Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Freedom

The two ages of Eönwë’s banishment come to an end.

 

This chapter fits the following B2MeM 2012 prompts:

Emotions - B1: Joy
Emotions - I21: Awe

 

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36. Freedom

 

‘Erestor, if you can hear me open the door this instant!’ shouted Glorfindel.

Blood thundered in my ears, and light tickled me, pink and warm through my eyelids. I wriggled my toes, then my fingers. Back inside my hröa I felt no pain, not even when I dared roll to my side, and my heart beat steadily. I let out a sigh of relief.

Feeling dizzy, I blinked and touched my chest. There was no sign of the wound though my garments were torn and covered in blood, still wet. I almost laughed. After so many attempts, Námo had perfected his technique and could bind me back into my restored hröa even from afar but, apparently, his wife had not taught him about fabrics.

‘Soon you may be free, but until then you are bound to Elrond,’ the Lord of Mandos had said. ‘None can discover what you have done; this victory is theirs. I must congratulate you, Eönwë. Even though you disobeyed the terms of your banishment, I am pleased your reason prevailed at last. If only you had called for my help, my servants might have grasped Sauron before he fled Arda.’ I had remained impassive, making my mind blank from everything but images of distant stars instead of dwelling on the tons of lava likely to be crushing Mairon. 

The pounding on the door startled me, fast and loud.

‘Right, Laergil, we are breaking in.’ Glorfindel’s voice was anxious. ‘I fear something is wrong...’

‘Wait! I am well,’ I cried, staggering to my feet. ‘Give me a moment.’

I pulled off both my ruined tunic and shirt, threw the bundle into a cupboard and dragged a rug over the stains of blood on the floor before yanking another shirt from a drawer. A hasty scan of the scene revealed the reddened knife by the bed. Cursing, I kicked it under the wardrobe. At last, I unlocked the door.

‘Something has happened! Lord Elrond is summoning us all,’ said Elladan, rushing into the room. ‘He senses a change. A lightness of some sort.’

Glorfindel peered at me from behind him. ‘You are very pale,’ he said. ‘And you did not answer for a long while, despite the knocking.’

‘I fell asleep,’ I mumbled. His glare showed incredulity.

‘Perhaps the Fellowship has destroyed the Ring,’ Laergil said. Sunlight poured through the window and his eyes glittered with joy. ‘The gloom is lifting!’

‘And what does Erestor do at the hour of doom?’ laughed Glorfindel slapping me hard on the back. ‘He falls asleep. You must tell me how you chose your timing so precisely.’

‘Maybe later,’ I growled.

 ~ o ~

 

The Eagles bringing the news that confirmed everyone’s hopes arrived before dusk the following day. The whole valley rejoiced and feasted all through the night.

My smiles were false, my laughter an empty mockery of the joy denied to me. Though I was glad and most relieved that Sauron’s evil had been vanquished, I hated hearing him vilified by those who had never met the brilliant, generous person that Mairon had once been. Sick with yearning, I kept wondering where he was. In the midst of the exultant crowd, I shared Mairon’s loneliness.

I stared, stunned, as a pyre was built and a straw figure dressed in black robes and wearing a hideous mask was flung into the flames amidst coarse insults and loud cheers. Aware of my pain, Glorfindel steered me away from the celebrations to a quiet ridge higher up the valley. Feeling perversely pleased about disobeying one of Námo’s mandates, I poured out the tale of what had happened at the Sammath Naur one day earlier.

‘You did not betray Sauron to Námo’s servants,’ he said quietly. I heard the unspoken question. Why?

‘Invoking Ilúvatar as my witness, I swore before Vefántur never to hand Mairon to him, or to Manwë and the rest of his coterie,’ I replied, expecting condemnation. But Glorfindel stared in silence at the branches above our heads, swaying dark against the clear sky.

