Olórë Mallë: The Path of Dreams

 

Ellen tossed and turned.  It had been more difficult to sleep since the accident.  She had woken up screaming at the nightmares and, upon falling asleep again, been tormented with more.  Lately, she had not been sleeping at all for fear of these dreams.  Her nerves were ragged and her husband had suggested earlier that day that she seek professional help.  Ellen had snapped at him for this and an argument had resulted.  Now he was sleeping in the spare bedroom and she was left to herself.  She reflected on her reaction and came to the conclusion that she had been a bit harsh on him.  She had, after all, been in a terrible mood from lack of sleep, not to mention completely rattled by the nightmare of the previous evening, and his remark had come at the precisely wrong moment, but it was no reason to accuse him of being unsupportive. 

 

I suppose I had better go apologize, she thought guiltily, after all, Dan has also had to put up with a lot these past few months.  She got out of bed, and limped out into the hallway.  The door to the spare bedroom was closed and she could hear Daniel's snores within.  I can't wake him for this, she thought, that'll just result in another fight.  I'll wait until morning, and apologize then. 

 

She still didn't want to go to sleep and decided to read something to take her mind off the long hours ahead of her.  The bookshelf in the children's playroom offered a multitude of choices, among them the entire library of Tolkien books she had acquired throughout her lifetime.  She browsed through these, and chose The Book Of Lost Tales.  I haven't read this one in ages, she mused, recalling the first time she had torn open its pages, not wanting to wait to divulge the secrets inside.  She headed back up to bed and started reading.

 

So engrossed was she at the tales told to Ælfwine in the Cottage of Lost Play and the children who visited to hear these tales, that she noticed neither when her head started to droop nor eyes close.  She slept, and dreaming swiftly followed.

 

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A man robed entirely in white was pacing around a room of the local inn.  He was tall, his beard was long, and upon his head was a rather pointed white hat.  He was getting rather impatient, as the innkeeper had taken his time with breakfast, once again.  No Barliman Butterbur is this one, he thought, ah well, the inn-keepers of Gondor will learn in time, the King will see to it.  He stopped pacing when he heard footsteps, but they passed his door.  To take his mind off both hunger and giving the innkeeper a piece of his mind, he started thinking about the long journey home.

 

Home.  It had been over two thousand years since he had been sent to Middle Earth, and now that his task was complete, he was allowed to go back to Valinor.  Olórin trembled in joy at the thought of Valinor, and the island of Tol Eressea.  Yet, in his heart, he was troubled.  He had grown to love Middle Earth and its inhabitants, and it would be difficult to leave, knowing that he could never come back. 

 

I suppose I shall miss the people most, he thought.  The Eldar were a wonderful people, but they would be in Valinor with him.  It was not them he would miss, but the mortals.  Men, Dwarves, Hobbits.  All the wonderful creatures of the world not permitted upon the undying shores.  The conversation of Men, the stubbornness of Dwarves, and the child-like innocence of Hobbits would be mere memories in but a few years.  After that, the streams of time would pass by and all that was known of these days and of the perils of this time in Middle Earth would be lost.  This bothered Olórin tremendously.  How could anyone except Eru Iluvater stop time and preserve the past?  Olórin resumed his pacing as he pondered this.

 

I can't stop time, he thought, but the peoples of Middle Earth and everything that is to come after must know about the world before them.  Those who live now will remember, but what about after?  How are those who come after to know about Middle Earth, Numenor, and Valinor, if all has been forgotten by Men?  If there was only a way to teach them.

 

He stopped suddenly, as an idea hit him with the full force of a blow to the head.

 

"Of course!" he cried, pumping his fist into the air in jubilation, "Preserve the past in the dreams of children.  It’s so simple, and yet, effective."  He grinned and resumed pacing, albeit, more frantically than before, and accompanied by small spins on the heel as he turned the corners of his room.  He would have to talk to Irmo upon his return, and see if his idea was feasible before seeking the approval of Manwë Súlimo.  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

 

"Dinner, Mr. Gandalf, Sir."

 

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A knock on the front door startled Ilverin from his reverie.  It was mid-morning and Avallónë was still dark¹ with the shadows of the previous evening.  He had been standing outside the Hall of Play Regained thinking about the children who had left a few short hours before when the sound rang throughout the cottage.  Shaking himself away from the Gong of the Children, he walked briskly down the hall and opened the door.

 

“Elen sila ’lumenn - ” he started to say, and stopped rather abruptly.  Instead of a child, a mortal woman stood on the doorstep.

 

If Ilverin was surprised, the woman didn’t notice, being completely taken by surprise at the elf in front of her.

 

“Uh, hello.  Do you speak English?” she began, not without some trepidation.  When Ilverin nodded, she continued, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I seem to have lost my way and landed up here somehow, wherever this place is.  Could you possibly help me?”

 

“Miss,” he said slowly, “we will be able to help you here.  Please come in.  My name is Ilverin, which is Littleheart in your language.” 

 

“Thank you, Ilverin.” She said, smiling suddenly, quite relieved.  “Do you mind if I call you that?  It’s an enchanting name.  My name is Ellen.”

 

“Ellen.  A beautiful name, you are a child of the stars then?”  He asked, wondering if the name was a form of Quenya elen.

 

“I would hardly say that,” she said, “in fact, I was named after my grandmother Ethel, except my parents hated the name, so they changed it to Ellen instead.”

 

They continued speaking as Ilverin led her to the lord and lady of the house, Lindo and Vaire.  As they spoke, she grew more at ease and he wondered at the circumstances that brought her along the Olórë Mallë in place of a child.  He had not spoken to a mortal elder since Eriol had sailed to Tol Eressea some years before.  From her manner of speaking and her surprise when he held the door to the Gardens open for her, things had changed much in those thousand years.  How quickly time flows for mortals, he mused, and swift is the change, too, in the span of their short lives.  As they entered the Gardens, Lindo, Vaire, and Rumil turned to greet them.

 

“Welcome, Ellen.  It has been a long time since you were last here.” Vaire welcomed her with a smile.

 

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