The hand that was raised as though to strike the hateful words from Yavanna's lips slowly lowers. The hot words that sprang to his tongue dissolve and reform into something utterly different as the one who had been his wife for all the Ages declares herself done with him and turned and walks away. Something.. something that seemed from long ago tugs at him through his twisted thinking. "No!" he wants to cry out. "Yavanna! Do not leave!" His hand reaches out to her, and he takes a step as though to follow her, but the movement causes him to brush against Nienna, the one whom he has so hotly defended just such a short while ago. Turning his head he looks at her, and beyond her to the chamber. That brief moment of lucidity melts, and when he turns his gaze again to the retreating figure of his wife, his lips curl into a soft snarl of disgust and his shout echoes down the cold stone hallway. "Good riddance!"
While his bond with Eonwe is not man and wife, the Lord of the West feels for the pain of Yavanna. Having seen the effects of the magic, his logic and sight gives way to his compassion. What he understands, too, that in his head does not ease the pain in the heart. He watches Yavanna go with a great compassion and sadness.
Eonwe turns on his heel and, without thought, reaches out to catch Yavanna's wrist as she walks past him, but at the last moment, he pulls his hand back and curls the fingers around air. The scent of blooming flowers and growing green things follows in her wake, and as the delicate smell rises to his nostrils, Eonwe feels his chest tighten. His mouth opens, and he thinks for a moment of calling her name, but what would a Maia say to such a Vala, and what could he say now, to lighten her heart, ease her pain? So he turns back, his gaze resting upon the Maker as Aule stares after the one who has been his wife and helpmate for all the long centuries. Aule takes a step forward, and the expression on his face softens for one moment, and in that instant, Eonwe sees something...tender?...in the eyes of the Vala, but then the Smith turns his head and looks back at Nienna and the chamber in which both had betrayed Manwe, Yavanna, and themselves. The face Aule turns again to his wife's retreating back , with its curling lips, is more than Eonwe can stand, and the Maia steps forward, inches away from those sneering lips, and Eonwe's hand instead grabs the wrist of the Maker. "Let her go in peace," hisses Eonwe, his voice low, a growl. "Let her take herself from your foul presence and fouler stench."
Nienna holds her face impassive as Yavanna's words sting her heart and her eyes. For one who says she has "no pleasure" in this, Yavanna certainly has been enthusiastic in her invective! Nienna watches in relief as the bitter vixen stalks off into what she claims will be silence. Yet no sooner is she gone than Eonwe takes up the same refrain again.
None of this angry interruption makes any sense. Why are these people even here? Nienna shift her weight again, and looks up pleadingly at Aulë. "May we at least move back to the rugs? This bare floor chills my feet."
Aule's ears are deaf to the pleadings of the one by his side as his eyes drop to the hand upon his wrist. For him, his focus has narrowed to the presence of that hand, the touch of it upon his flesh. For long moments he stares at it as though something loathsome were crawling upon his skin. When he lifts his eyes to look into those of this hated of all Maiar, they are like sharp, hard chips of obsidian, so dark are they. His nostrils flare, and his voice begins as a low growl. "You dare lay hand upon me!" With all the strength of his muscular form, he shoves forward viciously with the arm that Eonwe grasps, trying to force it back toward the other's chest and force the Herald to stumble backwards and lose his grip. His voice rises with every word he spits out. "Let her go? So you can run to her arms and console her later? Your honeyed words to our Lord do not deceive me. I know what you are up to!"
The force of the shove sends Eonwe slidng back across the stone floor. Barely keeping on his feet, it is only his warrior wits and battle trained reflexes that have him lean into the shove rather than away. He feels, rather than sees, his body rushing backwards towards the Lord of the West, and rather than collide with Manwe, Eonwe drops to the floor in a controlled roll. His own voice is loud and firm as he answers. "Let her go, Maker, as you are not worthy of her," he snarls. "You are not fit to be her husband nor a Vala. You are not fit to touch the hem of Manwe's robe. Cast down you should be, and your pride with you!" He grabs at the Maker's other wrist.
