Disclaimer: This is a double disclaimer. Not only does no one wish to take the honor belonging to Tolkien for writing the Silmarillion, but I must say I did not write this. My sister and a friend wrote it and grudgingly consented to allow me to post it. That is the reason for your coming treat.
Manwë's Mission
By the two Vanyar Princesses
Elindoras Linwë
Daughters of Ingwë
An Account of the Quest Given to Them By Manwe
Their Journeys and Adventures in Middle-earth
During the First Age
(Appendix A courtesy of the Scribe in the Court of Varda
Whose name is so unimportant it will not even be included here)
Prologue
464 The First Age
Manwë, King of the Valar and the Lord of Valinor, had a problem. He sat on his ornate chair in his throne room deep in thought. His guards stood near the doorway, watching him somewhat warily and wondering what he was planning next. Being obedient and respectful guards, however, they kept their faces impassive and did not interrupt the meditation of their king.
Visions of his queen, the Lady Varda, flitted through Lord Manwë's head. She was so beautiful and so wise. He had wed her at the very beginning of time, and for many long years she had been his bride. Surely she deserved something in return—especially since their anniversary was coming up. But no present he could think of seemed worthy of her. She already had practically everything, and besides, he wanted something very rare and special for her . . . as rare and special as she was to him. Her voice was sweeter than the Song of the Ainur, as flowing and smooth as fine limpë. She spoke many grave and wonderful words, and he often marveled at her wisdom. Surely there could be no queen more fitting to rule Arda than the Lady Varda. She was so sweet and graceful, and her eyes sparkled like . . . like a Silmaril.
"I've got it!" he shouted, bounding out of his chair.
The guards jumped and turned startled glances on the king, forgetting momentarily to retain their impassive countenance.
"Did my lord give me an order?" the leader asked.
Manwë shook his head.
"No, I was merely thinking out loud."
Manwë dropped back into his throne. The idea was splendid, but how to go about it? Who could he entrust with such a great mission? The most trustworthy people in Valinor . . . of course!
He turned to the nearest guard.
"Fetch me the Lady Elindoras and the Lady Linwë from their apartments," he ordered.
The guard bowed and left.
Meanwhile, the Lady Elindoras and the Lady Linwë sat embroidering in their apartments with Queen Varda. Suddenly Linwë heard a soft knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"An important visitor."
Elindoras and Linwë immediately recognized the voice as that of Manwë's chief scribe, with whom they had many unpleasant encounters in the past.
"What do you want?" Elindoras asked with a sigh.
"I want to come in."
"Yes, I know," she said, attempting to speak patiently. "But there must be a reason why you want in."
"Open the door and you'll find out."
Before either maiden could reply, there came a squeal from the scribe and a firm rap on the door.
"May I enter upon the king's business?" a stern voice inquired.
"Certainly," Varda replied. "Come in."
The chief guard strode into the room, his cloak swirling behind him. He gave a profound bow.
"King Manwë wishes speech with the ladies Elindoras and Linwë," he said. "He desires your presence in the throne room immediately. Will you accompany me?"
Elindoras and Linwë cast Varda a discreet glance. She nodded her approval.
"It would be our honor," Linwë spoke for them.
The two maidens followed the guard into the hall, where the scribe was still crouching near the door. In their haste they barely gave him a glance, and did not notice when he trailed behind them cautiously.
Upon entering the throne room, the scribe somehow slipped in unnoticed by the guards—or perhaps they thought he was one of the party. He hovered behind Elindoras and Linwë, and somehow escaped their attention.
Linwë and Elindoras both knelt before Manwë, where he sat majestically upon his throne, robed in splendor. His circlet of jewels glittered upon his brow.
"What does our lord wish of us?" Elindoras asked, awed, as usual, by his mere presence.
"You are the two most trustworthy elves in all Valinor," Manwë began, motioning the guards to leave. "Therefore, I am about to entrust you with a great secret and mission to fulfill. You must swear never to breathe a word of this to anyone on pain of death."
Elindoras and Linwë gave each other a sideways glance.
Manwë continued. "So before I go any further I must have you swear an oath. You will repeat after me: I (say your name) swear never to speak of the quest my Lord Manwë has entrusted me with, not to Vala, Demon, Elf, or Man as yet unborn, or any creature great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth into the end of days, not until the Valar have released me from my bondage. I call Ilúvatar as my witness. If I break my oath may I fall into the dark abyss."
"We swear," Elindoras and Linwë echoed in a shaky voice.
"Never to tell until I want to," the scribe hissed helpfully.
Manwë appeared pleased.
"Now I will proceed to tell you of this quest. I am sure you realize it is the anniversary of Queen Varda and I. For many days I have wondered if there was any gift in all Arda suitable for her. You will be pleased to know I have finally found something worthy of her. Your quest is this—to journey to Middle-earth and fetch that gift for me."
"What is the gift my Lord wishes?" Elindoras asked nervously.
"A Silmaril."
Linwë and Elindoras gasped and took an involuntary step backwards, almost tripping over the scribe.
"Did my lord say a Silmaril?" Linwë asked.
Manwë nodded gravely.
"But does my lord not realize the Silmarils are held by the great enemy Melkor—they are forged into his Iron Crown? Melkor dwells on the wastes of Angband, in the mighty fortress of Thangorodrim. And our powers do not match his. Besides, even if we did recover the Silmaril, you know Féanor and his seven sons swore that terrible oath. They would kill us without hesitation if they found we held one of the Silmarils."
This news did not seem to perturb Manwë.
"You will manage," he assured them. "I have told a learned Maia in Middle-earth of your coming. She is Melian the Maia of Doriath, wife of Elwë Singollo—or Thingol, as he is often called in his realm. I shall send you to Doriath and you will proceed from there. You needn't worry about Varda missing you. I shall tell her I had to send you upon a mission. She'll understand. She always does.
"I have one more instruction before you go. There is one Silmaril I do not want. A hairline crack runs down it—probably much too slight for the elvish eye to see . . . but it is there. Féanor's chisel slipped while he was fashioning that Silmaril. And although I was the first to notice its blemish, I never said anything about it, seeing he was never very good at controlling his temper. But back to the point: you may bring either of the other two Silmarils, but absolutely not that one. Only the best for Lady Varda. Is that clear?"
Elindoras and Linwë seemed too unnerved to speak. It was then the scribe grew bolder.
"You wouldn't have any limpë, on hand, would you?" he asked hopefully, plucking at Elindoras's sleeve.
Both maidens turned to stare at him in horror. But before they could reply, Manwë lifted his hands and a sudden gust of wind shot through the room. Outside the guards heard a thump and looked fearfully around them. There was a blinding flash of light, and Elindoras and Linwë disappeared. So did the scribe.
Manwë smiled and rubbed his hands together.