‘After the War of Wrath I gave Mairon a chance,’ I continued. ‘He proved he could be trusted, until the Valar destroyed all we had. Then I let him fall into shadow, even though he cried to me for help. I was deaf and blind.’ I clenched my hands to stop them from trembling. ‘However twisted by greed and malice, Sauron still is... Mairon.’

At last Glorfindel turned his gaze to me.

‘What will you do?’

I was grateful that he neither judged me nor attempted to relieve me from guilt.

‘For now I will obey Námo’s orders until he decrees the end of my banishment. After that...’ I shrugged. ‘I am not sure I wish to speak to Mairon again. What else is there to say? Perhaps it is best for all if he disappears.’

‘I doubt it. Even diminished, you know he will be dangerous; defeat and vengeance may spur him to desperation, even madness,’ he said.

I shuddered; Glorfindel placed a warm hand on my shoulder.

‘Half-truths and lies shall not avail him anymore, no matter how sweetly spoken,’ I said. ‘Besides, he no longer has a hröa to seduce me.’ I laughed bitterly. ‘I was slow to learn his ways of deceit, but the lesson will stay with me forever.’

For a short while we did not speak. Across my mind flashed a succession of futures, all of them shaped out of impossible dreams or plagued with loneliness and longing for our days in Kiinlúum, when Mairon and I had it all. Ashamed, I blinked away the threat of tears.

‘Give yourself time,’ said Glorfindel. ‘One day you will know what to do. Even if it means wrestling the Doomsman, or Moringotto himself, to save Sauron from the Void.’ He winked. ‘Mairon is fortunate. You know, my wager would be on you.’

I was so touched by his unfailing friendship that my throat and chest hurt. Yet I could not help smiling.

‘You might lose,’ I grumbled.

In a silence only broken by the weak echoes of celebration down in the valley, we watched the slow circling of the stars.

 

 

Valinor, Year 1 of the Fourth Age of Arda

The light of Anar seemed more golden than I remembered it on our departure from Mithlond, before the mists swallowed our ship as we sailed the Straight Road, all the way until we cleared the Enchanted Isles.

I stood on the creaking planks, the last passenger on the ship to walk ashore. Behind me Círdan was barking orders to his men about the unloading of the cargo crammed aboard, mostly precious mementoes from past lives in a now unreachable land.

No sense of homecoming urged me to step onto the white sandy beach of Valinor, now swarming with people and echoing with the happy sounds of long-awaited reunions.

Instead I scanned the landscape that lay before me, nestled within the gash of the Calacirya, with a detachment I had never felt while travelling within Endórë, as though the scene was merely a subject of study, when in truth it was the adopted home of my kindred on Arda. Once it had been my home too.

I took a deep breath, missing the tang of decay in the sea breeze, so familiar from my yéni in Lindon. My gaze flicked up to the high snowed peaks to the South, brushed by wispy clouds, and slid down the sheer slopes to linger on the lush woods beyond the beach, parted only by the road to Tirion. It took me a while to notice the oddness of the evenly shaped, equally sized bright green trees, without a single brown leaf or broken branch on the ground underneath. I had forgotten the perfection of Valinor.

While most of my sailing companions were warmly welcomed by kin and friends, as soon as I stepped onto the pier, two of Manwë’s Maiar handed me his summons. Without their uttering a word, a wide passage opened for them within the huge crowd. Their fanar were tall, imposing, unnatural in the aura they projected. I had understood long ago that even when clad we Ainur could never seem but otherworldly, even threatening, to the Incarnates. Now I saw it in the sea of awed, wary faces around me.

I had three days before I must appear at the Máhanaxar. Discreetly, I tried to walk away, but Glorfindel stood guard, no doubt appointed by Elrond, and he sternly barred my departure.

‘None of my kinsfolk have any reason to expect my arrival,’ he said with a shrug, when I commented about his absent family and friends. ‘In a few days I might visit my parents, my sister, and maybe Ecthelion. He was reborn well before I sailed back to Endórë, and expected his first child at the time.’ His eyes shone with fondness while his voice was tinged with longing. In the past, he had told me of his affection for Ecthelion. He smiled too brightly. ‘So, there is no hurry, I can keep you company.’

