"Now therefore the Valar were gathered upon Almaren, fearing no evil, and because of the light of Illuin they did not perceive the shadow in the north…"
-The Silmarillion, Of the Beginning of Days
"Nessa, are you sure you want to marry Tulkas?"
"Of course I am! Why do you ask?"
Across from the meadow where the maidens reclined, Tulkas shouted, "Watch this!" Seconds later, wooden beams splintered as the Vala's bronze-clad fist smashed clear through the wall of Oromë's hunting lodge.
Vána smiled. "No reason." She strung a delicate floral crown through her sister-in-law's curly tresses and smoothed the plaited sleeves of her white dress. "Manwë has called for a great banquet in honor of Arda's first spring. I must say I'm looking forward to it. I cannot recall when we last spent our time leisurely instead of preparing for sudden assault."
Oromë and Tulkas left the lodge and strolled into the meadow, carrying pints of ale.
"I do hope Melkor doesn't return," Nessa said sadly. "Not when Yavanna's seeds have just begun to germinate, and the flowers are yet to blossom…"
"Do not speak that foul name with those pretty lips," Tulkas interrupted. He offered his hand to Nessa, and the maiden gratefully took it, allowing the Vala to lift her on her bare feet. "I have chased the enemy into hiding, and he shall never bother us again. If he does, he must have acquired a twisted taste for beatings."
"I'd like to see it again!" Oromë laughed, taking a drink of his ale. "Melkor running off with his tail tucked between his legs - that image shall never leave my memory!"
Vána stood and brushed clovers off her skirts. "Come, my husband," she invited, tucking her arm into his. "I wish to go to the Great Hall and help Varda's maidens decorate for the event."
"I will help too!" Nessa announced, tugging on Tulkas's hand to follow Vána. She was oft desirous to stick close by her brother's wife.
"Nessa, you need not have to," Vána said, shaking her head with a tired fondness. "This feast also celebrates your marriage to Tulkas."
The Valië stubbornly stuck out her chin. "That does not mean I cannot help! Perhaps I could pass out drinks?"
Oromë jabbed Tulkas in the shoulder. "I hope you recognize the good fortune bestowed upon you in wedding my sister!" he jested.
Being so engaged in preparation for the festivities, none of the Valar noticed a raven fly over the colorful party streamers and keep east, save one keen-eyed of the Maiar. He observed the path of the bird and stole away from the upcoming revelry, tracking it on the ground. The Maia submerged himself in the dense layer of shadow cast by its wings as he climbed a trail winding into distant foothills overlooking Almaren's endless gold meadows.
When the blackbird alighted on a rattling branch, uttering foreboding caws, the Maia opened the door of the nearest stone-and-mortar dwelling and went in. The room was drafty and scarcely furnished, empty except for a lone figure in front of the mantle, stoking the flames. He could only see the back of his head, but he recognized the black hair falling against an equally dark cloak.
"You summoned me, my lord?" the Maia called to the hunched figure, who appeared in lowly disguise as a humble hermit.
The Vala slowly turned, revealing the most hated face in Eä. "Yes." He looked his servant up-and-down, examining the diadem gracing his forehead and his silken tunic. "I apologize. Were you planning on attending the festival?"
Mairon ignored his sarcasm. "How do you fare? I am glad to see you return. Do I speak right to assume the news I've related during your absence is part of the reason?" At this, he smiled smugly, pleased with his own share in the strategem. "Is it true you're raising a fortress in the north?"
His lord waited impatiently until he was finished. "Many questions you ask of me, but I haven't time to answer them all. I will strike soon, now that naïve Manwë and that oaf Tulkas have foolishly let down their guard. I thought I'd warn you, in case you mean to escape during the chaos and join me at my fortress, Utumno."
The Maia's initial surprise swiftly dissipated, flickering across half his face to vanish before reaching the other. He gave a firm nod. "I will meet you there," he promised.
"Good. You have been the greatest of my spies, and your reward awaits in the north. Now go, attend the spring celebration and make the most of what gaiety is left. My armies shall soon plunge these lands back into shadow."
Mairon dutifully obeyed. He left the front door ajar behind him, giving the Vala a partial view of the Lamps glaring from the north and south of Almaren.
Melkor allowed himself a final glance at Illuin and Ormal, smiling almost nostalgically at the two towers, Helcar and Ringol. He walked out to the porch and took a deep breath of fresh air, as if he only planned on a leisurely stroll. But the Vala betrayed his ill intentions when he drew his hood and lowered his head to conceal his face, passing through the isle of Almaren for the last time on the way to the forces awaiting his command.
The Ainur gathered for the Springtime festival in Almaren's most fertile meadow. Rich green grass sprouted there, nourished by the combined light of the Lamps. Aulë and Oromë flanked Tulkas on his right and left, while Yavanna and Vána attended Nessa, and the featured Vala and Valië linked hands. Manwë presided a step above, on marble stairs that spiraled down from the entrance of the Great Hall like a white nautilus shell. He was approaching the end of his wedding speech.
"It is the simplest things that bring true happiness," Manwë reminded his audience. "I see them here today." He smiled upon Tulkas and Nessa. "Love," the Vala said first. He let his gaze turn to a pair of Maiar. One had chosen to wear a yellow tunic to the festival, and he was pursued by honeybees as a result. He ducked to avoid their advances while the fellow's companion had his mouth covered, suppressing his amusement. "Laughter between friends."
Lastly, Manwë's blue eyes fell upon Ilmarë and Eönwë. The former was teaching the latter a dance step, and Eönwë watched her carefully, copying Ilmarë's movements as she spun in a circle and moved three paces to the right. "Merrymaking with the ones we care for. Darkness cannot touch these three things."
Manwë glanced down at his clasped hands and smiled. "Now, I will do every one of you a favor and cease talking, so the actual enjoyment can begin."
The crowd laughed as they applauded Manwë's speech. The green vale cleared so Nessa and her maidens could dance upon it, and a line of male dancers took turns pairing up with the maidens. Pipers and lyrists sat beneath a grassy hill and filled the clearing with sweet music. The tall stalks in the field had just been threshed, and while the harvest was heaped on platters in the Great Hall, the ripe aroma lingered on the breeze. Warm gusts of wind blew in between the trees, stirring the tender shoots of leaves on growing shrubbery and releasing clouds of pollen.
"Manwë!" Nessa called, holding out her slender arms to the lord of Arda before he could depart for the Hall. "Dance with me!"
The Vala bowed before her, making Nessa blush. "It would be my honor." He gently took her hands and gracefully twirled the Valië as they skipped down the field of dancers, surrounded by clapping spectators.
Meanwhile, Tulkas and Oromë sat at a table and challenged the other to a drinking contest. Each Vala lined up fifteen mugs of ale at his setting, but at the last moment Tulkas slipped in three extra cups to his portion. By the time the last mug was drained, the two Valar lay passed out in the grass, snoring happily in a liquor-induced slumber.
Illuin and Ormal illuminated the green isle and its inhabitants, enhancing the beauty of the festival. Such was the intensity of the lights, and the joy of the Valar in their midst, that the shadow rolling in from the north went unnoticed. Jagged bolts of lightning struck the tips of mountains and heavy fog descended, bringing with it the first storm of spring and the beginning of Arda Marred.