I own nothing in this story except for a few random characters. Professor Tolkien (rest in peace) owns everything else, except one line of dialogue, which was borrowed from Loreena McKennitt's song, "Lullaby".
Part I: The Muster of Valinor
Deep within the murky recesses of the Halls of Mandos, separate from the rooms which housed the spirits of deceased Men and Elves, lay the dwelling of the Doomsman and the Weaver themselves. Mandos and Vairë lay lightly asleep, side-by-side in a spacious four-poster bed, with curtains of blackest velvet surrounding it like the folds of Night.
The two Valar's hair was strewn across the pillows; waving auburn locks mingled with straight, dark, iridescent tresses like ravens' feathers. Their bodies were gently entwined, the divergence between their skin tones plainly evident. Mandos' cold, almost bone-white skin gave him the look of a cadaver in comparison to Vairë's much warmer, peach-hued body. But both husband and wife were very much alive, if not entirely alert.
The only noises in the shadowy chamber were those of Mandos' and Vairë's breaths, and of some otherworldly wind rustling through the room, brushing against the tapestry-lined walls and making the woven draperies shudder where they hung. The zephyr touched the face of Mandos, who stirred faintly; then his body tensed and jerked as he came abruptly awake. His deep, dark eyes glittered grimly as one thought inscribed itself in indelible ink across the page of his mind.
The Doomsman's hand moved to rest on his wife's shoulder; Vairë woke up in an instant, her bright golden eyes wide. "What is it?"
"We must go to Máhanaxar with all speed," Mandos answered. "There must be a council taken. Something is stirring just beyond us."
----
Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom, stood just outside the gates of Valimar, overlooked by the green hill of Ezellohar, which was crowned by the withered remains of the once-glorious Trees, Telperion and Laurëlin. It was there that the mighty Thrones of the Valar were set, and that many councils had been taken in times of need. This was one of those times.
Mandos surveyed the Ring in silence, moving up to his own throne and seating himself to wait. Vairë took her own place right across from him. They did not have to wait for long; soon eight obscure figures came into sight within the Ring, and hoofbeats in the distance heralded the arrival of more. The eight vague shapes took the forms of four men and four women, who each took up a place in front of one of the thrones.
Manwë, tall and regal, dressed all in blue, took the most splendid seat, while his white-clad wife, Varda, stood at his right side. Ulmo's garb glittered like silvery fishes' scales, and clinked quietly as he moved to his place at Manwë's left side. Yavanna stood next to Varda, robed all in bright green; her husband, Aulë, wearing a tunic and breeches of iron-grey, stood patiently at Ulmo's left.
Mandos' younger sister, Nienna, cast back the hood of the coal-black cloak she wore over her dark indigo dress as she stepped in front of the throne at Yavanna's right. Estë stood in between her two sisters-in-law, Nienna and Vairë; her light grey skirt whispered over the grass. Her similarly grey-clad husband, Lórien, took up a place on Mandos' left side.
A few minutes later, four more figures – two on foot, two on horseback – came swiftly to join the others. Tulkas and Nessa ran lightly to their seats, and Oromë (clad in a cloak of crimson over a cream-colored tunic and a red tartan kilt) and Vána (wearing a dress the hue of pale pink roses) climbed down from the Huntsman's stallion, Nahar, before taking their own places. Now the Ring was complete, and the council could begin.
"Why have you summoned us here, Námo?" Manwë asked, his pale blue eyes boring into those of the Doomsman.
"The fates of all who dwell beneath the heavens will soon be at stake," Mandos answered grimly. "We must summon together all peoples of all races of Valinor and Middle-earth – immediately. Morgoth's evil is rising up again, greater and more terrible than ever before, even when his will was bent against Elrond Peredhel in the Ages of the Sun in Middle-earth; only in the unity of all can he be conquered now." He paused for a moment before plunging straight to the heart of the matter.
"The Day of Doom is coming."
As that sentence's last echoes faded, the Valar fell to anxious whisperings. The very night seemed to grow darker around them. Manwë was the first to speak again.
"We must act swiftly," he said insistently. "Námo, you know more about this than all the rest of us together. What must we do?"
"We must alert all who may hear!" Mandos answered. "Each of us must spread the word throughout our own realms." He then turned to Oromë, and spoke to him alone.
"Make the Valaróma shout! Sound your horn – rouse the Dead!"
----
Thunder and drums!
Nahar's hoofs tore at the lush grass and rich soil of the hills of Valinor, as Oromë rode as though he were pursuing Morgoth himself. The Undying Lands rang with the voice of the Valaróma and the pounding of urgent hoofbeats. No-one could say they had not heard it. "Hunters, ride now!" came the repeated cry. "The Darkness is rising!"
"Dreamers, awake!"
The voice blazed through the minds of those who slept in the gardens of Estë and Lórien. The elves and some Maiar jolted upright, staring all around them in alarm as the Dream-lord whirled into sight, his face pale with desperation.
"Up, up, get up! Your doom is at hand!" He pulled half-asleep people to their feet even as they cried out in confusion, but Lórien would not reply. Not yet.
"Hark to your King!"
Manwë rushed through the halls of Ilmarin like a howling storm. The many Maiar whose duty it was to serve under the Wind-lord and his wife leapt to obey his orders. "Prepare to join in war! Ilmarin to me!"
"Slain ones, take heed!"
Mandos' voice echoed all around the cavernous chambers of his Halls, alerting Elves and Men, without distinction. "Listen to me! Long have you lingered here in wait of the Last Hours. Your dormancy is at its end! Take back your lives, and take up arms! Doom's-day is nigh!"
"Halt in your paths!"
