Eönwë Reports to Manwë — Part 2

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Shawn Daysleeper and AelKennyr Rhiano

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.

Eönwë, Herald of Manwë

Eonwe drops his head for a moment, a deep shame coloring his face.  He closes his eyes, body trembling with the anger he felt, the need to do something, anything. His hands pressed against his thighs, he raises his head and gazes upon the Lord of the West, the words of his Lord's rebuke filling his ears.  "My actions have changed, my Lord, because I see the real threat to you, to the order of things. Aule the Maker has cleanse the old chambers of the Dark Lord. He was proud of what he had done, how he had defied you." His eyes held the bitterness and anger he felt, there, confronting the Smith of Arda. "He is grown overproud, Lord Manwe. First he defies you, then what next? He raises himself above you?"

In anger, the Lord of he West feels swirling emotions. He ponders carefully Eonwe's words. Manwe notices the shame on the normally proud face of his herald. Over the long millenia of Arda, he has not seen such emotion from him. But his anger remains, the focus of which shifts uneasily. "Aule has defied my missive? The Chambers of Melkor have been cleansed?"

Eonwe steps forward, closer to his Lord, hearing the rumblings of anger in Manwe's voice. "He escorted me down to the chambers himself," answers Eonwe, and flings out his hands in imitation of the gesture the Smith of Arda made."He bid me look about me. Not a symbol was left, my Lord. I witnessed his perfidy myself. Nothing remained of the writings, if, indeed there were ever any there at all."  His blue eyes lock upon the Lord of the West's. "After all, my Lord, we now have only HIS word."

Manwe slumps back onto his seat, reeling in his emotions. He had hoped that, in the Chambers of their enemy, there was some sign. These disturbances of late such as the poisoning and near passing of Olwe, Teleri Lord, could have been plotted long ago by the Fallen One. What new devices are there in motion? Now, all knowledge of symbols and writing left in the legacy of his brother is borne by Aule the Maker, whom had defied his very orders. "Why did you not report this to me at once upon your return?" he asks his Herald, attempting to subdue his rage.

Eonwe watches the face of Manwe, eyes fastened upon his Lord, as emotions leave their traces in the tone of his face, the slump of his shoulders as the Breath of Arda sits back down. Eonwe drew himself up to his full height, back straight as he replies, his voice hot with his anger, nearer a growl,  "I came when you summoned, my Lord. Is it not meet I should prepare myself to lead my Brother Maiar to take in the rogue Maker and bring him to you in chains?"

Manwe holds up his hand as he gains control of his emotions. Reason was making its way into his mind. "My Herald, you are blinded by rage. Aule removed the writing for reasons known to him: they are symbols of evil. Removing them from the world may bring about the end of the devices of Melkor." He looks sternly at Eonwe. "Let not wroth consume your spirit, for that is what the Fallen One desires, mistrust and chaos amongst us."

"My Lord," Eonwe said, his voice tight with anger, choking upon the rage in his heart. "Well my Lord can say that, not hearing the words of the Maker or the tone of his voice. Easy it is to dismiss his disobedience, here seated, when you cannot be witness to the insolence of the Maker. If anger stirs within me, my Lord, it is anger against such faithlessness. For he ill used your Herald, sent to do your bidding, calling me snake and accusing me of whispers against him.  Puppy he did call me, but he shall find no puppy but wolf, eager to tear at his throat.  Let me leave to contain his defiance, lest he be a contaminant, my Lord, I beg you."

Manwë Súlimo, Lord of the West, the Breath of Arda

Manwe rises, not out of anger, but out of respect for what he is about to do. Painfully he utters the words. "This, I cannot allow. Your reason has passed to rage. In your current condition, you cannot serve me as my Herald. You do not speak for the Lord of the West." A small tear comes to his eye. "Thereby, I relieve you of your duties. I suggest you find a way to mend yourself. Until such a time you approach the Breath of Arda with a mind like his own. This I must do, while I decipher what must be done."

 Eonwe stares at the Lord of the West, eye widening as he hears the pronouncement which falls from the mouth of Manwe. His face drains of color, and he gasps. His heart lurches as the words, like daggers, slash and tear.  He does not see the tear in the eyes of Manwe, for his own eyes suddenly are hot with tears, and his voice, choked with pain, rings out, echoing off the walls. "NO!" he screams, taking a step forward before he remembers himself. "You cannot!  You cannot! I am your Herald. I have always been your Herald. Will you now send me from your side when you need me most?"  He bows his head, and his chest tightens, a feeling new to the Maia.  "Will you cast me out now, because I am but a simple Maia, and the word of a Vala, however unfaithful, matters more?"

The pleas of his herald touched him, but he remained resolute. "You... you have changed. Your words are not from that of Eonwe the Herald, the Eonwe that is loyal and that I trust. Your words are harsh and changed, to that of worse. I cannot trust he that stands before me now to carry on my voice beyond these halls." Hurt and very shocked, the Breath of Arda spoke. "You can make amends in time, but for now you must retire your duties."

Eonwe drops his gaze down, and as he does so, a tear spills from one of his eyes. He raises a hand and  brushes it away, his head turning to look at the moisture on his finger. He squeezes his eyes shut, surprised that other tears follow the first. "So," he murmurs, "the word of the Valar is measured the greater."  Slowly he raises his gaze to the Breath of Arda. "As my lord commands, so shall I, this lowly Maia, obey," he responds, his voice leaden. "Shall it be your wish that I removed myself from Taniquetil as well, my Lord? Shall I take myself into exile for my passion, my transgression?"

"It is not my wish that you go into exile" His voice is no longer commanding. "But I know you will find a way to clear your anger. The Eonwe I know, steadfast, loyal, and strong will return. This I will foresee. May Eru Illuvatar guide your recovery." The Breath of Arda seats himself, concealing his hurting soul.

Eonwe hears the dismissal and bows as the Lord of the West takes his seat again. He turns on his heel and with a purposeful stride, walks to the door of the chamber. He pauses as his hands grab the handles of the huge wooden doors. He almost turns around, almost gives way to the grief welling up in his heart. The desire to turn, run back to the throne of Manwe, and throw himself, weeping to the ground before his Lord is enough to make him dizzy. But then the anger, the deep hot anger rises up in him, and he jerks the doors open. With long strides, he exits the chamber, exiled from the side of his Lord, if not from the Holy Mountain itself.

Manwe looks up as Eonwe pulls open the doors and departs. The light of the morn flooded the room and glistens on another tear under the Lord of the West's eye. As the doors close. Manwe takes a deep breath. "May Eru bring you back to me soon." He whispers such that his winds nearby cannot hear.

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