Glorfindel and I waited. With a frown and an impatient wave of his hand, Elrond dismissed our idea of finding our own lodgings, threatening dire consequences if we disappeared without his permission. I did not particularly wish to travel in the company of Arafinwë and his host during the journey to Tirion, or to stay in his grand house once we arrived at the city, but it seemed inevitable.

Olórin gave me a smile of reassurance as he walked past us to whisk Frodo away from the enthusiastic mob. The poor hobbit seemed about to faint.

Celebrían momentarily prised herself free from Elrond’s embrace to rush into my arms and kiss me on the cheek, before welcoming Glorfindel in the same manner. Her grandfather Arafinwë clasped my arm and briefly dipped his head.

‘Do you know Erestor?’ asked his daughter Galadriel, with a slight frown.

‘I do, Alatáriel. But this is hardly the time for long stories,’ answered Arafinwë briskly,  before steering her away to greet someone else. I sighed, relieved.

At last all the welcomes had been spoken, all the tears of joy wiped away, and those of grief at bitter news wept on a caring shoulder. The crowd began to trickle away from the pier.

~ o ~

 

Our trip was uneventful. Still, instinct honed over two ages in Endórë made it difficult not to be continuously tense, on guard. Soon I noticed that a few soldiers in Arafinwë’s escort eyed me warily; I could not recall if they had been present when Námo spoke my sentence. I was glad no one spoke my true name, if indeed they had recognised me. 

Uneasy, I spent most of the journey riding next to Glorfindel. We all gathered around Elrond and Celebrían for our meals and for storytelling around the fire in the balmy evenings.

‘Just like Imladris, without the Hall,’ said Glorfindel.

When we arrived at Tirion, I pleaded tiredness so that I might remove to my room soon after dusk. I had hoped that family obligations would keep Elrond from questioning my feeble excuse, but I was not that fortunate. Grudgingly, I gave him the details of my summons.

‘Kind of you to inform your lord at last, Erestor,’ he answered with a frown of displeasure. ‘Do you believe I am blind? Had it not been for Glorfindel sticking to you like a burr, I believe you would have vanished without a farewell.’

‘I am sorry, Elrond. I did not wish to disturb...’ His glare stopped me.

‘I will request that our horses are ready in the morning. Attend me at the first bell.’ I knew such a dismissal was final. He would brook no disagreement.

Once alone in my room, I thought about what would happen in the morrow: my hröa would die again, or simply vanish at Námo’s command.

I took off my clothes and looked at my naked reflection in a large gilded mirror. Running my fingers over the muscle, hardened by training and toil, I traced the puckered skin of faded scars, some from minor battle wounds, and others from the whips and blades of Sauron’s minions, dwelling at last on those that had caused the two deaths of my hröa. Both of them were much fainter than the others, as though Námo’s work to knit the damage wrought by the lethal injuries had also restored the skin to its former smoothness.

I lay down on the ample bed and curled under the covers, despite the warmth of the night. Abruptly, I realised that this was likely to be the last time I would ever sleep.

I recalled the suffocating moments I spent  at the Máhanaxar when first bound to my flesh, the weeks of seasickness, and my struggles to master my muscles and my senses, within their frustrating limitations. And I remembered, as clear as crystal, the first times Mairon touched me. Like a mosaic taking shape before my eyes, tile by tile, I relived my most treasured memories of us together while I stroked myself unhurriedly.

I pictured his eyes peacefully closed as we lay on the grass, breathing the scent of heather blooming on the moor; his joyful grin as we glided on bat’s wings under the sun; his fierce, splendid nakedness exacting his dominion, and later surrendering, wanton and vulnerable under my worship. When I had fully savoured my memories, I imagined his firm hands once more upon my skin, his hungry lips pressed to mine.  Then, I shuddered with the last orgasm I would ever know, an exquisite blend of melancholy and pleasure.

