Chapter 21
Sauron was nearly late for breakfast the next morning.
Even though he had known he would regret it, last night he had been unable to restrain himself from his newly found sense of purpose. Until now, he'd been drifting, chasing after phantom thoughts and ideas, but now he had a plan. And plans had always been Sauron's foundation.
He had lugged an overflowing armful of promising volumes from Yavanna's alcove of the library up to his room, where he had remained awake until the small hours of the night, feverishly reading through the various tomes and jotting coded notes to himself concerning the things he discovered. After he had scoured the books thoroughly, he opened his own Treatise and let his mind sink back to the early days of his service to Lord Melkor, recalling what he could of Melkor's experiments with the plant life of Beleriand and how the Dark Lord had used them. There was not much, but he wrote it all down in his Treatise as the scant memories surfaced.
By the time his eyes grew blurry and his head began to nod, he'd been so tired that sleep quickly claimed him and he had made it through the night without tendrils of darkness or hunting wolves creeping into his dreams. However, it also meant that he had awoken suddenly to find the Sun Chariot already peaking over the Pelóri, and he had stumbled about his room in a rush, pulling on clothing and then hurrying down to the Great Hall, hoping there would be something left for him and he wouldn't have to start his day off hungry as well as tired.
Nearly all the elves had finished and were either heading out or grabbing their lunch satchels and moving towards the doors. The few remaining elves at the table were shoveling the last few bites into their mouths, and others were starting to clean up the leftover food at the table. Sauron dashed by and snatched an apple before the carts were wheeled away. Sticking the fruit in his mouth and holding it there with his teeth, he grabbed one of the few remaining lunch satchels and began working the straps over his shoulders as he turned back to the nigh-empty hall to find out who would be his escort for the day.
It took him a moment to notice the strange Maia sitting casually at the end table, waiting for him.
Sauron paused, realized the apple was still clinched between his teeth in a decidedly undignified fashion, removed it, and approached the stranger with a nonchalance that hid his apprehension at this change to his normal routine. He let his expression fall easily into its usual comfortably disdainful sneer.
"So, who have I scared off that you have come to replace?" he inquired as he stopped in front of the other Maia.
The stranger seemed completely unperturbed by either Sauron's attitude or his question. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow and looked Sauron up and down. "Shockingly, no one," he responded calmly, though with just a hint of sarcasm of his own. "Though it truly is a testament to their patience and endurance that none of your escorts have done so yet, if even half the stories I've heard about you are true." He leaned back. "By which I mean, that you are quite the piece of work from what I've been told."
Sauron blinked. So far, most of the Maiar he'd encountered had either sought to placate him by being unobtrusive and deliberately skirting his past or they'd been openly hostile and given him a heated traitor's welcome. This was new. The Maia's tone was not antagonistic, simply matter-of-fact, even amiable. Sauron knew how to deal with both obsequiousness and belligerence, but he was unsure how to respond to this, whatever it was.
He covered up his momentary tongue-tied lapse by imperiously sizing the stranger up.
Even seated, it was clear the Maia was decently tall, with a willowy sort of form that was currently clad in a rather non-descript grey jerkin paired with an equally bland white undershirt and darker grey trousers. His outfit was accented only by a silver scarf draped around his shoulders. His hair was silvery too, what Sauron could see of it anyway, since the majority of it seemed to be pulled back and held behind the Maia's back. His eyes were his most striking feature; they were ice blue and very sharp and keen, and Sauron would almost have sworn that there was an amused twinkle in their depths.
"Eldavan," the strange Maia said.
Sauron's brows knit. "What?"
"Eldavan," the Maia repeated. "That is what you may call me for now, since you clearly have no intention of asking and I do not have all day."
"Oh, you have somewhere else to be?" Sauron said smoothly. "Taniquetil, perhaps?"
Eldavan's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps, but also perhaps not. Also, if you intend to sneak information out of me, be a good fellow and ask me directly. I don't care much for questions that mean things other than what they seem to mean. I find them dreadfully tedious. Then again, asking you to be a good fellow is perhaps akin to asking the Sun to come up purple. Ah well. Now, shall we be off?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood and made for the door with a purposeful stride.
