Summary: What was the real story behind Elrond's marriage?
Categories: FPS, FPS > Elrond/Gil-galad, FPS > Gil-galad/Elrond Characters: CelebrÃan, Elrond, Galadriel, Gil-galad, Glorfindel
Type: None
Warning: None
Challenges: None
Series: The Folly of Starlight
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 13212 Read: 23072
Published: August 23, 2009 Updated: August 23, 2009
Story Notes:
If you would like to know when other stories in this series are posted, go to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/follyofstarlight/join
Thanks: to Emma for the beta.
Feedback: PLEASE!!!! elrond@ithilas.com
The Folly of Starlight series.
1. Prologue by AC
2. Chapter 1 by AC
3. Chapter 2 by AC
4. Chapter 3 by AC
5. Chapter 4 by AC
6. Chapter 5 by AC
7. Chapter 6 by AC
Playing a lion being led to a cage
I turn from surreal to seclusion
From love to disdain
From belief to delusion
From a thief to a beggar
From a god to God save me
How can I feel abandoned even when the world surrounds me
How can I bite the hand that feeds the strangers all around me
How can I know so many
Never really knowing anyone
If I seem superhuman
I have been
Misunderstood.
-- John Petrucci (Dream Theater), "Misunnderstood"
[Coire 28, the year 3434 of the Second Age of Middle-earth. The valley sanctuary of Imladris, known in the Common Tongue as Rivendell]
The comforting cloak of eventide wrapped itself firmly around the denizens of the valley, both those of long standing and those uneasily collected here in the urgency of the war which was to come -- far too swiftly. Both took pause this chilled evening to reflect upon all that was at stake should they fail in their appointed task of defeating the mighty army of Mordor. While their troops anonymously went about this solemn business among the tents of the leafless forest and the silent stone halls of the cliff-side hamlet, the leaders of the First Born and the Second shared one final, sumptuous meal in Lord Elrond's private dining room.
By tacit agreement, all talk of tactics was strictly forbidden. The conversation instead centered around romanticized reminiscences of glorious Numenor and beauteous Beleriand as they had once been, before each was crushed by the hand of war and cast forever into the unforgiving watery grave of Ulmo's stormy realm. Elrond listened with sorrowed spirits to Elendil's forlorn recounting of the loss of the Valar's island gift by those of his twin brother's line. The occasional glimmering sparks of recognition of his beloved brother's blood Elrond caught in Elendil haunted the Peredhil Lord. Over the passage of the past preparatory years he had come to respect and honor the King of the Edain as more than just long-flung kin, but as a truly gifted leader. It was certainly just that Elendil, son of Amandil, sat beside the High King of the Eldar this night, in the seat usually reserved for Elrond himself.
Daring a glance to his left, Elrond winced at the ever present storm-clouded scowl of Elendil's son, Isildur. This one would lead us to certain ruin, should his father fall in battle, he forlornly thought. Winging a silent prayer of hope for Elendil's continued good health to the Valar, Elrond eagerly set his eyes upon a vision far more fair, and beloved beyond measure. There, across the solidly square table, nearly close enough to touch if it were not for the necessity of decorum and restraint, sat his king, his lover, his life -- Gil-galad, the radiant starlight and hope for not only his kind, but that of all of Middle-earth.
Forsaking all outward signs of the battle which loomed before them like the sheerest cliff of the valley, Gil-galad dressed as a statesman of the highest magnitude, a king, not a general. The deep twilight of his ornately embroidered robes only accentuated the dark beauty of his features, the nobility of his high brow even further dignified by the diamond studded, golden fillet he seldom wore in these troubled times. His grayed sapphire eyes sparkled in the candlelight with flickering accents of hope, uncertainty, and above all else, the boundless love Elrond knew they shared without question, and without limits. Silently squirming in his own velvet robes of office, Elrond tried to shift away the mounting pressure which claimed his attention as well as much of his skin, the urgency of lustful needs of the flesh, and the soul, becoming an overwhelming and, at this moment, unwelcome distraction.
Pushing back his emptied glass of honey wine, Elendil rose from the table as if on cue, smiling with a radiant warmth both genuine and confident. "We leave at dawn's first light," he reminded them all most unnecessarily. "It is time my son and I take leave of your hospitality for the last time."
Gil-galad fluidly pushed up from his own seat and clasped his ally's forearm in the traditional manner. "Only for the last time before our victory, my friend."
Elendil nodded sagely, his smile brightening further, lifting some of the hardness of his years from his features. "Indeed. I shall hold you to that."
"It will be our honor to host a victory celebration without rival once Sauron has been defeated," Elrond offered, rising to his feet as he reached across the table to clasp the Edain King's arm in the same way.
"I look forward to that day with joy in my heart." Elendil trained his eyes on his still-seated, darkly brooding son, his expression obviously disapproving and warning.
With a sullen acquiescence of duty held without relish, Isildur gruffly pushed back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the tiled floor under his weight in a most unmelodic way. "Victory will be ours," he too-confidently exclaimed, hesitating for a moment before extending his arm for Gil-galad's eager clasp. Retracting his arm more swiftly than was seemly, Isildur hesitated once more, then met the Herald's stare. Elrond's gaze trained on the insolent Edain prince with eyes dripping with obvious contempt and loathing. "I will have nothing less," Isildur bragged, roughly grasping Elrond's half-heartedly offered arm.
Elrond pulled out of the warrior salute like a victim of the rudest burns, discretely brushing his arm against the soft folds of his robe in attempt to clean the imagined stain from his flesh. A shudder of revulsion and loathing trembled through his being as he watched the father and son depart from the chamber, his reluctantly sworn promise to his king, his beloved, haunting him as the most grievous of burdens. "How better for him to find the wisdom of your calming influence than in your arms?" Elrond wiped a worry-wearied hand across his furrowed brow. I would rather bring him to wisdom with the point of my sword than a single taste of my flesh.
"By the Lady's grace, we are alone at last," a purred baritone interrupted, saving Elrond from his morose mental meanderings of what he feared would too soon come to pass. Closing his eyes, Elrond allowed his lover's arms and aura to envelop him utterly, savoring the sweet sensation of the other's solidity pressed firmly against his back.
Elrond pivoted into the other's embrace, eagerly completing the secure circle of unbridled emotion and limitless devotion. Brushing his lips chastely against the other's, he sipped the briefest taste of the familiar and the tantalizing, his mouth finally dancing a hair's width away from what he considered the depths of the truly blessed lands. "How should we celebrate this momentary reprieve from the shackles of duty, my lord?" he breathlessly teased, his fingers tightly wound around thick plaits of the other's night-hued hair.
With the incipient rumble of a frustrated growl reverberating in his throat, Gil-galad clutched the sides of his lover's face with none-too-gentle fingers, forcing the teasing lips a safer distance away. His gaze purposefully danced across the stage of those elegant features, his mind's eye, along with his heart, memorizing each curve, every angle. For although he hoped beyond hope that the Alliance would find only success, there were no guarantees that he and his beloved would both live to savor the final victory. Lingering in the desperate attempt to create a faithful rendition of that cherished visage in his mind, Gil-galad exhaled loudly and then brusquely claimed those well-loved lips as his own. Feeling his very breath stolen from his chest, Elrond sighed into the comfort of the all-encompassing contact, allowing himself to become lost, and yet so very, utterly, and completely found....
The crafty King surprised his long-time lover by diverting their presumed path from that which led to their private bedchamber. The Lord of Imladris instead found himself, without explanation, on the familiar grassy banks along a small stone bridge tucked away in a surprisingly deserted corner of the valley. It was a well visited spot, a private sanctuary for the elven lovers, where they would pass the occasional stolen hour of leisure during warmer months in the comfort of conversation and the soothing spray of the tiny, babbling tributary of the Bruinen lapping at their bare feet. Elrond was even more surprised to find two others of their kind waiting, apparently expecting their arrival, the smiles upon their faces dashing any thoughts of a chance meeting. Cirdan had been among their midst since the first convening of the Council, and Glorfindel was only recently returned from yet another of his seemingly constant reconnaissance missions along the spine of the mighty mountains to their immediate east. Now both old and dear friends, and allies, stood in waiting, dressed in their finest robes.
Halting in the center of the small knoll, Elrond spun into the awaiting loose embrace, his face a perfect mirror of the uncertainty of his soul. "What manner of conspiracy have you brought me into?" he cautiously drawled, his keen gaze searching his lover's eyes for some semblance of explanation.
Gil-galad's lips twitched in a hint of a smile, then claimed the other's questioning lips in a brief, yet passion-driven kiss. "The only kind worthy of our friends, Nin-iaun. That of the heart." Noting the increasing depth of confusion creasing that beloved brow, the High King smiled without restraint. "I wish to right an egregious oversight we have perpetrated upon each other for the better part of this age." Pressing a lingering kiss into Elrond's forehead, the High King exhaled in a weighty sigh. "I only wish I had had the foresight to do this many, many rounds of Anar before now." His smile flickered broader, his fingers tenderly caressing the side of Elrond's curiosity crinkled features. "I wish to bind myself to you, as is the manner of our people. Not merely body to body, as we have done so sweetly, with such perfection, but heart to heart, faer to faer."
Feeling the shudder of joy and longing shimmy through the other's flesh, as it did his own, Gil-galad held Elrond closer, pressing his lips into the silken satin of his lover's hair. "We may share our bodies with others in the name of this Alliance," he whispered so softly that none but his beloved might hear, "But in Elbereth's name I swear I shall never share your heart with another. Not now, not even unto the end of Arda itself."
The shivers of perfect passion and devastating desire in Elrond's body increased unconsciously at the power and ardor in the king's voice. It thrilled him the same as it had the very first day they had met, after the War of the Jewels. It had been his awe of Gil-galad and those first incipient pangs of desire which had made his choice to remain of the Eldar so effortless, so natural. Had he been led to that decision by the Valar themselves, in their perfect foreknowledge of this very moment? "How in the Lady's name could such a travesty occur," he whispered huskily, "That I could bind myself to any other than you?"
"Indeed." Claiming a final kiss from those lips he held most dear of all, Gil-galad stepped back, his hands holding his beloved's their willing thrall. "Our friends have agreed to be our witnesses in this most solemn pledge."
"It is our honor," Glorfindel interjected, a smile brightening the gold-framed features of his face. Cirdan nodded most enthusiastically, reaching out to silently clasp Elrond's shoulder in an affectionate manner of support.
And so it was that the Last High King of the Noldor and the greatest Lord of the Sindar in all of Middle-earth pledged their hearts one to the other beneath the bejeweled canopy of the Lady's stars, a pledge unto the end of Arda itself, and beyond, they fervently hoped. In sign and token of their sacred union, Gil-galad gifted unto his mate, his bereth faeruin, an emblem to wear upon his armor when they departed for battle. The starry banner of the line of the Noldor, wrought in the finest mithril, was permanently affixed to the outline of a leaf of the vale over which Elrond reigned as lord.
The sovereign of the secret valley lamented aloud that he had no such gift to return to his mate, but his lament was instantly kissed away with urgent and earnest lips, and throaty laughter. "You have given me something far more precious and rare than any bauble of mere metal." Gathering his mate into his arms, Gil-galad brushed kisses upon every inch of that troubled visage. "You have reminded me why I truly fight these battles -- so that we may share the rest of this age, and all those to come, as one."
After marrying Gil-galad, Elrond hoped in vain that somehow he would be released from his oath to lie with Isildur in the name of the Alliance if the need arose. But as Elrond was loathe to learn, that was not to be, and the first night the elven lords consummated their passion as husbands was, most regretfully, their last.
But for the elder children of Iluvatar, marriage is not only of the body, but of the spirit, and transcends even the Halls of Mandos....
[Coire 1, the year 97 of the Third Age of Middle-earth. The private garden of Galadriel, Lady of Lorien]
The barest of hushed breezes gently tickled the golden leaves of the mallorn trees, their gilded hue faintly reflecting the brilliant jewels of Varda's starlight in a way only keen Firstborn eyes could perceive. This night a sole pair of such sharp Eldar eyes surveyed the delicate illumination of the forest, the invasion of visions halting any further chance for rest.
