The Silmarillion Discussion at The Hall of Fire

[axordil]

Kind of a irresistible force/immovable object question, really. Whose doom was stronger? But perhaps their dooms couldn't help but keep them apart.

At the risk of drawing the wrath of the heavens down upon me, I don't find the watercolor the artist's best work. The draughtsmanship is fine (well, apart from Gurthang being crooked), but the facial expressions of Tuor and Túrin inscrutable and not engaging. And we don't even get to see Voronwë's face...there is no hint of tension, no sense of mystery. If one doesn't know what's happening, there's no hint of the significance, and if one does, it's just kind of there. A cautionary hand extended from V to Tuor, or vice versa; or Túrin actually being in the process of crying out, would indicate that something is going on.

[Voronwë the Faithful]

Ax, I don't disagree with you. Although there is something powerful about the stillness in that painting.

Now, turning to the chapter, and Ath's wonderful summary of it, in earnest.

At this point in the Sil, we have long been in deepening darkness. The Fifth Battle and its aftermath have decimated the Two Kindreds, the House of Húrin has fallen to the curse of Morgoth, Nargothrond has been destroyed, and Doriath laid to waste. The last eighty pages have been a very tough ride. But like Sam looking up from the despair and defilement of Mordor, we will now be witness to a welcome revelation of goodness and hope that is beyond the reach of the Shadow. Indeed, one can immediately connect that one, single star shining above the hobbits, with the words of Ulmo to Tuor at Vinyamar: “it is not for thy valour only that I send thee, but to bring into the world a hope beyond thy sight, and a light that shall pierce the darkness”.

Yes, Tuor is indeed a welcome beacon of light. And I love the way you describe the direct connection between his fate and that of the two small travellers in Mordor at the end of the Third Age. Nowhere is it more evident that the Tale of the Jewels and the Ring is really one continuous story.

These words are not found in the published Sil, but in the brief, yet far more detailed text, “Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin” from Unfinished Tales. I love this particular work, even though it abruptly ends as Tuor gazes down, for the first time, upon the hidden city of Gondolin. Unlike my readings of the two stories of Túrin however, there is no need to reconcile differences in the main protagonist: much like a reflection of “Voronwë", his guide’s name, Tuor remains steadfast and constant in both depictions. If there was ever a tale that I wish Tolkien had completed as a full-bodied narrative, it is this one, and although the unfinished version differs from that of the Sil in style, I think I would have preferred even a noticeable stitching of the two together than the abbreviated version standing alone – it is that rich in the telling.

I'm so glad that you included elements from the UT version of the story in your summary, Ath. In point of fact, the first six paragraph of this chapter are nothing but a very brief summary of “Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin”; so far as I can determine, they have no other source. This is one area where I simply cannot accept the condensation. As far as I am concerned, the fuller version of the tale (as far as it goes) is as integral a part of The Silmarillion as can be. As I write in Arda Reconstructed:

Those who have read this work up to this point will not be surprised to learn that in my opinion this synopsis is too brief. I agree that including the full tale would have been too much detail compared to the rest of the story, but I do feel that Christopher went too far to the other extreme, all but eliminating Voronwë the Faithful as a character in the story and losing as well any sense of the struggle of the two companions to reach Gondolin and the awe that the Seven Gates of Gondolin generate in Tuor. But most important by far is the failure to include Ulmo's words to Tuor in Vinyamar, which I believe to be among the most important passages that Tolkien ever wrote. I really cannot understand why it was not worked into the text.

'But behold!' said he, 'in the armour of Fate (as the Children of Earth name it) there is ever a rift, and in the walls of Doom a breach, until the full-making, which ye call the End. So it shall be while I endure, a secret voice that gainsayeth, and a light where darkness was decreed. Therefore, though in the days of this darkness I seem to oppose the will of my brethren, the Lords of the West, that is my part among them, to which I was appointed ere the making of the World. Yet Doom is strong, and the shadow of the Enemy lengthens; and I am diminished, until in Middle-earth I am become now no more than a secret whisper. The waters that run westward wither, and their springs are poisoned, and my power withdraws from the land; for Elves and Men grow blind and deaf to me because of the might of Melkor. And now the Curse of Mandos hastens to its fulfilment, and all the works of the Noldor shall perish, and every hope which they build shall crumble. The last hope alone is left, the hope that they have not looked for and have not prepared. And that hope lieth in thee; for so I have chosen.'

