»But Iluvatar suffered loneliness, for he had no one to speak to or teach.
He took a handful of nothingness about him, different thoughts from his
own spirit and molded seven women and eight men.
Iluvatar dried them with liquid fire of his being, where one figure through
inattention would have almost burned, another received not enough heat.
Then he gave them life, knowledge and names:
Melkor, Manwë, Ulmo, Aulë, Oromë, Mandos, Lórien, Tulkas and
Varda, Nienna, Yavanna, Estë, Vairë, Vána and Nessa.
The first of the Ainur had been created, one greater than the other,
one more beautiful than the next.
Only Melkor was black through the long time in the heat, his eyes
burned red of imperiousness and also his temper was glowing,
sizzling, fiery. Mandos on the other hand remained pale, cool and
distant to almost any emotion.
Iluvatar was delighted about his new creation, for he no longer was alone.«
-Legend of the Creation of the Ainur
Unknown Author
Middle-Earth, Edhellond, Late Winter in the Third Age
»I just cannot get unto it since years«, Perdór was fretting about himself. »I just cannot think of the point of time, in which we should have taken action to prevent all this.«
»That is easy«, the fool said, who juggled with a few pebbles he had found. »Would Isildur not have been bewitched under his greed, we would most likely live in peace and calm with all the other friendly folks out there.« Careless he let the pebbles fall to the ground. »But it is pointless. To speak in your tongue: The cake is burned.«
»Do we bake a new one or do we try to save what can be saved?«, the lord thought out loud. »Would we name the Elves as the flour, then it will be hard to bake a cake if you only got flour in the house.«
»Bake a new one ... That was a good one, your chocly lordliness. Maybe someone has still the recipe for Middle-Earth lying around«, Fiorell fooled about, though made no really happy expression.
They walked along the docks and hung after sinister visions for the world. Perdór bought a bag with fresh sea-crabs, that he peeled and ate quite quickly, ever again praising the unique taste, the color and the aroma of the snack.
The funmaker however observed the brisk activities that were taking place on the water. About a dozen big ships had taken course to the open sea. Onboard were sailors and some of the citizens that preferred the attempt to break through the umbrarian barricade and flee, instead of holding out in the city.
Because the lord felt how his feet got heavier and heavier, they rested in the shade of a small shop, in which Perdór used the opportunity to gather more nitbits from the deep of the sea. One of these acquirements looked like a ball made of spikes.
His rest of a pile with empty sacks turned very soon into a loud snoring. The hands he had folded on his big belly, the neck he had laid against the wooden facade of the shop.
Fiorell grinned as he observed the slumbering lord midst the lively and busy Edhellond; at times his face twitched, when he wanted to shoo off any bothersome insects.
»Well, who would have thought that we on our old days would be sitting in a land that could not be closer and unknown to us at the same time, isn't that true, tubby?«, the fool said quietly and began to weave with utmost careful movements the remains of the crabs into the grey curls of Perdór's hair. After that, he looked around again, for he wanted to get the elvish life to know as best as he could.
The idyll did not hold for long.
One of the massive signal-towers at the entrance of the of the haven blinked with the help of the mirror messages to the town. The fool recognized the bright flickering, that did not want to end anymore and assumed that these words were send for the warriors of the city.
Fiorell tried to look to the horizon and squinted his eyes. His gaze made stop on a thin pillar of smoke, that stood seemingly at the end of the sea. The smoke was probably the reason why the company of the tower was giving their report. Excited, the man of Gondor waited what would happen.
A reaction followed instantly. The ships, that had earlier taken course to the open sea, returned now into the haven of Edhellond. Everyone who had been in the near of the haven and had followed the events on the water, ran to the docks and wanted to know from the companies what had occurred and why they had returned.
Perdór slept on without appearing disturbed, the increasing acoustic level did not reach beyond the ears of the lord.
Fiorell mingled among the numbers of worried Elves and hoped, to receive a few information. There was a great mess of voices, but what he understood was, that one ship less had returned to Edhellond, than there had been initially. Fiorell could estimate what had occurred out on sea. Quickly he returned to his still sleeping lord and jolted at his shoulder.
Unimpressed, the lord slept on.
The funmaker walked determined into the shop, took some of the ice, with which the fish was being cooled and pushed it down the collar of the lord.
As if stung by a wasp, Perdór jumped up, waved with his arms and performed the strangest motions, to get with his short fingers somehow beneath the clothes he wore, so he could removed the ice from his back. Doing so, funny noises and words escaped his mouth.
But he could not reach the ice and he finally accepted that fact and moreover realized that he was surrounded by curious looking Elves, who offered much applause and small coins for his dance, he stood still, while cold drops of water ran down his back. For minutes he maintained his composure, while Fiorell could hardly calm his laughter.
