If Death is Kind by Naltariel

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Tapestries of Fate

Chapter IV:  Tapestries of Fate

 

Strange how death could change an elf, Eönwë thought as he beheld Laurefindil, the golden son of Alcarin, the Lord of the Los’Loriol, one of the noblest houses of the Eldar.

 

He had been summoned to the Hall by the Lady Weaver earlier without her mentioning why. It was rare for a Maia to be summoned by a Vala who was not his direct superior. Moreover, Vairë had warned him not to tell Lord Manwë of this meeting, which made the herald more than a little wary. Nevertheless, it was fascinating to learn about the life of an Elda, and of the greatest heroes of them nonetheless! His office as the Herald of Manwë had not given him a lot of chances to interact with the Firstborn save as a messenger. This was the first time he witnessed the life of an elf with all its tragedies and pain so intimately. 

 

The Maia had been fascinated by the elf ever since Laurefindil was brought to the Taniquetil to receive the blessing from Manwë and Varda as was custom for any prince born of Vanyarin blood. Barely past his majority, the youth already looked striking: his blue eyes shone with the light of the Trees and his fiery fëa, his golden hair flowed down like spun gold, braided with white gems and golden ornaments befitting a Vanyarin prince. He stood tall and proud, chin lifted high, though there was no arrogance or defiance in him, only confidence brought by his noble upbringing and self assurance of his place among his people. The young prince gave respect to the Elder King and Lady and revered the Valar as all his people did. Eönwë had been surprised when Alcarin had decided to follow his daughter’s husband to exile.

 

In one of the Vairë’s tapestries, Eönwë had seen how the elf grew amidst the hardship, pain and grief that had haunted every Exile since they stepped out of the security of the Blessed Realm. Laurefindil, who was now called Glorfindel, had matured into one of the most valiant and noble Lords of the Eldar. The Maia had seen the elf, battle-weary and grief-stricken, but still determined and brave whilst battling the terrible foe that clearly outmatched him in one of Vairë's tapestries.

 

This time Glorfindel simply looked lost and forlorn. Without his customary royal braids and clad only in a plain grey tunic that was the typical attire for the fëar of the dead in this Hall, the golden-haired elf looked humbled. His clear blue eyes were shadowed, and his shoulders were hunched. He looked whole in body, but Eönwë could sense with the spiritual ability that was natural for all Ainur that the elf’s fëa was clearly wounded and weary.

 

Eönwë felt a pang in his chest to see such a valiant and beautiful creature look so diminished, weighed down by his grief and confinement in this Hall. Vairë had notified Eönwë of the harsh sentence of the golden elf, and the Maia’s heart ached for him. He wished he could offer some comfort to the elf. He wondered if this was what it meant to be the Ainu of compassion like Nienna, who shared the Eruhini’s pain and eased their grieves. He had certainly never felt like this before and wondered if he would feel the same way if he had been given privilege to view another elf’s life.

 

 “Lady Vairë,” Glorfindel bowed to Vairë and nodded respectfully at the Maia. “Lord Eönwë.” Eönwë smiled and returned the gesture, inexplicably glad that the golden-haired elf still remembered him.

 

 “You have known each other I see,” remarked Námo.

 

“We have met,” replied Glorfindel, glancing curiously at Eönwë. The Maia was glad that there was no hostility or wariness in the elf’s gaze directed toward him, the herald of the Elder King who had decided the elf’s harsh punishment.

 

“Good. Then let us go inside,” Námo said, beckoning to the elf and Maia to follow him.

 

“Before we begin, Lord Námo, would you mind to enlighten me of the purpose of my presence here?” Eönwë spoke out in elven tongue, aware of the presence of the elf in their midst.

 

“You will find out soon enough,” replied the Vala, also in Quenya.

 

Trust the Lord of Doom to be so enigmatic, mused Eönwë. Beside him Glorfindel rolled his eyes, causing the Maia to raise his eyebrows in surprise. It seemed that the elf’s spirit was not so broken after all.

 

* * *

 

They walked through the long winded corridor that did not seem to end, twisting and turning so much that were not for the presence of Námo and Vairë, Eönwë was certain that they would be lost. The eerie voices of Nienna and her servants’ lament did nothing to assuage his unease nor the pain and suffering of the dead he could feel through his Ainur ability. He had just been through this passage before when Vairë took him to her domain to see the tapestries of the Past, but the second time through this place was as unpleasant as the first. Eönwë glanced to see if Glorfindel also shared his queasiness, but the elf seemed to be lost in thought and not paying any attention to his surroundings.  

