The sun gazed upon one of her master's kin, golden sunbeams pouring over the silent figure who sat in a fetal position on the gentle slope of a grassy hill. Eyes the colour of fine wine stared unblinkingly at the sunset, and its aura of pinks, oranges and dusk colours. He seemed shrouded in shadows, by his pooling robes to his onyx shaded hair that curled about his elbows and fell teasingly before his eyes. His face seemed small in contrast, so stark white it was nearly transparent. Ghostly lips were slowly being kneaded between pearly teeth, and the perse shadows clouded about his eyes made their unusual colour stand out all the more.
I have betrayed the light, the darkness betrayed me, and the middle ground has long since vanished. Where do I stand?
Softly, as a butterfly alighting on a flower, the dark one became aware of another settling himself. He had silky auburn hair tresses and copper-coloured clothing. His chin rested lightly on meshed fingers, and eyes like emeralds glinted as they regarded the dark one silently. The fading sunlight caught the abundance of golden embellishments to his form. He, like the first, had delicately pointed ears.
"Watching anar?" came the quiet voice. Both smiled faintly, although the shadowed Elf did not tear his gaze from the bright light vanishing over the horizon.
"As always, Aulë," was the whispered reply. Aulë nodded and turned, the light penetrating his hair and setting it ablaze with colours just as it shied from the shadows. Neither spoke; neither felt the need to.
I was ripped away, soul torn, body destroyed, and now I am left to piece my life back together.
"Ah, star-crossed or wind-crossed are my brethren, shall I add sun-crossed, mellyn?" Two brothers settled on either side of the two, so alike and yet different as night and day. The younger Feänturi had spoken. Irmo, also named after his gardens of Lórien, was undoubtedly the more lighthearted. He had fine, butter-coloured hair that fell in curlicues and soft hazel eyes. He wore a green casual robe, the clasp at the top undone and showing a bit more of the vanilla undertunic than normal. Námo, or Mandos after his halls, was once again the darker presence. His acromatic eyes rivaled in colour and shade his hair which was kept in narrow braids that snaked down to his slender waist, clothed in a rich plum robes as was his wont.
"No need, no need, Irmo. We were merely admiring anar," blithely remarked Aulë with a raised eyebrow towards the two, and all four once again fell to companiable silence.
What do I have but a negative outlook to cling to?
"Four is a crowd," remarked another, moving to lay sprawled before Námo and Aulë. "But surely your eyes hurt? They are sensitive as ours," he continued with a meaningful look towards them, while curling one of the drawstrings at the ncck of his tunic about a finger. He wore a simple green tunic, and had golden hair and a short beard. Minty eyes twinkled merrily with ever-present laughter. Tulkas, he was named, and cheerful he was aptly called.
"Four is not a crowd... There is no group of four here," retorted Irmo's lively voice and Námo's amused one at the same time. Tulkas chuckled - he always enjoyed the twin-speech of the Feänturi - and shrugged in reply. The group of five fell quiet.
Or paranoia well-deserved?
"Anar, nor ithil shall vanish this day," observed yet one more dryly.
"You are so utterly sure," spat a seventh.
"But of course... You doubt the handiwork of your kin?"
"No. I doubt your opinion." Oromë huffed and glared daggers at the one he was bickering with from behind a curtain of chestnut hair, and his equally brown eyes flashed irritably. His hands settled on his hips and he leaned forwards in an attempt to discomfort the other.
Ulmo, on the other hand, was austere in bearing and condescending towards the huntsman, despite the very noticeable size difference. He was, in fact, at least a full head shorter than them all. His sapphire mane a torrent flooding down his figure, his beryl robes sweeping the ground at his feet, and cerulean eyes regarding Oromë with distaste. His eyes widened briefly in a sudden surprise and he looked down to see the darkling Elf's hand resting upon his boot, pressing down in a warning even though he had not turned, nor acknoleged the two in any other way. With a final parting smirk, the tempest that was Ulmo turned away and moved to sit furthest away, near Irmo.
Námo intervened to prevent Oromë from another barbed insult by standing to his full height - taller than the other - and giving a cold look. His back was to the sun, and he eclipsed it eerily, his immortal body glowing faintly and his eyes sharp. Oromë raised an eyebrow in reply, malice gone, and made a point to sit as far away from Ulmo as was possible, while the silver-haired Doomsman massaged his temples with his fingers, sinking back down gratefully to the grass.
Or am I wrong once again, and just imagining it all?
"Manwë? Come, sit," he spoke then, for the first time since Aulë first came. They all, as one, turned to see a stately figure, clothed in the blue of the skies, smile faintly and worry a lock of snowy hair between two slender fingers. His obsidian eyes watched them all kindly.
"Mmm? Well, I do not see why not," he murmured, striding forwards and settling between Irmo and the dark one.
"Pretty, today," the latter remarked with a gesture at the final slice of the sun as it sunk beneath the horizon.
"Indeed," was general reply.
The sun hid behind the skyline, reaching out to wave to her masters upon the grassy knoll. The sunlight reached out and brushed their faces one at a time; Oromë, Námo, Tulkas, Aulë, Manwë, Irmo, Ulmo... And Melkor's eyes shone in the final farewell of dusk.
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Thank you for reading!
Note: Due to some confusion, the order the Valar arrive in; Melkor, Aulë, Irmo and Námo, Tulkas, Ulmo, Oromë, and Manwë. The order listed in the end is their seating plan from Melkor's far right to his far left, or from left to right as in a picture. Melkor's name is listed last of all, because the author wishes to leave the darkling Elf's identity a secret until the end. So the seating order is Oromë, Námo, Tulkas, Aulë, Manwë, Melkor, Irmo, and Ulmo. Hope I sorted it out for you. .
I don't own Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion. Tolkien's playground - I just use the swingset. .
I am, however, guilty of writing rediculous little pieces here... This one's based on a story I was once working on centered on the Valar, and could have very well fit in the same series. Instead, it's a basic attempt to give the Valar personalities. So... Uh... Review, please? Every review counts!
TP