Fair Purpose by Gwanath Dagnir

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Chapter 1

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c 1600 SA

Círdan reached the harbour just in time. True to the foreboding that roused him out of his waking sleep at the bosom of the shore, an unearthly vessel approached to dock. Its crafting was unmistakable: a swan ship of the Teleri from Valinor. Come to the end of the pier, he stood warm under the climbing sun and smiled at this portent, because why not.
Once the moorings were tied, he addressed the Elf who had stood perked at the bow -as though he commanded its sailing by the sheer determination of his look- and moved now to disembark.

“Ahoy, stranger! I suppose it would be a foolish hope that the Valar did not send one so fair to relay dark tidings. For all in Valinor are especially fair, and the Valar’s tidings are rarely blithe.”

“Yes,” the Elf stopped at the edge of the plank, his cloak and golden hair whipping in the wind, “and yes!” He extended an arm towards his ship of white wood carved with runes inlaid with precious metals and gems. “This fine craft is Callëheldo that the Teleri built, and I am Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, indeed dispatched by Manwë himself with tidings. Permission to disembark?”

“Granted of course,” said Círdan with raised eyes and a deep bow. “I am humbled to meet you, champion of Gondolin. My friend Eärendil gave thanks for your sacrifice in his prayers ere every voyage. I am Círdan who they also call the Shipwright in this tongue.”

“Oh yes, I know. Ossë speaks fondly of you and sends his regards! Hail, Círdan the Shipwright,” Glorfindel stepped onto the pier and bowed as well, then looking out upon the harbour and beyond, he took deep breath. “So this is Mithlond, the realm Gil-galad has raised. Mighty indeed! I should like to explore its streets and inspect the boundary, but foremost, I must have an audience with the High King to give him my respects and the vital message that I bring.”

Círdan nodded. “Gil-galad will be glad to receive you, and I expect not entirely surprised. We have heard an ominous change whispered on the wind for some time, and the Sea has delivered more and more interesting things to these Grey Havens through the years, though you are the first true emissary from Valinor to wash up – how exciting, or perhaps terrible, we shall see. Anyway, come!”

They passed a dozen elves whose official capacity entailed managing such tasks, and Círdan waved them all away, himself taking Glorfindel from the harbour through lower town and up to the capitol and into its grand assembly hall, but no hearing was in session and it stood vacant.

“Ah, hm.” Círdan paused in the middle of the room, his voice echoing against its marble interior. “I should probably pay better attention to the King’s meeting schedule, especially since he expects me to attend some of these things. Well, no matter! Gil-galad tends to make busy like a bee when his attention is not captured, so he could be any number of other places this time of day. I will leave you in the company of his favourite one, while I go to hunt him down. Follow me this way!”

They left the great hall and crossed a courtyard to a building built more like a home than a place of business. There were no open entryways in the typical Elvish styling, and deep eaves over-protected smallish windows against rain and direct sunlight. Inside, every inch of wall was adorned with books or scrolls or proudly displayed artifacts, and almost camouflaged amongst the display stood Elves so still and intense in their study that they could be mistaken for part of the collection. A passing administrator hushed the pair before either had spoken, and silently directed them to a side room.

Inside, standing alone at a tall desk was not quite an Elf and more besides, alternatively reading from a parchment in one hand and writing with the other.
When he did not immediately acknowledge his visitors, Glorfindel said, “Why is your desk so high?”

“It lets me work while standing. Obviously.” The Elf-like one looked up and seeing who stood before him, his head fell sideways as if its string had been cut.

“May I introduce Glorfindel of the Golden Flower,” said Círdan. He moved forward to stand between them, opening his arm toward the other with a knowing smile, aware of the mystery he solved by saying, “And I present to you Elrond Half-elven, son of Eärendil.”

“Ah, yes, of course! Now I understand why you are bits and pieces of so many things.” Glorfindel bowed elaborately. “I am honoured to meet you and at your service, Elrond scion of Turgon who I served in Gondolin. Though I have been dispatched by Manwë to give message to your High King and those who support him in Eriador, finding you would have been my next errand.” He smiled to add, “Finarfin would be pleased that you took his advice to come here after the war. Above all else, he wishes for the union of his family.”