 

At last they arrived at the Vairë‘s Hall. It was separated from the rest of Mandos with a grand oak door with bronze doorknobs carved with the sigil of her office. The Lady Weaver opened the door and they entered another passage, wider and much brighter than the previous ones they had just been in, lit with bronze lanterns along the way. There was no longer lament or the feel of gloom that had so permeated the Halls of the Dead.

 

“This part of Mandos Hall is my wife’s domain,” explained Námo to Glorfindel as the four of them walked through the passage. “It is called the Hall of Tapestries, and is divided into three sections. The first is for the tapestries of the Past, the next is the tapestries of the Present, and the last one for the tapestries of Future. Of course, as time goes by, the tapestries’ place will change, from Future to Present, and finally to the Past. It is only after all the tapestries in the Future section are moved to the Past then Arda will be remade.”

 

Glorfindel looked thoughtful as he absorbed the information.  “Then this Hall must be very vast to be able to keep all the tapestries of Past, Present, and Future, especially when there are so many of us to keep track of,” he said. “It might be ages before we can see them all.” 

 

Vairë smiled. “Well, it’ll be overwhelming indeed to see all tapestries that have happened, are happening, and are going to happen. Indeed, it is impossible to do so as tapestries continue to shift from one section to another through the course of time. What we will show you are only tapestries depicting some of the scenes from your previous life and your upcoming role, about which my husband has told you before.”

 

Námo turned to Eönwë, “The tapestries we are about to show also concern you, Eönwë, which is why we summon you to this Hall. It seems that your role and Glorfindel's will be closely intertwined in the shaping of Arda.”

 

The information was surprising to say the least. Eönwë's curiosity was piqued, but he kept his expression neutral. If he was about to be given such a huge task, then Námo should have consulted with his lord, but it seemed that it was not the case. Instead, the Lord of the Doom chose to keep this information from the Elder King himself.

 

They arrived at the centre of a spacious chamber. It was far smaller than the Hall of the Past where Eönwë had been earlier but no less impressive. It was circular in shape, and its size was comparable to the Ring of Doom. Its walls, as well as the floor, were made of white polished marble. The ceiling was at least three stories high and was made of glinting crystals, reflecting the light from the magnificent golden chandelier below. Tapestries were hung through the wall, with a bright lantern above each of them to enable better viewing.

 

Glorfindel gasped at the sight. “It is beautiful,” he whispered in wonder, “and so … so bright.”

 

Námo snorted, “As you can see, not all of Mandos Hall is dark and gloomy like, well, a prison.”

 

The elf snorted again and turned his attention to a tapestry beside him. Tapestries of Vaire were intensely realistic, like a scene frozen in time with all the details and nuances, the expressions of the characters inside clearly depicted. Glorfindel were once again gasped in surprise at the beauty of it and moved closer and examined the first tapestry in the Hall. The tapestry seemed to flare in light when the elf approached it and the lantern above it brightened, making the image more alive and vivid.

 

It was the scene of the elf’s birth. Alcarin was holding his second-born with apparent joy and pride, cooing at the tiny baby while combing the golden hair with his fingers. His wife, Vardilmë, was smiling beside them, tired but very much happy. Elenwë looked at her little brother with a look akin to wonder.

 

Eönwë observed that Glorfindel’s eyes were clouded with tears as he looked at his family’s faces with longing. “Atar, ammë, Elenwë… I’m sorry,” he whispered. He turned to Námo and asked, “What happened to them? Where are they now?”

 

“They have been released from my Hall not so long ago. They are walking on the streets of Tirion once again,” replied Námo kindly. Eönwë was kind of surprised that the Lord of the Doom was always looked stern and forbidding was capable of being so gentle to his charge, his own Lord certainly was not.

 

Glorfindel breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad,” he said, though his voice was still tinged with sadness. 

 

Vairë came to the elf’s side, her arm encircling Glorfindel’s shoulders. She led the elf to the next tapestry depicting the little elf playing with his friends. Glorfindel and several other elflings were covered with mud from head to toe; not even his golden hair was visible. Eönwë could not help but chuckle at the sight of several frogs jumping here and there in the regal living room of the House of Golden Flower, splattering mud and water on the expensive carpets, chairs, and practically everywhere. Turukáno and Elenwë, who had been assigned as the youngsters’ babysitters, were throwing them murderous looks while the elflings sat and stared at them with wide-eyed innocence. Glorfindel chuckled at the scene, “We were such monsters back then.”

