Bent upon his task as Herald to the gracious Lord of the Breath of Arda, Eonwe arrives at the Halls of Mandos, the shades of the first Children of Illuvatar walking its ancient corridors, though none seem to notice the Banner-Bearer. He descends with sure steps to the lower, ancient levels, knowing his way, his feet sure upon the crumbled stone steps. His dispassionate blue eyes scan the walls, the floor, the ceiling, as the hair upon the back of the neck of his physical body stands up. A sensation of cold makes him pull the lightweight woollen cloak about him. Finally he spies a Maia walking at a quick pace toward him. His low, resonant voice greets the fellow Maia. "Take me, brother, unto the Lord Aule," he requests. The Maia nods, gives a short bow of his head to Eonwe, turns with grace and poise, and leads the Heralds onward and down.
It has been some days since the last of the dark writings on the walls of Melkor's cell had cleared. Yet oddly, Aule found himself drawn to return there often. He was wont to spend long hours just standing in the cell, his eyes appearing to see distant things, deep in thought. As yet he had been unable to bring himself to leave the Halls of Mandos such was the pull of the cell upon him. This day he had risen early to return to the cell yet again, but now he has been forced to reluctantly leave it to attend to correspondence. His feet dragging, he makes his way back up the long corridors towards his chambers. Upon rounding a corner, he sees a Maia hurrying towards him, with Eonwe, the Herald of Manwe, following close on his heels.
Footsteps echo through the stone passage, the sound of his boots striking upon the worn stone as his heels tap out each step he takes. The Maia ahead of him is attired in garments befitting a stoneworker and so his shoes make but soft, scuffing noises. As they round a corner, the sound of another set of boots is heard, and Eonwe lifts his head and turns his gaze past the shoulder of the Maia to see the Mighty Smith before him. He stops, and sweeping his cloak aside, goes down on one knee with practiced ease. "Hail, Aule, Mighty Lord and Master Smith of all Arda. The will of the Valar be done."
Aule stops in his stride at the sight of the approaching maiar. His face registers mild surprise at the sight of the Herald, but then his eyes narrow slightly. His voice has a chill upon it as he says, "Greetings, Eonwe. Please rise and be welcome."
Eonwe rises gracefully at the Lord Aule's command. His eyes, impassive, take in the Maia between them, and the Vala before him. "On behalf of my Lord Manwe, I greet thee, Oh, Mighty Lord," he intones, his voice falling easily into the cadence and tone well known to all who attends the Lord of the West. "My Lord has bid me come unto you to make note of the things you have discovered in the chambers once occupied by the Fallen One." He does not mention Melkor's name. He does not have need. There has only been one Vala since the Singing of the Great Song of Creation who has taken upon himself to challenge Blessed Eru. "I hope, my Lord, I do not disturb you, nor do I come at an inopportune time."
Aule glances at the Maia who had led Eonwe to him. "You may leave us!' he snaps, his voice more than a little imperious and impatient. He watches the Maia's retreating back for long moments as he thinks upon Eonwe's words. Finally he turns his gaze back to the herald, his eyes as cold and flinty as the rock that surrounds them as he says, "So you are the one brother Manwe has sent to inspect the cell! He would bid me leave and return to the Noldor but would send his Herald, his messenger boy, to deal with it instead? Well, disturbing me or not, I heed my mighty brother's commands, as always, and you may inspect the chamber." His lips curve into an ironic smile.
An eyebrow arches as the Master Smith dismisses the Maia, and Eonwe watches as the Maia hastens to leave them, his shoulders slumped and his eyes meeting Eonwe's for a moment, a look that the Herald cannot quite judge. The gaze the Vala turns upon Manwe's Herald is disdainful and sharp, and the tone of voice colder and more haughty than ever Eonwe remembered the Maker's to be. But the Mightiest in Arms does not flinch at the coldness, nor does he betray any emotion but answers smoothly, his voice resonating and bouncing off the stone which surrounds them. "It is not for me to question the will of the Breath of Arda," he replies with a respectful bow of his head. "But instead it is for me to submit myself gladly to his will, trusting to the design of Blessed Iluvatar." He allows his eyes to meet Aule's with a level stare. "But, in truth, my Lord, it is the intent of my Lord Manwe that I make a record of the foul writings and symbols found within the chamber and report back to him. Nothing more was commanded of me."
