The press of souls pushed her to turn around and abandon her insane quest. Their grief was thick and heady. She felt suffocated and dizzy with it and clasped her robes tighter. This would be a terrible place to fall. She would not die from it, but her brother would worry more, and he already fussed over her too much for her liking.
Of course, that fussing served her in moments such as these. His concern led to her presence in the sacred Awaiting Halls, the legendary Halls of Mandos.
"Go, little sister." A thick hand settled at the base of her ribs. Her brother, Námo, stood slightly behind her, clothed in his usual flowing robes. His silver eyes peered at her from beneath the dark fringe of hair that swept across his broad forehead. For a moment, she watched them soften as he took in her disheveled appearance. "Onwards, brave Nienna," he whispered, his lips twitching into a gentle smile only she ever got to see. "The grief of the world pains you. Let this be my gift to you."
It was true, Nienna thought, as she took the first of the stone steps that spiraled deep in the belly of Arda. The War of The Last Alliance had wrecked her spirit. Souls fleeing to her brother's halls from the war in Middle Earth had near-overwhelmed her with their despair, and far worse was the grief of those who still lived and carried their agony each day in life. In her misery, Nienna dismissed her handmaids, for she could not bear their thoughts, their touch, their souls as they grated against her wounded spirit. For weeks, her aching soul spilled over her lashes, and she wasted and began to fade. Eventually, she would have recovered. She could not truly fade as the elves of the east often did in their grief, but her brother summoned her to his halls.
His intention had been to sequester her within his home to expedite her healing. Perhaps a stay in his stone palace with his walls of polished jet-stone and salt-water breezes would have improved her strength. However, Námo had not accounted for his wife's tapestries.
Hundreds of Vairë's stunning compositions depicting the history of the world draped between the columns that lined the entry hall to his keep on the northern cliffs of Valinor. She already weaved the tapestries through the entirety of the Third Age, past the present and into the future. There was little joy or hope in the strands that formed the fate of Middle Earth. Bursts of death wove through the strands of suffering and hopelessness. Thousands of men and elves would join her brother's halls before the end of the age. The grief she would add to the burden of the last war she already endured…
"The path has been set," Vairë said when Nienna broke her self-imposed silence to question her brother's wife. "When Isildur fell to the power of the Ring, he trapped Middle Earth in this fate." Her dainty fingers, so used to dancing between the threads of time on her loom, gripped Nienna's shrouded shoulders. "My heart weeps for them, as it does for you. I wish I could spare you this pain, but I am merely the chronicler, and I cannot alter the course of the world. I am as shackled to my task as you are, Lady of Grief and Sorrow."
Her words presented a sympathetic character, but Nienna could detect the truth that lurked beneath. Vairë's soul was gleeful at the strain inflicted upon her husband's cherished sister.
Even Námo seemed to sense the malicious twisting of his wife's spirit, and he dismissed her before guiding Nienna further into his halls. Her mind was scrambling. She could not suffer what she had seen in the tapestries of the future. She would not permit Middle Earth to succumb so fully to wickedness again, and so she plotted.
"How can I ease your soul, little sister?" Her brother asked as he led her along the stone walkway between the main halls and the tower that housed the Hall of Souls. Stars glimmered behind the soaring jet-black tower set on the Cliff of the Dead, the Northernmost point of Valinor, and it's sight inspired her scheme.
"So many have departed to your halls, brother." Grief wavered her voice. "Their pain cripples me, as does that of their loved ones."
"I have seen it." His hand smoothed her golden waves back from her face. "Your light fades. I have never seen you so diminished. Please, give me hope that I may see brightness illuminate you once more."
Nienna let her cheek drift into the warmth of his palm. "Hope, brother. My soul aches for it. Amidst so much misfortune and pain, I seek courage and hope to temper the darkness."
Her brother's brows furrowed, his eyes considering the ocean beyond the cliff. "What hope can I give you? Ask it of me, and it shall be yours, I swear it."
Nienna kept her face blank, suppressing the feeling of victory as she said, "I ask for a soul. One of my selection from your halls to do with as I please."
His heavy robes, a deep plum in the gloom, could not hide his sagging shoulders. "I cannot gift you this, sister. All souls must await judgment before rebirth."
"You swore to me," she insisted and placed her hand over the one resting at her cheek. "While I cannot ease the grief of the suffering already endured, let me wield my full gift. Let me bestow pity, as is my right, on a soul that speaks to me of its courage."
