Shawn Daysleeper and AelKennyr Rhiano
Umo. Ullubôz. Ulu. Guiar. He who pours. Ocean ruler. Lord of the Waters of the World. The Children of Eru call him by many names; sometimes the names are curses, when the seas are rough, and their reaching port is uncertain. Sometimes, the names are blessings, gratitude for the Vala's benevolence. As he rose out of the warm, familiar embrace of the waters of world, dripping, sparkling in the twilight of Aman, he grips his staff a little tighter and shakes his hair, like an animal shakes off water from its fur after a rain. It does not bother him. No, water is his to command, to roam, to embrace and be embraced, but he is going to Mandos, now, to answer Manwe's summons, and yet again a disquiet seizes him.
He reaches land, crosses Aman as quickly as a thought, a blur to any eye but those of his kin and kind. Maiar, here and there, turn their head at his passing. The elves who love so Aman that they who remain ever next to the Ainur - the Vanyar- they feel his passing and know it not. As Ulmo speeds towards the destination, he grimaces. Seldom does he comes to the Councils of Mahanaxar, and only when in great need. Never has he come to Mandos, and, in truth, it's lord, Namo, is neigh a stranger to him, for all their kinship. Grim is Namo, as grim as his duty, as grim as his palace, as grim as his court. Ulmo loves the living Children, but those who are but shades, he loves not, for those he understands not, sees not, hears not. That Manwe summons the Lord of the Waters to Mandos is a thing not done in all the history of Eru's creation.
Reaching the steps of the halls of Mandos, Ulmo stops long enough to cast off the form most pleasing to him, wills his body dry so that he will not track the salt waters onto the marble floors, and clothes himself in raiments such as the Children wear, for he knows his kin does emulate the Children in their choice to don fabrics of all sort. The great horn, Ulumúri, he reduces in size and hangs from a gold chain about his waist, at his back. His staff in his oversized right hand, the garments of of the elves and men he so love adorning his body, Ulmo, Lord of the Waters of the World, enters Mandos.
Manwe watches in the direction of the doors where Eonwe departed some time ago. The passing time gives Manwe an opportunity to think about what he will say to the Lord of Waters when he arrives. He thinks Aule would follow his suggestions as he says them, but he also thinks it best if he has an escort to the Gardens. Aule needs time away for Nienna and Eonwe to heal for the best. Looking back to the doors, he sees the form of Ulmo on the threshold. "Ulmo, your presence is welcome," he says to the Lord of Waters.
The sea blue eyes of the Lord of the Ocean lift and meet the sky blue eyes of the Lord of the West. Sea and sky. Air and water. He does not so much as walk upon feet that were large and clumsy, from lack of practice, as float across the expanse of the entrance hall, the blues and purples pleasing to his eyes, the whole of the room still and quiet, waiting, such as the seas never are. He comes into the presence of the Lord of the West, and bowing, lays his staff at Manwe's feet in token of the respect due the Lord of Arda. "Hail, Manwe, Breath of Arda," he responds, his voice deep, slow, moving about the hall as an ocean current. "You have summoned me, and I obey."
Manwe urges Ulmo to rise. "Ever loyal, you are. I shall reveal to you what has been discovered here. Upon your suggestion, Yavanna and I pursued the tale of Eonwe, for he had come here, seeking out the Maker. And here, far below, lies the prison of the Fallen One. Melkor's foul craft: even from the Void the cursed one succeeded in corrupting the Maker and the Lady of Compassion into a false and lavish life of deceit. Nienna's and Aule's affection for one another was created by the dark power emanating from the chamber. By the time we arrived, Eonwe himself was also affected, ready to murder the Maker. He would had done so had not I removed them from the chamber and exiled the dark magic there. With the dark magic removed, Nienna, Aule, and Eonwe are willing to submit to my desire; that they be healed in the waters of the Garden of Lorien. Ilmare is escorting Nienna from this place, and Eonwe has departed as well, on separate paths. Aule waits here on the level above. I desire he go to heal as well, but it is critical he does not cross Eonwe or Nienna's path while there."
"Ever loyal." So Manwe calls him now, in this cavernous hall. He placed his staff at Manwe's feet, as proof of his loyalty, but where was his staff and his word as he rose from the murky depths of the ocean's waters and defended Alqualonde, and it's king, as he wantonly, knowingly, intervened in what would have been the sure destruction of the one they have come to call, "the Hope of the Valar." He listens, head bowed a little to Manwe's recount of events with a growing heaviness and no little surprise. Aule? Nienna? He frowns, his brow knitting together as he hears the words of the Lord of the West. "Eonwe," he echoes softly when Manwe is done. "I remember us walking upon the forest at the base of your sacred mountain and speaking about the madness which seemed to have struck your Herald. How came he to hate so the Maker?" Did he betray himself and disobey you as well, the Lord of the Waters thinks.
