In Valimar

The summons came at dawn. Linwë knew the messenger, for he had seen her several times while at court, but her usually merry face was somber. Coming up to him as he walked in the garden of the King's guesthouse with his wife, she said quietly: Heru Manwë asks you to attend on him.

Linwë: When, my lady?

She answered gravely: Now.

Linwë bowed; she turned and walked away. Oloriel touched his hand briefly, sending encouragement and love. He returned the touch, both of fëa and hróa and followed the messenger.

 

*******

As he walked the short distance to the King's Hall, Linwë reflected on his years of service to Manwë. From early childhood, he had been a weaver of words, not only in the usual way of his people, whose greatest skill was with language, but also in the way of the poet who spins the thread of speech into song. It was natural for him to think in poetic terms—in meter and rhyme, in verse and stanza. As some loved to apply color to a blank surface, so he loved to apply words of beauty and symmetry to what he saw around him. Several times, his father, though he did not have the gift of poetry, appreciated such a gift, had urged him to study its forms and uses. Finally, just before he came of age, Linwë apprenticed himself to one of the King's poets. He had loved walking and talking with the minstrels, both of song and of words. He created word-music of his own, and one day, to his astonishment, he was summoned to the King himself. As he stood before him, awed and uncharacteristically shy, Heru Manwë had smiled and said: Tell me of the light on snow.

Linwë felt heat rising in his face, for this was the poem he made for Eruhantalë which had just past—a poem in praise of the brightness of Taniquetil, seen through clouds at dawn. He said: It so delighted me that I must sing its praise in speech.

Manwë: Indeed yes, and so you did. Will you join your voice to those who praise Ilúvatar here?

Linwë: Gladly, sire!

Manwë: Good.

From that day, Linwë had labored with joy in the King's service. Now, however, he was burdened as he went up the broad steps to the entrance of the Hall of Audience. The door-ward, like the messenger, looked at him expressionlessly, saying: He will receive you at once.

Linwë bowed and entered. He walked the length of the hall to the foot of the dais. There he knelt and waited. After a moment, Manwë spoke, his voice grave: Jealousy ill becomes you, Linwë. It seems a perversion of your nature. Stand up, Eruhina.

Linwë rose and looked up into the King's face, which was unusually stern. After a moment, Manwë said quietly: It is hard, perhaps, for you to imagine such a one as Makalaurë, for you dwell here in peace. He is the child of one whose brilliance was overshadowed by his pride, a very great marring of Melkor indeed. Do not let the seeds of that marring infest your heart, my friend.

Astonishment emboldened Linwë and he said: Then you pardon Makalaurë, sire?

Manwë, with a hint of sternness: Peace, Linwë.

Then, more gently, he asked: Has he harmed you, or your son, in any way?

Linwë started to answer hotly, but the King's demeanor stilled him. After a moment he said: He has not, sire.

Manwë: Tell me of his dealings with your house, Linwë.

Linwë: He—he has helped my son, herunya—several times. He has treated me with courtesy, even if cold courtesy. He—did not retaliate when I struck him in anger. Instead, he—aided Veryandil to re-enter his hróa, out of which he had somehow slipped.

Manwë: Then he has not offered you offense—other than that which you perceive in his lineage?

Linwë did not answer at once, as memories of what he had been told of the deeds of Fëanor and his sons rushed through his mind. Finally, he shook his head.

Then he said, his voice filled with pain and bewilderment: Can such a one change his course?

Manwë: So it would seem, my friend. We know well that not all was foretold in the Great Music.

Linwë: I do not understand him, sire. One moment he plays with my son; the next, he fights with Shadow. Such instability—it frightens me, and I would not have my child hurt. And yet—yet, my son lives who might have gone to the Halls of Mandos.

Manwë: Indeed.

Linwë: Can he be healed, herunya?

Manwë: If he chooses to walk that difficult path, meldonya.

After a moment, bowing his head, Linwë said: I see that I have hindered him. I am sorry for it.

Looking up, he saw that Manwë smiled openly: So then, my friend, come to me later this day, you and your lady and your child, and I will hear what they would say.

 

*******

They were led into an antechamber, a large, but not imposing room, hung with tapestries of blue and white. Though they could not see them, there seemed to be windows high up on the walls which admitted soft light and a cool constant breeze which stirred the hangings gently. Besides the entrance, the chamber had two doors, which looked identical. They were each surmounted by a carving of an eagle with outspread wings and sapphire eyes.

