If Death is Kind by Naltariel

---

Solitude

---

 

 

Chapter III: Solitude

 

It was hard to reconcile the grim, forbidding voice known for pronouncing dooms with the warm comforting presence beside him. Námo had been guiding Glorfindel through the alleys in the Hall; the hand on the elf’s shoulder was gentle and reassuring. They met several beings, Maia, judging by the depth of their eyes, but he saw no other elven spirit.

 

“Where are we going, my Lord?” he asked warily. He had some ideas of what confinement in the Hall meant, though of course they were all mere rumours. It was said that slain elves would dwell long in this hall, and would yearn for their bodies, yet would find no respite until they were rehoused. Glorfindel could only hope he could endure it.

 

“We are going to your room, Glorfindel,” Námo answered, breaking the elf from his depressing thoughts. Glorfindel was unsatisfied with the answer, but reluctant to press on. After all he would find out soon what Námo meant by "his room".

 

The alleys were dimly lit like the main hall. There were wooden doors along the alleys. Námo explained that each belonged to an elf that resided in this place, so he or she might find solitude and peace. The Hall itself was quiet, but peaceful, and aside from his earlier bleak impression, it was not threatening. Now and then Glorfindel could hear some lamentations and songs, perhaps sung by the servants of Nienna or even Nienna herself. They brought tears to his eyes, but he did not feel grief or sorrow, for the songs were soothing, like a balm to his weary fëa.

 

Finally they reached a wooden door. It looked the same as any other door, but somehow Glorfindel felt himself drawn to it. Námo stopped and unlocked the door with a key that suddenly appeared in his hand, another magic of this place no doubt. The door opened, and he beckoned the elf to enter.

 

The elf stepped through the threshold with apprehension, half-expecting to find a cell-like chamber inside. Instead he found the chamber to be quite spacious; its size was comparable to his childhood room, though not nearly as large as the one he had owned in Gondolin. The furniture inside was simple, but homey. They appeared to be made of oak with few leaf carvings as decorations. There was a large comfortable-looking bed in the middle of the room, two nightstands with drawers, a table with two chairs on the corner, a small cupboard, and two lanterns on the wall as the only source of light in the room. The space was not as dim as the hall outside, but neither was it as bright as he would have liked it to be. It was as if the room was in perpetual twilight. Glorfindel wished there was a window to look outside, but this was far better than a dark, cold prison cell he had expected. He released his breath he was unconsciously holding.

 

 “Thank you,” he said to Námo.

 

The Lord of the Dead looked amused; it was a rather disconcerting sight. “In truth, there is no furniture and you are but a naked fëa before my eyes. This is all just an illusion, just like the body and clothes you are wearing, but it will make it easier for the Eldar’s souls to cope while they take their sojourn here.”

 

Glorfindel shivered despite himself for the reminder of his houseless state.

 

The Vala’s gazed at him sympathetically. “Despite what you think, we are not cruel, and we never seek to torment Eruhini who have been trusted to our care.”

 

Námo led Glorfindel to the bed. “Rest now,” he ordered softly. “When your fëa is refreshed we will talk more.”

 

The elf sat on the bed and nodded. The Vala went to lock the door, then handed him the key. Not expecting the gesture, Glorfindel looked up, startled.

 

“Regardless of how your people name it, this Hall is no prison, save to the evil ones,” said the Vala, looking amused once again. “We will not confine you to this room, you are free to roam this Hall and seek your kin and beloved ones. The key is more to your benefit than to ours, so that you can lock the door when you do not wish to be disturbed. It will not keep out me or my servants, of course, but you need not worry about that.”

 

Glorfindel flushed. It was easy to forget that in reality he was an unhoused fëa, and that his thoughts were open like a book to the Being beside him. It was disconcerting to be utterly exposed without any means to hide his feelings and thoughts.

 

“Sleep--you think too much,” Namo chided him gently.

 

The elf lay down on the bed, not bothering to slip under the covers, and promptly fell asleep.

 

He dreamed of a vast celandine field in summer, gentle breeze, and the warmth of the sun kissing his skin. For the first time since a very long time, the golden Lord of Gondolin felt at peace.

 

* * *

 

Glorfindel awoke from his sleep feeling well rested and at peace. He whispered his gratitude to Irmo for his pleasant dream and to Námo for his thoughtfulness. Perhaps staying in this place would not be a hardship, as he had previously thought. Lady Míriel did choose to stay here until the end of Arda after all, so it could not be as bad, for who would willingly stay in prison when they had committed no crime?

 

The golden-haired elf sat up, combing his mussed hair with his hand. He did not know how long he had slept. There was no way to mark the passing of time here. There was no window to see if it was night or day. He felt no hunger or thirst. His arms did not ache, though he had fallen asleep in an awkward position. He reminded himself that he actually had no body; this was just an illusion.

 

He was dead, fallen when his beloved city was sacked and his people killed.