Consider the full depth and breadth of these words, my friends. With the Noldor caught between the darkness of Melkor and the darkness of the curse of Mandos that they brought upon themselves through their own actions, Ulmo chooses a Man as his unalterable instrument in levering that rift in the Armour of Fate, that breach in the walls of Doom. This really turns the scheme that Tolkien has laid out, with the Music being as Fate to the Elves, while Men are supposedly free to choose their own destiny, on its face. Because we see that the Noldor have trapped into deepening darkness through their own choices, while we see a Man having no choice but to play the role that Ulmo has chosen for him. Nowhere does Tolkien make a more telling description of the true interaction between fate and free will then in this passage.

Within the greater myth of the Sil, the story of Tuor seems more heavily ladened with specific and pointed symbolic imagery and references, indicating, I think, the unique importance of this tale. With this reading, I noticed the recurring use of the number seven: the seven years that pass from the time that Tuor leaves Androth to the time of his “calling”, the seven great swans that lead him to Vinyamar, the seven ships that have been sent into the West by Turgon , lord of Gondolin, the city of “seven names” guarded by seven gates, the seven years that pass before Tuor’s and Idril’s marriage, and even their son Eärendil’s age of seven at the time of Morgoth’s great assault. I find it interesting that Tolkien would use the most significant and powerful number found in nearly all mythologies and living religions so many times in a single tale….I do believe that he wanted us, consciously or unconsciously, to recognize Tuor, the last great lord of the Three Houses of the Edain, and Gondolin, the last great cultural stronghold of the Noldor in Middle-earth, as absolutely pivotal to everything that follows in the legendarium - from the redemptive voyage of Eärendil, to the rise and fall of Númenor, and finally, even to the Third Age and the War of the Ring.

What a great observation this is, Ath my friend!

There is such a difference between the outlaws Beren and Tuor and the outlaw Túrin – the former choosing to ally himself with a band of cutthroats after turning away from those who care for him; the latter utterly alone, their choice thrust upon them after losing everything they hold dear.

And this one, as well. I don't think I have ever consciously made that connection, though it is obvious once pointed out.

The next morning, Tuor meets Voronwë, “the last mariner of the last ship” that Turgon sent in search of Aman, who has been saved from the storm and cast upon the shore by Ulmo so that he may guide Tuor to Gondolin. In UT, their journey is told in detail, and we get to know the heart and mind of this wise and weary Elf as he tells the story of his long travels – “seven years in the Great Sea from the North even into the South, but never to the West. For that is shut against us….But very bright were the stars upon the margin of the world, when at times the clouds about the West were drawn aside.”

(I'll end for now on that note, and come back and address the actual fall of Gondolin later.)

[axordil]

Nowhere does Tolkien make a more telling description of the true interaction between fate and free will then in this passage.

There is an echo of Jeremiah in my ears when I hear that passage: the notion that people can be chosen, long before their birth, to fulfill a destiny that seemingly defies destiny.

[Athrabeth]

There is to my taste at least something slightly mechanical about the Sil's Tuor/FoG story, a less-than-dramatic working out of things long ago set in motion (the importance armor in Vinyamar being only the most obvious example).

I very much agree. From the UT version:

Nothing could he see there, save at the eastern end a high seat upon a dais, and softly as he might he paced towards it; but the sound of his feet rang upon the paved floor as the steps of doom, and echoes ran before him along the pillared aisles.

As he stood before the great chair in the gloom, and saw that it was hewn of a single stone and written with strange signs, the sinking sun drew level with a high window under the westward gable, and a shaft of light smote the wall before him, and glittered as it were upon burnished metal. Then Tuor marvelling saw that on the wall behind the throne there hung a shield and a great hauberk, and a helm and a long sword in a sheath. The hauberk shone as it were wrought of silver untarnished, and the sunbeam gilded it with sparks of gold. But the shield was of a shape strange to Tuor's eyes, for it was long and tapering; and its field was blue, in the midst of which was wrought an emblem of a white swan's wing. Then Tuor spoke, and his voice rang as a challenge in the roof: 'By this token I will take these arms unto myself, and upon myself whatsoever doom they bear.'

Now THAT's dramatic!

"Then Tuor spoke"........you know, not once in the Sil's version of this tale do we hear the voice of Tuor. Or any other character, for that matter. All are mute, with their actions and reactions described in that remote fashion that often marks this work. For me, it's rather like viewing the unfolding story through binoculars from a great distance, watching what's happening without really hearing, touching, feeling what's happening. And I want to feel it, powerful and resonating, because it's so obvious that this is really important stuff!

"Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin" from UT was evidently written just after Tolkien completed LOTR (but still before it was published), and it's almost as if he was awakened to the very real possibility that this, the first and oldest of his tales, could be reworked as a more compellingly "real" and intimate narrative. IMO, Tolkien is at his best when his characters speak. When I look back on my favourite chapters from LOTR, I realize that nearly all of them are "dialogue driven": Treebeard, The Voice of Saruman, The Council of Elrond, The Window on the West. If I had to pick my "second favourite" aspect of Tolkien's writing, it would be his ability to paint, in such painstaking detail, incredibly vivid, almost tangible images before my "reader's eye". This, I think, is why I'm so drawn to the UT version - Ulmo's words to Tuor (which our own Voronwë has so aptly quoted), the vision that overwhelms Tuor and haunts his dreams, Voronwë's description of his travels in Beleriand and across the Great Sea, the astonishing details of the seven gates.

I really do wish that even a taste of these elements had been included in the published Sil.

But, with all that said, I'm very thankful that CT did get the newer, incomplete narrative published. Along with Aldarion and Erendis, it was, for me, the most delightful surprise in Unfinished Tales.

[Primula Baggins]

"Then Tuor spoke"........you know, not once in the Sil's version of this tale do we hear the voice of Tuor. Or any other character, for that matter. All are mute, with their actions and reactions described in that remote fashion that often marks this work. For me, it's rather like viewing the unfolding story through binoculars from a great distance, watching what's happening without really hearing, touching, feeling what's happening. And I want to feel it, powerful and resonating, because it's so obvious that this is really important stuff!

(my bolding)

That's it. That's exactly it: the problem I have with reading the Sil.

If it were just another fantasy epic, I don't think the high, remote tone would bother me so much. But with the Sil, it's like . . . a story that would, that could move me as much as LotR ever did is right there—only I don't get to see it or hear it in any compelling way, don't get to understand and feel what's driving the characters. Instead I'm simply told what happens. It's like watching Shakespeare behind a partition that just lets me see shadows, hear bits of words, and someone is on this side explaining what's happening. And I can admire the structure, admire the story . . . but it doesn't reach my heart.

[Voronwë the Faithful]

At the risk of annoying Old Tom, so much of that is due to the decisions made by Christopher Tolkien. If he had released as full as possible a version of the Silmarillion (which would have been at least as long as LOTR) there would have been much less to complain about.

Indeed, Tolkien himself indicated that the two works were about the same length.

But the whole Saga of the Three Jewels and the Rings of Power has only one natural division into two parts (each of about 600,000 words): The Silmarillion and other legends; and The Lord of the Rings.

Voronwë's description of his travels in Beleriand

... we came to Nan-tathren in the spring of the year. Lovely to heart's enchantment is that land, Tuor, as you shall find, if ever your feet go upon the southward rods down Sirion. There is the cure of all sea-longing, save for those whom Doom will not release. There Ulmo is but the servant of Yavanna, and the earth has brought to life a wealth of fair things that is beyond the thought of hearts in the hard hills of the North. In that land Narog joins Sirion, and they haste no more, but flow broad and quiet through living meads; and all about the shining river are flarglilies like a blossoming forest, and the grass is filled with flowers, like gems, like bells, like flames of red and gold, like a waste of many-coloured stars in a firmament of green. Yet fairest of all are the willows of Nan-tathren, pale green, or silver in the wind, and the rustle of their innumerable leaves is a spell of music: day and night would flicker by uncounted, while still I stood knee-deep in the grass and listened. There I was enchanted and forget the Sea in my heart. There I wandered, naming new flowers, or lay adream amid the singing of the birds, and the humming of bees and flies ...

[Athrabeth]

<sw00ns>

[axordil]

It suddenly struck me, reading the expanded text of the Vinyamar scene, how much of the narrative of the Sil proper is that of a lone figure, moving from encounter to encounter, acquiring comrades on the way and then losing them. Compare and contrast Frodo and Sam, or Merry and Pippin, or even the Fellowship as a whole.

I think it's harder to make the picaresque model of storytelling work when you change the dramatis personae as often as you change the scenes. Not impossible, but harder. Much of what we think of as personality can only be revealed naturally in interaction with other characters, and making the characters in question spend more time with the protagonist makes the revelation of personality feel less forced.

