Chapter Text
Long ago, ere Ælfræd of Wessex vanquished the Danes and converted their lord to the faith of the Christ, was born in the south of Britannia a mariner whose tales would marvel many and cause great uproar amongst a few. For they were to tell of undying lands and of beings of great might and wisdom who were accounted not in the scriptures of the Lord.
It is said that none of the writings of him they called Ælfwine the Fartravelled escaped the wrath of the pious Eadred, the third king of the English. Yet the knowledge of his great journey was not wholly lost; for in the years that followed the passing of the mariner, Leofdæg his sister-son had a brief sojourn at Cranborne Abbey upon the River Crane and recounted to the orphans who dwelt in that monastic house the astonishing tales of his kinsman’s travels.
And he said to them that in the time of King Eadweard the Elder, the longing for the sea was awoken in Ælfwine’s heart, as it had in all of his forefathers before him since days beyond memory. And so he journeyed to Hibernia to learn more of the voyages of Mauldin and Saint Brendan from the seamen who made their abode upon those shores; and with him went Tréowine his friend, and also Ceola of Sumorsæte and Geraint of Wealas.
And it came to pass that one day, as he journeyed along a narrow road on the fringes of the land once ruled by Conn of the Hundred Battles, Ælfwine came to the edge of a dark forest that was shrouded in a foreboding mist. As if summoned by a siren's call, an overwhelming desire arose then in him to see what lay within those woods, and so he turned from the road and went forth into the gloom.
After some time had passed, the Saxon mariner reached a brighter and more open area of the forest, wherein several trails crossed; and following one of these paths, he came at length to an odd-looking grot amid a cluster of willows, the entrance whereof was rimmed by long vines, green and fragrant, that joined at the top as if forming an archway. Upon entering the cave, Ælfwine saw in the dim light several items arrayed about which seemed to him strange and ancient, unlike aught he had seen before. At length, from the dark recesses of the cavern came a voice, clear and silvery, which said to him, “None came upon the way to this grot since the Great Sundering changed the land. What doom has brought you hither?”
“I came to Hibernia to learn from those who ventured beyond the Whispering Seas,” replied the mariner. “Whether it was fate or chance that guided my steps, I know not.”
After a moment the cave-dweller came forth from the shadows, and Ælfwine saw one tall and dark-haired, whose eyes seemed to glow brightly from within. The stranger’s gaze remained fixed upon the mariner for some time, as if attempting to read his purpose on his countenance, but at length he said, “You seek the Vanishing Isles, which were beheld by few and gained by none.”
“Have you knowledge of the way to them? Pray tell.” entreated Ælfwine.
The cave-dweller turned his gaze slowly towards a dimly glowing stone that rested upon a stand in a nearby corner of the grot, and with his grave eyes fixed upon that strange item, he said quietly, “Long ago, I was numbered among those who called home the fair lands that lie beyond those enchanted isles, but that grace is given me no more.”
“Much lore and wisdom I glean in your words. What is your name, stranger?” said Ælfwine.
The cave-dweller turned his head slowly back to the mariner. “Maglor they once called me,” he said, “but of the tale of my days I shall speak not.”
Ælfwine moved a step closer to the stranger and said, “Not before did I behold eyes that shine as yours; mayhap you be of that mysterious kindred that is said to hail from the obscure lands east of the far-off Rus?”
“Beyond the reach of men lies the land of my birth,” replied Maglor. “I am of the Calaquendi, those known to your ancient kinsfolk as the Elves of Light, and the last of my people who remain yet in these shores.”
The words of the elf brought to Ælfwine’s mind in that moment those old lays sung by some of the Norse seamen that told of a race of heavenly beings called the ‘Light-elves;’ and so the desire arose in him to learn more of the Calaquendi and their far-off realms, but of these things Maglor said no more.
On the following morning Ælfwine arose at dawn and found himself alone in the cave; and certain that he could learn naught more of the Vanishing Isles in that place, he prepared at once to make his way back to his dwelling place. But as the mariner trod forth along the path that had brought him thither, he came at length to a crossing that he was certain he had passed before; and greatly puzzled by this, he journeyed by different routes for several hours seeking to find a way out of that forest, but ever he returned somehow to that same crossroad. At last, weary and disheartened, he sat on the ground and rested his back against a crooked tree that stood by the side of the road, and soon fell into a deep slumber.
As the mariner slept, a most vivid and enigmatic dream came to him. In it he saw a vast region of rugged highlands that stretched for many leagues as far as the eye could see, and in their midst a black fortress, strong and proud, that stood tall above all else. Seven great towers rose along its mighty wall, and above its keep, three golden pinnacles soared high aloft that glittered like fiery gems against the clear blue sky.