His silver eyes pinched, and he heaved a great sigh. He could see no other recourse. "I have given my word, sister. If you do not concede to request a different gift, I caution you to choose with wisdom."
"That I have in abundance, brother." Her small smile was in contrast to the near-constant tears shimmering at the base of her full lashes. "For there is no better teacher than grief and sorrow."
With his vow, she found herself within the Tower of Souls, hesitating on the first step that would alter the future of Middle Earth. Even now, she could feel another soul in Middle Earth fade to grief, and the haunting lament from its loved ones rose and fell in time with her heartbeat. She would not see such suffering again, not after the destruction Sauron had wrought in Middle Earth so recently. With her brother's urging, she delved deep into the caverns to find the soul she knew she needed.
Námo sensed her determination and commented, "You have already decided."
She nodded and reached out to run her pale fingers along the smooth black walls. She only hoped the elf she sought would be willing to take on the task and chance she offered. "There is one who calls to me constantly. I feel his regret and sorrow strongly."
"As you feel the regret and sorrow of them all."
"And yet he is the only one who saves no sorrow for himself."
They rounded the corner together, and she paused to view the majesty that no other besides her brother had glimpsed. The inside of the tower was far more extensive than it's outside hinted at. Even with her gifted sight, she could barely make out the opposite side of the circular hollow. Part of her blindness was owed to the absence of light. The tower had a singular light source: great curves of glass that branched into the darkness from the ceiling like the roots of Telperion, The White Tree of the Two Trees of Valinor. At the base of each, a single droplet of Silpion, the dew from the Telperion's flowers, shone radiantly white, illuminating the entire length with soft echoes of its glow.
"Does the light reach the bottom?" Nienna asked as she scanned the walls for the soul she sought.
He grunted. "It reaches as far as it dares. There are souls even I do not risk disturbing. Souls from before our time and souls that have been doomed to remain in these halls for eternity."
Even now, she could see the weight of responsibility settle across his brow and shoulders. The task of guarding the souls of the world and measuring their worth was as much a burden as carrying their lifetime of grief and sorrow. Still, she did not envy his authority over the souls in the depths of the pit. She leaned briefly over the open walkway to stare into the abyss. The fathoms of empty space were so dark, her eyes tricked her into seeing a fuzzy spot of white in the center. She blinked twice, and it was gone.
"How far down are the souls from the end of the Last Alliance?"
"Not much farther." His hand ushered her onward again. "Depending on who you seek. That particular time covers multiple floors."
"I have no doubt of that."
Her stomach still twisted in horror. Souls were stored in small pockets in the wall as if Námo had scooped the dark rock out with his hands to create a shelf for each being. Hundreds of these covered the wall on each floor, much like a honeycomb in a hive. She had felt all the agony and death throughout the war, but seeing the abundance of souls cataloged in the black stone was shocking.
They passed hundreds, winding down floor after floor before they grew close to those of the Last Alliance. It became colder the further they went, and the salt-water smell from the ocean beyond the walls turned musty instead. The souls she passed were an amalgamation of colors. Some were vibrant white, others a muted grey, and she even spotted a few edged in black.
They traveled in silence, only broken by Námo's occasional brief comment on the particular event in history from which the souls had come. Ten floors below the surface, her brother whispered, "Here lie the souls from Dagorlad."
Nienna's silver eyes darted across the cavities, seeking out the soul she felt pulling at her spirit. She was so close. Further she went, delving deeper and rushing along the steps.
"Slow yourself!" Námo grasped her arm even as she felt her skirts swirl between her feet and tangle. She dangled over the edge of the walkway, her free arm fluttering over the drop until Námo pulled her upright. "I would prefer if we stuck to the stairs." His mouth twitched, but Nienna hardly noticed. Her eyes were intently focused on the combs behind him.
Over his shoulder, she could see the soul she came to collect. Her steps were slow, solemn, as she approached the tiny alcove that sheltered the dim soul that swirled like white smoke.
"What is wrong with it?" She asked her brother. A slash of grey ripped across its ethereal form, and the soft white vapor coalesced and dripped from the opening. Her eyes followed the droplet as it fell and dissipated before the next droplet took its place.
"It is rare, but I have seen it before," he shrugged. "Most souls find peace within these halls. They are granted the time and space to contemplate their lives and choices. Some are unable to accept the serenity offered, and the wounds of their life slowly cause their soul to fade."
"But these are the Undying Lands? He cannot fade."
"His soul grows weaker each day. It may not have the strength for rebirth when the time comes." His face was solemn. "It does not happen often, but sometimes the soul is too damaged by the time of Judgement, and they must remain in the Halls until they fade completely."
