The distance that the dead have gone
Does not at first appear -
Their coming back seems possible
For many an ardent year.
-- Emily Dickinson, Poems
[Mahanaxar, the Blessed Lands. The 900th year of the Third Age of Middle-earth]
A low murmur of curiosity-sparked discontent thrummed through the circle of carefully carved stone thrones. Overhead the iridescent illumination of the Valinorian sky was pierced in the east by a more brilliant and tangible beacon, the golden sparkle of Earendil's daily return from his transit of the heavens.
"Would that there was another of the mariner's strength of will and purity of purpose," Yavanna the most fair reverently whispered. "The First Born and the Second surely need such a champion now in their united cause of security against the Deceiver."
"They are not without the line of Earendil, thanks to the forethought of my actions," a booming voice boasted from behind her.
The green-garbed lady and the other assembled Valar watched in relief tinged with palpable annoyance as the Lord of the Deep made his predictably tardy arrival and settled his shimmering green-silver form into his seat near the head of the circle. "Your actions may indeed have had some merit in the past," Yavanna conceded, "But you make a mockery of your supposed concern for that line with your reluctance to heed Manwe's call to council this day!"
A sapphire staff loudly clunked against the stones beneath their feet, the sound and vibration capturing the attention of all assembled with equivalent urgency. "Let us begin," Manwe humorlessly urged, rising to his feet, his azure eyes sharply and silently rebuking the lackadaisical behavior of the prideful lord seated to his right. "The affairs of Middle-earth concern us all, and the prayers of its inhabitants reach our ears upon the wind as well as the wings of eagles. To some it may seem as though peace has finally come to those troubled lands, but this is falsity and folly of thought. The hand of the Deceiver still reigns in some lands, and although he has not been seen outright since the High King's death, none would dare say he has disappeared from Ea forever."
An amused chuckle rippled from across the stone circle. "He may not be gone, but he has been reduced to naught but a nuisance," Tulkas, the golden-haired champion of the Valar bragged. "What power does he yet have over the living when he is unable to walk amongst them and deceive them with his lies?"
"He may not have the power to pass amongst the peoples of Middle-earth, but we should not forget his lieutenants," Varda the star-kindler warned most sternly. "The Nine, although likewise unseen for the passing of centuries, still retain their rings of power, as well as their ability to terrorize, corrupt, and dominate."
Manwe nodded in agreement to his wife's sage warnings. "The Ulairi wait in patient silence for their Dark Lord to return to power, as we all know is his destiny. We should not wait idly, as that fateful moment approaches with the swiftness of eagles."
Ulmo snorted loudly, his derision dripping like the pregnant droplets of water slowly sliding from his glimmering helm. "Eagles? Your speed in this matter is more likened to that of the Onodrim. Numenor fell to its own pride and the lies of Sauron, and still you felt no need to intervene, save to praise Iluvatar's removal of Valinor from the world to protect our shores from the 'profanity' of those not of the First Born. Again Sauron rose, and many of the First Born and the Second bought victory without your aid or interest at the terrible price of their lives. Why the sudden interest now?"
"It is not merely the fate of the First Born and the Second which concerns us now, but that of Middle-earth in its entirety." Varda rose from her seat, her graceful, snow-white gown softly shifting as she stood. "Most of the Second born have succumbed to the darkness, and those of the Faithful who remain grow more widely divided with the passing of this age. The line of Isildur isolates itself from its southern kin, and the younger sons of Earendur have carved out kingdoms for themselves at the proper heir's expense. The line of Anarion continues in the south, but for how long? Sauron's allies are relentless in their attacks. The First Born are scattered, the courts of Mithlond, Imladris, Greenwood, and Lothlorien allies in name only, despite the close connection of their blood. Aule's children hide in their mountain mines, digging ever deeper in their lust for mithril." Varda glared warily at Aule, seated silently beside Ulmo. "No good will come from their greed. It never has."