And I think that's one of the reasons I have trouble with Beren and Tuor as characters: they have qualities instead of personalities, because they are more archetype than character. Tuor especially suffers from this because of the already noted distance from which we see his story. Túrin, on the other hand, goes through a similar series of (narratively) brief encounters, but Tolkien manages to get from him more of a sense of whole personhood. Why is that?

[Athrabeth]

Tuor especially suffers from this because of the already noted distance from which we see his story. Túrin, on the other hand, goes through a similar series of (narratively) brief encounters, but Tolkien manages to get from him more of a sense of whole personhood. Why is that?

Well, Túrin's story in the Sil covers 28 pages, while "Tuor's" is a meagre 7 (and much of that sets up and describes the fall of Gondolin AND its aftermath). And characters actually speak with real voices in Chapter 22, but in Chapter 23, we have to get out those binoculars in hope that we can lip-read.

But actually, I think it's really deeper than that.

Túrin's story is REALLY Túrin's story. He's the main focus the whole time. Even the fall of Nargothrond and the destruction of the host of Orodreth feels secondary to central figure that drives the tale. I've never really thought of it before, but it's just occured to me that unlike all the other terrible defeats suffered by the Elves in Middle-earth during the First Age, the end of the people of Nargothrond has nothing to do either with the Silmaril(s) or the Curse of Mandos. It's brought about directly by the willful pride and arrogance of Túrin, his refusal to heed the words of Ulmo, and his influence over Orodreth. This completely contrasts with the circumstances that cause the fall of Gondolin, where Tuor comes speaking the words of Ulmo but cannot influence Turgon's decision to remain with his people in the White City, and where the Curse is again fulfilled by the treachery of Maeglin.

[Voronwë the Faithful]

But actually, I think it's really deeper than that.

Túrin's story is REALLY Túrin's story. He's the main focus the whole time. Even the fall of Nargothrond and the destruction of the host of Orodreth feels secondary to central figure that drives the tale. I've never really thought of it before, but it's just occurred to me that unlike all the other terrible defeats suffered by the Elves in Middle-earth during the First Age, the end of the people of Nargothrond has nothing to do either with the Silmaril(s) or the Curse of Mandos. It's brought about directly by the willful pride and arrogance of Túrin, his refusal to heed the words of Ulmo, and his influence over Orodreth. This completely contrasts with the circumstances that cause the fall of Gondolin, where Tuor comes speaking the words of Ulmo but cannot influence Turgon's decision to remain with his people in the White City, and where the Curse is again fulfilled by the treachery of Maeglin.

Ath, I was just thinking about this! In fact, I was coming here to post these words:

... all that heard the voice of Tuor marvelled, doubting that this were in truth a Man of mortal race, for his words were the words of the Lord of Waters that came to him in that hour.

In truth Túrin's story is really not his own, for he is a pawn of Morgoth's. But Tuor's story is even less his own, because truly he is an instrument of Ulmo's, and through him of Ilúvatar himself.

Another observation that I wanted to share is another connection that (like the repeated symbolism of the number seven) I am amazed that I have never made before. In the UT full version of Tuor's coming to Gondolin, in the quote that I cited above, my namesake says to Tuor:

we came to Nan-tathren in the spring of the year. Lovely to heart's enchantment is that land, Tuor, as you shall find, if ever your feet go upon the southward rods down Sirion

I cannot believe that I never made the connection before that Tuor does of course find this out. After Glorfindel's glorious self-sacrifice (which itself is worth discussing, with all of its ramifications:

Thus led by Tuor son of Huor the remnant of Gondolin passed over the mountains, and came down into the Vale of Sirion; and fleeing southward by weary and dangerous marches they came at length to Nan-tathren, the Land of Willows, for the power of Ulmo yet ran in the great river, and it was about them. There they rested a while, and were healed of their hurts and weariness; but their sorrow could not be healed. And they made a feast in memory of Gondolin and of the Elves that had perished there, the maidens, and the wives, and the warriors of the King; and for Glorfindel the beloved many were the songs they sang, under the willows of Nan-tathren in the waning of the year.

It is such a shame that Voronwë's initial description of Nan-tathren is not included in the published Sil (thinks about adding this observation to Arda Reconstructed). And we can only presume, since he is virtually left out the published text altogether, the the faithful one was present at this return.

