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1.  Arrival

“Here is where you leave these Halls.”

The Vala’s voice filled his ears.  Ears... He had forgotten what it felt like to hear with ears... to walk upon feet... to breathe into lungs.  While being led here, both he and the Halls themselves had gradually taken on distinct form, coalescing from nothingness into solidity.  His body had size and weight now, not merely the impression of substance. 

A face stared back at him from the reflective surface of the black, gold-and-silver-veined doors that loomed before him... to see with your own eyes.

Although he was remembering what it felt like to have a body, no memory remained of anything before his journey here.  Innately familiar sensations – colors, sounds, smells – came to him.  But, no feelings or desires.  He had no knowledge of any person other than himself or of any place other than this immense threshold.

“Beyond this gate is the world in which you once lived and to which you shall return.” 

The glistening doors began to silently open and a blinding pillar of light burst in.  He would have raised a hand to shelter his eyes, but he was surprised and did not remember how to move his arms.  He barely remembered how to shut close his eyes.  The expanding brilliance flowed warm over his body... to caress the skin.

“Go forth!” commanded The Doomsman, unyielding and incontestable.  “You are reborn.  Live now in peace and never return to this place.”

Blinking against the brightness, he opened his eyes just enough to step forward as ordered, passing through the wide-open doorway onto a broad landing where a stair ascended into the source of the light.  It was then that he remembered how to hold up his hand for shade.  With his sight eased, he turned to look back.  The doors were already shut, their surface as dull and grey as that of the endless steps.  There was no other passage; he would have to go up.  He hesitated, unsure that he could climb so far; his legs seemed too weak.  Nevertheless, the Lord of Mandos expected him to leave by this way and so he should be able... to think with your head.

He began his ascent into the warm, golden light that within a few upward steps lessened in intensity or perhaps he had grown used to it.  However it was, he did not need to shield his eyes anymore.  He looked upward.  There seemed no end to the stairs, but it did not occur to him to stop. 

As he continued to climb, he recalled more and more of what it was like to be alive.  How time passed from the moment of a short step to the enni of a long journey.  He remembered measuring time by the slow turning of the stars and the quick arc of the sun.  He felt the movement of the air around him and remembered the flow of water.  Then, the flicker of fire.  The flash of lightning.  The fall of rain.  The rumble of clouds.  The rise of mountains.  The growth of trees.  The smell of flowers.  The rustle of grass.  The chirping of birds.  The color of feathers.  The touch of another.  Fundamental sensual memories such as these rose to the surface of his mind until he abruptly realized that he had reached the top of the stairs.  Looking around him, he was startled at how much of the world he recognized.

He was standing at the center of a sun-drenched park laid out in curving lawns with broad hedges.  There were smooth, low benches and a tiered fountain, quietly spilling water into a placid basin.  Woods formed a thick border around it all.  A person was sitting on a bench, back to him, looking out aimlessly it appeared, towards the snow-capped mountains that floated above the high fence of trees.  He knew the lone figure was an elleth.  And that he was an ellon.

She glanced over her shoulder to see him watching her.  Her eyes were the blue of the sky.  Smiling, she rose to turn and look directly at him.  Tall and lithe, dressed in white with her long, golden hair drawn back, she seemed familiar.  He felt that she had been here a long time, patiently waiting just for him.  Picking up a folded bundle next to where she had been sitting, she came to stand before him.

“This is for you,” she said in a soft, pleasant voice.  After stooping to drop a pair of simple sandals on the ground, she unfolded a long, gray robe for him to wear.  He had not realized until then that he was naked.  She smiled at his discovery.  “So we were born and so we are reborn.”

She helped him into the robe and fastened it with gentle care.  Suddenly, instead of seeing what was actually before him, he saw his mother’s slim white hands clothing him as a child.  His chest thumped as emotion welled up from some deep source within him... to feel in your heart.

He wondered if this elleth was his mother.  She helped him to place his feet into the sandals.  No, it came to him, she was not his mother and his disappointed heart quieted.  She was a handmaiden.  But, then where were his mother and father?  Why were they not here?  Looking into his eyes, the elleth seemed to know what he was thinking.

“No one yet knows that you have left Mandos.  Come with me for now.”  With gentle reassurance, she took hold of his arm and led him down the wide, pavered path that went past the benches and fountain to continue under the shade of the leafy trees.  Looking ahead through the tunnel of arching branches, they seemed to be walking into the open sky itself.  On both sides of the way, calling birds winged and butterflies flickered through scattered beams of dusty sunlight.  A longing to go there and not follow the path pulled at him, but his guide’s grip was stronger.

When they came out from under the trees, he saw that they were on a rise overlooking a broad valley.  She released him to walk free to the end of the path alone.  Lustrous clouds sailed in the sky.  The wafting air tasted bright as if cleansed.  The luminous sun graced a splendorous countryside.

Below him, a gleaming village lay nestled next to a glittering, bejeweled lake.  These were surrounded by fertile patchwork fields and regally forested hills.  Looking closer, he could see people moving about their daily business, unaware or uncaring that they were being observed from above.  There was no watch upon the road or the heights.  There was no fosse or bulwarks.  The people had no defenses and were unafraid. 