Elrond had his mouth open, prepared for words that were slow to form. “Excuse me – are you… glowing?”

Glorfindel looked himself up and down. “Maybe a little.”

Círdan clapped his hands once. “Good, then I shall let you two carry on.” He turned back from the doorway. “Elrond, when I manage to catch Gil-galad, let us see if he can summon you for practice, hm?” He put one finger to temple and winked. “Keep your special eye open. Until then!”

Elrond turned his head as he regarded Glorfindel, searching for an angle that would be less bright. “Truly are you Glorfindel of Gondolin, returned form Valinor, returned from death?”

“Indeed!” Glorfindel displayed his salt-crusted sleeves. “Fresh off the boat, as you can see.”

“Ai, alas…” Elrond caught his brow with one hand. “If the Valar sent you, then the growing darkness I have long suspected draws close at hand.”

“So you are foresighted.” Glorfindel sobered to say, “We will speak more of this soon, in audience with the High King, but not before.” His gaze wandered off to the side. “What is that?”

“What?”

“That, outside.”

Elrond turned toward the twin doors of glass that Glorfindel faced. “The gazebo?”

“How pretty! Show me.”

Behind the school of study, gardens stretched back and across the greater grounds. To the right sat the capitol building, and to the left the houses of botany. They walked outside through the sweet-smelling paths toward a gazebo where one could read or ponder before the Sea. It was positioned near the precipice of the plateau, so that looking out from ground level, only water could be seen on the horizon and not the structures below, a grandiose illusion of solitude. They came to stand under its shade and gazed beyond.

After a moment Glorfindel sighed. “The garden is very nice, but I fear the splendor of this view is wasted upon me,” he said, crestfallen. “Seems I may never be good friends with edges from heights, though the newness of this scenery tempted me to make amends.”

“Understandable,” said Elrond gravely. “I have endeavored to study our peoples’ lore for many years now, so I know as much as has been written about Gondolin’s fall. Though I knew something of your own role therein before I even learned to read. In my father’s house, your name was exalted in praise and gratitude for your valiant acts. Indeed, I feel moved to thank you for saving his very life.”

Glorfindel laughed. “I’m touched, and moved in turn to change the subject, lest you make me blush! Shall we walk after Círdan? My body feels strange to be unmoving after so long bobbing on that ship. Yet do not mistake me; I like coming this way better than the Helcaraxë!”

Elrond had already turned to go. “Yes, Gil-galad is ready for us.”

Glorfindel looked with amazement at his companion. “Verily Elrond, I am impressed. You have not only foresight, but the ability to know the mind of another at will from afar?”

Elrond pointed back the direction they came. “Well yes, but he is also standing there in the courtyard, waving at us. Come, he looks anxious, and he does not like to feel excluded.”

They returned to the assembly hall where Gil-galad had retreated to wait. Inside, the King paced upon the dais at the far end of the room, his robe of deep blue swirling around him at every pivot of his heel. As Elrond walked with Glorfindel to the foot of the stairs, Gil-galad came to be seated upon his white throne elaborately carved. On his one side sat Círdan in his place of honour, and on his other side a chair was empty.

“Hail Glorfindel of the Golden Spear,” said Gil-galad.

“Flower,” Círdan coughed.

“Of the Golden Flower.” Fighting a wince, the king gestured to his side and Elrond ascended the stairs to take the empty chair there.

“Hail, High King Gil-galad!” Glorfindel bowed deep into kneeling. “Fair Lord, it is true as those say who came to Valinor from these shores that you exemplify Ñoldorin majesty of old, and I am most pleased to meet Finarfin’s kindred in Middle-earth.”

