Tianwen·Magweth Pengolodh

grabbed him.He finally understood how lonely and helpless the elves were in Central Continent from beginning to end.Is there really something sacred there that even the elves can feel?Or, is that actually something that his people will never have the chance to feel?The surrounding sky turned golden, but he was full of sorrow and fear.

Pengolod felt a slight tug on the sleeve, and then an intensified pull.He looked back at Ah Tang, and realized that he had fallen into that kind of elf reverie that seemed strangely long to mortals.He must ask later how long Ah Tang had to tug on his sleeve.The sun was setting, and only a few people remained on the top of the mountain.Two of them, one was their host, the other was the king's emissary, and they both lingered here, assuming he accepted Minastir's invitation.

Even so, Pengolod still struggled a lot before he could leave this exceptionally noble place.He looked back.Another person stayed at the viewing place, sitting cross-legged, with a smile on his face and a peaceful expression.When Pengolod left, the man looked back, nodded, and closed his eyes, as if he wanted to take a rest before going on the long road up and down the mountain.At that point, Pengolod could no longer see Avalonii on the horizon, save for a glimpse of his fellow pilgrim's hair gilded in a halo of silver by the light of the setting sun.

No sooner had they come down a decent distance than the officials reiterated the king's earlier invitation.Pengolod, still enthralled by the ceremony, finally accepted the invitation, deeply ashamed of his wariness.Pengolod was sure, having seen what was like Letarie, that there would be no accidents in his company with Tar-Minastir.He glanced at Ah Tang: "Although you have almost grown up, I can't leave you here alone."

Ah Tang blushed because he had been basking in the sun for so long on the top of the mountain: "My father is a clerk in the palace. The messenger said that they had already made arrangements just in case, and brought a message. My family is waiting for me at the foot of the mountain," he said, looking anxious.

"I must make sure you join them properly, or you will be remiss," Pengolod said.Ah Tang couldn't help cheering when he thought that Pengolod was with him when he saw his parents.The representatives sent by the two kings followed closely behind the elf and the boy.

The way down the mountain went very fast, and they passed the entrances of the tombs again.Pengolod looked inside one of them and saw nothing but darkness.This whole mountain is a mystery, he thought, and when you solve it, you are ready to be buried in its depths.He remembered that the Númenóreans knew well when to die.They voluntarily lay down and died, embracing their mortality.Pengolod, like all elves, was sure that what he briefly experienced today, they would fully understand tomorrow.

He stumbled.Thinking of this, he suddenly remembered the person on the top of the mountain—staying there, sitting quietly and smiling... His intuition made him feel cold all over, he turned around and looked up at the path.

His premonition came true.Someone came down carrying a white stretcher. They were the last group to go down the mountain. They looked calm and slightly sad.The face of the man on the stretcher was covered with a white cloak.The stretcher bearers were not walking as smoothly as the elves, and the stretcher wobbled, and the cloak slipped off.That is indeed the person who stayed on the mountain. After accepting the death he chose, his face remained peaceful.

Pengolod could not understand why the officials of Tar-Minastir kept apologizing for the scene on the path on their way to the palace of Armenelos.

armenelos

Pengolod was still immersed in the aftertaste of Letale. Seeing the orderly and solemn city of Númenor, Armenelos, he couldn't help but feel a little dazed.The high spiers and arches in the city, as well as the connected houses, are all built with fine limestone.The streets were decorated with lanterns and garlands of branches for Thanksgiving night, and people in white stepped aside to bow to the palace cavalry.Pengolod tried to tell if it was true that the Armenelos dressed and behaved like elves, as Alfwine and others had said.Since they were also still wearing the celebratory white robes of Letale, he could only see that they were clean-shaven, unless they were old—then there was no point in trying to look like elves.The beards he saw were all gray without exception.