 

The realization opened the gates of his memory of his death, how he had burned as he fell, the sickening smell of seared flesh and skin, the agony beyond endurance, the enraged roar of the Balrogs drowning his own scream of pain, the bone-shattering impact of his fall, the moment when he drew his last breath and his fëa cried out as it was torn apart forcefully from its house.

 

Even worse than that was the memory of when his city fell. Their beautiful city burned; everything for which they had worked so hard, destroyed. The sound of terrible screaming as the Morgoth’s foul creatures slaughtered them with glee, as if the Gondolidrims were no more than animals, insects. He saw children being cleaved and throttled, babies torn away from their mothers’ wombs, women raped, his people mutilated, burned, speared, crushed.

 

Oh, how he had failed them all! The weight of his grief made him collapse back to the bed, weeping uncontrollably.

 

From afar, he could hear the echo of his lamentations being sung, either by the Valië of Sorrow or her servants. It was sad, but beautiful, and most of all, it showed that Someone had heard, had understood, and perhaps, had also shared their pain.

 

Glorfindel clung to it as he mourned for his city and his people, holding on to hope that their pain was not in vain.

 

* * *

 

Despite his concern for his fellow comrades, Glorfindel felt no compulsion to seek them. He was content to sit on his bed, immersed in the memories of his life, both the good and the bad. Sometimes he would weep; sometimes he would laugh, though it was marred by the tears falling unbidden from his eyes. It was as if even the happiest brightest memories of his life were sullied by his pain and guilt. What would his father think of him now? He had disappointed his father utterly. The House of the Golden Flower was no more.

 

He tried to sleep, but he rarely found peace. His inner turmoil bred nightmares that plagued his dreams.  Thus he preferred to stay awake. At least memories could be dispelled whenever he wished, though it was not an easy task. Without the distraction of his bodily needs or other physical sensations, he felt each of his mental anguishes keenly.

 

There was no hunger, thirst, pain, lust, hot, or cold. He could clench his fists until his knuckles went white but felt nothing; he could bite his lips with all his strength, and felt no pain and drew no blood. He could cry, sob, and wail as hard as he could and as long as he wanted but his throat would not be sore. In frustration he tried to bite off one of his fingers just to see if he could do it. He could not. There was no smell either. He must have stayed here for days, weeks, months, or even years, and never had he washed his body, but he could smell nothing. It was as if he had lost all of his senses save his sight and hearing. But there was nothing worth seeing in the plain room, and he could only hear the lamentations of the Mourners aside from his own voice, so that too, did not help.

 

Perhaps this was what it meant for an unhoused fëa to yearn for a hröa. He tried to endure, but it was hard. The thought that he, perhaps, would not be rehoused for an indefinite time, possibly until the end of Arda, was frightening.

 

* * *

 

Glorfindel did not know how long he had been in the room as there was no way to tell the passage of time here, when he heard a knock on his door. The golden-haired elf did not hear it at first, so preoccupied he was in his misery. But the knocker was persistent and not a little patient. After a while, the sound registered to Glorfindel. At first, he thought that he had heard wrongly or that he was having a hallucination after his prolonged solitude in this dull place. He shook his head and tried to clear his mind, but the sound continued.

 

More of curiosity than a real desire to meet another person, he asked, “Who is there?”

 

“It is I,” the grave voice that Glorfindel knew belonged to Námo answered.

 

The golden-haired elf took few moments to he regain his composure. He took a few deep breaths to dispel his previous grim thought before he unlocked the door.

 

Glorfindel bowed his head slightly and stepped aside, allowing the Vala to enter. Námo took a seat in one of the chairs and gestured the elf to do the same, which he did after he closed the door.

 

“How are you faring, Glorfindel?” The voice was expressionless as always.

 

 “I’m … well, my Lord,” the elf replied.

 

Námo raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t ask the question for courtesy’s sake, child. Answer me truthfully.”

 

“I …” Glorfindel struggled to find a word that would best convey his feeling, but it was not easy. He wanted to tell how much the memory pained him, but at the same time he wanted to preserve his dignity. “I grieve,” he finally said.

 

“And it hurts you,” the Vala remarked.

 

Glorfindel nodded. He looked away from the Being’s penetrating eyes, unwilling to share more.

 

“Yet you don’t seem inclined to seek comfort either from your kin or from someone else. You are content to stay here, drowning in self-loathing and despair,” Námo stated matter-of-factly.

  

Glorfindel flinched at the words, “I’m sorry, my Lord,” he said, ashamed of his behavior. Once a proud lord and captain of Gondolin, and here he was, wallowing in self-pity and misery like a lovesick maiden.

 

The Vala dismissed his apology with a wave of his hand. “You do not need to apologize to me. It is just an observation. It amuses and confuses me that almost every elven fëa behaves like you do. In fact, despite how much you claim to love each other and are unable to part from each other while you are alive, when you come here, every one of you prefer solitude, no matter how miserable you are, until my sister and I half-coerce you to meet your kin and beloved ones. Why is that, I wonder?”