Aule snorts contemptuously. His eyes look Eonwe up and down for a moment before he sneers. "You always were a pompous, long-winded one Eonwe, all full of yourself and your role as my brother's 'voice'. But come, I have better things to do than stand around here all day. You shall see the chambers and what there is to record. Follow me!" Without waiting to see if the Maia followed, Aule turns on his heel and stalks off down the corridor, returning from the direction he'd just come.
The words fall upon the ears of the Herald of Manwe like a slap across the face, nearly physical in their force. The venom in the Maker's words cause Eonwe's eyes to briefly widen in registered shock before he straightens the spine of this corporeal body and briefly curls the fingers of his right hand into a fist. He has seen Aule's pride now and again, when the Maker would seek out Manwe, but never had he heard the spite that now laces the Smith's words. He purses his lips, biting off any reply unworthy of his position, but with a slow growing anger, he follows Aule downward and below.
Aule pauses briefly on the threshold of Melkor's cell. His face softens as one who has returned home after a long journey. He runs his eyes over the walls as though they held fond memories for him. Taking a breath he steps forward and enters the chambers, moving to the center of the room. With an ironic flourish of his arm, he indicates the walls, "As you can see, there is nothing for you to record. The chamber has been cleansed. The spells are gone."
Eonwe sweeps into the chambers, stops and turns in a circle, his sharp blue eyes scrutinizing the ceiling, the floor, the walls. Nothing. There was nothing. He whirls about, the fist clenching tighter. This physical body reacts to his instant wash of anger and frustration. His body taut, a buzzing in his ears, for a moment his eyes narrow and regard the Vala with open hostility. Despite centuries of service to the Lord of the West, the calm demeanor of Manwe's herald is gone, replaced by a hot fury. "You violated the will of the Lord of the West?" His voice is low, laced with the heat of his anger. "You dared to disobey the commands of the Breath of Arda?"
Aule folds his arms and arches an eyebrow at the hot words. His voice openly sneering he says, "So my brother's puppy has some backbone after all, does he?" He takes a step closer to Eonwe and leans forward, his face very close to that of the Herald as he continues, his voice low and hard. "I would watch what trouble that famous tongue of yours might get you in by speaking to me, The Maker, in such manner, Eonwe. How dare you accuse me of disobeying my brother! What makes you so sure this chamber was not already cleansed by the time I received your wordy and overblown instructions from him? How dare you accuse me of disobeying my brother!" The lie slips easily from the tongue of one usually so upright and true, unnoticed by he and neatly disguised in accusation.
Eonwe steps forward, his lips curl into a sneer as his eyes meet the eyes of the Maker, and he clenches the other fist. The veins on the sides of his neck stand out like cords of thick rope as words spill out of his mouth. Molten and volcanic they seem, and his mouth is left dry and ashen in their wake. "We can determine the truth of thy words from questioning my brother Maia who attend thee, MAKER," he answers back, his voice a low but rising growl. "Let us see how they answer before my Lord Manwe, as to what was here and what was not when you first received the missive." He tilts his chin. "Perhaps, among the Valar a second has fallen into selfish aggrandisement."
Aule's face darkens at the last words that tumble from the tongue of the herald. His nostrils flare, white-rimmed in anger. The chamber seems to hum with strange energies as his anger mounts. His eyes narrow dangerously as he replies, "You overstep yourself, Eonwe, misled by your pride and your arrogance as my brother's Herald! You dare imply I lie!" Aule's voice is slowly rising as his anger builds. "You would question my Maiar over my word? The same Maiar who have been forbidden to enter these rooms since first they were opened for fear of their safety. How are they to know what was here and what was not when your precious missive arrived?" He stops and takes a long breath as he realises he was nearly shouting. He pauses for a moment and again lets his eyes roam insolently over the courtly attire of the one before him. Finally they rise to meet Eonwe's heated gaze. ''So you are among those who have never quite trusted me since the days I made the dwarves, eh? A pretty little snake in my brother's bosom, whispering poison against me in his ear. Is that what you are, Eonwe?"
