The Doomsman

PART 17

The twisting corridors of Mandos were the home not only of the dead and of Námo and Vairë, but also of Námo's blood sister Nienna.  In a far cavern, hewn by Aulë himself, were the shadowy chambers that she called her own.  The air was weighted with much grief and sorrow, and even she did not dwell there often, except when Vána was otherwise concerned and could not be called upon to drag her wife away. 

Oromë and Varda walked the abandoned halls with an air of quiet respect.  Most souls of the departed dwelled further away, shunning the deep grief of this place, but a few souls who were immersed in their own despair and suffering found comfort here.  An unacknowledged barrier split the two groups, and it was here that the two Valar found their kin.

Nienna sat upon a stone bench, dressed in drab gray raiment that covered all of her but her lovely face.  Holding her hand, Vána stood in bright, youthful colors, her head bare but for a wreath of flowers.  Even though she was perpetually worried about her beloved wife, no line of concern marred her forever-young face. 

"Good eve, my Ladies," Oromë greeted cordially, bowing formally.  Vána favored him with a lovely smile that cut through the gloom like a sunbeam through the clouds.  Nienna glanced his way but it seemed the sight of him was too much to bear, and she quickly cast her gaze away.  Oromë restrained the familiar impulse to gather the slender Valië into his arms in a comforting hug.  Given the standoffish nature of his kin, the Hunter knew that was a bad idea but Nienna always looked like someone had just killed her cat, and that called to Oromë's protective nature. 

"Good eve, brother, my Lady," Vána responded promptly, ducking her head shyly.  Despite her age and wisdom, Vána always gave off the impression of being perpetually bashful.  Oromë did not miss the stress she placed on 'brother'.  Ever since he had found his husband, Vána had made it a point to distance the two of them.  It was common knowledge now that they were nothing more than siblings.

"Indeed, good eve," Nienna said, her eyes staring off into nothing.  Her voice was completely toneless, giving the weight of grief in it a heavier burden.  "What brings you here?" she asked bluntly but politely. 

Oromë's smile, which had dimmed in his sister's grave presence, returned to brilliance, glad to be the giver of good news.  "Your brother is getting married," he said handing them their card.

Vána took the envelope with a delicate frown upon her face.  It was understandable that she might not know of whom he spoke, but Oromë expected Nienna knew.  While she had two immediate brothers, siblings in the same sense as blooded kin beyond the broad kinship the Valar viewed themselves in, there was only one real choice.

"Námo?!" Vána cried in surprise, looking quickly at her beloved to see if she had known.  Nienna's face betrayed nothing, but that was hardly unusual.  Everyone remained still, seemingly holding their breath as the waif-like Valië cocked her head to the side in deep thought.

"I. . . " she said after a long moment, but then paused with a thoughtful frown.  "I had not known he was grieving, but I have heard his spirit of late, and the halls are brighter for it.  Now I see the grief laid heavily upon his shoulders lifted, and find I am a poor sister not to have noticed his troubles, and a poorer Vala of Pity not to have sought to ease his burden."

"Beloved," Vána said with an exasperated sigh, even as she put her free hand on her wife's thin shoulder.  "You mustn't take the weight of the world on your shoulders.  You are not our Father; not all is known to you and it is arrogance to think so."

"You wife speaks true," Varda said, breaking her silence.  "Your brother could not accept it within himself; why should you then have noticed it?  None see what he does not wish seen, and this especially he kept well hidden."

Nienna peered intently at the Queen of the Valar, while Vána and Oromë continued to shift their focus between them.  They shared a confused look.

Finally Nienna looked away.  "Námo could not accept it?" she asked no one in particular, but clearly uncomprehending.  But despite her obvious concern, Oromë couldn't help but chuckle remembering all the trouble the two had had.  The Lady of Sorrow turned sharp eyes on him, and he almost choked on his laughter. 

