Rajani Milton
Ilmarë walks thoughtfully amongst the Vanyar dwellings clustered at the foot of Mount Taniquetil. Soft light shines out through doorways, and snatches of music can be heard on the breeze. It is the dinner hour, and she catches the sound of laughter and conversation.
Wistfully, Ilmarë listens to the sounds of happy families. It makes her think of her brother, and friends like Arien and Melian. Long ago, they used to spend endless hours talking and laughing together, planning projects for the good of Arda and discussing the fascinating strangeness of the Children of Eru. But since her return, she has seen far fewer Maiar about than she remembers. The halls of her Lady and Lord seem quieter than usual, somehow nearly deserted. Of the many Maiar she expected to see, Ilmarë has only spoken to Ainomë of the lovely harp and seen another Wind or two passing in the distance on errands. And Eonwë, of course, dear troubled Eonwë.
Ilmarë finds herself passing a great spreading tree, under which a carved wooden bench has been set. She sighs, and drops down to sit on the bench. It should be all right to linger here for a time, she thinks. The Vanyar Elves probably won't recognize her, but they are most of them gone in to dinner, and she has managed to take a form that looks more like the Children (she thinks) than usual. She looks at her arm with some pride--for the moment, she has abandoned her favourite deep blue skin tone, and taken on a lovely soft brown. That should pass a little better.
She sighs again. What is she to do about Eonwë? It's not like him to be so morose. She remembers her brother as decisive, confident, adventurous. The sort to both draw sword in battle and comfort a wounded friend with the same surety and competence. Eonwë doesn't...mope. Eonwë doesn't hide, alone, worrying at his fears and fretting at his grievances. And she has never known him to bear such a grudge against anyone as he seems to have against Lord Aulë of late. He was always more compassionate than that--at least willing to consider another's point of view and not write them off so soon. From confident and compassionate to dithering and judgemental--it's a subtle change, but the more she thinks on it, the more she worries.
To whom can she appeal? There is only so much a sister's listening ear can do. The Lady Varda is open to hear him, but Eonwë has not gone to her. The Lord Manwë still doubts him. Lord Aulë he hates. Perhaps Lord Irmo or Lady Estë or Lady Nienna...Nienna! Of course. The Lady of Compassion has spent numberless centuries hearing the troubles of Elves in turmoil. Surely among the many Children in Mandos there are some whose lords have rejected them? Surely Nienna will have some wisdom.
Ilmarë thinks for a moment, and then begins to seek for the Lady Nienna on the plane of thought. The Valie is nowhere close at hand...Ilmarë sends her thought wider, and after a few moments finds the flicker of the mind she wants to contact.
"Lady Nienna," she sends, "I offer you greetings and wish for your help."
Ilmarë waits for what seems a long time before she gets a reply. And the reply is hardly words at all. It's as if Nienna has shrugged her shoulders, brushing off the contact. Ilmarë frowns and tries again.
"Lady, I am troubled for my brother Eonwë. If you would be so gracious, I desire to speak with you."
This time the rejection is instantaneous, and more thorough. A door is slammed shut between her and Nienna. No matter how she tries, Ilmarë cannot get a reply. There is silence from the Lady of Compassion.
> Next Ilmarë
Wistfully, Ilmarë listens to the sounds of happy families. It makes her think of her brother, and friends like Arien and Melian. Long ago, they used to spend endless hours talking and laughing together, planning projects for the good of Arda and discussing the fascinating strangeness of the Children of Eru. But since her return, she has seen far fewer Maiar about than she remembers. The halls of her Lady and Lord seem quieter than usual, somehow nearly deserted. Of the many Maiar she expected to see, Ilmarë has only spoken to Ainomë of the lovely harp and seen another Wind or two passing in the distance on errands. And Eonwë, of course, dear troubled Eonwë.
Ilmarë finds herself passing a great spreading tree, under which a carved wooden bench has been set. She sighs, and drops down to sit on the bench. It should be all right to linger here for a time, she thinks. The Vanyar Elves probably won't recognize her, but they are most of them gone in to dinner, and she has managed to take a form that looks more like the Children (she thinks) than usual. She looks at her arm with some pride--for the moment, she has abandoned her favourite deep blue skin tone, and taken on a lovely soft brown. That should pass a little better. She sighs again. What is she to do about Eonwë? It's not like him to be so morose. She remembers her brother as decisive, confident, adventurous. The sort to both draw sword in battle and comfort a wounded friend with the same surety and competence. Eonwë doesn't...mope. Eonwë doesn't hide, alone, worrying at his fears and fretting at his grievances. And she has never known him to bear such a grudge against anyone as he seems to have against Lord Aulë of late. He was always more compassionate than that--at least willing to consider another's point of view and not write them off so soon. From confident and compassionate to dithering and judgemental--it's a subtle change, but the more she thinks on it, the more she worries.
To whom can she appeal? There is only so much a sister's listening ear can do. The Lady Varda is open to hear him, but Eonwë has not gone to her. The Lord Manwë still doubts him. Lord Aulë he hates. Perhaps Lord Irmo or Lady Estë or Lady Nienna...Nienna! Of course. The Lady of Compassion has spent numberless centuries hearing the troubles of Elves in turmoil. Surely among the many Children in Mandos there are some whose lords have rejected them? Surely Nienna will have some wisdom.
Ilmarë thinks for a moment, and then begins to seek for the Lady Nienna on the plane of thought. The Valie is nowhere close at hand...Ilmarë sends her thought wider, and after a few moments finds the flicker of the mind she wants to contact.
"Lady Nienna," she sends, "I offer you greetings and wish for your help."
Ilmarë waits for what seems a long time before she gets a reply. And the reply is hardly words at all. It's as if Nienna has shrugged her shoulders, brushing off the contact. Ilmarë frowns and tries again.
"Lady, I am troubled for my brother Eonwë. If you would be so gracious, I desire to speak with you."
This time the rejection is instantaneous, and more thorough. A door is slammed shut between her and Nienna. No matter how she tries, Ilmarë cannot get a reply. There is silence from the Lady of Compassion.
> Next Ilmarë