When they had been seated on a settle covered also in blue and white, they were left to themselves. Veryandil moved closer to his parents, his hands restless on his knees. Linwë laid a hand gently over them and said: Do not fear, yonya. Simply speak clearly and honestly. The King is noble in spirit and loves the truth.

Veryandil looked up at his father and smiled a bit tentatively, saying: I will, atto, but what if Nyello does not come?

Linwë: Peace, hinya. He may still do so.

At that moment, one of the doors swung open, and the attendant, smiling, beckoned for Veryandil. The boy rose, then turned and quickly embraced his mother, who laughed softly, straightened his garments and gave him a gentle push toward the door. Veryandil squared his shoulders and walked steadily up to it. The attendant smiled again, stepped aside, and gestured him in.

He had expected a large hall, a throne room, but what he saw was more like his nana's sitting room at home. There was a deep carpet of soft brown wool on the floor. There were chairs set here and there. There were glass panels from floor to ceiling on one side which let in the warmth and light of the late afternoon. Sitting on a settle like the one in the antechamber was a person in a robe of changeful blue with long soft dark hair, a kind calm face and azure eyes. He rose as the child entered, came forward and took his hands. Veryandil saw that he was only a little taller than his father.

Manwë:  Welcome, hina.

The Vala's voice sang in Veryandil's ears, even without music, and the child felt joy leap up within him: Are you Heru Manwë? I thought you would be—bigger.

Manwë laughed warmly: Sometimes I am, but not today.

Veryandil nodded, but found no words, for the King's eyes filled him with delight. After a moment, the Vala smiled and said: Your father speaks of you with love, child. He also says that you delight in telling tales. Come, sit with me and tell me of your friend.

They both sat down, Veryandil on the settle and the King in a chair facing the boy. Manwë said: Now, let me hear your tale.

Veryandil drew a breath and said: My na—my mother has the Gift of Sight. It came to her when I was very little, and I remember hearing her crying in the night because the dreams troubled her. My father would comfort her and sing to her, but it did not always help, so she decided to go to Lorien to speak with Heru Irmo. We live near Tirion, my family and me, on the street called Fountain. Have you been there, sire?

Manwë: Not for some time, melda.

Veryandil: It is not really a street, but a square, with trees in it and a large fountain in the center. My friends and I play in it in hot weather. Our house is on the north side of the square. There are flower boxes in the windows.

Manwë: And a fair tree beside the doors to shade them.

Veryandil: It is so! The tree is quite tall and nearly reaches to the windows of the upper floor!

Manwë: Truly. So, your mother decided to seek Heru Irmo's aid.

Veryandil: She did, herunya, and since Lorien is a long way from our home, my father and mother decided that we would all go together. It took us nearly two six-days to come to the guesthouse where we stayed.

For a moment, Veryandil was quiet, as memories of the journey rose in his mind—of the beeches of Oromë, so huge that his parents together could not encircle them with their arms, of lakes which mirrored the sky, of plains of tall grass which stretched to the horizon like a blue-green sea, flecked with a bright foam of wildflowers. Manwë smiled gently, and Veryandil started and said: I am sorry, Herunya. So we came to the guesthouse, and after we had been there for a six-day, I asked my at—my father if we could go to the Gardens, as I wanted to see where my mother studied, for she had been accepted as one of Heru Irmo's istyari.

On the way there, I saw a beech which looked good to climb; I did; and I nearly fell from it. I hurt my shoulder, and my father helped me to come down. He carried me toward the Gardens, and one of Heri Estë's people met us at the entrance and said she would bring me to a healing place. I did not want to go with her. I—shouted—much.

Manwë laughed softly: Did you so, hina?

Veryandil: I did, sire. My father had to speak sharply to me, and when I stopped shouting, he said that he would go to my mother at once. So I went, but my shoulder hurt so that I could not help crying a little. The Maia spoke quietly to me and said that her lady would come quickly. Then she left me in the healing place. I tried not to weep, but I was—afraid, sire.

Manwë: With good reason, Veryandil. Is that when your friend came?

