~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Erestor had hardly slept and his horse was more dead
than alive by the time he arrived at Imladris. It was almost midnight, but he woke the
whole house and ordered a troupe out to intercept their Lord and the wounded
wizard and escort them home. Then he sent off a messenger to summon Saruman.
Completely exhausted, Erestor sank onto his bed and
slept for more than a full day.
Wake-up was rather unpleasant: Erestor was sore in
places he had long since forgotten they could BE sore and all his muscles
ached. The Chief Counselor stood with a groan, carefully rubbed his tender
backside. Stepping outside Erestor found a servant and ordered a bath. He had a
small bathroom of his
own since he was unwilling to show his marred body in public. The others would
use the common bathhouse – by far the more comfortable place.
It had taken quite a few discussions with Lord Elrond
for Erestor to get his will. Elrond was convinced that Erestor needed to accept
his body as it was and thought it was a good idea not to hide away
Soon the elf soaked in a wooden tub full of hot water.
Erestor could not remember the last time he had enjoyed a bath so thoroughly.
After he’d dressed and eaten he dutifully returned to his tasks, that included
right now the care for the house, since his Lord was unavailable at the moment.
Which brought him back to the deep hurt of lost trust.
What had he done wrong? Why would Elrond not confide in him? And why did that
name – Olorin – strike him as somehow known? Those questions had to wait!
Erestor banned them into the back of his mind – duty came first! He could mourn
later.
On the next evening – the sun was about to set behind
the mountains – great commotion let Erestor shuffle to the main entrance. He
felt great relief when his Lord arrived among his men. Three elves helped the
wizard to the healing-house. So Mithrandir was conscious again – good.
“My Lord, welcome back at your home. I am very
relieved to see you are back and – by
the Valar! What has happened?” Erestor had only seen the bad state Elrond was
in when the half-elf had stepped out of the blinding sunlight.
“I am fine, Erestor. Tis nothing.” The Peredhel fended
him off.
“Elrond, you look terrible! You need to see a healer
right now!” Erestor was so troubled that he forgot to keep up the formalities in
front of the household. He was fretting over the half-elf like a mother-hen.
“I am FINE, Erestor, thank you. I am merely tired and
wish to retire. I would be grateful if you would take over my duties for the
time being.” Elrond waved Erestor off, not even noticing that he left an
utterly crumpled elf in is wake.
//Olorin...// Erestor could not put a finger on to
where he had heard or read that name before. He had already spent hours
searching the library, working his way backwards in time. The oldest volumes
were only copies of copied copies, transcribed again and again to preserve the
knowledge from the decay of the ages. Unfortunately mistakes would happen and
thus one could never be certain if a name or a place had indeed been the one
now written down on the parchment.
So far, he had not found a thing.
What was left was an anonymous journal of an elf who
recounted life at Valinor. Erestor sifted through the pages and almost missed
the passage that mentioned a visit by somebody called Olorin.
‘…Like so often Olorin came blowing by and
watched me carve the wood for another harp. Although he is like a mild breeze
the fact that he hardly ever speaks and seems content with watching for days on
end, his presence is somewhat unnerving. Despite his immense age he sometimes
seems like a child with abundant curiosity to me, hovering about and whirling
around me. After five days he sensed my uneasiness and left like a soft,
saddened sigh….’
So Olorin was an ancient elf? But then – even though
the tome was written in a very ancient form of Quenya, it was a very strange
choice of words to describe a fellow-elf.
Erestor flipped backwards to the beginning, then took
the precedent volume and searched. At the end he found the point where this elf
had arrived at the Undying Lands. For many months he wrote about nothing else
but the terrifying beauty of the Valar. Captivated, Erestor read on, hardly
ever noticing that a servant brought a lamp at dusk. Between the entries there
were gaps of weeks, months even – whenever the writer had nothing special to
recount.
‘The
wonders of Valmar never cease to amaze me. Even now, after being here for
almost fifty years! Almost from the beginning I had a sensation of something
being present - every now and then, a feeling >of being watched by some
hidden stranger. During the past year these sensations have grown much more and more intense and last month I
was so unnerved and unsettled that I finally voiced my concern and asked the
hidden watcher to reveal himself to me. I will try to recount this incident as
true as possible:
At first nothing seemed to
happen, then a disembodied voice suddenly spoke: “Fear not, child, for I mean
you no harm.”
The
voice was beautiful! Rich, ageless and smooth yet light and bubbling like a
creek running over boulders. I shivered, doubting my senses.
“Where
are you? Who are you?” I asked with exasperation.
“I
am here.”
“Where?
Show yourself!”
“Here.
I cannot assume a form like my Lords, the Ainu or the more powerful Maiar. I am
in this room, all around you,” the voice said. Then I felt something like a
gentle breeze brush across my face
and then I noticed a blur in the air – much
like the effect you can see over a heated surface – in front of me. It was
more or less of a globular form.
“Do
you see now?”
>“Yes,
I think I can see...you.” I reached out for this shape, but it vanished and
there was silence all around me. Yet I could still sense the presence.
“It
is exhausting to let you see, child. I cannot do so for long. Talking to you is already straining me,” the voice
said, now lower and seemingly closer to my ear. Again I felt the caress of a
breeze on my skin. It was such that I felt delighted, if not loved and I was
filled with deep peace and my heart was overjoyed at once. I dare say it was
the most delighting being I ever
encountered. Not only my body – my whole existence had been touched by a God!