They walked out into the perfect Valinorean morning that was identical to the scores of other mornings that Sauron had now walked this route. Eldavan offered up no more topics of conversation, and Sauron was content to study the odd Maia for the moment, still unsure what to think of his new companion. On the one hand, there was something almost refreshing about Eldavan's combined bluntness and keenness. But on the other hand, Sauron wasn't sure how he felt about the snark. Oh, it was fine when he was the one shooting sarcastic comments at others, but he was not at all sure he liked having similar comments directed back at himself. Morosely, Sauron considered that the Valar had probably assigned Eldavan to him just for that reason, to give him a taste of his own medicine.
They reached the portion of the walk where they started uphill, winding along the path up the mountain side. Eldavan seemed unconcerned with the strenuous pace, easily matching Sauron's stride with only a slight deepening of his breath. His silvery-white hair, which was indeed bound loosely at the nape of his neck, fluttered in the breeze that picked up the higher they went.
"So," Sauron said finally, "since you prefer direct questions, which of the Valar do you serve?"
Eldavan glanced sideways at him, and this time Sauron was positive he saw a twinkle. "I fear that is classified information, for you at least."
Sauron scowled. "Well, I was better off fishing for information after all," he griped.
Eldavan chuckled. "Now, no need to get snippy, my dear Dark Lord. You of all people should know how much value an answer can hold."
"Indeed. I have seen some questions whose answers were worth lives," Sauron responded coolly. "Sometimes many lives. Lives that ended painfully."
He cast Eldavan a surreptitious glance. There were few he had met here in Valinor – elf, Maia, or Vala – who did not either grow wrathful nor blanch, even if they tried to conceal it, when he mentioned the horrors of his past, even in vague reference. Some, like Erenquaro, grew noticeably fidgety and uncomfortable; others, like Eönwë, grew hard and angry. Either way, Sauron took some perverse pleasure in watching them squirm with their discomfort.
Eldavan did not flinch. He looked at Sauron, and Sauron did not see the expected horror in his eyes, but there was also no twinkle. "Yes," the Maia said softly, "I am sure you have. And I suspect you have a great deal more familiarity with the role of the questioner than the questioned. I fear, however, that you will have to find other ways to earn your answers here."
"And just how do I earn those answers?" Sauron asked.
The twinkle returned, though Eldavan's face was pensive. "That, my dear Dark Lord, you will have to figure out for yourself." His face brightened. "Ah, and here we are."
Indeed, while they'd been talking, they had reached the edge of the quarry. Sauron looked down at the now-familiar ant-hill bustle below him as he mulled over Eldavan's cryptic and more-than-a-little irritating words. The strange Maia offered no other comments on the prior subject however. "Have a productive day at your quarrying, Sauron," he said brightly. "I suspect we will see more of one another in the near future, which I imagine I will enjoy more than you." He half-turned to go, then turned back. "Ah, and Sauron," he said, "don't spend the whole day puzzling over your many questions. You won't find any answers that way, and you'll end up with a fine headache on top of it. Half the day will certainly do."
And with that, he started back down the mountain, leaving Sauron to puzzle and fume over his enigmatic words.
~o~o~o~
"They're rather stupid, aren't they?"
"What?" Eönwë asked, looking up from his work. He sounded offended, but Sauron wasn't sure if the Herald was actually offended by the particular question or if at this point he just automatically sounded offended whenever Sauron spoke to save time.
Sauron nodded his head down to where one of the transportation maquati were loading up the finished blocks a few stations down. "The elves. For all their blather, not to mention their extensive superiority complex, you'd think they'd be smarter."
"Hmph, you're one to talk about a superiority complex," Eönwë grunted.
Sauron shrugged, casually acknowledging the point as he continued to scrub the block in front of him with his pumice rasp. "No argument there," he responded dryly. "But at least I earned it."
He watched Eönwë visibly restrain himself from a biting response with relative ease. The Herald was learning, Sauron mused. However, at the moment he was not particularly interested in an argument, though he also wouldn't have said no if one presented itself. Currently, something was on his mind that had been irking him at the back of his thoughts for a while.
"There are so many more efficient ways to do all of this." He gestured to the quarry with his free hand. "If I was in charge, I could increase the productivity of this whole endeavor by fivefold."
