Lihan Taifun and Rajani Milton
A patch of still water stretches before Nienna and Ilmarë; a secluded spot bordered in willow trees, the water's further extent obscured by bends in the shoreline. The surface of the water sparkles in minute flashes of gold as tiny ripples in the evening breeze reflect the rays of the setting sun that filter between the willow leaves Even in the dreamlike shifting of Lórien, Nienna is confident that this is a corner of Lórellin, Estë's own lake in the heart of her lands. Does not the willow leaves whisper in Estë's own gentle song? Are not the water lilies that joyfully float here a favorite of hers, that famously persistent flower that rises from the mud to bloom in splendor? Nienna smiles to herself, breathing in the peace and contentment that rises here from the very air. Her fear, her confusion, her longing for Aulë all fade for the moment, as she is caught by the beauty and the presence of this place.
The water beckons to her. Cool and refreshing it must be, after their long walk. So beautiful, so peaceful, so inviting. "I will cool my toes here," Nienna says to Ilmarë. With effort, she unfastens her thin cloak, her fingers unused to working the clasp, and lays the cloak on the grassy verge. The grass indeed runs to the very edge of the lake, and beneath the clear waters can be seen clean sand. Yet Nienna hesitates to take off her sandals. Aulë made these sandals for her to protect her feet from the discomforts of walking barefoot outdoors, discomforts she remembers well from her first days in this physical body. Following the call of the lake, she takes a step in, and allows her feet to sink up to the ankles in the blessed waters.
"Yes," says Ilmarë, but her attention is not on Nienna anymore. She has not been wearied by the road, for she has not taken as solid a form as Nienna, but she is weary of heart, and the gentle influence of Lorien draws her as well. The very grass is softer here, the light is kind, the air is fresh. There is one beautiful willow tree at the water's edge that draws Ilmarë especially. Its strong trunk is almost obscured by the curtains of leaves that hang nearly down to the ground. Ilmarë slips under the branches (touching them as she passes, as if they were old friends, for they seem to invite such intimacies) and curls up at the base of the tree, leaning her back against the trunk and tucking her legs up under her. She gives herself up to waking dreams.
The water is indeed cool and refreshing. The tiredness and aches begin to seep out of her legs. The grains of sand creeping between her sandals and her feet are only a playful tickle. Delighted, Nienna takes another step in, and another. The water is up to her waist now, soothing and caressing all the muscles she has been using in walking. In the water her body feels light, and she bounces on her toes. Is this what it feels like to be a fish? Silver-bright fish are swimming nearby, watching her. She reaches out a hand toward them. Reaches farther, and overbalances. Her legs tangle in her wet skirts, and she fall with a splash.
Her first reaction is a gulp of shock, as the cool waters cover her entire body. Then a moment of bodily fear, as her lungs protests the invasion of water she had taken in. Then, in a moment of laughter, she remembers that she is Vala, and does not need to breathe. Carefully, as remembering something from long ago, she adjusts her lungs, removing the water, and sets her body to "not breathing". She settles herself to sit on the floor of the lake, watching the unsettled fishes return to watch her.
Gradually, she is aware of a sound, perhaps – a song, perhaps, or a memory of a song. Perhaps a memory of The Song – perhaps a voice, in the water, in the air, in her head, in her memory, in the earth – She does not know where the song, the voice, the memory, originates. She knows her spirit turns toward it, as a flower turns toward the sun, as iron turns to the lodestone, as a frightened child runs to a parent.
"Come back," said the voice, softly, kindly. "Remember the Song. Be what you once were."
"I am here," she says.
In her mind, she begins to see, as images in a glass, as scenes in Vairë's tapestries, the recent events in which she has been involved. Meeting Aulë, as he built a wall to protect the Children from the cursed flowers. Learning from him the wonders of physical experience. The hidden prison chamber in the depths of the Halls of Mandos, where she and Aulë locked themselves. The calls for her help, which she left unheeded. Harsh words spoken to the Maiar who served them in their self-imposed prison. Manwë's sudden appearance, and Eönwë's, with Yavanna and Ilmarë, and the turmoil that followed. So much of these memories seem dark and disharmonious. "How could I have done such things?" she whispers in her mind. Manwë had spoken of Melkor's influence at work. Had she herself been tainted by Melkor? But how else to explain her behavior. Was she even now tainted? In all her work with the souls of the dead, she knows well that those who listen to the whispers of the Evil One are slow to heal, and can take thousands of years to be free from his lies.