 

They came to the next scene. This time it was Turukáno’s wedding to Glorfindel’s sister, blessed by Ingwë himself. It had been one of the most memorable weddings of the Eldar in Valinor, for it was the first wedding of one of Finwë’s grandsons. It was attended by more than a thousand elves, all from the noble families of Eldar, even some Ainur. Eönwë and several of his fellow Maiar had attended the celebration in the place of their lord. Although young Glorfindel was only present in the background of the scene, it was not hard to see why this event had been significant to Glorfindel’s life, for his sister’s marriage to the son of Fingolfin was the reason for Alcarin’s decision to follow Turukáno to the exile.

 

In one of the tapestries, Eönwë found where he was the main focus of the scene, when he delivered the message from Manwë, before the Noldor were ready to depart from Valinor. It was a dark time, with confusion and anger abound, even among the Ainur. Finwë’s murder, the loss of Silmarils, and the slaying of the Two Trees had roused unease all across Valinor. Eönwë had never seen the Valar so enraged as when they discovered the death of Laurelin and Telperion. Yavanna’s anguish was palpable in the air; her lament carried out throughout Valinor. Even more was Manwë’s wrath. The kinslaying at Alqualondë and the Noldorin flight from Aman despite his warning had been like throwing a torch to a dry bush. It was no wonder that they had come up with such a dire punishment for the Exiles.

 

Even though Eönwë had not been privy to the Valarin council, it was apparent that not all of the Valar agreed with the decision. Ulmo was the most vocal, his thunderous anger shook Taniquetil, but Manwë could not be dissuaded. Thus, there was estrangement between Valinor and the rest of Middle-earth.

 

They moved forward from one tapestry to another. Blood seemed to drain from Glorfindel’s face when he saw the tapestry depicting Alcarin, Vardilmë, and Elenwë’s death in Helcaraxë, crushed by a snow avalanche. He was about to weep, when Lady Weaver murmured softly, “Hush Glorfindel, they are well and alive now. Grieve no more for them.” He nodded, but remained pale, and she gently led him toward the next scene.

 

The tapestry depicted young Glorfindel, distraught in the aftermath of the tragedy, drinking mead with his brother-in-law who was equally in grief. Námo looked at the scene grimly and so did Vairë. Eönwë knew what happened after – Vairë had told him before -  though he had not seen the scene, and he shared the Valar’s anger toward the Fingolfin’s son. The thought of young Glorfindel whose innocence had been stripped off in such an unpleasant situation made Eönwë’s blood boiled and he clenched his fist.

 

“He should not take advantage of you,” the Lady Weaver voiced her contempt.

 

“He did not force me. I was as much to blame as he was,” Glorfindel murmured, clearly uncomfortable. “We need distraction from our pain. We were drunk and could not think straight.”

 

Námo glanced at the elf strangely. “Turukano did a great deal of damage to you throughout your life and still you never speak ill of him. Nevertheless, you were not yet past your majority and he should be your next of kin who supposed to take care of you. Perhaps he was not fully aware of his action when he took you but it was his fault that the situation escalated thus. Stop taking responsibility for his action.” His tone broke no argument and the underlying wrath of his voice made the elf shivered, despite knowing that it was not directed to him. Vairë noticed Glorfindel’s fear and smiled in assurance. The elf smiled back though he was still tense. 

 

At one point, they arrived at the tapestry with a picture of two elven lords kissing and obviously about to engage in bodily intimacy. Their bodies were flushed; their eyes were closed in rapture while their mouths devoured each other. The golden-haired one was already bare-chested and his hands were busy in unlacing his dark-haired partner’s leggings. Their hair was mussed and there were love marks all over their bodies. Eönwë stared at the tapestry in rapturous fascination. They looked so beautiful together. One was shining like Arien and the other was like the night to the day. Of why such a magnificent union was forbidden was beyond him; surely such a beautiful intimacy could not be wrong? He glanced at Glorfindel, who had looked down to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes and reddened to the roots of his hair.

 

“I can’t believe you'd show us this!” he said in obvious mortification.

 

Námo’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “It is one of major turning points of your life, is it not?”

