Comet's sword has found its mark. The blood of the Teleri Lord lies in a pool beneath the couch upon which lies the lifeless body of the Lord of Alqualondë. Will the King be bidden to enter the Halls of Mandos, dashing the hopes of desperate Children of Ilúvatar, or will the will of Olwë rise up? The dreadful moment has comes, and Olwë's Tower is silent as all wait ....
Olwe gives a soft smile, his eyes fluttering and closing. A lethargy comes over the Lord of Alqualonde, and images of loved ones swim up from a sea of memories: the first days of life at Cuiviénen, the childlike amazement at the creation of Eru; the journey Westward, travelling besides his brothers Elwe and Elmo; that terrible first night in Beleriand, when Elwe did not return from the forest and no one could find him; the birth of Earwen, the feel of her in his awkward grasp; later, the marriage of Earwen, the tearful farewell as she left; the first time Tilion kissed him, telling the shy Olwe of an Ainu’s love for a Teleri king. Unbidden, each memory floats up from the sea of Olwe’s long life. It was a good life, he thinks.
His breathing slows, as his heart slowed. A warmth flows from where the amulet rests against his shirt and envelops him like a warm blanket. Olwe feels himself sinking, a rocking sensation as though beneath the waves of the world, sinking to the floor of the ocean, in Ulmo’s arms, like when he would carry Earwen up to her bed when she would fall asleep in his lap as a young child. “Am I become like a child?” he thinks.
Gradually, Olwe realizes that he cannot feel his body, has not sensation of arms or legs, and the thought does not seem to dismay him. Before his internal vision rise the arches of a familiar building, the stone columns supporting it on either side tall and massive. Under the arch, a grim figure stands, clothed all in black. Olwe’s heart and breathing stop. Slowly the figure raises its hand, palm outward to Olwe, and two words issues from the figure’s lips. “Go back!”
Olwe feels himself stopped as though by an invisible force. He peers through the mist at the dark, foreboding figure in the shadows of the archway.
"You are not to be allowed in these Halls, Elf King! This is not to be the time for you to wait on me."
"Who calls me?" he asks, an hesitancy in the voice.
" I am Namo Feanturi, Lord of Mandos."
The words send a chill through the Teleri Lord, the very name causing a fear to rise him. He looks past Mandos, straining his eyes. Now that he knows where he is, he thinks he can hear a myriad of voices.
"The King of the Valar, Manwe Sulimo, has treated on your behalf, Olwe Ciriaran." He looks at the Elven princling and wonders what it is that has captured the heart of his Ainu friend, Tilion.
"Manwe?" he repeats, dimly. He feels overwhelmed, lost, unable to process where he is and who he stands now before. Olwe hears Mando's words, and his eyes widen. His astral body relaxes, and he breathes, "Tilion. Thank the Valar."
"Lord Manwe has granted your wish, and that of Isil's Maia. You will not reside in my Hall this day."
"Then, it will be with Tilion, my soul will reside when it is shed of flesh?" Too late, as soon as he voices this, does he realize he is now shorn of flesh.
"Go back. Go back to your People and to those that love you, gentle Elf." Mandos looks at the Teleri King once more, turns and returns to his Hall.
The Words "Go back." have their force, and Olwe, unable to control, or defy Mandos in this place, is flung backwards...away from the hall, from the sound of elven voice...but...to where?
From his throne, Mandos watches as Olwe is removed from his doorstep, and wonders again. "Who is this one? How has he come to be so favored?"
His breathing slows, as his heart slowed. A warmth flows from where the amulet rests against his shirt and envelops him like a warm blanket. Olwe feels himself sinking, a rocking sensation as though beneath the waves of the world, sinking to the floor of the ocean, in Ulmo’s arms, like when he would carry Earwen up to her bed when she would fall asleep in his lap as a young child. “Am I become like a child?” he thinks.
Gradually, Olwe realizes that he cannot feel his body, has not sensation of arms or legs, and the thought does not seem to dismay him. Before his internal vision rise the arches of a familiar building, the stone columns supporting it on either side tall and massive. Under the arch, a grim figure stands, clothed all in black. Olwe’s heart and breathing stop. Slowly the figure raises its hand, palm outward to Olwe, and two words issues from the figure’s lips. “Go back!”
Olwe feels himself stopped as though by an invisible force. He peers through the mist at the dark, foreboding figure in the shadows of the archway.
"You are not to be allowed in these Halls, Elf King! This is not to be the time for you to wait on me."
"Who calls me?" he asks, an hesitancy in the voice.
" I am Namo Feanturi, Lord of Mandos."
The words send a chill through the Teleri Lord, the very name causing a fear to rise him. He looks past Mandos, straining his eyes. Now that he knows where he is, he thinks he can hear a myriad of voices."The King of the Valar, Manwe Sulimo, has treated on your behalf, Olwe Ciriaran." He looks at the Elven princling and wonders what it is that has captured the heart of his Ainu friend, Tilion.
"Manwe?" he repeats, dimly. He feels overwhelmed, lost, unable to process where he is and who he stands now before. Olwe hears Mando's words, and his eyes widen. His astral body relaxes, and he breathes, "Tilion. Thank the Valar."
"Lord Manwe has granted your wish, and that of Isil's Maia. You will not reside in my Hall this day."
"Then, it will be with Tilion, my soul will reside when it is shed of flesh?" Too late, as soon as he voices this, does he realize he is now shorn of flesh.
"Go back. Go back to your People and to those that love you, gentle Elf." Mandos looks at the Teleri King once more, turns and returns to his Hall.
The Words "Go back." have their force, and Olwe, unable to control, or defy Mandos in this place, is flung backwards...away from the hall, from the sound of elven voice...but...to where?
From his throne, Mandos watches as Olwe is removed from his doorstep, and wonders again. "Who is this one? How has he come to be so favored?"
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