"There is no way to heal the weakened soul?"
"Only by finding the peace they will not accept."
Nienna nodded her head sharply. Her brows lowered, and her lips set in a firm line as she scooped up the wounded soul. She knew who he was; knew his pain as it burned throughout her being. Holding him in the cup of her hands was excruciating. The proximity of his regret oozing through her veins forced the air from her lungs. She panted, feeling herself descend into panic. Her brother's eyes came into focus, and his hands captured her shoulders. "Come back to me, Nienna."
It was too much; the regret, no, the self-loathing that permeated his being was a mountain on her heart. Her lungs were aching. Distantly she recognized the trembling in her legs. How could he have failed them all? His people, his allies, his wife… at the center of the storm, his soul sobbed for the suffering of his sweet son. It was this sin that rent his soul.
"Nienna, you must focus! Come back to me!"
She gulped lungfuls of air. They whooshed past her lips and burned through her. Námo was taking deep breaths as a guide for her to match. When she settled, he pulled her into his arms, carefully avoiding contact with the soul clutched within her hands.
"Any concerns I had over allowing you this gift have been overshadowed by my fear for your wellbeing. You have selected well, sister. Know that he may not wish to pull himself from his shadows."
"I would claim him only with his blessing," she said when her breathing had evened.
"Come," He kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders. "It's far more comfortable outside in the gardens. You may speak with him in privacy there."
The trek to the surface was mercifully brief, although the weight of her brother's worried stare frequently rested on her as he ushered her out of the tower. When at last she stepped into the starlight, she savored the brisk salt air and the soothing crash of waves against the cliff face. The high trees on each side of the walkway cast long shadows in the moonlight. She felt as if they were clawing her, and she tucked the soul into the thick fabric of her robes.
Námo settled her on a cold stone bench under a white oak that overlooked the sea and kissed the top of her head. "Be well, little sister. I have a meeting with Manwë to attend. As always, my home is yours, and it would please me greatly if you would stay here while you recover."
He eyed her hopefully until she graced him with a tentative smile. "It would please me as well, though I must think about it."
She waited until he vanished inside the palace before pulling the weeping soul from her robes. The gardens were empty and, save for a lone shadow drifting quickly past a ground floor window, she was alone.
She closed her eyes, felt her power rise like a wave, and surge from her fingertips. "Your chance has come, dear one. Awaken."
The mist swirled and spread beyond her fingers. It thickened and grew until a male elf stood before her, his silver hair glinting in the spokes of moonlight that filtered through the trees.
"My lady," he whispered and dropped to one knee.
Her hand tilted his chin upward. "Come and sit beside me. We have much to discuss."
He sprung onto the bench, neatly arranging his pale robe and attempting to avoid touching her. "I am lost, my lady. I thought judgment came from Námo?" His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped. "I mean no offense. I am merely misinformed and confused."
She chuckled, the first genuine laughter to pass her lips in centuries, and placed a hand over his own. "My brother is indeed the Judge. I am here to offer you an opportunity. Should you choose not to seize it, you will return to his halls to await his judgment." She nodded to the tower at the cliff's edge.
"I am eager to hear of the opportunity my lady offers." His brows rose, and she felt his fingers twitch beneath her own.
"Why do you hold no sorrow for yourself?" She asked instead.
His nail scratched at the stone, and his shoulders heaved a great sigh. "I carry more sorrow than I think I can bear. It…" His eyes closed tightly. "It suffocates me."
"And yet, none of it is sorrow for your own pain."
"How can I feel sorrow when my suffering was borne of my own actions?" He was quiet for a moment, eyes drifting from branch to branch in the tree above. "I was given choices, and I made all the wrong ones. My sorrow is for all those who suffered from my failures."
"Given the choice, would you return to ease their burden?"
His eyes finally met hers, and she felt another bright smile stretch across her face as his inner light pulsed briefly with hope and strength. "I would." His voice was thick. "If it was your will, I would return this very moment."
She squeezed his hand gently. "This choice is yours alone to make. There is much grief in front of you should you choose this path, and the one you love most is soon to suffer further, whether you choose to return or not."
"I would face any trial if only to ease his suffering."
"You will not be as you were at first," she warned. "And, though the one you cherish will benefit, your task will be to guard and guide another. She will have little knowledge of Middle Earth."
"My lady? Who would I be guarding?"