Varda's voice lifted to the furthest reaches of the heavens as she beseeched all those who traversed the skies at her bidding: those who steered the Sun and Moon, and the Morning and Evening Star. "Arien, Tilion, Eärendil, return now to Valinor! Come down and rally! The end is upon us!"
----
Sleep was forsaken in Valinor that night. The whole realm was in turmoil; people flocked to the city of Valimar from North, South, East and West. The Moon disappeared from the skies without warning, and Eärendil became a comet, with the Silmaril's light burning in his wake as he streaked back down toward the earth in mid-flight. All of the other stars quivered and were extinguished; the Sun would not rise in the morning.
The elves marched out from all corners of Valinor, with bows, swords and spears held up high, led by their warriors, Elrond, Maglor, Glorfindel, Celeborn and Thranduil; and they sang as they came, a song to make even the most timid person leap boldly out to join the throng: "O for a voice like thunder, and a tongue to drown the throat of war!"
The green hills all trembled beneath the thunder of a thousand hoofs, as the Hunters rode to swell the army's ranks. And the Dead arrived from Mandos' keep, led by their Kings, and the greatest warriors who had died: not counted the least among them were Fingolfin, Turgon, Gil-galad, six of the sons of Fëanor (who had long since repented of their sin and done penance), Tuor, Turin, Húrin, Beren, Elendil, Anárion, Isildur, Denethor, Boromir, Helm Hammerhand, Théoden, Éowyn, and Aragorn Elessar.
Every spirit was a warrior; fathers and mothers, sons and daughters alike wielded blazing weapons. Those who had perished at young ages were now as they would have been in adulthood; the elderly and the feeble were returned to their prime of life and the peak of their strength. They rejoiced at meeting the kindred who had been lost to them by death, and for a time the impending war was forgotten in the revelry of love.
----
Elrond Peredhel stared all around him, awed at the wonderful spectacle of reunited souls. Long-lost friends and family were embracing, laughing and weeping. Maglor and his six brothers were tangled in a group hug; Elwing had her arms wrapped tight around her own brothers, Eluréd and Elurín; and running to join them was a figure that Elrond knew in an instant was…
"Elros!"
He leapt forward with a cry, even as his brother turned at the sound of his name. The one-time Lord of Imladris and the first King of Númenor struggled toward each other through the throng of Elves and Men, as well as many Dwarfs and Hobbits. They literally fell into each other's arms, sobbing in bliss. When Elrond looked up, over his twin's shoulder, he saw Mandos and Lorien standing just beyond them, beaming.
A mere few weeks after the assembly of the Valar, every soul in the Undying Lands was gathered in Valimar. They clustered in the great white courtyard, and those who couldn't find any standing room there waited on the golden stairs and streets below, watching and waiting as the Valar spoke among themselves.
"But what of those in Middle-earth?" Yavanna asked Mandos. "The Men and the Dwarfs who still live – do they not have their own part in this war as well?"
"I had not disremembered them," the Doomsman nodded. "There must be a journey taken to bring those people to our shores." He raised his voice, shouting out loud for all to hear and take heed. "Children of Eru! There are many yet who must join forces with us from across the Great Sea. Who will make the voyage to deliver them?"
"I will," four voices called out in simultaneous reply.
A quartet of elves, three dark-haired, the other silver-haired and curiously bearded, came forth to stand before the Valar, as the multitude parted quickly to give them space to advance: Elrond, Maglor, Eärendil the Mariner and Cirdan the Shipwright. All of the elves dropped to their knees and bowed their heads in reverence, and Manwë spoke gently to them.
"The blessings of all of the Valar shall go with you," he smiled, laying a hand tenderly on each elf's shoulder in turn. "Ulmo and I will ascertain that you arrive in Middle-earth as quickly and as safely as possible."
"Thank you, sire," they all murmured together.
"If it is your will, my lord, we will prepare to make sail immediately," the mariner added, looking up.
"That would be of great benefit to us all," Manwë told him with a nod. "Thank you. Both of you are dismissed."
----
Some time later, a group assembled in Alqualondë to see the journeyers off, in a morning that had come without a dawn. Elros was there, and his mother, Elwing the White, and Tuor and Idril, the Mariner's parents; as well there was Gil-galad, who had ever been a friend to Cirdan. But first and foremost came Manwë, Varda, Ulmo and Aulë.
They stood on the dock gazing out at the fleet of swift white and silver elven ships (with Vingilot among them), and the Wind-lord spoke to all those who were chosen to man the vessels' helms, blessing their crossing and bidding them farewell. Varda told Eärendil to sail ahead of the fleet with Vingilot, so that the Silmaril would be a beacon of hope when it was seen from the east.
Ulmo then called forth his two most faithful Maiar – Ossë (a male with sea-green skin, and hair like flying foam) and his wife, Uinen (a female with pale blue skin and hair that flowed and rippled like the water) – and instructed them to wait for his commands. Aulë stepped confidently onto the deck of Vingilot to stand beside Eärendil, for he was to make the journey as well, and speak to his own people.
As the helmsmen of the fleet tightened their hands upon the ships' tillers, Manwë raised a hand to the skies, and a great wind howled forth to billow the unfurled sails. Ulmo called his orders to Ossë, and the Maia, eager and reckless, caused a momentous wave to surge up and rush the ships out of the harbor. Uinen was quick to calm her husband's foolhardy spirit, before he could brew up any further waves and cause a storm. Those still standing on the docks watched in silence as the hope of Valinor sailed swiftly to gather warriors to further expand the ranks of the militia of the Light. They would need everyone they could to face the Darkness yet to come.