 

Glorfindel could not answer the question, but he did not think the Vala expected him to. The Being seemed to be merely wondering aloud. It did surprise him, however, to hear that the Valar did not know about this phenomenon more than he did. He had thought that, being Valar, they must know everything, especially concerning the matter of their dominion. He could not decide if it was a good or bad thing.

 

“If you were any other elf, I would let you brood for some more before pushing you to end your self-imposed solitude. However, it seems that you still have a role to play in the history of your people that is yet unfolding; thus I will have to hasten your recovery.”

 

“Role?” Glorfindel inquired, bewildered. “But I’m dead.”

 

“I notice,” Námo replied dryly.

 

Glorfindel stared at the Vala, not expecting the witty comeback and from one who looked so somber. 

 

Ignoring the elf’s surprise, the Vala continued, “In any case, you are right. While you still dwell here, you will be useless to the living. Therefore you will be released from my Hall in a short while.”

 

“The condition of my release is that I must as you said ‘see the error of my ways, and vow not to pass on the strange custom I followed'?” Glorfindel said carefully.

 

“’Tis true.”

 

“In that case, I am afraid I might never leave your Hall. I have no remorse for my ways of life or the customs I have adapted when I dwelled in Endorë, nor have I desire to fake it just to be released from this Hall. I have failed Ecthelion and his people in my failure to save him and protect our city. I will not betray him further by renouncing what he has taught me.”

 

“You prefer to stay here, in this half existence that pains you, just so you will not betray your principle and your lover,” Námo said.

 

“We are not lovers,” Glorfindel muttered. “We are friends. The best of friends, but not lovers.”

 

“Fine, your friend." The Vala seemed to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “My point still stands.”

 

“As is mine. Lover or not, I care about him, and will never betray him or my other Sindarin friends who has stood beside us in the battle against Morgoth, nor will I compromise my belief.”

 

Námo pondered the elf’s words for a while. “I have told you that you still have a role in the shaping of Arda and, of course, the fate of your people. You truly place the importance of your principle and your friends above them?”

 

“With all due respect, it was not I that made the condition of my release from your Hall so complicated, even impossible, as I still cannot see how you make me feel regret when there is none,” Glorfindel countered. “Unless, of course, you break me,” he added.

 

The Vala looked affronted. “We are no Morgoth to do such things! How preposterous it is for you to suggest that we, the servants of Eru, will torment those who are entrusted to our care!”

 

Glorfindel quickly regretted his words. “I apologize for my crude words, my Lord. I spoke without thinking.”

 

That did not appear to appease Námo. “It is how you see us, child? That we are so heartless as to break your spirit to bend you to our will?” the Vala said, clearly disappointed.

 

“No! Of course not, my Lord.”

 

Námo looked at him with pained eyes while Glorfindel fidgeted on his seat, feeling guilty for causing the Vala distress; after all the Lord of the Doom had treated him kindly and had shown him some measure of warmth and compassion. Finally, Námo released his gaze and Glorfindel breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“So, what are you going to do now, Lord? Do you seek to edify me with reason about my mistakes so that I will repent?”

 

“You must understand this, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower,” the Vala explained. “I have never cared for any custom concerning physical desire, for they do not exist here, and as you actually possess no body, gender is of no importance.

 

“Furthermore, Nienna and I will be thrilled if we are able to coax you to interact with each other, even resume or build intimacies. We will be ecstatic,” Námo said wryly, “to see you entangle yourselves in an intricate love affair if it will pull you out of your self-pity; at least then you’ll show some passion. The Elven Law and Custom has always been my brother’s domain, for he deals with the living, and it was that concern that shaped your doom I pronounced.”

 

“Then his concern is misplaced!” Realizing he had been carried away once again, Glorfindel contained himself. “Sorry,” he murmured.

 

The Vala dismissed it with a shrug. “He has his reasons, flawed though you think it is.”

 

“Is preventing the elves from Aman from being tainted by my ‘strange custom’ more important than my upcoming role?”

 

“I did not foresee your fate until after your Doom was pronounced,” Námo explained. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not invincible, nor are we all-knowing. As it is, we cannot change the condition of your release, and I am not sure if Lord Manwë will want to anyway. There are some things that he highly values, and the propriety of your love lives is one of them it seems.” Glorfindel noticed there was a hint of exasperation in the Vala’s voice.  

 

“Since Lord Manwë will not relent and I will not see ‘the error of my ways,’ as you put it, then I’m afraid I will have to stay here,” the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower insisted.

 

Námo sighed, exasperated. “Perhaps what my wife will show you will change your mind. Come then, let us see what the All Father has inspired her to weave concerning you and the future of your people.”

 

The Vala stood and walked to the door, beckoning Glorfindel to follow him. The elf did, though a part of him wanted to decline, still resentful after their talk. Even in death he could find no peace.

 

* * *  

---

Chapter End Notes

Betaed by Dawn Felagund. Thanks!