Chapter 45
In the afternoon of Valinor, time seemed frozen in a molten golden hue. Deep in the gardens of Lórien, Meereen bent over a cluster of rare moon orchids. His fingertips brushed the silvery petals with an almost instinctive gentleness, and the faint fluorescence at their edges seemed to brighten. Over a thousand years had slipped by since he sailed west, bidding farewell to the blood, fire, and dust of Middle-earth. Time had been especially kind to this special Human, who retained the youthful appearance he had when he first arrived in Aman, perhaps twenty years old, and remarkably handsome. His golden hair, gleaming in the soft glow of the Two Trees, flowed like molten gold around his shoulders.
"Meereen!" a hearty voice called out. Tuor, a human hero also blessed with the long lifespan of an elf, strode into the garden with his usual bold smile. "Finrod and Glorfindel are already here. You're the only one missing. Are you still working on the vines?"
Meereen stood up, a smile in his eyes. "The vine was thirsty, Tuor. I simply helped it find a deeper source of water." He patted the dirt from his hands, his movements natural and fluid, as if caring for plants was an integral part of his long life. He walked side by side with Tuor, discussing the trivia of Valinor. Tuor and Idril enjoyed their tranquility here, and Meereen, the first human inhabitant of Aman, had long since integrated into elven society, discussing ancient songs with Finrod, learning the secrets of swordsmanship from Glorfindel, and even befriending some young Vanyar elves. Tirion's palace, Lórien's gardens, and Tuor and Idril's home on the coast formed the anchors of his peaceful life.
On the Terrace of Stars, a gentle breeze blew, bringing the scent of the distant sea. Finrod Felagund's golden hair gleamed in the mingled light of the Two Trees as he gracefully filled Turgon's cup with a glass of crystalline mead. The conversation inevitably turned to the five emissaries who had recently left Aman—the wizards of the Maiar chosen by the Valar to journey to Middle-earth to fight the New Shadow.
"Saruman, Radagast, Gandalf..." Finrod whispered the names, his silver harp resting on his knees. "They go forth with heavy responsibilities on their shoulders. May the stars guide them."
Turgon, still majestic, frowned. He set his goblet down heavily, the crystal bottom clattering against the stone table. "A heavy responsibility? We should have crushed every trace of Sauron after the War of Wrath, instead of letting him lie dormant, licking his wounds like a serpent in the gutter. Now he has risen again, and forged that accursed Ring." His voice was thick with suppressed rage, a regret that hadn't been eradicated for ages.
Finrod gently plucked the strings of his harp, producing a clear, trembling note, attempting to soothe his friend's anxiety. "The terror of Sauron lies not in his power, but in his cunning, his ability to read and manipulate the human heart. He knows how to sow the seeds of doubt, greed, and fear, allowing them to take root and sprout in darkness. It is easy to destroy his power, but it is extremely difficult to eradicate the poison he spreads." His gaze was deep, as if he could penetrate the mists of time and space, seeing the land of Middle-earth once again shrouded in shadow.
At that moment, an unearthly light descended upon the terrace, and the air seemed to linger for a moment. Eönwë, Manwë's herald, emerged wordlessly before them, as if fashioned from pure light and majesty. His silver armor, untainted by dust, radiated an unmistakable holiness. His gaze swept across the crowd, finally resting on Meereen. His voice, like an echo from a distant mountain, was clear and irresistible: "Meereen Lóriendil, Manwë, Lord of the Valar, summons you. Come to the palace of Ilmarin atop Taniquetil. There is no delay."
The relaxed atmosphere on the terrace dissipated instantly. Finrod stopped strumming, Turgon's scowl hardened, and Glorfindel gazed thoughtfully toward Meereen. Meereen's heart tightened. A personal summons from the Valar? This was the first time since he arrived in Valinor. A strange sense of foreboding seized him, as if a current swirling beneath the surface of a calm lake was finally about to burst. He quickly stood up and cast a soothing yet questioning look at his friends.
"Go, Meereen," Finrod said gently. "Manwë's summons must have a deeper meaning."
Meereen nodded, said no more, and followed Eönwë's shimmering figure, leaving Tirion quickly. His steps were brisk, but his mind was full of thoughts.
Climbing sacred Mount Taniquetil was easy for Meereen; the very air of Valinor seemed imbued with power. He entered the palace of Ilmarin, atop the mountain, the abode of Manwë and Varda. Within the vast, vast hall, a divine aura shone brightly, and only a familiar figure stood waiting: Glorfindel. The fair-haired lord nodded slightly, his eyes filled with questioning and a hint of understanding, evidently summoned urgently. The two exchanged a silent glance, then stood together in silence, awaiting the arrival of the High One.
