Naturally, I do not own any of this. I don't even want to own it. If I did, LotR would be significantly less amazing, because no one is as good as Tolkien was. This four-part story is dedicated to e1nav57.
My existence began in the mind of Eru, the One Maker. I was first aware, not of my own consciousness, but of his. The purity, the beauty, the strength and the all-encompassing knowledge and power of Eru was a source of undying wonder. I could explore the reaches of his soul forever and always find new facets of his thought, each better than the last. I may have resided within his thought for a moment, or an eternity; time seemed to have no meaning for me. Yet, even as I searched within his mind and explored the deeps, I felt a change overtake me. I was aware that I was not within his mind; I was a being, a living thing that he had made. Who I was, or for what reason I was made, were yet mysteries to be ascertained.
Quickly, as I grew accustomed to my form, I took note of the place around me. I was in a large hall filled with and made of light. It was high and had many pillars and tapestries. At the far end of it was a throne under a dome in the roof. The glory and beauty of it would have taken my breath away if I had not compared it to Eru, sitting on the high seat. No words have yet been made, nor can ever be made for the splendor and strength and kindness of Eru; for in him, all things are.
"Sister," a voice spoke at my side. The word was a new one to me, yet I felt that it symbolized some bond between myself and the speaker. I turned to find another creature at my side. In form, he was as the glint of steel, the grey of iron that had not yet been made. Greater than myself, I thought him, and solemn. His voice was deep and clear, rumbling through the hall. "Welcome, sister, to the halls of Eru." he said again.
"Who are you?" I asked, and the sound of my own voice was as light and high as his was deep.
"I am Oromë, your brother," he replied. "I was made before you and have sat for a while in the presence of Eru, learning many things."
"Oromë," I began, and the word did not sound as strange on my lips as I had expected, "where are we?"
His smiled widely. "In the House of Eru, where sits the Flame Imperishable. What those words mean must be felt, not explained. There are others like us here. You will see." He led me down the hall towards Eru's throne. Many forms like and unlike Oromë sat there, listening to the One who sat on the throne. As we entered the room, Eru stood and turned to my brother and me.
"Last-born of the Ainur, come hither."
I knew he meant me. I smiled as his eyes met mine. If Oromë was my brother, than he was my father, my maker. I could see the love in his gaze. Eagerly, I leapt past the others and knelt before the One.
"Child," Eru said softly, placing a hand on me. "One who runs with the winds that have yet to be. Grace and speed belong to you, daughter." And then he answered the question he must have felt burning in my mind, the question I did not dare to voice. "Nessa, I name you, for joy must never be forgotten." For a moment, I glimpsed his mind again, and understood. I was a reflection of him, or rather, of a small part of him. Laughter, joy and speed were a facet of his character. And I was now the embodiment of this part of his being. The honor of such a thing nearly overwhelmed me.
He stood and gestured for me to join my brother. I slipped back to Oromë's side, my eyes still fixed on the One. He spoke to the entire assemblage of beings. "Ainur, children of my thought, your number is now complete. In music, you have each your own kind, knowing nothing of your brethren's mind or themes. Thus, the music you have made, while it be good, has yet been incomplete; made of few parts and lacking the full glory of song. Therefore, I now declare that a new theme be made, in which each of you have a part, reflecting the spirit you each bear. And thus will you sing."
Though he had not sung any melody or given us instruction, I felt my theme in the Music taking shape in my mind. It was a part of me; inseparable from my soul. I felt that I had always known the song, just as Eru had always known me.
Eru smiled. "Of the theme that I have declared to you, I will now that you make in harmony together a Great Music. And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable, you shall show forth your powers in adorning this theme, each with his own thoughts and devices, if he will. But I will sit and hearken, and be glad that through you great beauty has been awakened into song."
The thought that I could bring joy to my father was beyond happiness. My lips parted and I voiced my part: high and swift, never staying long on a single note, dancing about above the voice of my brother. Oromë sang a slow, steady melody that did not waver or break; deep and simple. And I heard the voices of the countless other Ainur, each unlike mine, yet blended with it. The Music swelled as our voices rose, each singing the part Eru had set for them. And for a long time, we made the great Music he had set us, and we were glad. For the song was like the character of Eru, and like us, and the joy and glory and beauty of it has never been equalled since. The Music itself was a power that even the halls of Eru could not hold, and the light and joy and sound of it spilled out into the Void beyond his doors. And in that moment, it was no longer void, but filled with life and beauty and all things good. And so it remained for what must have been an eternity in the great bliss of Eru's hall, in the days before time was counted.
Yet as all things save Eru have a beginning and an end, so too the Song was brought to an end. For even as I sang, I heard something that did not belong to the theme. A melody both strong and unlovely clashed with the Great Music. It spoke of power and things outside of Eru, of things not made by him, yet alive; of a world he did not rule. I shivered at the thought and looked to see who among us would sing such things. And for the first time, I saw him: Melkor, firstborn of the Ainur, who held a portion of many gifts, but the greatest share of power and knowledge. Staring into his eyes, I felt that where I had been born knowing only the joy that coursed through my veins, here was one who knew much of the halls and the Void beyond, and even of Eru's mind. His new melody was far more grand than the part he had first been singing. He was seeking to increase his own part in the song. And some near him, now unsure of their parts, faltered and grew silent. Still others joined in his new music, attuning their song to his. I myself lost my part in the song, feeling that the joy and swiftness of my part had no place in this new melody, but finding it hard to sing against it. And in that moment, I was afraid, though I did not then know what fear was.
