< Previous Aulë and Nienna
Since discovering the patch of evil growth, Manwë has been even more troubled as he continues his journey to Mandos. As his feet mount the stairs that would bring him to the very doors of Mandos itself, his mind swirls with thoughts of his failings. The evil flora were certainly not of this land, and Yavanna claims no knowledge of their creation. How was he blind to their existence when he is supposed to be gifted with the trait of foresight? Has he lost contact with the world? Ages have passed, and many times have Arien and Tilion wheeled above since Manwë first set foot on the stone threshold of Mandos here on the edge of the world.
Yavanna lifts a weary hand to brush a wayward lock of hair back from her face as she stares up the long flight of stone steps. Their presence seems almost a surprise to her. They are here at last. Mandos. Journey's end. In many ways it had felt like this journey would never end, such had she longed for it to, yet also dreaded it. Now as she stands at the bottom of the stairs that longing and dread still wars within her, only so much stronger. So urgent she was to find answers, yet heavy as a millstone now is the dread that lay in the pit of her stomach. Blinking, she looks at her companion, Manwë, Lord of the West and Breath of Arda. "We are here." are the only words she can find.
The heavy doors of Mandos before them contain a dark secret. His thoughts extend to Eonwë. Will he really be here? Is Ilmare's information really correct? Did Eonwë flee here to escape Manwë's wrath, or is he here for some other purpose? Perhaps he knew of the deadly flowers. Manwë's memory traces back to the dead elf by the stone wall. The wall! Yavanna recognized it's construction as that of her beloved Aulë. He is clearly aware of the evil perpetrating the land. And he tries to hide it! Staring at the doors of Mandos, he knows the answers must lie beyond the doors. Has Aule succumbed to the corruption that pervades the Blessed lands? Resolutely, the Breath of Arda strides up the stone steps, turning to Yavanna. "Come, the answers lie before us. Let us root out the secrets within."
Yavanna lays her palm flat against the mighty door before them. The door felt cool against her skin. So cool and impersonal yet behind it she will find the answers she seeks. But will they be answers she wanted? Hearing Manwë's words she squares her shoulders and pushes against the door. Resolutely she steps forward. She would find answers, and any answer at all would be better than the not knowing, the wondering, the doubt, and by Eru's beard, anything would be better than the pain she had carried inside since she read that fateful missive.
Down, below them, in the bowels of the earth, beneath the halls of Mandos....
Nyarnyaro strides down the rough stone corridor that leads to the double doors he is now so familiar with. How many times had he passed through them now, he wondered? How many times had he fetched and carried like a minion for his master? The scab on his cheek pulls against the surrounding skin as he frowns in thought. But this time is different. This time he has a different companion. His eyes dart to the one who walks by his side. Eonwë! The Herald of Manwë. Yet the Lord of the West would be hard put to recognize his Herald at this moment.
Their footsteps make a soft, cloth padding sound, a cool sound in a cold chamber. All about them the hall is silent, still, and as he watches, Nyarnyaro walks the hall with a stride of one well versed in the uneven flooring. In his arms, the onetime Herald carries not sword or shield but a large tureen of soup, the sharp smell of onions mingling with the strong aroma of cooked meat. Rebellious, Eonwe's stomach growls and tightens, and in surprise, the Maia finds his mouth waters at the aroma. With the steps of a warrior, not a servant, Eonwe comes up level to his companion, his blue eyes intense as he stares boldly into the other Maia's eyes. He starts to ask a question but closes his mouth.
He has been here, now, among the Maia serving Mandos. With his shorter statue, his paler hair, his quiet manner, none of the others had questioned him, which both relieved and disquieted him. Why did not the Lord of Mandos know what transpires beneath his hall? The simple fact was chilling. Though no Maia would lie to Mandos, no Maia was willing to face the wrath of Aule for revealing what transpires below in Melkor's cold old cell, not even to each other. Instead, they cast furtive, desperate looks, never meeting another's gaze. My brothers, my sisters, thinks Eonwe, as he awaits Nyarnyaro's directions, they are not Maia. They are sheep.
Nyarnyaro feels his stomach clench with dread as he approaches the doors. There was a time when Nyarnyaro rejoiced in his service to his Lord. He had taken pride in being one of the Maker's Maiar. Now he never knew what to expect when he was summoned. That was not quite true. He did. He knew to expect rudeness, a sharp tongue and hot temper. And violence. His cheek twinged as he remembered the blow. He swallowed hard. What would Aulë do if he discovered Eonwë's ruse? Nyarnyaro lifts a nervous hand to open the door.