Veryandil: It was, Herunya. I suppose he heard me crying. He came into the place and I asked where I was, as my mind was—confused. He told me, and then the Lady came. She was—she is very beautiful, sire. She touched me, and it hurt because my shoulder was out of joint; then she told me that she would send me to sleep so that she could put it back. And then, I was on the Path of Dreams, but not as I usually am, for I could not change direction or change the dream. At first I seemed to be flying above Arda like—like one of your eagles, sire. Then I saw the Gardens, with their silver willows and the lake and everything. And I was in the lake, floating in it, but the water was light, gold and silver light, and there was singing, and I could not tell if the singing was the light or the light was song.

I awoke later, in pain, and my friend was there. He helped me to drink some medicine and I went to sleep again. Then I thought my father lay down with me and that I held his hair as I sometimes do when I am hurting.

Again, Veryandil paused, remembering. After a moment, the boy went on: Herunya, my friend has been very kind to me. He has healed me several times, He helped me get back inside my hróa when I got outside somehow. he has begun to teach me the harp. He did tell me a little about what he did, about killing some of our people. I do not understand how he could do that, but he is very sad about it. Please, sire—please forgive him. I—I think he would come to you again, but he is afraid. I think he wants to go to his family, but he is afraid. He has been alone for so long!

Veryandil's eyes filled with tears, and he bent his head as he contemplated his friend's sorrow. With a soft rustle of garments, Manwë rose and came to him. Putting a gentle finger beneath the boy's chin, he lifted his head. Veryandil gazed into the deep eyes, and it was as if he looked into a summer sky. He shivered, but not with fear. After a moment, the Vala resumed his chair and spoke quietly: I thank you, Veryandil, for coming to me. I must tell you, hinya, that it is not my part alone to forgive your friend. Those whom he has wronged must offer pardon as well, and he must acknowledge his misdeeds. For this, he must return here.

Veryandil nodded, but dared not speak lest he weep. Finally, almost inaudibly, he said: I know, sire. I have asked him to come. I want him to be happy again. When he smiles, it is like sunlight through clouds. When he plays the harp with joy, it is like—like the stars in his hand.

Manwë: Then we shall hope that he finds the courage, melda. Now, go to your parents and be easy. Ask your mother to come to me.

Veryandil rose and bowed. When he looked up, the King's smile warmed him. As he approached the door, it opened, and he saw his parents' anxious faces. He went to them, and Linwë, rising, said: Are we to wait, yonya?

Veryandil said: Nana is to go in. Oloriel also rose, and went quickly to the open door, where she curtsied and entered.

The door closed softly. The comfortable room was empty, and Oloriel saw that one of its crystal panels was open, revealing a small walled garden. The King sat there on a stone bench. He rose, smiling, and beckoned her to join him. With another curtsy, she went to him. He laid his hands lightly on her shoulders and regarded her kindly: So, herinya, and how do you fare in your studies?

Oloriel: At first, it was difficult, sire, as I could not always tell what was vision and what was visible, but Heru Irmo has helped me to distinguish between them.

The King nodded, and indicated that she should be seated. She did as he asked, and he himself sat beside her. After a moment, he asked: So, meldenya, what did you wish to tell me?

Oloriel was about to reply when there was a flurry of sound from above her. Glancing up, she saw a fair-sized hawk descending swiftly, to light on the King's left shoulder. Manwë reached up and gently stroked its gleaming feathers. He did not speak, but Oloriel felt the passage of thought between master and servant, and the hawk launched itself into the air, climbed upward and was gone. Manwë turned to her again and said: Your son's friend approaches the city. I hope he will take courage and enter. No one will compel him; he must do this thing of himself.

Oloriel sighed: This is so, sire. I have never known one as troubled as Makalaurë—or with so much potential. It fairly shines from him.

Manwë: Will you say more of this?

Oloriel: When he is lost in memory, it is as if Shadow holds him. When he harps or sings or engages in play, light blossoms in his fëa—a light that is not altogether his own. I saw this most clearly when he grasped me while in the throes of one of his dark dreams. At that moment, I seemed to see both battle and shining. I heard the cries of the wounded and the dying, and I saw the light of I Aldu. It is almost as if he has become a living Silmaril, sire.

Manwë: Ah. And what else would you say of him, herinya?

Oloriel: That I hope he will allow healing, both of fëa and Hróa. I think he has been punished long enough—a torment he inflicts upon himself. His deeds were terrible, but not all of them.