"Oh really," Eönwë said. He didn't sound impressed by Sauron's claim. "And let me guess, part of this plan would involve slave drivers, whips, and the threats of horrific punishment."
Sauron put a hand to his chest, radiating mock umbrage. "Oh come now, Eönwë, don't tell me you're as narrow-minded as all these elves. I expect it from them, but a Maia like myself? You don't think I could have accomplished all that I did simply with some threats and whips, do you? That's the problem with all of you here; you have such a limited view of what you think Lord Melkor and I were like and how we ran our realm."
He put down his pumice rasp and rinsed the fine limestone dust off with his water bucket. "I've overseen one or two similar operations in my day, and every single one of them would make this pathetic, crazed mess seem like it was organized by a Fëanorian."
Eönwë gave a resigned sort of sigh. "All right, you've obviously got something on your mind and you're going to condescendingly explain it to me whether I want to hear about it or not, so you might as well go ahead."
Sauron raised an eyebrow. Eönwë really was learning.
"Take those morons hauling wagons in circles around the quarry for starters," Sauron said. "When I first became lord of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, I set up a quarry about three miles away where we acquired stone to rebuild the walls and make repairs and additions. Of course, I had wagons bringing in stone from the quarry to the island, but at the actual quarry itself? I rigged up a moving pathway, powered by coal engines, that ran the full length of the quarry. All the slaves had to do was place the blocks on the pathway and it transported them directly to the quarry entrance and even deposited them straight into the carts. None of this idiotic hauling and lifting blocks. Sure, it took a few slaves to keep the engines running, but far fewer than it would have taken to haul the blocks by hand the way they're doing it here. Not only did it save time, but I was able to assign those additional slaves to other tasks. The increase in net productivity was so impressive that Lord Melkor had me set up similar systems at every other major quarry and mine in Beleriand."
His keen eyes flickered appraisingly over the quarry, envisioning. "I'd set one up there-" he pointed to the path that led down from the quarry wall, where the mining units were busy breaking off raw chunks of limestone. "-to deliver the raw blocks straight to the dressers. Then I'd set up a second one that circled all the way around this side of the quarry to the entrance down there." He indicated the hypothetical path with his finger. "While I was at it, I'd also rig up an elevated sluice to deliver water to each dressing station; no more hauling water back and forth in buckets." He made a face and shook his head to express his disdain. "You would think that for all their supposed skillfulness and cleverness, they would have figured out basic engineering by now."
He narrowed his eyes, still picturing his improvements. "Not that I really care how fast or efficiently they are able to ship off blocks across the sea, but it hurts my brain seeing things run so poorly."
Eönwë was quiet for long enough that Sauron assumed he had no comments. But then, he said, "Somehow I don't think the elves would be on board with your grand plans."
"What? Because they come from me? I could have guessed that."
Eönwë looked over at him, and there was a grim, almost haunted, light in his clear eyes. "I was there in Beleriand, you know. I saw the wasteland around Thangorodrim, stripped of life and filled with all manner of sludge and slime, the stinking clouds of putrid smoke so thick you couldn't see the sun. You could hear the grinding and clanking of Morgoth's accursed machinery from miles away. Forgive us if we don't want to see Valinor reduced to the same nightmare for the sake of a little less strain on our backs."
Sauron frowned, but found for once that he had no suitable rejoinder. It was true that Lord Melkor had taken Sauron's inventions and used them to their extreme, with little to no care that he was turning the landscape into the nightmare that Eönwë had described. In fact, Melkor had seemed to take some delight in the pollution and destruction and had even rejected several ideas Sauron had presented to him of new models that would not turn Beleriand into a desolate, poisoned wasteland. It was also true that some part of Sauron had been disgusted by the ugly desolation scarring the beauty of Beleriand when he saw Melkor's uses for his machines, but somehow he did not feel like trying to explain that to Eönwë. Instead, he simply shrugged. "Perhaps," he said dismissively and in a condescending enough tone to make it clear that he thought little of elven opinions.
