Somebody That I Used To Know - Chapter 2
Somebody That I Used To Know - Chapter 2
“I am content here…” Glorfindel had said when Lord Námo had told him he was to be returned to life outside The Halls.
“You will be needed. You are a great warrior, a good leader of warriors,” said His Lordship.
“Not such a good leader,” Glorfindel replied. “There are many of my House here.”
“A good leader,” Námo repeated, “but not, yet, a great one. And we may need you to be great. And so it is time for you to leave, whilst there is peace, and take time to talk to some others, who are not here, and learn from them. We may not need your skills until the Dagor Dagorath, but we fear we may need them sooner.”
“So,” Glorfindel asked, “are some of the princes of the House of Finwë already returned to life in readiness?”
“No.”
He knew he should not really be questioning His Lordship, but these were things he would like to know before he might be returned, rather than be ignorant of them.
Námo eyed him steadily, then elaborated. “You are important because you are NOT of the House of Finwë. You accompanied Turukáno because your mother is kin to his wife - but you are not part of that family, to draw some towards you, and turn others away, for no reason other than whether you descend from Míriel Þerindë or Indis.”
There seemed no point in arguing, Glorfindel thought. Instead he asked was his father to also be returned? And Mírimien.
Neither of them, at least just yet. Mírimien needed more time for her fëa to fully heal. There was no explanation regarding Glorfindel’s father; he was simply to accept.
He was, at least given a chance to say his farewells to both Mírimien and his family members and friends. Almost the last thing he did before finding himself in his new, fully functional, hröa was to take Mírimien and introduce her to his father and his aunt so that she would feel as if she had some family, even if it was his not hers.
His mother had welcomed his return, of course. She had returned to her own people, and so Glorfindel found himself in Valimar when he stepped through the doors of Mandos. He could not explain why his father and his aunt were not yet returned, but Amille had taken his own return to life as a reassurance that her husband and her cousin would follow at some point, although it took some time before she stopped fussing over him as if he might suddenly disappear.
He found himself keeping somewhat exalted company; that the Maiar would at times take on hröar and spend time in Valimar he knew, but now he found his company sought out by two or three of them, Olórin in particular. They spent many hours in conversation in the tranquil city and it was only later, back in Middle Earth, that Glorfindel realised how much he had learnt from them.
Eventually it was Olórin who told him that evil was again rising in Ennor and he was to take ship, for the time had come for him to become, again, a leader and a warrior. (Whilst it was assumed that no elf who crossed the Sundering Sea from East to West could return, in fact some of Círdan’s West-bound vessels docked in Tol Eressëa and their passengers disembarked there, the crew remained on board, and the vessel returned to The Havens; there was a limited supply of skilled mariners…)
And, in all the years since, he had held Mírimien in his memory. As he helped Gil-galad in the struggle against Sauron, acting as Marshal of the warriors in the war in Eriador, he thought of her in the quiet moments. When he led the Elven forces in the Battle of Fornost, he thought of her fighting her way through Angband, and as he helped Elrond establish the stronghold and sanctuary of Imladris, he thought of her sitting beside him listening to the sound of the waterfalls.
………………………..
Looking out of the window at the small boats on the sea beyond the garden where he planned to sit later, with a book, Glorfindel thought it was very pleasant, after so very many years, to have no responsibilities at all.
Unlike Celeborn and the twins, he had no requirement to attend official functions, and could wander along the shore, or through the town, without anyone taking any notice. In the month or so he had been here, he had caught up with members of the household who had left Imladris over the years, visited Gimli, pleased to see the old dwarf still alive, and spent a pleasant afternoon sitting on the sands talking to Tindómë when he met her during a walk.
He was beginning to feel torn between staying until after the Ithilrim celebrations for mid-winter or setting off to, first, visit his parents, then to begin to seek out Mírimien. He was not even sure where to start on the first part of that plan, let alone the second.
Was his father still in The Halls? Surely not, it had been a very long time since Glorfindel had last seen him there. If his parents were reunited, would they have moved to live in Tirion as they had before? His father had family there and had been a court official; they may well now live in Tirion or its environs. Galadriel might know, he thought, he really must ask her…
He was stirred from his revery by a knock at the door, and an ellon entered carrying a small package.
“There is post for you, Lord Glorfindel,” he said.
He had forgotten that there had been regular messengers between the major settlements during his previous years in Aman - although he had a feeling that there had been little between Tirion and Alqualondë during his second sojourn. But that was more than an Age ago.