Manwë: Truly. I too hope for his renewal, Oloriel. It would go some way toward amending the marring of his house. Is there more that you would say?

Oloriel: There is not, sire. I thank you for hearing me.

Manwë: It is nothing herinya. You and your family are welcome here.

Oloriel: Sire, if Makalaurë is in  need of advocates, I for one will gladly stand for him.

Manwë: I thank you.

The King regarded Oloriel thoughtfully for a moment, then added: Meldenya, I think that you may have more than one teacher among us, for you have a compassionate heart.

Oloriel: I hoped that might be so, sire. I would dearly love to aid those like Heru Makalaurë.

Manwë: Speak to Heri Nienna, then, Oloriel. I am sure she would be glad to help you strengthen this gift.

Oloriel: I will, Heru Manwë.

She rose, curtsied again, and left.

 

*******

As he approached the gates of the city, moving steadily but warily, Maglor saw someone coming toward him—a familiar figure in a cloak of dark blue. He halted, half-inclined to leave, but the other gave him a grave smile and bowed.

Eonwë: Aiya Makalaurë Fëanorion. Be well come. If you will, there is lodging prepared for you. I believe that friends are there also.

Maglor bowed in his turn and said: I thank you, King's Herald. I will come.

Indicating with a gesture that they should take one of the paths which branched off the main way, the Maia walked beside Maglor. The city walls were soon lost to sight behind a screen of tall trees, and the travelers heard no sound but their own light footfalls and the songs of birds. They ascended a slight rise and dipped down into a valley, at the bottom of which stood a house built of cream-colored stone. As they approached, Maglor heard the sound of a child's laughter; he stood still, both glad and afraid. Eonwë gave him a sympathetic glance and said: It is a fragile thing, friendship, but well worth the having.

Then, his face sobering, he added: The King commands that you stay here until summoned. Will you do this?

Maglor: I will.

Eonwë: Good. A fair evening to you.

With that, he turned and walked away.

 

*******

When Eonwë was gone, Maglor went slowly forward, across a space of grass and up three broad steps onto a porch. The door of the house was open, and the smell of roasted meat and savory vegetables floated out. After a moment's hesitation, Maglor drew a calming breath and stepped over the threshold. Facing him was another open door, which led into a garden. To his right was a corridor, with doors along both sides.

At the end of the passage was the main room of the dwelling, which evidently served as a dining chamber as well, for there sat Linwë and his family at table. Veryandil's father was facing the corridor, and he laid down a spoon, rose and bowed courteously. His expression was a mixture of warmth and wariness. Veryandil did not see his friend at first, as he was facing his mother, but when his father rose, he looked, leaped up and ran to Maglor. Linwë did nothing to stop him. Maglor knelt down and caught the racing child in his arms.

For a moment, they simply embraced each other, but finally, Veryandil drew back and said: Nyello, we are the only ones here, and the King told me before we left him that no one else will come, so do not be afraid. He also said that someone will go to Lorien for your harp, but one is here for you to use if you wish. There are books too, and the garden is fair. Are you hungry?

Maglor chuckled: Such a spate of words, little one! I am not hungry, but, if you will, I will sit with you and your parents.

Maglor got to his feet, and the child took his left hand firmly and brought him to the table. Oloriel also rose, and taking Maglor's other hand said: We are glad you have come. Sit and be at ease.

When he was seated, Oloriel returned to stand beside her husband who said: We would gladly share our meal with you, Nyello.

Veryandil: My atto has made a lovely stew, and my nana has baked blackberry tarts. Mmmm!

Oloriel started to move, but Linwë shook his head and went into the kitchen. He returned with a bowl of stew, bread still warm from the oven, and a small goblet of the pale golden wine Maglor liked on a tray. He set the food and drink before him, and inclined his head. Maglor returned the gesture, and, looking up, met Linwë's eyes for a moment. With sudden, unmixed gladness, he said: Thank you, Linwë.

When the meal was finished, both Linwë and Oloriel refused to allow Maglor to help clear the table.

Oloriel: Tomorrow you may help, Nyello. Tonight, be our guest. Besides, our son is eager to show you your chamber and the other wonders of this place.

 

*******

Maglor allowed his young friend to drag him through the corridors of the house by the hand like a puppy on a lead.