Bare feet effortlessly glided over the chilled softness of the moss-strewn forest floor; stealth achieved although totally without need or reward. The Galadrim were happily lost in their tree-top dreams, leaving Galadriel alone to ponder the troubling visions of her own disconcerting reverie in silence.
The dreams....
This was certainly not the first time visions far too real to ignore had haunted her resting hours, but mercifully she had been spared that burden in the years of peace since Sauron's defeat. For them to return now seemed doubly strange and ominous. And yet, these dreams were far different from the ones which had plagued her peace of mind in those dark, desperate years. But alas, then, as now, she had to face them alone. Her husband was currently absent from their bed and from her confidence, accompanying Amroth, Lord of Lorien, to the Haven of Edhellond to wish safe passage to more of the Sindarin refugees headed West, to a home which had been promised to them in ages past by the High Powers, but which none of them had yet seen, in their centuries of tarrying in Middle-earth. Will no ship bear me West, home to where the Two Trees once blossomed?
Delicate eyelids slowly shut, then squeezed tightly, wringing out each nuance of memory from Galadriel's past. Yet even as she savored the unworldly beauty of Valinor, she could not prevent the horrific shifting tableau of the first slaying of Elven kin from replaying as well. Her kin, slaying those of her husband, taking the graceful, sleek swan ships by force, by blood, in the hastily sworn name of an oath which had led to naught but ruin for all of their line who had pledged to its completion.
Her steps halted suddenly, the proximity of the answers too terrible to contemplate stealing the breath from her lungs. With the greatest reluctance she opened her eyes, and stared in awed silence at the mithril basin perched so innocently upon the stone plinth the Galadrim had constructed for her private use. Although she and her family were not of Lorien, their stays in the fair forest had been increasing in both number and length over the course of the Second Age, and the Galadrim, and their Lord, considered she and Celeborn as among the leaders of their land. With the Lady's protection, may they never be without their true Lord, or his heirs which are surely to come. A shiver traveled the length of her lithe, gown-draped frame, a fortifying breath hushedly drawn inward, then, finally, her hands hesitantly reached for the silver pitcher she dreaded filling.
Dipping the pitcher into the cool waters of the fountain, Galadriel allowed the clear fluid to fill the perfectly polished metal before withdrawing it. She turned toward the basin and, after one last hesitation, poured out the splashing stream. She had not dared gaze into the prophetic waters of her dwarf-crafted gift since the end of the last war. Such horrors, such loss, had the First Born of Iluvatar, as well as the Second, endured in that terrible time. While her husband had been numbered among the leaders of the Alliance, she and their daughter had remained for a time in the safety of Imladris, then had risked the dangerous journey back to Lothlorien, back to the whispering trees and the silver-tongued tree-dwellers they so missed. For if the Alliance fell, not even the Valley of the Bruinen would offer them sanctuary at last. If the end was to come, Galadriel and Celebrian both wished for it to find them among the beauty of the wood and the people who had embraced them as surely as any of their own kindred.
As the silver tongues of the wood still bittersweetly sang, in the end the blackness had been defeated, but not without exacting a terrible toll. Yes, she had witnessed far too much of it reflected in Durin's gift, even before the tragedies had come to pass, impotent to prevent the deaths of so many she loved and respected, including those she named kin. She had even borne the foreknowledge of the death of her King, her cousin, had seen the radiant star of the Noldor extinguished by the flame of the Evil One's fire on the plains of Mordor. She had witnessed the anguishing scene weeks before it had unfolded in reality, and had fleetingly contemplated sending an emissary to the front with word of what she had seen. Yet the burdensome restraint of wisdom had stayed her hand. It would have served no purpose to risk the life of a messenger on such a futile mission. She could have not saved Gil-galad from his fate, not without endangering the lives of many more, and perhaps risking the very success of the Alliance. Admitting prescience later would have caused naught but pain and ill will, and suspicion in future diplomacies, especially with Imladris, whose Lord had lost far more than merely a King that fateful day.
For among the many visions the deceptively calm surface of the water had gifted -- no, plagued -- upon her had been a secret ceremony, where the High King and his Herald had been joined as one before the eyes of their closest confidants, and the all-knowing vision of the Valar.
No, she had told no one of what she had seen, not even her husband, and silently shared the pain she and all those with eyes had seen in Elrond's tormented expression in the time after the Alliance's victory. So much had been lost, even in the final victory. Imladris had lost an ally and its very heart, Greenwood the Great had lost its king, as had Lorien. Gondor had lost its king, not once, but twice, if the fall of Isildur be counted. The visions haunted Galadriel to this very night, as perfectly fresh and as painstakingly vivid as they had been the moment they had been revealed in the aqueous mirror.
The surface of the water stilled, shimmered, and then a possible pathway of the Third Age unfolded before Galadriel's horrified eyes....
She had regretted accepting the visions the mirror -- the Valar, she believed, in reality --had shown to her in those dark times at the end of the Second Age. Tonight she just as deeply rued her unwilling knowledge of what the Powers had deigned to show her in this age, although in a far more personal way. Tonight she had not merely witnessed the destruction of distant lands, of soldiers cut down at the height of their bravery upon the unforgiving field of battle. No, tonight she had witnessed the permanent sundering of the Eldar, and the Faithful of Men, at the hands of an evil more insidious but just as real as the utter blackness of Mordor.
The end of hope, and the end of love. The end of the line of Luthien in the worlds of both manner of Iluvatar's children.
She had found herself inexplicably drawn to the mithril basin by the dreams -- terrible, haunting dreams of what would befall her home, her land, her people... all peoples... if the line of Luthien were to come to dust and memory. For although the bloodline of Dior, heir of Luthien, still ran true in the race of men, in the Faithful of Numenor's demise, it threatened to end in its Eldar strain. For in taking the High King of the Noldor as his mate, Elrond Earendilion had closed the door on the possibility of continuing Luthien's bloodline through his loins.
Now, with the High King in Mandos' care, although one door had closed, another had opened; namely the possibility of Elrond's taking a wife and passing on his precious blood to another generation of the First Born. With the Valar's grace, and my kin's consent, Galadriel uneasily reasoned. That the Valar would bless any union which continued on the Elven line of Luthien, Galadriel had no doubts. That Gil-galad would consent to an eternity in the Halls of Mandos with no chance for reprieve, or reunion with his beloved Herald, well that was far from certain.
Galadriel had also seen the end of her own line reflected in the pitiless portents of the water, if the free spirit of her only child could not be tamed and channeled toward more domestic duties. Celebrian was far more enamored with the woods and the stars than others of her kind. She had caught the eye of many, but had seriously returned the attention of none.
The mirror had shown her a future which was unspeakable, yet, perhaps, avoidable.
Two lines could end...
Or...
Two lines could unite.
Thus she returned her gaze to the glassy surface of the water, now hoping the mirror would gift upon her a vision of the outcome should that alliance be realized. The mirror did not disappoint her. As the images unfolded her emotions ran the gamut from joy, pride, fear, sorrow, and finally, and most importantly, hope. Hope for Middle-earth, but not for her daughter. Sacrifices would be demanded of all involved -- the Lord of Imladris, the silver Lady of Lothlorien, and their children, in whom Luthien's image, and her choice, would again return to the First Born of Iluvatar.
But first, choices would have to be made, beginning with Galadriel herself. Should she share this vision, this burden, with her only child, whom she would eventually lose if all she had seen came to pass?
This particular choice was taken from her in the passing of a single breath.
"Mother? Is something the matter?"
Shaken from her agonizing ruminations by her daughter's apprehensive voice, Galadriel forced an ironic touch of a smile to her lips and turned to face the question, and its source. "All is fine with me, my child." Closing the several steps which separated them, Galadriel reached out a hand and gently smoothed the sleep-mussed silvery hair, much as she did when Celebrian was merely a child. For a moment she forgot that her daughter was no innocent elf maiden, having seen much of the Second Age, and all that had so far transpired in the Third. Instead, Celebrian appeared to her as simply her daughter, her child. Her hopes, and her fears, and those of Middle-earth, wrapped in one inscrutably self-confident package. "Why do you forsake your bed?" Galadriel tenderly whispered, her fingers lingering in the contact with the spun silver of her child's hair, a treasured trait passed down through Celeborn's line.
"'Tis dreams, they would not give me peace."
Nor I. "What manner of dreams, my beloved child?"
A curtain of confusion visibly drew across Celebrian's face. "Dreams of Imladris, although I have not seen it with my own eyes since the War."
A sad smile of reluctant understanding crossed Galadriel's face, as she gently cupped her daughter's chin with one hand. "Dreams of Imladris... and its Lord?"
"Yes," her daughter answered with palpable surprise. "He has always been most kind to us, but no more so than he has been to all who seek the solace and safety of his valley. 'Tis strange that he should occupy my dreams."
Releasing a melancholy sigh, Galadriel kissed her daughter's forehead. She had known the heavy yoke of duty, as one of Feanor's House. Now it was time for her daughter to be given the choice to accept her own burden. "Come, my beloved child. I have much to show you...."
[Mahanaxar, Valinor]
The full brilliance of a perfect Valinorian dawn shown down upon the majestic ring of carefully hewn stone thrones and their equally regal occupants. A low chatter echoed among and between the stones, barely audible even to Elven ears, if there had been any close enough to eavesdrop. But none of the First Born would dare intrude upon the Council of the Valar uninvited, although it was their kind which were, once more, the subject of the meeting of the heavenly lords and ladies.
Varda the most lovely, the shining, snow-white Lady of the Stars so beloved by the Eldar, and who held them equally adored, sat in caution-filled silence at the head of the ring in her traditional place of honor next to Manwe, her husband, the mighty Lord of the Valar. His brilliant sapphire robes initially trapped the eye, yet failed to hold its attention long, as one's gaze could not help but be drawn with dizzying swiftness to the nearly painfully intense splendor of Elbereth Gilthoniel.
The Star-kindler stared with a wary eye across her husband's familiar form at the figure seated to his immediate right -- the shimmering, silver-green, imposing appearance of Ulmo, Lord of the Oceans. Ulmo usually attended such council meetings with blustering reluctance and frustrating tardiness, yet not this particular morn. No, on this golden day he was the first to arrive, and any hint of indignation at being summarily summoned was uncharacteristically absent from his demeanor. Indeed, there was something of impatience in his manner, not to end the meeting, as was his usual desire, but to begin it. Ulmo raised his deep sea-green stare from the stone floor of the council and met Varda's intense visual inspection, a hint of a smile briefly passing nearly unseen across his lips.
"My brethren, we have assembled to discuss the plea of Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin," Manwe announced, his voice lyrical in its beauty and strength, reflecting the greater part he had taken in the original song of the Ainur. "She asks that we intercede in the matter of her daughter, Celebrian, and the possibility of a union with Elrond Peredhil, son of Earendil."
An unsettled murmur clearly reverberated through the assembly, one particular voice, belonging to the stern-faced figure seated directly to Varda's left, raising to an unmistakable complaint. "You speak the name of the Kinslayers as though their pleas were our common concern," Orome unsympathetically spat.
A graceful, delicate hand emerging from a sleeve of golden flowers calmly stroked the angered lord's arm. "Husband, all was forgiven and set aside after the War of the Jewels," Vana the ever-young reminded her mate.
Orome grumbled out a loud breath and further objections. "That was not the unanimous choice of all of this council."
Across the circle the pale Lady of the Fountains shifted noticeably in her gray robes.
"Many have suffered in the last Great Year," Este sorrowfully lamented, her voice seeming the whisper of a dream, yet at the same time clearly not. "The cries of Middle-earth continue unabated, even in their sleep. Cries of widows and fatherless children."
"Is the Lord of Imladris one of the widows of whom you speak?" Orome prodded with unabashed derision, his impatience and ill-humor refusing to recede.
"His pain is as real as any other whose lament reaches my ears," Irmo offered most sincerely, tenderly grasping his pale wife's hand in a palpable sign of support. "And was as earnestly earned. I have sent Elrond vivid dreams of more joyous times, hoping to ease his pain, yet it has only seemed to drive him farther into despair."
