Disclaimer:

I don't really need to do this again, do I? I mean … you know that I don't own anything (except for one or two characters of my invention) … right?

Author's Note:

Thank you for your review, red mage 1! I only hope that this chapter is something like what you expected … Hope you like this! And thanks for your compliments!

Ilúvatar is the father of the Valar. He is also called the 'One' or 'Eru' because of this. A lot of the things to do with Middle-Earth had to do with Ilúvatar. He created the Elves and Men, and he created the Valar and Maiar.

Oh, and the 'saying' that Errestor recites in the previous chapter is from 'The Shaping of Middle-Earth' on page 73. I changed the wording a little, so that it wouldn't be exactly the same as the one in the book. The facts were kept the same though.

That's about it … I think …

Here's chapter two! Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Two: The Undying Lands

Vairë glanced at her husband again, pausing her knitting a little. He was still seated on his chair, with is eyes closed. She sighed, turning sadly back to her knitting. He had been like that for many years now … not even attending most of the meetings called for by Manwë. She stared at the piece of cloth in her hands. It shimmered palely even in the darkness of Mandos' Halls. What was wrong with her husband? She knew that his duty was to give guidance and protection to the souls of the dead – whether they were Elves or not – but he was always engrossed in his work … He had never been this engrossed in his work either.

From her place seated on the small step beside his chair, she reached out to touch his hand. Her eyes widened as she felt the coldness of his skin seep into hers. Standing up with the cloak she had been knitting, she placed it around his still, seated form, carefully tucking it in. He still didn't move. Lowering her head, she sat back down, her eyes downcast.

Meanwhile in Taniquetil:

"Is it right to set out as such?" questioned Varda, looking at her husband. Manwë didn't turn away from his place next to the window.

"Whether it is right or not … it has already been begun," he said, quietly. Varda sighed.

"Yet … we were told not to get involved in the battles of Middle-Earth …" she said softly. "Ilúvatar has specifically told us – "

"How long, Varda?" asked Manwë, turning to face her. "How much longer must we let Middle Earth suffer? How long must the land created by Aulë and Yavanna, and watched over by Ulmo suffer?"

"I do not know that," said Varda. "Yet … do you really think that the re-incarnation alone can defeat Him, Manwë Súlimo?" Manwë turned back to the window.

"I know it cannot defeat him …" he said. "But it can prolong his success and help the peoples of Middle-Earth in the dark times that are to come …"

Varda said nothing. She knew that Manwë wouldn't do anything without a good reason for it … and yet she couldn't help but wonder whether it was correct … to disobey the orders of Ilúvatar – their father.

And in the city of Tirion:

Galadriél smiled as she walked down the crystal stairs of the city of Tirion. She had missed this city and had longed to return to it one day, even whilst she was in Middle-Earth.

Her smile faded slightly as she thought of Middle-Earth. She had worked hard, and for a long time, to keep the land beautiful, as did the other great Elf Lords. She wondered how her grandchildren were doing, having chosen to remain in Middle-Earth, at least for some more time. She wondered how her husband Celeborn was doing. Was he still dwelling in Lórien? Or had he left and moved his dwellings elsewhere?

Were Elladan and Elrohir safe? If so, what were they doing with no Orcs to hunt down? Was Arwen happy at last, by Aragorn's side? She wondered again whether Elladan and Elrohir would come to Tirion one day … She knew that they, unlike their sister, had chosen to remain as Elves … but the thought as to why they didn't come with them to the Undying Lands puzzled her.

"What are you thinking about so hard, Altáriél?" asked a soft voice, making her look up. She smiled as she saw the dark haired daughter of Olwë, High King of the Teleri elves walking down the stairs towards her.

"Naneth …" she said, her heart lightening as she merely said the word. Ëarwen smiled fondly at her daughter, although her clear, grey eyes showed signs of sadness. Out of all her children … Altáriél was the only one that still lived, having not perished at the hands of Morgoth or of Sauron. "I am much more used to the name Galadriél, Naneth …" said Galadriél, smiling.

Her mother raised an eyebrow at her before she understood. "I see … that is what they called you in Middle-Earth …" she said. Galadriél nodded.

"Where is Ada, Naneth?" she asked, suddenly. Ëarwen smiled fondly.

"Finarfin has gone to visit some friends in Alqualondë …" she said.

"Why did you not go with him?" asked Galadriél, surprised. She guessed why almost immediately. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Elyë nar lá alassë sinomë …" said Ëarwen, after a while. Galadriél smiled once again, although she turned away from her mother. (You are not happy here)

"Alassënya mar na lá sinome …" she whispered to herself, before turning back to her mother. (My happiness is not here). "I am happy to return to the place of my birth, Naneth …" Ëarwen said nothing, before she sighed.

"I hope you say it truthfully," she said. Galadriél didn't reply.

Elrond gazed at the magnificent sea below him, his face serious. A cool wind blew across the balcony he was standing in, ruffling his black hair. The City of Tirion was better than he had imagined it … with its crystal staircases and White towers … and the wealth of gems and beautiful paintings embedded and painted on the walls.

