If Death is Kind by Naltariel

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Conversations

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Chapter 5: Conversations

 

After he saw the elf in new light, Eönwë could not take his eyes off Glorfindel. He watched with fascination every nuance of Glorfindel’s expression in the lifelike tapestries, the twinkle in his eyes when he played with his grandnephew, his bright smile, and his anxiety and wariness when Maeglin asked for permission to leave the city. The tapestry was so vivid; it was like Glorfindel himself was inside of it, trapped inside the images of the past.

 

Eönwë could not help but compare the images to the elf beside him. But the Glorfindel in Mandos Hall was not the same with Glorfindel in the tapestry. He was beautiful true, but there was something missing from him, Glorfindel by his side was dimmer somehow, less … alive. Was it because Glorfindel was dead and possessed no hroa?  Death was not a natural state for a Quendi after all.

 

* * *

 

They finally came to the scenes of the Fall of Gondolin. Glorfindel trembled, blood drained from his face, and he staggered backward. Only Vairë’s support kept him upright. She once again hugged him and crooned soft words of comfort. Glorfindel made a sound of distress and hid his face in his hands. Eönwë felt his heart broke at the sight and fought the urge to weep with him.

 

“No more of this! I beg you,” Glorfindel pleaded.

 

“Hush, child, you do not have to see it now if you don’t want to. But one day you must face your memories in order to heal,” said Vairë.

 

“Please, not … not yet … not now,” Glorfindel begged. “I’m not ready.”

 

“No, not now,” Námo agreed. “Shall we move on?” he asked gently.

 

Glorfindel nodded. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, composing himself, though he was still pale. Námo walked briskly past the scenes of the elf’s fight with the Balrog, his death, his arrival at Mandos, then his judgment. Glorfindel fixed his eyes on the marble floor, avoiding sight of the traumatic scenes of the last moments in his life. Eönwë too, looked away, unable to see more of the elf’s suffering.

 

They stopped before a tapestry depicting young Eärendil meeting a young elf-maid on the shore. “That is the elfling you have saved and his future wife,” said Námo. Glorfindel smiled slightly. “My death is not in vain then. My lord’s family survived.”

 

“Your sacrifice is the reason Eru’s plan will continue to unfold for the sake of the rest of Middle-earth, Firstborn and Secondborn alike. Indeed, your heroic act will be sung to the end of Arda.”

 

Glorfindel blushed, “'Tis was nothing. Every one of us would have done the same.”

 

“Not every one, certainly,” replied Námo darkly. “The most trying of circumstances certainly have a way of bringing to the surface every person’s true persona.”  

 

The next tapestry showed the birth of Eärendil’s twin sons, then the young mariner’s decision to continue Voronwë’s mission to search for help in the Blessed Realm. Glorfindel watched in horrified fascination the scene where Eärendil’s wife flew to the air and turned into a seagull, the Silmaril upon her brow, when the sons of Fëanor sacked her home.

 

The next tapestry depicted the couple reaching the shore of Aman and greeted by Eönwë. “They made it. They reached Valinor,” Glorfindel gasped.

 

“They will reach Valinor,” corrected Vairë. “This event will not yet take place until years from now.”

 

 “Oh.”

 

“It will be my brother’s role to open the way to Valinor,” explained Námo. “But without the two of you, their journey will be in vain indeed, even when they reach this place.”

 

“Why?” asked Eönwë, frowning. They had almost seen all the tapestries in the room, but their roles were not clear to him yet. Glorfindel had, at least, known that his sacrifice had furthered Eru’s plan through Eärendil.

 

Námo did not answer. Instead he gestured for them to move onward. They saw Eärendil and his wife bowing in front of Manwë and Varda. “They are entreating for help for all Eruhini who are residing in Middle-earth,” Námo explained. “Manwë will agree. It’ll be on Eru’s command that he does. Too long has my brother held back the power he has been given and neglected the Eruhini whom he should protect.” Námo’s tone was thick with displeasure. Eönwë glanced at him in surprise. Everyone, including the Maia, had always thought that Námo was a staunch supporter of Manwë, for the Lord of the Doom never voiced his displeasure nor gainsaid the Elder King’s words.

