If Death is Kind by Naltariel

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Judgment

 

Chapter II: Judgment

 

The Ring of Doom was quiet, but forbidding. Aside from the Mandos' Hall, this was another place that the elves of Aman took great care to avoid. It was dark, illuminated only by light from the bright stars and few Ainu-made lamps that shone with eerie bluish glow. There were twelve thrones surrounding it, taller than any throne Glorfindel had ever seen. Each was made from finest marble and decorated with carvings of Valarin symbols that were alien to the elf. The floor on which Glorfindel stood was made from polished granite, which reflected the night sky on its glassy surface. From the rustling leaves, there must be wind blowing, but Glorfindel could not feel it. Perhaps because he was already dead.  The elf felt fear once again, especially when he remembered the harsh words of his people’s Curse. There would be no mercy on them.  

 

But the Valar were not present yet, save for Mandos who had brought him here. Glorfindel then took time to examine himself as he had not done after his death.

 

He found that he appeared to be whole in body. There was no burn marks of the Balrog’s fire that had melted his skin, nor cuts and bruises from his earlier fights. There was not a speck of dirt on him either. As for his clothing, he was unsurprised to find himself clad in plain grey tunic and leggings; his hair was unbraided. He supposed that in death one should expect to be stripped of his title and wealth. Still, he could not help but feel unsettled by his appearance. It made him feel humbled and vulnerable, especially in front of the majestic beings that would be his judges.

 

Suddenly he felt the presence of the twelve Valar assigned by the Ilúvatar to guard the earth and Eruhini. One by another they filled the thrones around him. Every one of them was beautiful and terrible in their magnificence; with luminous eyes that shown the depth of their might and wisdom. They shone brightly, as if their fana were mere thin silks that veiled their inner light. Glorfindel had met some of them during his childhood in the Blessed Realm, but their visage had been different then, gentler and not so overpowering. This time, they did not feel the need to conceal their presence as it coalesced and swirled around the elf. The air hummed and crackled at the mingling of their force.

 

Glorfindel felt awe and fear, consciously aware that he was small and insignificant in front of the Beings who had helped the All Father to shape this earth. He knelt, offering them his reverence.

 

 “Stand and face us, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower,” commanded a Voice from the middle throne, which Glorfindel surmised belong to Manwë Súlimo, the High King of Arda, who sat right in front of him on the largest and most beautiful throne.

 

The elf stood and looked up.  

 

Manwë had deep blue and penetrating eyes, which made Glorfindel quickly look away. The lady beside him was Varda, the Queen of the Stars. Her raiment was dark blue as the night, and her hair was the color of the moonless sky. She wore a circlet with a single star as her sigil. Her eyes were brighter than any stars, beautiful beyond words.

 

Lord Námo sat on the Elder King’s right, his expression still grim and unreadable. Beside him must be his wife, Vairë the Weaver. Lord Ulmo, who looked very different from the other Valar for his blue skin, sat on Varda's left. He looked thoughtful. He seemed to give a slight nod to Glorfindel, though the elf could not be sure. Perhaps it was just his imagination. The Valië beside Vairë was probably Nienna. She wore a grey dress. Her eyes were sorrowful, but also kind and compassionate. Glorfindel could not clearly see the other Valar without turning around, but he could feel their great presence surrounding him.

 

Lord Manwë nodded slightly, pleased by his compliance. “Let us begin,” he said. The other Valar murmured in agreement.

 

Despite his resolve, the gallant Lord of Gondolin could not help but shudder as he was forced to relive his life, from his childhood to his coming of age, from his first meeting with Turgon, to their budding friendship and Glorfindel’s father's decision to swear fealty to the son of Fingolfin. Harder to bear still were his memories of the Kinslaying, though he had been too horrified by the monstrous act and refused to take part it in at once, then his journey through the Grinding Ice that had claimed his father and sister’s life, forcing Glorfindel to take the lordship for his house at a young age, followed by the loss of his innocence, then his first battle, his first kill, first wound, first trauma, losing his people to death and pain without proper chance to mourn them, for he had to continue the fight else he would be slain himself.

 

He remembered when he followed his lord to build the hidden city, hopeful to find peace again after long hard years of battle and struggle to survive. His memory brought him back to the time when he had escorted his lord’s sister and facing Turgon’s wrath for the first time when they lost her. It was clear to him now the meaning of the deep feeling of foreboding when he first saw Maeglin and then Tuor. Finally, the hardest of all, the memory of the attack to his supposedly protected city, the horror, the panic, the fear, his grief as he was forced to leave his city to destruction to guard his lord’s family, his resignation to death as he faced the monstrous creature that was beyond his skill.