My sleep, when it overwhelmed me at last, was sound and without dreams.

~ o ~

 

Just before noon on the next day, Elrond and I stepped onto the deserted Ezellôchâr, outside the gates of Valmar. He gazed for a moment at the sad remnants of the Trees before entering the Circle of Doom. The quietness was absolute; not even the birds were singing in the trees beyond the stone platform. The hair on my nape tingled.

‘I am grateful for your company, my lord,’ I said. He frowned slightly at the address; I only used his title in public. ‘But this may be... unpleasant,’ I continued, ‘and it may be wise if you were to leave.’

‘Do you really believe I wish to remain ignorant about the truth of your past and your identity, after suffering your secrecy for over forty yéni?’ he snorted. ‘Not likely, Erestor.’

‘Not even if we order it?’ spoke Manwë’s voice. His fana took shape before our eyes, as did Námo’s.

The light tap of steps behind us alerted us to someone else's presence. Olórin entered the Circle and halted at our side to bow to the Valar, before standing next to the Elder King. He still wore his guise as Mithrandir, no doubt to remain a familiar presence to Frodo during his first intimidating days in such a strange land. Around us, twelve Maiar clad as warriors appeared to guard the circle. Between them and us, Manwë invoked a shield that prevented us from leaving and blocked both sound and ósanwë.

Elrond paled as he fell to one knee before Manwë. I remained standing, but bowed slightly.

‘Erestor is my sworn man, my lord,’ replied Elrond. His voice was firm. ‘Therefore it is my right to be present if he is to be judged.’

‘This is not a trial,’ answered Manwë. ‘Grave matters which are not your concern will be addressed here.’

‘Is this why there is no crowd to watch the proceedings this time?’ I retorted. ‘Because the truth is not appropriate for the delicate ears of the Children?’

Námo glowered. Olórin shook his head in mute pleading, and I bit my lip. But Elrond did not yield.

‘Matters that concern Erestor are my business,’ he insisted, glancing up at me questioningly. ‘Unless private.’

‘No, my lord, they are not private.’ Elrond had the right to know.

During the brief pause that followed, I was sure that the two Valar were conferring in ósanwë to reach a decision.

‘You shall be allowed to stay, Elrond Eärendillion, but you must swear to be silent about what you will hear within this Circle,’ ordered Námo.

‘I do so swear,’ said Elrond, his hand pressed upon his heart.

‘Very well. Rise.’

My lord stood, almost at attention. I smiled in gratitude and he dipped his head. Námo came closer. My eyes were level with his elbow.

‘The term of your banishment has lapsed... Erestor,’ spoke Námo, curling his lips in amusement. ‘Two Ages of the world have passed, and though Sauron has not come to stand within this Circle, you defeated him, and reduced him to a powerless shadow. I am glad that you decided to heed the advice I gave you during your last visit.’ I clenched my hands, furious. ‘I have yet to understand how you knew the exact time to strike, but I can only congratulate your precision. Without your intervention Sauron would have undoubtedly regained his Ring and with it, his power.’

Elrond turned to me in amazement.

‘What does this mean? What intervention?’ he demanded.

Manwë raised his hand. ‘Erestor may explain his role in these events later. The summary, however, is that Frodo achieved his mission but his efforts might not have been sufficient without... Erestor.’

‘What?’ cried Elrond. ‘All of Frodo’s and Samwise’s suffering and the sacrifice of so many others would have been in vain?’

‘I am afraid so,’ replied Manwë. ‘You will have your explanation, Eärendillion. But not now.’ He paused. ‘Now it is with great joy that I must put an end to the imprisonment of your man so that he can resume his former duties and his service to me.’

Without looking in my direction, he signalled Námo to proceed.

‘No!’ I cried in anger. ‘I will not renounce my oath to Elrond, and I shall not serve two masters.’