Giving her a hesitant smile, and feeling like an errant schoolboy in a way only Nienna could ever make him feel, he opened up his mind to give her a very carefully selected view of the past few months of turmoil and confusion.  "Sometimes I think it was easier for him to bear his loneliness than to accept his mate," Oromë said truthfully. 

Nienna was silent for another long moment.  Varda and Vána watched on in their own kind of silence.  Neither had heard what the Hunter had shared with their sister, and neither was impolite enough to eavesdrop though Varda was certainly powerful enough to have done so.  So they had no knowledge of what he had imparted to the grieving Valië, but they knew it was of some import.

"I am glad then that he had you at least to turn to," Nienna said at length, giving them a sad smile.  There was too much loaded beneath the statement, and the other three were stymied as to how to respond without making note of it, which would entail a lengthy debate with the sorrowful Valië about the unnecessary extent she took her calling to.  It was not something any of them particularly wanted to get into at the moment.

"So, a wedding?" Vána said into the awkward silence.  "We will, of course, attend, and are delighted to be invited.  I do so love weddings," she said, a far-off look in her changeable eyes.  Varda and Oromë exchanged an amused look, knowing that Vána would settle her mate.  Vána's youthful exuberance at its extreme could cut through even Nienna's dour moods, and nothing cheered Vána like weddings and births.  Her joy would infect Nienna so that even if she were not cheerful, she would not be depressing at the wedding.

"Námo and Elladan will be delighted for your company, I am sure," Oromë replied, though he felt he had neither Valië's attention.

"We must be off.  There are other invitations to be delivered," Varda said tactfully.  The four exchanged farewells, Nienna's half-hearted and far away, before Varda and Oromë turned down the hall and disappeared to their next destination.

******

The never-ending tunnels twisted and turned, both giving the sense of complete sameness and other unworldliness from Nienna's corridor.  Those spirits who were of a disposition to do so nodded to the Valar as they passed.  Varda and Oromë stopped a few times to speak to a one or two of them, but for the most part kept to their purpose. 

They spoke no words between themselves, for the Valar found such things unnecessary.  Such rules were relaxed when near the Elven communities, the undercurrent of their spirits subtly influencing how the Valar chose to behave.  But Mandos was like to Taniquentil in that it was a place more for Ainur and Valar than Elves, and the Valar were truer to themselves here.  Though, of course, Oromë was always himself wherever he went.

The smooth black of the floors and walls reflected the Valar as they passed, but the images were blurred and indistinct as no reflection could clearly represent them.  But the reflection was further hampered by the fact that the light was diminishing.  Vána insisted that Nienna always have her chambers lit, so that there was something to battle the gloom.  But the rest of Mandos was usually cast in darkness, so that the shiny walls were not used to giving reflections.  Of course, Námo could change the lighting as he saw fit, which he did when Elladan had visited.  But the Valar needed no light, and the dead perceived no light so it was rather useless and pointless to have.

It only took a moment more for them to reach their sister.  Vairë stood in the middle of a great Hall, as still as a statue.  Though rare, there were indeed a few statues here in Mandos, hidden in small alcoves that broke up the sameness of this place.  There were also fountains with water from Irmo's Gardens, and some chosen few walls held tapestries of the Weaver's make.  Vairë stood in one such place, one lonely spirit at her side. 

She had illuminated the room, though it was unnecessary for either her or the spirit; for the dead never actually saw her work, and she did not weave most of her tapestries to be seen in any normal way that elves were familiar with.  Varda and Oromë stopped at the edge of the lonely Hall, watching as Vairë gently spoke to the spirit, who seemed unwilling to believe whatever it saw in the tapestry.  The Weaver remained patient, though it was obvious her skill in this area would need some cultivating.  Oromë wasn't certain, but he was sure that Námo must have had an awkward learning period as well, for who can really know what to say to grieving, suffering spirits to heal their hurts?  But Vairë persisted, and even if she did not win the spirit over, she at least managed to get it to think about what it had seen.  Sometimes that was the most to be hoped for. 