»I hope you had a good reason to wake me in this kind of manner«, Perdór said toneless.
»No one shows the mating dance of the stag-water-goose better than you«, the fool snorted. »You really honor the proud, fat bird. The audience loves you.« He wiped the tears of joy from the corners of his eyes. »The reason is quite a serious one, though.« From one to the other moment, his clear mind returned. »If I understood correctly, then the troops of Umbar have just caused a ship of the Elves to sink that wanted to leave these shores.«
»I almost feared so.« Perdór touched his back to seek for wet spots on his clothes. »Hopefully we are getting soon aid by someone. No matter Elves or our friends in Gondor who take a lot of time to decide whether to help us. If it goes on like that, I will go before the steward and his sons and slap them each very good, telling them my opinion of this whole sitting idle matter. Come, let us go home and write to our friends in Falas of what happens here.« Without another comment, he began to pick the crab remains out of his hair. »I hope that the Elves of the North can be somehow of use down here.« The lord waved to a carriage and got into the vessel.
As Fiorell wanted to follow him, Perdór placed the quickly, by cloth covered fish with the spikes beneath his behind.
With a scream, the funmaker shot up from his seat and hit his head on the ceiling of the carriage. While he was still rubbing numb his head and bum, a satisfied Perdór gave the sign to the surprised Elf to let the horses walk.
Middle-Earth, Ered Luin, Thamas Lorn, Late Winter in the late Third Age
In her dream she heard a constant rustling, a constant up and down, like the whisper of pleasant words, that became louder and quieter again.
Her mind was drifting through shimmering spheres, she thought to levitate above the entire world, looked in amazement on cities that she had never seen before and saw the cold hills of Angmar. Then she was gliding towards the open sea; Mithlond and the isles of the Falas were darting away beneath her, before she saw to the first time of her life the shores of another land, that she assumed to be Tol Eressëa.
Suddenly she changed direction and turned upwards, higher and higher, past the sun and past the stars, finding herself before a barred gate. Behind the seemingly unbreakable bars, two red fearsome points looked at her and terror took her, threatened to press any bit of air out of her lungs.
Her spirit turned abrupt, performed a wide circle and returned in a plummet back to Middle-Earth. She tried to hold herself on the clouds, to stop her fall, but the shapes dispersed to nothingness under her touch. Unstoppable she rushed down.
She could make out the known shape of a house in the Falas and aimed right for the roof. Instinctively, she wanted to raise her arms before her face, as if that could soften the impact, that would follow just a moment later ...
Lhûthindë opened her eyes and recognized the intact truss over her. What ...?
As carefully as she could, she tried to move her fingers and toes, then her arms and legs. She still had the feeling as if she would fall. Once the sensation began to withdraw, the Aûthial dared to sit up, leaning her back against the post of her bed. Her chest rose still quickly up and down.
It has been long since I had a nightmare, she thought and sat her naked feet unto the ground. And then such an intense one moreover.
Lhûthindë walked to the window and pushed the curtains aside. She found that the moon was still standing high, that she had awoken in the middle of the night.
Mischief was not in her room, but the house seemed calm, unlike her. The young Elf could not help her own inner turbulence, that did not want to leave her in peace, no mater how much she concentrated.
In the end, she decided to communicate with her aura, but also for that, her mind was not at ease enough. Pictures of her dream, how she shot past the clouds and seeing the terrible gate with its gaze prevented any attempt of setting herself into a trance of meditation.
Finally she managed to order her mind and held unto a memory that was still as lively and present to her, as if she would lave lived through it moments ago. And yet, the memory was over a century old.
Lhûthindë focused on that thought, that event, breathed slowly in and out, while she sat on her bed. For her, the room in which she was began to dissolve.
From moment to the other, Lhûthindë found herself to be within her memory, stood marveling like at the first day within the high, by pillars carried hall. The light of the moon fell through the open round roof and illuminated everything in a hint of silver.
She looked down on herself and noticed how young she had been. Her stature was now more alike to that of Gwathiell rather than that of her present being.
The image of her niece let the surroundings become unclear. No! Lhûthindë had to remain completely within the bounds of her memory or else the vision and trance she had set herself into would fade. Gwathiell was not even born at that time.
Quickly she focused her look back into the hall, where a high rectangle of stone stood. Nine women and ten men sat with crossed legs and closed eyes on the enormous pedestal. For Lhûthindë it seemed as if the Elves that appeared to be hewn from marble, would bath in the light of the moon, like others enjoyed the rays and warmth of the sun.