 

“Being privy to the suffering of Eruhini beyond Valinor is indeed an eye-opener for some of us,” explained Vairë sadly.

 

She walked to the next tapestry depicting a colossal host of Elves and Maiar preparing for war. At the front was Eönwë with the most beautiful armor he knew he had not yet possessed, carrying the banner with the Valarin sigil on it. On his right and left sides were Finarfin and Ingwë, each also donned in their most regal armors while their heralds carried the banners of the Noldor and Vanyar. This time both Eönwë and Glorfindel gasped.

 

Námo kept moving and stopped at the last tapestry. It depicted a war of such magnitude that some of the lands were drowned in engulfing waves. None of the combatants were visible, only the flames caused by the collision between Darkness and Light. 

 

“As you have seen, Eönwë, you are going to be the leader for the Host of Valinor, consisting of elves and Maiar alike. You will set forth to battle Morgoth and his minions and free Middle-earth from his clutch.”

 

Eönwë stared at the last tapestry, wide-eyed. He had never seen himself as powerful or important. He was the herald of Manwë, true, but most of his duties consisted of being a messenger. To lead the host of his brethren and all the elves to battle the greatest foe of Arda was such an enormous responsibility that he was not sure he could carry it.

 

Vairë looked at him sympathetically. “Keep your faith to Eru, younger sibling,” she said kindly. “He has chosen you for a reason and He will give you the strength and ability needed to accomplish your task.”

 

Eönwë took a deep breath and nodded, his mind still reeling from the revelation.

 

“What about me?” interjected Glorfindel. “I cannot see myself in those tapestries. What is so important that I must be reborn so soon?”

 

“Your role Glorfindel, is more subtle, though not less important,” Námo spoke. “The Vanyar and Noldor who stay in Aman, or those who returned with Finarfin, have been long sundered from the elves who have chosen to stay on Middle-earth and, thus, have no emotional attachment to them. As for the Exiles, the elves of Valinor see them in an unfavorable light. They do not know what you all have endured. Even if they do, most of them will think that the suffering you endured was a just punishment for the Kinslaying and the rebellion against the Valar.

 

“Thus, Glorfindel, it is your task to convince them to leave their most beloved home, raise arms, and risk their lives to help their brethren in the upcoming war.”

 

* * *

 

As with Eönwë, Námo’s explanation took Glorfindel by surprise. The elf gasped, staring at the Lord of the Dead with disbelief.

 

“Lord Námo, surely you jest,” he said. “Such a responsibility! I’m but an elf, and an Exile too. Though I have never shed my kin’s blood, yet I am accounted as one of Turgon’s people. Surely they will not listen to me?”

 

Vairë smiled at the elf and said. “My husband does not jest, Glorfindel. Of all the elves and Men, you have been chosen by Ilúvatar Himself to carry out this task for the sake of His children who are suffering under the oppression of our fallen brother. Surely He would not choose unwisely.” 

 

At the mention of Ilúvatar, Glorfindel looked faint. “I think I need to sit down,” he said, bracing himself against the wall as his knees failed to support his weight.

 

“Aye, we do need to sit down and talk about what the revelation means,” said Námo gravely.

 

With a flick of Námo’s finger, a mist formed and solidified into four identical chairs, a round table with four goblets and a bottle of wine at the centre of the room. Eönwë and Námo took their seats while Vairë gently led the elf, who was staggering and pale, to one of the chairs and poured him a glass of wine.

 

“Here, drink this,” said Vairë kindly. Glorfindel took the goblet gratefully. He sipped it and glanced at the wine in wonder.

 

“I can taste this,” he said in awe.

 

“You can, because it is the wine for the fëa,” explained Námo, his eyes glinting in amusement at Glorfindel’s reaction.

 

“It tastes like nothing I’ve ever drunk before,” said the elf, sipping the wine slowly, savoring it. “It is rich, but light at the same time. Sweet, with underlying fruity tang and it is very, very good.”

 

Eönwë smiled at the elf’s enthusiasm. “It is wine for the Ainur,” he said. “'Tis an honor for you to drink it, for I’ve never seen it given to any Eldar before.”

 

“Not the living ones, maybe,” interjected Námo easily.

 

Eönwë gazed at him in astonishment.

