The Lost Road and Other Writings. Christopher Tolkien

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      There were one or two new words here, of which he wanted to discover the meaning: it had escaped before he could write it down this morning. Probably they were names: tarkalion was almost certainly a king’s name, for tār was common in royal names. It was curious how often the remembered snatches harped on the theme of a ‘straight road’. What was atalante? It seemed to mean ruin or downfall, but also to be a name.

      Alboin felt restless. He left his bed and went to the window. He stood there a long while looking out to sea; and as he stood a chill wind got up in the West. Slowly over the dark rim of sky and water’s meeting clouds lifted huge heads, and loomed upwards, stretching out vast wings, south and north.

‘They look like the eagles of the Lord of the West over Númenor,’ he said aloud, and started. He had not purposed any words. For a moment he had felt the oncoming of a great disaster long foreseen. Now memory stirred, but could not be grasped. He shivered. He went back to bed and lay wondering. Suddenly the old desire came over him. It had been growing again for a long time, but he had not felt it like this, a feeling as vivid as hunger or thirst, for years, not since he was about Audoin’s age.

      ‘I wish there was a “Time-machine”,’ he said aloud. ‘But Time is not to be conquered by machines. And I should go back, not forward; and I think backwards would be more possible.’

      The clouds overcame the sky, and the wind rose and blew; and in his ears, as he fell asleep at last, there was a roaring in the leaves of many trees, and a roaring of long waves upon the shore. ‘The storm is coming upon Númenor!’ he said, and passed out of the waking world.

      In a wide shadowy place he heard a voice.

      ‘Elendil!’ it said. ‘Alboin, whither are you wandering?’

      ‘Who are you?’ he answered. ‘And where are you?’

      A tall figure appeared, as if descending an unseen stair towards him. For a moment it flashed through his thought that the face, dimly seen, reminded him of his father.

      ‘I am with you. I was of Númenor, the father of many fathers before you. I am Elendil, that is in Eressëan “Elf-friend”, and many have been called so since. You may have your desire.’

      ‘What desire?’

      ‘The long-hidden and the half-spoken: to go back.’

      ‘But that cannot be, even if I wish it. It is against the law.’

      ‘It is against the rule. Laws are commands upon the will and are binding. Rules are conditions; they may have exceptions.’

      ‘But are there ever any exceptions?’

      ‘Rules may be strict, yet they are the means, not the ends, of government. There are exceptions; for there is that which governs and is above the rules. Behold, it is by the chinks in the wall that light comes through, whereby men become aware of the light and therein perceive the wall and how it stands. The veil is woven, and each thread goes an appointed course, tracing a design; yet the tissue is not impenetrable, or the design would not be guessed; and if the design were not guessed, the veil would not be perceived, and all would dwell in darkness. But these are old parables, and I came not to speak such things. The world is not a machine that makes other machines after the fashion of Sauron. To each under the rule some unique fate is given, and he is excepted from that which is a rule to others. I ask if you would have your desire?’

      ‘I would.’

      ‘You ask not: how or upon what conditions.’

      ‘I do not suppose I should understand how, and it does not seem to me necessary. We go forward, as a rule, but we do not know how. But what are the conditions?’

      ‘That the road and the halts are prescribed. That you cannot return at your wish, but only (if at all) as it may be ordained. For you shall not be as one reading a book or looking in a mirror, but as one walking in living peril. Moreover you shall not adventure yourself alone.’

      ‘Then you do not advise me to accept? You wish me to refuse out of fear?’

      ‘I do not counsel, yes or no. I am not a counsellor. I am a messenger, a permitted voice. The wishing and the choosing are for you.’

      ‘But I do not understand the conditions, at least not the last. I ought to understand them all clearly.’

      ‘You must, if you choose to go back, take with you Herendil, that is in other tongue Audoin, your son; for you are the ears and he is the eyes. But you may not ask that he shall be protected from the consequences of your choice, save as your own will and courage may contrive.’

      ‘But I can ask him, if he is willing?’

      ‘He would say yes, because he loves you and is bold; but that would not resolve your choice.’

      ‘And when can I, or we, go back?’

      ‘When you have made your choice.’

      The figure ascended and receded. There was a roaring as of seas falling from a great height. Alboin could still hear the tumult far away, even after his waking eyes roamed round the room in the grey light of morning. There was a westerly gale blowing. The curtains of the open window were drenched, and the room was full of wind.