»Sit.« One of the Elves pointed at a pillow before him. »I am Aûthiar Lávarsindel of the Circle, but that you know already, I wager.« Curious he was looking at her. »You told your father that you wanted to speak with me and it would be about the High Arts?«
The memory had become clearer and clearer, the more Lhûthindë advanced in its history. Soon it appeared more and more real. The Elf who had spoken to her and would prove to become her teacher, was having just the same effect upon her like the day they met, the first time. She remembered to be intimidated by his valor, the intense golden and silver shimmering of his aura that came from a long gone era and was touched long ago by the light of the trees of Valinor.
»I am capable of seeing the potential of the High Arts on Elves if there is any. By you, the aura appears to me even as strong as unknown«, she heard herself saying. »If you are willing to take me as your student, then I plead you to show me the secrets of the Arts. I know no one else, I could ask.«
»Except for the dark and corrupted«, Lávarsindel said serene. Cold his eyes were shimmering. »If I would do so, what reward could you offer me?«
»I will support and aid you in your course«, Lhûthindë's past self hurried to say.
»You are not a warrior, Lhûthindë«, the Aûthiar said with his deep voice. »You would not be of use to us.« The rejection felt for the girl, who had thought that hope would now sprout, like a slap into the face. »Do you have any idea, what experience it requires to master this gift? To completely master it?«
»It will take a few years«, she estimated carefully.
How naive I was, Lhûthindë thought as she observed the expression on her past self.
A dark, but friendly laughter came from Lávarsindel. »Then we must use different sorts of High Arts.« He pointed at the lines of the Elves who were part of the Circle. »What do you think, how old they are?« Back then, Lhûthindë had no idea how old one had to be to hold such power and potency within the spirit, hence she had helplessly shrugged with her shoulders. »Several millennia«, the Aûthiar lifted the riddle. His solemn face came closer to her own. »And now guess my age, little maiden.«
Lhûthindë felt, just like back at that time, how her heart beat began to increase on its speed. She became nervous and fought with all her power against the order of her instinct, to stand up and run away as quickly as could. Her mind however seemed like it was paralyzed and she brought no word over her lips.
The old Elf with the silver-golden aura laughed again. »I estimate, that you can think that I am much older than my colleges. And about the half of my life I have spend, to understand what our people calls the High Arts.«
»To understand?« The young Lhûthindë did not grasp it.
»I will grant you, your first lesson as my new student«, he opened to her and her heart made a jump of rejoice. »The most make the mistake to simply use the power, without hearken to its voice. They use it. But the power struggles against that, breaks out uncontrolled, becomes stronger and depletes the user entirely. The foolhardy is brought to make use of it more and more often and every time he will loose a bit of his time upon Arda. Only who respects this gift, will have a long existence.« He leaned back his head, closed the eyes and enjoyed the silver light of the moon on his skin.
»And the servants of evil?«, she whispered.
»They have often powerful teachers. Still, I doubt that they care to take the time to make their students aware of the consequences of their talent«, Lávarsindel answered. »That was also the reason for why I did not take part in one of the great battles. I thought, the High Arts would deplete our foe to the brink of his existence, before he becomes a true threat to us. But I was mistaken.« Suddenly he opened his eyes again and looked at Lhûthindë. He smiled. »You will be my last student, small maiden, for time to teach more Elves than you, I have not. You will need the absolute form of dedication to reach what you desire. I will soon leave for the place where I no longer find trouble. In time, you will be forced to teach yourself. But remember always: Listen to the voice of Ëa.«
He shut his eyes and Lhûthindë understood it as sign that the conversation was ended. She climbed down the stairs of the pedestal and made her way to the exit.
»I will expect you tomorrow here to make you ready for your lessons and to learn our rules; And should you ever mention any secrets of the Circle to anyone who stands not within our lines«, she heard Lávarsindel's voice, »as risk that our enemies will acquire knowledge about us, we will make you responsible for it, regardless of your young age and birth. Holding our knowledge save from the reaches of the darkness, is our greatest weapon.«
Lhûthindë's past self turned around, to acknowledge the words and to re-assure her silence about any matter of the Circle and froze. All of the Elves sitting on the pedestal were looking at her; the expression on their faces was the meaning of a merciless promise.
As she turned around and ran, all manners of etiquette forgotten, out of the hall, the memory began to fade.
One moment later, Lhûthindë found herself back in her room. She sat on her bed, her throat was dry and she could espy the first rays of the sun, peeking through her curtains.
Although it had felt for her like minutes, she must have sat for hours within her meditation and repetition of thoughts.
She stretched her numb limps and stood up. At least my mind's unrest is gone.
