INNOCENCE
by Soledad
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor
Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the
gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some
fun. Only Erestor’s family belongs to me.
Rating: PG
for this chapter.
Please read
Warnings before the Prologue.
Author’s
notes:
Time: the
year 862, 3rd Age
Summary:
Seeking guidance, Erestor is granted a look into Galadriel’s
Mirror. What he sees makes him realize the mistake he has made
concerning Lindir.
Author’s
note: I usually do not write movieverse fics or characters.
This time, though, I have borrowed a few of the extras as I
wanted to give a face and a name to the random Lórien
characters. Galadriel, however, has no movie looks. She looks
exactly like she does on that Alan Lee painting.
As usual, my
heartfelt thanks to Larian Elensar for beta reading.
CHAPTER 15: THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
At the same time, Erestor was sitting with Saelbeth, the personal aide of the Lady Galadriel, high upon a talan in Caras Galadhon. The talan was situated on the same mallorn as the Lord Celeborn’s house, just sideways, on a lower branch; the advisor’s chambers were comfortable but simple, like Erestor’s rooms back in Imladris. The two of them had similar tastes, despite the great difference of age and origins.
After the Lord and the Lady, Saelbeth was probably the oldest Elf in Caras Galadhon, born in the First Age, shortly after the fall of Doriath, at a time when Celeborn and Galadriel had dwelt among the Green-Elves in Ossiriand. His father was one of the Exiles who had returned from the West with the followers of Finarfin’s children, his mother a Nandor Elf. The small amount of Vanyarin blood that he had inherited from his father’s side gave him a regal appearance and considerable strength. And yet he had chosen the life of a scholar, even if he had known a battle in his youth. Just as his parents before him, he was a devoted follower of the Lady, yet wise enough not to be blind towards her flaws.
“I believe not that you should speak to the Lady Artanis about the issue of Lindir,” the counsellor said to Erestor, using the old name of his Lady as was his wont. “He is kin, whether he accepts it or not, and the Lady would not like to see him bound to you any more than Gildor Inglorion would. You should not count on a non-prejudiced opinion from her side.”
“That has been my fear, too,” answered Erestor glumly. “Still, what can I do? I only wish to do the right thing where Lindir is concerned, but I am not gifted with foresight, as I am but the orphaned son of a common smith. How can I decide what is right and what is wrong, without guidance?”
Saelbeth remained silent for a while, searching for the best possible solution in the vast library of his memories. He had seen so much in his long life, good things or bad things, joyful ones and sorrowful ones alike, that he trusted himself to give some useful advice – if only he thought about it long enough.”
“There is a way, if you are willing to risk it,” he finally said. “I can arrange for you a look into the Lady’s Mirror… I assume you have heard of it.”
Erestor nodded. “I have heard that it is an uncertain oracle, whether one asks it directly or allows it to show one what it chooses to show.”
“That is true,” Saelbeth admitted, “but at least the Mirror would not judge you, regardless if you followed its warnings or not. The Lady Artanis would. She is not content with Lindir’s choice to lead the life of a commoner, and just like Gildor, she knows all too well what – or who – is the reason of that choice. Lindir is fortunate that Lord Gildor had accepted his choice; as long as the head of Finrod’s House does not make any move against it, the Lady has to consent, too.”
“What makes you believe then that your Lady would grant me a look into her Mirror?” asked Erestor doubtfully.
“She is not allowed to refuse anyone who asks for guidance,” said Saelbeth simply. “I was there when our Lady was offered the chance to return to the West, to be forgiven… and yet she chose to stay here. Out of pride, many said – even her father, King Finarfin. Out of greed, to finally have her own realm to rule, said others. There might be a kernel in both statements…”
“But you think differently,” said Erestor. It was not a question. Saelbeth nodded.
“I have been with the Lady since… since my birth, you could say. I doubt that anyone but the Lord Celeborn would know her as well as I do, including her daughter. I have seen her in joy and in sorrow, in love and in anger, in wartime and in peacetime. I have seen her doing great deeds… and making grave mistakes. And I daresay that I am one of the very few persons whom she trusts.”
