New Roads
Side by side, father and son gazed down into the clearing near the bottom of Inglor's finest apple orchard at the assortment of wheeled vehicles waiting for the horses to be hitched to them. For the first time in nearly ten years – since coming to these strange shores – Gildor felt a sense of anticipation building inside him. It felt good to see the wagons – each with their family emblem carved into the wooden sides, just as they had been on distant shores not that long ago – and know that his little band of dedicated wanderers had gathered and was once more prepared to go on the road.
He could tell, however, that his father was far less enthusiastic about the entire idea. "One would think you and they would have had enough of the nomadic life in Endorë, my son." Inglor shook his head and gazed at him in reproach. "You have no need to run, or to hide here."
Gildor's lips thinned slightly, but he didn't flinch at the subtle criticism that he'd heard far more times than he would have liked. "I know that, and I wish you could understand that I am doing neither now. This," he said, nodding in the direction of the wagons, "is a life that I now choose freely, Father, and one that those who traveled with me in Ennor choose willingly as well."
"The life of a refugee?" Inglor looked shocked and appalled. "Never putting down roots, never settling in one place to give yourselves and your families security, permanency?"
How could he explain what had taken him leaving his old life behind and spending years trying to fit into the more expected roles to learn: that a "normal' life no longer suited? "Exactly," Gildor stated firmly, his determined nod shocking his father all the more. "For two Ages, our security was in our freedom, in our lack of of settled life. The Enemy never knew where to find us or even how to begin to look for us because even we did not know where we would find ourselves from one day to the next."
"I do not understand you, or this compulsion of yours to become… homeless…" Inglor shook his head again. "Gildor, understand, please! What you are intending simply is not done here in Aman."
"Perhaps it has not been done before now," Gildor allowed, allowing the disapproval to simply roll through his mind and be dismissed the moment the words faded to silence again. "However, all of my people – myself included – have already grown tired of seeing the same trees, hearing the same breezes, of listening to the same voices for months and years at a time. We have long since learned to take great comfort in traveling the roads and byways that present themselves, meeting new people and even carrying messages from one place to the next. There is no reason why we cannot reclaim our way of life, regardless that none others have done it before us, and also offer a bit of utility to all edhil in this land of peace and stability." His eyes easily picked out his wife, Faerlin, bending over the cook pot that hung over the central firepit. "My people have discussed this at length, and this is the life we choose to resume. We are here in the Blessed Lands, where the Belain desired us to be. It should be enough."
"Your granduncle will not be pleased," Inglor offered in a warning tone, and Gildor could tell he was searching for an argument that would have weight. "I believe Finwë was looking forward to having new faces and minds at court to help him watch over the people wisely. And your grandfather Ingwë wondered if you had not considered that our people have already Journeyed all they need to."
"I cannot see myself remaining within a stone city until the ending of Time, Father," Gildor replied evenly, "and neither do the rest of my people. And I am certain that while Grandfather Ingwë may have tired of the long journey from Cuiviénen to here, my people still yearn for the open road."
"You would deny your granduncle your wisdom, then?"
"No." Gildor sighed and disciplined himself to patience. "I and my people are more than willing to be his eyes and ears, Father, to serve him as best we can. It is just that we choose to do it out there. Keeping those who choose a more sedentary life apprised of events in the further reaches of the realm is what we have done best for most of the last two Ages."
His hand waved and indicated the broad vista that lay beyond the orchard. "The courts of Kings are too full of those who choose to see only what they wish to see, to hear what they choose to hear; and it is the voices of these cloistered elite that the King listens to, for the most part. It is all too easy for a ruler to lose touch with those beyond his palace walls." Gildor gazed calmly at his father. "As a member – albeit a much lesser one – of the royal family, my words will have some weight and, based on what is seen and heard and witnessed regardless of 'propriety', will restore or enhance his understanding of all his subjects. And I need not force myself to abide the duplicity of court politics."
Inglor's dark brows rose. "Is this state of politics you speak of something you believe will be the same here as it was in those marred lands you have just left behind you? Can you not allow that things may be different – less unsatisfactory – than they were in Endorrë?"
"You forget that I have been in attendance in Granduncle's court for the past few months, Father, at your request. I have already seen that it is the same here as it was in the east, that the nature of the edhil did not change simply by virtue of sailing from one side of the sea to the other. The reasonable conclusion is obvious: politics and personal advancement agendas are evils that span even the divide between the Firstborn and the Aftercomers. Besides…" Gildor's smile grew as he watched his full-grown son sneak from behind the family's wagon and startle his mother by covering her eyes, whereupon Faerlin then turned and hugged him tightly, laughing as she did. "Maenol is only just now returned to us, and he would not understand living in a stone city, surrounded by those who do not have much patience with customs and traditions from Ennor. He is still confused sometimes, Adar, in many ways like a child reborn rather than a man."