Eonwe's hand itches to draw his sword, his fingers aches to curl around the familiar leather of the handle. Blood red washes across his sight of Aule standing before him, and for the first time in the immortal's existence, a hatred hardens in his heart, heavy laden yet beating with a life of its own. His own lips curls back, so that he seems to be giving the Vala a feral smile. "Do I imply, my Lord?" His voice trained from the long centuries of service, he turns it now to make the word "Lord" sound like a thing to despised. "For if so, I would correct that." He slides his feet shoulder length apart, his body assuming a battle ready stance. "I would not imply such a thing, my LORD, but have it stated." His blue eyes blaze with a fury that he does not pretend to withhold. "As for my brothers who attend you, they have been protected from that which was once in here, but they are far from fools." He lets the word hang between them, the implication clear in its not being voiced."There can be much gleamed from thy daily occupations to answer to Lord Manwe if thou hast any shred of loyalty." He uncurls his hands, and his eyes watch the Vala's every move. "Though I doubt such a thing can now be found." His nostrils flare and he gives a derisive snort. "As for 'snakes,' my LORD," He pauses and lets his eyes drop to Aule's dusty pants. "It seems between us you have kissed the ground with thy belly, not I."
Aule leans back and folds his arms, his lips curve into a derisive sneer as he reads in the Herald his desire to draw his sword. He arches an eyebrow contemptuously as he says, "So, there is more than ice in those cold veins of yours after all, is there, Eonwe? Be careful puppy, for next thing you know, you'll be down at the local tavern bedding a wench!" He pauses and snorts. "Or maybe not. Methinks that is still beyond beyond you, for puppy you still are, even though you seem to have learned how to yap. I rather think, though, that I preferred you as the unweaned little milksop I have known for so long. Enough of this insolence! You yourself said your task was to document the writings and return to Manwe. As there are no writings to document you may return to my brother, and I instruct you, Herald, to carry my avowal of utmost loyalty to my brother."
Eonwe reaches for his long sword and with a fluid motion, pulls it from its sheath at his back, the blade singing its battle joy, eager for battle. His fingers curl lovingly around the well-worn leather at its handle, and as he shifts into a well-practiced stance, he feels the cold, still familiar battle calm descend upon him. The blade caught a dim reflection from the fissures of lava, and shone, as though with pride. He glanced up, into the face of Aule, and his heart hardened further, bile rising to his throat. Barely he registers Aule’s command, but being called “Herald” was enough to remind him of his oath bound duty to the Lord of the Winds. Clasping the hilt of the sword with both hands, he points the blade at Aule’s throat. “Puppy,” he hisses. “Would I could dismiss duty as you have done and show you my bite.” He instead turns the sword, point downward and raising the sword above his head, he drives the blade into the earth, the steel seeming to scream in protest as it is thrust into the womb of the earth. “Let this be a reminder that unlike YOU,“ he says, looking over at Aule, the walls still reverberating with the sound of the action, “I know Duty. Unlike you, I understand fidelity. “ He releases the hilt and draws himself up to his full height. “Know this, too, Maker,” he says, “If you prove as false as thy brother, I shall be among the first to ensure you share his fate.” Then he gathers his cloak about him and vanishes.
Aule stares for long moments at the blade buried deep in the ground before him, that same blade that had just now been held to his throat. He raises his gaze at last and looks in the direction the Herald had vanished, muttering quietly under his breath, 'For this puppy, you shall pay. If I were you I would look to my own fate rather than worry about that of others.' The room around him seems to vibrate with the anger of the two men. He glances lovingly around the walls one last time, before departing for his chambers.
> Next Eonwë > Next Aulë
It has been some days since the last of the dark writings on the walls of Melkor's cell had cleared. Yet oddly, Aule found himself drawn to return there often. He was wont to spend long hours just standing in the cell, his eyes appearing to see distant things, deep in thought. As yet he had been unable to bring himself to leave the Halls of Mandos such was the pull of the cell upon him. This day he had risen early to return to the cell yet again, but now he has been forced to reluctantly leave it to attend to correspondence. His feet dragging, he makes his way back up the long corridors towards his chambers. Upon rounding a corner, he sees a Maia hurrying towards him, with Eonwe, the Herald of Manwe, following close on his heels.
Footsteps echo through the stone passage, the sound of his boots striking upon the worn stone as his heels tap out each step he takes. The Maia ahead of him is attired in garments befitting a stoneworker and so his shoes make but soft, scuffing noises. As they round a corner, the sound of another set of boots is heard, and Eonwe lifts his head and turns his gaze past the shoulder of the Maia to see the Mighty Smith before him. He stops, and sweeping his cloak aside, goes down on one knee with practiced ease. "Hail, Aule, Mighty Lord and Master Smith of all Arda. The will of the Valar be done."
Aule stops in his stride at the sight of the approaching maiar. His face registers mild surprise at the sight of the Herald, but then his eyes narrow slightly. His voice has a chill upon it as he says, "Greetings, Eonwe. Please rise and be welcome."
