Rajani Milton and Lihan Taifun
Nienna bows formally to Manwë, her face set. "As the Lord of the West commands." With a last cold glare at Eönwë, she tosses her head -- giving her hair a satisfying flounce -- and strides out of the room, not looking whether Ilmarë follows.
Ilmarë would far rather stay and hear what has befallen the Maiar of Mandos than play guide to the Lady Nienna, but she bows deeply to the Lord of the West, and, with a final frustrated look at Eonwë, follows her charge out the door. On any other day she would be delighted to spend time with the Lady of Compassion: Ilmarë has always admired Nienna's ability to intuitively understand the Children of Eru, a skill Ilmarë herself lacks. But with the news that Aulë and Nienna have ill-treated the Maiar who serve in this place, Ilmarë cannot help but recall that Nienna refused to help her when she called for her aid when Eonwë was first showing signs of this darkness that has been plaguing them all. She will be polite, and she will obey Lord Manwë, but she does not have to like it.
The great gates of the Halls of Mandos open to Nienna's silent gesture, as they have for all the Ages that she has tended the souls here in her brother's halls. The gates express no judgment at the Vala leaving, as they have ever expressed no judgment on the souls of the Children arriving. The gates simply watch in silence, like unto the silence of their master, the Lord of Destiny.
Nienna strides onward, her hurt and confusion fueling the motion of her feet. Only this morning, she had awoken, safe and treasured with Aulë, sheltered in that hidden chamber. Now she is cast out, alone – or nearly enough alone -- battered by the scorn of Yavanna and Eönwë. And what has become of Aulë? It gnaws at her mind that Manwë would not tell her. The more so since Manwë seemed so willing to listen to Eönwë's poisoned tongue. Her feet slow, and she bites her lip, uncertain. Should she go back, and find out for sure where Aulë is, and what has happened to him? But Manwë had harsh words for Eönwë when he questioned Manwë's plans, and Nienna would not have any such harsh words directed at her. "We will all meet in Lorien," Manwë had said. And she must be content with that, for now.
A cold wind blows among the willows on the plains surrounding the Halls of Mandos. Nienna pulls her thin cloak tighter around her and walks slowly on, frowning in confused thought.
Nienna is some way ahead of her by the time Ilmarë passes the great doors, so Ilmarë simply ceases to bother with walking and moves her body to Nienna's side at the speed of thought. The brisk wind ruffles the flimsy garments Ilmarë wears as she matches her short stride as best she can to the taller Valier's. It is like walking with Eonwë, who has always preferred a tall and stately form. Ilmarë briefly considers becoming taller, but decides that it is better to put her energy into walking quickly to keep up. It will help to distract her from the impolite things she is tempted to say.
She spares a quick glance at her traveling companion and is surprised to see that Nienna looks more distressed than proud. It is unnerving, for the Valar have always been the confident ones over the long ages of Ilmarë's life. It is much easier to be angry with someone haughty than someone sad. A small amount of pity creeps into Ilmarë's heart, not displacing her concern for her people whom Nienna has harmed, but reminding her of her Maiar instincts to serve. She clears her throat and says, awkwardly, "It is a good day for a journey, is it not? And the road to Lorien is not long."
Nienna looks up, startled. She had forgotten about the Maia. "A good day?" Nienna tries to consider what a bad day for a journey would be like. The weather in the Undying Lands is always good. Yet the sensations within her body, from which she was distracted while talking to Manwë, are again clamoring for attention. Specifically, the emptiness in her stomach. She says with a worried frown, "It is good that the road is not long, for I have no supplies. When Aulë and I came here," -- how long ago that seems, how difficult to remember -- "he had food, and blankets, and ... useful things. Do you have any such? Do you know how to cook?"
Ilmarë stops and stares at Nienna. To cook? How can she think of something so frivolous in the middle of a mission from the Lord of the West? Cooking and eating are for feast days, when the Ainur go among the Elves and sit at their tables, sharing their ways as a curiosity in a time of celebration. "Nay, Lady," she says, as politely as she can manage. "We were not bid to travel with the Children, who need food and drink and shelter." She wonders again just what has happened to the Lady of Compassion. First she spoke to Lord Manwë as one whose wits had taken leave, and now she frets over things which no Vala or Maia has needed to concern themself with in all the ages of the world. "Are you...well, Lady Nienna?"