His room, and the others in the house, was spacious and airy, with a door which led into the surrounding garden. Besides a comfortable-looking bed, it contained a clothes press in which were several simple tunics and one formal robe, the purpose of which Maglor thought he knew. In a corner, on a table of polished oak, was a harp of much the same construction and size as his own.

Veryandil: Atto asked a friend to loan it to you. He did not tell him your name, only that you are a great minstrel who is here by order of the King.

Across the corridor was a small but well-stocked library of books and scrolls. Standing in the doorway, breathing in the scent of leather and parchment, Maglor suddenly felt a desire to simply sit and read.

Veryandil: Do you wish to see the garden, Nyello?

Maglor: I think I shall stay here for a little, my friend. I have missed this.

The child was about to answer, when they heard Oloriel calling him. Veryandil scampered away, while Maglor entered the room. He moved from rack to shelf, scanning the titles, most of which were unfamiliar to him. At the end of one row of books, he found a slim volume of poetry, bound in simple gray leather. It was called Tuilindor. Drawing it forth, he sat down in one of the room's comfortable chairs and began to read in the soft lamplight.

A time later, feeling as if he had drunk deeply of a clear spring, Maglor glanced up at a soft footstep, to see the poet standing beside him. Maglor looked at him with quiet eyes, and almost diffidently asked: May I set some of these to music, Linwë? They are very fair.

Linwë: I—I would be honored, Nyello. They were a gift to Oloriel.

Maglor: I shall treat them gently—meldonya.

Linwë smiled openly, touched Maglor lightly on the shoulder, and walked out. After reading the poems several times to fix them in memory, Maglor went to his chamber, took up the harp and its key and stepped out into the garden. There he found a bench some way from the house, tuned the instrument and began to compose.

 

*******

At the end of the six-day, Maglor asked Linwë, Oloriel and Veryandil to join him in the garden. Sitting on the grass at his feet, they awaited the results of his labors. He said: Though I like all of the poems, Linwë, three moved me especially.

He lifted the harp into his lap, and sang. The first was a love song, full of longing, tenderness and fulfillment. Maglor's voice and music perfectly reflected the slightly plaintive first words, the passionate central declaration and the peace at the end. The second song was a lullaby, supported by a gentle rocking melody, which seemed simple at first but soon diverged into a lovely set of variations, both vocal and verbal. Finally, he played his setting for the title poem, a playful circling of words and melody, full of puns on the names of animals and musical gests. This last brought delighted giggles from Veryandil and smiles to his parents' faces.

Maglor sent no images with the music, so that Linwë's words would shine on their own. When the last song ended in a sparkling shower of notes, there was a moment of utter stillness. Then Veryandil sprang up and hurling himself at his friend, hugged his leg and laughed: Nyello! O Nyello!

Linwë also rose, and bowing deeply said: You have set my words free, Nyello. Thank you.

Oloriel simply smiled at Maglor, her eyes bright with tears.

Maglor said nothing, but his smile was unguarded.

 

*******

Manwë: The time has come. Let all be gathered.

Eonwë: As you command, sire.

 

*******

Maglor: Do not forget to damp them, child.

Veryandil: Avalanche!

He playfully ran his fingers down the strings of the harp, while Maglor laughed softly. He was about to respond, when they both heard a knock on the outer door of the house, followed by Linwë's steps and the opening of the door. They looked at one another, Veryandil's expression worried, Maglor's attentive. A moment later, Linwë came into the garden, followed by Eonwë. Maglor rose and bowed.

Eonwë: Makalaurë Fëanorion, you and all the people are summoned to appear before the assembled Valar at mid-day.

Veryandil: Nyello!

Maglor: I hear, King's Herald.

____________________

 

Notes: All Eldarin words are in Quenya.

 

Eruhantalë—the festival of thanksgiving to Eru.

 

Eruhina—child of the One, i.e. an Elf or a Man.

 

Herunya—my lord.

 

Hróa—body.

 

Meldonya—my friend, referring to a man.

 

Yonya—my son.

 

Atto—papa.

 

Hinya—my child.

 

Nana—mama.

 

Hina—child.

 

Heru—lord.

 

Melda—dear.

 

Istyari—scholars.

 

Heri—lady.

 

Herinya—my lady.

 

Meldenya—my friend, referring to a woman.

 

Fëa—spirit.

 

I Aldu--the Two Trees.

 

Aiya—hail!

 

Tuilindor—swallows.