Author's Notes: This story includes slash
and adult situations - please use your brain and read something else if such
things offend you.
I'm mushing the timeline a bit here - the hobbits were the first to put
pipe-weed into a pipe, and they had only just begun to move to Eriador in the
1000's (probably fleeing the evil at Dol Guldur). Elves, of course, did not use
pipe-weed at all, but Círdan was a rather odd elf, and it seems to suit him.
I've also tried to give Círdan a slightly different speech, as Tolkien did
envision that the Sea Elves would have evolved a dialect of Sindarin of their
own.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of Sîriesten
and Nimestil. Uilohad is my own creation. Translations of Elvish words are found
at the end of the chapter.
Telithan al le
by Erunyauve
'But mourn not, Voronwë! For my heart says to you that far from the Shadow
your long road shall lead you, and your hope shall return to the Sea.' -
Tuor, Unfinished Tales, p 35 (Ballantine/Del Rey)
Uilohad in Harlindon, Third Age 1037 (Winter)
"I cannot deny that he is improved by your influence; he loves you, and I
do not resent his unfaithfulness. But the guilt he suffers grows, it eats at
him. It will undo him in the end." Sîriesten turned and sat near the
window, looking out at nothing, avoiding Glorfindel's face.
"Your friend, the wise one, was here," she remarked.
Glorfindel frowned. "He wishes I were not here, I know."
She turned in her seat suddenly, facing him. "I would not make the choice
of Míriel, not for any love. Perhaps I am selfish - ."
"Do not think that, my lady," he interrupted, unable to keep from his
eyes his horror of an eternity in the halls of Mandos.
She held up her hand in a plea for silence. "I thought there might be
another way. When one is coerced, when one is not sound of mind…and perhaps
not free to bind oneself at all, by reason of prior betrothal… ."
What spark of hope Glorfindel found was extinguished before she continued, for
he knew already the truth of her next words.
"It will not be allowed, the Valar will not grant permission. He is not
your destiny, no matter how much love you share. He is not why you were returned
to Arda."
"Am I permitted to decide nothing for myself?" Glorfindel and Sîriesten
turned to the doorway in surprise. "Am I to be a pawn to be moved about as
others will it, by my father, by the Valar, by you, both of you?"
Voronwë spat.
"It is you who will not let me go, Glorfindel. I did not ask you to come
here, I gave you up forever when my son was conceived. So long did I hold to
your memory, yet now I find I only wish to be freed of you." Drawing a deep
breath, he willed himself to go on.
"It is not love that has bound us together these many centuries. Love
cannot be so destructive. It was not our hearts but our souls that were
bound," he continued, his voice fading. "For countless years our fëar
walked the shadows together, and long have I willed that my heart would follow.
So many wasted, empty years." He closed his eyes, knowing that he must
finish this, though instinct threatened to carry his mind away from the panic
inspired by his own anger.
In Glorfindel's heart, the thin blade of these words left a searing trail of
pain.
Voronwë looked up, avoiding his old lover's eyes. "Let me go. Let the past
lie."
"You cannot tell me that I have borne this affection alone these many
years." Glorfindel's emotions were a maelstrom; his reason told him that he
must leave this behind him; his heart ached when Voronwë answered his plea with
silence. Was this what Idril had tried to keep from him? That his own
unwillingness to release his ancient lover had kept his soul chained to his own,
that his love had brought naught but pain and a broken mind? Across the room he
caught Sîriesten's eye; in her face he found sympathy and something else -
sadness?
Harlond, Third Age 1037 (Winter)
That he should have long ago returned to Imladris, Glorfindel acknowledged, but
he was cast adrift, the final tie to his past loosed, and the severing yet too
raw to leave behind him. Self-reproach mingled with bewilderment, and in his
rooms he saw surly rhîw gave way to nascent echuir, with no
stirring of his own dark mood. It was thus that Olórin found him. The Maia
would have Glorfindel accompany him to Mithlond on the pretext of an errand to Círdan,
and he would hear none of the elf's objections to this design.
"He will be untroubled now, I trust?" Glorfindel asked anxiously.
"He will, in time."
"Then it has not all been for naught, that I pursued this."
Olórin harrumphed. "You were fortunate. I had great fear that Voronwë
would not be able to do what must be done. He has more strength than he knows.
Had he been unable to forsake you, it would have gone badly for you both. He
loves you dearly, enough to do what you should have done."