Edit to add: I have in fact added this observation to my Arda Reconstructed manuscript. After saying that the paragraph describing the remnant of Gondolin's coming to Nan-thathren really shows how unfortunate it is that Christopher so greatly reduced the beginning part of this chapter describing Tuor’s coming to Gondolin, and quoting Voronwë's description of Nan-tathren, I state:

It is such a shame that this description of Nan-tathren is not included in the published Silmillion, given the role that land later plays in the healing of the survivors of Gondolin and the fact that Tuor does in fact find that it is “[l]ovely to heart's enchantment”. And we can only presume, since he is virtually left out of the published text altogether, that the faithful Voronwë was present at this return to the Land of Willows.

It pleased to add this observation, and very pleased to make a reference to "the faithful Voronwë".

[Athrabeth]

In truth Túrin's story is really not his own, for he is a pawn of Morgoth's.

Well, first off, I can't quite agree that everything that "comes down" on old Túrin is directly due to him being Morgoth's pawn. I think he moves pretty freely around the chessboard at least some of the time. From Ch. 21:

Orodreth was troubled by the dark words of the messenger, but Túrin would by no means hearken to these counsels, and least of all would he suffer the great bridge to be cast down; for he was become proud and stern, and would order all things as he wished.

I think Túrin could be a real poopypants all on his own.

But (absolute) pawn or not, the story is still the most intimate in the Sil because it does focus entirely on Túrin: the choices he freely makes, the choices he is forced to make, the actions that spring from his own temperment and those that are being managed and manipulated by the Dark Lord. For me, it's the least grand of all the tales within the Sil, the most human, and darkly psychological really......because it's not about the broad, sweeping fate of entire peoples and the world upon which they walk, but rather, small and sharp like the tip of a wire-thin needle, the inexorable disintegration of just one man.

It is such a shame that Voronwë's initial description of Nan-tathren is not included in the published Sil (thinks about adding this observation to Arda Reconstructed). And we can only presume, since he is virtually left out the published text altogether, that the faithful one was present at this return.

I'm sure of it.

From UT:

(Voronwë speaking) 'And often have I vowed in the deeps of the sea, that if ever I set foot on land again, I would dwell at rest far from the Shadow in the North, or by the Havens of Círdan, or maybe in the fair fields of Nan-tathren, where the spring is sweeter than heart's desire. But if evil has grown while I have wandered, and the last peril approaches them, then I must go to my people...I will lead you to the hidden gates...'

'Then we will go together, as we are counselled,' said Tuor. 'But mourn not Voronwë! For my heart says to you that far from the Shadow your long road shall lead you, and your hope shall return to the Sea.'

[Voronwë the Faithful]

Oh, I'm sure of it, too. Tolkien always intended for Voronwë to be one of those who escaped the sack of Gondolin. It just would have been nice to have something about it included in the published text.

As for Túrin, I'm not going to pick that debate back up again.

[Andreth]

I wish Christopher had included the Fall of Gondolin as it was written in the "Book of Lost Tales". It is so dramatic and visual. I also like reading Tuor and Voronwë's journey in "Unfinished Tales."

Of course, the biggest problem I have with Tuor is that I get almost no sense of his personality from the stories. There just doesn't seem to be alot of depth or dare I say "humanity" about him. I am also chagrined that Idril seems to get the short shrift in the characterization department. It is her idea to create the Way of Escape after all. I would have liked a more complete story to stand in opposition to Túrin.

I had not noticed the connection to Nan-tahren but it does make sense that the survivors would come to a place of healing and refreshment. Tolkien uses this device frequently in LOTR. And it is a little spot of sunshine in an otherwise very dark time.

[Athrabeth]

If it were just another fantasy epic, I don't think the high, remote tone would bother me so much. But with the Sil, it's like . . . a story that would, that could move me as much as LotR ever did is right there—only I don't get to see it or hear it in any compelling way, don't get to understand and feel what's driving the characters. Instead I'm simply told what happens. It's like watching Shakespeare behind a partition that just lets me see shadows, hear bits of words, and someone is on this side explaining what's happening. And I can admire the structure, admire the story . . . but it doesn't reach my heart.

But it's not a "fantasy epic". It's myth, and in myth, you are "simply told what happens", and must stand back to better view the long-reaching consequences and distant connections that ultimately tie all of its events together. The tale of LoTR primarily takes place over the course of a year. The tales of the Sil take place over the course of thousands of years. I understand that there's little room for the detailed intimacy of language, character, and setting that I love so much in LoTR, but that being said, since I have started on this long journey of discussing the Sil, I have actually been surprised and impressed at the many, many "little moments" where Tolkien is able to move me beyond the role of a more-or-less dispassionate observer. And there remain many other "grand moments" that can still send shivers down my spine.

