Letters to Irmo. by hennethgalad

Letters to Irmo.

Read Letters to Irmo.

 

   

  "Just write anything! The first thought you have, and so on..."
  Glorfindel sighed in exasperation, he could not write his Letter to Irmo. His 40th Begetting Day drew near, and all his friends had long ago sent their Letters, but he had written nothing, nothing at all...
   His mother laid a hand on his shoulder "None but Irmo himself shall ever see the words you would write. You know this. And since the Valar see all that is within us, why should you cover your face and hide your heart from the kindest of all of them?"
   "Do you think him the kindest? We discussed this at "Ethics and Action" recently, and most people thought Estë the kindest."
   His mother nodded and smiled "I remember my own classes... But you know that our lives hang between them as the thread of a spider, Irmo encourages us to perceive our dreams and to bring them forth into the world; and as Arda is marred and we must all at times fail, or be hurt, or merely tired, then we turn to Estë for healing. But you, you are like a bird in a shell, you must break the shell, you must reveal yourself to Irmo, that he may aid you in becoming who you are."

   The horse was called Mandë, and since no one else had cared to, he had ridden it himself. It was the Festival of Vána, and the young elves were riding out singing, garlanded with fresh flowers, to dance in the blossoming mead. They had paired up, he with a raven-haired Noldor lass; though his mind dwelt rather on her brother, riding a little behind with a laughing Teleri. Glorfindel was just getting hungry, and looking forwards to the feasting that lay ahead, when Mandë stopped, and reared into the air, his dark brown legs waving sharply against the bright flowers. The singing faltered around them, but Mandë had a purpose, and turned away and flattened his neck into a pounding gallop, with the bewildered Glorfindel clinging in amazement to the lashing mane.

   The light was fading as they drew near to the Gardens of Lórien, and a terrible thought struck Glorfindel; he remembered with horror his Letter to Irmo... 
   He had said that his dream was to be lord like Manwë, to light stars like Varda, to craft like Aulë etc. Clearly he had been summoned to be rebuked for being presumptuous. For his cheek, his parents would have said, but fortunately they had not seen the Letter...

   Mandë slowed to a walk as they neared the Lake of Estë, where those seeking healing walked, or sat or lay on the wide lawns by the still water. But Mandë wove through them all, and reaching the shore he stooped to drink, then heaved a great sigh and blew out a long breath and was still. Glorfindel looked around, a few people were giving him surprised looks, but after all, what could be more natural than a horse drinking... But still, he slid down from the horse, which shook itself once, then turned and trotted home, leaving Glorfindel feeling even more conspicuous and foolish. He was at a loss, when suddenly all around him elves were rising to their feet and pointing through the dimness, not at him but across the water.
   There stood Estë, grey lady of healing and rest, singing of the slow return of joy and exuberance. The elves sank back, Glorfindel himself felt his sinews loosen, and became aware of the beauty around him. The air was still and warm, scented with myriad flowers, little fireflies of bright gold darted to and fro around them, and moths with palely glowing wings moved like leaves blown by the laughter of Manwë.

   The elves shone more brightly in the presence of Estë, reflecting her light as the water reflects the stars of Elbereth, and Glorfindel raised his hand, it shone as he had never seen it shine before, and the dreadful struggles of his body to grow seemed to belong to the past, to another elf, to be unimportant. What was important was his spirit, shining through his flesh, and brightening until he became aware that again those around him had turned to him, and others, still gazing at Estë, began to cry aloud, for Estë raised an arm and pointed, and her arm pointed to him, to Glorfindel, and he was Summoned.

   He did not hesitate, he threw off his clothes and dived cleanly into the cool water, and grinned to himself, a trail of silvery bubbles rose behind him. He could swim underwater farther than anyone he knew, it was possible that he could cross the lake without coming up for air! He could see the gleam of Estë through the water, he flicked a leg and aimed directly for her feet.
   But either the water was wider than he had supposed, or some power stifled his breath, for when he rose gasping to the surface he was merely halfway, though looking back, the elves on the shore were only a faint glow in the distance. He took a deep breath, then another, for Estë seemed as far from him still as she had when he first dived in, and he sighed, then plunged back under the water, and gritted his teeth and swam on. When his muscles were knots of fire and his heart was bursting, he rose to the surface and wept. The far shore was as far away as ever, yet behind him lay only the darkness, save for a faint silvery gleam in the sky from Telperion. He hung in the water, moving his limbs barely enough to hold his head above the water, utterly exhausted. He could not imagine how he would reach the shore, unless Ulmo himself took pity on him and summoned a kindly wave to bear him to the feet of Estë.

  "It’s a funny thing..." he said aloud to himself "All this sharing of thought and wisdom, yet when it comes to something like 'don’t swim the lake!', nothing! No hint at all! Am I to drown here?"

  A tiny breath of air rippled the water ahead of him, it sparkled like a necklace of diamond and silver, and, lifted out of himself for a moment, Glorfindel smiled at the beauty. In the next moment, or in another world, he had reached the shore, and faced the impassable rock.
   For none might enter the isle save by the invitation of the Healer, and, when a hand reached down to haul Glorfindel ashore, he knew for certain that he had been Summoned.