A deep, sorrowful sigh could be heard to his right. "If his pain becomes too unbearable, he may choose to follow his King to my husband's halls," Vaire, the weaver of memories, warned without joy.
As was his nature, Mandos sat silent and stone-faced, at his wife's side, completely unmoved by what he heard. His pronouncements were beyond emotion, without passion, based simply on unflappable evidence and irrefutable reason. Only once had he been swayed from his appointed task, to judge and rehabilitate the dead in preparation for their release from his care back into the world. Only Luthien had been able to sway his heart, and his hand.
The black-garbed figure seated to his right was, however, not immune to the pleas of others. The Solitary Lady of Mourning and Healing, Nienna, sister of Manwe, closed her eyes tightly, the lines of deep-rooted and sincerely felt pity etched across her brow. "I feel the sorrow of the High King's heart just as keenly as you hear his spouse's laments. Of all the pleasures of Arda, Gil-galad would gladly forsake them all without complaint, if it be our will, save one -- the taste of his beloved's lips."
"The Galadrim, too, cry out in their pain, for they suffered the loss of their king and many of their bravest bowmen in the assault on Mordor," Vana insistently offered. "The golden leaves of Lothlorien rustle with the sorrow of their hearts, as surely as the very wind itself."
Yavanna the most fair, her tall, graceful frame draped in the rich green of forest hues, made a vividly contrasting figure to the paleness of the gray-garbed Este uneasily seated at her right. "I, too, hear the sorrow of the Lady of the Wood, she who loves the Galadrim and their trees with the fullest depth of her heart. She worries with good reason that her line may end, as her daughter has shown no desire in all this age, or the last, for a husband. Until now, it seems."
"Her pleas reach my ears, as well," Varda added gently. "I also hear the pain of Elrond's heart, the golden blood each carries in their veins making their woes more sorrowful still to my ears...."
"You summon us here merely because you fear the precious blood of the fair Faithful will vanish from Middle-earth?" Orome interrupted. "It is strong enough here, in Valinor, where the Minyar have long dwelled by our side, as is their rightful place. They whom you favor most of all are in no danger of becoming extinct. You shall hear their sweet praises sung in your name until the very end of Ea."
Remaining as steady as the heavenly illumination of her handicraft, Varda calmly dispelled one of Orome's most egregiously incorrect assumptions. "The line of Ingwe is stronger in Middle-earth than you believe. Its blood mingles among the leaves of Greenwood the Great still."
A loud, undignified snort erupted from Varda's left. "That line is cursed, and will die out by the folly of its own hand soon enough."
With a hint of Anar's flame clearly burning in her intense gaze, Varda rebuked Orome once again. "It may be cursed, yet it is not without hope. Not so long as they call out to me. My ear will always be turned toward them, in times of pain and joy equally."
"I fear joy may never visit their house again," Aule the blacksmith sorrowfully observed, his features awash with the ache of compassionate understanding.
"It is not the fate of the Faithful alone which brings us here, my brethren," Ulmo impatiently interjected from his seat at Aule's side. "There is far more at stake here. The Children of the Moon and those of the Sun, the First Born and the Second, are sundering farther from each other with the passing of years. Not only in politics, but, more importantly, in blood. Just as the light of the Trees was brightest when both intermingled, so too the light of Luthien's line shall shine forth once more only if its two cleaved branches are reunited. This cannot happen if her line is allowed to end in the bloodlines of the Eldar."
Manwe raised a hand and urged calm from his visibly agitated friend. "We know well your prophecy concerning the return of Morgoth, and your protection of the lines of Earendil and Turin, your champions."
With a purposeful, emotion-settling breath, Ulmo struggled to regain his composure. "It is more than merely continuing their lines, my Lord -- it is strengthening them. Just as a braided rope bears a more burdensome load than can its separate threads, the line of Luthien can only bear the burdens of this age if it is strengthened by weaving together its stray strands. Galadriel has seen the wisdom in this, as has her daughter. It is indeed well that they have heeded the wisdom of their dreams."
A shockwave of disbelieving gasps swiftly evolved to concerned murmurings ringing the circumference of the stone circle. It was Varda who gave clear voice to the unified accusations of suspicion. "Who was it that sent such visions to the Ladies of the Wood? From your words it seems they did not come upon this 'wisdom' on their own."
"It was my purposeful thoughts which enlightened their minds, my Lady," Ulmo boasted with copious confidence. No sooner had he willingly admitted the full depth of his role in the current concerns than a familiar snort taunted him from across the circle.
"It does not surprise me that you are meddling in the affairs of Middle-earth again, Ulmo, yet even I must congratulate you on the efficiency of your plot. You have somehow managed to manipulate the Teleri and the Kinslayers who spilled their blood all at the same time! How precious, to turn the enemies into arranged bedfellows!"
"The Peredhil is not Teleri -- he is Moriquendi, as was his father before him," Aule gently corrected.
Ulmo bore the needling and nitpicking of his brethren with increasingly short temper.
"Need I remind any of you the sacrifices Earendil has made in the name of Middle-earth and all of its peoples?"
"He had no choice," Vana softly lamented. "'Tis the curse of his blood, on both sides of his lineage."
"'Tis the curse of us all if we allow the line of Earendil to fail." Ulmo paused for a hanging moment, the fire of indignation washing through him. "He may have been born Peredhil, but he was given the choice -- by our decree -- and became of the First Born. Some of us have not forgotten that they, above all other beings, are the most beloved of Eru's children."
Orome erupted in a furious, insulted roar, slamming one fist upon the unyielding arm of his throne as he hurled himself to his feet. "You doubt my love of the Eldar? Who besides me tarried long in Middle-earth after the rest of you forsook its dark woods for Valinor? Who came upon them and loved them in the days of their awakening?"
"No one doubts the sincerity of your heart, nor the purity of your intentions," Manwe soothed with a raised hand, gesturing for the angered Lord of the Hunt to return to his chair. "We should extend that same courtesy to all numbered amongst us here." Waiting until Orome reluctantly regained his seat, Manwe turned his piercing gaze to his dearest and most trusted friend. "There is much in this proposal of yours which concerns me gravely, Ulmo. Elrond was once given the choice to determine his destiny for himself, as was his brother. Would you force a choice just as monumental upon him now?"
Ulmo exhaled wearily, the sunlight reflecting and diffracting off his mail raiment like a veritable rainbow. "His judgment is clouded by the heavy veil of grief. We cannot expect him to come to such wisdom of his own volition. Wisdom must be brought to him."
"Wisdom, or only grief of yet another sort?" Yavanna suspiciously inquired. "Would you also doom the Silver Lady of Lothlorien to a loveless union for the sake of producing progeny? And what of the last of the High Kings? He remains in Mandos' care for now, but yet still has hope of reprieve. Would you take away that hope from him, as well as the hope of his faithful herald whose line you profess to care so deeply for -- the hope that one day they might be reunited? Truly, you appear the enemy of hope this day, Ulmo!"
"It is because of hope that we must do this thing! Hope that the further sundering of Man and Eldar be avoided!" Desperation replaced all hint of insult and anger in the Watery Lord's tone. So much rested upon the outcome of this one council, so very much. How could they not see it? Have they all gone blind? Eru, Great Father, help me to remove the shadows of ignorance from their eyes!
As was her customary role, Varda offered a soothing voice of compromise and clarity. "We gather here not to dwell upon past pains, nor to create new ones in their stead. We are here to built a bridge of hope to the future of all Middle-earth. Do I correctly understand your intentions, Ulmo -- to bind Elrond Earendilion to Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel, and bless their union with the grace of children?"
Grateful that his prayers seemed to have been answered with the swiftness of eagles, Ulmo bowed his head slightly in reverent respect. "Yes, my Lady Queen."
Tulkas, the golden-haired champion of the Valar, fumed in barely contained silence from his seat between his wife and Nienna. He had heard all that had transpired with increasing incredulity. He was often at a loss for sage council at such meetings, and as such frequently did not speak unless directly asked for his opinion. But now he found himself utterly unable to hold his tongue for another passing of breath. "And what of Gil-galad? He and Elrond pledged themselves to each other before the end of the last age. Even the passing of the High King into Mandos' care does not release Elrond from his oath!" Gone from his ruddy face was his usual good humor, no hint of his characteristic laugh remained in his voice.
Ulmo wrung his hands in his lap, understanding well Tulkas' reasons for personal affront. On any other occasion, the Lord of the Sea would have chosen his words with delicacy and deference for the great love which had passed between Tulkas and Manwe's son. For despite Orome's insensitive interjections, none among them truly thought of the union between Elrond and his beloved King as less than a true marriage. Orome was reticent to give his full blessings upon such unions only because he did not approve of the freedom his much-cherished sister had given to her own husband to find love in the arms of another -- another of his same kind. "Finwe was released, and Elrond shall be as well," he flatly explained, with no joy whatsoever in his tone.
A fire rivaling Anar itself flashed in Tulkas' eyes, the unadorned champion clearly understanding what Ulmo's suggestion implied. "You, who have never wed, would doom Gil-galad to eternity in the dark, hopeless halls? How ironic that you once pleaded for mercy for the Noldor, only to damn the greatest among them to the worst punishment of all!"
Lithe Nessa, who much preferred carefree dancing upon carpets of grass to the pains of politics, reached out an beseeching hand and tightly clasped the wrist of her husband, silently urging him to remain in his seat. "If they had only chosen to love each other without the formal binds of marriage, as I have graced upon my husband and Fionwe, we would not be faced with such terrible choices now. Yet I find I cannot blame either for following the genuine calling of their hearts. There is far too much pain in Ea for me, or any of us, to condemn true love of any sort."
Although Aule felt naught but empathy for the High King and his Herald, he could see no solution which left all hearts unbroken. "But they have sworn before Manwe and Varda, and in the name of Eru himself, and it is law that the Eldar may have but one spouse in this world. Therefore, we are bound to the statute of Finwe and Miriel in this matter, if indeed we decide to agree to Ulmo's request."
Vaire slowly shook her head in disbelief. "Galadriel would banish her brother's grandson from the world forever, with no hope of reprieve? I do not believe her heart to be so cold."
"It is not coldness, but love," Ulmo instantly retorted, without hesitation, and without the joy he usually relished when it was apparent his will would prevail. "Love for her people, and for all of Middle-earth. Her line has suffered much, and will suffer more still. Such is the song we have composed for them, since the days before we entered the world."
"The line of Earendil will also face many more sorrows in the unfolding of this age, for the sake of both their bloodlines," Manwe sagely offered. "Elrond will suffer most of all, although he believes fate can hand him no greater pain that that which already weighs upon his heart."
Varda sat silently in reflection for a moment, then gave voice to the ultimate concerns of her heart. "We cannot possibly ask that he bear these burdens alone. His strength wavers, even now. If he is told what more pains he will face in the name of Middle-earth, I do not know if his heart can support the load. I will not bear to see him without hope or help." With a slight smile of affection and foreknowledge illuminating his face, Manwe tenderly clasped his wife's hand in his. "He will have his share of both, by Eru's decree. You are correct, that he cannot be told of all that will face him, but to none are given complete knowledge, not even the Valar. Eru alone sees all."
"I may not see all, but I see this with the keenness of eagles. I will not doom Elrond to an eternity without love, or hope. Celebrian cannot doom Gil-galad to the shadows without hope of reprieve. Sacrifices will be expected of them all. She will be made to sacrifice her own life, when the time comes." Varda's tone made it as apparent as the cycling of the moon that this point was not open for negotiation.
Despite this, Aule still felt the need to give voice to lingering reservations of his own. "But what if Mandos deems that Gil-galad should not return? 'Tis his judgment that sets the sentence for those who enter his halls, and it is only by his leave, in addition to yours, that they return to the world."
A secretive smile blossomed across the Star-kindler's countenance, her already indescribable beauty now rivaling that of the stars themselves. "Love will return to Elrond's heart, and his arms, when he requires its strength the most, no matter what else Mandos pronounces. The dark brilliance of the stars has already blessed the Peredhil's heart. The golden light of Anar shall have its turn to do the very same. That is my decree!"
Manwe contemplated this in sage silence, and after a time, and seeing no disagreements, ended the discussion. "Mandos, what sayeth you on this? It is time to speak the doom of Gil-galad -- the doom of them all."
