Lord and Lady Twilight
Summary: During the War of the Ring, two powerful entities look yonder.
Disclaimer: Not one star or feather.
Rating: T just for safety.
Some things that you should know before reading this fiction: the entities here are the Valar. They were powerful spirits in Tolkien's Legendarium, and each one possessed a gift or a power according to their nature. They are not gods as Tolkien made it clear. They are simply powerful spirits.
Manwë is the King of the Valar and governs all birds and his wife; Varda (or Elbereth as most know her) is the Lady of Stars and is one of the most well-known entities who bear more direct relation with Elves.
All of my stories are interconnected unless stated otherwise. But you do not need to read one to understand the other.
My stories are now available in the form of a list in chronological sequence on my bio.
Enjoy!
~S~
A bird's eye view of the entire Middle-Earth was breathtaking. But the sight high up, higher than the birds and at the levels of the stars was even more breathtaking.
Silver-white stars twinkled on night-blue sky, as far as the eyes could see. She saw the entire terrain stretched out below her, with rolling plains and high mountain peaks. Some mountains were capped with snow over grey stones and others were lush green with mountain forests.
She turned her eyes towards the black terrain surrounded by sharp-peaked mountains on all sides. The armies rolled over the plain within it and clashed together. Bearers struggled to keep their standards high. Chaos reigned. Soil kicked high and bodies began to pile.
"Does anything of interest catch your eye, beloved?" Her husband murmured to her.
"Do not pretend that you are blind to the turmoil in Arda, husband," she answered. Manwë looked and sighed, nodding.
"I see what you mean." She watched as a man led the soldiers of Gondor, Andúril shining bright as he advanced to the Enemy. Manwë clasped her hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. "The Kings of Gondor and Rohan took a fatal risk. If the Enemy overwhelms them, they will perish and none will stand in the Deceiver's way afterwards."
"They need not defeat his army," Varda declined. "They wish only to command his attention, until the little one destroys the Ring." She turned her attention to Mount Doom; volcano spurting lava in rage, smoke clouding the sky above it, "So strange, for such a heavy decision to depend on one so small." Silence pooled between them as large as a pond and as deep as a bottomless pit. Dread for the outcome was apparent just as silence was. Manwë was the first to break it.
"The night is beautiful. I am surprised you are not birthing more stars."
Varda sighed and looked at the wide expanse of black soil, dotted with Men, Orcs and other fell creatures.
"There are none at the moment to appreciate their beauty."
She heard a whisper of a prayer in her ear, so faint as if it came from far away. She tilted her head slightly to it but it was gone.
"Yet another light extinguished," she said sorrowfully. There was no doubt in her mind that the voice belonged to a dying Elf on a battlefield. "How many more shall pass?"
"More, I am afraid, until the day is done." Manwë said. "And then the battles and skirmishes will continue, to remove every black stain they find."
She turned her gaze upon the forest of Greenwood. 'Mirkwood' the Men called it, in loathing for the dark creatures living under the trees. It was a wide forest tightly knit with trees, but the southern part of it was ablaze in red and gold.
"The King of Greenwood is under a great burden," she remarked. "His forest burns. The trees that were loyal to him burn as well. He is cut off and low on both supplies and army."
"If the Enemy pushes him, his army will be crippled forever." Manwë responded.
"Yavanna, no doubt, grieves."
"She has bestowed her blessings upon him." Varda watched as the King of Greenwood look up to the sky, a prayer on his lips. She did not hear him. He was not calling her. Perhaps he called for Yavanna by her Elven name, Kementári, or he called Oromë by calling him Tauron. Both had stood by Thranduil for many years.
"Ah, Lord Elrond places his final stand at his borders." Manwë observed. Varda turned her head. The city of Imladris covered the entire valley, golden over a green grassy terrain and dotted with waterfalls and streams. It was late and yet the city was very much awake. Glorfindel stood during a patrol, face tense and tired.
"Rohan grieves," she whispered. She knelt on the cold hard floor, sharp pain going through her knee where it dug between two sharp irregularly shaped tiles. Rohan was a long wide land, curved and raised in sloping green plains. Ugly black spots marked it randomly, where the Orcs burned towns to the ground. "Their King is far and their people are crippled. If they fail the War, there is no hope for them to survive." She lowered her gaze until the land of Rohirrim disappeared from her view. "They will vanish from existence and any memory or heirloom they leave behind will perish. After Gondor, they will be the first to fall."
"And the Little People," Manwë's voice became lighter, more mirthful.
She could not stop the small smile on her lips when she turned her attention to the Hobbiton. It was quaint, like a little girl's dollhouse with neat rows for streets, an orderly marketplace and happy people going about their business. Untouched. Untainted. Unaware.
"They will see battle soon." Manwë said. Varda's smile faltered.
"If all else fails," she answered. Manwë shook his head.
"Whether it is in victory or defeat, the Little People will face their own battle. This event will not leave anyone untouched. All shall be brought to war. All shall taste at least some of the darkness." Manwë said. "Look, Saruman flees Orthanc. Treebeard should not have taken the power of his voice lightly."
"Perhaps he might take a better choice than all of his previous ones." Varda pondered. Manwë was not easily convinced.
"He has grown bitter. The dark seed has taken root. He will not be swayed to light." Silence fell between them.
"Do you remember him?" She asked at last. 'Him'; none of them took his real name. None of them referred to the name he went by for so many years. And yet Manwë understood.
"Aye, I remember," he said quietly. "How could I not? He was my brother in mind, though by personality he was nearer to Aulë."
"Do you think he could be saved?" It was a question that remained in her mind for so long that it was a part of her.
"He could," Manwë agreed. "But then, that was only possible if he tried to save himself." He clasped his hands behind his back. His dark cloak rustled in the cool breeze. Strands of dark hair fell over his face. "I do not know what he was thinking. I never understood the decisions he made, or why he did not take redemption with both hands when he could."
"I suspect none of us will know, not until the end of time." Varda decided. Manwë hummed in agreement.
When another cry of her name fell on her ears, this one more desperate and frightened than the one before it, Varda decided she could not bear it any longer.
"Enough of this!" She cried. She shook her head. "When have we become so listless to their pleas?" She demanded, turning to her husband. Her clear crystal earrings caught the brilliance of her stars and it seemed as if she wore stars on her ears. Manwë placed one hand on her shoulder to soothe her.
"We are not heartless, my dear."
"And yet, we hearken but do not aid." Varda said bitterly. "There was a time when not even a Man's heart thumped twice and we answered between his two heartbeats."
"The beauty of a plan," Manwë murmured, voice as gentle as the breeze coming from Arda, "my dear, is to know precisely when to help." Just as he spoke, numerous pairs of golden and sand-colored wings took to the sky, shadowing the land below them. Her husband's Eagles commanded the sky now.
She watched as the Men look up, a prayer of surprise and relief on their lips.
"The Eagles are coming!"
The darkness parted and she murmured an encouragement to her stars to shine a little brighter with renewed hope.
~S~
Author's Note:
I always found Tolkien's hints of starless, or clouded skies, and his references to Eagles very curious. Also, it always galled me how the Valar are always mentioned in the Silmarillion aiding in the affairs and yet there is barely any mention of them in LoTR.
The idea of Yavanna blessing Thranduil is my own, and it is explored in the story "Kementári".
Initially, it was meant to go into the Silmarillion category, but since this story has more LoTR accents, I decided to place it here.