Summary: The Valar have decided to invite the Elves at Cuiviénen to move themselves to Aman, but Námo didn't say a word during their entire council. Irmo seeks him out afterwards to find out why.

Notes: (update in bio) the language of Quenya doesn't exist yet at the time of this story, so I like to make what little use I can of Valarin and Old Eldarin where I can. Being that Tolkien provided little information on either, however, means most everything else will still be written with their Quenya names, including any names of the Valar, as not all of them were provided their Valarin rendition, Irmo's being one of them. Quick guide is here:

Ayanumuz = Valar (singular Ayanuz) V.
Máyar = Maiar (singular Máya) O.E.
Atháraphelun = Arda (spelling modified for easier reading) V.
Amanaphelun = Aman/Valinor V.
Máxananashkad = the Máhanaxar (also modified) V.
Kwendi = the Elves at Cuiviénen (singular Kwende) O.E.
Atar = Quenya for "father", when used here they're referring to Eru Ilúvatar

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Out Of Love Cometh

YT 1101

Irmo crossed into the Halls of Mandos after receiving a nudge of permission from Námo. He came into the broad foyer that was far grander in size than any of their mansions, where the fountain of white-stone continued its delightful tinkle of pure scintillating water and the white dome stretched high above him, higher than the hills these Halls were built in. The foyer was brightly lit though yet absent of any windows (as it would forever be, his brother had implied?), but Námo was not here. No one was. Irmo glanced around to each of the eight colonnade halls that led deeper into this domain, mildly surprised than not even a Máya had come to greet him. He was about to cast out for his brother's unique signature within this vast structure of his but stopped himself immediately. For a reason he could not name, it felt impolite to do so amid the soothing white and calm of the Halls. And silence.

So he picked a hall at random and began walking, his feet silent on the marble flooring. (There were flecks of amber in the marble sparkling in the illumination, he saw. That was new.) No indication of any Máyar still or any sign of life, though the Halls felt just as alive as their world outside of them in all its vibrant morphology. Wondrous, Irmo decided, for it was so quiet. A quiet alike to how it was when all of them had emerged into a vast Eä to discover it void and spiritless. How had Námo replicated that exanimate stillness but still made it pulsate with life? Irmo marveled as he walked. And walked. The speckling in the white marble changed to bits of amethyst. Where was Námo? This was only Irmo's second time in the Halls and his woeful unfamiliarity of their arrangement made itself apparent. He knew Námo was still expanding them. Was he currently in a part that had not existed when he revealed his long labor to Irmo and fellow Ayanumuz? He walked, on and on, but to no avail and with a sigh, he started to send Námo a query for his location when he rounded another corner and halted in surprise.

There he was.

This hallway itself was as ordinary as the rest, unembellished and a soothing white (though the floor's marble here lacked any embedding of colorful gems), but it came to an abrupt end, the end at which was a door. A simple but looming door and Námo was standing before it, his back to Irmo and he did not turn even though Irmo knew his Presence was detectable.

Irmo went to speak but hesitated, frowning. Námo was staring at the door, and even clad in fana there was a stillness about him that normally indicated concentration, but Irmo could not detect his brother's resonance in any form of Song. So he was not working, he was just…standing in front of a door?

"Námo, is there a problem?" Irmo peered at the door again. It really was very plain. Beautiful and complete and of an almost indiscernible grey hue, but plain. Perhaps he was planning to expand beyond that door and was puzzling how to? For there were numerous doors in Mandos that currently led nowhere. This one was larger in height and width than the wont of the others, he realized, thick with a trim of some kind of stone. The door itself did not look to be constructed quite from wood, but not quite from any ore either. Irmo sent forth his Thought to inspect the cellular composition of the door, about to offer his assistance, but he gasped and a frisson of something glacial shot through him.

That was the door Melkor was sealed behind.

"Brother, what are doing before this door?" he asked warily, worry lining the words.

Námo sighed.

Irmo stepped closer, slowly, cautiously, looking from his brother to the door and back again. "Is aught wrong? Do you not trust it will be resilient enough to enclose him the three ages?"

Námo sighed again and turned to face him. His eyes were grave but clear, though Irmo could feel the tension in him. "I trust it. Though I may ask Manwë to examine the room's dimensional structure and reinforce it if he deems it needed."

"Oromë and Tulkas issued no word of concern, did they?"

"No. But…" Námo frowned, looking quite troubled. "He is still an Ayanuz. How often have we failed before to calculate his might? Who among us knows of it better than Manwë? I think I may ask him, if but to ease my own misgivings, but I am not worried."

The worry Irmo was feeling remained, however. He had not seen glimpses of his brother's insecurity in a long time. "Why are you before his door, then?"

Námo sighed again, glancing at the door. "I do not know."

Irmo hummed. "Is he the reason why you were so silent at our council?"

Námo looked taken aback. "What?"

"The other day in the Máxananashkad, when we elected to invite the Children to dwell here with us in Amanaphelun," he reminded with a smile. "You were the only one not joyous at the decision, nor were you there with us to see Oromë off. Nienna and I both wondered at your absence."

He appeared genuinely startled at that, and he winced. "Ah. I will have to apologize to him. I did not realize-" He frowned, though the castigation seemed more directed at himself.

"That he would leave straightaway?" Námo nodded and Irmo let out a soft chuckle. "I quite doubt he thought much of anything at your absence, brother, he was so excited. He is probably in Kuiviénen already issuing our invitation."

