AelKennyr Rhiano and Shawn Daysleeper
Sweat beaded on the forehead of this corporeal body Eonwe has clothed himself in. He finishes his practice and crosses the yard to where a towel and a flask of cool water had been placed on a bench. He lifts the towel to his face and wipes the grime away, reaches for the flask. Tilting his head back, he sucks down the water, a low groan of pleasure as his body responds to the restoration of bodily fluids. It is useful to practice in this body, he thinks, to push past it limitations and prepare himself, keep himself battle ready, especially that one so close to Manwe has proven false. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a brother Maia cross the field and come up to him at a brisk run. He listens as the Maia, with great deference, tells him that he had been already summoned to Manwe's presence some time ago, and the Lord of the West again has sent for his Herald. Eonwe nods curtly and waves away the Maia. Dropping the towel to the bench, he pauses olny to drain the flask. Then he tosses it too, atop the towel, and leaves both for another to clean up behind him.
The Breath of Arda had summoned for his Herald some time ago. He had heard that Eonwe had returned from Melkor's old prison and desires to hear his report. The Herald has rarely been late, and the Lord of the West could only guess as to Eonwe's delay. To pass the time, Manwe gazes out over the world from his lofty height, contemplating the creation.
Without pausing to change, the sweat of the practice field cooling upon this flesh he has chosen, Eonwe strides through the halls of Ilmarin, his face dark, his eyes mere slits, his breath hot, and under it, he mumbles to himself. His fists clench and unclench, and many a Maia turns and gazes in surprise at his back once he passes, though none dare stop the Herald as he hurries through the halls until he is before the door of the throne of the Lord of the West. He plants his palms firmly against the ancient woods and with a grunt, he pushes the door open, wide, to slam back against the walls, before he storms into the room. He leaves the door wide and moves up the hall to stand before his Lord, while two winds scurry in to pull the doors shut. His voice is low, rough and harsh as he greets Lord Manwe. "I am here as thou commandst me."
Manwe looks over the form of Eonwe curiously. He sees the sweat beading on his skin and unkept clothes. He twitches a little at his Herald's tone of voice, uncharacteristically harsh. Long has it been since the voice of his Herald caused this uneasy feeling with the Breath of Arda. Nodding to his herald, the Lord of the West rises. "I apologize to pull you away from your training. Your strength and knowledge of arms is most beneficial."
Eonwe looks up as the Lord of the West rises gracefully from his throne. The soft words and gentle tone of his Lord flows over Eonwe like a cleansing rain, and he recovers himself enough to sink to one knee and bow his head. "I am thy Herald, my Lord. Though some forget your majesty, and respect for this office."
Manwe extends his hand, as to help Eonwe rise. "I am respected by your service, my Herald."
Eonwe looks up, into the face of Manwe, seeks the hand, and his eyes lose their flintiness as he remembers the kindness of the Lord of the West. He reaches up and takes the hand in both of his. "My Lord knows not the hearts of some who should reverence thee, not seek to rebel against thee. For I tell thee, Lord, not all respect thy great status as Lord of us, and seek to thwart thy word and will."
Manwe thinks long over the words of Eonwe. With a faint nod he motions Eonwe to have a seat beside him. "Please sit, my Herald. Tell me what you have learned about these that seek to rebel." His face shows slight concern as he resumes his seat on the throne.
Eonwe gives a short nod, and steps up on the platform where he has always stood by the side of the Lord of the West during those times others come unto his Lord's presence. He glances over at the chair, and back up at the face of Manwe, and instead, paces before the Breath of Arda. "My Lord, I obey your will always," he begins, speaking through clenched teeth. "You have commanded, and I have obeyed." His eyes restlessly rove about the room, his body taut, his steps taking him in circles upon the raised platform.
Manwe watches Eonwe pace in circles before him. His thoughts carry his mind to Eonwe's actions and words, uneasiness and reaffirmations of his oath. After a few moments Manwe asks, "Did you visit Aule the Maker in Melkor's old prison beneath the Halls of Mandos?"