 

It was too much, the pain was still too fresh. He fell to his knees, weeping inconsolably as he saw again how the city was burned, ransacked, his comrades, his friends who died fighting to save the city. Oh, how he had failed his lord, his people, his father!

 

Still sobbing, he felt himself being drawn gently into a protective embrace. He also heard the being weep with him; the sound of their mourning echoed loudly in the silence of the place. Glorfindel felt wetness of the Vala’s tears seep through his skin, and he felt himself strangely strengthened by it.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, after the tears subsided, ashamed of his weaknesses, and worse, for causing one of the Valar to weep on his behalf.

 

“Nothing to be sorry of,” said Nienna kindly. “Is it not my purpose to comprehend the pain of Eruhini and reflect the marring of Arda? Your grief is true, borne out of love instead of selfishness, and you honor me by sharing it with me.”

 

“Thank you,” Glorfindel murmured.

 

“You are most welcome,” replied the Valië, “but your judgment is not concluded yet. Stand, and answer to your deeds.” Lady Nienna smiled at him gently and went back to her throne.

 

Glorfindel winced at the words. It was not over yet. He should have expected it; he would not be dismissed so easily. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath to comport himself, willing himself to stand up. He clenched his fists, steadying his trembling legs. Then he exhaled and opened his eyes. Straightening himself, he faced his judges once again.

 

“Glorfindel of Golden Flower, what say you for the accusation of slaying your own kin?”  asked Lord Námo, grim in his countenance. 

 

“I plead not guilty, my Lord.” He had been barely past his majority when the Kinslaying occurred. He remembered how all his family, including him, had tried hard to stop the atrocities but failed. Surely the Valar would not hold their failure against him?

 

The Lord of Arda’s gaze bore through his eyes, searching for deceit and finding none. Glorfindel met his gaze steadily; he had spoken no falsehood and saw no reason to fear. After a while, Lord Manwë nodded, satisfied with the answer. The Lord of the Golden Flower felt his tension eased. “Continue,” Lord Manwë ordered.

 

Again the Lord of the Dead rose and spoke “Glorfindel of Golden Flower, what say you for the accusation of rebellion against the Valar?”

 

 He pondered the question for a while and answered, “I plead not guilty, my Lord.”

 

Lord Manwë raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised by the response. Again his gaze pierced through the elf lord’s fëa, longer and more intense than before. It was as if there was another presence in his mind, prodding around his memories and thoughts without permission, and it was highly unpleasant. Still, Glorfindel met his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to be cowed, though it was not an easy task. The intrusion of his mind annoyed him greatly and it served to strengthen his resolve instead.

 

Finally the Elder King released his gaze. Glorfindel found himself sighing in relief before he could stop himself.   

 

“You truly believe you have not committed transgression against us? Have you no remorse at all?” the Elder King inquired once again.

 

“My Lord, long I have pondered if we did indeed rebel against you by leaving the shores of Aman. But then I committed no Kinslaying. I remembered your messenger had said that we were free to go, only that you would not lend us aid. I could not speak for others, but my family and I committed no crime. What we did was foolish, for you had warned us that we would never be able to face Morgoth and prevail, but we did not rebel, my Lord. Had you forbidden us directly, my father would have stayed, for although he was loyal to Prince Turgon, never would he directly disobey your words.”

 

“So you say the fault lies with us.” Manwë’s tone was mild, but the underlying displeasure could not be hidden.

 

Glorfindel flinched and lowered his eyes. “No, of course not, my Lord.”

 

For a long time there was no answer. The elf forced himself not to fidget, his anxiety mounting with every second. Perhaps he should not gainsay the High King of Arda, the most powerful being in Arda after Eru himself. But he could not lie either nor fake remorse when he felt none.

 

“Glorfindel,” called the Elder King again. The elf looked up. The Vala’s face was unreadable. “Let us proceed to our next question.”

 

Lord Námo spoke again, “Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, what say you for the accusation of breaking Law and Custom of the Eldar?”

