Strange Alliances

by Erestor

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or the Harry Potter series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

'Manwë and Melkor were brethren in the thought of Ilúvatar.'

-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'

Manwë was not certain who had established the Rule. Who had decided that super-nice, slightly naïve, friendly Valar should have blond hair? What was the reasoning behind it? Did blond hair wordlessly announce, "Hey! Look at me! I'm completely clueless! But I'm also a nice person!"

It was either that or "Hey! Look at me! I'm a cheerleader! I'm mean and stupid!"

This unwritten Rule caused Manwë a lot of bother. Manwë was not a natural blond. He ended up spending far too much time dyeing his hair the appropriate color, while horrible things happened to good people elsewhere.

When these good people asked questions like, "Why did you let this happen to me, Manwë? Why? Why?" Manwë felt that his excuse ("Sorry, I wasn't watching, I was dyeing my hair at the time") was not satisfactory and would probably upset the sufferers even more. So he stayed silent, wracked with guilt, and occasionally went to Mandos to confess these sins.

Mandos always listened quietly, thinking thankful thoughts about his naturally black hair, which was perfect for his job. A blond Doomsman of the Valar would be completely incongruous, and then Mandos would have been forced to dyehishair too, in keeping with his image.

Manwë and Melkor were brothers in the thought of Ilúvatar, and in the eyes of everyone else they looked disturbingly similar. Both had raven-black hair (until Manwë dyed his), both had had bright blue eyes (until Melkor had made his all red and glow-in-the-dark), and both could engage in convincing maniacal laughter (though Manwë never did, because that would bother some people). Manwë had to keep his hair fairly long, because when it was even moderately short, it stood up on his head in spikes, which made the Elves of Valinor nervous.

Manwë finished dealing with his sinister hair and walked into the kitchen. He looked charming and presentable, practically angelic. Varda, standing over the stove, did not look angelic. She looked frazzled, and also oddly triumphant.

"I am a genius," she announced, plonking a plate of smoldering food (or was it food?) in front of Manwë and beaming at him. "Eat up, my darling."

Manwë prodded the food with his fork. "May I ask what this is?"

Varda's triumphant look slipped from her face momentarily, and her expression became alarmingly homicidal. "It's salmon," she said.

"Salmon?" echoed Manwë.

"Yes, salmon!" yelled Varda. "What other thing have we been eating these past few hundred years?"

"What did you do to it?" asked Manwë humbly, feeling guilty about the salmon, because the eagles hadn't listened to him and he would have to talk to them again. He hated criticizing the poor things.

"I deep fat fried it," said Varda, "and then I covered it in chocolate and topped it off with cherry sauce, olives, and whipped cream."

Manwë felt his jaw drop. He poked the salmon again, wincing as the tines of his fork assumed bent positions. "It looks delicious, my dear," he lied. It was his first lie in... ever.

Varda sat down with her own plate, and started sawing the salmon into bite-sized portions. "Don't worry," she said. "We can't break our teeth on this. We are Valar, after all."

"Well, that's a relief," said Manwë in a desperate attempt at jocularity.

At that moment, Aulë knocked on the door. Manwë bounced to his feet, crying, "I'll get it!" and dashed out of the room.

Varda smiled fondly after her husband, and munched on her dinner. She had decided to call the new recipe 'Varda's Salmon Chocolate Surprise'. Since no one else was going to the write the book 10,000 Unique and Interesting Ways to Cook Salmon, she would.

"Hello, Manwë!" said Aulë.

"Hello, Aulë!" said Manwë.

They beamed at each other.

"Would you like to come in?" asked Manwë. "Would you like to have dinner with us?"

Aulë nodded eagerly. "Yes, please," he said.

Manwë ushered the smith inside, leading him to the dining room. "Aulë has come to join us for dinner, Varda," he said.

"It's a pleasure," said Varda politely. "There is plenty of Salmon Surprise for everyone."

"Oh, good. How delicious," said Aulë, licking his lips.

Manwë provided Aulë with a chair, and Varda served him a plate of her Salmon Chocolate Surprise. Aulë did not look at it, because he was staring at the salad.

"Oh! You have salad!" he exclaimed.

"Yes. Would you like some?" asked Manwë, heaping some salad on Aulë's plate.

"We only eat meat at my house," said Aulë, skewering a slice of cucumber with his fork, " because darling Yavanna says it's cruel to kill plants for food."