It was several more hours until the lunch break. The time passed slowly and uneventfully, with no further verbal exchanges between Sauron and Eönwë beyond what was strictly necessary to complete their tasks. Still, Sauron did not sense the same silent, boiling rage from Eönwë that the Herald would have been radiating after such a conversation when all of this had just begun.
That was not the only subtle change that had taken place over the last month. Slowly and steadily, Sauron was getting faster at completing his quota for the day. Instead of being close to half way done by lunchtime, he was generally closer to two thirds finished, meaning his overall quarry time was getting shorter. He had fully expected the Valar to raise his daily quota as he got faster, but so far they had not done so and Sauron was neither going to complain nor alert them to the fact if they were not already aware.
Sauron fetched his satchel and settled in his usual spot on the far side of his and Eönwë's worksite where he could look down the mountainside and see the plains of Valinor spread out to the horizon beneath him. When he opened the satchel flap, he was not completely surprised to find a piece of parchment tucked against the inside wall, as if it had been hurriedly slipped in past the closed flap. So, his unknown fanatic intended to make a regular appearance. How fun. Sauron glanced at Eönwë, making sure the Sky Maia was engrossed in his lunch, and unfolded the note. He knew it would probably be better if he crumpled it up and left it unread, but some perverse curiosity could not allow him to do so.
The note today was longer.
If the Valar will not deal with you, we will make sure the Void gets its dues one way or another, Sauron.
Sauron wasn't entirely sure how, but he could sense the biting hatred radiating from the writer's use of his name. There was no doubt that 'Sauron' had not been simply used as an appellation, but in the full context of its unpleasant meaning.
He dropped the note back into the satchel and took out his food. He wasn't going to let the note or the note writer get to him. Let them hate. Let them seethe. He was no stranger to hatred, threats, or the name Abhorred One being spat in his face. It didn't bother him anymore. But as he bit into his spinach and cheese pastie, he felt his stomach tighten and sour just a little.
An unknown spy lurking in Aulë's halls. Threatening notes from an unknown writer. A new and unexpected Maia sent for an unknown reason from an unknown Vala.
That was too many unknowns for Sauron.
Lunch was soon finished and it was back to work for his remaining few blocks. Despite Eldavan's final comment, Sauron had found himself wondering about the strange Maia off and on throughout the morning. As Sauron set to work, his interaction with Eldavan occupied his thoughts once again, as he suspected his new escort had known it would.
As he and Eönwë hoisted another finished block together, Sauron decided to see if he could solve at least part of the mystery. "Do you know the Maia Eldavan?" he inquired casually as they jointly set down the block.
Eönwë frowned. "Eldavan? I don't think I know that name. Where did you hear it?"
Sauron shrugged. "I had a new escort this morning, one I'd not seen before. He said his name was Eldavan, and I've been trying to remember if I knew him in the old days."
Eönwë had paused, clearly thinking. It was only for a second, but Sauron was watching closely enough that he saw a flash of recognition cross the Herald's face. It was gone a split second later, and Eönwë turned his face away. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone named Eldavan. Maybe you misheard?"
Sauron let his eyes scorch into the back of the sky Maia's head for a few seconds before sweeping his gaze away. "Perhaps," he murmured, and then with a wry smile to himself, added, "or perhaps not."
~o~o~o~
Somewhat to Sauron's surprise (and perhaps to his ever-so-slight disappoint, not that he'd admit to it), Eldavan was not the one waiting for him when he finally trudged up to the top of the quarry to start his way back to Aulë's Halls. Instead it was one of his regulars, a Maia of Aulë whom he vaguely remembered from the beginning days and who had not proved remotely interesting, for Sauron's purposes at least. He was one of those who grew fidgety and quiet in Sauron's presence and squirmed anytime Sauron mentioned his past. Though he had proved mildly entertaining a few times on this account, Sauron did not feel like tormenting him this particular afternoon, thus it was a silent and uneventful walk back to the Halls, which gave Sauron plenty of time to mentally rehash his questions and thoughts yet again.
The rest of the afternoon passed just as uneventfully, with Sauron retreating to his room with a new armful of books to pore over. Now that he was on to something, he figured it was best if he wasn't publically seen reading. Books on smithing could easily pass as topics of personal interest, but books on plant life would definitely raise some eyebrows. And Sauron preferred that no one become aware of his new horticultural interests.