Understanding at last came to the ancient elf. His selfish desire to revive his
past had left him unable to help Voronwë in the only way he could - by
releasing that part of the other elf he had kept close through death and into
his new life. In the end, his lover had understood this, and had forced the
rupture of this unnatural bond by withdrawing from the only thing that should
have bound them - love. 'What that must have cost him!' Glorfindel thought,
ashamed of his own weakness.
In Mithlond they found the ancient shipbuilder, as always, by the Sea he so
loved. "Go on, Glorfindel, the Ithron and I have our doings, and ye
must attend to your own," Círdan greeted him, nodding toward the quay.
Glorfindel looked to the quay. A figure sat pensive, the wind playing softly in
his hair, his ears pricked forward as if listening. As Glorfindel came up, the
elf turned his sea-grey eyes on him. "You do not hear it."
"Hear what?"
"The music of Ulmo, his singing that has ever drawn my mother's people over
the Sea."
"No."
"Come and sit with me awhile, for I do not depart until tomorrow."
Glorfindel thought his ancient lover had never looked so beautiful, his face lit
by the joy he found in the music Glorfindel could not hear. He took a slender
hand in his. "I failed you. I am sorry for it."
Voronwë considered him for a moment, and Glorfindel was sorry to have brought
the momentary tightness to his expression. "Perhaps not, perhaps I was
meant to see my own way through this. You were not alone in wishing that we
could change what had gone before, regain what had been lost."
"But it cannot be so, that you knew."
"Yet I did not easily accept it. I have spent the better part of my life
avoiding such matters. It is, perhaps, the failing of our people; we see only
loss in change, rather than opportunities unlooked for.
"Imladris is where you belong, now. My heart tells me that there you are
needed; you have yet much before you. In time, when you are done, mayhap it
shall please the Valar to return you to me. In that I have hope, for little else
stirs me now." Thus saying, he cast his gaze upon the Sea. "So long
did I hide in the past that I find that the present brings only regret of missed
opportunities. I am weary with it."
"You shall have the peace you so prize in Aman; I am glad for you."
The raven-haired elf turned to him suddenly, breaking the spell Ulmo's song wove
in his mind. "You will look after my family?"
"You need not even ask, it is the least I can offer."
"The darkness that grows in the East, it will come near to them." The
elf's brow creased with anxiety.
"I will do all that I can. And Círdan is yet strong; he shall hold the
Havens secure, I do not doubt."
There was little else to say, but Glorfindel remained with his friend, watching
as Anor sank in bright red glory where the ocean met the sky.
"Red sky, 'tis a good sign. Ye shall have an easy passage the
'morrow," Círdan announced, startling the younger elves on the quay. He
settled himself some distance from them, lighting a slender, stemmed bowl
entirely strange to Voronwë and barely recognized by Glorfindel as a pipe such
as he had seen in Bree. They sat in silence as night fell and Elbereth's jewels
twinkled over the dark waves, a warm wind from the south bringing relief from
the water's chill.
Dawn came with clear skies, as Círdan had predicted, and the Sea stretched
before them, calm and soothing in its rhythmic tide. Voronwë roused himself,
leaving the quay to watch the sun rise over the Emyn Beraid, and was surprised
to feel tears sting at the corners of his eyes. In the half-light, a flash of
gold distracted him, and he looked to see his ancient friend.
"Are you ready?" Glorfindel asked, squeezing his hand.
"I did not expect this to be so hard," Voronwë confessed. He turned
to look at the other elf, gazing long as if to memorize each feature of the face
he had loved so well. Searching, he found in the set of the jaw a return of the
strength he had known in Gondolin; in the grey eyes, lit with the light of the
Two Trees, he found the elf-lord, proud and valiant, of old. Voronwë smiled
sadly. Already, Glorfindel had left him; he would not look back when they parted
ways, one to well-earned rest, the other to a new life of duty and obligation.
Hand in hand, they returned to the quay, now busy with the ship's imminent
departure. It was time. Glorfindel looked into his lover's eyes; they exchanged
a chaste kiss. "I will come for you," he repeated his promise of old.
"Many tasks yet await me, but I foresee that I will again sail forth to
Aman. Ir pân sin na carnen, telithan al le."
- * fëar
- souls (Quenya)
- * rhîw
- Winter
- * echuir
- Stirring - elven season between
winter and spring, starting in February
- * Ithron
- Wise one, aka Istar
- * Anor
- the Sun
- * Ir pân sin na carnen, telithan
al le.
- When all is done, I will come for
you.