“You love her… do you not?” asked Erestor. Saelbeth smiled wistfully.
“I love her in many ways, save the one you mean – like a son loves his mother, like an apprentice loves his master, like a faithful vassal loves his liege; or a minstrel the Lady whom he serves. Yet her love belongs to the Lord Celeborn alone, and above all else, it was for him that she refused the offer of the Valar and stayed with him in Middle-earth. That, and foresight,” he added as an afterthought. “She has been warned in dreams that she will be needed here, ere the darkness can be defeated.”
Erestor shook his head in doubt. The Lady Artanis, as he always had been mentioned in Eregion, might have been the most valiant woman of the Noldor back in Valinor, but her deeds in Middle-earth were not as grand as Saelbeth apparently chose to see them. She had caused more unrest wherever she went than she was of any true help. At least that was how Erestor saw things. He knew that he was probably prejudiced, but he could not help his feelings. The name of Nerwende Artanis had not been one spoken in fondness among the Mírdain of Eregion, and that fact had influenced Erestor at a very young age.
Saelbeth, it seemed, read the face of his younger companion easily, for he smiled again.
“I know. ’Tis hard for you to look at the Lady without the old grudge that the followers of Celebrimbor held for her,” the advisor said. “But trust me if I tell you that the Lady is determined to protect what little is still there from the strength and beauty of Elven realms. That is her purpose in Middle-earth; and the Mirror was given her as an aid.”
“Given by whom?” asked Erestor.
“By Eönwe himself,” said Saelbeth, naming the herald of Manwe Súlimo, Mightiest of the Maiar and chief warlord of the Host of Valinor during the War of Wrath with an ease only those born during the First Age were able to. “Ere he returned to the Blessed Realm, Eönwe travelled with the Lords Glorfindel and Elrond across the reshaped lands of Ennor, to bring the invitation of the Valar to all Elves who would listen to him. But he also took his time to teach and instruct those who had chosen to remain here. ‘Twas during those years that he asked Celebrimbor, best of the Elven-smiths still alive to make a small basin of pure silver, shaped in the likeness of the dreamflower – a flower that only blossoms in Irmo’s gardens in the Blessed Land.”
“The Mirror was made by Celebrimbor?” asked Erestor in awe. This was one piece of history he had never heard of before.
Saelbeth shook his head. “Not the Mirror itself --- only its basin. ‘Tis the enchanted water and the power our Lady wields that make the Mirror work.”
“Magic?” asked Erestor with a frown. He did not particularly trust magic, unless it came from one of the wizards or higher powers. In which case it was no magic at all – just something too powerful for him to truly understand.
Saelbeth shrugged. “Mortal Men would surely think of it as magic, aye. But you and I both know, son of Hargil, that there is nothing magical in the ways of Elves, unless it is the magic that works in water and fire, wind and tree, soil and stone. Your father and his peers used the magic that inhabits fire and ore to create things of great power and beauty, and yet it was naught that would not come from these elements naturally. Am I right?”
“Of course you are,” replied Erestor, a little impatiently. “What the Mírdain did was not magic, it was art. The Dwarves knew it and used it as well. I can still remember old Master Narvi, telling me the tale about the ways one could set free the forces that lived in the elements. Art and knowledge and skill have nothing to do with magic.”
“Nor have the powers which our Lady wields,” said Saelbeth. “She just knows more than most people, as she not only had seen the light of the Two Trees in Aman, but also was an apprentice of Melian the Maia. And even though she could not grow a power akin to that of Lúthien Tinúviel, as her hröa was not taken from the flesh of Middle-earth, nor was her fea kindled by the spirit of a Maia, she has learnt much and seen much and grown in strength and wisdom for millennia.”