Sending the spirit on its way, she turned to the waiting Valar.  "Brother, my Lady," she greeted, bowing to them both.  "What brings you to these dreary Halls?"

Oromë pulled himself from his musings.  He had taken the time she had spent with the spirit to study her music, hoping to tell if she was as alright with what was going on as Námo said she claimed.  The Hunter had not seen her in that time, and could only go on his brother's word, which was hesitant at best in this area.  Her soul seemed content enough, but Oromë would be the first to say that if she were hiding, it would be beyond him to see it.  Beside him he could feel Varda giving their sister the same scrutiny, and he was sure she discerned deeper into her than he ever could.

"A wedding invitation," Oromë said, handing her invitation to her.  She took it, but did not look at it. 

"I am invited then?" she said with a trace of amusement that was unlike her.  But Oromë heard that there was a legitimate question underneath.  After all, how awkward would it be to have the ex-wife present? 

"I am, of course, not involved with the preparation of the wedding, but here is your card, so I assume you must be," the Hunter returned lightly.  Vairë laughed.

"Yes, Lady Celebrían warned that the men in her life were practically useless in this affair."

"At least we know our place," Oromë said easily, knowing that in truth Celebrían was practically blossoming with happiness as she organized the wedding.  No one wanted to take that away from her, even Erestor or Elrond who had both, contrary to Elladan's pronouncement, planned many weddings over their years.  Only Glorfindel asked to help, and generally Celebrían gave him menial gopher tasks such as the one Oromë was on right now.

"You say you are well, sister?" Varda suddenly interrupted.  Vairë blinked at the disruption, but turned her attention to the Queen of the Valar.

"I am well.  I am glad for my former husband that he should find peace," the Weaver replied.  Oromë could hear no deception in her voice, but looked to his Lady to see what she thought.  Varda's face and spirit were inscrutable to him.

There was a long moment of stillness that even Oromë felt the passage of some time, but only in that he knew his husband would worry if he took too long in getting home.  Perhaps Varda heard him, for she suddenly inclined her head, and spoke:

"That is well, sister."  Her words were quite devoid of the usual beauty of her tone, and Oromë knew that this wasn't over by any means.  Varda would keep a very careful eye on Vairë.  The Hunter wondered if the King and Queen felt any kind of failure in not noticing Námo's loneliness, or if they had even identified that he had indeed been lonely.  They certainly hadn't shown any such emotion, simply accepting everything that came as a matter of a course.  But it made sense that if they did feel deficient in some way, they would look more closely to Vairë and make sure they did not make the same mistake twice.  Still, even though Oromë was loathe to make broad assumptions, he just couldn't see either his King or Queen feeling failure, even though he was reasonably sure they had not known Námo's fate.  It would be interesting to see what the next Age held in store, and the Hunter prayed to Eru for his Father's guiding hand.

"We must be on our way," Varda said coolly.  Oromë nodded.

"As always, a pleasure to see you, sister," he said, managing to return the smile to the Weaver's face.  It was his husband's technique, but he stole it without compunction. 

Feeling better to leave on a lighter note, even though he could feel that his Lady was still thoughtful, he took her arm and led her back into the sunshine.

******

The city of Valmar was a bright and glittering necklace glinting under the watchful tower of Taniquentil.  In the days of the Two Trees it shone with such quiet brilliance that to walk upon her streets was to walk in a dream.  No metal and no stone, nor any wood of mighty trees was spared to raise this town.  The roofs of its quiet dwellings were of gold and their floors silver and their door of polished bronze; they were lifted with spells and their stones were bound with magic.*

But now, though the material of their make was the same, the bright noon-day sun shone so brilliantly that one could not see for glare, and the moon cast eerie shadows that brought with it whispers of mourning for the trees now lost.  Their great corpses could be seen in the distance, forever a reminder of the evil long past but ever possible again.