"Listen to the Song again," the voice continued, and it was many voices, in harmony, with different words, but one theme, as when the Ainur first sang the Great Song. "Listen, and remember."
"You did not fall by your own agency. An evil spell of Melkor trapped you, while you were off guard. And trapping you, it blocked the sound of the Song in your heart, and blinded you to the Light of the Source of your wisdom."
"The spell is broken now. See. Hear. Feel."
"There is no shame. Eru has allowed the discord in the Song, in order to display new harmonies beyond your imagining. Take your place again."
"You fell, yes. And falling, you were no more hurt than now, when you fell into the waters of healing.. The hand of Eru is ever beneath you, and ever has been. Hear and understand this: when the Firstborn fall, their souls fall into the hand of Nienna, to find their own healing. This is your place in the Song. Take your place again."
"Remember all that has happened to you, so you may teach wisdom to the Children."
"Now you are indeed like the Children, fallen and raised up again. Now you are wiser and more fully formed. Now you belong not only to Arda Unmarred that was, but also to Arda Marred that is, and Arda Restored that shall be – that is coming into being, and that you shall help bring into being."
"The Thought of Eru does not fail, daughter of the Thought of Eru. The Light of Eru is not dimmed, even when hidden by clouds. The Song is not broken or silenced, nor ever shall be, by the discords of Melkor."
"Remember all that has happened to you."
"The dead ..." Nienna whispers in shock. "I have left them alone too long. I have neglected my duties. And the Children of the mortal world – I ought to be in Alqualondë! I should have returned long ago." She struggles to her feet, hampered by the folds of her long white skirts in the water. Her thoughts start to reach toward her brother Irmo, to ask how things stand in Alqualondë.
The Presence of the voices stops her, like an invisible hand covering her mind. "Soon," it says. "Very soon you will return to your duties, but not yet. You have more healing left to do."
The voices and the music recede, not into forgetfulness, but deeper into Nienna's soul, leaving her conscious mind free to again observe the physical realm. The physical sensations are sharp and intense as when Aulë first taught her to observe them. She is standing up to her ribs in the cool waters of Lorellin, her feet soft on the white sandy lake bed. Curious fish nose at her toes where they peek through her sandals. A quiet breeze, scented with evening jasmine, is starting to dry her hair. She turns in place, amazed, trying to take in all the sensations. A soft, warm, presence fills the air, the earth, the lake, joyful as Estë's smile.
Slowly, Nienna wades back to the grassy shore, where Ilmarë waits. Ilmarë, small and brown-skinned, dark of hair and eye, delicate of feature, immersed in her own thoughts. Nienna opens her arms toward the Maia. "Ilmarë! Little Sister! You have been here all this time, and I have hardly seen you. I was blinded, but no more. It was so good of you to come here with me, and I fear I was not good company. Forgive me."
Ilmarë has been sitting at the base of a willow tree, leaning against the trunk and looking up into the ever-shifting branches. The soft grass under her feet and the gentle wind on her face has made her feel almost drowsy. Her churning thoughts settle and her worries–for Eonwë, for the Maiar of Mandos, for her own mission from the Lady Varda–recede. She still wants justice for the Maiar who have been so ill-used, but the bitterness of her heart begins to ease, and she thinks more on what may be done for the Maiar and less on what punishments should be meted out to the Maker and the Lady of Fui. She knows she has a place to be, not long from now. But not just yet: right now, this willow tree is where she is meant to be.