The royal palace is located where the terrain of the city begins to climb to the slopes of Mount Meneltamar. There are no traces of battle on the smooth stone walls, and it is almost pure white under the moonlight.They dismounted, and entered the palace through a high gate.Pengolod looked back at the door one more time. The primary consideration when building it was not defense, but beauty.Different banners hung in the vaulted corridors, but no shields or weapons.Pengolod was led into a green court where pillars plunged into the open sky.It seemed, he thought, that some king had been to Linton once upon a time, and had been so impressed by the patterned stone floors there that he had arranged such a similar patio here.

Minas Tir was in the garden, standing proudly between two pillars.There are vines twining around the pillars, and the vines are dotted with flowers shaped like stars.As soon as the king bowed his head, the jewel in the crown flashed: "Elensilumenontaro."[1]

Pengolod suddenly felt tongue-tied and speechless.As soon as Minastir opened his mouth, he understood that all the envoys of Romenna and even many nobles who went to Central Continent to fight in the war had learned that terrible Sindarin accent from whom.Long ago, a mentor had told him how to deal with the s-sounds and final consonants in Sindarin, so as to soften its distinction from the harder languages ​​of mortals.Minas Tier must have kept this in mind, and he made the words too "elven" and destroyed the real language itself.

Fortunately, Pengolod faced a king, and he had a moment to kneel in silent salute, and remember the rigid reply to the ancient greeting: "Gilthoniela Elbereth, Tar-Minas Tyr! You are right when you say it in this beautiful garden in this beautiful country."

Minastir stretched out a hand as an invitation: "Sure enough, the speech is elegant. Do you know that among the fair races, you are the first to see this garden. Your people came to Númenor. Most of them stopped only a little on our west coast, and your High King was too busy at war during my reign to visit. I am glad that at last Armenelos has the honor of receiving a member of the noble Eldar."

Pengolod smiled, lowered his head, and struggled once again when responding: "Noble king... It is really unusual that I have received such a welcome just because I was born into an elf family. I should feel I am a thousand times more honored." He was right, but he also felt that nine hundred and ninety-nine times was too much for him.He thought that Minastiel's fantasy about elf nobles might be shattered at any time-he would mention that his father was a rope maker, or Minastiel would notice that his pair were hidden in the elf's big sleeves , hands that are always stained with ink.

Pengolod pulled his hands back into his sleeves calmly, and at the same time Minastiel declared confidently: "Lord Pengolod, as a member of the Firstborn, you are so humble! I I have seen your name in some of our ancient books, and you are called the sage Pengolod; and my son Cirjatan also says that you have been counselor to your king for countless ages. It is my pleasure to give you the welcome you deserve. Come on, we have a feast of Midsummer Thanksgiving tonight. Our humble celebration, although it is for mortals, I hope it will suit your tastes in some way. "

Pengolod smiled again. "I have no doubts." They left the garden.Pengolod felt that his wit was gone, and he was troubled.He felt that he was only making hollow echoes from his audience.

Minas Tier was obviously used to talking without interruption, and he kept talking about the people of Pengolod, with a sincere look on his long face: "I assure you, I have a lot of admiration for the Firstborn. You are in every way the best of the talking races of Arda: beauty, art, handiwork, nobility of nature, harmony with birds and beasts, and above all—how fortunate and blessed are your people, to live forever in fair Arda."

Pengolod replied warily: "Tar Minastir, the elves have as many reasons to think mortals are worthy of admiration, and besides, you are fortunate enough not to bear the burden of time."

"We also have such a saying here. It is said that the elderly are more able to appreciate that kind of freedom. I am getting older, but for some reason, I still don't have that kind of experience." Minas Tier laughed, but it was a little dry. "Also, you can meet the Valar, the messengers of Iluvatar in this world. You are even allowed to live with them in their kingdom. We are luckier than other mortals because we can see the land. I have built a tower in the western part of the island, which is my private retreat. When the affairs of state are not so heavy, I spend my time there studying sacred learning, with my heart and eyes fixed on the west."

"I have seen Avaloni clearly from Mount Meneltamar," said Pengolod.

Minas Tier laughed: "Indeed! And I have heard that you have watched long. Perhaps, in winter, you will come with me to my tower, and see Avaloni from there - if you go there If you haven't set off to go west.