Only Aulë's house remained as beautiful and as untouched as it was in the elder days.  It was far removed from the city, bordering upon the open vale where Yavanna's forest grew, and it was filled with magic webs woven of the light of Laurelin and the sheen of Silpion and the glint of stars.*  The gentle illuminations intermingled with more beauty than had ever originally been intended.  But such was the nature of death, for even as the light of the two trees faded from the world in those last few places it was caught, it shone that much more beautiful in that death-breath.

Around the grand courtyard were other buildings made of threads of gold and silver and iron and bronze beaten to the thinness of a spider's filament, and all were woven with beauty to stories of the musics of the Ainur, picturing those things that were and shall be, or such as have been only in the glory of the mind of Ilúvatar.*

Varda and Oromë walked slowly past the giant structure, which threw shadows into the overgrown forest where all manner of beings hid, watching with wary eyes.  There was no hesitance in their steps as they strolled down forgotten paths where the trees grew ever taller and more grand and strange.  The undergrowth clutched at the Valië's skirts, and Oromë pulled clawing branches from her way so she would not be scratched. 

At the heart of the forest, where the trees grew like mountains, one tree alone stood apart, a giant among giants.  It was wreathed with golden dew that fell ever like golden leaves upon the forest floor and made a honey river from which strange and wonderful things grew.  The waning sun's light was still caught in the winking leaves as the two Valar approached.

To the side of the glade was a mighty stone bench, easily as old as the earth upon which it stood.  Aulë, Smith of the Valar, sat upon it polishing a stone.  He was clothed in the rough leather of his craft, stained with the heat of his labors.  His hair was tied back loosely, but a few strays fell to frame his smooth face.  Among the Valar he was perhaps the most plain, but in terms of absolute beauty that meant nothing, for even the least of the Valar were terrible in their loveliness.  Even Ulmo had a terrible beauty about him, held in the shadows of his strength and his quiet pain that he bore on behalf of others.  But even so, Aulë did not concern himself much with his own appearance beyond a necessary cleanliness.

"Master Smith," Varda called, and Oromë perceived that she had some business here and wished it addressed before his. 

"Ah, my Lady, glad I am to see you for I have just finished the delicate jewelry of your request," he said, his spirit vibrating with the joy and enthusiasm that a new creation always brought to him.  Immediately, he set aside the jewel in his hands, wiping them quickly on his leather apron, and took something out of his pocket.  It glinted in the morning sun, and Oromë could not at first distinguish what it was.

But when he was much closer, the Hunter saw it to be two rings, each a delicate masterpiece in its own right, but clearly connected to the other in style and make.  They shone with gold, silver, and made stones of the most precious kind.  Aulë offered them grandly to the Queen of the Valar. 

Varda took them, studying each in turn as if Aulë were even capable of producing a flawed work.  But Aulë held his breath all the same, for it never did well to fail the exacting eye of a queen. 

"Hmm," she said finally, before turning suddenly and thrusting the tiny trinkets toward Oromë.  "What do you think, brother?"

Oromë started in surprise, and gave his Lady a curious look.  "They are beautiful, as are all of our brother's works," he said with a frown, not knowing why the Valië asked his opinion.  Beside him, Aulë practically beamed at his answer, although he too seemed puzzled by Varda's actions.  She gave him a patient smile.

"Indeed, that is true, but are they good enough for the wedding?" she asked.  Oromë blinked in surprise, noting casually Aulë's frown of confusion, before turning shrewd eyes to the little pieces of metal. 

"These are for Elladan and Námo then?" he asked, taking each ring in turn and holding it up to the waning sun.