Nienna stops and turns back at Ilmarë. Her question is like something Aulë would ask, an expression of concern for her well-being. Had any Maia ever expressed any such concern for her? Certainly not the Maiar who sullenly served Aulë and herself in the Halls of Mandos. Perhaps this one could be trained better. "This hroa -- this physical body -- is in need of food. So Aulë showed me, when he taught me how the Children live in their hroar. Food is a great joy, yet the price is that a hroa cannot function properly without it. Now we are on a journey, and have no food." She continues, puzzled. "The Children would know how to find food. I do not."
What a strange thought, that there were skills the Children had, that a Vala had not? Yet, she vaguely remembered, this had been true back when ... when she and Irmo had been living among the Children. But why had they been living there?
Ilmarë looks down at her own form, elf-shaped but smaller than most, and midnight blue, glowing slightly from within. It is not a true hroa as the Children have, but an Ainur's fana, changeable at whim. She considers Nienna for a moment. Yes, her body does seem more substantial than Ilmarë's--somehow closer to the earth upon which they walk, somehow both more solid and more constrained. But why would the Lady of Compassion bind herself to a hroa like the Istari the Lady Varda sent out in ages past? Can she truly not control her body's needs? Ilmarë is more and more unsettled. The only Ainur she knows who have lost the ability to change their forms to suit their minds are the Dark Ones, Morgoth and Sauron, and that after centuries of dark choices. Nienna is not that far gone, is she? But she speaks as if she sees no other option than to live as the Children do.
"I need no food," she says carefully. "Are you sure that we do, Lady?"
"My stomach is quite sure that I do," retorts Nienna. What matter that Ilmarë does not need food, for she spends most of her time in the far upper reaches of the sky, tending the stars. Not like ... not like a Vala? But that makes no sense. Nienna remembers eating at the Children's feasts, and seldom she attended those. She remembers eating while living with Irmo among the Children, and yet had she truly needed to eat then? Or was eating only something she did because the Children expected it? Those memories are dim and foggy. And before that, in memories even more distant and fragmented ... crowds of the souls of the dead, calling out to her, ever calling, pleading ... but was any food involved? Her mind turns over and over upon itself, chasing memories that slip away like fish in the water. Her body, no longer walking, is losing the fuel of her earlier shock and anger, her worry and fear. The energy slowly seeps out of her muscles. If she were alone, she would sink down onto the grass, but this she will not do with a Maia watching. To Ilmarë she simply says dully, "I do not remember."
Progress towards Lorien seems to have stopped as they go around and around on the question of food. Nienna is confused, Ilmarë is confused, and she is fairly certain Nienna's stomach is confused, if it is developing opinions of its own. The river running beside the path turns into a waterfall up ahead, and Ilmarë has the sudden unaccountable urge to jump into it and clear her head. Nienna begins to look a little pale around the edges, which seems wrong, but Ilmarë does not quite know what one ought to do for a person in such a state. Certainly Nienna is giving off waves of fatigue and worry. If only the Lady of Compassion were herself again! She has always been the one who knew what to do when others were in trouble.
"Can you...make it stop?" she asks. That is the obvious answer, for bodies rebelling. Ilmarë waves her hands vaguely, unsure of the right words for all the parts of the fana or hroa. "Your stomach. And your strength. And your colour." Yes, colour. That is a thought. Ilmarë looks down at her blue hands and flexes her thoughts slightly. Her hands begin to turn a lovely light brown, about the colour Lady Nienna usually is. Slowly the more Elvish hue runs up her arms and down her torso, until she is brown all over, instead of blue. "See, Lady," she says. "You are usually this colour." It strikes her after a moment that it's probably unusual for her to be blue. "Do you think I should keep this shade? Maybe the blue frightens the Children."
Nienna smiles weakly at Ilmarë -- her first smile of the day. "I imagine the Children are a bit surprised by the blue. But there are none of them here."
Turning her thoughts inward, she muses, "Can I make it stop?" Changing her skin color -- yes, she knew how to do that. She remembers admiring the apricot, and trying to copy the subtle shadings of its color. The internal workings of her hroa she does not entirely understand. Aulë seemed to understand them well, and knew how to control them easily. If Aulë were here, he could fix all this. No doubt his vixen wife, who had Sung all biological life into the world, knew every detail of the workings of hroar. Yet could not Nienna set her stomach to an "after meal" condition? Could she set her muscles to "after sleep"? Tentatively, inexpertly, she tries this. She wobbles a bit, overcompensating in places, making adjustments. But the result is that she does feel better. "Well enough," she says cautiously to Ilmarë. "Let us go on." She takes a step onward, relieved that her muscles are again moving as they should.