 

“I have long since found it has healing properties for the weary fëa; thus, Nienna and I decide to use it to help them heal, though sparingly,” he explained, as if it was nothing amiss to give one of the best wines for the Ainur to Eruhini in his care.

 

“So do you know why I am chosen, Lord?” Eönwë glanced at the elf who looked more like the elven lord he had been. His face was regaining color, his eyes were brighter, and he looked stronger, sitting up straight in his chair, his shoulders no longer slumped. The wine did do wonders to an elven fëa. 

 

“Can you not guess, Glorfindel?” answered Námo. “You are the heir to a Vanyarin noble house and you are also a brother-in-law to one of Finwë’s grandsons. You are blameless for the Kinslaying and, thus, will not incur hatred from the Teleri, at least not to the extent that a Kinslayer would. You have also experienced firsthand what happened in Middle-earth during your stay there, including your city’s fall, and thus, you can tell them firsthand about the hardship you have all endured.”

 

Glorfindel frowned as he digested the Vala’s answer. Eönwë thought it made perfect sense, for who else from among the Exiles had such familial ties to the noble houses of Vanyar and Noldor alike?

 

“But I… Well, I’m not knowledgeable, much less an expert in matters of politics or diplomacy. I can’t see how I’m suited for the task aside from my lineage. And I … I…” he stuttered, staring at lap to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.  “Can’t you choose someone else, my Lord?” he finally said without looking up.

 

Námo turned to Glorfindel, studying him until he fidgeted in his seat, discomfited by the penetrating gaze.

 

“If you fear you are the only elf to be given this responsibility, don’t,” he said. “Your kinsman, Findaráto, who is also known as Finrod, will surely aid you in this mission. He was reborn shortly before you came here, though before Eru made His will known to us, and therefore has no knowledge about the future that will unfold. You must go to him and tell him about what you have seen and ask for his help. I’m sure he will not object.”

 

“Oh,” came Glorfindel's response, still without looking up. Eönwë looked at him oddly, thinking how strange it was that Glorfindel, who had valiantly fought the terrible beasts of Morgoth without second thought, seemed so reluctant to take this task.

 

“You don’t seem to be happy about your Fate,” remarked Vairë, who apparently shared the same thought as Eönwë. I never knew you to be the kind of elf to shy away from your duty. This task, daunting though it may seem, requires far less than the sacrifice you embraced readily not a few years ago.”

 

Glorfindel flushed at the chastisement. “Forgive me, my Lady,” he said. “I will never shirk my duty. It is an honor beyond measure to be chosen to further Eru’s plan for the good of the Eruhini. I shall not disappoint you or my people.” He raised his eyes to meet Lady Weaver’s solemn gaze.

 

“I have faith in you, Glorfindel. I believe you will not let your feelings toward Turgon cloud your judgment,” said Námo. “After all, pining after him in this realm is an exercise in futility, as he cannot and will not return your regard to him.”

 

The elf flushed deeper and looked away. It took a few second for Námo’s words to sink in, and Eönwë gasped, looking at Glorfindel with wide eyes.

 

Vairë gently touched the elf’s arm, causing Glorfindel to look up to meet the Lady’s eyes, his expression a mixture of pain and embarrassment. “We know that you love your brother-in-law selflessly, without expecting him to return your affection, but you need not waste away inside Mandos. Seize this opportunity to find your happiness. Mayhap you will find your soul mate.”

 

Glorfindel snorted. “Soul mate? Happiness? Am I not forbidden to taint the elves of Valinor with my strange ways? I prefer males, and I can’t and I won’t change that. So I don’t see how I can find someone to love without breaking Law and Custom yet again.” The bitterness was palpable in his voice.

 

Námo calmly sipped his wine and replied, “In time, there will be Moriquendi who will come from Middle-earth or elves who will be reembodied. Your sentence only said that you were forbidden to mate with the untainted elves of Valinor; thus you are free to court those who arrive from Middle-earth. As for your preference to the males, I believe we can work around that easily. I could reembody you as a woman; then you will not violate the Law and Custom if you mate with a male elf.”

 

Eönwë almost choked on his wine. Glorfindel gaped, his eyes bulging out in shock. Vairë glared at her husband.

 

“Just a joke,” said Námo dryly when the elf started to protest. “I believe you are familiar with the concept?”