At the mention of the name of the Maker, Eonwe's face contorts into a mask of rage. His eyes narrow, and his lips purse as his hands clench into white-knuckled fists. He shakes with a rage he does not pretend to hide, but lays it bare for his Lord to see. "I went, as you commanded, my Lord, " he answers, spitting out the words."Aule," he hisses out the name, and his face grows darker, "The traitor has been very busy, very busy. I saw the chambers that once held his brother, and yours," he continues. "Would I could have imprisoned him there ere I left."
At this outburst of emotion, the Lord of the West is shocked. Eonwe is a foundation of solidarity, of reason. "What..." Manwe begins. "What has Au... he been doing there?" He does not mention Aule's name as it clearly hurts his Herald. Eonwe's unorthodox behaviour has certainly caught the Lord of the West off guard.
"Doing?" Shoots back Eonwe, pausing in his pacing to face Manwe. He takes a step forward, planting a foot upon the raised dias upon which rested the very throne of Manwe. He leans forward with a sneer and looks into Manwe's eyes, as his reply comes hotly from his lips."The viper, the traitor, he who defied Blessed Eru, how could you expect aught else?" He leans forward more and plants a hand upon the throne and the other upon his own knee."HE had done no less than move against you in open defiance! Wiped the chambers clean! And beneath the very nose of Mandos. What was HE doing? I should wonder. Do you think they plot together, my Lord?"
Manwe slightly clenches his hands at the mention of Aule's defiance. Otherwise, he contains any open angry emotion. In a flash, memories of the long ages of the world upwelled his mind. His broher Melkor, contained for milennia in the chambers, undoubtedly he would have left remnants of his planning against his brothers and sisters of light. "This, indeed, bodes ill for us, and you did not see Mandos? I think we should speak to Namo about this matter. I need to know if they do indeed plot together."
"Speak? Speak?" He pulls back and pushes his foot off the dais, spinning around to pace, casting a look of disbelief at the Lord of the West. "I speak to you of plots and open defiance, and you wish to 'speak' to one of the traitors? Are we to invite them here? Shall we seat them upon your throne? Has the passage of the ages made thee soft, Lord Manwe? Wilt thou allow them to upturn the whole of creation while you speak of speech?"
"Enough!" Manwe Sulimo rises. His face was stern, but with a slight expression of hurt, pain. Never has Eonwe resisted him like this before. "You speak of defiance from others: perhaps I see some of that defiance before me here!" The words come out of his mouth, but they stung his very being. Emotions swirled about, seething, mixing in his mind.
Eonwe stops his pacing and whirls about to face his Lord, his eyes widening at the words which issue from the mouth of the Lord of the West, the very core of his being stung at the words. He stands stock still, his fists uncurling, body trembling. "I defy you? I? I who have served you these long centuries. Do you accuse me, my Lord of being unfaithful." There is anger, and hurt in his answer.
Manwe furrows his brow in anger. "Inviting our brothers to resolve an issue is not liken to my surrendering my throne to them!" replies the Lord of the West. He has not felt anger such as this over the many turnings of Arda. "I do not accuse you of faithlessness. However your actions this day have certainly changed. From you, I seek reasonable council, not threats or unfounded reports." Again Manwe was hurt by his own words, and from the words of his loyal herald.
((to be continued))
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| The Breath of Arda, Manwë Súlimo |
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| Eönwë |
Manwe looks over the form of Eonwe curiously. He sees the sweat beading on his skin and unkept clothes. He twitches a little at his Herald's tone of voice, uncharacteristically harsh. Long has it been since the voice of his Herald caused this uneasy feeling with the Breath of Arda. Nodding to his herald, the Lord of the West rises. "I apologize to pull you away from your training. Your strength and knowledge of arms is most beneficial."
Eonwe looks up as the Lord of the West rises gracefully from his throne. The soft words and gentle tone of his Lord flows over Eonwe like a cleansing rain, and he recovers himself enough to sink to one knee and bow his head. "I am thy Herald, my Lord. Though some forget your majesty, and respect for this office."Manwe extends his hand, as to help Eonwe rise. "I am respected by your service, my Herald."
Eonwe looks up, into the face of Manwe, seeks the hand, and his eyes lose their flintiness as he remembers the kindness of the Lord of the West. He reaches up and takes the hand in both of his. "My Lord knows not the hearts of some who should reverence thee, not seek to rebel against thee. For I tell thee, Lord, not all respect thy great status as Lord of us, and seek to thwart thy word and will."Manwe thinks long over the words of Eonwe. With a faint nod he motions Eonwe to have a seat beside him. "Please sit, my Herald. Tell me what you have learned about these that seek to rebel." His face shows slight concern as he resumes his seat on the throne.