Manwe sees the bitter confrontation between Eonwe and the Maker. The evil in this chamber is the driving force of their behaviour. He cannot endure the sadness within any longer. His beloved Herald, the Maker, and the lady of Compassion must move from this place of the dead to that of the living. And the evil here cannot be allowed to endure and endanger any more of the Valar. When Aule forces Eonwe's fist back onto him, and Eonwe takes the maker's fist, he steps between the two and says in a commanding voice, "Silence!" He turns to Eonwe first in stern emotion. "It is not the Herald of Manwe to pass on judgement about who is fit and who is not. I now command onto you to step out of the chamber. There is evil here and it must be eliminated." He turns to the Maker and Nienna. "Remove yourselves from this room, and move to the upper level of Mandos. I alone must cleanse my brother's evil."
Eonwe bows his head, face flushed, and drops his hands to his side, stepping back. The look in his eyes as he keeps them locked on the Smith is smoldering with anger, but his voice is level, though still heated. "It is my Lord Manwe I obey." He turns his blue eyes to the Lord of the West and bows from the waist, bringing one hand up to his chest in a fist. "My Lord commands, and his Eonwe hears. Forgive me, Lord, my anger, thought its just cause I beg you hear." For a moment, his eyes drink in the sight of his Beloved Lord, and he opens his mouth to entreat permission to stay, but closes it again, and steps back further. "The Will of the Lord of the West be my guide." It is the hardest thing to do, to step back, but Eonwe does so, eyes ever on Manwe.
The Lord of the West smiles to Nienna in a pleading way. "Please, Lady of Compassion, accompany us to the world of light, free from the evil here. Become what you were. This place is tainted with my brother's evil: I must destroy the chamber."
Aule watches the Herald as he recovers from the shove, his own body tense as he shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, ready for Eonwe's next move, his whole being flooding with with the desire to crush and pummel that insolent face, to twist and break the hand that had dared to touch him. But the expected response does not come. Instead through the haze of his rage, Aule hears the commanding voice of the Lord of the West, and like the milksop he is, Eonwe meekly obeys. But wait, what was this Manwe was saying? Destroy the chamber? All the rage that had roared through him moments before is utterly gone to be replaced by such an emptiness within as to be unbearable. No. He cannot. Surely the Breath of Arda cannot mean to destroy the one place that had been home and sanctuary to him. But there they were, the fateful words: "I must destroy the chamber." Yavanna, Eonwe, even the sweet Nienna, are totally forgotten as he turns anguished eyes upon Manwe. Aule's voice when he finally can speak, breaks on the strength of his emotion: "NO!"
Nienna takes a step backwards, as Aule and the herald shove at each other. Yet now the face that was comforting Eonwe is turned to her, and Manwe's voice, gentle, pleading, calls to her. Never has she disobeyed Manwe, never had she intended to. Manwe seldom leaves Mount Taniquetil. Never in Nienna's memory has he been involved in frivolous foolishness. Of all the people interrupting this day, he has said no harsh words to her. Out of ages of habit, perhaps, she steps toward Manwe, moving as if in a dream. Looking back over her shoulder, she reaches a hand to draw Aule along with her, but his sudden shout startles her, and she draws her hand back, uncertainly.
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While his bond with Eonwe is not man and wife, the Lord of the West feels for the pain of Yavanna. Having seen the effects of the magic, his logic and sight gives way to his compassion. What he understands, too, that in his head does not ease the pain in the heart. He watches Yavanna go with a great compassion and sadness.
Eonwe turns on his heel and, without thought, reaches out to catch Yavanna's wrist as she walks past him, but at the last moment, he pulls his hand back and curls the fingers around air. The scent of blooming flowers and growing green things follows in her wake, and as the delicate smell rises to his nostrils, Eonwe feels his chest tighten. His mouth opens, and he thinks for a moment of calling her name, but what would a Maia say to such a Vala, and what could he say now, to lighten her heart, ease her pain? So he turns back, his gaze resting upon the Maker as Aule stares after the one who has been his wife and helpmate for all the long centuries. Aule takes a step forward, and the expression on his face softens for one moment, and in that instant, Eonwe sees something...tender?...in the eyes of the Vala, but then the Smith turns his head and looks back at Nienna and the chamber in which both had betrayed Manwe, Yavanna, and themselves. The face Aule turns again to his wife's retreating back , with its curling lips, is more than Eonwe can stand, and the Maia steps forward, inches away from those sneering lips, and Eonwe's hand instead grabs the wrist of the Maker. "Let her go in peace," hisses Eonwe, his voice low, a growl. "Let her take herself from your foul presence and fouler stench."