 

Glorfindel was silent. He had lost his innocence even before he reached his majority in the frozen hell of Helcaraxë. He and Turgon were mad with grief then, having lost the people closest to them; he had lost his father and Turgon his dear wife, who was also Glorfindel’s sister. Amidst their sorrow, they had lain together; their desire to forget their pain and despair had driven them to seek comfort in each other in a way that had breached their law and custom. They woke up in anxiety and guilt, and never spoke of the night again.

 

Then came Ecthelion.

 

Ecthelion was a Sinda, a Moriquendi that scoffed the law and custom enforced upon them by the newcomers. He insisted that the Noldor were the ones who were supposed to adapt themselves to the law of the Sindarin people. Middle-earth was no Valinor. Once your spouse or beloved died, there would be no way for you to be reunited with your beloved unless you were slain yourself. The dead, if they would be reembodied, would stay in Valinor, prohibited to come back to their homeland. Likewise, the living could not sail to Valinor for the Valar had blocked the way. Should they forgo comfort and companionship, suffering loneliness and grief for unaccounted years waiting for something that was not certain? Or should they seize every day they had, for in their battle against Morgoth, who would know for certain if that day would be their last? As for the gender of their partners, Ecthelion too had deemed it unimportant, for love should not have boundaries.

 

It was Ecthelion who had first taught him the pleasure of the flesh, though their love for each other never surpassed that of deepest friendship. Their hearts lay elsewhere, both unreachable to them.

 

 “Glorfindel, what do you say for the accusation?” Lord Námo prompted again, breaking the Elda’s reverie.

 

“I … I … do not know, my Lord,” he answered.

 

“Do not know? Did you not break the law and custom of your people? We have seen it in your memory. Do you wish to deny it also? Unlike the Doom of the Exiles that you argued about, the Law and Custom clearly states that every Elda shall share his body only with his spouse of the opposite sex, and their binding will last until Arda ends.  You have shared your body with several people, first with your already bound lord and your own brother-in-law! Then you did it with several others without binding yourself to them, and all with elves of the same gender as you. After all these, you dare to say you do not know if you have violated the Law and Custom of your people?”

 

The tone of the voice was calm, but sent a shiver of fear down Glorfindel’s spine.

 

Varda looked thoughtful for sometime then spoke, "You and your kins' action also bring forth great repercussions. According to the law, since you have lain with several elves, some of whom had lain with others, and some of whom were already bound before you started to follow the ways of the Moriquendi, it means that you have several bound mates. But how do we determine who is bound to whom?”

 

“We should consider this matter with great care, lest we blunder,” spoke a Vala beside Nienna. Glorfindel turned instinctively. From his calm demeanor and soft, comforting gaze, the elf supposed it was Lord Irmo. The other Valar murmured in agreement.

 

 The Valar then seemed to converse among themselves, though they used no words. Their eyes darted here and there, their brows lightly furrowed in concentration. In few blinks of the eye, they were finished. Their expressions were solemn once more.

 

Manwë spoke, “We have heard and evaluated your case. Kneel and accept your Doom, Glorfindel of Golden Flower.”

 

The elf lord knelt, heart pounding in anxiety. He once again prayed to the All Father, though he did not know for what.

 

Námo spoke, his voice as terrible as the day the Exiled were doomed. “You have shown no contrition for your rebellion and your sins against the Law and Custom of your people. You also have shown unwavering loyalty to your people and your duty. You sacrificed your life so others might live. That action alone should wipe away all of your previous transgressions. But your unwillingness to repent will hinder your release from my care, for we cannot allow your disregard for the Law and Custom to mar the society of the Eldar in Valinor. Thus, I will pronounce your Doom such as this: that you will stay in my halls until I deem you worthy of release, which will occur when you have seen the error of your ways and vowed not to teach the strange customs you have followed to the elves of Aman. Furthermore, since you have tainted yourself by sharing your body with those who are not your bound mate, you shall take no spouse or lay with any elves who are untouched in this Blessed Realm. Should you attempt to disregard this sentence, you will be exiled from this land until Arda ends.”

 

Hearing the sentence, Glorfindel sank unto the floor, burying his face in his hands. He did not know what he was supposed to feel at the sentence, only overwhelming relief that it was over.

 

“Come, let us return to my hall.” Glorfindel felt Námo’s presence beside him. The Lord of Doom’s voice was softer now.  The golden-haired elf stood, feeling Námo’s hand on his shoulder.

 

A blink of an eye, and he was back to the Hall of Waiting, where he would stay until the Vala deemed it prudent to release him.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Beta-ed by the fabulous Dawn Felagund. Thanks, Dawn!

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