I'm really sorry about this. I shouldn't take so long to update. Just a short chapter, for now: the next one will be longer by far.

I've gone back and fixed a few canonical mistakes in the Prologue.

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the characters and situation herein. I am merely playing with the could-bes and the what-ifs.

Upon leaving the Void, Manwë shed his earthly form, his spirit intertwining with the icy cold winds high above Arda. He allowed the winds to bear him back to Taniquetil, considering all that had happened in the Void. He was troubled.

Arda had been plunged into the dark time where he could not see the end. Morgoth knew this, Manwë was sure, and had chosen this time to act for that reason. He tried to look into the future once more, but knew that his efforts would be in vain. He was correct- he was met with a dark, boiling storm cloud, blocking out any vision of what was to come.

Manwë needed Varda.

He wiped away all thoughts of the darkness and pictured a blue sky instead, becoming one with the winds, increasing his speed. Despite his worries, he felt the familiar sense of elation to be no more than a gust of air sweeping the sky. He allowed himself to be completely taken by the air until the Mountains of Aman came into view. He slowed his approach and regretfully disentangled his spirit from the wind, approaching Taniquetil. In his haste, he flew straight for his throne upon the mountain-top, and only reassumed his earthly form just before sitting. Varda had felt that he was coming and was already seated beside the throne. Wordlessly, he told her of Morgoth's challenge.

"We must look to the South," Varda murmured, "and see how Tulkas has fared."

Manwë nodded and looked towards Mordor. His gaze passed through the mist upon the seas and pierced the black fumes of Sauron's land. He could see a vast amount of soldiers, Elves and Men, cleaning up from a great battle. Far to the South, orcs were fleeing. Sauron was nowhere to be seen. At his side, Varda listened intently.

"I hear the celebrations and mourning of the Alliance," she said, "and the discontented whisperings of orcs, hidden away in dark places. They say Sauron has been defeated, but I fear that he is not."

"No. He is not. I can feel him," Manwë said grimly. They sat in silence, one listening, the other watching. Their silence was broken after a long time when Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, approached the throne.

"My Lord and Lady," he said, bowing deeply. "Tulkas has sent word by one of the eagles that he is coming. He wishes to speak to you."

"Thank you, Eönwë," Manwë said. The herald bowed once more and departed.

"Perhaps we shall find what new tricks Morgoth has," said Varda. She stood, her star-dusted silver raiment glittering in the fading sunlight. She looked for Tulkas and saw him ascending the mountain, fuming. She exchanged thoughts with Manwë, questioning the reason for Tulkas's anger. Manwë pondered this, and thought that perhaps they had underestimated Morgoth's cunning once more.

Tulkas reached the top of the summit and approached the throne. He scowled and said, "I have been tricked." He went on to tell his tale, explaining how the Kings had died, Sauron's fall, and Isildur taking the Ring. "It is my fault," he finished. "I put the images in his head, planted the seed of greed in his mind. The Ring cannot be wrested from him now; it would break him."

Manwë was silent for a long while, turning over the information in his mind. "It is not," he finally said, "your fault. Sauron would have defeated the Alliance, and then all would have been lost. You saved Arda, and that is not to be trifled with. I suggest we call the rest of the Valar to a council. We must all have a hand in the fate of Arda. Eönwë," he called. The herald appeared and bowed. "Send out Maiar to summon the rest of the Valar to a council. The sooner they can come, the better. Vairë can weave the future of Arda in the meantime, but we must be ready to take action once she has finished setting the board." He motioned for Eönwë to depart, and preparations went underway for the council.

Not even one week later, the council began. The other Valar, upon hearing the details of the matter at hand, came as soon as they could. Manwë looked upon all the Valar seated in a circle upon Taniquetil- even Ulmo, the Lord of the Waters, was there. Manwë had not looked for his coming, as it was not his habit to attend the councils, and was glad, for he had not seen him for many years.

Manwë stood before his fellow Valar with his arms spread, his blue robe billowing in the winds that were as his children. "I have summoned you here to deal with the ever-recurring menace of Morgoth, our fallen kinsman," he began, and recounted the deal made with Morgoth. Tulkas stood afterwards and told his tale, not without a slight tone of fury tingeing his voice as he spoke. Upon his conclusion, when he told of Morgoth's trick, a silence settled over them all as they thought upon the story. It was Mandos, the keeper of the Halls, his voice deep and unemotional, who spoke first.

"Vairë has taken over now," he said. "We can trust her to align things for us, no more. She will stop meddling with this game as soon as she feels her work is done."

Manwë nodded. "That was my thought," he said.

"I caught a small glimpse of the future," Mandos continued. "She will not return to the Halls for more than an Age." His voice, normally so impassive, held the smallest hint of regret and sadness.

"But when that time comes, we must be ready to take the board for her," Aulë interjected, fingering the finely-hammered edges of the belt of gold at his waist. "Who will be the one to do so?"

"We must look to what Vairë will set into motion," said Yavanna, "before we can decide who it will be that will go. If it suits me and my abilities, I will go. If it is better suited to another, they should be the one to go. If none wish to take the challenge, I will go."

"I have a wish to face Morgoth once more," said Oromë, the Hunter, in a grim voice, "though I feel that directly after Vairë will not be the best of times for me to fight. I will have my chance, though. I believe that this conflict will last longer than it was first thought."

"I, also, will play, if ever the need arises," Varda said.

One by one, all of the Valar consented to play if ever they were needed. They departed soon after, each waiting to be called.

And far away in the Void, a smile crossed Vairë the Weaver's face as she continued to weave the images of the Valar's council into her loom.