All eyes trained to the far end of the circle, where the stone-faced Lord of the Dead finally broke his ominous silence. His deep, dispassionate voice reverberated among the stone thrones, his words instantly and indelibly woven into the invisible fabric of fate.
"Gil-galad shall remain in my care for the better part of this age, until such time as Celebrian willingly forfeits her life in his place, for as Varda has asked, it is my decree also that she do so at the appointed time. The High King will then be given the choice we deny him now -- to return to the arms of his lawful spouse, if that is still his heart's desire."
Manwe nodded in tacit approval. "So be it. Varda will show them all a vision of what is to be, and what can be, if the doom is allowed to pass. But to this Elrond and Celebrian must both agree of their own free will. That is my decree." Slowly rapping his sapphire scepter against the stone floor of the council circle in a steady beat which trembled the earth beneath all of Valinor and Middle-earth, he signaled the pronouncement of the Valar's final judgment in this matter.
With nothing further to say, Manwe sat in patient silence while his companions one by one departed for their own duties, their own concerns, leaving him finally sitting alone among the blackened stones, lost in heavy thought. After the passing of some moments he raised his eyes to the skies, and waited in knowing patience until one of his faithful eagles winged to his side, in response to the unmistakable call of his thoughts. "Tell Olorin I wish to speak to him immediately," he softly explained to the noble bird. "I have an important task for him...."
[Coire 30, Imladris, Elrond's chambers]
Ignoring the increasing chill of the dusk air, Elrond absently stared out over the valley from his private balcony, aimlessly observing the deepening twilight cover his home. The intensifying canopy of azure painted the trees in their nightly coating of star-kissed stillness, yet the coming of the night brought neither the promise of rest, nor the solace of comforting dreams. No, peace would not find him this night, nor had it on most nights since the dawning of this accursed age. Dreams he indeed had in abundance, yet instead of granting him much-needed peace, the vivid tapestries woven in his somnolent mind only tormented him with visions of what he could no longer have.
Pleasures he privately dreaded he would never taste again.
The piercing, bell-clear laughter of a child rang out from somewhere in the valley, innocent and guileless, such a contrast to the suffocating gloom in his heart. It was his young charge, Eldakar, son of Valandil, heir of Isildur. With the return of the warmth of spring, the young prince and his mother would soon return north, to Annu Minas and his rightful place at his proud father's side. And so the world goes on -- even as I do, yet without joy, without hope.
Without thinking, his right thumb instinctively began stroking the finger clasped beside it, lovingly caressing a cherished golden ring Elrond ever wore. He had found it -- and an identical mate -- patiently awaiting him underneath his pillow when he had returned home from the horrors of war and the most unbearable tragedy imaginable. Cirdan had known they were there, as had Glorfindel, yet their existence had take Elrond completely unaware. Obviously Gil-galad had not wished for them to be profaned by the taint of war's hatred and evil. No, they were a symbol of the purest of loves, and should only be worn and given as such. Gil-galad had therefore left the bands in the one place where he had found naught but love and sanctuary, hoping they would be worn in an age of peace and joy. Elrond had immediately slid his upon his finger upon their discovery, even as the tears freely streamed from his face and blessed it with his pain and loss. Its twin was safely kept in his mithril chest, next to the first ring Gil-galad had gifted upon him, awaiting the High King's release from the Halls of Mandos.
Indeed, for the first decades of this age, Elrond had nightly gazed upward to the Lady's handiwork and prayed for the swift return of his beloved from those dark chambers. Surely Gil-galad had done enough for Middle-earth to more than atone for the misdeeds of his people, and the short-comings of his own deeds?
Yet, as the years passed, each more lonely and grief-filled than the previous, Elrond became increasingly bitter. Were the Valar punishing him? Could it be that Gil-galad simply did not wish to return to him?
The sager parts of Elrond's mind knew it was unrealistic to expect Gil-galad's swift return, yet he refused to abandon all hope. Had it not taken many centuries for Glorfindel to be released, even after all he had selflessly done in the name of others? I would gladly wait all of this age for another taste of my King's lips, another moment of his warmth wrapped within my arms, just one more night of his loving of my body, and my worship of his.
How could he survive such a wait when he barely managed to bear the pain of a single lonely night? More than once Elrond had considered giving up his own life to join his mate in the Halls of Awaiting, where they could be together in spirit if not in the flesh. But he knew the ways of Mandos to be inscrutable, and there was no promise they would be reunited, even in death. Alas, his oath bound and damned him --to protect the line of Isildur, the line of his own, long-perished brother. Yes, he was bound to serve and succor his brother's line, even as his own languished, as did all hope for joy in his heart.
Elrond also understood full well that Gil-galad would not wish for him to give up his life and duty in the foolish hope of the reunion of the fea. We shall never truly be apart, shall we, Finellach? Twisting the gold ring around his finger with his thumb once more, he believed he could feel the engraved, achingly private, pet name burned into his flesh, along with one his beloved had bestowed upon him. Gil-galad had proudly used the name Elrond had given him whenever sending correspondence to Elrond's kin in Numenor, yet Elrond had never reciprocated the honor in kind. He had, instead, kept the precious gift of Gil-galad's private appellation close to his heart, in a superstitious fear that to reveal it might endanger their relationship. After a time, Gil-galad himself failed to use it, save in the most special moments of passion and love, falling to other pet names in playful moments of affection which seemed to demand them. Their lives, their fates were grim enough. Only love and bliss were allowed passage beyond their bedroom door.
So it was that even when they spent years, decades, or the occasional century apart, they remained ever as one. The lyrical words lovingly penned upon parchment strained in vain to convey the depth of need and emotion a single sweet contact of their lips could manage with far more ease and delight. But as they both knew too well they both were once and always duty's slaves. It was in their bloodlines, and the undeniable signature of the Second Age. As it is in the Third. But is it my fate to suffer my duty alone? I cannot bear to believe the Valar so cruel.
The sound of barely audible, soft, elvish footsteps gratefully interrupted his morose mental meanderings. Turning toward the sound, Elrond's pain-saturated gaze caught an equally unsettled expression on a fair, familiar face.
"My Lord, is all well?"
Elrond shook his head in instinctive response to Glorfindel's well-intentioned query. "No -- it has not been so since...." Catchinng himself just a moment before falling headlong into the chasm of utter despair, Elrond swiftly brushed a hint of moisture from the corner of one eye and with the greatest effort forced a mockery of a smile to his lips. "All is well, dear friend," he announced with feigned contentment as he tightly grasped and squeezed the other's robed shoulder. "You wish to speak to me?"
"Not I," Glorfindel answered, obvious relief fluttering in his tone. "An emissary from Lothlorien has arrived, and wishes a private audience."
Consternation raised creases in the Lord's forehead. "Would not the morn be a more appropriate time?" Elrond questioned. Seeing an insistent expression molding Glorfindel's features, he exhaled in acquiescent defeat. "As he wishes. Give me a few moments of privacy, then send him here." Not waiting for Glorfindel's nod of understanding, Elrond turned back to the railing, his breath naturally escaping as a forlorn sigh. Raising his gaze skyward, he easily spied the familiar, elegant patterns of the Lady's twinkling handiwork blazing overhead. "Why must you mock me... torment me?" he whispered, far louder than he intended.
An unanticipated voice offered an equally unexpected answer from behind him. "The stars do neither, Lord Elrond, but neither can they offer you any true peace. It would be far better to open your heart to the Lady and her kin. Only they can hear your prayers."
Elrond twisted around sharply to discover himself face to face with an unknown member of his race. Dressed in curious gray traveling clothes, the eerie combination of pale moonlight and flickering golden candlelight gave the impression of equally gray hair, worn loose around the visitor's shoulders. Not silver, as the line of Thingol, but truly gray. 'Tis a trick of the light, Elrond reasoned, As is the fire in his eyes.
Momentarily pushing away any thoughts of suspicion about the visitor's true nature, he shrugged his shoulders and his robes into a more regal posture. "The Valar have taken from me the most brilliant star which ever graced Middle-earth. What could I possible ask of them? What is there for them to give which I would want?"
"Besides the return of your beloved King, you mean," the boldly earnest stranger retorted. Elrond slowly nodded, the sorrow shimmering through his emotion-drained frame despite his wish to appear in control.
The stranger continued without hesitation, his strength of conviction unwavering. "Gil-galad fell as he was meant to, as was Eru's wish -- in the name of light and truth, protecting all he loved, including you."
"I would have gladly fallen in his place," Elrond whispered softly, his voice trembling out the final word.
"But that is not the song the Valar have composed for you, my friend. Your fate is more painful still."
Elrond spat out his own, equally certain conclusion. "To remain here, alone," he bitterly accused, pain and derision rolling off each individually enunciated syllable.
The still unidentified visitor remained calm, the only emotion in his voice the signature of self-assurance tempered with boundless compassion. "No, to remain here and carry on the work of him you loved best, and still do, and the work of all who fell in his name, and that of the Alliance. It is your burden to be sure the Darkness does not find triumph in this age."
Elrond carefully studied the curiously clear blue eyes, utterly free of any hint of storm hue. There it was again -- the lingering nag of suggestion that this visitor was far more than he originally seemed. "How might I prevent that?" he desperately beseeched, his hands begging along with his words. "I am neither a king, nor a general, nor do I wish to become either in this age. I am simply as I have been for much of the last age -- the Lord of this valley."
A smile of mystery and unspoken knowledge painted across the other's face. "You are Earendil's heir. That is sufficient. Think of the sacrifices your sire made for all the peoples of Middle-earth, and open you heart to the opportunity to do the same, if not more."
"My father had my mother by his side, to share his burden, to combine her strength with his. The Valar would have me do as much, or more, by myself?"
"Indeed, you are correct. No one should be asked to shoulder such grave responsibilities alone. You need not do so, either. You cannot do so, Elrond Peredhil. You too must combine your burden, your strength, with that of another. You will find others will freely offer to share in your sacrifices. Follow the lead of their hearts, just as surely as you have so willingly followed the call of your own before now."
Elrond turned away, unable to bear for another moment the fierily intense eyes of the stranger and the unnatural light in his inscrutable face. Staring out over his valley, his home, for a few too brief seconds, he closed his eyes as a tremble of remembered intimacy ghosted through his flesh. "You speak of others as if I could ever give my heart to any but to whom I am wed -- now and for all time."
That eerily piercing voice volleyed back with far too much ease. "You believe Gil-galad to be the only star who has ever fallen? You need to observe the heavens with a keener eye, Elrond. Stars fall from the sky more often than you would believe, yet the heavens do not become as darkened as your heart. For every time a light tumbles from the firmament and is extinguished in a final flash of glory, the Lady lovingly chooses another to take its place."
Without opening his eyes, Elrond sighed his desperate response. "None could take his place."
"Do not close your heart to the Lady. She has most certainly not forsaken you."
How he longed to believe the words of this most curious of messengers. "If only I could be as sure as you seem to be," Elrond whispered with palpable ache. Exhaling loudly, he slowly opened his eyes in time to catch the wondrous sight of a brilliant golden bolide silently winging its way across the sky. It started east, near the peaks of the Misty Mountains, at the Valacirca, the visible promise of the Valar's defeat of Morgoth at the end of days, then streamed westward across the valley into the wings of Wilwarin. Yet rather than extinguish its flame in a final, showered spark of death, the beckoning brilliance passed out of sight intact, its light undaunted, undimmed. Yet Elrond strangely found no joy in the meteor's apparent victory. Instead, he believed it to be only another celestial taunting. "The Lady torments me still," he murmured. "She reminds me of the beauty of starlight only to take it from me after too brief a moment. 'Tis folly that I fall for her treachery still."
"Lord Elrond?"
The voice had changed, drastically, undeniably, both in timbre and poise. Elrond jerked to face the origin of the query and found himself faced with a clearly puzzled, fair-haired elf dressed in the typical forest garb of the Galadrim. "You are the messenger from Lothlorien?" he questioned incredulously, his eyes vainly searching the rooms and corridors beyond for a glimpse of the mysterious stranger who had, indeed, been much more than he seemed.
