[Mahanaxar, Valinor]
The full brilliance of a perfect Valinorian dawn shown down upon the majestic ring of carefully hewn stone thrones and their equally regal occupants. A low chatter echoed among and between the stones, barely audible even to Elven ears, if there had been any close enough to eavesdrop. But none of the First Born would dare intrude upon the Council of the Valar uninvited, although it was their kind which were, once more, the subject of the meeting of the heavenly lords and ladies.
Varda the most lovely, the shining, snow-white Lady of the Stars so beloved by the Eldar, and who held them equally adored, sat in caution-filled silence at the head of the ring in her traditional place of honor next to Manwe, her husband, the mighty Lord of the Valar. His brilliant sapphire robes initially trapped the eye, yet failed to hold its attention long, as one's gaze could not help but be drawn with dizzying swiftness to the nearly painfully intense splendor of Elbereth Gilthoniel.
The Star-kindler stared with a wary eye across her husband's familiar form at the figure seated to his immediate right -- the shimmering, silver-green, imposing appearance of Ulmo, Lord of the Oceans. Ulmo usually attended such council meetings with blustering reluctance and frustrating tardiness, yet not this particular morn. No, on this golden day he was the first to arrive, and any hint of indignation at being summarily summoned was uncharacteristically absent from his demeanor. Indeed, there was something of impatience in his manner, not to end the meeting, as was his usual desire, but to begin it. Ulmo raised his deep sea-green stare from the stone floor of the council and met Varda's intense visual inspection, a hint of a smile briefly passing nearly unseen across his lips.
"My brethren, we have assembled to discuss the plea of Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin," Manwe announced, his voice lyrical in its beauty and strength, reflecting the greater part he had taken in the original song of the Ainur. "She asks that we intercede in the matter of her daughter, Celebrian, and the possibility of a union with Elrond Peredhil, son of Earendil."
An unsettled murmur clearly reverberated through the assembly, one particular voice, belonging to the stern-faced figure seated directly to Varda's left, raising to an unmistakable complaint. "You speak the name of the Kinslayers as though their pleas were our common concern," Orome unsympathetically spat.
A graceful, delicate hand emerging from a sleeve of golden flowers calmly stroked the angered lord's arm. "Husband, all was forgiven and set aside after the War of the Jewels," Vana the ever-young reminded her mate.
Orome grumbled out a loud breath and further objections. "That was not the unanimous choice of all of this council."
Across the circle the pale Lady of the Fountains shifted noticeably in her gray robes.
"Many have suffered in the last Great Year," Este sorrowfully lamented, her voice seeming the whisper of a dream, yet at the same time clearly not. "The cries of Middle-earth continue unabated, even in their sleep. Cries of widows and fatherless children."
"Is the Lord of Imladris one of the widows of whom you speak?" Orome prodded with unabashed derision, his impatience and ill-humor refusing to recede.
"His pain is as real as any other whose lament reaches my ears," Irmo offered most sincerely, tenderly grasping his pale wife's hand in a palpable sign of support. "And was as earnestly earned. I have sent Elrond vivid dreams of more joyous times, hoping to ease his pain, yet it has only seemed to drive him farther into despair."
A deep, sorrowful sigh could be heard to his right. "If his pain becomes too unbearable, he may choose to follow his King to my husband's halls," Vaire, the weaver of memories, warned without joy.
As was his nature, Mandos sat silent and stone-faced, at his wife's side, completely unmoved by what he heard. His pronouncements were beyond emotion, without passion, based simply on unflappable evidence and irrefutable reason. Only once had he been swayed from his appointed task, to judge and rehabilitate the dead in preparation for their release from his care back into the world. Only Luthien had been able to sway his heart, and his hand.
The black-garbed figure seated to his right was, however, not immune to the pleas of others. The Solitary Lady of Mourning and Healing, Nienna, sister of Manwe, closed her eyes tightly, the lines of deep-rooted and sincerely felt pity etched across her brow. "I feel the sorrow of the High King's heart just as keenly as you hear his spouse's laments. Of all the pleasures of Arda, Gil-galad would gladly forsake them all without complaint, if it be our will, save one -- the taste of his beloved's lips."
"The Galadrim, too, cry out in their pain, for they suffered the loss of their king and many of their bravest bowmen in the assault on Mordor," Vana insistently offered. "The golden leaves of Lothlorien rustle with the sorrow of their hearts, as surely as the very wind itself."
Yavanna the most fair, her tall, graceful frame draped in the rich green of forest hues, made a vividly contrasting figure to the paleness of the gray-garbed Este uneasily seated at her right. "I, too, hear the sorrow of the Lady of the Wood, she who loves the Galadrim and their trees with the fullest depth of her heart. She worries with good reason that her line may end, as her daughter has shown no desire in all this age, or the last, for a husband. Until now, it seems."
"Her pleas reach my ears, as well," Varda added gently. "I also hear the pain of Elrond's heart, the golden blood each carries in their veins making their woes more sorrowful still to my ears...."
"You summon us here merely because you fear the precious blood of the fair Faithful will vanish from Middle-earth?" Orome interrupted. "It is strong enough here, in Valinor, where the Minyar have long dwelled by our side, as is their rightful place. They whom you favor most of all are in no danger of becoming extinct. You shall hear their sweet praises sung in your name until the very end of Ea."
Remaining as steady as the heavenly illumination of her handicraft, Varda calmly dispelled one of Orome's most egregiously incorrect assumptions. "The line of Ingwe is stronger in Middle-earth than you believe. Its blood mingles among the leaves of Greenwood the Great still."
A loud, undignified snort erupted from Varda's left. "That line is cursed, and will die out by the folly of its own hand soon enough."
With a hint of Anar's flame clearly burning in her intense gaze, Varda rebuked Orome once again. "It may be cursed, yet it is not without hope. Not so long as they call out to me. My ear will always be turned toward them, in times of pain and joy equally."
"I fear joy may never visit their house again," Aule the blacksmith sorrowfully observed, his features awash with the ache of compassionate understanding.
"It is not the fate of the Faithful alone which brings us here, my brethren," Ulmo impatiently interjected from his seat at Aule's side. "There is far more at stake here. The Children of the Moon and those of the Sun, the First Born and the Second, are sundering farther from each other with the passing of years. Not only in politics, but, more importantly, in blood. Just as the light of the Trees was brightest when both intermingled, so too the light of Luthien's line shall shine forth once more only if its two cleaved branches are reunited. This cannot happen if her line is allowed to end in the bloodlines of the Eldar."
Manwe raised a hand and urged calm from his visibly agitated friend. "We know well your prophecy concerning the return of Morgoth, and your protection of the lines of Earendil and Turin, your champions."
With a purposeful, emotion-settling breath, Ulmo struggled to regain his composure. "It is more than merely continuing their lines, my Lord -- it is strengthening them. Just as a braided rope bears a more burdensome load than can its separate threads, the line of Luthien can only bear the burdens of this age if it is strengthened by weaving together its stray strands. Galadriel has seen the wisdom in this, as has her daughter. It is indeed well that they have heeded the wisdom of their dreams."
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