A reply to Melkor's discord came from the Ainu who stood next to him. He held to the song Eru had set us, keeping the theme he had been singing. Where the song of Melkor was dark and restless, his was calm and peaceful. The Great Music was not yet lost; only challenged. I shook off my doubt and rejoined the melody gladly, adding my own soprano to the chorus of others who turned the song against Melkor. For a time, the Great Music held stronger than that of Melkor. But more came to his side and joined their song to his new music, straining against the beauty of the song of Eru. And the tumult and clash grew until all form of both musics was lost and there was only chaos. Straining, I turned to my brother and found him still singing his part in the Great Song, but his face was now grim. I felt that in this noise that was no longer music, I would be lost. For what was I if not joy? And all joy was now gone from the singing. If I lost my part, would I lose myself; become nothingness? Had I entered the world only to be snuffed out so soon?
But Eru, the righteous One, stood from his throne and raised his left hand. I thought that a frown played on his mouth. As he lifted his mighty hand, a new song sprang to life, both like and unlike the first melody he had set us. He did not open his mouth - he brought the music into being, as he had brought me. My hope renewed, I sang to the new song, noting that my brother and many others had also attuned themselves to this new beauty. The Ainu who stood by Melkor sang gladly with the new song, and I noticed too, that he bore a resemblance to Melkor, as if they were born of the same part of Eru's mind.
As I sang, I looked once more at Melkor, thinking that surely he would cease his noise now, since such was clearly the will of Eru. He did not. Instead he led his growing band with increasing volume, striving to drown out the new harmonies. And the song of Melkor was more like a hundred voices shouting in no order than any music, and so the storm of noise raged again. Many had stilled their voices, looking as lost as I had felt. For as they cried out, what could they do against such war of song? Melkor had achieved the mastery. I clung to my part, refusing to despair again, and looked to Eru. In gazing at his face, I found my voice strengthened and my courage grew. Joy flooded my being, as tangible and real as the song had been. Never again would I allow fear to rob me of who I was, who Eru meant me to be.
Eru stood again, this time as stern as my brother. He lifted his right hand and again, a new music came; a soft ripple of melody that was immeasurably sorrowful, yet there was beauty in that sadness. None of us were singing now, save those with Melkor; I believe that those of us who had held true felt that in this aching harmony, even the beauty of our voices did not belong. This was a song solely sung by Eru, the One. Melkor again raised his voice, seeking to overwhelm the third song with sheer power and numbers, but the best parts of his theme were now turned to compliment and uplift the greater song of Eru. And ever the chaos and the shouting grew.
In the midst of this turmoil and warring, Eru stood for the third time, and lifted both his hands. As one, all the music died away and we, the Ainur, turned to him who had made us. We knelt, seeing both wrath and mercy on his face. In the silence, he walked through our midst and down the great halls, stopping only at a large door. He said not a word, but beckoned to us with his hand. As a crowd, now feeling shame and remorse for the noise that we had made before the the throne of the One, we followed. I had not the heart to run, though my limbs keenly wished for such a thing. Eru opened the door, and we saw that it led out into the utter blackness of the Void, the world that had not yet been made. Still beckoning, he stepped out into the vast reaches of darkness. And when we had had followed him so far that the halls of light and the Flame Imperishable were out of our sight, he turned to us and spoke at last.
"Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor; but that he may know, and all the Ainur, that I am Ilúvatar, the Maker and Source, the things that you have sung, I will show to you, that you may see what you have done. And you, Melkor, shall see that no theme may be played that has not its utterest source in me, nor can any alter music in my despite. He that attempts to do so will prove only my instrument in the devising of things yet more wonderful; things that he himself has not even imagined." He lifted both hands and a sudden vision sprang into the Void; a world, a realm within the Void, and yet not of it. It lived and sustained life, a thing of beauty and strangeness. "Behold your music!" said the One.
The world that lay before us moved and evolved, changing and growing before our eyes, as the Music had done. Its history across the expanses of time played out in a matter of moments. I saw all the beauty and glory of our first melody, the unified theme, reflected in this realm. I saw the second melody make its triumphant appearance, contending with a darkness that twisted and writhed on the plains and mountains. And last and best, I saw the third melody, the song Eru sang alone, given life and form. The Children of Eru walked the face of the world, and they were filled with both beauty and sorrow, as the song had been. We were all silent, watching the world live before us. I saw many things that later came about, and some that have yet to pass.
"Behold your music!" Eru said again, when we had watched a while. "This is your minstrelsy; and each of you shall find contained herein, amid the design that I set before you, all those things which it may seem that he himself devised or added. And you, Melkor, will discover all the secret thoughts of your mind, and will perceive that they are but a part of the whole and tributary to its glory."
As much as I harkened to the words of Eru, or as he was after called, Ilúvatar, I could not take my eyes from the Children, the beings within the world that he had created. They had thoughts, they had speech, they were like my kind, and yet not so. I saw a new facet of Ilúvatar's mind within them, a part that no Ainu could or ever would embody. What that facet was could not be summarized in any words that have yet been made, for each Child was different, just as I was different from the others of my kin.
And then, as quickly as it had come into being, before our eyes, the vision vanished. I made a cry of sorrow, as did many others who had wished the vision to be made real, as we were. The beauty, the sadness, the magnificence of the vision had been wiped away too soon. And with it went the last glimpse of the great Music, which will not be heard again until the third theme of Ilúvatar is complete, and the world is changed.