A bittersweet smile rose to her lips as she turned her eyes across the circle to Nessa the ever-joyous. "Then there are the Little Folk, those whom most of the larger races have overlooked for all of this age and the last. Nessa and Vana have ever listened to their songs with gladdened hearts, thinking them to be the only innocent children of the east. Yet all children must reach maturity, and face the wider world outside their cradle. The time soon approaches for them to leave the Vale of Anduin where they have lived in peace and seclusion since they first drew breath, and take their rightful place among the speaking races of Middle-earth. They, too, have a role to play in securing the future of the eastern lands."
Sorrow uncharacteristically graced the ever-young visage of Vana, Lady of the golden flowers, her eyes' gaze nervously flitting from the face of Nessa, seated at her left, to that of Orome, Vana's husband, brooding quietly at her other side. "What power do we have in this matter? We cannot directly confront Sauron -- Iluvatar himself has decreed as much."
Manwe calmly directed his answer to that desperate question to the assembly at large. "It is up to all the speaking races of Middle-earth to confront this growing threat of evil, in whatever means they best see fit. All we can do is give counsel and encouragement."
The all-too-still far end of the council finally stirred, Vaire, the weaver of memories, breaking the solemn silence of the Lords and Ladies of Dreams and Death. "You mean to send advisors, then," she correctly surmised, "To rally the Children of Endore to gather their forces and rise up on their own, when the darkness comes again."
"Warriors would be far more appreciated," Tulkas grimly mumbled.
Varda disregarded the quick-tempered retort. "Whomever we send must bind themselves to the weakness of the flesh, so they may greater understand those whom they would seek to counsel. For evil cannot be defeated by strength of the flesh alone. The failure of Isildur made clear that truth to all with eyes to see. It is the strength of the spirit, of the heart, and of the mind, which will cleanse the stain of evil from the free lands of Endore." With a sharp rap of his scepter against the ground, Manwe signaled a recess in the Valar's deliberations. "Let us retire, and summon whom we will to be our representatives in this worthy yet thankless task. We reconvene when Earendil returns from his next voyage across the heavens."
[One revolution of Anar later]
Once again the somber stone circle rang with the sounds of occupation and expectation, the fourteen usual attendees accompanied by handpicked guests of honor. Manwe surveyed the gathering with hopeful anticipation, believing for the first time that this plan of his (and his wife's) might actually bear sweet fruit.
At last even Ulmo had claimed his accustomed seat, and the business at hand was delayed no longer. Manwe slowly rose from his stone throne, one hand tightly gripping his sapphire scepter while the other flourished a sweeping gesture in the general direction of the assembly. "Before we ask who would willingly serve in this most solemn venture, I feel I must remind all assembled precisely what is being asked. Whomever we send must forego might, and clothe themselves in flesh so as to be as equals to those we mean to aid and win the trust of Elves and Men. But this would imperil them, dimming their wisdom and knowledge, and confusing them with fears, cares, and wearinesses coming from the flesh. Who would send his servant to be bound to the limitations of the flesh in the name of hope and light?"
Aule barely allowed the final word to slide from Manwe's lips before he shot to his feet.
"I would." A wave of his hand, and a regal figure emerged from a humble seat hastily set behind the Lord of Crafts and bowed elegantly to the assembled lords and ladies of Valinor. "Curumo would gladly accept this task."
A gentle murmur accompanied the Valar's study the well-known servant of Aule, his raiment, which initially appeared the color of snow, shimmering in subtle rainbow hues with the Maia's equally understated motions.
The stone-faced figure seated beside Aule loudly harrumphed in bitter derision. "How generous of you to offer your favorite Maia of this age to counsel against your fallen servant of the last."
Yavanna glared at the impugner of her husband's honor, her leaf-hued eyes fiery with insult. "It is not my husband's fault Melkor was able to seduce Sauron."
"Perhaps not," Ulmo warily countered, suspiciously eyeing the famously articulate Maia,
"But what assurance do we have that this servant of Aule will resist the seduction of darkness any better than his predecessor?"
"If I may be permitted to speak on my own behalf," the silver-tongued Maia lyrically spoke with a deferent lowering of his eyes. "I fear not for my own safety, regardless of the perils you would have me face. My only desire is to serve my Lord Aule, and the noble Council, and bring the light of your wisdom to the dark places of Middle-earth."