Nienna sprawls on the cushioned bench. Her face is focused intently, as she stares into a looking glass, comparing the image of her skin color to the coloration of an apricot that she holds in her hand. Her guts tighten, and she frowns in irritation at the thought that the subtle shading of blush on the apricot was the work of the fickle Lady Yavanna, the nagging wife who has so mistreated her gentle Aulë. Nonetheless, the coloration on the fruit is beautiful, and she continues in her effort to duplicate the effect on her own cheeks.
((to be continued))
Yavanna lifts a weary hand to brush a wayward lock of hair back from her face as she stares up the long flight of stone steps. Their presence seems almost a surprise to her. They are here at last. Mandos. Journey's end. In many ways it had felt like this journey would never end, such had she longed for it to, yet also dreaded it. Now as she stands at the bottom of the stairs that longing and dread still wars within her, only so much stronger. So urgent she was to find answers, yet heavy as a millstone now is the dread that lay in the pit of her stomach. Blinking, she looks at her companion, Manwë, Lord of the West and Breath of Arda. "We are here." are the only words she can find.
 |
| Approaching the Gates of Mandos |
The heavy doors of Mandos before them contain a dark secret. His thoughts extend to Eonwë. Will he really be here? Is Ilmare's information really correct? Did Eonwë flee here to escape Manwë's wrath, or is he here for some other purpose? Perhaps he knew of the deadly flowers. Manwë's memory traces back to the dead elf by the stone wall. The wall! Yavanna recognized it's construction as that of her beloved Aulë. He is clearly aware of the evil perpetrating the land. And he tries to hide it! Staring at the doors of Mandos, he knows the answers must lie beyond the doors. Has Aule succumbed to the corruption that pervades the Blessed lands? Resolutely, the Breath of Arda strides up the stone steps, turning to Yavanna. "Come, the answers lie before us. Let us root out the secrets within."
Yavanna lays her palm flat against the mighty door before them. The door felt cool against her skin. So cool and impersonal yet behind it she will find the answers she seeks. But will they be answers she wanted? Hearing Manwë's words she squares her shoulders and pushes against the door. Resolutely she steps forward. She would find answers, and any answer at all would be better than the not knowing, the wondering, the doubt, and by Eru's beard, anything would be better than the pain she had carried inside since she read that fateful missive.
Down, below them, in the bowels of the earth, beneath the halls of Mandos....
 |
| The Disguised Eönwë |
Their footsteps make a soft, cloth padding sound, a cool sound in a cold chamber. All about them the hall is silent, still, and as he watches, Nyarnyaro walks the hall with a stride of one well versed in the uneven flooring. In his arms, the onetime Herald carries not sword or shield but a large tureen of soup, the sharp smell of onions mingling with the strong aroma of cooked meat. Rebellious, Eonwe's stomach growls and tightens, and in surprise, the Maia finds his mouth waters at the aroma. With the steps of a warrior, not a servant, Eonwe comes up level to his companion, his blue eyes intense as he stares boldly into the other Maia's eyes. He starts to ask a question but closes his mouth.
He has been here, now, among the Maia serving Mandos. With his shorter statue, his paler hair, his quiet manner, none of the others had questioned him, which both relieved and disquieted him. Why did not the Lord of Mandos know what transpires beneath his hall? The simple fact was chilling. Though no Maia would lie to Mandos, no Maia was willing to face the wrath of Aule for revealing what transpires below in Melkor's cold old cell, not even to each other. Instead, they cast furtive, desperate looks, never meeting another's gaze. My brothers, my sisters, thinks Eonwe, as he awaits Nyarnyaro's directions, they are not Maia. They are sheep.
 |
| Nyarnyaro |
Nienna sprawls on the cushioned bench. Her face is focused intently, as she stares into a looking glass, comparing the image of her skin color to the coloration of an apricot that she holds in her hand. Her guts tighten, and she frowns in irritation at the thought that the subtle shading of blush on the apricot was the work of the fickle Lady Yavanna, the nagging wife who has so mistreated her gentle Aulë. Nonetheless, the coloration on the fruit is beautiful, and she continues in her effort to duplicate the effect on her own cheeks.
((to be continued))