Even the flowers growing here were far more beautiful than those growing on Middle-Earth …

He sighed. No matter what he did – be it walking around the gardens, walking up and down staircases, reading books – he couldn't forget Middle-Earth. It was no wonder too. Middle-Earth was the land of his birth … and yet here he was in the Undying Lands, a land that was almost like paradise, and that was foreign to him.

"You do not laugh like you used to before …" said a voice, gently reprimanding him as two arms encircled his waist from behind.

" … Forgive me … Celebrian …" he said, sighing. Celebrian let go of him and moved to his side.

"What bothers you, Elrond?" she asked, allowing the breeze to blow her golden hair around her. "Why are you so serious? Even here?"

"You will not understand Celebrian …" said Elrond, not looking at his wife. Celebrian frowned.

"Try me," she said. Elrond didn't say anything. " … What has happened to you Elrond? I leave you for 511 years and you become distant and brooding …" Elrond closed his eyes.

"I was thinking about our children, Celebrian …" he said, slowly. Celebrian turned her gaze to the sea. A silence ensued.

" … They have made their own decisions, Elrond," she said at last. "They are doing what they think is best … Why must we brood when they are happy?" Elrond had a feeling that she would say that.

He loved his wife dearly, and had mourned deeply when she had departed over the sea 511 years ago, in the year 2510 of the Third Age, as a result of being poisoned by Orcs. Yet she did not understand his grief at all … she had left her family years ago, and had not had to look after them in their youth – he had to do all of that. She wasn't cold hearted in any means … it was just … she wouldn't understand his sadness and his worries.

Celebrian sighed as she saw her husband deep in thought. It was no use. Whatever she tried to tell him, or whenever she tried to talk to him, he always tuned her voice out, thinking of something or the other.

Why couldn't he understand that Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen were probably happier remaining in Middle Earth? Even though Elladan and Elrohir were of the Eldar?

Hanging her head, she turned around and walked away, sadness creeping into her heart. Was she not enough for him?

Elrond listened as Celebrian's footsteps faded, telling him that she had gone. He knew that she was hurt, and he was saddened by the thought that it was probably because of him, but … having raised his children by himself for 511 years, he couldn't get rid of the worry that crept into his heart at the thought of them remaining on Middle-Earth and fading …

He knew that Elladan and Elrohir had chosen to be counted among the mighty Eldar, and that they had kept their immortality. This meant that they would one day cross the seas and come to Tirion … but how long would he have to wait? Then there was Arwen, having forsaken her immortality and chosen to lead a mortal life … when would she fade? And who would be by her side?

"A Balrog for your thoughts," said a familiar voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. Elrond didn't need to turn around to guess who it was. The selection of words, in any case, was easy to recognize.

"Glorfindel …" he said.

"Right you are!" said the golden haired elf lord cheerfully, as he joined his friend by the railing. "The sea is quite beautiful, isn't it?" Elrond nodded slowly.

"Yes …" he said. Glorfindel glanced at him out of the corners of his light blue eyes, before turning them back to the sea.

"Heh … I wonder if Elladan and Elrohir have driven Errestor to the brink of insanity yet …" he said, attempting to lighten the mood a little. It served to do as he wished, as a small smile appeared on Elrond's face as he thought of his sons annoying Errestor.

"I should hope they haven't," he said. "Errestor should have come with us …" Glorfindel sighed.

"He has his strange reasons …" he said.

"Indeed …" said Elrond, hot forgetting the feeling that he had that Errestor had stayed behind on his behalf, to look after his children. Glorfindel sighed inwardly.

"I am beginning to wish that I never came here …" he muttered, a grouchy expression forming on his face.

"Why not?" asked Elrond, surprised. He had thought that Glorfindel, being a Vanyar elf in both of his two lives – his first and second ones – would have loved coming back 'home.'

"Why not? Would you like staying here when everywhere you go, mothers come running after you talking about their 'beautiful' daughters that are 'cheerful' and 'lovely' and who would make 'wonderful' wives for you?" asked Glorfindel. Elrond chuckled.

"But aren't they right?" he asked. "Shouldn't you settle down with a wife soon?" Glorfindel glared at him.

"EXCUSE ME," he said. "But I don't think I want to get married to someone – especially to someone here – and have to take orders from her …" Elrond raised an eyebrow at him. "What? Galadriél was like that to Celeborn!"

"Are you still going on about that?" asked Elrond, sighing.

"It's true! Galadriél ordered Celeborn around like a poor little … a poor little …" Glorfindel stopped. "Never mind like what, but she did!"

"And do you have proof?" asked Elrond.

"Proof? Proof?" asked Glorfindel. " … Well … not really … but one look at Galadriél tells you that she's capable of doing something like that!" Elrond shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered if this really was the Balrog Slayer that had lived in Gondolin …

"If you say so, Glorfindel," he said, resignedly. Glorfindel grinned in triumph. His sharp hearing caught the sound of footsteps heading towards them, and two voices along with them. His face paled. "I have to get out of here! I HAVE to get out of here! I need to get out of here!" he whispered, looking around him hurriedly.

