A/N: This is Part 2 of What It Means to be a King. It picks up the story about 400 years after the event in the Part 1. In order to fully understand the motivations of the characters, it is strongly recommended that you read Part 1 prior to reading this. I hope you enjoy, and I look forward to hearing from you. Thanks for reading.


Forochel. September 20, SA 541.

The darkness was thick and still, the air sharp and chill. A spark burst into a flame. And that flame blazed into an inferno, staining everything red, devouring everything within the stone chamber. The ground trembled, and the walls shook.

A song of terrible beauty rose within the swirling flames. Then, with a deafening creak, the stone wall groaned open.

Hear my words! Come forth and devour, for I have come amongst you once again.

The snow-covered mountain shook as a great clamor rang through the cold plains of Forochel and shook the darkness awake.


Halls of Mandos. Same Day.

NÁMO looked up as two spheres of light, shimmering like twin stars, visible and yet not so, appeared before him. The Lord of the Halls of Waiting ignored them and went back to the soul in his hand.

It was a curious one as spirits go. Such a fierce desire it had, it intrigued Námo.

The twin lights before him flashed, this time chiming. A tinkle of metallic melody reverberated through the silence of Námo's halls. The Lord of Mandos looked up again.

No one disturbed him in this vast, whispering halls when he was at work. That is, no one would dare. But these two were not just anyone.

Námo knew ignoring them would not make them go away. With a resigned flip of his hand, Námo opened his domain to these esteemed intruders.

The spheres shimmered, a light amongst the swirling gray mists of the hall. One of the spheres took a form in the likeness of a Firstborn, but greater in majesty and piercing in beauty. A fragrant wind whispered through the halls.

The other sphere sparkled and swept the wide halls before floating among the other's luscious silver waves of hair that reached all the way to the floor.

Námo rose up from his throne as the figure now clad in the raiment of clouds and wind smiled brilliantly, filling the dark, silent hall with silvery light. It was fortunate Manwë was not as bright as Varda. Námo bowed gratefully to the formless, gentle shimmer Varda took as she settled amongst Manwë's hair. She was always thoughtful like that.

"Will thou intervene?" Námo stepped down to the floor to stand before Manwë.

"Do not frown so, Námo. Varda and I came for thy council." Manwë smiled like the moon whose rays dimmed within the misty hall. "Ulmo also wishes to attend," Manwë said with a pleading grin.

This was Námo's domain. Beside him, no one except Eru Illúvatar had power over this place. None but He could enter here without Námo's consent.

Námo did only but think it and the floor of luminous sheen made of dark stone glistened as water sprouted in the middle of the vast hall as if a spring gurgles out of rocks. What started as a trickle rose into a tower of water and in its midst stood a figure like a depth of the ocean, his silver-green mail glimmering from Manwë's pale light.

"Ulmo." Námo nodded to the Vala of Waters.

He disliked the intrusion, and the three Valar knew that well. But if they are here instead of meeting at Māχananaškād, they had a need for secrecy and his halls were the most secure place in all of Arda. Nothing entered or took leave of Mandos without Námo's knowledge.

"Will Aulë and Yavanna join us as well?"

"No," Varda's shimmering voice said. "He is still a sensitive topic for those two. When we must act, then we will consult them, but that time is not now."

"Haven't we done enough interfering?" Námo said as he folded his hand over the soul that flickered in his hand.

"Why had not Eonwe brought him hither when he had the chance?" Ulmo's water swished.

Manwë let out a long sigh.

He had been among the Elves too long, mused Námo. Manwë was beginning to act like the Firstborns.

"He is one of us even if his power is diminished," said Manwë. "His will is his own just as it was Eonwe's will to let Mairon go."

"But, thou knowest what will come." Ulmo said.

Manwë nodded. "The One has faith in his children. Maybe we should, too. Perhaps, we have intervened where we should not have."

"Then Melkor would have ruled over the Arda now. Great was the loss, but regrets, I have not," said Ulmo. "Had I not told thee that we should leave them alone from the beginning? But, meddled, we have, and muddled, we did."

"So it was doomed," Námo said.

"Should we stop now? Is it His will that they perish in anguish?" Ulmo's water swirled about him. "They have just started to live in peace. Are they to suffer again? Now in the hands of Melkor's servant? Our problem Mairon was, and still is, the one we should have addressed before he left here to join Melkor. And failing that, we should have addressed at the last war."

"The choice was his. That was his right." Manwë tilted his head, looking like the Firstborns again.

"Yes, choosing who to follow was his right, but leaving the way he did, that was not." Ulmo's water made a strange popping sound, making Námo look up. The waters about Ulmo's feet boiled.

"Now, now, Ulmo, do not stir thyself. I have not decided. It is not for us to meddle again. I will not have another destruction of Arda." Manwë waived his hands as if to calm the stormy sea with his gentle winds.

"I heard enough suffering and sorrow, those we caused by what we did at Beleriand." Varda shimmered and pulsed atop Manwë, her golden light burnishing the silver hair of the Lord of the West. "I heard cries of dismay and despair throughout the Middle-earth, even from the far corners of the east when the Beleriand sank." Her light pulsed again.

"Now, now, dearest," Manwë said, but turned to Námo. "What Varda had heard, I have seen. I will not have that again."

"So, will thou abandon them now, after all we had done? Was that all for nothing?"" The waters about Ulmo's feet churned.

"The last war was but a moment ago. Sending another force is out of the question." Manwë's words were soft, but there was a finality to them.

Námo looked down at his palm. Perhaps there was a reason this soul had garnered his attention just before they arrived. The One had a tendency to gently steer rather than command.