"You will know her when you are reborn. I will place you as near to each other as I am able." She squeezed his hand. "She will be in great danger, and her task will be difficult."
"If I knew more, I could be of greater help," he tried.
"This is as much as I dare say," she shook her head. "I have given you a task; it is your choice to complete it or not. After our last interference, we swore not to immerse ourselves in the conflicts of Middle Earth. You will not be the first of the elves we have sent to aid Middle Earth. Each was given a specific task, just as you are being given. You'll remember Lord Glorfindel?"
"He is the Lord of the Golden Flower, Captain of the guard at Imladris."
"We sent him back to Middle Earth with a singular quest: protect the House of Elrond Peredhel. He received no further instruction. Free will and choice must be the hands which mold Middle Earth."
His brows knotted together again, even as he nodded his head.
She studied the elf so deep in thought beside her. He was tall and broad across the shoulders, with a long sheet of silver hair draped like silk down his back. She knew his answer even if he thought he had not decided.
"You have much to gain in this, but you will have to learn to open yourself to others and trust them. Harder still, you will have to learn to trust yourself."
"How can I learn to trust myself when my choices have led to the ruin of so many?" He dropped his head into his hands. "How could they ever see past my crimes?"
"I cannot answer this for you." Her hand smoothed the hair that reached down his back. "This is a part of your journey. You must find the answers on your own."
His body seemed to deflate, and for a brief moment, she worried she had overestimated his courage. But his head rose, and she beamed at the determination blazing in his silver eyes. "I accept."
"Then, I give you my blessing." She pressed a brief kiss to his brow, feeling the hope mingling with the echoes of his regret and sorrow. "Go now and guard her. You'll find Charlotte to be a worthy companion."
The air around his body flashed brightly, and then she was alone once more in the gardens. Three seconds later, a series of booms erupted within the palace, and an angry scream pierced the night.
Nienna felt her lips twist in pleasure.
"I hope you know what you're doing," an amused voice said.
Nienna spun on her bench. Leaning against the trunk of the oak in all her finery, Varda was grinning and studying her nails.
"The most fascinating thing just occurred," she said. "At least fifteen of Vairë's creations spontaneously unraveled and dropped to the floor. One after the other. She was working herself into quite the fit when I escaped out here."
"Oh? How unfortunate," Nienna said, although her smirk contradicted her sentiment. "I dare say her skills have been… slipping… as of late."
The High Queen let out an undignified snort and grinned at Nienna. "She had it coming. It's about time too." She perched beside Nienna and fluffed her gauzy peach skirt. "It was an utter delight to behold."
Nienna raised a single blonde brow, "Still holding a grudge for the Feast of Starlight incident?"
"I'd hardly call it a grudge when I've yet to do anything in revenge."
"I noticed you said 'yet.'" Nienna shifted closer and whispered, "What exactly are you planning?"
"No more than you." She winked. "Don't think I missed your antics out here."
"I suppose that makes it easier to request your assistance."
She tilted her head, the star embedded in the center of her circlet contrasted against her skin. It was the first star she crafted from the dew of Telperion and one of the thousands of stars she formed for the sky at the awakening of the elves. Varda kept thirteen of her creations: one in her circlet, another in a ring for her husband, Manwë, and the remaining eleven set into a bracelet that dangled at her wrist at all times. "And what shall you ask of me? Ask it of me, and it shall be yours."
"It's not polite to eavesdrop," Nienna admonished, though it was without strength. "I ask for what my brother has already granted: a soul beyond my reach, and, in this case, beyond his."
"You seek this… Charlotte?"
"I feel her, though I cannot reach her. She is not of our world. Through the stars, you could pull her here."
Varda clasped her sister's hand and let her eyes close. Nienna could feel her tracing the pull through her body, following the string of grief and sorrow to the soul she sought.
"She is mortal," she said with her eyes still tightly shut. "I feel her pain through you. The path you set before her will only bring further agony."
"But it also brings great joy, and, if she succeeds, she will save so many."
Varda's wide chocolate eyes studied her carefully. At last, slowly, she said, "I imagine such an alteration would demolish a fair number of tapestries."
Nienna stifled a laugh. She'd hardly held so much happiness and hope in centuries, and this single night seemed to be filled with joy.
"She'll never succeed as a mortal, and the Two Trees no longer stand. She will need a different catalyst, and she must be elf-kind. The path you've created demands it." She twisted her fingers as she contemplated. The gentle tinkling sound of her bracelet paused her, and she pinched one of the dangling stars between her fingers and grinned. "I have the solution for at least two of our problems."