There was no earth-shattering sound, yet the air seemed smoothed by an invisible force. The next moment, Manwë Sullimo, Chief of the Valar, Lord of Air and Wind, sat upon the throne at the far end of the hall. He was tall, unparalleled in beauty, and even more profound and majestic than Meereen had remembered from their first audience. He seemed to hold the entire sky of Arda. His gaze, like a star that sees the essence of all things, fell upon Meereen and Glorfindel.
"Meereen Lóriandil, Glorfindel," Manwë's voice was calm, yet it held undeniable power, echoing through the empty halls. "We call you here because of the shadow that has risen again in Middle-earth, and because of the messengers we have sent thither."
He got straight to the point. "Not long ago, five Maiar sailed eastwards to Middle-earth at our command, guiding the free peoples to curb Sauron's ambitions. However, two of these, blue wizards, tasked with exploring and enlightening the East, vanished like the morning star into the mists soon after their arrival. Saruman has searched for them with all his might, but cannot perceive their exact location. He can only voice his concern to us." A rare heaviness took hold in Manwë's voice. "Even more troubling, we sense that Sauron has successfully forged the One Ring in the flames of Orodruin, and the forces of darkness are gathering at an accelerating pace."
Meereen and Glorfindel both felt a sinking feeling in their hearts. Any one of the news that Manwë had just mentioned would have been enough to shake Middle-earth, let alone the fact that both of them happened at the same time.
"The shadow of Sauron has spread far beyond our expectations. The Blue Robes have lost contact, perhaps due to his ruthless actions, or have fallen into unimaginable difficulties. The power of the One Ring will become his most terrible weapon to enslave the creatures of Middle-earth." Manwë's eyes grew sharp. "Therefore, we have decided to send envoys to Middle-earth once again. Not the Maia, but you who are familiar with that land and possess wisdom, courage, and unique power."
His gaze first fell on Glorfindel. "Glorfindel, your strength, loyalty, and experience in fighting darkness are essential foundations for this mission." Then, his deep gaze turned to Meereen, as if piercing through him, gazing into the otherworldly light and healing power deep within his soul. "Meereen Lóriandil, you are the only Man to have set foot in Aman. Your very existence is a bridge. You have walked the forests and battlefields of Middle-earth, and come to know Elves and Men. Now, you shoulder a deeper mission: to seek the traces of the missing Blue Wizard, to aid the Free Peoples in their struggle against Sauron and the evil power of the One Ring, and to repair the rifts between Elves and Men caused by past betrayals and suspicions. Your power and your identity are the key to healing these wounds."
"The Rift..." Meereen repeated in a low voice, his mind flashing back to the fallen humans who had defected to Morgoth in the First Age, and the pain and distrust hidden in the eyes of the elves. This was indeed a difficult task, more complicated than a simple battle.
"The ships of the Teleri Elves are ready at the haven of Alqualondi," said Manwë in a voice of finality. "Set out now and return to Middle-earth. Círdan will meet you at the Grey Havens and give you the necessary information and guidance. May the light of Eru be with your wisdom."
There was no passionate mobilization, only heavy responsibilities and unquestionable orders. Meereen and Glorfindel bowed at the same time and said, "As you command, Lord Manwe."
Leaving the solemn Ilmarin, the two hurried back to their respective homes to pack their belongings. Leaving the peaceful life of Valinor was not easy for Meereen, especially bidding farewell to the gardens of Lórien. He once again journeyed to that peaceful sanctuary and found Estë meditating beside a pool of still water.
"Lord Esti," Meereen bowed respectfully, "Lord Manwë has commanded me to return to Middle-earth."
Esti looked up, her all-embracing eyes filled with understanding and a subtle hint of worry. She sighed softly, like a breeze through the treetops. "I sense it, child. Sauron's shadow has grown longer. The loss of contact with Blue Robe is the first discordant note struck by the darkness." She stood up, walked to Meereen, and reached out her hand. Her fingertips, shimmering with warmth, touched his forehead, like a mother blessing her child on a journey.
"Manwë chose Glorfindel because he has experienced the deepest darkness and light. His loyalty and strength are as unshakable as a rock, a solid support for you in the storm." Esti's voice was gentle but firm. "And he chose you, Meereen, not only because you are a wanderer returned from Middle-earth, but also because of the unique light deep in your soul. That light can dispel shadows, heal wounds, and connect gaps. Elves and Men have fought side by side, but have also been alienated by betrayal. Repairing these wounds, guiding them to see each other's value and shared destiny again, may be more difficult than fighting against Sauron's minions, but it is equally crucial. You are the glimmer of light that can illuminate the gap and warm cold hearts."