“So, would that mean that she is now the mightiest of the Eldar still tarrying on this side of the Sea?” asked Erestor, rather uncomfortably. Last time they had met, he had been rather careless in his manners – a fact that he now regretted.
“Oh, no,” laughed Saelbeth. “There are at least a handful who could be her match. Círdan, for one, the Shipwright – the oldest and wisest of all Elves in Middle-earth, Lord of the Falathrim since the beginnings and confidant of Osse and Uinen. Glorfindel Balrog-Slayer, the twice-born, is another one. And the Lord Celeborn, rooted deeply in the very core of Middle-earth; he is much more powerful than his friendly manners would reveal. I was never able to figure out the true strength of Elrond; but the Lady Arwen could become nearly as powerful as Lúthien one day. She is the only female descendant of Melian – who could tell what she is capable of?”
“What about the woodland folk?” asked Erestor. “’Tis said that they are less averse to meddling with magic than other Elves.”
“Much is said about the woodland folk, but hard is to say how much of that is true,” said Saelbeth thoughtfully. “They are a secretive people and trust no-one but heir own. Perhaps King Thranduil can answer your questions upon his arrival. He seems to have all but become one of them.”
“And that should be considered bad?” asked Erestor, slightly irritated by the amused tone of the older Elf. “Maybe the woodland folk are right. Maybe our ancestors should not have turned their backs on the place of their birth. Maybe there was a reason why Ilúvatar chose the Hither Lands to awaken the Elves and not Valinor.”
“Who can tell what the thoughts and intentions of Ilúvatar might be?” replied Saelbeth thoughtfully. “No-one but Manwe himself is entrusted with the thoughts of the One, and even he only gets hints and glimpses, ‘tis said. Nay, we all have to find our own ways – and I find it hard to believe that refusing the Valar’s guidance would be the right path.”
“Who says that we refused the guidance of the Valar?” a deep and calm female voice spoke behind them, so unexpectedly, that they both very nearly jumped off he talan. “Not all the Valar agreed with the plan to bring the Quendi to Valinor – Ulmo was against it, and so was the Lady Palúrien who kept visiting Middle-earth even it the years of utter darkness, when no other Vala but Aldaron cared for these lands, abandoned to Melkor’s mercy.”
Saelbeth got to his feet immediately and bowed in deep respect.
“Queen Lálisin(1),” he murmured, “I did not know the party of the Greenwood had already arrived.”
“It has not,” the slender Silvan woman, clad in green and brown travelling clothes as was the custom of the woodland folk, said with a smile. “My lord husband prefers to travel with dignity, thus he will not arrive before tomorrow. But Alagos and I made a shortcut through the old paths. We wanted to join the Awakening Festival of our kin who dwell beyond the Ninglor.”
“I knew not that you still had contact to them,” said Saelbeth in surprise. The Queen of the Greenwood laughed.
“There are many things you know not, Master Saelbeth,” she replied, clearly amused. “These are still our woods, even if your people inhabit them. I could walk by you at noon, in clear sight, and you would not notice me if I wanted to remain unnoticed.”
While she spoke, Erestor watched the Queen of Greenwood in awe, as this was the first time he had the chance to see her face to face. Of course, he had heard of the Lady Lálisin before – she was a living legend among the Elves of the wood. She was said to be a direct descendant of Nurwe, one of the greatest, most ancient chieftains of the Avari, and she was wise and ancient herself. Considerably older than her husband, Thranduil of Doriath, in fact. And yet she looked barely different from any Silvan woman whom Erestor had encountered during his last stay in Lórien – save the light of timeless wisdom in her deep eyes. In her presence, even an Elf as old as Saelbeth seemed little more than a mere elfling.
The advisor was about to answer, but his attention was drawn to a small bird that had just appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and settled onto the proffered palm of the Lady Lálisin. The Queen of Greenwood asked something from the bird, in the same arcane dialect that the Lady Gwenethlin had used earlier (not that either Erestor or Saelbeth had known it, though), and the finch answered in its own tongue. Then the Queen kissed the tiny bird and let if fly away.