"Haldir, servant of the Lady of the Wood," the elf introduced with a slight, nodded bow of respect. "She humbly requests that you return with me and my party to Lothlorien, to discuss a matter of some urgency."
"What matter?"
"An alliance between your land, and our own...."
[Mettare (New Year's Eve), Lothlorien]
Elrond had done as Galadriel had requested, taking Glorfindel and two guards as traveling companions on the journey to the Galadrim's wood in the company of Haldir and his well-traveled band. Why he had relented so easily he did not know, but it seemed it was what he must do. The peculiar, surreal visitation of the disappearing stranger, and the fervent hope that the trip to Lothlorien would thankfully distract his mind, appeared sage reasons on their own, but there was something more spurring him on, something he could not define. Each day's journey closer to Lothlorien brought more troubling dreams, and an ever increasing sense of dread. He had considered Haldir's original words to be in truth a polite invitation on behalf of Amroth, the rightful ruler of the Wood, spoken in the name of Elrond's distant kin, Galadriel and Celeborn, for the sake of politeness. Yet upon arriving, Elrond found that neither Amroth nor Celeborn were in Lothlorien, and it had, indeed, been Galadriel herself who had summoned him.
Thus it was that on the first night of his arrival Elrond found himself at the entrance to Galadriel's private garden, hoping for a explanation of this most irregular behavior. "You wish to discuss an alliance for protection, Galadriel? Why does not Amroth himself discuss such matters with me?"
The Lady of the Wood smiled slightly, then turned away from the portal in which Elrond stood, softly padding down the stone steps. "It is not an alliance of armies which concerns me, but an alliance of bloodlines."
Elrond hesitated in the archway, an eyebrow assuming the same curve as the carefully hewn stone above him. "Bloodlines? You and I have been friends and counselors to each other for all of the last age. Why would you assume we would be less in this one?"
Glancing over her shoulder from the bottom step, Galadriel beckoned Elrond to join her at the bottom of the stairs with a slight nod of her head. "I do not expect us to be less, but more," she mysteriously retorted. She waited patiently at the base of the flight for Elrond to follow, taking several graceful steps backward to allow him space to stand.
"Have you not been gifted with strange dreams of late, my old ally and friend?"
Blinking hard, Elrond thought for a moment in stunned silence,, wondering if Galadriel was reading his thoughts, as was her talent, or speaking from knowledge gathered from her fabled, dwarf-crafted basin. "What exactly do mean by that?"
"Precisely what I say -- have you not been gifted with dreams you least expected?"
Elrond hesitated, his already considerable unease and suspicion blossoming into the irksome tickle of annoyance. Not annoyance at Galadriel per se, but the way in which she seemed to so easily draw from him that which he was in no mood to share. "Ever since the night of Haldir's arrival in Imladris, I have had dreams of Lothlorien," he finally admitted with no joy.
"Of the trees?" Galadriel pressed, clearly expecting a more exact answer than the sweeping generalities Elrond was willing to divulge.
"No, of its people," Elrond evasively answered.
"Its people, or one person in particular?"
Curse whatever window you have into my mind! Elrond drew in a steeling breath, then allowed it to slowly hiss its way back into the still night air. "As preposterous as it seems, I have dreamt of your daughter, my old acquaintance."
The smug satisfaction of a knowing smile curled skyward the corners of the Lady's lips.
"'Tis not preposterous, Elrond, 'tis the Valar's wish. She, too, has been blessed with dreams of you, since before my messenger arrived in your valley."
Annoyance turned to disbelief, to utter incredulity. "The Valar's wish? Why would they wish for us to dream of each other?"
"In the hope that you will both recognize the folly of your ways, before it is too late -- too late for us all."
Unable to stand the piercing light of inscrutable conviction in Galadriel's eyes, Elrond turned away and strode farther into the garden, halting several feet from a large stone pedestal and its legendary mithril scrying bowl. "Folly? In what manner?"
Galadriel glided across the moss carpet beneath her feet, following Elrond at a comfortable distance. "My daughter, my sole heir, has not taken a husband, nor has she shown any interest in doing so, not even to bear children. You have spent your life without wife or heir."
"I have surely been without either, but I have not been without love, or the bonds of marriage," Elrond angrily spat. He found himself strangely defensive at Galadriel's words, and the uncomfortable implications which seemed to accompany them.
"No offense was meant to my cousin, your husband, or your relationship. But it will bring you naught but ruin to cling to those old vows in this new age."
"You speak of the vows of marriage as if they could be shed as easily as the leaves,"
Elrond remarked in amazement, turning around to face the source of what he considered utter nonsense.
"Not with ease, but out of necessity." Seeing the fire in Elrond's eyes, sensing his insult and anger as clearly as the stars above without the need to probe his mind, Galadriel hurriedly tried to direct the conversation to the real crux of the matter. "My line will end if Celebrian does not chose a mate, and yours will, as well, unless you relinquish your vows to Gil-galad and take another -- one who can bear you heirs."
A visible tremble of unbridled indignation rumbled through Elrond's robe-clad frame, his voice taking on the deep boom of the battlefield. "What madness has possessed you, Galadriel? Do you actually mean to propose what I believe I hear in your words? You wish me to forsake my vows -- nay, to deny them, withdraw them -- in order to father your daughter's children?"
"Do not think I do this for myself, or even my family alone, Elrond," Galadriel swiftly returned, raising a graceful hand in admonition. "I know what it is I ask of you. But there is simply no other choice."
"Do you? Have you truly considered what it is you ask, not only of me, but of your kin, my husband, our King? You know Finwe's Doom as well as I -- I cannot take another as my mate unless Gil-galad releases me willingly."
"You may also be released if the Valar decree it to be their wish."
Elrond found his suspicions of the Valar turning to the fiery sparks of mistrust and earnest hatred -- hatred at the thought of being manipulated. The blood fever of instinctively protective rage stormed through his brain, his patience reaching its final breaking point. "And in doing so, they would doom our King, my heart's only desire, to eternity in Mandos' Halls! I would not be a part of such a conspiracy of hopelessness!!!" With a scowl more terrible than the landscape of Mordor etched across his face, he roughly pushed past Galadriel and headed straight for the stairs which would release him from being a victim to any more of this utter madness.
"My daughter is not fated to remain in this world until the end of days," Galadriel desperately called out, matching Elrond's pace step for step. "I have seen it to be so in my mirror, as has she. She will pass over sea and out of Ea before me, and then Gil-galad may return to your side."
Reaching the bottom step. Elrond paused, his fists bloodlessly clenched in anger at his side. "I have no desire to be released from my vows, no matter the shortness of the sentence," he slowly spat between gritted teeth. "My vows are all I have left."
"No, you still have your precious pain." Reaching out a hand, Galadriel grasped the back of Elrond's arm and urged him to turn and face her once more. "Think of the dreams, Elrond," she softly urged. "Perhaps you have already been released from your vows, and you do not know it -- or you do not accept it." Sensing just the barest hint of wavering uncertainty in Elrond's thoughts, Galadriel used her final form of verbal weaponry. "Gil-galad valued honor above all else, did he not? Honor, and an abiding love for Middle-earth and its people. Would you honor his memory, by carrying on even as he could not, or would you dishonor him, and the great love you shared, by allowing Middle-earth to suffer as you have?"
Gone was the flaming ire from Elrond's tone, replaced by the full weight of his sorrowed heart, and the burden of hopelessness he had carried for far too long. "Celebrian is more than merely fair of face and temperament, yet I do not love your daughter as she deserves," he earnestly remarked, unable to form a more masterful argument at the moment.
"Nor does she you. We all know there is only one who owns your heart, as you do his. You would do her no dishonor by taking her as your wife. I understand what I ask, and what you cannot give. She will be content to have the honor of bearing your children, if not the joy of your heart."
A distinctive eyebrow rose in its natural manner of expressing surprise. "You would speak for her in such a grave matter?"
It was another's voice who answered without hesitation. "No, she would not -- I can most assuredly speak for myself."
Elrond sharply twisted around to find Celebrian standing behind him at the top of the stone stairway. "My lady, how much have you heard of our private conversation?"
"All that I need." A sweet smile gracing her lips, she alighted the steps and closed the distance created when Elrond stepped backward to allow her passage. Hesitantly claiming one of Elrond's hands in hers, she met his pained gaze with the full strength of her enlightenment-assured eyes . "I know all that I need to about your love for my kinsman.
It is the tale of legends, after all. And even if it had not been captured forever in the sad songs of my people, it is written forever in your eyes."
"Surely you do not understand all that is being asked of me... of you," Elrond whispered, gently shaking his head in lingering disbelief.
Although Celebrian did not possess the skill at reading minds that her mother had learned from Melian, she was masterful at reading the outward signs of most thoughts. Such pain she saw, without hope, without reprieve. How could one endure its weight alone?
She had known Elrond since the middle of the Second Age, and although she had never thought of him as more than a distant kinsman and honorable statesman of note, the thought of sharing a life with him was not completely bereft of joy. He was fair of face and honorable of heart, and as the mirror had shown her, would give to her children she would cherish more than her own life. It would have to suffice. "Tell him everything we have seen, Mother," she firmly suggested.
Galadriel stepped closer to her daughter, capturing Elrond's reluctantly apt attention. "I have seen what may come to pass, if your line, and mine, are allowed to fail, and it is not a fate you would wish upon Middle-earth. You would not take a wife for your own sake, but will you do so to secure the future of Middle-earth? Or has your heart become so black that it cannot see past its own pain to that of others? Would you doom us all because of the doom of your own heart?"
"He must see for himself," Celebrian sagely counseled. She gave Elrond's hand one final squeeze of encouragement before allowing their fingers to slowly slide free of each other.
"Only then will he truly understand. Look into the mirror, Elrond. You will understand as I do. This is our duty." She smiled sadly, yet a smile all the same. "It is our destiny." With a lingering hold of Elrond's unsettled expression, she turned and silently slid up the stairs and away from view, leaving her mother and intended mate alone in the private garden. Galadriel turned toward the spring and filled the delicate mithril pitcher with its cool, clear water. Elrond watched in reverent silence as she poured water into the mirror, then hesitated as she gestured toward the still surface of the freshly-filled mithril basin.
"Watch, and learn what my daughter and I have come to know -- that Middle-earth stands on the knife-edge of eternal darkness. What you decide here and now will rule the fate of us all."
Elrond swallowed hard, and after a final moment of deep-seated trepidation, leaned over the glimmering water, watching in horror as one possible fate of Middle-earth unfolded before him. All that Gil-galad had fought for, died for, was undone in a tangled web of mistrust and hopelessness, the elder and younger children of Iluvatar turned from allies to adversaries under the ever-watchful eye of the dark powers. Finally unable to view any more for fear his heart would break, Elrond squeezed shut his eyes and stiffly straightened his back. "You believe I have the power to change this... this unspeakable horror to hope?"
"Not you alone, Elrond. You and my daughter together, and your children to come." A bittersweet smile graced Galadriel's face. "Look into the mirror, Elrond. There you will see what joys will be yours if you choose the path I offer as your own."
With the slightest hesitation, Elrond did as he was asked, training his gaze once more onto the deceptively shallow, shimmering pool. Elrond found a smile instinctively rose to his lips despite the crushing weight of his unceasing grief. Glimmers of beautiful children -- his children -- frolicking among thhe paths of his valley, their laughter the most sweet music to his ears, momentarily faded the pain of memory from his heart. He recognized the expressions of pride and love upon his and Celebrian's faces as they watched over their brood. In the continual cascade of images, he saw his twin sons grow fair and tall, strong in body and wisdom, his daughter beautiful beyond description, the very vision of Luthien joyously returned to Middle-earth.