I do find it interesting that the tales that Tolkien attempted to re-work as more in-depth and detailed narratives are the tales that centre on Men. Perhaps that intimacy comes with the territory of writing about mortals, with their brief tenure upon the earth and the immediacy of their decisions on what to do with the time that is given to them.

[Voronwë the Faithful]

It will be interesting to see what kind of reaction there will be to The Children of Húrin. On the one hand, it should have more of that compelling, character-driven stuff that Prim craves. On the other hand, it will have very little of the humour and the mixing of the high tone and low tone that makes LOTR so endearing.

[Athrabeth]

I think the evolution of Hobbits was definitely one of the best things that ever happened in Middle-earth.

[Alatar]

I wish Christopher had included the Fall of Gondolin as it was written in the "Book of Lost Tales". It is so dramatic and visual.

I have to admit the Metal Dragons put me off a bit.

[Voronwë the Faithful]

Chapter 24 Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

And so we finally come to the final chapter of the Quenta Silmarillion, the culmination of all that has come before, and the bridge to that which comes after. As Ath pointed out in the last chapter, it was nice to have some lightness after the unrelenting darkness of the previous chapters. Well that light reaches its culmination here, though only after one last dip into the depths of darkness (and another cautionary note before the end).

The first two words of the chapter really speak volumes.

Bright Eärendil.

As we have discussed many times, light is the most profound symbol in Tolkien's work. So it is most fitting that from the outset his most blessed hero by described as "bright". Of course, that description will take on greater significance later on.

And almost immediately, Tolkien's other great symbol is given equal prominence.

Two purposes grew in his heart, blended as one in longing for the wide Sea . . .

Tolkien says two purposes, but I have to say that I have never found his seeking for his parents to be particularly significant; Tuor and Idril have already found their fates, and Eärendil's is sundered from them. His longing for the Sea is completely tied up -- in my mind at least -- with his own destiny as the messenger of Men and Elves to the Powers in the West.

But, of course, like any good Tolkien hero, Eärendil must pass through sorrow and loss before achieving that destiny. He is "defeated by shadows and enchantment" but he turns back not so much because of his defeat but because of his longing for his mate, Elwing, and the fear that has come upon him in his dreams.

. . . and the winds that before he had striven with might not now bear him back as swift as his desire.

Is that not such a typical Tolkien line? It either makes you say or

I think we all know which camp I am in.

And of course it is no surprise that Eärendil's fears were well justified, for driven by the cursed Oath, Maehdros and his brothers committed "the last and cruellest of the slayings of Elf by Elf, destroying the exiles of Gondolin and the remnant of Doriath that lived nigh to Sirion's mouth," after Elwing refused to give up the Silmaril in which "lay the healing and blessing that had come upon their houses and their ships." Some of the people of Fëanor themselves were slain by lords as they repented and tried to defend Elwing, and Amrod and Amras were slain (leaving only Maedhros and Maglor left of the sons of Fëanor). And Elwing and Eärendil's sons, Elrond and Elros were taken captive, and Elwing cast herself into the sea with the Silmaril upon her breast.

But, of course, Ulmo did not allow the jewel to be lost, bearing Elwing out of the waves and giving her the likeness of a great white bird. It is easy to forgive Tolkien for this flight of fancy, for the image of Elwing appearing to Eärendil "as a white cloud exceeding swift beneath the moon, as a star over the sea moving in strange course, a pale flame on wings of storm" falling from the air unto the timber of Eärendil's ship Vingelot is one of great power.

Meanwhile, Elrond and Elros are not slain as their parents fear, but instead are cherished by Maglor, though his "heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath." This is in direct contrast with the fate of Dior's sons Eluréd and Elurín, who were left to starve in the forest by the cruel servants of Celegorm, after the last kin-slaying. Does anyone want to suggest what the significant of the contrasting parallel structure might be?

And so Eärendil “saw no hope left in the lands of Middle-earth, and he turned again in despair”. I think it is very important that Eärendil had reach a point of no hope before he could achieve his destiny. And while “the Wise” attribute his success in escaping the enchantment of the Enchanted Islands the shadows of the Shadowy Seas to the power of the “holy” Silmaril, is it not true that the real reason why he succeeded was that it was in the Song, that it was pre-ordained by Eru? Surely we can not tackle this last chapter without one last debate about fate vs. free will? Sassy, Sassy, where art thou, dear Sassy?