"What ever for?" asked Elrond, startled at his friend's behaviour.

"Two elves are coming up this way – no doubt one of this is planning on introducing me to her daughter!" replied Glorfindel. Elrond grinned.

"Then you should stay," he said. Glorfindel glared at him, making him sigh. "There is always the other staircase …" he said, nodding towards the staircase to the far left. Glorfindel nodded, beaming at him.

"Thank you!" he said. "I will never forget your help!" With that, he was bolting down the stairs in a flash of gold. Elrond shook his head. He really wondered if this elf had even been capable of slaying a Balrog …

Meanwhile, in the Halls of Mandos:

He wandered through the inner realms of his Halls, nodding at the various spirits of the dead as he went on. Everything around him was rather dark – similar to the rest of his Halls. Reaching the end of the realm he was wandering through, he stopped. There was a curtain of extreme darkness in lying in front of him, looking threatening.

He smiled. He had made the curtain of darkness in hopes that it would look threatening … threatening enough to stop other spirits from wandering into the area behind it. The other main purpose of the curtain was to ensure the safety of the spirit on the other side of it. When he said 'spirit' he meant a soul of the dead … that had been re-born years ago, and that was growing up in shelter in his Halls, away from the rest of her kind …

He had been raising this almost completely 're-incarnated' spirit ever since she was re-incarnated … and was waiting for the signal from Manwë, so that he could release her into the world, and out of his Halls. She had died in her elfling days, and when she had been re-incarnated, she had been the same age and size she had been the day she died.

He frowned slightly as he wondered, not for the first time, whether their father Ilúvatar would be happy at what he and Manwë had done. He had, after all, forbidden them to have anything to do with the battles of Middle-Earth anymore …

He moved through the curtain smoothly, before pausing again and looking around. Seated on the ground of the 'room', and facing him, was the young elf. He smiled grimly. She was not wholly re-incarnated yet ... It was taking time to complete her re-incarnation. As it was, she wasn't a spirit of the dead … but she wasn't completely alive yet …

She was just … there …

The elf stood up as he approached, using his mind to awaken her mind that was still not able to function on its own. If he had sent his 'real' form to deal with this Elf, he might have achieved her re-incarnation much sooner … or he might have destroyed her. As it was, whenever he visited the 'inner realms' of his Halls, he sent his spirit in his place – mentally. This ghostly image of his traveled around the 'inner realms' whilst he actually sat still in his seat, eyes closed in concentration as he navigated this spirit around.

" … Lord Mandos …" The voice caught his attention. The elf was standing straight and was staring at him through slightly dazed crystal clear light green eyes. Mandos widened his eyes slightly. She had spoken … she had spoken …

A wave of relief flowed through him. In her almost re-incarnated form, she hadn't been able to talk, or move around independently. He had to tell her to sit, to walk, or to stand – she was just a zombie sort of being.

And now … she had spoken … without him even asking her to. That meant that the re-incarnation was becoming complete …

"It is not time yet …" he said. The elf's eyes lowered, showing her disappointment although she tried to hide it.

" … I see …" she said, dully. She closed her eyes. He did the same, probing her mind. He read her thoughts once more.

"It is not time yet for that either, Ëariel Mirëlómë …" he said softly, answering her unvoiced question of whether or not she would ever see her family again. How was he supposed to tell her that her family was no more? "Patience, the time is nearing," he said, having a feeling that Manwë would ask of him to release her from his Halls soon.

The elf sighed sadly, shaking her head and her long hair. "Yes, my lord …" she said. Mandos opened his mouth to say something, when a voice started shouting in his head. He looked around him, his expression guilty, as he tried to get the voice out of his head. His eyes widened slightly as he felt something hit him. He went reeling backward, through the curtain, through the realms –

- He opened his eyes, breathing heavily. Beads of sweat trickled down his face and neck as he took in deep breaths of air. It took him a while to get focused on his surroundings, and when he did, he saw that he was seated on his throne, leaning forward.

Vairë knelt down beside him, placing her hand on his, an expression of worry on her face. She frowned slightly as she watched him breathe heavily … and as the beads of sweat trickled down his face.

" … My Lord?" she asked, softly. "Mandos?" He stared at her, a glint entering his eyes. She shivered inwardly as she saw the glint in his eyes. When she next looked at him, however, the light was gone.

"M – Manwë …" said Mandos, hoarsely. "Must … tell … Manwë … Ilúvatar …" He broke off as he stood up straight, heading towards the doors. Vairë stared after him, a mixed look of questioning and pain on her face.

What had happened to him in his realms? And why had he spoken of Manwë … and Ilúvatar?

Author's note:

Well, I hope that was good! Thanks again for your reviews for the first chapter! I know this chapter didn't have anything to do with Arwen and the others in Middle Earth … but I wanted to bring out the Valar, and one of my own characters – Ëariel Mirëlómë.

Who is Ëariel Mirëlómë? Well… that's for you to find out in the later chapters!

Reviews, once again, are most welcome!

See ya soon!

Siriusgirl1