“It seems that young Lindir still has the gift to charm everyone out of hiding,” she turned to Erestor. “The finch was a messenger of the Lady Gwenethlin; she lets you know that Lindir is visiting my kind beyond the Ninglor and will be returned safely when the Awakening Festival is over.”
“He is with the Avari?” cried out Erestor in distress. He was so stunned that he forgot that he should not use that particular name the Old Clans disliked so much.
“Erestor!” hissed Saelbeth nervously; insulting a royal member of the Old Clans was not a sensitive idea. But the Queen stopped him with a soothing gesture.
“Be in peace, Master Saelbeth. He is young… and he is worried about his charge. I understand that. After having lost my three older sons to the Shadow and my only daughter to the Sea, I, too, live in constant fear for the only child that has remained me. Even though Laegalas is a grown adult and a trained warrior, I shall never cease to fear for his safety. But be comforted, Master Erestor. No harm shall come to young Lindir; our people had known him years upon years ere you even learnt of his existence. He was the fosterling of Aiwendil and thus he has been part of our people as well.”
She fell silent for a moment and listened, her head tilted to one side in a bird-like gesture.
“You can show yourself, Alagos,” she ten said with a smile. “We are among friends here.”
“’Tis time, my Lady,” the archer, barely visible in the deepening shadows, said respectfully. The Queen nodded.
“I know. We should leave now, or we will be late. Have you sent the messages I asked to be delivered?”
“As I was told, my Lady. Everything is ready. Our kin await your arrival.”
“Then we shall go indeed,” Queen Lálisin inclined her head towards Erestor and Saelbeth – and simply vanished in the shadows. Not even the keen Elven eyes could detect any trace of her departure among the branches. It seemed, even the mellyrn of Caras Galadhon aided the Faithful, regardless of what these might think about the strange trees.
“We should leave, too,” Saelbeth proposed. “I shall see that you be allowed a glance into the Mirror; may Elbereth guard your steps on the right path.”
With that, he rose and descended from the talan, as his duties were calling. Erestor, though, remained there for the rest of the evening, thinking about his choices and chances and what he should or should not do.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next few days were rather burdensome for the solitary Erestor. On the one hand, no matter how reassuring Queen Lálisin had sounded, he was still worried about Lindir. The Avari might be charmed by him, but Lindir did have the unfortunate tendency to blurt out the truth in the most inappropriate moment and thus insult people without meaning any harm. Who could tell how the secretive, suspicious and quick-to-anger Avari would react to his otherwise adorable bluntness?
On the other hand, Erestor hated having to face so many strangers at once; and indeed, Lothlórien was all but overrun with visitors in these days. From the Greenwood to the South Haven, from Mithlond to the Vales of Anduin and as far eastwards as Dorwinion, every Elven realm, be it small or great, had sent its representatives to the upcoming unique event.
The intended union of two of the greatest Elven Houses influenced all their lives in some way, and as Elves did not need to order their affairs in any hurry, most of them planned to spend the whole year of betrothal in the Golden Wood and return to their respective homes after the wedding only.
This gave the rulers the chance to hold counsel in person rather than through messengers, which was a rare and important event in itself. The only one who had not come in person was Círdan, the Shipwright, as he could not leave the Grey Havens for anything short of a full-blown war. He had sent Galdor, one of his kinsmen instead.
Erestor had heard of Galdor, of course – who had not; the Telerin Elf was one of the few survivors of Gondolin, after all(2) – but felt little inspiration to meet face to face another giant of the First Age. Growing up under Glorfindel’s tutelage had been intimidating enough, he did not need a repeat performance. And one could not help but feel slightly intimidated by the broadly built, keen-eyed and silver-haired Elf, who, as it was custom among the Falathrim, wore a short, neatly trimmed beard. Even from a distance, Galdor of the House of the Trees looked venerable and even a little frightening. He might not have been to Mandos’ Halls and back, but he was one of the high lords of Gondolin – not one around whom Erestor felt comfortable.