Eonwe rises gracefully at the Lord Aule's command. His eyes, impassive, take in the Maia between them, and the Vala before him. "On behalf of my Lord Manwe, I greet thee, Oh, Mighty Lord," he intones, his voice falling easily into the cadence and tone well known to all who attends the Lord of the West. "My Lord has bid me come unto you to make note of the things you have discovered in the chambers once occupied by the Fallen One." He does not mention Melkor's name. He does not have need. There has only been one Vala since the Singing of the Great Song of Creation who has taken upon himself to challenge Blessed Eru. "I hope, my Lord, I do not disturb you, nor do I come at an inopportune time."
Aule glances at the Maia who had led Eonwe to him. "You may leave us!' he snaps, his voice more than a little imperious and impatient. He watches the Maia's retreating back for long moments as he thinks upon Eonwe's words. Finally he turns his gaze back to the herald, his eyes as cold and flinty as the rock that surrounds them as he says, "So you are the one brother Manwe has sent to inspect the cell! He would bid me leave and return to the Noldor but would send his Herald, his messenger boy, to deal with it instead? Well, disturbing me or not, I heed my mighty brother's commands, as always, and you may inspect the chamber." His lips curve into an ironic smile.
An eyebrow arches as the Master Smith dismisses the Maia, and Eonwe watches as the Maia hastens to leave them, his shoulders slumped and his eyes meeting Eonwe's for a moment, a look that the Herald cannot quite judge. The gaze the Vala turns upon Manwe's Herald is disdainful and sharp, and the tone of voice colder and more haughty than ever Eonwe remembered the Maker's to be. But the Mightiest in Arms does not flinch at the coldness, nor does he betray any emotion but answers smoothly, his voice resonating and bouncing off the stone which surrounds them. "It is not for me to question the will of the Breath of Arda," he replies with a respectful bow of his head. "But instead it is for me to submit myself gladly to his will, trusting to the design of Blessed Iluvatar." He allows his eyes to meet Aule's with a level stare. "But, in truth, my Lord, it is the intent of my Lord Manwe that I make a record of the foul writings and symbols found within the chamber and report back to him. Nothing more was commanded of me."
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| Aulë, the Master Smith |
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| Eönwë, the Herald of Manwë |
Aule pauses briefly on the threshold of Melkor's cell. His face softens as one who has returned home after a long journey. He runs his eyes over the walls as though they held fond memories for him. Taking a breath he steps forward and enters the chambers, moving to the center of the room. With an ironic flourish of his arm, he indicates the walls, "As you can see, there is nothing for you to record. The chamber has been cleansed. The spells are gone."
Eonwe sweeps into the chambers, stops and turns in a circle, his sharp blue eyes scrutinizing the ceiling, the floor, the walls. Nothing. There was nothing. He whirls about, the fist clenching tighter. This physical body reacts to his instant wash of anger and frustration. His body taut, a buzzing in his ears, for a moment his eyes narrow and regard the Vala with open hostility. Despite centuries of service to the Lord of the West, the calm demeanor of Manwe's herald is gone, replaced by a hot fury. "You violated the will of the Lord of the West?" His voice is low, laced with the heat of his anger. "You dared to disobey the commands of the Breath of Arda?"Aule folds his arms and arches an eyebrow at the hot words. His voice openly sneering he says, "So my brother's puppy has some backbone after all, does he?" He takes a step closer to Eonwe and leans forward, his face very close to that of the Herald as he continues, his voice low and hard. "I would watch what trouble that famous tongue of yours might get you in by speaking to me, The Maker, in such manner, Eonwe. How dare you accuse me of disobeying my brother! What makes you so sure this chamber was not already cleansed by the time I received your wordy and overblown instructions from him? How dare you accuse me of disobeying my brother!" The lie slips easily from the tongue of one usually so upright and true, unnoticed by he and neatly disguised in accusation.
Eonwe steps forward, his lips curl into a sneer as his eyes meet the eyes of the Maker, and he clenches the other fist. The veins on the sides of his neck stand out like cords of thick rope as words spill out of his mouth. Molten and volcanic they seem, and his mouth is left dry and ashen in their wake. "We can determine the truth of thy words from questioning my brother Maia who attend thee, MAKER," he answers back, his voice a low but rising growl. "Let us see how they answer before my Lord Manwe, as to what was here and what was not when you first received the missive." He tilts his chin. "Perhaps, among the Valar a second has fallen into selfish aggrandisement."