So the next few hours passed with Sauron sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading and jotting down coded notes on one parchment and occasionally pausing to write a sentence or two in his Treatise as the occasional relevant memory surfaced. And by the time that Sauron realized he should head down to the Great Hall for supper, he had the beginnings of a plan.
Dinner had already started by the time Sauron arrived, and he slipped in and found a nearly unoccupied table towards the back. The two elves seated at the far end gave him the evil eye and stood up haughtily, tossing their long hair over their shoulders, and sauntered off in search of another place to sit. Sauron didn't care.
As Sauron filled his plate, he glanced up at the head table. Aulë was already eating and talking amiably to two elf lords that Sauron didn't recognize. Sauron's mind registered that something was wrong with the scene, but it took him a second to realize what it was. When he did, an uncontrollable jolt of fear shot straight down Sauron's spine and settled like one of his limestone blocks in his stomach. The seat beside Aulë's was empty.
He glanced instinctively around, half-expecting Yavanna's vines to be coiling across the floor behind him, seeking to strangle him while he was off his guard. A panicked scan of the room and his innate ability to sense Valarin power told him that the Tree Queen was nowhere nearby however. But the feeling of deep unease lingered. He was gripped with the sudden terrible paranoia that Yavanna was currently going through his room, finding the books from her alcove of the Parmarmard that he'd hidden, and deciphering his Treatise while he was gone and could not stop her.
Not that you could stop her even if you were there, his inner voice mocked.
No, there was nothing he could do, so he pushed down the sick swirling in his stomach and attacked the food in front of him instead.
As he ate, he glanced around the room for Eldavan, stretching out his mind to see if he could catch a glimpse of the strange Maia's power, but that search also proved fruitless. So, wherever Eldavan came from, he was not staying here in the Halls. This revelation was not particularly shocking in and of itself, but Sauron could not help but wonder why a new Maia had been assigned to him, particularly so suddenly and for no apparent reason. He already had enough escorts that no one of them had to accompany him to the quarry more than once a week. And he could hardly imagine anyone volunteering for the job. The fact that Eönwë clearly knew who he was and where he came from and seemed no more eager to enlighten Sauron on either point than Eldavan had been was more suspicious still. It probably meant nothing good, for Sauron at least.
Sauron was picking at a sweet potato and the remainder of his meat when he felt the brush of a powerful will against his mind. He jolted, caught off guard momentarily in his brooding, and threw up his mental defenses, before he recognized Aulë's presence. Glancing quickly up, he saw the Smith making his way down from the head table towards him. Scowling, Sauron shoved another bite into his mouth, chewing ferociously and avoiding eye contact, as if that would somehow stave Aulë off.
Aulë was not staved off. Instead, several seconds later, the Smith seated himself across from Sauron, folding his massive forearms on the tabletop. Sauron continued to chase the last few bites across his plate with a fork, figuring Aulë would say what he wanted to say, regardless of Sauron's wishes.
Sure enough, a second later Aulë cleared his throat. "So, how was your day?"
Sauron gave him a "pleasantries, really?" look before returning his attention to the fascinating process of lifting his fork from plate to mouth.
Aulë sighed. "All right, I understand. I'll get to my main point. I have a proposition to offer you that you may actually be interested in."
Hah, right, Sauron snorted mentally.
The wry expression that crossed Aulë's face hinted that the Smith had guessed Sauron's unspoken disdain. "Of course, if you don't fancy the offer, you're welcome to turn it down as you please, but I suspect you'll want to consider it at the very least. You've had the chance to get to know young Erenquaro, isn't that right?"
Sauron nodded, still wary of where this conversation was heading.
"Well, since Saiwend Gilruinion wasn't interested in your offer, I thought you might still be attracted to the idea of an apprentice. I remember how much you loved teaching your skills and methods. And well, I thought perhaps having a new student might help it feel a bit like the old days again, back…well, back when you were my head apprentice."
Well, perhaps Aulë knew him a little better than Sauron had thought. Instinctively, Sauron found himself listening with more interest and even a genuine spark of something resembling hope. He did like teaching. Not that he had done much of that recently, or in Beleriand. Orcs had hardly proved good and attentive students, particularly to any of the skills he would have desired to teach.