Thus he kept his own company these days, save the occasional run-ins with Saelbeth. Yet even those occasions were not frequent, as the advisor was constantly needed in important meetings between his Lady and other nobles.
The only one whom Erestor spent some time with was Daerien, Lord Celeborn’s aide. The calm and competent Sinda seemed to handle the ever-growing crowd of high-ranking guests with enviable ease; Erestor wished he could have the same detached calmness when unexpected guests invaded Imladris. She was even capable of handling Gildor’s changing moods, without as much as a blink.
“I have known him for a very long time,” she revealed with a shrug and a smile to Erestor’s question. “I used to work in the High King’s library, in Lindon, ere Lord Celeborn asked me to enter his service… long ago, when he and his lady still dwelt at Lake Evendim.”
“Then you lived in Ost-in-Edhil as well, did you not?” asked Erestor in surprise. The last thing he would expect was to find here someone from his old home. Daerien shrugged.
“For a while. Ere you were even born. Ere things between Celebrimbor and the Lady would turn… ugly. I left Ost-in-Edhil after the confrontation. My Lord sent me to his kinsman, King Amdír, with a message, and I have lived here ever since.”
“You did not follow them to Edhellond?”
“Nay; I was left here to aid King Amdír with his correspondence, as his Silvan subjects were not very good at that sort of thing… and also to maintain my Lord’s presence. King Amdír consented – it was a most satisfactory arrangement.”
Erestor could not help but notice that the Sinda never mentioned Galadriel as her Lady; apparently, she only accepted Celeborn’s authority.
“Are you from Doriath, too?” he asked. Daerien shook her head.
“Nay, my family used to live in Nevrast. But after the fall of Brithombar and Eglarest, they went to the Isle of Balar with Lord Círdan’s people – where I was born, shortly before the War of Wrath. I am only slightly older than Lord Gildor,” she added with a smile, “and as I knew him as a toddler, he is a lot less intimidating for me than for most people.”
Gildor as a toddler was something Erestor had a very hard time to imagine, but again, even the Lord of Edhellond had to be a little elfling once. For some reason, though, he could not believe that young Gildor had been anyway near as adorable as Lindir when he came to Imladris, despite the blood they shared.
For a while, Daerien remained eerily quiet; Erestor had the uncomfortable feeling that she could read him as an open book, even though he could not feel her intruding his mind. But some Elves did have strange gifts, albeit they did not speak about it, and reading other people’s feelings was one of those gifts. Yet unlike when Galadriel had tried to read his thoughts, Daerien’s quiet inquiry did not offend him.
Finally, the Sinda rose and gave him one long, compassionate parting look.
“You should leave the burdens of the past behind, Erestor of Eregion,” she said gravely, “or else you shall sacrifice future joys to past sorrows. Open your eyes and live – you are Erestor of Imladris now. You have belonged to Imladris for so long, yet your heart stil dwells among the churned ruins of Ost-in-Edhil.”
“What do you know of my life?” replied Erestor bitterly.
“Enough,” she answered in her customary, collected manner. “The past burdens you, the future frightens you, and while you are torn between the two, the present runs through your fingers like dry sand. ‘Tis time for you to end this. ‘Tis time for you to move on.”
She gave a slight, elegant bow and departed, leaving a stunned Erestor alone, sitting under the mallorn where they had met. Yet almost at the same moment the tall, imposing figure of Saelbeth appeared among the trees that framed the path leading to Lord Celeborn’s house, approaching in such as hurry as it still could be afforded by the advisor’s dignified status. Erestor found it amazing, how fast dignity could be when the need arose.
“Follow me,” Saelbeth told him, slightly breathless. “I have forwarded your request to the Lady, and she agreed to allow you a look into her Mirror.”
