know this,” she says, calling on the gift of foresight that runs through her blood, too. “Temptation will meet you should you return to Endórë. Once more you will know pain and grief. And if you fail your testing, you will sink into darkness, and be truly lost to us.”

Glorfindel exhales slowly. “But... there is more, is there not?” He takes her hand. “I cannot see it, but I feel it. There is more.”

Istime sees a slender figure, a lovely youth with hair the color of wheat. Most impossibly of all, she sees her son with a child in his arms, the sun shining onto the riot of golden curls that crown both their heads.

She turns the vision in her mind for a moment, noting the love in her son's eyes, the pride, and feels a sudden, unexpected desire swell in her own heart in answer. Long ago she ceased to image what it would be like to hold a grandchild in her arms, but she has been blessed with a beautiful, loving son and never thought to question Eru's will.

She does not know what the vision means, nor how it will come about, but she understands all of a sudden why her son feels that he needs to go. It is the call of love, or so she hopes, and that is a call impossible to resist.

“I see light and darkness – love and hate.” She hesitates. “When the time comes, choose well, my son.”