AelKennyr Rhiano
"Please, my Lady, whatever Eonwë is now, know he is your friend...too."
He, Eonwë, the Maia, the one who once was the Voice of the Lord of the West, had said that and to she who brought into being the first animals and plants, who created the Two Trees, and with gentle hands and voice nurtures, still, all growing things. In those eyes the color of new spring leaves were tears unshed and in her voice, the burden of a terrible sorrow. Yet for his promise of friendship, he was no better than her faithless spouse, the Dwarf-Maker, the Oath Breaker, the Smith. Aule.
The twilight of Aman never fades, never rises nor falls, never gives way unto the light of Arien's vessel. Yet, as he runs, all about him, he sees the lush and flourishing flora and fauna of the Undying Lands. He runs, and as he races about the base of the sacred mount, Taniquetil, once more her stricken expression rises unbidden before his eyes. "Do you run to, or from, something?" she had asked.
"I was running without thought to neither destination nor reason," he had answered. But that was not true.
He sees that now. He sees and understands as he slows his pace to match that of the fleet-footed puma whose path crossed his. Too long has he run without thought, without purpose, he who proposes to be a true and faithful Maia in the service of the Lord of the West. The gentle touch of Yavanna's fingers under her chin, her sweet voice, betraying the sorrow that the Smith has caused yet all the while offering kind reassurances to a lonesome and lost Maia brings him up short of the path he normally takes back to his home. Blinking, he stares at the structure which has served as a home for him for centuries. He knows every vein of every piece of marble, the wood grain of the doors, the tiny crack upon the first step, the gold gilding on the ceiling, the smooth hardness of gold doorknobs.
No, his path now does not take him to this familiar place. It does not lead to Manwë's throne, not now. Now it leads him forth from Manwë's sacred mountain. "What do you know of Aulë?” Yavanna had asked, believing his answer. Now he will justify her faith in him and expose the faithless Smith unto the Breath of Arda himself.
Eonwë, with a mere thought, clothes his physical body, the familiar and comforting weight of a sword in its sheath strapped to his back bringing to his troubled heart a sort of peace. Straightening his back, the Maia turns away from his home and speeds away into the cool darkness.
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He, Eonwë, the Maia, the one who once was the Voice of the Lord of the West, had said that and to she who brought into being the first animals and plants, who created the Two Trees, and with gentle hands and voice nurtures, still, all growing things. In those eyes the color of new spring leaves were tears unshed and in her voice, the burden of a terrible sorrow. Yet for his promise of friendship, he was no better than her faithless spouse, the Dwarf-Maker, the Oath Breaker, the Smith. Aule.
The twilight of Aman never fades, never rises nor falls, never gives way unto the light of Arien's vessel. Yet, as he runs, all about him, he sees the lush and flourishing flora and fauna of the Undying Lands. He runs, and as he races about the base of the sacred mount, Taniquetil, once more her stricken expression rises unbidden before his eyes. "Do you run to, or from, something?" she had asked.
"I was running without thought to neither destination nor reason," he had answered. But that was not true.
He sees that now. He sees and understands as he slows his pace to match that of the fleet-footed puma whose path crossed his. Too long has he run without thought, without purpose, he who proposes to be a true and faithful Maia in the service of the Lord of the West. The gentle touch of Yavanna's fingers under her chin, her sweet voice, betraying the sorrow that the Smith has caused yet all the while offering kind reassurances to a lonesome and lost Maia brings him up short of the path he normally takes back to his home. Blinking, he stares at the structure which has served as a home for him for centuries. He knows every vein of every piece of marble, the wood grain of the doors, the tiny crack upon the first step, the gold gilding on the ceiling, the smooth hardness of gold doorknobs.
No, his path now does not take him to this familiar place. It does not lead to Manwë's throne, not now. Now it leads him forth from Manwë's sacred mountain. "What do you know of Aulë?” Yavanna had asked, believing his answer. Now he will justify her faith in him and expose the faithless Smith unto the Breath of Arda himself.
Eonwë, with a mere thought, clothes his physical body, the familiar and comforting weight of a sword in its sheath strapped to his back bringing to his troubled heart a sort of peace. Straightening his back, the Maia turns away from his home and speeds away into the cool darkness.
> Next