Fear and hope
warred in Erestor’s heart, as he quickly rose from under the mallorn
and followed the advisor. Saelbeth led him to the southern slopes
of the evergreen hill, upon which Caras Galadhon stood, and
passing through a white gate cut in a high green hedge they came
into an enclosure like a secret garden. No trees grew there, and
it was open to the sky, which was now prickled with many stars.
Down a long
flight of steps of flat white stone they went into a green
hollow, through which ran a silver stream, flowing down from a
fountain on the hill. There stood upon a pedestal carved like a
branching tree, a wide and shallow bowl of silver, shaped like a
flower, and beside it stood a silver ewer. Erestor needed not to
look for the holly-leaf, the symbol of Eregion, to recognize
Celebrimbor’s unique handiwork. He might have been a mere
elfling when Ost-in-Edhil fell, but no-one who had seen
Celebrimbor’s creations could ever forget them.
The Lady
Galadriel stood beside the pedestal, gleaming white in the
starlight. Her gown, fine like cobwebs, was girdled with a silver
cord, and her soft cloak of such a pale grey that it almost
seemed white as well, pooled around her feet like water. She wore
no jewellery, unless it was hidden under the long sleeve of her
gown, a triangular piece of which even covered the back of her
hand; nor did she need any other adornment than her famous hair,
considered a marvel unmatched, even among the Eldar.
For it looked
like spun gold, barely touched by the shade of silver, inherited
from her Teleri ancestors, like Lindir’s, and just like Lindir,
she wore it open, save from two thin braids above her temples
that were woven together on the nape of her neck. Her pale face,
her noble features showed a gentleness Erestor could not remember
having ever seen before; and all of a sudden he understood which
part of Lindir’s ancestors the young minstrel’s exquisite
beauty came from.
Once again, he
felt too unhewn and clumsy, too… common, not worthy of
Lindir’s love.
Galadriel
silently took water from the stream with the ewer and filled the
bowl to the brim; then she breathed on it and waited for the
water to become still again. When the surface was as smooth as a
mirror indeed, she turned to Erestor, her grey eyes deep and
concerned.
“You requested
a look into my Mirror, son of Hargil,” she said solemnly,
“and I grant your request as it is my duty. You may look into
the Mirror – if you are certain that you can bear what you
see.”
Erestor shivered.
‘Twas eerily still in the dark dell, and the Lady, who stood
motionless, facing him, was tall and pale and forbidding.
“What shall I
look for, and what shall I see?” he asked fighting his raising
fear.
“That I cannot
say,” she answered. “No-one can, who does not know all that
is in your heart, in your mind, and your hope. For the Mirror
shows both the past and present, and even that which is called
the future, in so far as it can be seen by any in Middle-earth.
But those are wise who can discern to which of these three the
things that they see belong.”
Erestor shook his
head in exasperation. “You are speaking in riddles, Lady.”
“I am,
indeed,” replied Galadriel, “for riddles are all the Mirror
will ever show, and those cannot always be solved, whether you
ask it to reveal something you desire to see or leave it free to
work. In either way, it can prove both useful and perilous to
risk a look. ‘Tis your choice to face it or leave it.”
“I have asked
for this,” said Erestor, determined, “and I shall not back
off now. If there is a chance that what I see might guide me to
make the right choices, I must take all risks involved.”
Galadriel
inclined her head. “You are brave. Or desperate. Or both. But
it is your choice, and I shall honour it. Come then and look –
but remember not to touch the water! The powers that work through
the Mirror are greater than even I would be able to contain.”
Erestor nodded
his understanding, and stepping closer to the pedestal, he leaned
over the bowl, even though a little reluctantly. At first, there
was nothing to see but the smooth, dark surface of the water,
with the glittering reflection of stars upon it, and he almost
felt disappointed.
Then, as he
focussed his thoughts on Lindir, the stars gradually went out,
one by one, and as if a dark curtain had been pulled aside, the
Mirror grew clear like some magical window into another world.
Erestor had the feeling that he would look down onto well-known
places of his life from far above.