A dead silence followed. I did not miss Námo’s scowl, and Manwë’s eyes were wide with shock.

‘Erestor, I have no right to bind you to my service if the Elder King claims you,’ said Elrond. ‘Know, however, that I am thankful that he sent you to me, and that I shall miss your loyalty and your companionship.’ His smile was rueful as he placed a fond hand on my shoulder.

‘I do not wish you to suffer for my defiance. But I will hold no allegiance if I am forbidden to call you my lord,’ I said, crossing my arms.

I was sure I heard Manwë gasp in outrage.

‘Your fealty must belong to the Elder King,’ observed Námo with a frown.

‘I gave it to Elrond for almost two ages, at your own command.’

‘I ordered your stay in Lindon for your protection against the foe who seduced you and would turn you to his side,’ said Manwë.

I laughed at the hypocrisy of his words. ‘You sent me away as a miscreant. You tricked me, wronged me, and abandoned me when I called to you for help, even though I had loved and served you since before Time began. Indeed, you wanted me to be seduced, and hoped Sauron would be all the weaker for that.’ I took a deep breath and plunged on. ‘In contrast, Elrond ever repaid me with fairness and trust. I could wish for no better lord, Ainu or Eruhin, than Elrond son of Eärendil. You cannot claim now what you do not deserve.’

Perversely, I relished sensing the mood of the Valar chill with every word I spoke. Olórin pressed his lips together, as though to prevent a moan. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elrond flinch, white as the marble we stood on.

‘I am tempted to make you suffer for your disrespect,’ said Námo, his eyes glittering. ‘But despite my grave doubts about your trustworthiness, you have vanquished Sauron and completed your sentence. Let us finish this unpleasant business for good and be done with you.’ He fixed his cold gaze on my companion. ‘Elrond, do you wish to free Erestor from your service?’

‘No. While he wishes to maintain his pledge, I will keep mine,’ Elrond said.

I admired his equanimity in the face of the Lord of Mandos’ aura of displeasure.

‘And is it your will that your servant keeps his hröa, or do you allow his release?’ The contempt in Námo’s voice sent a shiver down my spine.

‘If your justice has been met, my lords, I have no right to enforce any strictures upon him,’ replied Elrond calmly.

Manwë nodded. ‘So be it.’

Námo pointed at me. A sharp blast of scorching heat made me scream in agony. I fell writhing on the stone slabs, and sensed Elrond cradling my head in his arm, calling my name. The familiar embrace of my hröa, worn for over six thousand rounds of the sun, loosened its hold and I burst forth from my dying shape, while the pain mercifully faded away.

I was immediately bombarded with all the sensorial inputs I had been deprived of for two Ages, now undimmed in the perfection of Aman. I swirled, overwhelmed and disoriented. Freedom felt frightening. I was light and thought once more, no longer trammelled by flesh, but I felt naked, exposed.

Dismayed, Elrond stared at the limp form still in his arms. I touched his mind, revealing myself.

‘I am here, my friend.’

He leapt to his feet, and his eyes darted about, searching. I conjured my old fana, and was startled to see Elrond give a step back.

‘My lord Eönwë!’ He gasped.

I laughed. ‘You cannot start calling me that now. To you I wish to remain Erestor.’

‘I am sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I remember...’

‘You remember wondering if the Ainur could feel as you did on the day I stared at you, cold as ice, while you learnt of your brother’s choice. It is I who must be sorry. For many things.’

In the silence that followed, Manwë’s words seemed to echo loudly against the stone. ‘Eönwë, it was not my intention to hurt you. I never anticipated that your punishment would prove to be so harsh. I can understand your resentment but I hope that Time will soothe your bitterness so that you reconsider the accusations you have made. There was no malice or cruelty on our part, only a profound wish to serve Ilúvatar and preserve his Music when we perceived that the shadow of evil would rise again.’

Though I was inclined to believe that Manwë meant his words, his apology would not undo his deeds or those performed in his name. As for Námo, I had suffered his venomous spite; he would never convince me of his good will.