"Yes.  I chanced to see Lady Celebrían looking for wedding bands among the local smiths, but even the best Elven craftsman could not craft jewelry worthy of a Vala's finger," the Queen said.  Oromë raised an eyebrow at the underlying arrogance that her speech implied, even though he knew she meant no offense with her words, and held the younger races with much regard.  All the Valar bore traces of that casual arrogance in different measures, and it always bothered the Hunter, but he knew he could not change his kin.

"As I said before, worthy of Aulë's hand," Oromë finally said, handing the rings back to his Lady.

"My pardon," Aulë said cautiously into the intervening silence.  "But what do you mean they are to be for Námo?"

Varda looked expectantly at Oromë, and he perceived it was his turn now.  He quickly found the correct invitation, and handed it to his shorter brother.  "Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían request the honor of your presence to the wedding of their son Elladan to Námo, Doomsman of the Valar," he repeated the words on the card.

Aulë just stood there in shock.  Beside them, the tree gave a massive shiver and a great green fog swept through the area.  When it cleared, the tree was gone but standing in its place was Yavanna.  She was dressed in her usual green attire, her tall stature and honey brown hair making her as like the tree she had just been.

Varda and Oromë both nodded to her, unsurprised in the least since even if both had not known she often spent time in other forms, they could feel her Music singing beside them.  The form made no difference to them.

Her shock was as clearly painted on her face as that of her husband, but he was quicker to respond. "Námo?  But he is already wed.  What foolishness do you noise?" Aulë asked testily

"It is true.  He and Elladan are to be wed," Varda said with patience.  Aulë and Yavanna turned their attention to her, looking a little helpless.  Because it came from Varda's mouth, it must be true but that seemed impossible to them.

"Perhaps the half-elf has cast a spell on him," Yavanna suggested, half-heartedly, her voice like wind through reed-pipes.

"A half-elf?  Surely you jest," Aulë said with scorn, causing Oromë's hackles to rise.

"I trust you do not mean what your tone implies," Oromë said with deadly quiet.  It was not often that his anger showed.  The last time any of his kin had seen it in force was during the War of Wrath, save Námo and Ulmo who had accompanied him on his trek to find the abducted twins. 

Since that time the Hunter had seemed nothing but joyous and mischievous, as if he had traded his warrior's spirit for a wedding bed.  His words now brought back sharply all of those old memories of Oromë with Tulkas at his side against their fallen brother, the heat of his anger, the coolness of his eyes, the mercilessness he could call upon.  Tulkas might be considered the Warrior-Vala, but the Valar should know Oromë's strength.  There was a reason that he was said to be less strong than Tulkas, but more dreadful in his anger.*  And nothing would rouse his truly deadly ire more than a challenge to his beloved husband.

Aulë stepped back instinctively, knowing he had seriously fucked up (as the twins would say).  He opened his mouth to defend himself, but wisely held his tongue, knowing there was no way to repair such a statement.  Fortunately for him, his Lady intervened.

"Brother, I would be wary of your tone.  There is no need to insult."  Her words were accompanied by a very disapproving chord in her music that instantly made Aulë contrite, but he still dared not address the angered Hunter.

"What does Vairë think of all this?" Yavanna asked quickly, with a hint of deference to the Hunter.

"It was she who brought the matter to Námo's attention, and she who first bespoke Elladan on our brother's behalf.  You must glean the answer from that," Oromë said calmly, narrowed eyes never leaving the Smith.

His surprise overcoming his fear, Aulë broke the steely gaze to look at Varda.  "Is that true, my Lady?"

"Indeed it is, and my Lord husband and I have welcomed the coming wedding with joy.  It is past time that our somber brother found his own happiness, and we celebrate his good fortune," she said, and now Oromë understood her presence at his side.  For no one but the Queen or King of the Valar themselves could make Aulë believe that Námo was destined for someone other than Vairë, or even that it was the will of their Father that it be so.  The Hunter doubted, though, that his Lady's words would be enough for acceptance, but he knew that at least it would quiet any protests and allow Námo to remain undisturbed for the first few centuries of his marriage.