Manwe looks upon Ulmo's face as the emotions change. He remembers the day they walked in the forest together, and his own confused emotions. Today, his emotions are no less complicated, but he at least has answers. "It was not Eonwe speaking that day," he says with some difficulty, "that day I dismissed him. It was Melkor, and Melkor alone is responsible for the actions of Eonwe, the Maker, and Nienna. I spoke of betrayal that day when we spoke, but I... I misunderstood. But he needs healing, they all do. Which brings me to why I summoned you. The healing waters of the Lake in Lorien will purge them of this madness. The Maker has already consented to my desires. It is you, i wish, to escort Aule to the Gardens. I know you will take him there so that he arrives safely."
Ulmo regards the Lord of the West, his own eyes betraying nothing of the tossing, turning, churning waves of emotions. Here was Manwe, uncertain, unhappy, admitting he, the Breath of Arda, was wrong. Wrong, In his ears, there is a popping sound, the same mortal divers experience when they go too deep into the watery bowels of the ocean. "I am going in too deep," thinks Ulmo. He opens his mouth, at first to confess all to the Lord of the West, his brother, and his king, but the look in Manwe's eyes, the tone of his voice, the way he stands, blue eyes wide as the sky, trusting, and Ulmo cannot speak. He cannot tell his brother Arator that he, too, have broken word and done as he pleased. There is a better hour for that, he soothes his conscience. There is another time, and mine is a small breaking of trust. He looks down at his big hands, his words tumbling from his lips, like water from a fountain. "I see the hands of the Children. I watch the way they use them. Fascinating. Do you know that this finger.." He waggles his pinkie..."totally unneeded. Why would Eru create a digit that goes unneeded. " He raises his hand and turns it over and back slowly as he speaks. "I know I get the hands wrong. I do not know why."
Manwe looks at his own hands and sees his pinkie. He thinks about the words of Ulmo. "Unneeded you say?" He looks over his physical form. "Nothing Eru has created is unneeded." He holds up his pinkie. "There is certainly some use for it. Or maybe, the Children will find a way to use it. But I do not have any idea what it would be used for." He puts his pinkie finger and hand back down. "Its use will be called upon when it is needed, and it will obey the call."
Ulmo draws in a breath of air. He can taste distant cook fires, the dust of the hall, the salt of the distant sea that lingers about his form, the soft smell of a newborn somewhere in the world, the husky and dry smell of an old human woman about to pass from this world to wherever the Atani go. "It will obey the call," he echoes Manwe, "As will I. I shall travel with the Smith unto Lorien and keep him apart from the Herald and the Vala of Compassion. For such is your will?" He looks to Manwe for confirmation.
Manwe nods to Ulmo. "Yes, this is my will. Let us go up to him and explain the matter." He shows an approving smile. "I know you obey the call."
Ulmo gives a curt nod and a grunt as he follows the Lord of the West. Behind them upon the floor lies the staff of the Lord of the Waters of the World, left behind, forgotten, as the Arator moves to obey the call.
> Next
He reaches land, crosses Aman as quickly as a thought, a blur to any eye but those of his kin and kind. Maiar, here and there, turn their head at his passing. The elves who love so Aman that they who remain ever next to the Ainur - the Vanyar- they feel his passing and know it not. As Ulmo speeds towards the destination, he grimaces. Seldom does he comes to the Councils of Mahanaxar, and only when in great need. Never has he come to Mandos, and, in truth, it's lord, Namo, is neigh a stranger to him, for all their kinship. Grim is Namo, as grim as his duty, as grim as his palace, as grim as his court. Ulmo loves the living Children, but those who are but shades, he loves not, for those he understands not, sees not, hears not. That Manwe summons the Lord of the Waters to Mandos is a thing not done in all the history of Eru's creation.
Reaching the steps of the halls of Mandos, Ulmo stops long enough to cast off the form most pleasing to him, wills his body dry so that he will not track the salt waters onto the marble floors, and clothes himself in raiments such as the Children wear, for he knows his kin does emulate the Children in their choice to don fabrics of all sort. The great horn, Ulumúri, he reduces in size and hangs from a gold chain about his waist, at his back. His staff in his oversized right hand, the garments of of the elves and men he so love adorning his body, Ulmo, Lord of the Waters of the World, enters Mandos.
Manwe watches in the direction of the doors where Eonwe departed some time ago. The passing time gives Manwe an opportunity to think about what he will say to the Lord of Waters when he arrives. He thinks Aule would follow his suggestions as he says them, but he also thinks it best if he has an escort to the Gardens. Aule needs time away for Nienna and Eonwe to heal for the best. Looking back to the doors, he sees the form of Ulmo on the threshold. "Ulmo, your presence is welcome," he says to the Lord of Waters.