And yet it was the final tableau which brought some semblance of true joy to his hope. The delicate illumination of Ithil flooded through his private bedchamber, reflecting off the silken shimmer of a smooth mane of ghostly pale hair. His fingers lovingly tended a comb through the beauteous flow and were rewarded by the instinctive nuzzle of affection of a face against his hand. He closed his eyes, his hands tightly gripping the side of the stone pedestal as he tried to steady himself against the revelation. He would one day feel genuine affection for Celebrian, and she for him, despite the sterility of their arranged betrothal, the calculated method of their marriage. With eyes tightly shut, Elrond hovered over the basin in silence, pondering all that had been shown to him. Noting that Elrond had apparently ceased watching what the mirror offered, Galadriel kept her own eyes eagerly trained upon the mirror in fascination. This scene she had not been gifted before, and it heartened her to think that her daughter might one day find true happiness and the hope of true love at Elrond's side. But her hopes were instantly dashed by the shifting vision in the mirror. The ghostly haired figure turned into the nuzzled hand, exposing its true nature. This was not the silver haired loveliness of her daughter, but the high cheekbones and dazzling beauty of a male of their kind -- of the Firsts -- a beauty she had not seen since leaving Valinor. For the briefest of moments she considered alerting Elrond to what he had missed, but then thought the better of it. It was best that he believe that he would find true contentment with Celebrian. The truth will find him soon enough -- unless the Valar find another path for his heart.
"I have seen enough," Elrond sighed in defeat, opening his eyes just as the last of the vision faded from view. "I have suffered much in the name of Middle-earth, but as you have said, that is my duty."
"That is the duty of us all, in this age," Galadriel offered. She raised her hand with the back facing Elrond, the white gems it bore glittering in the moonlight. "To be a ring bearer is to suffer -- whether alone or not."
Not even questioning how Galadriel knew of his possession of Vilya, Elrond simply nodded in reluctant understanding, and tacit agreement to what awaited him.
What fate had slated for him.
[Two days later]
Elrond rode cloaked in the silence of his pain, his mood as gray as the clouds mantling the early morning sky, Glorfindel by his side. Haldir and his brothers rode slightly ahead, escorting the party to the borders of the Wood. A silver betrothal ring sat in place of the golden band Elrond had worn for all of this age, the metal chafing him, body and spirit. He had reluctantly agreed to the proposal of marriage, and signs in the heavens and in their dreams assured them all that the Valar had agreed to the dissolution of Elrond's marriage to Gil-galad. But as was tradition, Elrond would wait twelve years to the day before taking another as his mate, refusing to doom Gil-galad to Mandos' Halls without the proper time for appeal.
He would doom his lover to an eternity of darkness... but not this day. "Not this day," he murmured most unhappily, keeping his eyes unfocused on the pathway ahead, and the future he had seemingly sold his very soul to protect.
Galadriel and Celebrian watched the party from Imladris leave their home, from the top of the meeting-house talan. Celebrian absently twirled a simple silver ring around her right forefinger, trying to adjust to the sensation of the metal against her skin. "This is the Valar's will, is it not, Mother? What we do, we do for the greater good of Middle-earth?"
Wrapping an arm tenderly around her daughter's shoulder, Galadriel pressed a gentle kiss into the wavy silver hair. "Yes, my darling daughter." Sighing, she regretted for the briefest of moments not telling Elrond, or her daughter, of the golden-haired beauty who would one day return the fire of love to Elrond's pain-frozen heart. Lies, half-truths, or simple misunderstandings -- no, this was truly not the stuff of marriages, but of mere alliances. "What we do, we all do for the good of us all. By the Lady's grace."
End Notes:
Okay, these are going to be a tad long -- nothing I can do about that, since I can't assume everyone's read all three or so versions of the "Quenta Silmarillion."
1) Some dates of importance:
Last Alliance formed: Second Age 3429
Sauron defeated: SA 3441 (despite what the movie says)
Cirdan, Amroth, and Thranduil become lords of their respective kingdoms: Third Age 1
Isildur slain: TA 2
Ohtar reaches Imladris with the shards of Narsil: TA 3
Valandil, son of Isildur, born and raised at Rivendell, becomes king upon reaching the age of majority: TA 10
Eldakar/Eldacar, son of Valandil born: TA 87
Elrond marries Celebrian: TA 109 (according to the revised date in the second edition of LOTR)
2) References in this story to the events of The Last Alliance and the relationship between Gil-galad and Elrond come from "Where the Shadows Are." [http://www.ithilas.com/fos/shadows.html] "Nin-iaun," a nickname used in that story, means "My Sanctuary."
"Bereth faeruin" literally translates as "spouse of spirit" -- take it to mean "soulmate." Notice that when Gil-galad talks to Elrond he uses the Sindarin "faer" rather than the Quenya "fea."
3) "The Later Quenta Silmarillion" ["Morgoth's Ring": 235-6] discusses the judging of the dead in Mandos' Halls:
"Innocence or guilt in the matter of death is spoken of, because to be in anyway culpable in incurring this evil (whether by forcing others to slay one in their defense against unjust violence, or by foolhardiness or the making good of rash vaunts, or by slaying oneself or willingly withdrawing the fea from the body) is held a fault. Or at the least, the withdrawal from life is held a good reason, unless the will of the fea be changed, for the fea to remain among the Dead and not return. As for guilt in other matters little is known of the dealings of Mandos with the Dead. For several reasons: Because those who have done great evil (who are few) do not return. Because those who have been under the correction of Mandos will not speak of it, and indeed, being healed, remember little of it; for they have returned to their natural courses and the unnatural and perverted is no longer in the continuity of their lives."
Why would Gil-galad not be released from Mandos' Halls in a "timely fashion"? Let us examine his "crimes":
a) he did not destroy the three Elf rings of power when he had the chance;
b) he manipulated his Numenorean allies, the result being the deaths of many men for reasons other than those they had been led to believe;
c) he was a Noldor and technically of the line of the Kinslayers, who were cursed by the Doom of Mandos (see below section on Galadriel).
In addition, let us use Glorfindel as a model for comparison. By all accounts, he was a noble warrior who died saving many (including Earendil) from the fall of Gondolin. However, he had to spend at least 16 centuries in Mandos' Halls before being released. Given these facts, it seems likely that Gil-galad would have had to "do some time" as well.
4) Annu Minas was the capital of Arnor until some time between TA 250-861. The city was built by Elendil on the shore of Nenuial.
5) Isildur and his three eldest sons were killed at the Disaster of the Gladden Fields in TA 2. According to the account in "Unfinished Tales," Isildur was on his way to see Elrond on matters of strategy and claim his wife and youngest child when he was ambushed by orcs. In this account, Ohtar, Isildur's squire, and another young man were ordered to flee at the first sign of trouble with the shards of Narsil, while a third man, Elendur's squire, Estelmo, survived to later recount the outcome of the battle itself. In the version found in "The Silmarillion," Ohtar and two others escaped upon Isildur's death. Some have claimed that Ohtar was actually Elrond -- I discount this immediately. In "The Silmarillion" (367) it is explained that Narsil was left broken at Imladris and not reforged at that time because "Master Elrond foretold that this would not be done until the Ruling Ring should be found again and Sauron should return; but the hope of Elves and Men was that these things might never come to pass."
It is later said of Imladris that in the Third Age Elrond "gathered there many Elves, and other folk of wisdom and power from among all the kindreds of Middle-earth, and he preserved through many lives of Men the memory of all that had been fair; and the house of Elrond was a refuge for the weary and the oppressed, and a treasury of good counsel and wise lore. In that house were harboured the Heirs of Isildur, in childhood and old age, because of the kinship of their blood with Elrond himself, and because he knew in his wisdom that one should come of their line to whom a great part was appointed in the last deeds of that Age." The question I wanted to explore was, how did he come to that knowledge?
6) The concept of the "Children of the Valar" was a very old and well formed idea in Tolkien's writing which was much later abandoned for some reason. "The Annals of Valinor" ("The Lost Road": 122) explain that with the Valar "were later numbered their children, begotten in the world, but of divine race, who were many and fair; these are the Valarindi." Likewise, "The Annals of Aman" (Morgoth's Ring:66) call them by the same name, "who are the Children of the Valar, begotten of their love after their entry into Ea. They are the elder children of the world; and though their being began within Ea, yet they are of the race of the Ainur, who were before the world, and they have power and rank below that of the Valar only."
"Ainulindale" ("The Lost Road": 178) lists Fionwe Urion and Ilmar, respectively, as the son and daughter of Manwe and Varda, adding that they "dwell with Manwe, and with them are a great host of fair spirits in great happiness." Chris Tolkien notes the sudden change in his father's thinking in the notes to "The Later Quenta Silmarillion" ("Morgoth's Ring": 151-2): "Fionwe and Ilmare were removed from [section] 4 as the children of Manwe and Varda, and in [section] 7 Fionwe becomes Eonwe, 'herald of Manwe.'; here Ilmare becomes 'handmaid of Varda.' This is an aspect of an important development in the conception of the Powers of Arda, the abandonment of the old and long-rooted idea of 'the Children of the Valar, the Sons of the Valar.' It was still present in [The Annals of Aman] where the Valarindi, 'the offspring of the Valar,' were 'numbered with' the Maiar." I waffled on the Eonwe/Fionwe issue in an earlier story, but have now come down squarely on the side of Fionwe, for a reason you will soon see .
7) As Martinez (April 6, 2001) reflects, "Elrond is probably the most difficult character to understand in the entire mythology.... He suffers great loss through no fault of his own, and he accepts the loss with a grace and dignity which is hard to find elsewhere in the Tolkien mythos.... Like the stories of Aldarion and Gil-galad, the story of Elrond is important to the Second Age, and yet we know so little of it. Elrond deserves better than to be endlessly included as a footnote in the histories." In the same article, Martinez attempts to reason through the seeming lack of logic in the courtship of Elrond and Celebrian. The two elves apparently met at Imladris at the time of the War of the Elves and Sauron in the Second Age, and yet they did not marry until a century into the Third Age (some 1800 years later). Martinez is, in the end, unable to come to a satisfactory explanation for the delay, but instead posits several less than satisfying possibilities. A political union rather than marriage of mutual love as I have concluded here seems the most likely explanation, yet is not one Martinez lists.
8) The eventual fate of Celebrian was revised by Tolkien a number of times. Compare the following versions:
"In 2509 Celebrian wife of Elrond was journeying to Lorien when she was waylaid in the Redhorn Pass, and her escort being scattered by the sudden assault of the Orcs, she was seized and carried off. She was pursued and rescued by Elladan and Elrohir, but not before she suffered torment and had received a poisoned wound. She was brought back to Imladris and though healed in body by Elrond, lost all delight in Middle-earth, and the next year went to the Havens and passed over sea." ("Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers,"
"Return of the King": 401)
"On a time long ago, as she passed over the mountains to visit her mother in the Land of Lorien, orcs waylaid the road, and she was taken captive by them and tortured; and though she was rescued by Elrond and his sons, and brought home and tended, and the hurts of her body were healed, she lay under a great cloud of fear and she loved Middle-earth no longer; so that at the last Elrond granted her prayer, and she passed to the Grey Havens and went into the West, never to return." ("The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen,"
"Peoples of Middle-earth": 264)
"2509: Celebrian, wife of Elrond, journeys to Lorien to visit Galadriel, her mother; but she is taken by orcs in the passes of the mountains. She is rescued by Elrond and his sons, but after fear and torment she is no longer willing to remain in Middle-earth, and she departs to the Grey Havens and sails over sea." [T4 version of "The Third Age, Peoples of Middle-earth": 235-6]
It is quite interesting to note that an the earlier version (T2) of the history of the Third Age Celebrian was *slain* by the orcs, after only a century of marriage (Peoples of Middle-earth: 226). T3 also has Celebrian slain in the assault.
9) As Martinez (May 25, 2001) notes, "most of the original leaders of the Alliance never saw the end they worked so hard to achieve: Gil-galad, Elendil, Oropher, Amdir, and Anarion [son of Elendil] all perished." Amdir, also called Malgalad, is a mysterious character. His son and heir was Amroth, and Galadriel and Celeborn were frequent visitors to his home of Lothlorien in the Second Age. He was apparently friendly to the Noldor, and probably took in refugees from Eregion as a matter of course. It appears he was also on good terms with his neighbors, the dwarves of Moria. In "The Unfinished Tales" it is described how Amdir and more than half his troops were killed at the Battle of Dagorlad, while Oropher and two thirds of his troops perished in the assault on Mordor. Their respective sons, Amroth and Thranduil, took the thrones of their kingdoms upon the end of the war.