Aulë and Námo had little cause to seek each other out.  Indeed there was some animosity between them, though that was all of Aulë's make.  Námo had opposed many of Aulë's decisions and requests, but only because he saw further than any other and knew the heartache and arrogance of those decisions.  It was Aulë who taught the Noldor their art, and took Fëanor as a special student; it was he who brought the dwarves into being, thus challenging their Father's Design; and it was he who called upon Saruman to be sent as one of the five Istari.

Yet despite this record, Námo had never questioned Aulë's wisdom, and praised his skill as did everyone.  Oromë had always heard a hint of bitterness in Aulë's spirit towards the Doomsman, especially when he was being magnanimous.  His generosity seemed to Aulë to be rubbing salt in the wounds, highlighting his own vaunted superiority. 

The Hunter knew that his somber brother thought none of this, but warned when there was cause to warn, and did not dwell on the past in the same manner as others.  Time was warped to Námo's perception.  He knew the future so well that it was like the past.  It would happen, there was nothing that could change it, and in that regard it was like the past.  True, not all of the future was non-negotiable, and here Námo intervened with advice, but he knew the dangers of trying to force the future into something it could not be, and wisely took no action himself. 

Clearly Aulë envied his wisdom, but hated it too, feeling that the Doomsman withheld things.  Perhaps he did, but could the other Valar know that they were better off to have his knowledge?  Oromë didn't think so, and he trusted his brother to share what they needed to know.  And even if he didn't, Manwë knew most everything that Námo knew, and between them they should have wisdom enough for instruction or silence.

Oromë foresaw that should Aulë and Námo meet now, the Smith would throw barely concealed verbal barbs to appease his bitterness, but nothing too direct for Aulë was in some ways a coward, and he feared Námo as much as he did Melkor.  Sadly, Yavanna would be no help.  Her head was in the earth, and she did not see much beyond it.  Even if she did, she and her husband saw few things in the same light.  It always amazed Oromë that they stayed together, for even though they both loved the earth, the particulars of that love were practically incompatible.  But somehow they seemed to manage.  Perhaps it was because both were more focused on the creation of their works than on each other that neither felt abandoned.  Oromë found the idea distasteful.

Eventually, as Námo and Elladan's lives intertwined and their love deepened, far past the point where everyone else had given them their acceptance, Aulë would cave and recognize their union.  But doubtless that would be the point where he would dwell on the injustice given Vairë that she was held prisoner in unlawful marriage. 

For all that he loved all his brothers and sisters, Aulë had always been the greatest trial for him.  But Oromë forced himself to calm, and determined to leave as quickly as was polite.  Perhaps sensing this, and that his patience was wearing thin, Varda intervened again.

"So . . . we shall see you at the wedding?" she asked, a hint of steel so carefully veiled in her spirit that Oromë almost missed it, but so strong that it stiffened both Yavanna and Aulë demanding a careful answer.  Aulë looked at Yavanna, clearly unaccepting but unwilling to anger both Varda and Oromë.  The Valar of the Earth gave them a tight smile.

"We would be delighted," she said blandly.  Oromë felt for her, knowing she was probably confused and yet would have to walk a narrow wall between her husband's petulance and her Queen's expectations.  But in the end, when the wedding was over, she would forget everything, including her husband's continuing resentment, and be subsumed with her work for the earth.  The Hunter could only sigh about the pair and consign them to the kind of people that nothing could be done about and one just must live with.  His only hope was to speak with her the next time she visited his forests, for she loved them as dearly as did he and could not stay long away no matter what Aulë wished.

Varda laid a consoling hand on his arm, even as she gracefully inclined her head to the pair.  "Then we shall see you there, and thank you again for the lovely rings, Aulë.  Good eve," she said more quickly than decorum demanded.

NEXT

*The introductory paragraphs are a blend of Direct Quotes from the Book of Lost Tales 1 and my own writing