‘I am not sure Time can heal all of the wounds; others have been wronged far worse than I have, and many wait in Mandos slain by an evil that, despite your belief, was neither ruled by fate nor inevitable, but born out of your interference,’ I answered. ‘I wish, however, that Time could be turned back, knowing how my choices brought so much pain to me and to others.’

‘That is a wish I have often had myself,’ Manwë said, with genuine sadness in his voice. He hesitated. ‘I shall not forget your faithfulness. My house is yours, if you still wish to belong there.’

‘I revel in the airs and currents, in the fires kindled by Elentári and in the wideness of space. That makes me a Maia of your house while I dwell within Eä.’

‘I am glad, Eönwë.’

Námo had remained silent and impassive, but his final gaze in my direction filled me with dread. Unlike the Elder King, he did not offer a chance for reconciliation. A swirl of silver rose around my discarded shape, obscuring it from view, and flowed towards his hand until it became a sphere of dazzling light. No trace remained of my hröa, but Mairon’s shackle gleamed on the smooth white stone.

‘Keep your lover’s trinket,’ said Námo with a sneer. ‘It is tainted.’ He walked to stand next to Manwë.

Knowing ourselves dismissed, Elrond and I bowed. The shield flashed and disappeared, as did the Valar and their Maiar, except for Olórin. I crouched to pick up the wrist cuff.  When I noticed Elrond’s eyes locked on its brilliance, I handed it to him. He turned it in his fingers.

Olórin, Elrond, and I left the Circle and took the road back to Tirion. For a long while, no one spoke.

‘Sauron was your lost lover, the one you pined for, who bound you in mithril. How could I be so blind?’ said Elrond, startling me out of my thoughts. ‘You recognised him as Annatar and yet you said nothing.’

‘Elrond, I was sworn to silence and he had repented...’ I reached out to him.

‘Do not touch me!’ he cried, his eyes blazing with anger. Turning away, he ran. I tried to follow but Olórin stopped me.

‘He will understand, Eönwë. Give him time,’ he said.

Dismayed, I discarded my raiment, a mockery of the Children’s shape that had only brought bitter memories to a dear friend. I fled to the stars in search of solace, but in their midst I only found silence and loneliness, and their mighty beauty pierced me with pangs of longing.  For my hröa. For Elrond. For Nikteháa. For Mairon. For lost pasts and impossible futures.

 

 

Tirion, Year 2 of the Fourth Age

Arafinwë gave me a nervous smile. I bowed to him then to Elrond who stood at his side, unsmiling, his gaze locked on me as though hoping to find a trace of my old self in the radiance of my hated fana.

‘My lords,’ I said, ‘I am glad to see you both.’

‘As am I, Eönwë,’ answered the Noldóran. ‘Olórin feared you might have forsaken Arda.’

I sighed. ‘For the most part, I have. Very little holds me to it now.’ Elrond flinched and looked away.

‘This is the reason for my invitation,’ said Arafinwë. ‘Both Elrond and I are gnawed by guilt. I, for my part, have been delinquent the longest, so I will begin.’

‘My lord...’ I protested.

‘Hear me out, Eönwë,’ he ordered, before speaking more softly. ‘Two ages ago I rashly took my offence to the Elder King seeking, nay, demanding retribution for your deeds and had you dragged into the Máhanaxar. You may understand how the events surrounding the releases of Nelyafinwë, Macalaurë and Sauron gave me reasons to suspect negligence, even malice on your part. Even then I regretted the harshness of your penance, so disproportionate to the crime of showing mercy to others. I am not proud of my misjudgement, and wish to beg your pardon.’

‘You have it,’ I answered.

‘I am most grateful,’ he said. ‘And yet, that is not all.’

‘What else can I possibly give you, my lord?’ I retorted bitterly.