 

Glorfindel closed his mouth, then opened it, and closed it again. He swallowed and sank back to his chair, his face slightly green. Eönwë felt sorry for him, but he could not help but laugh at the elf’s funny expression. Vairë hid a smile behind her hand though she still threw her husband a stern look.

 

“Although the souls in our care here are not capable of dying because of a heart attack, I will appreciate it if you do not send them into an apoplexy, husband.”

 

Glorfindel threw an annoyed look to Námo. “No offense, but your sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired, my Lord.”

 

Námo let out a chuckle. This time both Eönwë and Glorfindel did not gape at the unexpected behavior, perhaps being more used to the Vala’s quirkiness. Glorfindel even dared to roll his eyes, clearly exasperated, though he did not seem to harbor any ill will toward the fun at his expense.

 

Despite Glorfindel’s annoyance, the joke did serve its purpose and diffused the grimness of their earlier talk.  Vairë and Námo took care to stay away from sensitive topics. Eönwë noted that they did not talk about anything pertaining to the tapestries or the upcoming roles of Eönwë and Glorfindel. They talked about wine, food, lore, and other inconsequential things with the sole purpose of making Glorfindel more at ease.

 

Eönwë was struck by how casual the whole situation was handled. The Lord of the Doom and Lady Weaver of Arda with a Maiarin servant and a recently dead elf, conversing and sitting around a table on comfortable, simple chairs, drinking from plain goblets, although with decidedly very good wine vintage. It was so unlike his lord, who always took great care to keep the formality as a reminder of the difference in status between him and his subordinates.

 

As they relaxed, Eönwë felt more comfortable in the midst of the strange company than he had for a long long time, since before Arda was made.  

 

 

* * *

 

At last their meeting came to an end.

 

A blink of an eye, and the chairs and table disappeared as if they had never been there before. It took some time to get used to, this appearance and disappearance of things at Námo’s will.

 

The company then moved out of the Vairë’s hall and back to Námo’s dominion.

 

“Thank you for your hospitality and kindness, my Lady,” Glorfindel said when they reached the door, bowing to the Lady Weaver. Vairë smiled kindly at him and patted his shoulder lightly.

 

“We will meet again one day and in less dire circumstances, I hope,” she said.

 

Glorfindel gave her a small smile. “I do hope so too. It has been a great pleasure to meet you. You have been kind and generous to me. You are … well… nothing like I imagined.” He blushed as he realized what his words implied. “Forgive me, my lady. I meant no offense.”

 

Vairë let out a small chuckle. “None is taken. After what you experienced at your Judgment and my husband’s perpetual grim appearance, it is to be expected,” she replied, glancing at Námo with exasperating fondness while the Lord of the Dead rolled his eyes at his wife’s remark. 

 

Námo beckoned Glorfindel. “Come, let us return your room. Your healing will begin soon.”

 

Glorfindel looked reluctant and a little bit frightened, perhaps expecting sessions full of painful disclosures and facing his personal demons. Still, he followed Námo without protest.

 

Eönwë watched them until they disappeared from his sight. Only then he realized that Vairë had been looking at him, smiling slightly. He blushed, having been caught staring.

 

“You are attracted to him,” she stated.

 

“Ah … I … I …” Eönwë stuttered. He looked away.

 

“It is certainly not unheard of for an Ainu to be captivated by one of the Eruhini. Even we, as the Valar, were and still are amazed at their beauty and complexity.  Just take care not to make the same mistakes as most of us do. For Eru created them to be more than beautiful pets to be doted on, and they are the creature of free will.”

 

Eönwë looked at her, startled by the grimness of her tone. Her smile had disappeared, and she looked at the Maia intently, her eyes penetrating his soul.

 

She released him from her gaze after a few seconds, which seemed to last an eternity. Eönwë let out a deep breath he had not known he had been holding.

 

“You may return to your lord now,” she said. “But think of what you have seen and heard today, not the least of your own thoughts about Glorfindel.”

 

“I will, my Lady.” He bowed respectfully. Indeed, what could he do but think? By Eru, he did not know if he should be grateful or not, but his future would not be easy to tread.

 

* * *

 

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Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Dawn Felagund for beta!