And they pass the Lonely Isle, but tarry not, and land finally in the Bay of Eldamar, and the Tale returns at last (for the first time since Chapter 11) to the Blessed Land. And the Teleri are amazed from afar at the light of the Silmaril. But Eärendil tells his companions that he alone shall take upon himself the peril of the wrath of the Valar for daring to set foot on those holy shores. However, Elwing will not be sundered from him (echoes of Lúthien and Beren, no?) and leaps after him.

I have always found it strange that even so, Eärendil refuses to allow Elwing to accompany him as he seeks the Valar to pass on his message. But of course, the Song requires that Eärendil appear alone. And, of course, the Song requires that it once again be a time of festival,, so that the streets of Tirion are empty, and Eärendil fears that some terrible fate has fallen on the Blessed Land.

All this is just set up, of course, for the stirring words of Eönwë, herald of Manwë:

Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendor of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel in the sunset radiant in the morning!

These are among my favorite words in all the Silmarillion, particularly “the longed for that cometh beyond hope”. There is that theme again, of being beyond hope, which we will see again reflected in Frodo. And Eärendil delivers his message, and of course his prayer is granted. Did even the Valar have the power to refuse it? I say that they did not, for this was the culmination of Ulmo’s seeming rebellion. And I can’t help but remember his words to Tuor, that in him lied the “final hope”, for so had Ulmo chosen. And yet Tuor’s son, Eärendil, came from beyond hope.

And Manwë renders judgment about Eärendil and Elwing’s fate, that they should escape peril since Eärendil ventured that peril for love of the Two Kindreds, and Elwing for love of him. A tad bit sexist there, perhaps, methinks. Eärendil and Elwing – and their sons – are give the opportunity to choose which kindred their fates are to be joined.

Meanwhile, the temporarily abandoned Elwing is befriended by the Teleri as she wanders towards Alqualondë, and she tells them tales of Doriath and Gondolin. But Eärendil finds her, and brings her back to Valimar, and they choose to be judged among the Firstborn, even though Eärendil really prefers the kindred of Men. And there three companions are sent back to Middle-earth in a boat on a great wind, but Vingolot is hallowed, and passes through the Door of Night into the oceans of heaven, where Eärendil guides it with the Silmaril bound upon his brow.

but most often was he seen at morning or at evening, glimmering in sunrise or sunset

(And so he was spied by Samwise the Brave, two ages later.)


But Elwing did not go on these journeys “for she might not endure the cold and the pathless voids” but she learned the tongue of birds, and learned from them the craft of flight, with wings of white and silver-grey. And she would fly to meet her lord and master as he returned again to Arda.

Meanwhile, back in Middle-earth, the remaining Elves hearts are lifted up at the appearance of the Silmaril of the sky, calling it Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope. Even Maehdros and Maglar are glad to see it, secured from all evil. But Morgoth was filled with doubt.

But the hosts of the Valar still took him by surprise, for he deemed that he had estranged the Noldor for the Lords of the West forever. With the hosts of the Valar marched the Vanyar under Ingwë, and those of the Noldor that remained in the Blessed land, under Finarfin, and though the Teleri refused to go forth to war, they sailed the ships that bore the hosts. And though the remnants of the Three Houses of the Edain fought on the side of the Valar, “a great part of the sons of Men ... Marched with the Enemy; and the Elves do not forget it.”

And Morgoth’s hosts of Orcs and Balrogs were destroyed, and in desperation he unleashes his last desperate assault - the winged dragons, led by Angalagon the Black. “But Eärendil came, shining with white flame, and about Vingelot were gathered all the great birds of heavens and Thorondor was their captain” and they routed Angalagon and the winged dragons, and Thangorodrim was broken in his ruin (really? The greatest fortress ever built was ruined by the fall of one dragon? That has always seemed passing strange to me.)

And Morgoth himself fled unvaliant into the deepest of his mines, and he was chained with the old chain Angainor, and his iron crown beaten into a collar, and the two remaining Silmarils taken from him. And the world itself was changed, so that “the northern regions of the western world were rent asunder, and the sea roared in through many chasms, and there was confusion and great noise; and rivers perished or found new paths, and the valleys were upheaved and the hills trod down; and Sirion was no more.” It is interesting that only Sirion is actually named as having been destroyed, when in actually all of Beleriand was no more.