Varda nodded. "I agree," she said philosophically. "I think we would all be better off if we ate rocks, instead of depriving innocent plants and animals of their lives."

Manwë was greatly worried. He did not want to be eating rocks any time in the future.

Aulë was greatly dismayed. "Eat rocks?" he demanded. "Rocks have feelings too!"

"Oh, yes. Sorry. I'd forgotten," said Varda. Living in harmony with nature, she concluded, was really just a good way of starving to death.

Aulë popped a piece of salmon into his mouth. Manwë held his breath and prayed, trying to surreptitiously tip his portion out the window. Aulë chewed thoughtfully.

Eating rocks could not have been a noisier process.

At last Aulë said, still thoughtfully, "Mm. This is very good, Varda."

Varda smiled.

"Are these... olives?" asked Aulë.

Varda nodded.

"Is this... cherry sauce?" asked Aulë, gesturing with his ruined fork.

Varda nodded again. "I'm so glad you like it," she said mellifluously.

"I love it," said Aulë.

Manwë asked, "Did you come over for any particular reason, Aulë?"

Aulë glanced at the salad bowl, then smiled brightly, and said, "No." He nibbled crunchily on the Salmon Surprise. Eventually he asked, "How is the history of Middle-earth?"

"It seems to be a bit more stable," said Manwë, "so we can hope that Nienna and the Fëanturi are fixing the problem."

Aulë munched his salad reflectively. "Do you have any news regarding... my delinquent Maia?"

Varda choked demurely, and Manwë had to pound her on the back before she could breathe again.

"Your delinquent Maia?" asked Manwë. "Sauron, you mean?"

Aulë nodded.

"He's doing what he does best," said Manwë. "Furthering the evil cause, and all that."

"Should we be doing something about him?" asked Aulë.

The three Valar looked at each other.

"What do you mean?" asked Varda.

"Like maybe we should stop him?" asked Aulë.

"Oh, I'm sure someone from Middle-earth will defeat him eventually," said Manwë. "And it gives them such a thrill, you know, when they manage to win all by themselves."

Varda nodded her agreement. "If we kept on interfering with their lives, that would cultivate defeatist attitudes."

Aulë poked his salad about his plate. "He's dangerous..." he said.

"He's a Maia," said Manwë. "And anyway, he is only about this tall," he finished, illustrating Sauron's height with two parted fingers.

"Really?" Aulë was amused despite himself.

"We can leave him to his own devices without fear," said Manwë.

"That's good," said Aulë. "Pass the salad, please."

After lunch, Manwë proceeded to the Halls of Tulkas and Nessa to fulfill his yearly duty. A fëa had to be specifically approved by Manwë before it could leave the Halls with a new body. Mandos had let very few fëar leave his Halls, so Manwë had hardly ever had to sign certificates.

This time, however, Nessa had promised Manwë that there would be lots of work waiting for him. She had not lied.

Manwë stepped into the Halls, a premature wince on his face. He hated the pink and orange wallpaper. He hated the new stainless steel furniture. Minimalist decor had never before been so enthusiastically crammed into so small a space.

The room was filled with shouting fëar, all waving pieces of paper and looking desperate. Manwë winced again. He knew that he was on the verge of having a very bad headache, and also on the verge of being very bad-tempered and unValarly. In such a situation as this, he might even be forced to raise his voice.

Manwë took a deep breath, and waded through the throng to his desk. He collapsed into a flimsy, art nouveau chair, distinguished in its ability to clash with every other thing in the room. He took another deep breath.

"Women and children first," said Manwë, with the vague hope that women and children would be less violent and more quiet than men.

This vague hope died a dismal death the moment the women started pushing and shoving their way through the crowd, the few children diving out of their way. There was a brief scuffle in front of Manwë's desk. The victor emerged with a triumphant smirk on her fair face, and handed her certificate to the Vala.

"Aredhel?" asked Manwë, after squinting at Nessa's tangled handwriting for a few moments.

"Yes," said Aredhel. She tried to smile sweetly, but Manwë was not fooled, since he had just seen her decimating all the unlucky women who had gotten in her way.

Manwë decided that he wasn't going to ask questions. He was going to make this job as painless for himself as possible by signing every certificate that he set his eyes on. He was about to sign Aredhel's when another Elf came forward.

"If you're going to let my wife go, then I have to go too," the fëa said, slamming his piece of paper down on the desk.

Aredhel glowered at him, and attempted another sweet smile in Manwë's direction. "Please, Lord Manwë," she said, "you cannot let him go. He's creepy, and he follows me everywhere!"