“And I am near blinded by your radiance!” Gil-galad was drawn to the edge of his seat, looking as closely at his guest as he could bear. Glorfindel returned to stand tall and straight, his raiment of pure white with golden stitching adorning the edges, and even through his clothes seemed to eliminate a keen brightness. His long blond hair flowed unbraided, and he carried no sword. In his eyes shone a pure light that could pierce any darkness, and his statuesque features were youthful and open and seemed to smile even at rest.
“I have received many unexpected visitors in this hall, some become the truest of friends, and some whose true purpose should be doubted. But there is no mistaking the grace of the Valar upon you, Glorfindel. Yet I dread the portent of your coming here from the Blessed Realm – perhaps more so than the ill intent of foe who would seem fair!”

“You are wise to do so, High King, though it saddens me that I must say it. For Manwë bade me come in deliverance of his warning and advice: Forsooth the Dark One himself is renewed again in Middle-earth, and though he amasses evil forces and raises fortifications for war, also in secret he crafts weaponry of subterfuge and corruption, and these are the more dire. Look lastly toward the Black Lands of his domain for the threat that is upon you. Look first within the circle of your own trust – for there his advantage is greatest, and your defenses already breached.”
Glorfindel released the rest of his breath and shuddered, as if the voice of Manwë himself had passed through him. Then his head tilted as if listening, and he nodded, saying in his own musical way, “Also, do not even think of sailing any Elves yonder to beg for help. Manwë will not commission another host from Valinor to assist Middle-earth within this Age, nor the next.”

Gil-galad sat back in his chair, resting chin to fist. At length, he said, “Foreboding is heavy upon me. This should assure us, Elrond, that we judged wisely to refuse the one calling himself Annatar welcome within Lindon those years ago. But now I rue that our advice went unheeded by Celebrimbor – and that I looked the other way despite my misgivings! If Annatar is indeed an agent of the Dark One as I surmise from this warning, then the seeds he came hoping to sow may well bear fruit already.”

“Demanding his compliance may only have hardened Celebrimbor’s heart against you,” said Elrond. “As it is, I trust he is not beyond counsel still today. My own sense is that the threat is imminent, and Sauron’s power perhaps greater and his designs cleverer than we estimated – yet that defies the purpose of your arrival, Glorfindel. Would the Valar have sent you to bear these tidings too late to avail us?”

“Not intentionally,” said Glorfindel. “But even Manwë is not all-knowing.”

Círdan said, “I think it is time, Gil-galad, to pull up the net and gather your allies for council.”

“Agreed. Elrond, do have summons sent to the wise leaders in my keeping, even Celebrimbor if he will come, although I fear his own wisdom will be dissuaded by the influence upon him.” Gil-galad came to rest elbow to knee, and sighed. “Alas the darkness long foreseen closes in on us at last.” Eventually his gaze found their visitor, and he could not help but to feel uplifted, beholding such purity of character and mighty resolve. “What becomes of you next, bright one? It is the least I could do to feed you at my table and house you this night. Beyond that, if you intend to wait for me to voluntarily dismiss you from these trials we must face, I admit that day may never come – but I do permit you to leave if that is your wish.”

Glorfindel laughed clear and strong. “I am happy to save you the trouble! My appointment, and my choice, is to remain in Middle-earth and return to the service of the last great heir of such noble houses that I love and remain bonded to.”

Gil-galad smiled. “It would be my privilege to accept your-”

“Oh, I am referring to Elrond. So sorry.”

“Ah.” Gil-galad looked across to his friend, finding his face frozen between shock and dismay, and had to laugh. “Elrond do not look so stricken! I am not offended and besides, this is just as well.” He regarded Glorfindel again with mirth in his tone. “You see, Elrond is rather attentive to me as it is. The two of you would trip over each other vying for the same job, and of course, rivalry for my esteem would only drive a wedge between you. Nay, I would not have it!” Laughing again, he stood and descended the stairs. “Now I leave you all until dinner. Go as you please, Lord of the Golden Flower, and be welcome.” He paused while passing to place a firm hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Serve him well,” he said close to ear as the grip tightened.

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Elrond led their walking outside and diverged from the tailored paths. Behind the capitol buildings, between the rockface and the plateau formed a natural gutter of loam and stone that sloped at a mild degree and could be walked continuously to the lower levels of the city. From this vantage, the harbour lay beyond but without any cliff edge to imply peril.