She looks up in some surprise when she hears Nienna's voice coming from the water. She had not noticed the passage of time. She looks at Nienna–really looks, with eyesight made clearer somehow by the airs of Lorien–and smiles. Yes, here is the Lady of Compassion again. Here is wise the spirit that so many in Arda have been drawn to in times of pain over the ages of the world. Ilmarë sits up and holds out her hand to her traveling companion. "The land of Lorien is good for the soul. I have heard this many times, but never have I known it to be so true as today. It is good to see you again, Lady Nienna." Ilmarë pats the grass at the base of the tree trunk. "Come and sit a while, Lady, and let the airs dry you. I have been resting and thinking here. I am glad we came."
> Next
The water beckons to her. Cool and refreshing it must be, after their long walk. So beautiful, so peaceful, so inviting. "I will cool my toes here," Nienna says to Ilmarë. With effort, she unfastens her thin cloak, her fingers unused to working the clasp, and lays the cloak on the grassy verge. The grass indeed runs to the very edge of the lake, and beneath the clear waters can be seen clean sand. Yet Nienna hesitates to take off her sandals. Aulë made these sandals for her to protect her feet from the discomforts of walking barefoot outdoors, discomforts she remembers well from her first days in this physical body. Following the call of the lake, she takes a step in, and allows her feet to sink up to the ankles in the blessed waters.
"Yes," says Ilmarë, but her attention is not on Nienna anymore. She has not been wearied by the road, for she has not taken as solid a form as Nienna, but she is weary of heart, and the gentle influence of Lorien draws her as well. The very grass is softer here, the light is kind, the air is fresh. There is one beautiful willow tree at the water's edge that draws Ilmarë especially. Its strong trunk is almost obscured by the curtains of leaves that hang nearly down to the ground. Ilmarë slips under the branches (touching them as she passes, as if they were old friends, for they seem to invite such intimacies) and curls up at the base of the tree, leaning her back against the trunk and tucking her legs up under her. She gives herself up to waking dreams.
The water is indeed cool and refreshing. The tiredness and aches begin to seep out of her legs. The grains of sand creeping between her sandals and her feet are only a playful tickle. Delighted, Nienna takes another step in, and another. The water is up to her waist now, soothing and caressing all the muscles she has been using in walking. In the water her body feels light, and she bounces on her toes. Is this what it feels like to be a fish? Silver-bright fish are swimming nearby, watching her. She reaches out a hand toward them. Reaches farther, and overbalances. Her legs tangle in her wet skirts, and she fall with a splash.
Her first reaction is a gulp of shock, as the cool waters cover her entire body. Then a moment of bodily fear, as her lungs protests the invasion of water she had taken in. Then, in a moment of laughter, she remembers that she is Vala, and does not need to breathe. Carefully, as remembering something from long ago, she adjusts her lungs, removing the water, and sets her body to "not breathing". She settles herself to sit on the floor of the lake, watching the unsettled fishes return to watch her.
Gradually, she is aware of a sound, perhaps – a song, perhaps, or a memory of a song. Perhaps a memory of The Song – perhaps a voice, in the water, in the air, in her head, in her memory, in the earth – She does not know where the song, the voice, the memory, originates. She knows her spirit turns toward it, as a flower turns toward the sun, as iron turns to the lodestone, as a frightened child runs to a parent.
"Come back," said the voice, softly, kindly. "Remember the Song. Be what you once were."
"I am here," she says.
In her mind, she begins to see, as images in a glass, as scenes in Vairë's tapestries, the recent events in which she has been involved. Meeting Aulë, as he built a wall to protect the Children from the cursed flowers. Learning from him the wonders of physical experience. The hidden prison chamber in the depths of the Halls of Mandos, where she and Aulë locked themselves. The calls for her help, which she left unheeded. Harsh words spoken to the Maiar who served them in their self-imposed prison. Manwë's sudden appearance, and Eönwë's, with Yavanna and Ilmarë, and the turmoil that followed. So much of these memories seem dark and disharmonious. "How could I have done such things?" she whispers in her mind. Manwë had spoken of Melkor's influence at work. Had she herself been tainted by Melkor? But how else to explain her behavior. Was she even now tainted? In all her work with the souls of the dead, she knows well that those who listen to the whispers of the Evil One are slow to heal, and can take thousands of years to be free from his lies.