“Thank you,” he answered, adding “and there is no need for the ‘Lord’.”
The ellon handed him the package, looking as if he would ignore that suggestion, and left.
As soon as he looked at the wrapping he knew the answer to one of his questions. His name was written on it in his father’s neat tengwar. Atar was clearly no longer a guest of Lord Námo.
Inside was a letter, also written by his father.
My dear Laurë,
We have just received word that you were on board a ship that has recently arrived from Ennor.
We are told that people are often aware that a loved one is making the journey, but neither your mother nor I recognised the unexpected sense of restlessness we felt some weeks ago as a call to set out to Alqualondë. For this we both apologise, dear boy, for you must have felt that we did not care enough to meet you.
‘I must put their minds at rest,’ he thought.
For, really, he had not expected them to be there. No-one had told those on board that they would find loved ones waiting; it was just a pleasant surprise for those who had.
He kept on reading.
We have learnt something of your life since you sailed to the East, from others who have arrived over the years, and we have been told that all those who had remained in the vale of Imladris accompanied you. It seemed to us that there will therefore be little room to spare in the home of your Aunt Elenwë’s descendants, otherwise we would have set out immediately we knew you were on this side of the Great Sea.
How odd, he thought, to think of Elrond and his family in terms of Aunt Elenwë.
But we are hopeful that you will soon journey here to Valimar, for we long to see you for ourselves.
Your affectionate Atar and Amille.
‘Well,’ he thought, ‘that answers two of my questions. Atar is no longer with Lord Námo, and they have chosen to live in Valimar. Perhaps Atar will also know if Mírimien has left The Halls…’
He sent a brief reply by way of the messenger service, to say he would see them ‘soon’, and then took a few days to prepare for the journey, before saying his farewells to Elrond and Celebrían and setting off.
He really should have acquired a new Asfaloth, he thought. All their horses had been left behind when they took ship. But, in the meantime, he had brought all his tack with him; and the soft sound of bells, as he rode the perfectly adequate mount from Elrond’s stables, was as gently amusing as it always was.
He remembered a small Arwen worrying that the tinkling sound would alert enemies if he rode to arms, not realising he only put this bridle onto the current Asfaloth when he rode purely for pleasure. How sad, he thought, that Celebrían will never see her daughter again. But it was now only a slightly melancholy thought, no longer a painful one. He turned his thoughts as he rode, instead, to another black-haired elleth, wondering about Mírimien… when he finally found her, would she still appeal to him as he remembered? Would he appeal to her?
It was a pleasant enough journey. It would soon be Firith (Quellë, he reminded himself) and leaves were turning golden. The last of the crops were being gathered in the fields near the roads, and there were enough folk for company in the inns at night, but not enough for them to feel crowded.
All in all, taking this journey at a leisurely pace was a good way to reacquaint himself with the lands of Aman he knew of old. And what a pleasure it will be in time, he thought, to go further and see the new lands that seem to await our Sindar and Sylvan kin.
There were, of course, kin in Tirion, but he stayed in an inn on the outskirts of the city for he wanted to see his parents first. Time enough to come back and see how the city has changed, he thought. And someone amongst his Noldorin kin might know more of Mírimien as she was clearly Noldorin too.
……………………………………………………………
The weather was overcast and raining, and the soft sound of other bells began to accompany those on the harness quite soon after he first saw Valimar catch the sunlight through a tiny break in the cloud.
As he rode through the gateway to the house he had shared with Amille on his return from The Halls, a figure came out of the door and ran towards him. He slid swiftly down from the horse and quickly realised that, no matter how ancient and lauded a warrior may be, there is nothing that matches an embrace from his mother.
An embrace quickly broadened to include Atar.
A servant came and took the horse to the stables, and he walked to the door between both parents, each with an arm around him. No matter how long he had lived in Imladris, the Last Homely House, this, he thought, was home, at last.
“There is someone else here waiting to greet you,” Atar said, as they entered the house.
For a fleeting moment Glorfindel thought perhaps there was a younger sibling, conceived after his parents were reunited, until a figure stepped into the hallway and was illuminated by another shaft of sunshine bursting through the cloud.
Mírimien!
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Atar and Amille are the Quenyan for Father and Mother.
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Unrelated - we survived storm Darragh with no problems, but there was quite a lot of damage across the island - slates of roofs, a few flat roofs off altogether, many trees down, but nobody injured.
And this afternoon D-d and I got together to drink hot chocolate, eat mince-pies, and make Christmas cinnamon stars and a couple of wreaths - I will post some pictures tomorrow.