Nienna holds her face impassive as Yavanna's words sting her heart and her eyes. For one who says she has "no pleasure" in this, Yavanna certainly has been enthusiastic in her invective! Nienna watches in relief as the bitter vixen stalks off into what she claims will be silence. Yet no sooner is she gone than Eonwe takes up the same refrain again.
None of this angry interruption makes any sense. Why are these people even here? Nienna shift her weight again, and looks up pleadingly at Aulë. "May we at least move back to the rugs? This bare floor chills my feet."
The force of the shove sends Eonwe slidng back across the stone floor. Barely keeping on his feet, it is only his warrior wits and battle trained reflexes that have him lean into the shove rather than away. He feels, rather than sees, his body rushing backwards towards the Lord of the West, and rather than collide with Manwe, Eonwe drops to the floor in a controlled roll. His own voice is loud and firm as he answers. "Let her go, Maker, as you are not worthy of her," he snarls. "You are not fit to be her husband nor a Vala. You are not fit to touch the hem of Manwe's robe. Cast down you should be, and your pride with you!" He grabs at the Maker's other wrist. 
Manwe sees the bitter confrontation between Eonwe and the Maker. The evil in this chamber is the driving force of their behaviour. He cannot endure the sadness within any longer. His beloved Herald, the Maker, and the lady of Compassion must move from this place of the dead to that of the living. And the evil here cannot be allowed to endure and endanger any more of the Valar. When Aule forces Eonwe's fist back onto him, and Eonwe takes the maker's fist, he steps between the two and says in a commanding voice, "Silence!" He turns to Eonwe first in stern emotion. "It is not the Herald of Manwe to pass on judgement about who is fit and who is not. I now command onto you to step out of the chamber. There is evil here and it must be eliminated." He turns to the Maker and Nienna. "Remove yourselves from this room, and move to the upper level of Mandos. I alone must cleanse my brother's evil."
Eonwe bows his head, face flushed, and drops his hands to his side, stepping back. The look in his eyes as he keeps them locked on the Smith is smoldering with anger, but his voice is level, though still heated. "It is my Lord Manwe I obey." He turns his blue eyes to the Lord of the West and bows from the waist, bringing one hand up to his chest in a fist. "My Lord commands, and his Eonwe hears. Forgive me, Lord, my anger, thought its just cause I beg you hear." For a moment, his eyes drink in the sight of his Beloved Lord, and he opens his mouth to entreat permission to stay, but closes it again, and steps back further. "The Will of the Lord of the West be my guide." It is the hardest thing to do, to step back, but Eonwe does so, eyes ever on Manwe.The Lord of the West smiles to Nienna in a pleading way. "Please, Lady of Compassion, accompany us to the world of light, free from the evil here. Become what you were. This place is tainted with my brother's evil: I must destroy the chamber."
Aule watches the Herald as he recovers from the shove, his own body tense as he shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, ready for Eonwe's next move, his whole being flooding with with the desire to crush and pummel that insolent face, to twist and break the hand that had dared to touch him. But the expected response does not come. Instead through the haze of his rage, Aule hears the commanding voice of the Lord of the West, and like the milksop he is, Eonwe meekly obeys. But wait, what was this Manwe was saying? Destroy the chamber? All the rage that had roared through him moments before is utterly gone to be replaced by such an emptiness within as to be unbearable. No. He cannot. Surely the Breath of Arda cannot mean to destroy the one place that had been home and sanctuary to him. But there they were, the fateful words: "I must destroy the chamber." Yavanna, Eonwe, even the sweet Nienna, are totally forgotten as he turns anguished eyes upon Manwe. Aule's voice when he finally can speak, breaks on the strength of his emotion: "NO!"
Nienna takes a step backwards, as Aule and the herald shove at each other. Yet now the face that was comforting Eonwe is turned to her, and Manwe's voice, gentle, pleading, calls to her. Never has she disobeyed Manwe, never had she intended to. Manwe seldom leaves Mount Taniquetil. Never in Nienna's memory has he been involved in frivolous foolishness. Of all the people interrupting this day, he has said no harsh words to her. Out of ages of habit, perhaps, she steps toward Manwe, moving as if in a dream. Looking back over her shoulder, she reaches a hand to draw Aule along with her, but his sudden shout startles her, and she draws her hand back, uncertainly.> Next