"Listen to the Song again," the voice continued, and it was many voices, in harmony, with different words, but one theme, as when the Ainur first sang the Great Song. "Listen, and remember."
"You did not fall by your own agency. An evil spell of Melkor trapped you, while you were off guard. And trapping you, it blocked the sound of the Song in your heart, and blinded you to the Light of the Source of your wisdom."
"The spell is broken now. See. Hear. Feel."
"There is no shame. Eru has allowed the discord in the Song, in order to display new harmonies beyond your imagining. Take your place again."
"You fell, yes. And falling, you were no more hurt than now, when you fell into the waters of healing.. The hand of Eru is ever beneath you, and ever has been. Hear and understand this: when the Firstborn fall, their souls fall into the hand of Nienna, to find their own healing. This is your place in the Song. Take your place again."
"Remember all that has happened to you, so you may teach wisdom to the Children."
"Now you are indeed like the Children, fallen and raised up again. Now you are wiser and more fully formed. Now you belong not only to Arda Unmarred that was, but also to Arda Marred that is, and Arda Restored that shall be – that is coming into being, and that you shall help bring into being."
"The Thought of Eru does not fail, daughter of the Thought of Eru. The Light of Eru is not dimmed, even when hidden by clouds. The Song is not broken or silenced, nor ever shall be, by the discords of Melkor."
"Remember all that has happened to you."
"The dead ..." Nienna whispers in shock. "I have left them alone too long. I have neglected my duties. And the Children of the mortal world – I ought to be in Alqualondë! I should have returned long ago." She struggles to her feet, hampered by the folds of her long white skirts in the water. Her thoughts start to reach toward her brother Irmo, to ask how things stand in Alqualondë.
The Presence of the voices stops her, like an invisible hand covering her mind. "Soon," it says. "Very soon you will return to your duties, but not yet. You have more healing left to do."
The voices and the music recede, not into forgetfulness, but deeper into Nienna's soul, leaving her conscious mind free to again observe the physical realm. The physical sensations are sharp and intense as when Aulë first taught her to observe them. She is standing up to her ribs in the cool waters of Lorellin, her feet soft on the white sandy lake bed. Curious fish nose at her toes where they peek through her sandals. A quiet breeze, scented with evening jasmine, is starting to dry her hair. She turns in place, amazed, trying to take in all the sensations. A soft, warm, presence fills the air, the earth, the lake, joyful as Estë's smile.
Slowly, Nienna wades back to the grassy shore, where Ilmarë waits. Ilmarë, small and brown-skinned, dark of hair and eye, delicate of feature, immersed in her own thoughts. Nienna opens her arms toward the Maia. "Ilmarë! Little Sister! You have been here all this time, and I have hardly seen you. I was blinded, but no more. It was so good of you to come here with me, and I fear I was not good company. Forgive me."
Ilmarë has been sitting at the base of a willow tree, leaning against the trunk and looking up into the ever-shifting branches. The soft grass under her feet and the gentle wind on her face has made her feel almost drowsy. Her churning thoughts settle and her worries–for Eonwë, for the Maiar of Mandos, for her own mission from the Lady Varda–recede. She still wants justice for the Maiar who have been so ill-used, but the bitterness of her heart begins to ease, and she thinks more on what may be done for the Maiar and less on what punishments should be meted out to the Maker and the Lady of Fui. She knows she has a place to be, not long from now. But not just yet: right now, this willow tree is where she is meant to be.
She looks up in some surprise when she hears Nienna's voice coming from the water. She had not noticed the passage of time. She looks at Nienna–really looks, with eyesight made clearer somehow by the airs of Lorien–and smiles. Yes, here is the Lady of Compassion again. Here is wise the spirit that so many in Arda have been drawn to in times of pain over the ages of the world. Ilmarë sits up and holds out her hand to her traveling companion. "The land of Lorien is good for the soul. I have heard this many times, but never have I known it to be so true as today. It is good to see you again, Lady Nienna." Ilmarë pats the grass at the base of the tree trunk. "Come and sit a while, Lady, and let the airs dry you. I have been resting and thinking here. I am glad we came."
> Next