   The young elf smiled at Glorfindel, he was the most beautiful person Glorfindel had ever seen, so he smiled eagerly in return. The elf smiled again and beckoned, and Glorfindel followed him through the willows and up a gentle slope to the summit of a low hill scattered with flowers. Glorfindel looked around in astonishment, for the island was tiny, there was no sign of Estë the Healer, nor any of the landmarks he had heard of, and seen rendered in art.
   "But.. But where am I? What is this place?"
   The elf laughed "This is the Garden of Lórien, where the spirit and the flesh at times part company, and we may pursue in dreams those goals which in the flesh we may never attempt. You would fly with eagles, Glorfindel, you would swim with dolphins, you would walk with Valar... But you never can. For you are what you are, as they are what they are, and any infant could tell you so."
   Glorfindel was silent, and bowed his head, wondering if this really were an elf, or a maia of Irmo, or if anything was real at all. Perhaps he had drowned in the lake, and weeping elves were smoothing the wet hair from his cold brow, and closing his eyes...
   "What... what are you? Am I dreaming, do I... do I yet live?"
   The elf laughed and sat down, as bare as Glorfindel, and put his hands flat on the ground behind him and rested his weight on them. Glorfindel sat cross legged before his, searching his eyes. They were dark in the pale light, reflecting the wide waters of the lake, which suddenly had Glorfindel struggling in its cold grip once more, until the warm hand of the elf settled on his arm and stilled his shivering.
  
   They were silent for a time, Glorfindel realised suddenly that his hair, which always took a long time to dry, seemed never to have been wet "I am dreaming, surely. But are you a part of my dream, or a real spirit who has reached out to me?"
   "We are both a part of this world, Glorfindel, we shape it as we may, striving ever for the perfection that the marring denies us."
   "The lake! I couldn’t cross the lake!"
   The elf laughed "Yet here you sit... Yes, together we can achieve far more than any one elf, or even Vala." 
    Something in the tone of the elf reached deep into the spirit of Glorfindel and opened his mind. "You are Irmo himself! Appearing in the form of an elf!"
    The elf smiled "You are dreaming, Glorfindel, but yes, I am aware of your dream, and this shape you see" the elf held up a hand and examined it, front and back "This is how I choose to appear to you."
   "It is very lovely."
   Irmo smiled, and nodded slowly "Tell me, dreamer, what do you wish to do to this flesh?"
   Glorfindel gaped at the Vala, feeling himself blush all over, even his knees were red, he wanted to jump into the lake even if it did drown him. But finally, as certain as he could be that none could hear him save Irmo, he said softly "I want to kiss him, and... and everything. Really everything."
   "But you cannot say this to any other."
   "I could, I can..."
   "But?"
   "I'm still too young, I might change, I might..."
   The elf sighed, and smiled sadly "And the girl you abandoned to come here?"
   "She... I did not! It was Mandë!"
   "Borne on a horse named Fate" Irmo laughed "It sounds like a drinking song!"

   "Do you suggest that we are incapable of change?"
   Irmo looked seriously at Glorfindel for the first time "No indeed! The Enemy is capacle of bringing about great change, even in the greatest. However much Fëanor may scorn the Enemy, it is without doubt that in drawing sword on his brother he was a tool in the hand of him we do not name. And there are many, though not most, not by a long count, there are many among the maiar even, who are swayed by evil counsel. 

   But Glorfindel, you who risked drowning at the mere beckoning of my lady Estë, would you be swayed to good, by our counsel?"
   "My lord! Of course I will! But... Now that I have spoken my dream, and named the wish of my heart, I feel... I feel free, and invigorated, and..."
   "Like a bird singing to Vána?"
   "Yes! Save that my voice is unexceptional. But what should I do? Apart from seek an elf as beautiful as Irmo can imagine?"
   Irmo laughed "You must charm the world as you have charmed me, little bird! And fear not, for the world is full of beauty, not merely the beauty of the flesh, but the beauty of song, and of homecoming, the beauty of the light on the water and the scent of the flowers. There will be many elves to share beauty with, and you will always be ready to share, I see it in your spirit."

   "Is there... I had thought you might have a task for me, since I was summoned here..."
   Irmo laughed again "Did you not write to me?"
   Glorfindel blushed "But everyone writes to you, we have to."
   Irmo pressed his lips together "No letters reach us from across Belegaer. I fear for them, for the Avari, and for the Second Children... I would... My lady Estë and I would send hope and healing to them, who deserve it no less than those born here beneath the Trees. If ever Mandë carries you across Belegaer, sing to them of us, sing of the hope that flourishes only when we dream, and of the healing power of rest."
   "Across Belegaer? Do you think that will ever happen?"
   Irmo smiled "We shall not tolerate his outrages for long. Oh, it may seem long to a child like you, but we shall act, Glorfindel, we shall cast him forth from Arda, into the Void!"

   For a moment the Vala shone through the flesh of the elf, Glorfindel threw up a hand to hide his eyes, but the blazing eyes of the wrathful Vala had burned their image into his memory, and the blazing shape of him, like bolts of lightning darting, cold and blue, and behind them, like fragments of memory, scenes from elven life, elves laughing, singing, feasting and at toil, under the changing Trees. 
  And the laughing elf was back in an instant, smiling as though nothing had happened. Glorfindel smiled himself, he was dreaming, nothing had happened, he could pretend he had never said any of these things, he could carry on as before, he need decide nothing...
   But Irmo leaned forward, in the dream of Glorfindel, in the form of an elf, and kissed Glorfindel full on the lips, and Glorfindel found his body alight with desire, and the shock awoke him.

   He was lying on the shore of the Island, the Isle of Estë, and Laurelin was waxing bright. The lake was clear and shallow, he waded across the narrow stretch of water and wondered how much he had dreamed, if not all of it. But it hardly mattered, for he understood himself more clearly, and the two paths he could have chosen were now only one, for he must be himself, and the life his father had led, of home and family, was not for him. He could not feign an interest in an elf to persuade them to be a mother, and it would be shameful to try. He laughed, any elf worth persuading would see right through such perfidy.