Eonwe gives a short nod, and steps up on the platform where he has always stood by the side of the Lord of the West during those times others come unto his Lord's presence. He glances over at the chair, and back up at the face of Manwe, and instead, paces before the Breath of Arda. "My Lord, I obey your will always," he begins, speaking through clenched teeth. "You have commanded, and I have obeyed." His eyes restlessly rove about the room, his body taut, his steps taking him in circles upon the raised platform.
Manwe watches Eonwe pace in circles before him. His thoughts carry his mind to Eonwe's actions and words, uneasiness and reaffirmations of his oath. After a few moments Manwe asks, "Did you visit Aule the Maker in Melkor's old prison beneath the Halls of Mandos?"
At the mention of the name of the Maker, Eonwe's face contorts into a mask of rage. His eyes narrow, and his lips purse as his hands clench into white-knuckled fists. He shakes with a rage he does not pretend to hide, but lays it bare for his Lord to see. "I went, as you commanded, my Lord, " he answers, spitting out the words."Aule," he hisses out the name, and his face grows darker, "The traitor has been very busy, very busy. I saw the chambers that once held his brother, and yours," he continues. "Would I could have imprisoned him there ere I left."
At this outburst of emotion, the Lord of the West is shocked. Eonwe is a foundation of solidarity, of reason. "What..." Manwe begins. "What has Au... he been doing there?" He does not mention Aule's name as it clearly hurts his Herald. Eonwe's unorthodox behaviour has certainly caught the Lord of the West off guard.
"Doing?" Shoots back Eonwe, pausing in his pacing to face Manwe. He takes a step forward, planting a foot upon the raised dias upon which rested the very throne of Manwe. He leans forward with a sneer and looks into Manwe's eyes, as his reply comes hotly from his lips."The viper, the traitor, he who defied Blessed Eru, how could you expect aught else?" He leans forward more and plants a hand upon the throne and the other upon his own knee."HE had done no less than move against you in open defiance! Wiped the chambers clean! And beneath the very nose of Mandos. What was HE doing? I should wonder. Do you think they plot together, my Lord?"
Manwe slightly clenches his hands at the mention of Aule's defiance. Otherwise, he contains any open angry emotion. In a flash, memories of the long ages of the world upwelled his mind. His broher Melkor, contained for milennia in the chambers, undoubtedly he would have left remnants of his planning against his brothers and sisters of light. "This, indeed, bodes ill for us, and you did not see Mandos? I think we should speak to Namo about this matter. I need to know if they do indeed plot together."
"Speak? Speak?" He pulls back and pushes his foot off the dais, spinning around to pace, casting a look of disbelief at the Lord of the West. "I speak to you of plots and open defiance, and you wish to 'speak' to one of the traitors? Are we to invite them here? Shall we seat them upon your throne? Has the passage of the ages made thee soft, Lord Manwe? Wilt thou allow them to upturn the whole of creation while you speak of speech?"
"Enough!" Manwe Sulimo rises. His face was stern, but with a slight expression of hurt, pain. Never has Eonwe resisted him like this before. "You speak of defiance from others: perhaps I see some of that defiance before me here!" The words come out of his mouth, but they stung his very being. Emotions swirled about, seething, mixing in his mind.
Eonwe stops his pacing and whirls about to face his Lord, his eyes widening at the words which issue from the mouth of the Lord of the West, the very core of his being stung at the words. He stands stock still, his fists uncurling, body trembling. "I defy you? I? I who have served you these long centuries. Do you accuse me, my Lord of being unfaithful." There is anger, and hurt in his answer.
Manwe furrows his brow in anger. "Inviting our brothers to resolve an issue is not liken to my surrendering my throne to them!" replies the Lord of the West. He has not felt anger such as this over the many turnings of Arda. "I do not accuse you of faithlessness. However your actions this day have certainly changed. From you, I seek reasonable council, not threats or unfounded reports." Again Manwe was hurt by his own words, and from the words of his loyal herald.((to be continued))