All right, Aulë, good for you. You have my attention.
"Erenquaro's brother approached me a few days ago about Erenquaro learning a bit about smithing, seeing if he has an aptitude for it at the very least. I've thought it over a few days, and I would like you to take the job, if you want it. You already know Erenquaro, and I think…well, I thought you might appreciate it."
The unspoken words "I think it might do you good" hung in the air between them, uncomfortable and unpleasant as smoke.
Aulë shifted, twining his fingers together in a fidgety gesture. "I can't imagine you find the quarry particularly satisfying. Maybe…perhaps having an apprentice would give you a sense of purpose?"
The sense of purpose that all of you took away from me to begin with, Sauron thought darkly. But he couldn't lie to himself; the idea intrigued him.
Sauron carefully thought it through. Erenquaro didn't strike him as prime smithing material, but he had to be better than a gang of gibbering, fighting orcs. And there was something to be said about having any shred of authority whatsoever, even though Sauron inwardly cringed at the thought that something so menial could bring him any sense of pleasure. He was truly desperate if the thought of one slow-witted apprentice raised his spirits when a few scant years ago he had had the command of tens of thousands and wielded more power and authority than anyone else in Beleriand, save only Lord Melkor himself. Oh well, desperate times, desperate measures, as they said.
Ironically, the thing that sealed the deal for him was the memory of Curumo's glower when he'd told the other Maia that he was to have an apprentice. The pure thought of Curumo being forced to watch as Sauron trained an apprentice, however pathetic that apprentice might be, almost – almost – tugged his lips into a sardonic smile. He'd accept Aulë's offer just to rub it in Curumo's smarmy face.
Sauron shrugged again, conveying languid tolerance for the idea. "I am willing to give it a try. I'm sure you remember however that I have high expectations for my pupils."
Aulë beamed. "I do. And I'm sure Erenquaro will prove an apt student for you. I'll let him know that you will start with him tomorrow when you finish up at the quarry. I hope-" The Smith paused and a look of some strong emotion passed over his face. "-I truly hope that this is the start of something new and beautiful for you. You've always been a smith, Nauron, and it will be good to have you back in my forges again."
Sauron's smile was thin and knife-like. "I promise to make the best of this new…opportunity."
Aulë clapped him on the shoulder, still beaming. "That's good to hear, Nauron. That's so very good to hear."
~o~o~o~
"Vairë, my dear, your fruit cake is as delicious as ever. It has been much too long since I paid you and Námo a visit."
On the far side of Valinor, on the western shore, the low evening Sun was shining her final rays over the Halls of the Dead. Here, the grey river of Mandos flowed through the arched gates of the Halls and down into the deeps of the earth, past the Courts of the Spirits where the fëar of the slain walked, and deeper still past the dungeons that once had contained the mightiest of the Valar, before sinking at last into the silence of the earth's heart.
The sitting rooms and guest halls and private chambers of those who dwelt in the Halls were the closest to the surface, just beyond the great, arched entrance. The evening sunlight streamed through the massive skylight adorning the ceiling of the Great Hall and flickered grey and gold on the river that ran gurgling softly through the center of the room on its journey downward. Here, at the edge of the river, seated comfortably on cushions with a low, round table between them, two Valiër enjoyed the ends of their meal.
Vairë looked up from her cup and saucer that she held delicately in her long, slender fingers. Her almond eyes were a deep, strange color that appeared to change from one moment to the next – dark grey, indigo blue, deep purple – and they seemed to have the depth of history itself. It would have been difficult for a mortal to ascertain her age; she was both old and young, with etched crow's feet at the corners of her eyes but full, soft lips that pursed now into a small smile. "I agree, it has been too long, Yavanna. I have missed the fresh fruit straight from your Gardens nearly as much as I have missed our time to talk. But we've all been busy and distracted."
"That we have been," Yavanna conceded, taking a sip from her own cup. Her gaze darted up and along the far wall, flickering over the massive tapestries that covered every available space. "You certainly have had no shortage of scenes to weave, I can imagine."