10) The Istari (Wizards) present an interesting challenge within the Tolkien canon. Chris Tolkien notes in "Unfinished Tales" (411) that we "must assume that they were all Maiar, that is persons of the 'angelic' order, though not necessarily of the same rank. The Maiar were 'spirits,' but capable of self-incarnation, and could take 'humane' (especially Elvish) forms. The Silmarillion" (24-5) states that the wisest of the Maiar "was Olorin. He too dwelt in Lorien [in Valinor], but his ways took him often to the house of Nienna, and of her he learned pity and patience. Of Melian much is told in the 'Quenta Silmarillion,' but of Olorin that tale does not speak; for though he loved the Elves, he walked among them unseen, or in form as one of them, and they did not know whence came the fair visions or the promptings of wisdom that he put into their hearts. In later days he was the friend of all the Children of Iluvatar, and took pity on their sorrows; and those who listened to him awoke from despair and put away the imaginations of darkness." Olorin is, of course, Gandalf, in the years before he was sent to Middle-earth by the Valar in the mortal form of an old man. It is said he appeared there in the early eleventh century of the Third Age, as the third of the messengers selected for this task:
"And Olorin, who was clad in grey, and having just entered from a journey had seated himself at the edge of the council, asked what Manwe would have of him. Manwe replied that he wished Olorin to go as the third messenger to Middle-earth (and it is remarked in parenthesis that 'Olorin was a lover of the Eldar that remained,' apparently to explain Manwe's choice." ("Unfinished Tales":410)
11) The Valar had a council chamber/courtyard called Mahanaxar, the Ring of Doom, near the golden gates of Valmar in Valinor, overlooking the corpses of the Two Trees. From this circle of thrones the Valar proposed their mandates and dooms. After the flight of the Noldor the Valar convened a council with representatives of the Elves of Blessed Lands present to discuss what to do about the disobedience and outright sinful behavior of the Noldor (including the Kinslaying of the Teleri). "The Hiding of Valinor" ("Book of Lost Tales, Part 1" : 209) describes the tumultuous scene in detail:
"In vain did Ulmo of this foreknowing plead before them for pity and pardon on the Noldoli, or Manwe unfold the secrets of the Music of the Ainur and the purpose of the world; and long and very full of that noise was that council. And more filled with bitterness and burning words than any that had been; wherefore did Manwe Sulimo depart at length from among them, saying that no walls or bulwarks might now fend Melko's evil from them which lived already among them and clouded all their minds." In his comments to this passage (223), Chris Tolkien notes that in the relevant passage in
"The Silmarillion there is no vestige of the tumultuous council, no suggestion of a disagreement among the Valar, with Manwe, Varda, and Ulmo actively disapproving the work and holding aloof from it; no mention, equally, of any pleading for pity on the Noldor by Ulmo, nor of Manwe's disgust." I have chosen to go along with the original version, as it is more detailed, and seems more in keeping with Ulmo's other "tinkerings" in the affairs of Elves.
12) The haunting story of Beren and Luthien, and their numerous sacrifices, is one of the most memorable in Tolkien's universe. As is recounted in the "Quenta Silmarillion" ("The Lost Road": 325), "of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Luthien, for it is sad and joyous, and touches upon mysteries, and it is not ended." As any who have read "The Lord of the Rings" knows, it is not ended because Arwen makes the "choice of Luthien," her foremother, and renounces Elvish immortality for the sake of love.
The recurring theme of interbreeding between the First Born and Second Born of Iluvatar is one of the most important in Tolkien canon. An early mythological rendering explains part of the reason:
"Gods and Elves, therefore, look forward yet to a time when the Elder Sun and Moon, which are the [Two] Trees, may be rekindled and the ancient joy and glory return. Ulmo foretold to them that this would only come to pass through the aid, frail as though it may seem, of the second race of earth, the Younger Children of Iluvatar. But Manwe alone heeded his words at that time, for the Valar were still wroth because of the ingratitude of the Noldor, and the cruel slaying of at the Haven of the Swans." ("Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road": 266)
Later in the same work (334-5) it is further explained that Luthien and Beren chose the doom that "whatsoever sorrow might lie before them, their fates might be joined, and their paths lead together beyond the confines of the world. So it was that alone of the Eldalie Luthien died and left the world long ago: yet by her have the Two Kindreds been joined, and she is the foremother of many, For her line is not yet extinguished, though the world is changed, and the Eldalie honour still the children of Men, And though these are grown proud and strong, and often are blind, but the Elves are diminished, they cease not to haunt the paths of Men, or to seek converse with those that go apart, for haply such are descended from Luthien whom they have lost."
This strange prophecy concerning the end of days is elaborated in "The Quenta Silmarillion" ("The Shaping of Middle-earth": 197):
"Thus spake the prophecy of Mandos, which he declared in Valmar at the judgement of the Gods, and the rumour of it was whispered among all the Elves of the West: when the world is old and the Powers grow weary, then Morgoth shall come back through the Door out of the Timeless Night; and he shall destroy the Sun and the Moon, but Earendel shall come upon him as a white flame and drive him from the airs. Then shall the last battle be gathered on the fields of Valinor. In that day Tulkas shall strive with Melko, and on his right shall stand Fionwe and on his left Turin Turambar, son of Hurin, conqueror of Fate (coming from the halls of Mandos); and it shall be the black sword of Turin that deals unto Melko his death and final end; and so shall the children of Hurin and all Men be avenged."
Unfortunately, as Chris Tolkien elaborates in the notes to "The Annals of Aman" ("Morgoth's Ring": 137), "the prophecy of the rekindling of the Trees is omitted (and this ancient feature finally lost...), as is the foretelling by Ulmo concerning Men." I have chosen to retain this feature of canon for the sake of this story.
13) "Morgoth's Ring" (226-7) describes in detail Tolkien's philosophy of Elven marriage:
"Marriage is chiefly of the body, for it is achieved by bodily union, and its first operation is the begetting of the bodies of children, even though it endures beyond this and has other operations. And the union of bodies in marriage is unique, and no other union resembles it. Whereas the union of fear [spirits] in marriage differs from other unions of love and friendship not so much in kind as in its closeness and permanence, which are derived partly from the bodies in their union and in their dwelling together. Nonetheless marriage concerns also the fear. For the fear of the Elves are of their nature male and female, and not their hrondor [flesh] only. And the beginning of marriage is in the affinity of the fear, and in the love arising there from. And this love includes in it, from its first awakening, the desire for marriage, and is therefore like to but not in all ways the same as other motions of love and friendship, even those between Elves of male and female nature who do not have this inclination. It is therefore true to say that though achieved by and in the body, marriage proceeds from the fea and resides ultimately in its will. For which reason it cannot be ended, as has been declared, while that will remains."
If we put aside the obvious heterosexual undertones reflective of Tolkien's upbringing and culture, there are several points of interest:
a) marriage (or binding) is of the body *and* the soul and is the deepest type of love possible;
b) although it is related to the bearing of children, that is NOT its sole function;
c) Tolkien admits to naturalness of loving relationships other than marriage between Elves of different genders and says nothing here to *preclude* the same range of "types of love" between Elves of the *same* gender;
d) Marriage is essentially forever. However, see note below for an exception to the rule.
14) At the risk of oversimplifying what is an important, if not singular, item of Elvish history, what follows is the basic outline of the story of Miriel. After giving birth to her son, Feanor, she grew weary of life and was the first elf to actively choose true, abiding, and permanent death in Mandos' Halls. Her husband, Finwe, the great leader of the Noldor in the Blessed Lands, desired more children and to have love return to his life, but none, not even the Valar, could convince Miriel to return. In time he fell in love with Indis, a princess of the Vanyar, necessitating some redress of the situation by the Valar. Therefore Mandos proclaimed The Doom, or Statute, of Finwe and Miriel, which forever opened the door to second marriages among the Eldar. Please consult "Morgoth's Ring" for several highly detailed versions of this story; one of the most succinct is recounted here (259-61):
"But when all was said, Manwe commanded Mandos to speak and announce his judgement. Then Mandos stood upon the Doom-hill and said:
'It is the way of Life that Iluvatar hath ordained for you, his children, as ye know well, that the life of the Quendi shall not end until the end of Arda; and that they shall take each one spouse only and have no other in their life, while Arda endureth. But herein no account is taken of Death, which cometh from the marring of Arda. This doom is, therefore, now made by the right of lawgiving that Iluvatar committed to Manwe. When the spirit of a spouse, husband or wife, shall for any cause pass into the keeping of Mandos, then the living may be permitted lawfully to take another spouse, if the former union be dissolved forever.'
'How shall a marriage be ended forever? By the will of the Dead, or by the doom of Mandos. By the will of the Dead, if they refuse ever to return to the life of the body; by the doom of Mandos, if he will not permit them to return....'
When Mandos had spoken thus, the Eldar who were present asked: 'How then shall the will or the doom be known?' It was answered: 'Only by recourse to Manwe, and by the pronouncement of Mandos. For who among the Living can discover the will of the Dead, or presume the judgements of Mandos?'.... Nonetheless Mandos declared that a space of twelve years should pass between the declaration of the will of the Dead and the pronouncement of the doom of disunion."
Note that although in the case of Miriel, she willingly chose to give up any chance to return to life, there is an "out clause" for the Valar that they may *refuse* return for a dead spouse if it be their will/judgment. It is the latter version which I have used here in terms of annulling Gil-galad and Elrond's union. The first version will come into play later, when Celebrian 'returns the favor,' as it were.
15) Although the Statute of Finwe and Miriel makes it seem as though the dead spouse has no future chance to return once they make the decision to relinquish life, the story of the original two protagonists demonstrates that no decision is truly final in Tolkien's world, if the Valar deem to intervene:
"In that evil time Finwe was slain by the Marrer himself, and his body was burned as by lightning stroke and was destroyed. Then Miriel and Finwe met again in Mandos.... And when she had learned of Finwe all that had befallen since her departure... she was greatly moved.... 'For though I am cut off now from the world, and I accept that Doom as just, I would still watch and record all that befalls those dear to me, and their offspring also.' And Finwe said to Vaire: 'Dost thou hear the prayer and desire of Miriel? Why will Mandos refuse this redress of her griefs.... Behold! I instead will abide with Mandos for ever, and so make amends. For surely, if I remain unhoused, and forgo life in Arda, then his Doom will be inviolate'." (Morgoth's Ring:248)
Since it was already Mandos' intention to keep Finwe in his care for a rather lengthy time (because of his connection to the Noldor exile and other wrongs), Miriel's prayers were answered, and she was allowed to return to Arda and became Vaire's handmaiden. Finwe thus assumed her doom and was to be confined to Mandos' Halls for the rest of the existence of the world (unless, of course, Miriel changes her mind -- again!)
16) In "Unfinished Tales," Chris Tolkien admits that there is no part of the history of Middle-earth more full of problems than the story of Galadriel and Celeborn, and it must be admitted that there are severe inconsistencies "embedded in the traditions." The basic story of this powerful Elven couple underwent numerous revisions during Tolkien's career, and in the end we are left with more questions than answers. Among the questions/clues are the following:
a) How often did Galadriel and Celeborn visit Amdir's kingdom of Lothlorien in the Second Age? It is certain that they spent much more time there in the Third Age, and after the death of Amroth, son of Amdir, @ TA 1981, the pair became the defacto rulers of Lothlorien. However, out of respect for Amdir's line, they took no official titles, and were known simply as The Lord and Lady of the Wood.
b) What was Galadriel's connection with the Dwarves of Moria? According to the essay "Concerning Galadriel and Celeborn" ("Unfinished Tales": 247) she "looked upon the Dwarves with the eye of a commander, seeing in them the finest warriors to pit against the Orcs. Moreover Galadriel was a Noldo, and she had a natural sympathy with their minds and their passionate love of crafts of hand, a sympathy much greater than that found among many of the Eldar." The same essay mentions two separate incidents where Galadriel traveled through Moria with her daughter. In the name of completeness and correctness it should be pointed out that technically Galadriel was, like many of the Noldor from the Blessed Lands, actually only part Noldor, as her mother was of the Teleri (Earwen, daughter of Olwe). Galadriel shared blood with Gil-galad and Elrond, and Celeborn likewise was related to Elrond.
c) Where and when did Galadriel get her "mirror?" Given the aforementioned connection with the talented craftsmen of Moria, it would be sensible to assume that the basin and perhaps pitcher as well were gifts from Durin's line. Although she might not have been a permanent citizen of Lothlorien in the first centuries of the Third Age, she clearly spent much time there, and if she had been gifted the mirror by this time, Lothlorien would have been a natural location for its permanent home, irregardless of her potentially "gypsy" lifestyle.