This wondrous tranquility felt disconcerting where the alluring peace under the trees had felt serene.  His guide rejoined him.  She swept her arm over the beautiful landscape.

“Welcome to Aman, the Blessed Realm,” she said, her face radiant with the joy of her proclamation.  “This is Elvenhome.” 

She turned him to face right and pointed out a gently sloping road that went past a small, nearby farmstead before heading down into the village.  Amidst the weathered barns and other unadorned buildings of the farm stood an attractive white house, bright and clean, with a blue tile roof.

“That is our destination – a guest house for the comfort of those newly reborn.  You shall rest there until you are ready to go on.  My sisters and I shall care for you.”  She took his arm again and slowly led him to the road.  They had not gone far down the wide track when he wanted to ask a question.  But, only after making a determined effort did he finally remember how... to speak with breath and tongue.

“Will ~ “  His voice was hoarse.  Without thinking, he cleared his throat to try again.  “Will my mother and father be there?”  The elleth looked surprised at his question.

“No,” she replied, sorry to disappoint him.  “Word shall be sent to them, if that is what you want.”  He enthusiastically nodded.  “But, you must say so,” his guide explained.  “And give their names.”

But, he realized, he did not know either of his parents’ names!  How could they be told to come for him?  Wait!  He could not remember his own name!  Who was he?!  He searched his imperfect memory very hard and found no history of himself or of whatever place it was that he had lived before.  He must have parents, but did he have siblings, a wife and children, friends?  It seemed that whoever he had once been was gone.  The emptiness frightened him.

“Do not worry that you cannot remember the past,” the elleth said with sympathy.  “Your body and spirit have been renewed.  But, your heart is the same.  It has not been remade.”  He assumed she had seen his anguish or – and for some reason this thought was more comforting – the same dilemma struck every one reborn.

“So then, I shall remember who I am?”  He sounded childishly anxious and was embarrassed by his fear.

“Amillë Ulbanís will help you,” she replied with surety.  “She is our lady mother and will greet you when we arrive.”

So, he concluded with alarm, he may not remember?  Else why had she avoided answering him?  What had to be despair threatened.  If everyone or even most recovered their identity, would she not have said that?  What was to become of him – orphaned and without kin?  Miraculously at that moment, he remembered how to be patient.  Let time pass; an answer would come.  Being able to set aside the dread – to let it go at least for now – he found himself relaxing and intuitively acting in a mannerly fashion that had to have come from his forgotten life.  It was consoling.

“I ask your pardon,” he begged of his guide.  “You have kindly helped me and I am grateful.”  This behavior felt right to him; very natural and much better than being afraid.  “May I ask your name, my lady?”

“How gallant of you... my lord,” she replied with a bashful smile.  “Most never do.  Why, most never speak.”  She stopped their progress, stepping away to face him.  “I am Venyel, a servant of Nienna.”  She bowed.  “You should address me as ‘Seler’.”  He bowed in return then automatically offered her his arm.  Delighted, she took it in a different way than before and they began to walk again.  It came to him that now it should be said that they ‘strolled’. 

Their sandaled feet slapped out a simple, slow rhythm.  The sunshine felt pleasantly warm upon his head and shoulders.  Insects buzzed.  The slight breeze cooled his face.  Beside their path, a little ground squirrel scurried from burrow to bushy cover.  His heart was lightened, lifting his spirits.  He looked forward to arriving at the guest house.  A shining bird with bright yellow plumage swooped down from a tall tree, across the road to a lower tree, perched and sang a slow, sweet trill.  He realized why Venyel might have looked familiar.  The Vanyar were the First Kindred, he recalled, closest to the Valar and had golden hair.  They were a good and magnanimous people.

“I am honored that my first acquaintance should be a Vanyarin princess,” he said.  Venyel’s artless laughter gave him the impression she did not receive much flattery.

“I am a daughter of the Vanyar, but no princess,” she primly replied. “Seler, if you please.”

“Are you certain you are not a princess?” he asked, grinning.  She nodded, smiling at his teasing.

He was silent for a while.  He wanted to give her time to think about how he must feel not being so certain who he was.

“Do you happen to know who I am?” he asked, trying to make his question sound casual.  She laughed again, aware of his ploy, but answered anyway.

“We are not told that, my lord.”  She held her eyes down-cast.  “The Aramillë will answer your questions.”  She paused.  “Although, they may only be the answers she thinks you should have.”

His smile fled, ousted by a petulant frown.  Not another dilemma!  As if having no name was not enough.  Why would what he did not remember for himself not be told to him?

He did not want to think that he was purposely made to forget.  Why would the reborn be burdened with uncertainty?  But now that he thought about it, did he really want to know all about himself?  Indeed, he felt agreeably unencumbered.  He could not recall ever feeling this way before.  Lord Námo had said he was ready to be reborn, not that others were ready for him to return.  What if he had not been a good person?  He might have been a bad son or a careless husband.  A cruel father; a cheat or a liar.  A clear and terrible vision of pitiless faces and cruel hands covered in innocent blood stunned him.  A kinslayer.  Assaulted in mid-step, he lost his balance.

