9: In the Maze

Author’s Note: Telepathic speech, in this and in any subsequent chapters, is indicated by asterisks.

****

He stood there for the longest time, indecision keeping him rooted on the spot. Then he heard, or thought he heard, someone speak to his mind.

*Well, are you just going to stand there, elfling, or do I have to come and get you?*

The Voice sounded suspiciously like Olórin’s, but he couldn’t be sure. Giving a mental shrug and a brief sigh he squared his shoulders and took the path that was before him, ignoring the ones to his left and right.

*Ah, so that’s the way of it, is it?* he thought he heard the mysterious Voice say, but as no other comment was forthcoming, he ignored it.

The path continued straight for some time and then turned right. Several feet further on he came to a fork where he had to decide whether to go left or right. After a moment’s hesitation, and half expecting to hear a comment from the Voice which never came, he turned right. Almost immediately the path began twisting in a serpentine pattern so that at one point he was sure he was facing the direction from which he had originally come. His senses became too confused and as he couldn’t see the sun to gauge his direction, for the high hedges blocked out most of the sky, he soon became hopelessly turned around.

At some point he came unexpectedly upon a small clearing where a wooden bridge spanned a pool fed by a spring. He didn’t realize how claustrophobic he had been feeling and dreaded having to leave the clearing and plunge back into the maze. On the other side of the bridge there were three paths from which to choose. Glorfindel spent some time contemplating his choices, stooping to drink some water from the pool in the meantime. This was more a delaying tactic than a real need to slake his thirst and when he was finished he sighed, feeling annoyed and rather tired of it all.

*Patience, child. Everything has a reason. This is no different.*

Again that Voice that sounded like Olórin’s but wasn’t. Realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere just standing there he decided to take the left hand path. He thought he heard a sigh somewhere but wasn’t sure.

Almost immediately he began to regret his choice. The path started branching almost at once and he had to choose again. Three times he was forced to go one way or another. The third time proved to be a dead end and he turned back, intending to take a different path. However, he couldn’t remember which branch was which and before he knew it he was back in the clearing with the pool, feeling hot, frustrated and not a little angry.

He collapsed on the bank of the pool next to the bridge in dejected silence and waited for the Voice to make some scathing comment, but none was forthcoming. The silence was absolute. After a while he leaned down and splashed some water on his face, and felt marginally better. He wondered if other Reborn had had as much trouble finding their way through the maze as he was having.

Well, while the idea of just sitting there by the pool forever did have its merits, Glorfindel knew he couldn’t do it. Something within him refused to give up. That, and the fact that he was beginning to feel hungry, drove him to choose the right-hand path.

This path, however, went nowhere, and he had to return to the clearing once again. He went directly to the middle path without bothering to stop at the pool, confident that this must be the right one, but again it went nowhere. Glorfindel stood staring in disbelief at the hedge blocking his path. Were all three paths wrong? How would he traverse the maze then? Maybe he would have to go all the way back to the entrance, if he could be sure to recognize it if he saw it, and choose one of the other paths.

Despair began to take hold and he slumped to the ground before the offending hedge, feeling too tired and sick at heart to return to the clearing. He clasped his hands around his knees and rocked himself in a vain attempt to find comfort. He didn’t know what he should do now.

*Think it through, child. The answer lies before you.*

And then a second voice joined the first, this one sounding even more familiar to the elf, but again he could not place it.

*You know two of the paths go nowhere, but the third had several branches. You only explored one of them.*

The elf looked up in surprise. Could that be the answer? He stood up and practically ran back to the clearing and plunged back into the left-hand path for the second time. When he came to the first fork he stopped, trying to remember which one he had taken originally. Left. He had taken the left fork last time. He was about to turn right when another thought stopped him.

What if the right path lay further along the other way? What if one of the other two branches that he had encountered and not taken led to the right path that would take him successfully through the maze? He cried out then, caught in a web of indecision, and felt tears welling in his eyes. He waited to hear the Voices tell him which way to go, but there was nothing but silence. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, trying to think things through as he had been told to do. The maze was so confusing, it was difficult to remember which branch of a path he had taken. It seemed that all choices were equal, all choices were evil.

*But some are less evil than others*, came the second Voice.

Glorfindel opened his eyes and decided. He had taken the left-hand path the first time; he would take the right-hand path this time and hope it was the right one. It was all he could do at this point. This path did not twist as much as the other had and at one point the hedges on either side grew inward to form a canopy, creating a dark leafy tunnel. He walked through to find yet two more paths and sighed, but he had already decided his course. From now on he would only go right whenever he reached a branching of paths.

In this manner he continued through the maze, always taking the right-hand fork whenever one appeared. He ceased to wonder if he would ever leave the maze; all that mattered was to try, sticking to his decision and not worrying about anything else. He wondered what he would do, though, if he came to a dead end, but that worry never materialized. How long he wandered the maze he could not tell, for the sky above remained a perfect blue, never shading towards evening. He had arrived at the maze around noon, but it seemed that time did not matter here.

Finally, he came to another clearing. There was a bridge that spanned a wide stream that ran swift and deep between the hedges. There were also two paths to take, but one lay to the left on this side of the stream, the other lay on the other side of the bridge. Glorfindel hesitated. The path on the other side of the bridge veered towards the right, true, but something did not seem right to him. So far he had been lucky in his choices but that didn’t mean his luck would hold forever. He decided to trust his instincts, and moved towards the left-hand path.

He walked only twenty paces when the hedges opened up into a square, perhaps thirty feet across, and he realized he had finally reached the center of the maze. He stood there gaping. Sunlight shone all around. Four stone paths lined with flowers in every imaginable hue came together in the center where there was a small table under a pavilion made of white sendal, its side walls rolled up. Two Beings sat at the table sipping from crystal goblets, watching him with amused expressions on almost identical faces. One was unknown to Glorfindel, but the other...

Námo turned to his brother, Irmo, with a smirk. "You lose, titta háno," he said. Then both Valar laughed.

****

Titta háno: (Quenya) Little brother.