"That is true," the Valië of History acknowledged, "though perhaps my work is the most constant of all of us. History is always being woven after all, though the events of late have been of particular import, I suspect."
"I have been suspecting the same," Yavanna replied, "and I am glad to hear you say so. The passage of time and the events that unfold in it are your domain after all." She smiled faintly over the rim of her cup. "I am not entirely sure that all the Valar agree on that accord, our husbands for starters," she said lightly as she set her cup and plate down on the table. "Ah, that was just what I needed."
Two Maiarin attendants began to clear away the empty plates and cups. Vairë handed hers to one of them, then turned her attention back to Yavanna. "Would you care to go down with me to the Hall of Weaving?"
"Yes, let's," Yavanna agreed. "I would love to see your latest work."
At Vairë's summons, a Maia clad in the dark robes of Námo's folk steered a slender gondola up beside them and offered his hand to both ladies as they stepped into the vessel. The grey water laved quietly against the sleek wooden sides as the Maia pushed off and skillfully guided them into the middle of the river. They exited the Great Hall through an arch, then wove deeper into the Halls down side passages lit by lanterns hanging at regular intervals that gave off a soft bluish light. All was silent except the lapping of the water against the vessel and the walkways on either side.
Yavanna looked up at the long tapestries covering the passage wall, eyes skimming over the thousands of interwoven threads depicting a tall, dark figure on a cliffside, arms raised in prophecy, as beneath him dozens of stolen swan ships disappeared into darkness. "What is Námo up to these days? I'm sorry he could not join us for supper."
"My husband has had many duties and care these past months. He spends most of his time in the Courts of the Spirits, caring for the many new fëar that the War sent to him." Vairë's eyes were deep and sad. "The pain of the spirits and their deep wounds trouble him, I can tell. It will be a long time before many of them find enough healing to be released, but he works without tiring to comfort and strengthen them."
"Yes," Yavanna murmured, "there has been so much unnecessary pain and death. I am sure you have felt the weight of the sorrow of this last Age heavier than any of us."
"Perhaps," Vairë replied. "But I believe we have all felt these sorrows in one way or another."
"But our tasks do not require us to live immersed in every moment of pain and death that occurs," Yavanna said. "I will admit, Vairë, I do not envy you your labor."
"There are times that it is a heavy burden," Vairë admitted, "but there is also no greater joy to me than to share in the moments of joy and triumph and love. Not all is darkness, even in the darkest of times." She turned to the Maia. "This will be far enough. Thank you, Laihendi."
They disembarked and stepped through an archway into another larger chamber, this one circular and domed, with a single round skylight. The light that streamed in fell directly upon the massive loom in the center of the room. Unlike the other halls, the walls of this chamber were lined with shelves, each one carrying skeins of thread in every color imaginable.
Yavanna's vines twisted about her and one reached out like a finger to stroke the half-completed tapestry on the loom. The green coil skimmed over the imagery of the Máhanaxar, with the Valar ringed about it and a great, dark, chained figure kneeling in the center. A few feet over, the scene was nearly duplicated, except that the figure standing in the middle of the Ring of Doom stood tall and unchained, dark but also strangely radiant. The vine withdrew with a hissing shudder and Yavanna's skin flared bark-brown.
Vairë stopped in front of her loom, her hand resting lightly on the back of the chair, appraising her own work with pursed lips. Her cropped hair, midnight black with a sheen of blue from the evening light, curled softly around her tapered ears. Yavanna glanced subtly over to her. "You are the Valië of History. What do you think of these unfolding events of late?"
Vairë looked at her. "You speak of Sauron's return?"
Yavanna shrugged, her skin returning to its normal olive smoothness. "The Máhanaxar has seen more use of late than in many long years."
Vairë nodded. "Every event, be it great or small, changes the path of History to some degree. I cannot guess how History might have played out otherwise, but I sense that by coming here, Sauron has greatly altered what would have been."
"For better or for worse, do you think?"
Now it was Vairë who shrugged. "It is Námo who possesses the gift to catch glimpses of the future. I am content to study the past."
"And what does the past tell you? Do you not fear that perhaps History may be repeating itself?"
Vairë's eyes glinted from purple to grey. "You are concerned that Sauron will turn on us, just as Melkor did when we offered him leniency?"