“This view might suit you better,” said Elrond.

“Glorious.” Glorfindel smiled and together they stood before the falling dusk, as the sky set ablaze in a colorwash of crimson and orange. When the sun fell beneath the horizon and few stars were yet alight, a touch of doom returned. Glorfindel raised his chin against a chill breeze that passed them whistling against the rock and carried with it a hint of decay. “Tell me more of the one you called Annatar.”

“The Lord of Gifts,” Elrond spoke the words like a curse. “He was fair seeming and eager to treat, full of easy flattery and humble bragging. Among other things, he claimed to have fought in the Great War, and that much may be true, but I wonder on which side. In his far and desperate reaching to find commonality between us, he fell into a trap I laid by praising my exploits in the host of Tulkas who I said I served. This was a lie of my own, for Finarfin had taken me into his ranks, and few know the nature of the work he set me to in those days.”

Glorfindel turned his gaze to appraise the Half-elf. “Even dueling on his preferred battlefield of deception, this Annatar could not perceive your true mind?”

“I have met none who could, if my will is against it. But he wanted to, and he tried. He tried.” Elrond turned his head down, struck with a thought. “What did you say when we first met?”

“I complimented your silly desk.”

“No, no – you said I am bits and pieces of many things. Now that is how I might describe Annatar, come to think of it. Something else, something other. And though he spoke most in implications and half-truths, some things he knew too well – he referred to me as Túrin’s kin.”

“Sorry- your…”

“Grandfather’s cousin. Perhaps he only meant to impress with his knowledge of genealogy, but I sensed some significance to this that he let slip.”

Glorfindel found himself searching the sky for sign of Eärendil, guardian of the Void. “An agent of darkness may have close in mind the prophesized Dagor Dagorath, when it is said that Túrin Turambar reincarnated will slay Morgoth upon the plains of Valinor itself, and the world will be remade.” What began as a shrug became a shudder. “Regardless, I suspect you were wise to doubt him, and Gil-galad has it right that he is at least in service of Sauron.”

Elrond swelled, something about the memory making him proud. “Well, whatever he is, he never stood a chance at winning over Ereinion. Too pompous, and dour. The King has a rule to distrust anyone without a sense of humour, you know.”

“That reminds me!” Glorfindel turned toward his companion, suddenly inquisitive. He raised a single finger. “May I?”

“Um,” Elrond stilled as Glorfindel touched the digit to his temple and drew it back through his hair, exposing the ear.

“Hm. So they are proper after all. Never mind.” He let the hair fall back into place but continued to appease his curiosity by giving Elrond a thorough eyeing from head to toe. “I had expected to find your father’s likeness reflected in you, golden of hair and green of eye – as a child he was quick to joy and true of heart, fearless, selfless, and full of hope. Instead the look of Melian who I knew in Valinor is upon you – black of hair and intense in thought. You have her deep-seeing eyes and severe beauty, her kind wisdom, and her sense of sadness.”
Elrond opened his mouth to ask about his foremother in Valinor, but Glorfindel was not finished.
“Also I expected you to be taller.”

Looking out upon the ocean, Elrond shut his mouth and left it there for as long as he could.

“I am nearly your same height.”

“You are a hand’s width shorter than I.”

“I stand as tall as Gil-galad.”

“But I did not expect him to be taller.”

“He is taller than most.”

“Turgon and Thingol, tallest of all, are not his forefathers.”

“Why does it even matter?”

“Does it?”

The tide prodded and tugged at the shore, hissing like muffled laughter. Elrond glanced sidelong at his companion who now wore his mirth openly. The dinner bells rang.

“Melian is well,” Glorfindel answered the question unasked. “She dwells often in the gardens of Yavanna with her songs and in the woods of Oromë with her flocks. Her thoughts turn less often these days to the many trials and great losses of yonder years, for such healing of the heart can be found in the Blessed Realm. I think you shall meet her there one day, little one.” His cloak billowed as he turned. “Now come! I would taste whatever is making that smell, for the High King commands it, and I live to serve.”

~fin~