But one final tragedy is rendered by the “dreadful Oath”. For Maehdros and Maglor debate about what to do about the recovered Silmarils, and Maehdros reminds his brother that “by Ilúvatar we sore in our madness, and called the Everlasting Darkness upon us, if we kept not our word. Who shall release us?” And despite having the greater wisdom of the two, and realizing that breaking the Oath would cause less evil then breaking, Maglor yields to his older brother’s argument. But my question, of course, is who really compelled Fëanor and his sons to swear by Ilúvatar himself? Did not even this ‘dreadful Oath’ hath its uttermost source in Him?

And so the noble Maehdros and the wise Maglor commit yet another evil deed, slaying the guards of the Silmaril, and preparing to fight to the death to keep the Jewels that they claim to be their own. But Eönwë refuses to allow them to be slayed, and the departed unfought.

Unfought, but not unhindered. For the Silmarils burned them unmercifully, for they had lost their right to these hallowed jewels, because of their evil deeds, and Maedhros cast himself with his Silmaril into gaping chasm filled with fire, and so ended, and Maglor case his Silmaril in the Sea, and wandered upon the shores singing in pain and regret.

And thus it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one in the deep waters.

This is obviously a pretty important concept, but I will leave speculation about it to others, or to another time.

Equally important is the fact that the returning Elves of Middle-earth, though “they were admitted again to the love of the Manwë and the pardon of the Valar; ... and the curse laid to rest” return not to the Blessed Land of the Valar itself, but to Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle. The evil deeds and misjudgments made along the way can not be wholly undone, and the returning exiles are clearly not fully forgiven. It occurs to me that Galadriel’s initial refusal to accept the pardon of the Valar at this time (as described in the passage in The Shibboleth of Fëanor which is also printed in Unfinished Tales) was partially due to pique at returning to the Lonely Isle when she had been born in Valinor itself (indeed, I have a memory of reading something of this, but I am unable to locate anything of the sort).

But though Morgoth himself is thrust through the Door of Night into the Timeless Void,

... the lies that Melkor, the mighty and accursed, Morgoth Bauglir, the Power of Terror and of Hate, sowed in the hearts of Elves and Men are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed; and ever and anon it sprouts anew, and will bear dark fruit even unto the latest days.

And those are, of course, the final words from the Quenta Silmaril itself that appear in the published text. The final coda, about the fate of Arda not being revealed, is taken from the Valaquenta, replacing the “real” ending of the Quenta Silmarillion that Tolkien devised, known as the Second Prophecy of Mandos. I’m not going to restart that debate here, for my views about the wisdom of that choice have been made more the clear, here and elsewhere.

And that brings us to the end of the end of the Silmarillion. For Ath and I both agree that, unlike the Ainulindalë and Valaquenta, which are so closely related to the Quenta Silmarillion itself as to require being part of the same discussion, the Akallabêth (and Of the Rings of Power) should probably be discussed separately (if at all). I look forward to hearing the thoughts of Ath and others about this final subject, and will of course comment further myself where appropriate. But I do feel a sense of impending ending of this journey that has lasted now for almost two and half years, and spanned three different boards. And I have to say that sense of impending ending is further darkened by my sadness that this journey that has reached such heights at all three boards at different times, is essentially petering out with small interest. Alas! But I do want to express my eternal thanks and love to my dear friend Athrabeth for helping to foster this great discussion through its ups and downs and ins and outs, and for providing so much incredible insight that has greatly increased my understanding of this work that I hold so dear. And to everyone else who has participated along the way. Particularly dear Sassafras, who I miss greatly.

[Athrabeth]

Well, my friend, it has been a long and meandering path to walk, but I'm glad beyond words to have walked it with you. And I always keep a look-out as we round each corner, hoping to welcome Sassy back to our tenacious little fellowship.

It will take me some time to respond fully to your excellent summary, but rest assured, I will be back.

And while “the Wise” attribute his success in escaping the enchantment of the Enchanted Islands the shadows of the Shadowy Seas to the power of the “holy” Silmaril, is it not true that the real reason why he succeeded was that it was in the Song, that it was pre-ordained by Eru?

Them's fightin' words, Doc Kane!

Surely we can not tackle this last chapter without one last debate about fate vs. free will?

'nuff said.

[Voronwë the Faithful]