The vines in Yavanna's hair coiled tight. "The thought has crossed my mind. More than once."
"As it has mine," Vairë replied. "But I also trust my husband's judgment."
"I mean no offense to Námo, of course," Yavanna said, "but I have misgivings that he may have been influenced overmuch by Manwë and Manwë's merciful nature."
Vairë did not reply, but continued to gaze quietly at the images on the tapestry.
Yavanna's voice went low and husky. "I know you have seen every act of destruction and misery that Sauron and his Master have wreaked upon this world since the beginning. I can only imagine how heavy it has worn on you, Vairë, weaving thousands of deaths and scenes of torture and misery. I can only imagine how much your spirit yearns for scenes of peace and happiness, like in the days of Almarin, once again."
"It would…ease my sorrows," Vairë responded in a voice so quiet it was hardly audible. For the first time, there was a weight in her voice that spoke of unspeakable things.
Yavanna pressed on. "What if Sauron were to continue to bring further terror to the Children, at our hands and our leniency? Vairë dear, your husband's Halls already bear the weight of too many spirits broken by that accursed Maia and his Master. You deserve better than sitting in this chamber weaving scene after scene of sorrows, with the wailing of the dead in your ears. Hasn't there been enough sorrow and death in the past Age for all the future Ages of the world? Is it not our duty to not only learn from History, but to also act upon it to make sure it is not repeated?"
There was a shadow over Vairë's face and a weight in her eyes like the press of Time itself. "What is it you are suggesting, Yavanna?"
"Nothing drastic, a simple assurance," Yavanna answered. "I may not have a gift of prophecy like Námo, but the time will come when Sauron turns on us. I am sure of it. And when that time comes, we must act with the full weight of justice that his actions deserve. He must not be allowed to wreak further havoc and destruction upon our dear Maiar, and upon the Children above all else."
She stepped closer to Vairë, voice dropping an octave lower still. "Perhaps you could consider speaking to your husband. If such a time comes, he will be the one to pass judgment on Sauron for his deeds. There is nothing wrong in speaking to him about our concerns, to make sure sentimentality does not cloud his judgement a second time." Patches of bark bloomed over her skin. "What if he were to promise that he will deliver a punishment befitting the crime? That he will do whatever is necessary to break the rebellious spirit of the Dark Captain?"
Vairë hesitated, but Yavanna took her hand. "You have the most influence over Námo," she said earnestly. "He will listen to you, Vairë."
Tears gathered in Vairë's eyes. "When I weave the visions I see in my mind, sometimes the pain of them is so great I feel I cannot bear it for another moment," she whispered. "I have seen things done in the darkness, I have seen the blood on countless battlefields, I have heard the cries of spirits who are broken beyond reckoning echoing from the depths of the Halls." A look of decision filled her eyes. "I will speak to my husband."
No smile crossed Yavanna's face, but her eyes flashed for a moment. "Thank you, Vairë," she said. "I knew you would understand."
~o~o~o~
Later that night, when Námo returned from the Courts of the Spirits, his own spirit heavy with the pain of the fëar he had been tending to all day, he found his wife curled up in bed, a shadow hanging about her and her face stained with tears and a look of deep pain.
"What is it, love?" Námo asked gently, gathering Vairë into his arms and holding her close to his broad chest, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Vairë laid her head on his shoulder and told him. She spoke of Ages of pain, death, and suffering in the darkness. She spoke of the agony that weaving those scenes upon her tapestries brought to her day by day, and of the horror when her constant visions of the past and present were weighed down with far more moments of tragedy and sorrow than those of celebration and joy. She stroked her fingers along his arm and spoke of her fears of the sorrows upon his own soul as he spent day after day among the broken spirits of those who never should have died.
And finally, she whispered, "Please, Námo, please promise you won't let this continue, if it ever is in your power to do so. If the Maia Sauron attempts to hurt the Children or the Maiar, please promise you will do whatever is necessary to make sure it is not the birth of another Age of pain and death."
Námo was silent for several moments, then he squeezed Vairë's shoulders, a shadow of his own weighing down upon him. He kissed her forehead again. "I promise, love. I promise I will."