"I have seen many rehoused over the Ages, my son," Inglor told Gildor gently. "I went through the process myself. This confusion you speak of is a stage that will pass in time. Maenol will acclimate to life in the city…"
Gildor shook his head. "No. I would have him regain his strength and self-confidence in a setting he knows, and he was born into a wagon very much like that one. This is the life he knows, and it is in this way that he will find his way back to being the same man he was before Dagorlad."
Next to him, he could feel his father hunch slightly, a mannerism that he could remember well. Inglor had never handled losing arguments well. "Where will you go, then?" was the next question, one that came after a long moment of frustrated silence.
"When we meet for our feast in three days, we will decide," he replied with a shrug. "All the roads in this land will be new to us. We can once more become a band of itinerants who seek only the shelter of friendly trees and laughing waters of an evening, or a fortnight, or however long we choose to abide there before moving on again." A thought struck, and he hesitated. "Perhaps you would consider joining us? For a little while only," Gildor added when his father turned a wide and shocked gaze on him.
"Join you?"
He couldn't tell if his father was appalled by the idea or merely stunned to have actually received an invitation. "Why not? As we all know, the land is safe and at peace, and it is not as if Naneth would complain if I took you out from being underfoot for a time…"
Inglor's lips twitched, as if tempted to break into a smile. Gildor knew that his parents loved each other very much, but that Laurea preferred that her gregarious husband make himself scarce when the time came for the monthly accountings of the entire kingdom. And the end of an ennin's accounting was rapidly approaching. "I do not know whether I would appreciate sleeping on the ground around a fire," he quipped and then allowed a quick, crooked smile. "I am quite contented on a bed, with a mattress…"
Gildor chuckled. "We eat and gather around the fires, but we sleep on mattresses in the wagons. They truly are larger inside than you might expect, and quite comfortable. Would you like to see the inside of ours?"
He held his breath. His father had ever been taciturn and uncooperative whenever approached about looking in on the building or outfitting of the wagon that had been created on his property. More recently, as the other wagons had trickled in and settled at the bottom of his orchard, he had voiced some concerns about security and decorum. Having had willing workers to help gather in the harvest had quieted the bulk of the complaints, but the reserve and subtle disapproval hadn't ceased as yet. The very fact that Inglor was taking his time replying meant that perhaps his father's attitudes were ripe for change at last, and he knew better than to speak again to nudge him in his decision; that was a good way to evoke Inglor's stubborn streak.
Inglor's mouth opened once, then shut again while the man twisted to look up the valley towards the manor house that he shared with his wife, then turned back to gaze at his son. "I cannot be away for too long," he said slowly in a soft voice that clearly communicated his wariness.
"You could bring your favorite horse with you," Gildor suggested, "so that when you feel ready to return home, you would have the means."
Again Inglor was silent, obviously thinking things through. "I would have to confer with your Naneth before giving you an answer," he replied finally. "How soon are you planning to leave?"
"We await the arrival of one more wagon, and then we leave the very next morning. So, perhaps, three days?"
"Three days would give me time to prepare, if your Naneth does not object to my participating in this strange idea of yours." Inglor folded his hands over his chest. "Will your wife object to having an extra person in her wagon?"
"Of course not! Perhaps the two of you will finally get a chance to get acquainted…"
"And I will be able to spend time with my grandson, whom I have but barely met since his release," Inglor added with a nod. "Very well. I would see the inside of this magic wagon that suddenly will have room for four adults."
It was all Gildor could do to keep from letting loose a whoop of triumph. Instead, he wrapped his arm around his father's shoulders and gave a very subtle nudge to get them both walking forward and down the hill. "I think you will be pleasantly surprised, Father."
He took a moment and looked up, beyond the tops of the wagons, at the road that led past the boundaries of his father's estate and then wound out of sight around the base of a nearby hill. New roads awaited him, new vistas would open to them all, and the promise of a new life that still bore the shape of an old and comforting routine beckoned.
He gave a silent sigh of relief and continued walking with his father, grateful that perhaps now – at last – Aman wouldn't seem quite so much like a prison anymore…
Elvish Vocabulary
Belain - the Powers or Gods (Q. Valar)
edhil - Elves
ennin - multiple periods of 144 years