Eönwë in Sylvahara

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AelKennyr Rhiano

Sylvamir Plaza was quiet as the sun rose.  Eonwe turns and regards Arien's fiery vessel as it climbed slowly higher into the sky.  His eyes waters, staring in to the sun, and automatically, Eonwe raises a hand to protect them.  He blinks a few times to clear his sight.  It had been many ages since he was last in corporeal form, and he was still adjusting to the "heaviness" of this physical body.  He lowers his arm and drops the hand to his belt, casting his gaze about the silent plaza. Somewhere in the distance, a horse whickers and stamps a hoof against a wooden floor. Eonwe draws in a deep breath, the sweetness of morning dew mingled with the smell of bread baking and the metallic salt from the sea.


The sound of his boots rang out across the empty plaza as Eonwe circles the expanse, studying each building in turn, his blue eyes intent on memorizing every detail. Here in the pale dawn, there was nothing about the silent structures that hinted at the dire situation the Lady Nienna, Vala of Compassion, described to Lord Manwe.  There were no embattlements that he could see, no tall, rough hewn keeps such as he remembered in earlier ages.  The buildings were more finished, more detailed, more ornate.

He regards each one with a soldier's eye as he weaves his way through the sleep elven citadel, taking in everything.  Is war truly coming to the realm of the Sylvan elves?  Would this all be in danger of being destroyed?  Up ahead was a building set apart from all others. Eonwe quickens his pace, and comes upon the temple.  Scanning it he looks for any symbols or signs that would confirm it was, indeed, a temple to Eru himself. But although he scours the exterior, he finds nothing to identify it as a place in which to offer prayers to Father of All.  Cautiously, the Herald of Manwe enters the building and looks around.   The first floor was clean, the sweet aroma of fragrant herbs everywhere, the floor polished to a high shine, the furnishings well cared, polished, clean.  Eonwe moves from one part of the room to the next, and then he carefully makes his way to the next floor. 

There were several small altars, each with its own pillow set in front for the devotee.  His eyes sweep the room. "So many, " he murmurs, moving up to the first one.  "Who is this maiden with a sword?" he asks himself, peering closely. 

It was not like any depiction of any Vala he was used to. He then walks over to the next altar, where the image hanging over the altar looks more lik a dragon.  He frowns, a puzzled look on his face. 

Slowly, he crosses from one to the other and then stops in the center of the room.  Turning around, he asks himself. "Where is the altar of Eru?  Can it be that the Children have forgotten?" he asks, and his voice betrays a tone of surprise and disbelief, uncharacteristic for the Herald of Manwe.  He cannot but help to wonder what shall become of the Children if Darkness falls again. If they know not the Light, shall they recognize the shadow?  Then he quietly takes himself to a part of the room and allows the physical form to fade away, patiently waiting for Eru's sole cleric to hopefully provide answers.

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