Chapter 2
AN: This chapter requires some knowledge of the Valar to fully understand…for those who have not read Silm .. here is a link to figure out who is who
http/valarguild. org /varda/ Tolkien / encyc / valar .html
thanks Nin!
And thanks to everyone who reviewed..
Chapter 2
He was supposed to know everything that happened and everything that would ever happen, but somehow he was at loss here. It was not that he didn't know what happened, for he did, nor that he didn't know what would happen after this, for that was easy to guess.
It was just that he was absolutely certain none of this was Illuvatar's plan.
He looked back at the elf and sighed. For as long as the elf had been in his halls, he had never seen him blink even once.
The elf just sat there, motionless as if he was carved out of stone, ever staring back to Middle Earth. He did not react to the efforts they made to heal his soul, in fact he did not react to anything at all.
Not even Estë had been able to heal his wounds, none of Irmo's visions of beauty seemed to reach him, and his grief was so deep that even Nienna could not understand it completely.
And none of that was for lack of trying.
Námo, Mandos, keeper of the houses of the death, the summoner of the spirits of the slain just sat and stared at the elf, wondering what to do next. There were days when he wished he had had an easier job, when he envied Tulkas or Oromë, when he wished he could just run around and kill things.
He looked up when someone entered, knowing who it was but still not expecting it: her being here now could not be Illuvatar's plan either.
"Are you not weaving, my love?" he asked her, though it was obvious that she wasn't.
His wife didn't answer him, but smiled sadly instead.
"Aren't you supposed to 'weave all things that have ever been in time into your storied webs' at this time of day?" He tried to get her to answer, not caring that he already knew what she would say. If they stopped answering every time the other knew the answer already, he and Vaire would never have a conversation again.
"What about the future of Middle earth? I love your webs of the future…" he tried again.
"There is no future of Middle Earth." she spoke and pressed a half finished tapestry into his hands. "Just look at it! I am not weaving more of this!"
Námo let his eyes move over the tapestry and he saw what his wife had meant.
All patterns seemed to have come to an end and darkness had been woven into them, more and more, until finally, at the end of the tapestry, there was nothing but black.
"What does this mean? Sauron will rule the world? How did this happen?" He had known things were not going the way they had planned it lately, but this was… unexpected.
Vaire pointed at one of the patterns. "It all started here. This pattern ended. Then these patterns, his brother and father I believe, followed him in his death. And when they did, this one…" she pointed at a shorter line Mandos recognised as human, "was left alone, and therefore not strong enough to defeat this threat of darkness, and that is when it all started to fall apart."
"This pattern you speak about… who is it?" Námo asked, though he could guess.
"This one? Aragorn he is called. He who should be king."
"No, love, this one." He pointed at the first pattern they had spoken about, the one where it had all started.
But he knew the answer already, it was clear, there was no other possibility. There was only one elf in his Halls that did not belong there, whose presence could trigger eternal darkness.
Elrohir Elrondion.
The outburst of the stone-elf had brought a change to Imladris and it's inhabitants. It seemed an old wound was ripped open and the elves moved around without their usual grace.
Though elves were unfamiliar with the subject it seemed to Estel that the household was ill, its glow seemed to have dimmed, its strength seemed to fail.
The one who seemed affected by it most was Estel's adoptive father, Elrond himself. The elven lord spent more and more time in the room with the stone-elf, talking to him, trying to get some reaction out of him without result.
He seemed to have forgotten that he had other people to talk to, that he had promised Estel a bedtime story, that the line of people that wanted to talk to him about important things was ever growing.
Glorfindel tried to talk to him, and so did Estel's mother, but Elrond didn't listen.
Like the stone-elf had to be able to look out of the window, it seemed Elrond now had to keep the elf in sight.
The more Estel could see of the illness that seemed to have taken over his home, the more horrible he felt. He felt responsible for everything that had happened as it was his fault that he had triggered the stone-elf into shouting and with it, his father into being hurt.
There was another reason Estel felt bad, as with the first movement of the stoned-elf he had lost his great protector. He knew now that the elf was not a Vala that had been assigned to protect Imladris, nor a great warrior that could find a dozen dragons and survive.
In fact Estel had not ever seen someone more vulnerable, more fragile than the stone-elf in his moment of panic.
But if the elf was not assigned to protect them, then who would? What if orcs, the orcs that had hunted Estel in his dreams for so long, what if those orcs would come here to kill Ada Elrond and Nana the way they had killed Ada Arathorn?
The sadness that had spread through Imladris had infected even its youngest member. It brought back dreams, nightmares of loss, it opened wounds of the hearth that had never really healed, and the power of Vilya that had ever protected him weakened as its owner.
Soon other members of the household could be spotted staring out of the window, motionless for a few moments, searching for something, or someone who did not come.
But none of those searching eyes saw what they should have seen.
None of them spotted the orcs that came ever closer.