Ilmarë would far rather stay and hear what has befallen the Maiar of Mandos than play guide to the Lady Nienna, but she bows deeply to the Lord of the West, and, with a final frustrated look at Eonwë, follows her charge out the door. On any other day she would be delighted to spend time with the Lady of Compassion: Ilmarë has always admired Nienna's ability to intuitively understand the Children of Eru, a skill Ilmarë herself lacks. But with the news that Aulë and Nienna have ill-treated the Maiar who serve in this place, Ilmarë cannot help but recall that Nienna refused to help her when she called for her aid when Eonwë was first showing signs of this darkness that has been plaguing them all. She will be polite, and she will obey Lord Manwë, but she does not have to like it.
The great gates of the Halls of Mandos open to Nienna's silent gesture, as they have for all the Ages that she has tended the souls here in her brother's halls. The gates express no judgment at the Vala leaving, as they have ever expressed no judgment on the souls of the Children arriving. The gates simply watch in silence, like unto the silence of their master, the Lord of Destiny.
Nienna strides onward, her hurt and confusion fueling the motion of her feet. Only this morning, she had awoken, safe and treasured with Aulë, sheltered in that hidden chamber. Now she is cast out, alone – or nearly enough alone -- battered by the scorn of Yavanna and Eönwë. And what has become of Aulë? It gnaws at her mind that Manwë would not tell her. The more so since Manwë seemed so willing to listen to Eönwë's poisoned tongue. Her feet slow, and she bites her lip, uncertain. Should she go back, and find out for sure where Aulë is, and what has happened to him? But Manwë had harsh words for Eönwë when he questioned Manwë's plans, and Nienna would not have any such harsh words directed at her. "We will all meet in Lorien," Manwë had said. And she must be content with that, for now. A cold wind blows among the willows on the plains surrounding the Halls of Mandos. Nienna pulls her thin cloak tighter around her and walks slowly on, frowning in confused thought.
Nienna is some way ahead of her by the time Ilmarë passes the great doors, so Ilmarë simply ceases to bother with walking and moves her body to Nienna's side at the speed of thought. The brisk wind ruffles the flimsy garments Ilmarë wears as she matches her short stride as best she can to the taller Valier's. It is like walking with Eonwë, who has always preferred a tall and stately form. Ilmarë briefly considers becoming taller, but decides that it is better to put her energy into walking quickly to keep up. It will help to distract her from the impolite things she is tempted to say.
She spares a quick glance at her traveling companion and is surprised to see that Nienna looks more distressed than proud. It is unnerving, for the Valar have always been the confident ones over the long ages of Ilmarë's life. It is much easier to be angry with someone haughty than someone sad. A small amount of pity creeps into Ilmarë's heart, not displacing her concern for her people whom Nienna has harmed, but reminding her of her Maiar instincts to serve. She clears her throat and says, awkwardly, "It is a good day for a journey, is it not? And the road to Lorien is not long."
Nienna looks up, startled. She had forgotten about the Maia. "A good day?" Nienna tries to consider what a bad day for a journey would be like. The weather in the Undying Lands is always good. Yet the sensations within her body, from which she was distracted while talking to Manwë, are again clamoring for attention. Specifically, the emptiness in her stomach. She says with a worried frown, "It is good that the road is not long, for I have no supplies. When Aulë and I came here," -- how long ago that seems, how difficult to remember -- "he had food, and blankets, and ... useful things. Do you have any such? Do you know how to cook?"
Ilmarë stops and stares at Nienna. To cook? How can she think of something so frivolous in the middle of a mission from the Lord of the West? Cooking and eating are for feast days, when the Ainur go among the Elves and sit at their tables, sharing their ways as a curiosity in a time of celebration. "Nay, Lady," she says, as politely as she can manage. "We were not bid to travel with the Children, who need food and drink and shelter." She wonders again just what has happened to the Lady of Compassion. First she spoke to Lord Manwë as one whose wits had taken leave, and now she frets over things which no Vala or Maia has needed to concern themself with in all the ages of the world. "Are you...well, Lady Nienna?"