The sea blue eyes of the Lord of the Ocean lift and meet the sky blue eyes of the Lord of the West. Sea and sky. Air and water. He does not so much as walk upon feet that were large and clumsy, from lack of practice, as float across the expanse of the entrance hall, the blues and purples pleasing to his eyes, the whole of the room still and quiet, waiting, such as the seas never are. He comes into the presence of the Lord of the West, and bowing, lays his staff at Manwe's feet in token of the respect due the Lord of Arda. "Hail, Manwe, Breath of Arda," he responds, his voice deep, slow, moving about the hall as an ocean current. "You have summoned me, and I obey."
Manwe urges Ulmo to rise. "Ever loyal, you are. I shall reveal to you what has been discovered here. Upon your suggestion, Yavanna and I pursued the tale of Eonwe, for he had come here, seeking out the Maker. And here, far below, lies the prison of the Fallen One. Melkor's foul craft: even from the Void the cursed one succeeded in corrupting the Maker and the Lady of Compassion into a false and lavish life of deceit. Nienna's and Aule's affection for one another was created by the dark power emanating from the chamber. By the time we arrived, Eonwe himself was also affected, ready to murder the Maker. He would had done so had not I removed them from the chamber and exiled the dark magic there. With the dark magic removed, Nienna, Aule, and Eonwe are willing to submit to my desire; that they be healed in the waters of the Garden of Lorien. Ilmare is escorting Nienna from this place, and Eonwe has departed as well, on separate paths. Aule waits here on the level above. I desire he go to heal as well, but it is critical he does not cross Eonwe or Nienna's path while there."
Manwe looks upon Ulmo's face as the emotions change. He remembers the day they walked in the forest together, and his own confused emotions. Today, his emotions are no less complicated, but he at least has answers. "It was not Eonwe speaking that day," he says with some difficulty, "that day I dismissed him. It was Melkor, and Melkor alone is responsible for the actions of Eonwe, the Maker, and Nienna. I spoke of betrayal that day when we spoke, but I... I misunderstood. But he needs healing, they all do. Which brings me to why I summoned you. The healing waters of the Lake in Lorien will purge them of this madness. The Maker has already consented to my desires. It is you, i wish, to escort Aule to the Gardens. I know you will take him there so that he arrives safely."
Ulmo regards the Lord of the West, his own eyes betraying nothing of the tossing, turning, churning waves of emotions. Here was Manwe, uncertain, unhappy, admitting he, the Breath of Arda, was wrong. Wrong, In his ears, there is a popping sound, the same mortal divers experience when they go too deep into the watery bowels of the ocean. "I am going in too deep," thinks Ulmo. He opens his mouth, at first to confess all to the Lord of the West, his brother, and his king, but the look in Manwe's eyes, the tone of his voice, the way he stands, blue eyes wide as the sky, trusting, and Ulmo cannot speak. He cannot tell his brother Arator that he, too, have broken word and done as he pleased. There is a better hour for that, he soothes his conscience. There is another time, and mine is a small breaking of trust. He looks down at his big hands, his words tumbling from his lips, like water from a fountain. "I see the hands of the Children. I watch the way they use them. Fascinating. Do you know that this finger.." He waggles his pinkie..."totally unneeded. Why would Eru create a digit that goes unneeded. " He raises his hand and turns it over and back slowly as he speaks. "I know I get the hands wrong. I do not know why." Manwe looks at his own hands and sees his pinkie. He thinks about the words of Ulmo. "Unneeded you say?" He looks over his physical form. "Nothing Eru has created is unneeded." He holds up his pinkie. "There is certainly some use for it. Or maybe, the Children will find a way to use it. But I do not have any idea what it would be used for." He puts his pinkie finger and hand back down. "Its use will be called upon when it is needed, and it will obey the call."
Ulmo draws in a breath of air. He can taste distant cook fires, the dust of the hall, the salt of the distant sea that lingers about his form, the soft smell of a newborn somewhere in the world, the husky and dry smell of an old human woman about to pass from this world to wherever the Atani go. "It will obey the call," he echoes Manwe, "As will I. I shall travel with the Smith unto Lorien and keep him apart from the Herald and the Vala of Compassion. For such is your will?" He looks to Manwe for confirmation.
Manwe nods to Ulmo. "Yes, this is my will. Let us go up to him and explain the matter." He shows an approving smile. "I know you obey the call."
Ulmo gives a curt nod and a grunt as he follows the Lord of the West. Behind them upon the floor lies the staff of the Lord of the Waters of the World, left behind, forgotten, as the Arator moves to obey the call.
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