Aule's face darkens at the last words that tumble from the tongue of the herald. His nostrils flare, white-rimmed in anger. The chamber seems to hum with strange energies as his anger mounts. His eyes narrow dangerously as he replies, "You overstep yourself, Eonwe, misled by your pride and your arrogance as my brother's Herald! You dare imply I lie!" Aule's voice is slowly rising as his anger builds. "You would question my Maiar over my word? The same Maiar who have been forbidden to enter these rooms since first they were opened for fear of their safety. How are they to know what was here and what was not when your precious missive arrived?" He stops and takes a long breath as he realises he was nearly shouting. He pauses for a moment and again lets his eyes roam insolently over the courtly attire of the one before him. Finally they rise to meet Eonwe's heated gaze. ''So you are among those who have never quite trusted me since the days I made the dwarves, eh? A pretty little snake in my brother's bosom, whispering poison against me in his ear. Is that what you are, Eonwe?"
Eonwe's hand itches to draw his sword, his fingers aches to curl around the familiar leather of the handle. Blood red washes across his sight of Aule standing before him, and for the first time in the immortal's existence, a hatred hardens in his heart, heavy laden yet beating with a life of its own. His own lips curls back, so that he seems to be giving the Vala a feral smile. "Do I imply, my Lord?" His voice trained from the long centuries of service, he turns it now to make the word "Lord" sound like a thing to despised. "For if so, I would correct that." He slides his feet shoulder length apart, his body assuming a battle ready stance. "I would not imply such a thing, my LORD, but have it stated." His blue eyes blaze with a fury that he does not pretend to withhold. "As for my brothers who attend you, they have been protected from that which was once in here, but they are far from fools." He lets the word hang between them, the implication clear in its not being voiced."There can be much gleamed from thy daily occupations to answer to Lord Manwe if thou hast any shred of loyalty." He uncurls his hands, and his eyes watch the Vala's every move. "Though I doubt such a thing can now be found." His nostrils flare and he gives a derisive snort. "As for 'snakes,' my LORD," He pauses and lets his eyes drop to Aule's dusty pants. "It seems between us you have kissed the ground with thy belly, not I."
Aule leans back and folds his arms, his lips curve into a derisive sneer as he reads in the Herald his desire to draw his sword. He arches an eyebrow contemptuously as he says, "So, there is more than ice in those cold veins of yours after all, is there, Eonwe? Be careful puppy, for next thing you know, you'll be down at the local tavern bedding a wench!" He pauses and snorts. "Or maybe not. Methinks that is still beyond beyond you, for puppy you still are, even though you seem to have learned how to yap. I rather think, though, that I preferred you as the unweaned little milksop I have known for so long. Enough of this insolence! You yourself said your task was to document the writings and return to Manwe. As there are no writings to document you may return to my brother, and I instruct you, Herald, to carry my avowal of utmost loyalty to my brother."
Eonwe reaches for his long sword and with a fluid motion, pulls it from its sheath at his back, the blade singing its battle joy, eager for battle. His fingers curl lovingly around the well-worn leather at its handle, and as he shifts into a well-practiced stance, he feels the cold, still familiar battle calm descend upon him. The blade caught a dim reflection from the fissures of lava, and shone, as though with pride. He glanced up, into the face of Aule, and his heart hardened further, bile rising to his throat. Barely he registers Aule’s command, but being called “Herald” was enough to remind him of his oath bound duty to the Lord of the Winds. Clasping the hilt of the sword with both hands, he points the blade at Aule’s throat. “Puppy,” he hisses. “Would I could dismiss duty as you have done and show you my bite.” He instead turns the sword, point downward and raising the sword above his head, he drives the blade into the earth, the steel seeming to scream in protest as it is thrust into the womb of the earth. “Let this be a reminder that unlike YOU,“ he says, looking over at Aule, the walls still reverberating with the sound of the action, “I know Duty. Unlike you, I understand fidelity. “ He releases the hilt and draws himself up to his full height. “Know this, too, Maker,” he says, “If you prove as false as thy brother, I shall be among the first to ensure you share his fate.” Then he gathers his cloak about him and vanishes.
Aule stares for long moments at the blade buried deep in the ground before him, that same blade that had just now been held to his throat. He raises his gaze at last and looks in the direction the Herald had vanished, muttering quietly under his breath, 'For this puppy, you shall pay. If I were you I would look to my own fate rather than worry about that of others.' The room around him seems to vibrate with the anger of the two men. He glances lovingly around the walls one last time, before departing for his chambers.> Next Eonwë > Next Aulë