He took a deep breath. ‘I fear I have caused you damage beyond what you have already suffered. My actions had consequences I should have foreseen. They endorsed the view amongst my people and others in Valinor that you were partly to blame for all of the later evils that befell our kindred and the Atani in Endórë and Númenórë. That Sauron’s shadow would have been prevented had you captured him when you had the chance.’

‘That was also my immediate thought when I realised the truth of your past, Ere-... Eönwë,’ blurted Elrond. ‘That, and rage at having being utterly deceived by a dear friend. I walked away from the Máhanaxar cursing the impulse that made me trust you in Lindon.’ His fists tightened at his sides. He blinked to clear his moist eyes. ‘For an instant I even feared that... that all along you had been his...’ He broke off. 

An uncomfortable silence followed.

‘His minion. Or his thrall, as Námo once said,’ I said at last, curbing my despair. ‘I do not blame you for believing that, my lord. Eru alone knows how I have ever striven to serve and protect you and yours, and how guilt has eaten me alive at my every failure since Sauron wielded the Ruling Ring. I have betrayed everyone; now I deserve their contempt, and yours. I will make a public apology and accept in atonement whatever penalty you see fit to impose. Is that all, my lords?’

‘No, Erestor, that is not what we wish!’ cried Elrond. ‘You were neither Sauron’s minion nor his thrall, it was anger that made me blind. How many times did we talk about this in Ennor? You are not responsible for his choices or his deeds; you have paid for any past errors with torment, both of flesh and mind. And yet, only a few will ever know the truth about who verily destroyed him.’

‘Frodo’s sacrifice must not be belittled,’ I said. ‘Had it not been for him and Samwise I would not have succeeded either.’ Elrond nodded grimly.

‘Since the day of your... freedom,’ he said, ‘I have pieced the whole story together and realised how unjust my rejection was, how hastily I condemned you without even giving you a chance to speak. I am awed by your courage, by your loyalty, and ashamed I threw scorn at you instead of understanding. You may be pleased to know that Mithrandir and Glorfindel have jointly flayed me alive and made me squirm like a worm.’

I smiled fondly at him.

‘Forgive me, Eönwë,’ he said, reaching out.

I took his hand in mine. For a moment, it felt tense, but then Elrond squeezed my fingers.

‘Will you stay, friend?’ he asked.

‘If you command it, Elrond,’ I answered, shrugging. ‘Though I would rather avoid Arda. On the few occasions I have walked clad amongst your folk, it has been impossible not to notice the whispers and the looks of fear cast in my direction.’

Elrond’s eyes glimmered, and Arafinwë winced. I did not wish their pity, I had already wallowed in my own, so I kept to myself the fact that I was shunned by most of my own kin, too.

‘I am content,’ I lied. ‘I have greatly enjoyed the freedom to roam, missed for so long.’

As a diversion, I projected a vision of ósanwë that took them on a journey through the fiery flare of a young red sun, before hurtling through the clouds of debris wrapped like a rent veil of many hues around a dead star. When the images faded in their minds, they blinked in wonder.

‘What of... Sauron?’ asked Elrond. ‘Have you sought him out?’

‘No.’ That was the truth. I sensed he had remained in Endórë, which was now banned to all Maiar and spirits but Manwë’s Eagles.

‘What will happen to him if he is ever found?’ said the Noldóran.

‘Námo spoke his doom long ago: an eternity in the Void with Moringotto.’

Elrond shivered.

‘His evildoing deserves no less,’ pronounced Arafinwë, shaking his head.

The conviction poured into his words filled me with dread. As heinous as Mairon’s crimes were, had he forfeited his right to any mercy?

 

 

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Notes:

About the time it took for the news of Sauron’s fall to reach Imladris: The distance, as the eagle flies, from Orodruin to Imladris is around 700 miles, measured with a ruler on the map at the back of The Lord of the Rings. An ordinary eagle’s gliding speed is comfortably over 30mph, but allowing for relays or rests, I have allowed for a full day to cover this distance.