"It is not foolhardy to have some measure of fear for that which is formidable. Indeed, it demonstrates an intelligence of its own," Varda chastised warily, surveying Curumo's confident air with obvious suspicion.
If her husband had similar reservations, he did not give them voice. "If Curumo is willing to agree to the terms of the task, his aid will be most graciously accepted. The fairness of his tongue and the strength of his charisma will aid him in this mission. Many will heed his advice merely because of the means with which it is spoken. He has served Aule with honor and distinction, and in recognition he will be sent first of all on this mission."
"I, too, would send one in my name," Orome swiftly interjected, rising from his seat beside Varda. "Alatar will bring the light of his wisdom to the darkest places of Middle-earth. He will turn those who have fallen into the false worship of the Deceiver back to the light."
As the blue-robed servant of Orome entered the circle with a low, earnest bow, the solitary lady in black, Nienna, rose at the far end of the council. "It will take more than one to accomplish such a task, Orome," she offered with urgency. "I would submit aid of my own, in the person of Pallando. He will represent those of us who watch over the dead, in the hope that he may prevent others from joining their ranks too soon."
Manwe studied the twin forms dressed in sea-hues who soon stood shoulder to shoulder before him. "A seemingly impossible task has been laid upon you. Do you both accept it, freely and without reservation?"
"Only the most foolish would view such a charge without some measure of hesitation," Alatar openly admitted. "Yet my brother and I would gladly face such uncertainties in the names of Iluvatar and your Lordship."
"Then so be it. You shall follow after Curumo, yet take another road once upon the eastern shores. For your journeys shall take you farther to the east and the south than any other of your brethren, where the darkness has captured the hearts of men and twisted them nearly beyond salvation."
"We shall not fail in our appointed task, even at risk to our very lives," Pallando offered. Before Manwe could ask for yet more volunteers, Yavanna, the Lady of the Trees, swept to her feet. "The beasts and birds of Middle-earth have much to lose if Sauron spreads his sordid stain across the wilds once again. They may have no court or council of their own, yet I would not leave them without protection of a sort. I would send Aiwendil as my emissary, as he loves all creatures, both great and small. He will be a voice for the voiceless in all matters which affect Middle-earth."
Manwe peered curiously at the slight, unassuming brown-robed Maia standing behind the most-fair lady. "Aiwendil, do freely agree to undertake the mission which the Lady of the Forest would appoint for you?"
"I do, My Lord," the Maia modestly answered. "Your own eagles bring to me songs of sorrow sung to them by their cousins in Endore. I wish to be their voice in the courts of Men and Eldar."
A smile of satisfaction grew upon the Lord of the West's noble face. "So be it. You shall be the fourth to leave, at a time best suited to your assigned mission." Manwe paused with purpose, his gaze passing over the entirety of the stone circle in a slow revolution.
"What say you others? Would you add to those counselors already assembled?"
"I have none to offer myself," Nessa the lithe sweetly replied. "I defer to the wisdom of the Aratar in this matter.
Tulkas the strong nodded in agreement. "My wife is wiser than I in matters such as these. You have her trust, hence you shall have mine as well."
Manwe turned his attention to the master of dreams. "Irmo, what say you and Este?"
Irmo glanced briefly at his pale wife and nodded in silent understanding of her wishes.
"There is one we would recommend, who has spent much time in our gardens, but would rather he be chosen as your representative. You know of whom we speak."
"I do indeed, and I shall not disappoint you." Manwe searched the circle for his choice, a scowl creasing his face in disappointment. "Where is Olorin?"
A gray-clad figure swiftly swept in from a seat at the outer edge of the stone circle.
"Here, Lord Manwe," Olorin breathlessly answered. "I beg your indulgence, but I am only recently returned from Tol Eressea."
"Visiting with the refugees from the East again I see," Manwe smiled. "Your devotion to the Eldar, especially those who never saw the Light of the Trees, endears you to us all."
A hint of derisive sneer on Curumo's face went unnoticed by all but Elbereth herself.