Her fingertips left Meereen's forehead, leaving a faint warmth in their wake. "Go forth with this strength and purpose, child. May the green of Yavanna protect you, and may the stars of Varda guide your course. We await your safe return, having completed your task."
Milin bowed deeply, his heart filled with gratitude and a heavy sense of mission. "Thank you, Lord Esti. I will remember your instructions."
At the harbor of Alqualondi, the white ship of Teleri Elves lay quietly anchored on the crystal-clear waters. Its graceful lines shimmered like pearls. Glorfindel had already boarded, dressed in convenient traveling garb. A sword hung at his hip, his long golden hair rustling in the breeze, his gaze fixed serenely eastward. Meereen took one last look at the coastline of Valinor, bathed in eternal light, the white spires of Tirion, the distant misty green of the Gardens of Lórien, and beyond, the ever-extinguished, gentle, and magnificent splendor of the Two Trees. This had been his home for over a thousand years, a paradise that had healed all the wounds of Middle-earth.
He took a deep breath and stepped onto the gangplank. The ship slowly left the harbor, the Teleri sailors' melodious farewell songs drifting on the sea breeze. Meereen stood at the stern, and Glorfindel walked silently to his side. The two stood side by side, watching in silence as the sacred land gradually receded and shrank from view. The light of the Two Trees gradually converged from a golden carpet covering the sea to two tiny but still bright points of light on the horizon, like two stars that never fall. Tirion's silhouette merged with the golden halo, and finally, the entire continent of Valinor transformed into a hazy and warm light and shadow, sinking below the horizon, gently wrapped and hidden by the boundless sea. A deep sense of separation and a firm determination for an unknown mission intertwined in Meereen's heart. Behind him was home and peace, and before him was the shadow and call of his homeland.
The voyage was peaceful and swift under the protection of the Valar. Days later, as the sea breeze grew sharp and the air began to thicken with salt frost and a chilling chill, the familiar gray stone embankment of the Grey Havens finally came into view. Círdan, the master of the harbor, a shipbuilder who had witnessed countless epochs of change, personally stood at the dock to greet them. His long, silver-gray hair and beard fluttered in the sea breeze, his weathered face etched with a solemn expression, yet also a hint of relief at seeing an old friend.
"Mae govannen, Glorfindel! Mae govannen, Loriendil!" Cirdan's voice was still loud, but a hint of fatigue could not be hidden. "The light of Valinor still shines in you, but the skies of Middle-earth are once again covered with dark clouds."
He ushered them into a stone chamber beneath the harbor's beacon, where a roaring fire dispelled the chill of the Grey Havens. Cirdan briefly recounted the dramatic changes that had taken place in Middle-earth over the past thousand years: the emptiness and desolation left behind by the great westward migration of the Elves; the fall of the High King of the Noldor to the young Gil-galad, who ruled Lindon and struggled to maintain the unity of the Elves; and the most disturbing news of all: Sauron had reappeared under the name of Anartar, seduce the people, and his power was growing. Even more terrifying, he had indeed forged the legendary One Ring.
"Maglor, Celegorm, and Curufin," Cirdan said with a complicated tone when he mentioned Fëanorion, "after the War of Wrath, they did not choose to cross the west, but went east with some of their followers, deep into the vast lands near the Inner Sea of Rhún, and established their own secret territory. Away from the disputes, but also away from the front line of the fight against darkness." He shook his head, as if he did not agree with this.
Then, his expression grew more serious. "As for the blue-robed wizards you seek... Palandu and Alatar. Shortly after their arrival, they indeed journeyed eastwards on their mission to guide the uncivilized tribes. However, soon after they entered the heart of the East, they were completely lost. Lord Saruman attempted to contact them, but only detected extremely faint, chaotic magical fluctuations. The last location pointed deep east, near Mordor. No definite news has been received since then. It's as if they were swallowed by the darkness of the East." Círdan's eyes were filled with worry. "Their disappearance is yet another layer of mystery shrouding Sauron's shadow."
Glorfindel and Meereen exchanged a glance, each seeing the solemnity in the other's eyes. The blue wizard's last appearance in the east, near Mordor, was no coincidence. Manwë's premonition was likely to come true, and the search for his missing comrade instantly rose to the top of their to-do list.
"Thank you for the message, Lord Círdan," Glorfindel said calmly. "We will rest for a moment, and tomorrow we will sail for the Forrington Mouth to meet King Gil-galad. The darkness of Middle-earth requires the combined strength of all the forces of light to combat it." His gaze was determined, and his golden hair, illuminated by the fire, seemed to burn with fighting spirit. Meereen nodded silently, his gaze through the narrow window of the stone chamber to the gray northern sky.
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