Nienna stops and turns back at Ilmarë. Her question is like something Aulë would ask, an expression of concern for her well-being. Had any Maia ever expressed any such concern for her? Certainly not the Maiar who sullenly served Aulë and herself in the Halls of Mandos. Perhaps this one could be trained better. "This hroa -- this physical body -- is in need of food. So Aulë showed me, when he taught me how the Children live in their hroar. Food is a great joy, yet the price is that a hroa cannot function properly without it. Now we are on a journey, and have no food." She continues, puzzled. "The Children would know how to find food. I do not."
What a strange thought, that there were skills the Children had, that a Vala had not? Yet, she vaguely remembered, this had been true back when ... when she and Irmo had been living among the Children. But why had they been living there?
Ilmarë looks down at her own form, elf-shaped but smaller than most, and midnight blue, glowing slightly from within. It is not a true hroa as the Children have, but an Ainur's fana, changeable at whim. She considers Nienna for a moment. Yes, her body does seem more substantial than Ilmarë's--somehow closer to the earth upon which they walk, somehow both more solid and more constrained. But why would the Lady of Compassion bind herself to a hroa like the Istari the Lady Varda sent out in ages past? Can she truly not control her body's needs? Ilmarë is more and more unsettled. The only Ainur she knows who have lost the ability to change their forms to suit their minds are the Dark Ones, Morgoth and Sauron, and that after centuries of dark choices. Nienna is not that far gone, is she? But she speaks as if she sees no other option than to live as the Children do."I need no food," she says carefully. "Are you sure that we do, Lady?"
"My stomach is quite sure that I do," retorts Nienna. What matter that Ilmarë does not need food, for she spends most of her time in the far upper reaches of the sky, tending the stars. Not like ... not like a Vala? But that makes no sense. Nienna remembers eating at the Children's feasts, and seldom she attended those. She remembers eating while living with Irmo among the Children, and yet had she truly needed to eat then? Or was eating only something she did because the Children expected it? Those memories are dim and foggy. And before that, in memories even more distant and fragmented ... crowds of the souls of the dead, calling out to her, ever calling, pleading ... but was any food involved? Her mind turns over and over upon itself, chasing memories that slip away like fish in the water. Her body, no longer walking, is losing the fuel of her earlier shock and anger, her worry and fear. The energy slowly seeps out of her muscles. If she were alone, she would sink down onto the grass, but this she will not do with a Maia watching. To Ilmarë she simply says dully, "I do not remember."
Progress towards Lorien seems to have stopped as they go around and around on the question of food. Nienna is confused, Ilmarë is confused, and she is fairly certain Nienna's stomach is confused, if it is developing opinions of its own. The river running beside the path turns into a waterfall up ahead, and Ilmarë has the sudden unaccountable urge to jump into it and clear her head. Nienna begins to look a little pale around the edges, which seems wrong, but Ilmarë does not quite know what one ought to do for a person in such a state. Certainly Nienna is giving off waves of fatigue and worry. If only the Lady of Compassion were herself again! She has always been the one who knew what to do when others were in trouble.
"Can you...make it stop?" she asks. That is the obvious answer, for bodies rebelling. Ilmarë waves her hands vaguely, unsure of the right words for all the parts of the fana or hroa. "Your stomach. And your strength. And your colour." Yes, colour. That is a thought. Ilmarë looks down at her blue hands and flexes her thoughts slightly. Her hands begin to turn a lovely light brown, about the colour Lady Nienna usually is. Slowly the more Elvish hue runs up her arms and down her torso, until she is brown all over, instead of blue. "See, Lady," she says. "You are usually this colour." It strikes her after a moment that it's probably unusual for her to be blue. "Do you think I should keep this shade? Maybe the blue frightens the Children."Nienna smiles weakly at Ilmarë -- her first smile of the day. "I imagine the Children are a bit surprised by the blue. But there are none of them here."
Turning her thoughts inward, she muses, "Can I make it stop?" Changing her skin color -- yes, she knew how to do that. She remembers admiring the apricot, and trying to copy the subtle shadings of its color. The internal workings of her hroa she does not entirely understand. Aulë seemed to understand them well, and knew how to control them easily. If Aulë were here, he could fix all this. No doubt his vixen wife, who had Sung all biological life into the world, knew every detail of the workings of hroar. Yet could not Nienna set her stomach to an "after meal" condition? Could she set her muscles to "after sleep"? Tentatively, inexpertly, she tries this. She wobbles a bit, overcompensating in places, making adjustments. But the result is that she does feel better. "Well enough," she says cautiously to Ilmarë. "Let us go on." She takes a step onward, relieved that her muscles are again moving as they should.
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