"What is to be done then?" Varda's voice cut across the noise of the arguing Valar, clear and cold as the stars above them. The Valar had been gathered in the Máhanaxar for days already, debating the issue of Middle-Earth without end, and they were no closer to a solution than they had been when they started.
Varda did not find the Máhanaxar a particularly pleasant place to spend her time; there were too many unpleasant memories associated with this place. If she closed her eyes for even a moment in this place, she could still see the face of young Fëanor when his kinsman had told him of his father's death - the grief and the agony there, before it had been replaced with the burning rage that had so defined the last few years of his life. The grief of the Ñoldor still haunted her, even though centuries of the Sun had passed.
She turned her burning gaze upon Manwë, imploring him to bring their council back to sense and order, but he sat silently on his silver throne. He had grown quieter and quieter as the years had passed, turning his gaze ever to Middle-Earth, letting Eonwë speak for him more often than not. She knew that the fate of those who still dwelt in the Hither Lands troubled him greatly, but why would he not just act?
Manwë sighed quietly and then banged his sapphire Ñoldor-wrought staff three times upon the stone floor of the Máhanaxar. The other Valar looked him, startled, and eased themselves back into their respective seats, settling back into their familiar Elven aspects, that they so often used in these councils. Manwë waited patiently for them to settle, and then nodded to Varda.
"We must come to agreement," she said, trying not to sound to exasperated. It was bad enough that they must argue amongst themselves, but it was worse that they do so in public. Though there were no Elves present in the Máhanaxar, she had caught glimpses of them passing by, or lingering to listen to the Valar. She did not have it in her heart to be angry with them, for the Elves were dearest to her of all living things, but she was embarrassed that they might have seen their lack of composure. "There remain Firstborn in the lands of Middle-Earth, pressed to flee their homes for fear of this Man. Those Sindar and Silvan have not come to us willingly for sanctuary, but have been commanded to leave or perish. Surely, we should act? The balance of Middle-Earth should not be decided by one Man alone, by way of wanton slaughter!"
But Tulkas was shaking his head, even before she had entirely finished speaking.
"Middle-Earth we swore to leave to its own devices, long ago. We have done enough warring and interfering with the Hither Shores. Leave it be, Varda, and let the Children sort this amongst themselves. What even could we do; this Aragorn is no Melkor; it would be no war at all, merely akin to snuffing out a candle. What right have we to do such a thing?"
Yavanna near shot out of her seat in her desire to speak, but she held her tongue until Tulkas was done. "For shame, Tulkas!" she cried. "Have you not heard the stories of those who have fled this Iron Kingdom? What right have we, you ask? I say instead, how can we bear to ignore it? It is not only Elves that are suffering, but Men, Halflings and Dwarves also!" Aulë shot her a grateful look at her thoughtfulness towards his Children, but Yavanna continued, "We must do as Varda has said. We must act!"
Oromë looked troubled. "This is, as Tulkas says, a different matter entirely to the deeds of Melkor. Then we were dealing with one of our own. This is a matter for the Children to deal with." His expression and tone belied his words, however, and Varda could tell how torn he was.
"Speak, oh Manwë," Nienna implored. "Tell us, know you the will of Eru?"
All eyes turned to Manwë, but he was looking beyond the Máhanaxar, towards the Sea. Varda knew to where his gaze had been drawn, for he could not look away for long, just as she could not deafen herself to the pleas that reached her keen ears. Even now, the Elves of Middle-Earth prayed for her aid.
Then Námo, who until now had remained silent in their debate, frowned and then let out a startled, half-strangled gasp and vanished from their sight. The abruptness of his exit, along with his uncharacteristic behaviour, was startling to the other Valar, who looked to his wife, Vairë, and to his brother, Irmo, for an explanation.
"He has returned to the Halls," Vairë explained, and her expression was clouded with confusion. "His mind is closed to me, I know not what has troubled him so greatly."
But as if he had been summoned, Námo reappeared, looking greatly disturbed, and almost Varda thought she saw a hint of a deeper anger lurking in his unfathomable eyes.
"A soul has gone from my Halls," he announced. "Such a thing has never happened before, and should not be possible. Not even Melkor could escape them without my leave."
The Máhanaxar erupted into shocked hubbub and Varda was uncertain of what to do. It was unheard of!
"Who was it?" She found herself dreading the answer, even as she asked it. There were so many that would be disastrous if they were let loose again - not just among the Elven spirits that still dwelt in Mandos, but perhaps even among the Men she guessed lurked in its unknowable depths. Let it not be Feanor, or his sons...
"The Elf that came lastly from Middle-Earth." Námo's voice betrayed his confusion, and Varda frowned. He was no lord among Elves, a Sindar prince, but no one of particular significance by the standards the Elves held themselves to.
"Thranduilion?" Nienna asked. "His epesse was Legolas, I believe." And Námo nodded in affirmation.
The Valar murmured amongst themselves, fright creeping in amongst their confusion. The Halls of Mandos were inviolable, as Námo had said. Not even Melkor had been able to escape them. And yet, an Elf had done so.
How?
Manwë locked eyes with her, and she saw in their blue depths an infinite sadness. And then, finally he spoke, after a long silence had passed between them.
"We are to do nothing," he said, so softly she almost missed it. "He is no longer our concern. Middle-Earth is to be left alone. This is the will of Eru."
And so it was decided, and nothing more could be said of the matter. But in her heart, Varda was uneasy, and she did not leave the Máhanaxar until long after the others had gone.