"What do you have there?" Manwë asked and met Námo's eyes when he picked up his head.

"One who yearns to return to the Middle-earth." The Lord of the Hall of Waiting opened his palm to show the flickering fëa.

Manwë glanced at the small flame, then nodded. "He wishes to return to Arda? I had not known that there were any who wished to do so."

"Most do not. The mortal lands are filled with sorrow, but this one, he feels he had not completed his duty, and though he guards his heart, there is a memory of someone who beckons to him from the mortal lands," Námo said. "And he clings to the memory, both the pain and the joy, and refuses to let it go."

"Some Elves are stubborn like that." Manwë smiled, his piercing blue eyes tearing up.

Too much like the Eldar. Námo noticed the look in Manwë's eyes, almost like those of the Elves who had recently arrived at his halls from the Middle-earth.

"Perhaps we could send him back." Manwë said as he took a step closer to scrutinize the flickering soul.

Námo lowered his voice to a whisper. "Thou knowest that is not possible." Námo had feared Manwë would suggest it. And even though all Valar knew it, Námo said it to remind them. "The ones who come to my halls are forbidden to leave these shores."

And even if it was allowed, most did not wish it. Most chose to forget and live content in Aman forgetting the troubles of the mortal lands. Of course, as with all things, there were exceptions, just like this little fëa.

"Is it not wrong to hold back the information of the one he seeks?" Varda pulsed as she flew around the fëa.

"It is not within his right to know," Námo said.

"Firstborns may share our immortality, but they are still bound to the rules set for the children. The memories of their stay in Mandos are removed once they leave." Manwë reminded Varda. "We could send him back as our emissary," said Manwë. "Surely you can make an exception for that. It is within your power."

"He is one Elf. What can he do?" Ulmo frowned as he gazed at the small soul.

"Now is not the time for us to show our strength," Varda said.

"Sometimes, it only takes one to make a difference." Manwë smiled. "Yes. He may not be the one, but for now, he will do. He will go to the mortal lands and judge for us as to when and what kind of help is needed. Patience and prudence are what we need at the moment, and I see this one has those in abundance."

Ulmo shook his head, and the waters about his feet swished over the marble floors. "How much longer do the children must suffer?"

"The children must learn to stand on their own," Varda said. "The rocks on the path may hinder one's passage, but they also add to the beauty of the place and the wisdom of the traveler."

"We have been thinking this all wrong, Ulmo. I agree with Varda. No matter how painful it is for us to just watch, we must allow the children to fight their own battles. With Melkor they had no chance, but Mairon, in his diminished form, a chance exists if they come together. If they stand together. We must give them the chance to do so. We cannot prevent their loss. Our past showed us that. And if they are to suffer loss again, then that suffering must have meaning. If we are to assist, it must be with a light hand." Manwë turned to Námo. "Once the soul is cleansed and rested, we'll meet again. With both Aulë and Yavanna in attendance. We will decide then when to send him."

"So it must be." Námo closed his hand over the soul.


Námo (Quenya. Judge or Ordainer)—Doomsman of the Valar. He is the Lord of Mandos, the Halls of Awaiting. Often known by his dwelling place, Mandos, Namo is the keeper of the spirits of those who are slain. Along with his brother, Irmo, aka Lorien, he and his brother are called Fëanuri, Masters of Spirits. It is said that Namo knows and remembers nearly all things that were and shall be.

Manwë (Quenya. Blessed One)—King of the Valar, ruler of the airs and wind. Eagles are his messengers.

Varda (Quenya. Sublime)—Queen of the Valar, wife of Manwe. Known also as Elentari in Quenya and Elbereth in Sindarin(Star Queen), Gilthoniel, Starkindler in Sindarin. In preparation of the arrival of the Elves, Varda made the stars which were the first things they saw when Elves awoke in the Middle-earth. She is most beloved by the Elves for this reason.

Ulmo (Quenya. Pourer)—Lord of the Waters and the King of the Seas. Along with Manwë and Aulë, Ulmo is one of the three primary architects of Earth. During the First Age, he was the most active in helping the children of Eru in the war against Melkor.

Māχananaškād (Valarin. Ring of Doom)-hall where the thrones of Valar are arranged in a circle. From here, they held council and rendered judgement. Mahanaxar or Rithil-Anamo in Quenya.

Aulë (Quenya. Invention)—Smith of the Valar. He governs the substance of the world such as rocks, mountains and land. He is the master of all kinds of crafts and enjoyed inventing new things. He also created Dwarves(given life by Eru), impatient for the arrival of Eru's children. He is most like Melkor, but unlike him, Aulë submitted to Eru's will and was never jealous of other's creations. Mairon (Sauron) used to be Aulë's Maia before Melkor seduced him away from Aulë.

Yavanna (Quenya. Giver of Fruits)—Queen of Earth, wife of Aule, she ruled over all things that grow in the earth from trees to the flowers. Her song, with the aid of Nienna's tears, created the Two Trees of Valinor that provided light after Melkor destroyed the lamps. Melian, the Maiarian Queen of Doriath, was her kin.

Fëa (Quenya. Soul or spirit)—Plural form is Fëar. All incarnate creatures such as Elves and Men have souls which were given by Eru. They were indestructible and cannot be dominated unless a consent is given by its owner. This is why Orcs, created by Melkor, do not have a will of their own.


A/N2: This took some time because this story has a rather large jump in time, not once but three times. I didn't want to break this piece into three separate parts so I thought of weaving them together to start at the same time (somewhat like in Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell) but I feared I was not skilled enough to pull that off. So, I am just going to write/post as I go with regards to the first part of the story as it is more akin to a really long prologue.