 

Vairë chuckled, “It was a pleasure to weave it.”

 

The elf lifted his eyes warily to Námo and Vairë. Seeing there was no condemnation in their eyes, he became more relaxed; his shoulders lost most of the tension, though there was still faint blush in his cheeks. Eönwë thought he looked rather comely thus.

 

Some of the tapestries did not directly show Glorfindel or Eönwë. There was a scene of Ulmo speaking to Turgon, then the building of Gondolin, and Aredhel lost in the forest. Glorfindel flinched when he saw the scene, guilt clouding his face.

 

“Do not feel accountable over this, Glorfindel. The princess made her own choice to escape from you and Ecthelion,” Námo admonished him gently. “Besides this event will have its place in the shaping of Arda.”

 

“Aye, in destruction of Gondolin,” replied Glorfindel bitterly.

 

“Never lose hope. Eru can use even the most terrible events to the best for Arda,” Vairë said.

 

The next scene was no less distressing. Eönwë was flabbergasted as he saw the wrath of Turgon to his two captains for the lost of Aredhel. He had ordered them flogged in the courtyard under watching eyes of the city’s inhabitants. How cruel and barbaric! the Maia thought, wincing in sympathy at the crisscross of wounds on the elves’ backs. And to his own brother-in-law nonetheless! It was surprising to Eönwë to see Glorfindel glance at the scene without much interest.

 

“King Turgon was--is--one of the best commanders and rulers, but merciful he was not,” commented Glorfindel. “We were certainly not the first ones from his ranks to be punished thus for failure. In fact, I was glad that he did not spare me from the punishment, as it showed to others that he did not favor me above the other soldiers.”

 

This time Eönwë stared at Glorfindel in shock. How could the elf be so nonchalant about it!

 

The elf noticed his distress and shrugged. “It was nothing really. We have had worse in battles, and indeed we prepare for the worst. Who knows what will befall us if we are captured by Morgoth.” His expression was grim now. 

 

The elf walked to the next tapestry that showed exactly what he meant earlier. “This is the Battle of Unnumbered Tears,” he said, voice choked with emotion. “We were utterly defeated … We lost so many …” His eyes were again clouded with tears. Vairë embraced him, murmuring soft words of comfort as the elf wept in her arms.

 

Eönwë gazed at the tapestry in horrific fascination. There was so much blood. Dead, mutilated bodies of elves and men were strewn around while the vile creatures of Morgoth swung their weapons with glee. Glorfindel himself was desperately trying to hold back an attack as he guarded his king. His golden hair was matted with blood. His body was covered with numerous bruises and bloody wounds. It was a testament to the elf’s unwavering loyalty that he had remained steadfast to his liege even after the appalling punishment he had received. The Maia wondered idly what was in the cold harsh ruler that had commanded such loyalty from his people and even those he had wronged.

 

After the tears subsided, Vairë led Glorfindel onward. The next tapestry was equally grim. It was the scene where Eöl had been cast down under Turgon’s order while his young son watched. Aredhel was shown laying dead under Maeglin’s feet. 'Tis no wonder the elf turned dark so easily, mused Eönwë. Glorfindel was standing beside his Lord, eyes wide in shock and horror at the terrible sight he had witnessed. 

 

“I sometimes think that if King Turgon had not been so ruthless that day, Maeglin might not have turned out the way he did,” murmured Glorfindel. He looked away from the sight and hastily moved on to the next tapestry.

 

To Eönwë’s relief, the next ones was more cheerful than the previous. It was a picture of Tuor’s coming to Gondolin, his courtship of Idril, and their royal wedding. Glorfindel was a background character in all of them, but he stood out nonetheless. Eonwe felt his breath catch as he beheld the tapestry depicting the birth of Eärendil. The elven lord was clad in formal robe of his House, golden hair illuminated by candle light; his strong arms gently cradled the babe as he smiled affectionately to the newborn. Glorfindel was simply breathtaking. The Maia thought that he must be the most beautiful creature of Iluvatar.

 

He glanced to his side and saw the elf smiling sadly as he gazed the tapestry. Glorfindel was still beautiful, even in death. He needed no extravagant clothes and accessories to look noble. In that moment, Eönwë understood, perhaps for the first time, of Melian’s fascination with her elven husband.

 

* * *

Chapter End Notes

Beta-ed by Dawn Felagund. All mistakes are my own.

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