He could see the
mirror image of Imladris, the stone-paved courtyard of the Last
Homely House and Aiwendil, riding in on his big, brown horse,
followed by a young elfling who had pale gold hair like the
winter sunshine and wide, sea-hued eyes, full of wonder.
Then the image
shifted, so quickly that he could barely notice, and Erestor
could see his younger self again, sitting on a stuffed couch in
Elrond’s library, a very young and very sad Lindir curled up on
his side and burrowed in his arms for comfort.
After this, the
images began to change so rapidly that he could hardly follow. He
could see Lindir licking honey from his fingers in the kitchen,
sweetmeats for the winter solstice laid out before him on a large
baking thin; Lindir again, laughing and talking with two sturdy,
yellow-bearded Dwarves; Lindir in the Hall of Fire, teasing an
elderly halfling about something, and he was so sweet and
innocent and happy that Erestor smiled, without knowing it.
But soon, the
images became darker. Erestor saw with dread Orc-packs intruding
the protective valley of Imladris, himself, laying on the soil of
Celebrían’s garden, bleeding profoundly; Lindir, staring down
in utter shock at his own bloody hands; a white ship sailing to
the West; and a much older Lindir, standing on a deserted, black
shore, his hair white like freshly fallen snow and his beautiful
face strangely detached, as if he were not in his body any
longer.
Finally, the
Mirror slowed down again, to show him one last image, and
Erestor’s heart grew cold, for he saw some kind of underground
cave. A great number of Silvan Elves – or probably Avari –
was there, holding some sort of feast, and Lindir was there with
them, laughing and drinking something that looked like mead.
He wore green
clothes Erestor had never seen on him before, and a crown of
flowers upon his hair. The Elves, who sat with him, exchanged
frequent kisses with him, running admiring fingers through his
hair and whispering in his ear things that made him blush. After
a while, they seemed to come to an understanding, as two of them,
also clad in green, rose from their places, took Lindir by the
hands and led him to a door hidden behind a curtain.
In the very
moment they stepped behind the curtain, the Mirror went dark
again.
Erestor
straightened slowly, too numb to even think. He did not know much
about the fertility rites of the Avari – nobody did – but he
had a fairly good idea what was about to happen behind that
curtain. That Lindir would go and do it stunned him. Despite his
tireless pursue of Erestor, the young minstrel was usually very
shy and did not mingle with strangers. Throwing himself at them
was completely unheard of.
Looking up in
torment, Erestor saw the strangely compassionate gaze of the Lady
Galadriel lying upon himself.
“’Tis hard to
understand what we have had, in the moment we are about to lose
it,” said Galadriel softly. “If you want to handle,
you should do so quickly – or else it might be too late.”
“I thought you
were against Lindir’s choice, Lady,” mumbled Erestor.
Galadriel nodded.
“I still am.
But it is Lindir’s choice, and he has chosen you, long
ago. The question is – are you ready to accept this choice?”
“I know not,”
admitted Erestor in despair. “I… I need to think about it.”
“Then think
quickly, for you have not much time left,” Galadriel turned
around and left the glade with slow, measured steps, leaving a
confused and utterly helpless Erestor behind.
TBC
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) Lálisin is a
Silvan name (courtesy of Erunyauve) and means “wise elm”.
Yes, she is the mother of Legolas, in all my stories. She is an
Avari lady, a little conservative, which is why she calls her son
Laegalas, using the older form of his name.
(2) According to “The Book of Lost Tales”, Galdor was the Lord of the House of the Tree in Gondolin. He was originally conceived as a Gnome (= Noldo), like all High Lords of Gondolin. For a very short time, Tolkien actually toyed with the idea to make him identical with Galdor of the Grey Havens, Círdan’s emissary present on Elrond’s Council in FOTR, but ultimately rejected it. I picked up the idea again and made Galdor a Telerin Elf, assuming that the House of the Tree contained mostly Teleri, Sindar and Nandor. There is no canon fact that would support that little twist.