“What
is your desire, your Holiness?” I asked. It seemed obvious that he was one of
the Gods, even if only a lesser one – if Gods can be of lesser power or value
anyway!
“Watching
you.”
“Why?”
I did not know how I found the boldness to scrutinise the being, maybe because
his voice was too wonderful?
“Because
you are Quendi.”
With
long pauses the being explained to me, that he simply loved watching the
Quendi, that it found them lovely and fascinating and that it had come to enjoy
my work because – like all the Gods – he loved music so much. It excused itself
for scaring me and asked if it could come back. It was obvious that
producing a voice was indeed very straining for this being who, as it explained,
belonged to a group of lesser Maia
called Istari.
“You
will always be welcome in my home,
but do you not have a name to greet you by?” I dared to inquire.
“They
call me - Olorin.” Shortly after,
Olorin had left and I was truly alone again, shaking. Never before had any of
the Gods addressed me in direct conversation and in retrospect I found my
actions bold and almost respectless. I was filled with gratefulness that the
Maia was so indulgent with me.
Erestor read the passage again and again. It could not
be! Simple as that: it was impossible. //Names are used over and over again.
This one probably named one of his children after that Maia to honor the
being// But then: had anybody ever used a name of a Valar or any of the lesser
spirits for a child? Would that not border on blasphemy?
Still: Gandalf had a body, a rather pleasing one, if
Lindir’s innuendo was to be believed. The old wizard was certainly a mysterious
being, but – wait! Could it be? Would that not explain why he never sung? Even
why Elrond had been more than anxious to keep the wizard from singing at all?
++++++++++++++++++
That night, Glorfindel did his best to get drunk. When
the old memories came too close to the surface, the warrior knew no other way
to chase off his demons. The alcohol wrapped him up in a pleasantly dampening
cotton-wood-wrapper.
Gandalf’s attack had sharply brought up those old,
dreadful memories of being burnt alive. Crisper and sharper then anything else
ever had. Fearing the nightmares the warrior had not slept during the rest of
their journey. The other elves kept away from him, knowing he was bad company
in such a mood. So he drank alone, seated in a dark corner of the Hall of Fire.
When it had gotten late the inebriated Glorfindel
decided to look for the counselor. After all it had been HIM who had saved
Gandalf. He knocked at Erestor's door but there was no answer, no sound from
inside. Certain he would not interrupt anything, the blond Noldo opened the
door. His keen eyes spotted the robed elf on his balcony where Erestor still
wondered who Olorin really was.
"Why don't you answer the door?"
Glorfindel asked, walking over to Erestor.
"Maybe I did not want to. Can't you respect
one's privacy?" the raven-haired elf hissed.
"Ai, I wondered where you were. I was
waiting for you." Glorfindel tucked gently at the long tresses of
Erestor's hair.
Erestor snorted.
"Honestly." Glorfindel stood now very
closely behind Erestor and the dark elf could smell the alcohol on the blond's
breath.
"You're drunk." Erestor tried to
shake-off those hands but failed miserably.
Suddenly Fin's hands were on Erestor's
shoulders.
"Don't touch me!" he whirled around
and made an unhappy step thus stumbling and falling ungracefully to the ground.
"Ow!"
"Damn!" Glorfindel bit his lip and
bowed immediately to help the crippled elf get up.
The humiliation and anger brought tears to
Erestor's eyes and he angrily lashed out towards the dumb blond. "Get
lost! Leave me alone!"
"Nay." ignoring the beating Glorfindel
scooped up the squirming elf, firmly holding Erestor's wrists in one hand,
and carried him over to the sparse bed.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry! Please, forgive me."
"Just leave me alone, you idiot!"
Erestor tried hard to free his hands, but Glorfindel was far too well versed in
handling restive if not struggling enemies.
"First you must forgive me." the balrog slayer slurred.
Being tied-up brought up dark, evil memories and
suddenly Erestor screamed with pure panic in his voice: "GO AWAY!
GO...AWAY...go..."
It did the trick. Taken aback and thus sobering,
Glorfindel stumbled away from the bed, releasing his grip. Erestor turned away
from the other elf, rolling up in a fetal position, shaking like a leaf and desperately
trying to get a grip.
Glorfindel knelt on the bed "Erestor?"
his hand reached gingerly out.
"Go away." the dark-haired elf
whispered with a shaky voice. Why did Fin not leave? Why continued the bastard
to torture him with his unwanted presence, witnessing his humiliation?
"By the Valar, I'm inconsolable, Erestor. I
never intended..."
"What did I do to deserve this? Were you
solely sent back to Middle Earth to torment me or was it simply that even Namo
could not stand your presence?" Erestor hissed.
Glorfindel paled. Nobody had ever said anything
the like!
"I'm sorry." the blond straightened.
"It was an accident. I truly wanted to dance, that was all. Well, stay
here and keep sulking for the rest of your eternity. I will not bother you
again!"
"Thank you so much!" Erestor retorted.
The door slammed shut. He had tried, Glorfindel
thought. He had really tried but no! It would not work. And why had he tried,
in the first place? Erestor was cold as ice and without mercy – he should have known:
TBC...