"It is precisely because of your deep affection to the Eldar who remain behind in Endore that I would have you as the representative of Varda and myself on this mission of most urgent importance," Manwe explained.
Olorin bowed gracefully to his lord, an expression of obliging enthusiasm upon his face. "What would you have of me, Lord?"
"We would have you follow your brethren, here assembled, to the East, in the guise of Men to act as counselor to all the races of Middle-earth in matters regarding Sauron and his eventual return."
Manwe's matter-of-fact statement of such an ominous charge caught Olorin unawares.
"My Lord, your faith in me is humbling, but I fear I am not worthy of it. I lack the strength for such a task, even without the shackles of mortal form. I would greatly fear Sauron in such circumstance, should he return."
"That is precisely why you must go," Manwe countered with a smile. "Your fear will save you from foolhardiness and the pitfalls of unproductive pride." Stern-faced, he loomed over the suddenly smaller appearing Maia. "It is my wish, and that of my wife, that you do this. Would you refuse us this time, as you have never before seen fit to do?"
Olorin bowed reverently. "I am ever your faithful servant, My Lord." He turned slightly to his right and repeated the gesture. "And yours, My Lady. Ask of me what you will, and I will give my very life in exchange to make it so."
"It is not our wish to take away your life, Olorin," Varda explained with obvious affection. "You will not be totally bereft of powers or perception, although you shall use each only as necessary. We look forward to welcoming you back to the Blessed Lands, and your full might, once your task is completed."
"By your grace, I will see it done," Olorin solemnly swore.
Orome suspiciously studied the strangely silent Lord of the Deep seated across from him.
"What say you, Ulmo? Have you no champion to send? It is unlike you to refuse an opportunity to meddle in the affairs of the Children of Iluvatar."
Ulmo chuckled softly, a smug smile of superiority painted across his face. "I made my choice in the previous age, when Mandos released Glorfindel to my care and service. He has not disappointed me in the centuries he has worked in Middle-earth as my vassal."
"That was a wise choice, indeed," Irmo agreed. "And one which will serve us well now. He learned much at Olorin's side before returning to the Eastern lands, and will rejoice at his old friend's renewed company."
"If none has cause to add to our company, so be it," Manwe pronounced, striking the tip of his scepter against the stone floor. "Olorin shall be the last."
"It may come to pass that the last shall become the first," the white lady cryptically spoke, so softly that few could hear, her eyes never wavering from Curumo's prideful stare.
Thus it came to pass that over the length of one Valarian year the five Istari arrived on the shores of Middle-earth, Curumo in the lead, and Olorin at the rear. As Irmo had sagely foreseen, Glorfindel found much joy at the arrival of his one-time tutor, despite being initially disarmed by the Olorin's humbled appearance. Yet as the Eldar Lord soon discovered, being encumbered with the limitations of the flesh only seemed to more keenly hone Olorin's already finely tuned compassion for all inhabitants of Middle-earth.
Whatever powers had been lost by the transmutation to the flesh found secret compensation in the ring of flamed stone Lord Cirdan of the Havens in his wisdom had gifted upon the former Maia. Although Olorin could not hope to use the ring outright, Glorfindel knew well the latent power it contained. For as one who had once walked upon the Blessed Lands, and had been released from Mandos' care, he had the sensitivity to perceive the most subtle influence of the Rings of Power, whether they be in Imladris or Lothlorien or a hidden, well-patched pouch worn beneath Olorin's robes.
Mithrandir, as Glorfindel christened his metamorphosed friend, enjoyed many a month in the company of the Elf Lord and Elrond Peredhil, learning much of the sorrows of Middle-earth firsthand. Glorfindel felt the weight of centuries lifted from his shoulders at the promise of aid from a trusted source. Perhaps some of the burden laid upon him by the Lord of the Deep might be shared, or even transferred to a more worthy bearer. However, the Gondolithrim's joy soon turned to the bitter draught of regret when dreams of Lord Ulmo spoke to him of an unplanned codicil to the original terms of Glorfindel's servitude....
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The Folly of Starlight 17. Interlude: The Distance That the Dead Have Gone by AC
Story notes: Thanks to Emma for the beta job.
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