“My lord!”  Venyel steadied him by throwing her strong arms around his waist.  “Can you go on?  Shall we rest a moment?”  Not far ahead of them, there was a small turn-out with a bench and she helped him to reach it.

The horror of it had sent him reeling.  Such atrocity could not be true! 

Venyel tried to ease him down, but he had become slack and unwieldy.  She had to sit them both down quickly, so heavily the little bench rocked. 

He was stricken by hatred and loathing.  He was one of them?!

Supporting him with one arm, Venyel put her other hand against his forehead then to his wrist to count his pulse.  Her tender concern heaped more guilt onto what was already crushing him.

“It is simply hunger, my lord,” she said.  “The journey upwards can be a long one.  You will be fine.  Be calm and breathe slowly.”  But, her tone implied she suspected it to be a worse cause and was speaking more to dispel than reassure.  She knew and he could not bear it.  His chest emptied of air, his ribs collapsing against his spine.  His limbs became boneless.  “No no no,” she begged aloud.  She looked desperately toward the guest house plainly hoping for rescue.  “You should not be remembering it so soon!”  Her words shredded his heart.  “Ah but, was I not warned that Sindar could be like this!”

Sindar?  Then, he was not... !  Glaeru!  He had remembered the evil they had done, not something he had done!  Acquitted, he became righteously angry.  He forced himself to breathe, compelled to speak for his own sake.

“Sindar is the name they gave us!” he protested in a harsh whisper.  “I am Lindar and my people are the Silvan of Eryn Galen!” 

A serene scene of verdant banks on a wide, swift-flowing river appeared to him.  A cloaked figure emerged from the shadow of the forest on the opposite bank and waved.  The fleeting vision calmed him.  He leaned against the bracing Venyel and recovered from the shocking possibility he should never have considered, as grateful as his guide for his not having expired on the spot.

“I must ask your pardon again,” he said weakly.  She shook her head at his apology, helping him to sit upright.

“My lord, there is nothing to fear.  The past is gone.”  Hearing the waver in her voice as she spoke, he now understood that she was not only inexperienced, but a novice.  Her guidance was rote and she was easily misled.  Nonetheless, the lady mother had given him to this poor sister to watch over.  So, he was not supposed to be any trouble.  For some reason, he resented that.  Sighing, he took Venyel’s shaky hand between his equally shaky hands.  There might be another crime he would not care to recall in such a traumatic manner.  Hopefully, the lady mother would know how to spare him the suffering.  For even at the price of his name, he would have preferred to never remember anything about them.

“I am sorry I frightened you,” he apologized.  “I understand better now and will await your Aramillë’s wisdom.”

“If you please,” Venyel asked with a strained smile, “let us await here a little longer.”   

He nodded in agreement.  They both needed to sit and be still after such an experience.  For the moment, he had remembered quite enough.  For Venyel’s sake as well his own, he would hold back any more questions. 

They sat silent.  She slowly regained her confidence.  He held on to her hand and breathed.  Though he could not keep his mind completely blank, the memories that did come to him were thankfully like those on the stairs.

He saw a dark-haired youth running up the road, puffs of dust thrown up by his speedy pace, and he thought that either Venyel had silently called for help or they were not expected to have delayed here for so long.  The young ellon, barely adolescent, pounded to a cloudy stop before them, a worried look on his face.

“Did he fall?  Are you hurt?” the lad asked of Venyel.  The ellon’s supplicating expression made him smile.  Venyel was attractive and worthy of suitors.  Strangely, the youth’s aspirations gave him hope that whatever family or love he had lost he could regain.

“A stumble.  All is well now,” said Venyel, suddenly self-possessed.  “Thank you for coming to check on us.”  They rose together.  “My lord, this is Ilcanu, one of our helpers.”  The youth stood looking at them bewildered, unsure what they seemed to be expecting of him, until a blushing Venyel hinted he should bow.  Ilcanu did his best which was awkward.  He returned the bow feeling sorry that the lad’s social ineptness embarrassed his distraught guide.  “You may go ahead and let Amillë know we are in no distress,” instructed Venyel.  Ilcanu nodded and left with a distrustful look in the direction of her charge.  Venyel took his arm as before and they walked, not strolled.

“He likes you,” he said aloud before thinking that after the shock he had given her that she may not wish to talk with him ever again.  “But, you do not like him.”

“You should not be concerned, my lord.”  Venyel frowned and also looked a little suspicious of him.  He gathered they both thought him too aware for someone newly reborn.

“Better your concerns than mine.”  With a wan smile, he let her know he understood her confusion and frustration with the rather annoying turns of what should have been a blissful chore.  “Forgive me please, Seler.  I shall make no more trouble for you.”

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

nér/nís – elf male/female Quenya

amillë – mother Quenya (ammë is mom)

aramillë – mother superior high mother Quenya

seler/toron – sister/brother who is not a sibling Quenya

enni – Valarian year of 144 solar years

Glaeru! – a minimization of the Music of Iluvatar, Eru’s Lay! – kinda like saying ‘od’s bodkin! ;)