17) As was mentioned previously, the Noldor were cursed by Mandos after the First Kinslaying, and Galadriel (and to a lesser extent Gil-galad) fell under its aegis: "About this time the Noldor came unto a place, nigh unto the northern confines of Valinor, where a high rock stands above the shore, and there stood either Mandos himself or his messenger, and spoke the Doom of Mandos. For the Kinslaying he cursed the house of Feanor, and to a less degree all those who followed them or shared in their enterprise, unless they would return to abide the doom of the Valar. But if they would not, then should evil fortune and disaster befall them, and ever should this come most to pass through treachery of kin towards kin; and their oath should turn against them...." ("Annals of Valinor II, The Lost Road": 128)
Later in the First Age, when Earendil sailed to Valinor to plead for mercy for Men and Elves in Middle-earth, "The Exiles were allowed to return -- save for a few chief actors in the rebellion of whom at the time of the L.R. only Galadriel remained." ("Draft of a letter to Mr. Rang, The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien": 386)
18) The Valar are normally listed as seven chiefs -- Manwe, Tulkas, Lorien (Irmo), Aule, Ulmo, Orome, and Mandos (Namo) -- and seven queens (or Valier) -- Varda (Elbereth), Yavanna, Vana, Nessa, Nienna, Vaire, Este. In some early lists Osse and his wife Uinen are included, although in the standard canon they are Maiar under Ulmo's rule. Melko (Melkor) was among the Valar originally, but since his fall into evil is no longer counted among their number. Not all the Valar are considered equal in power and wisdom. The eight chiefs, or Aratar, are Manwe, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Aule, Mandos, Nienna, and Orome, with Manwe and Varda the greatest among these.
Although strictly spirits, they can appear in corporeal form in the world. "Ainulindale" ("The Lost Road": 178) explains that they "took shape and form, such as have the Children of Iluvatar who were born of the world; but their shape and form is greater and more lovely and it comes of the knowledge and desire of the substance of the world rather than of that substance itself, and it cannot always be perceived, thought they be present. And some of them, therefore, took form and temper as of female, and some as of male." "The Silmarillion" (11) further adds that "that difference of temper they had even from their beginning, and it is but bodied forth in their choice of each, not made by the choice, even as with us male and female may be shown by the raiment but is not made thereby."
Foster (522) describes, for example, the fana (physical form) of Varda as "shining white... in which she appears in visions to the Elves of Middle-earth," and is the source of her nicknames Fanuilos and Snow-white. "Ainulindale" ("The Lost Road": 178) tells that "the raiment of Manwe is blue, and blue is the fire of his eyes, and his sceptre is of sapphire."
Some additional comments on each of the Valar besides Manwe and Varda, all of whom appear in this story:
a) Ulmo, the second most powerful of the Lords of the Valar, was the Lord of the waters and Manwe's close friend. Foster (507-8) notes that he "cares greatly for the Children of Iluvatar, and in Beleriand he advised Elves and Men frequently, by direct appearances, by dreams, or through the music of the waters.... [he] directed the career of Tuor, and saved Elwing." He explains further (498-9) that "Ulmo had long ago chosen Tuor as his instrument." Refer back to the notes concerning the prediction of Ulmo concerning the return of the Two Trees. Elwing was the wife of Earendil, son of Tuor, and mother of Elrond. Hence the House of Elrond is technically under Ulmo's care, despite its geographical remoteness from the sea in the Third Age. In earlier ages the Teleri, including those who remained in Middle-earth, such as Cirdan, "learned much of him, and for this reason their music has both sadness and enchantment." ("Ainulinde, The Lost Road": 177) Ulmo dwelled alone and seldom came to Valinor, nor took physical form as often as his counterparts. On those occasions when he did, he appeared "as a mounting wave that strides to land, with dark helm foam-crested and raiment of mail shimmering from silver down unto shadows of green.... Ulmo's voice is deep as the deeps of the ocean which he only has seen." ("The Silmarillion": 19)
b) Aule "has might but little less than Ulmo. He is the lord of earth. He is a smith and a master of crafts." ("Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road": 225) Foster (35) notes that despite "his lordly skill, Aule is humble and compassionate." He is also the creator of the Dwarves. His wife is Yavanna, whom he "espoused after in the world, in Valinor." ("Annals of Valinor, The Lost Road": 122). Second only to Varda in power among the Valier, Yavanna was the "giver of fruits and lover of all things that grow." ("Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road": 225) Her usual outer appearance was that of a tall, fair woman dressed in green.
c) Tulkas, the Champion of the Valar in their battles with Melko (Melkor), was actually the last of the Valar to enter the world. "The Silmarillion" (29) recounts that "in the midst of the war a spirit of great strength and hardihood came to the aid of the Valar, hearing in the far heaven that there was battle in the Little Kingdom; and Arda was filled with the sound of his laughter. So came Tulkas the Strong, whose anger passes like a mighty wind, scattering cloud and darkness before it, and Melkor fled before his wrath and his laughter, and forsook Arda and there was peace for a long age." After the battle, during the celebration feast of the Spring of Arda, Tulkas wed Nessa, sister of Orome, who is "lithe and swift of foot; she loves deer and dancing." (Foster:362). Not much else is said about her, but the "Quenta Silmarillion" ("The Lost Road": 226) has some more tantalizing information about Tulkas:
"He is unclothed in his disport, which is much in wrestling; and he rides no stead because he can outrun all things that go on feet, and he is tireless. His hair and beard are golden, and his flesh ruddy; his weapons are his hands. He recks little of either past or future, and is of small avail as counselor, but a handy friend. He has great love for Fionwe son of Manwe."
d) Orome was "less in strength that Tulkas, though slower in wrath. He loved the lands of earth, while they were still dark, and he left them unwillingly and came last to Valinor; and he comes ever yet at times east over the mountains...." ("Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road": 226) It was Orome who came upon the Elves after their awakening at Cuivienen. His wife is Vana, the "queen of flowers, who has the beauty both of heaven and earth upon her face and in all her works...." (Ibid.) Foster (520-1) notes that she "is called the Ever-young."
e) Mandos (Namo) and Lorien (Irmo) were known as the Fanturi, and were brothers. Mandos, the elder, was "the master of the houses of the dead and the gatherer of the spirits of the slain. He forgets nothing and knows all that shall be, save only what Iluvatar has hidden, but he speaks only at the command of Manwe. He is the doomsman of the Valar." ("Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road": 225) Foster (314) further explains that since "his dooms are the awareness of the will of Iluvatar as contained in the Great Music, Mandos is inflexible and dispassionate. Only once, when Luthien sang to him, has he been moved to tears." Vaire the weaver is his wife.
The younger of the Fanturi, Lorien, was the "maker of visions and dreams." His wife was Este the Pale, "who walks not by day, but sleeps on an island in the dark lake of Lorien." ("Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road": 225) Foster (167) describes her as "concerned with healing and rest and with the fountains and pools of Lorien. She wears grey."
f) Nienna, sister of Manwe and Melko, took no mate, but dwelled alone in her halls which are near to those of Mandos. "Pity is in her heart, and mourning and weeping come to her; shadow is her realm and her throne hidden...." ("Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road": 226) All in Mandos' Halls cry out to her, for she is "a healer of hurts, and turns pain to medicine and sorrow to wisdom." (Ibid.) Foster (364) adds that "the lesson of Nienna is not endless grief, but rather of pity, hope, and the endurance of the spirit. Olorin was her greatest pupil, but she comforts all who dwell in the Halls of Awaiting."
19) Although the Valar know much that is to come, even they do not know all that Iluvatar has ordained. "Ainulindale" ("The Lost Road": 178) frankly states "yet some things are hid even from the eyes of Manwe." Of the Valar in general, it is said that because "of their memory of the speech of Iluvatar and the knowledge that each has of the music which he played the Ainur know much of what is to come, and few things are unforeseen by them. Yet some things there are that they cannot see, neither alone nor taking counsel together." ("Ainulindale, The Lost Road": 175-6)
20) The importance of Elrond's rich heritage cannot be stated too often, or too loudly. "The Silmarillion" (322) reminds us that "Elros and his brother Elrond were descended from the Three Houses of the Edain, but in part also both from the Eldar and the Maiar." As has been discussed on many email lists, Elrond's Eldar heritage traces itself through Vanyar, Sindar, and Noldor lines. Celebrian's heritage also has all three types of Eldar represented within it. "The Shibboleth of Feanor" ("Peoples of Middle-earth": 348-9) states that "when in later days he [Elrond] wedded Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, the two lines of descent from Finwe, from Fingolfin and Finarfin, were united and continued in Arwen their daughter." A note by JRRT further in the same text (364-5) elaborates that "When Aragorn, descended in long line from Elros, wedded Arwen in the third Union of Men and Elves, the lines of all the three kings of the High Elves (Eldar), Ingwe, Finwe, and Olwe and Elwe were united and alone preserved in Middle-earth...." Christopher Tolkien adds his own footnote: "It is hard to know what my father had in mind when he wrote the opening of this note." In my mind it is clear that JRRT thought the reunification of the High Elf lines to be of vital importance or at least the greatest symbolism.
21) In an upcoming story I will be unveiling what I think is a rather radical view of Gil-galad's name(s) (but supported by canon). "Finellach" as a name for Gil-galad was erroneously omitted by Chris Tolkien in "Unfinished Tales," a fact he admits to in "The Shibboleth of Feanor" (The Peoples of Middle-earth": 351):
"I should mention also that in the published text of Aldarion and Erendis ("Unfinished Tales" p. 199) the letter of Gil-galad to Tar-Meneldur opens 'Ereinion Gil-galad son of Fingon,' but the original has 'Finellach Gil-galad of the House of Finarfin' (where Finellach was changed from Finhenlach, and that from Finlachen).... So also in the text of
"A Description of the Island of Numenor" ("Unfinished Tales" p. 168) I printed 'King Gil-galad of Lindon' where the original has 'King Finellach Gil-galad of Lindon'...." Stay tuned .
22) For more on the Minyar (the Firsts) aka the Vanyar and their relationship to Legolas' heritage in my universe, see "We Are Finding Who We Are." [http://www.ithilas.com/fos/wafwwa.html]
23) In case you aren't up on your elvish constellations, consult http://www.astrochick.com/stars.html .
References:
Michael Martinez (May 19, 2001) A History of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, Part 1
(http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/69542)
Michael Martinez (May 25, 2001) A History of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, Part 2
(http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/69544)
Michael Martinez (June 1, 2001) A History of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, Part 3
(http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/70973)
Michael Martinez (December 1, 2000) Moving Sale: magic rings and other trinkets half off (http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/54057)
Michael Martinez (April 6, 2001) Unwritten Tales of love and war in Middle-earth (http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/65504)
Michael Martinez The Wild, Wild, Wood-elf West (May 12, 2000)(http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/39352)
Humphrey Carpenter (ed)(2000) The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company)
Robert Foster (1978) The Complete Guide to Middle Earth (NY: Ballantine Books)
J.R.R. Tolkien (1984) The Book of Lost Tales, Part 1 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company)
J.R.R. Tolkien (1987) The Lost Road and other writings (New York: Ballantine Books)
J.R.R. Tolkien (1993) Morgoth's Ring (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company)
J.R.R. Tolkien (1996) The Peoples of Middle-earth (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company)
J.R.R. Tolkien (1986) The Shaping of Middle-earth (New York: Ballantine Books)
J.R.R. Tolkien (1965) The Return of the King (New York: Ballantine Books)
J.R.R. Tolkien (1977) The Silmarillion (New York: Ballantine Books)
J.R.R. Tolkien (1980) Unfinished Tales (New York: Ballantine Books)
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