Upon awakening from his long slumber, Ælfwine remained still for some time, pondering on the strange and vivid vision that had come to him, but his musings were soon brought to an end by a voice that said to him, “Unaided and unwearied you came through the hidden passes to my dwelling place, and yet no further than this twisted tree can your steps now take you.”
The mariner at once raised his gaze to a hillock that stood across the road wherefrom he sat, and standing atop that mound, he found the tall figure of the odd stranger he had met the day before. “A queer sorcery is no doubt at work in these woods,” he replied.
“Mayhap your purpose in this forest is not yet met,” said the elf.
“No aim brought me hither,” replied the mariner, “save to gain wisdom on the Vanishing Isles, and naught in this place, it seems, can aid me on that quest.”
At that moment the cave-dweller leapt from the top of the mound and landed with astonishing ease on the side of the road, more than five lengths below; and ere the mariner could gather the words to remark on the amazing litheness of the elf, Maglor walked up to him and said, “Tell me of your dream.”
On hearing this request the man’s eyes narrowed, as with suspicion. After a moment he said, “You have knowledge of things you were told not. Perhaps the sorcery whereof I spoke is not in these woods.”
“Nay,” replied the elf as he sat down upon a log next to the man, “far beyond my skills are the spirits who guard this forest.” Ælfwine remained silent for a moment as he wondered about the meaning of those words; but at length he straightened himself and began to describe to the strange one before him the scenes that had come to him while he slept.
As Maglor listened to the man’s description, his expression began to turn grave; and after the mariner had come to the end of his recount, he remained silent for a long while with his eyes cast down. At length he said in a low voice, “Those things you beheld were images of an ancient land that is no more.” And following a short pause, he lifted his eyes to the man, gazed at him keenly for a moment and then added gravely, “A strange doom has brought you hither.”
“Naught other than to gain knowledge of the Whispering Seas brought me to these shores,” replied the mariner. “And no dreams or visions of long-lost lands will aid me in that purpose.”
“I know not why those images came to you,” said the elf, “but I am certain that chance was not that brought you to my abode; for alone of all who walk on this earth, I have seen the place in your dream.” Following that he rose to his feet and turned his eyes towards some far-off point to the west. “Those hills were part of a vast land that sunk into the depths of the sea in ages long past,” he continued. “Yet not all trace of that world vanished utterly, for there remains even now a small piece of it that was swallowed not by the waves.”
Maglor paused briefly at that moment and drew a long breath as a forlorn expression began to draw itself on his countenance. After a short while he resumed, “It is a barren isle west of the Sunken Pillars, which mariners shun. There once stood a mighty stronghold, hewn from the black stone of Gonondath, that watched over the eastern passes into an ancient realm that was called Beleriand.” He closed his eyes at that point, as in sorrow, but after some time he lifted his gaze again towards the west and concluded, “But Himring the Great fell at last to the host of the North. And its towering walls were broken and its deep foundations laid bare; and with the waning of those who followed the King of the Noldor across the ancient sea, the bright days of its splendour passed out of thought and song.”
On the following day Ælfwine set off again towards the coast, and this time, he was able to find his way out of that strange forest. Upon reaching his abode he took counsel with Tréowine his friend, and two days thereafter the two, along with Ceola, Geraint and a handful of hired sailors, boarded a vessel and set course for the small isle of Maglor’s tale.
Favourable winds soon brought their vessel to the desired shores, and once the craft was securely anchored, Ælfwine and Tréowine alighted and began to explore the barren grounds. At length they came upon a large boulder that seemed strangely out of place; and looking underneath it, they found a hole in the ground that was the entrance to a dark tunnel, at the end of which lay a dimly lit chamber. After searching that place for some time, they found that the source of the light was a black round stone that rested upon a high stand in a corner of the room. Though the two put forth all of their strength, they could not get the stone to budge from its rest, and at length, weary and defeated, they sat on the floor with their backs against the wall and pondered on the nature of the mysterious force that held that object in place.
Ere long, however, the light from the stone began to brighten, and as the two arose and came towards it , they saw a number of scenes appear within its surface, as though they were looking through a glass. In those images they beheld a handful of glittering islands appear as if by magic on the western seas as the full moon crossed the path of the Evenstar at the setting of the sun. And in that instant Ælfwine knew that he had found the way to the Vanishing Isles.
The mariner and his companions climbed aboard their vessel once more and set course towards the west; and on midsummer’s day, as the red sun sank across that far-off line where the sea meets the sky, they came at last within sight of the long-sought islands. But in that very moment dark clouds appeared suddenly above them, and a strong wind came in from the east which tore their sails and bore their ship whither it willed. And at last, knowing not how he had come thither, Ælfwine awoke alone on a white shore, wherein the grains of sand glittered as gems and the sound of the waves was as the sweet tones of a gentle flute. And that was the coast of Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, that no man had seen since the days of the legendary Kingdom of Númenor, ere the breaking of the world.