Vairë
Click, clack, tick… The rhythmic sounds of my loom at work resonated pleasantly in my ears, like a heartbeat; much more agreeable than the scenario that was rapidly taking form in my latest tapestry. I shivered as visions and voices flooded into my mind, showing and telling me what to illustrate. A frown settled upon my lips as I pulled a stray tress of hair back from my face, then continued reluctantly to weave, watch and listen…
My husband's voice cracked through the air like a whip as he stood forbiddingly in front of the subdued form of Melkor. "Look at me." Melkor wearily lifted his bowed head. "Yes, Námo?" "Do not play coy with me, wretch! I know that someone was here with you before I came. It was Fui, was it not?" "I do not know what you are talking of," the captive rejoined calmly. "No-one has been here but you and Vairë; you ordered it to be so." "Cease these lies!" Námo snarled, his long fingers clenching into tight fists. "I know that Fui was here! I know you have spoken with her. The very air whispers of her presence in this chamber." "Then why go through the trouble of asking me?" Melkor muttered under his breath, disdain plainly evident in his eyes. "Should you not be omniscient regardless of what your house has to say?" Námo's mouth twisted in anger, and his right fist moved in a pale blur of speed. It caught Melkor hard on the cheek, forcing his head to the side and making him yell out in pain as dark crimson blood welled up from the wound.
I winced in unvoiced sympathy for Melkor even as I kept weaving. Námo had never been the type to resort to physical violence as a riposte to conflict – except in the most extreme of situations. This was nowhere near so severe as that. What in Arda has come over him? I wondered as I worked.
When Melkor looked back up at my husband, his entire countenance radiated repentance, and his voice shook audibly as he spoke. "Please, please, I only ask for your forgiveness, no more…" "Forgiveness?" Námo repeated icily. "Why should I grant you such?" Melkor pulled in a deep breath. "Because you went blatantly against my brother's will in chaining me here. Manwë did not tell you to speak my sentence; he was hesitant, silent… he could have decided otherwise, had you given him the chance." "He did order me to sentence you," Námo answered him icily, "just after Fui had spoken her piece. Do not assume that I misremember." "Of course," Melkor nodded meekly, "but when you asked him again, Manwë did not say specifically that you were to sentence me. Thus some would say that you were not entirely fair or just as an arbitrator. Do you not agree?" "Your punishment shall neither be gainsaid nor countered!" Námo roared in answer, his eyes flashing. "Do not presume to question my justice!"
I flinched as my husband's shout rang through our halls, reaching me even as I did not try to give any heed to it. I shot an irritated thought in his direction, not waiting for a reply as I refocused my attention on what was happening elsewhere.
Melkor met Námo's gaze calmly, his eyes ardent and glittering. "I was neither presuming nor questioning your sense of fairness, Námo… I was challenging it." The captive's voice was uncannily calm. "Then so be it." Námo's own voice dripped with acid. "You may hang there until you rot, for all I care about you!" He turned round on his heel, whirling away like a cloud of dark vapor in the wind.
I looked up from my newly-finished tapestry and spoke rather coldly to my husband as he rematerialized at my side. "I am quite sure that that was not entirely necessary. Melkor is already in grief; he does not need more of it. Also, may I ask precisely when you decided that violence was the best policy to exact justice?"
Námo's mouth tightened. "You pity him, do you?"
"Striking him added great insult to his injuries," I replied. "That was highly unneeded. As well, he did express a valid point. Manwë did not—"
"Silence!" my husband snarled, cutting me off. Then his voice became much lower, more mild, and he put a cold hand to my cheek. "This is all for the best… trust me."
I frowned uncertainly up at him. Námo gave me an odd smile, which I returned only half-heartedly. "Ae you certain of this? Is Melkor's internment truly the only option? We have all seen his sorrow. Why can you not grant him mercy? Just once, I wish for you to sense what it is like to have pity, to know grief. Imagine seeing the world through Fui's eyes, if only for a minute. Is that so much to ask?"
Námo did not answer; he simply gave me a withering stare and left in the same manner as he had arrived. Alone again, I shivered as the weight of what had just taken place rankled my heart. Although at the same time, I mused that it was nothing unexpected – Námo had always been cold and distant toward others… even me, his own wife.
I selected a skein of thread from a basket beside the loom and began to weave yet another tapestry, smiling faintly as an image came to my mind. With hope flickering in my heart, I wove steadily onward. Perhaps the darkness was not so bleak after all.