Eöl turned to Manwë as well. Unlike his wife, he was not trying to look sweet. He was trying to look piteous. Manwë couldn't decide which of them was failing more.

"Please let me leave this place, Lord Manwë," Eöl said. "I have been treated most cruelly here. They all hate me because I am of the Avari!"

"Don't listen to him! He killed me!" cried Aredhel hysterically.

Manwë looked from one to the other. His head felt as though Aulë had mistaken it for something that needed to be bashed repeatedly with a big hammer.

Another Elf came forward. Manwë knew who he was before he even opened his mouth.

"If you're going to let my mother and father go loose," said Maeglin, "you should let me go as well. Then we can be a happy family again."

Aredhel and Eöl both saw that their son's argument had the best chance of being convincing and hastily amended their tactics to match his. Eöl flung one arm around Maeglin's shoulder in what he must have imagined was a fatherly gesture. Unfortunately, he looked as though he were preparing to choke his son to death.

"Oh, yes!" cooed Aredhel. "We have had a few... misunderstandings in the past, but with counseling, I'm sure we'll all be fine."

"It was so hard for me," said Maeglin, "to grow up in Gondolin as an orphan. I was disadvantaged right from the start. Please, Lord Manwë, allow me this second chance at life."

There was nothing Manwë hated more than people trying to manipulate his kind nature for their own ends. He hated it because he always knew what was happening, and it always worked anyway.

He signed the three certificates. The three fëar beamed at him happily. Then Manwë found some more pieces of paper in a desk drawer, and started writing out restraining orders.

Finally, Manwë gave Eöl, Aredhel, and Maeglin their papers and sent them away. He pinched the bridge of his nose wearily.

"Next," he said.

By the time the sons of Fëanor proceeded to the front desk, Manwë had stopped trying to decipher Nessa's handwriting, and did not even ask for names.

As had been arranged, Celegorm and Curufin went up to the desk together, and Manwë signed their certificates and waved them out the door.

Maedhros, watching from the sidelines, was surprised and delighted. He was not an optimistic Elf, and he had not imagined that getting out of Mandos would be this easy.

Caranthir had refused to go with Maglor, so the two Elves went to Manwë separately. They too were soon free to go. Poor Manwë looked half-asleep, and he set down his pen periodically, to do finger exercises. This gave Maedhros time to start worrying again.

"Maybe the three of us shouldn't go up together," he said quietly to Amrod and Amras.

"Why?"

"Because he'll see three fëar with pink hair, and it will make him suspicious."

"It's not really pink."

"More like a sort of translucent reddish color."

"It's still enough to make a Vala suspicious," said Maedhros.

"All right," said Amrod, "we can go singly."

Amrod went first, and nothing bad happened.

In his corner, Maedhros gave a soft, breathless sigh of relief.

Amras went after a few more fëar, and that was when the problems began.

"I've done you already," said Manwë, who was not unobservant, just sick of signing certificates for clamoring, ungrateful fëar.

"You have not, Lord Manwë," said Amras.

Manwë noticed the pink hair for the first time, and became suspicious. He examined the writing on the certificate. Then he jumped to his feet, knocking over the art nouveau chair. It fell apart. Manwë did not fall apart, but only with a great effort.

"Nessa! Tulkas!" he cried.

Nessa and Tulkas were both very fast, and they flung themselves into the room within seconds of being called. Fëar scattered like tenpins.

"What?" the Valar exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"The sons of Fëanor are escaping!" said Manwë. "Eru knows how many I've let waltz out of here." He was clearly resisting the impulse to rip out handfuls of his beautifully dyed hair. " We have to stop them before they get their bodies returned to them!" he finished.

Maedhros tried to melt very quietly into the crowd, but the crowd had dwindled over the past few hours, and now consisted of only a few fëar, who had the sense to keep away from the one with the pink hair. As a result, Maedhros was impossible to overlook.

"There's one!" said Nessa, looking at Maedhros, whose face was slowly becoming the same shade as his hair. "And there's another one," she added, pointing at Amras.

Maedhros and Amras glanced at each other.

"When the others get dragged back," said Amras, "they are not going to be very happy with us."

"With you," snapped Maedhros. Then he said, more calmly, "That was only my first escape plan."

Amras sighed, and sat down on Manwë's desk, resigned to the inevitable. "I hope your next escape plan works better than this one," he said.

TBC...