Námo gave a small, rueful smile. "Probably."

Irmo's own grin dissipated. "What was it, then? Are you not glad?" An alarming thought occurred to him. "Do you not want the Children here with us? You spoke not a word the entirety of our council till the end. Did you-" See something. He forewent finishing the question. The depth of his brother's prescience was something he yet failed to wholly comprehend and feared he may never, and sometimes asking about it only made it worse when he was unable to expound on it.

But Námo was regarding him knowingly, his gaze one of both adoration and amusement, and Irmo knew he perceived the rest of the query. "Accuse me not of that. The Ayanumuz have spoken, the invitation decreed. For all the woe they suffered, needlessly and in their innocence, ought we not to offer them safety when many evil things yet linger in Helkar? Ought we not to give them the best we may? The best of bliss and splendor, shall we hoard it alone? The Kwendi awoke beneath starlight as foretold and Time is now measured. For all I may see furthest into the history of Eä, I had no glimpse of the end of those long ages, countless years of struggle across the regions of the Cosmos. There was no end." A ghost of a smile graced his face and his eyes finally softened from whatever was making them so sharp and dreadful. "Yet the coming of the Children at last entered Atar's will. Mere word of them drove us into Eä. Mere thought of them kept us working to bring forth Atar's Vision when we floundered. And mere remembrance of their coming sustained us amid the long fight to win back this planet. And now they are here, as precious as we have long perceived. To dwell among them…Aye. In the end, how could I be disinclined to such a longing?"

Irmo tossed him a knowing look of his own. It sounded as though he was trying to talk himself up to it, he thought wryly. "Why abstained you from contributing to our discussion, then? You declared it a doom." Irmo regarded the door darkly again, as if the force of his gaze alone would make it manifest some clarity. He grimaced, though, at its grim reminder, of what lay on the other side of so simple a commodity. Their Fallen Brother had been imprisoned just before Manwë had summoned this assembly concerning the Kwendi, and it had taken everything in him and Nienna to refrain from accompanying Námo in full presence while he Sung this jail into Existence, though they and the rest of the Ayanumuz had stood at the ready for any distress call from him. From Oromë or Tulkas as well. "Or was Melkor occupying your thoughts amid our discourse?"

Námo grimaced himself. "Not really." He glanced at the door yet again, visibly conflicted, but when he turned back he gave Irmo a small if but somber smile. "Worry not for me, little brother. I am not opening that door, even if Manwë permitted it."

"Then why stand you here before it? Indeed, it surprises me you forwent simply willing the appearance of the door away. Want you truly a physical reminder of him amidst the beauty you created in these hills? You bid me not worry but then make it difficult to not do so, dear brother, and I little appreciate it." He grinned to reduce whatever sting might be in his words.

Námo's shoulders slumped. "I know not, really, and I truly purpose not to be difficult, least of all to you." He sighed and looked somewhere off to Irmo's left, his eyes hazing over as if peering at something far away. "I long believed I was building these Halls for the Second Children, Irmo. You know this. When Atar tasked me with their conception I asked him why he bade me to construct them so prematurely when not even the First Children had awoken yet. He spoke no answer, but –" Námo's mien altered without tangibly changing, a shift generated from his very ëala and something inside Irmo twisted sharply at the look now on Námo's face, one of a visceral pain so raw and deep it made him want to weep. "He killed them, Irmo," he whispered. "Long grew I accustomed to his meddling in our own works, his undoing of all we strove to make, but that he would dare turn his malice unto even Atar's new Creation…" He sighed again and it came out shakily.

Irmo tensed, anger thrumming through him suddenly and violently. "Yes." It was the one word he could speak with any amount of control. The mere memory was still enough to shred his composure to this day, of when Manwë had informed all the Ayanumuz and their Máyar during their siege of Utumno of Melkor's iniquities against the Kwendi. So outrageous had been the shock of it, and so strong, the grief so overwhelming… It was only because he had needed to impose his will on countless of his own People to keep them in place that he had not done anything impetuous himself at the announcement and he suspected the same was true for the rest of his Brethren. Nienna's anguish at it especially had been terrifying for him to witness. Righteous tears, Varda had explained while she attempted to console his sister when Nienna herself began to exhibit fear at this new thing she was experiencing.

Irmo shook himself, willing the vision of time past away. "Yes," he repeated, more calmly. "After all he has done to Eä, one would think our eldest would have ceased to surprise us with his audacity."

"You were not there when the first one came to these Halls, Irmo." Námo's voice rose in volume in its distress, his eyes almost black and glistening, and it took everything in Irmo to meet that gaze. "A name rising in me to call I knew not to even be a name. He was so scared, trying to hide in a corner. He had no inkling of where he was or who I was. He was terrified of me. He was crying for his parents, Irmo, begging me to not hurt him. He understood no words I went to say, and it took so long to calm him after I at last managed to hold him. Only when I sang a lullaby did he lay still. He could not stop crying at me not to hurt him –"

Irmo reached out and pulled him into a fierce hug, in part to maintain his own composure that was already crumbling. "They are safe now, Námo," he said into his ear. "All of them. We brought war to Melkor the moment we discovered he was assaulting the Children at Kuiviénen. They are safe there and in here and now he can harm them no more." A thought arose and he let go, holding Námo at arm's length. "Is such what is worrying you? That Melkor and the Children he killed are held in the same place?"

Námo shook his head. "No. As I said, I am not worried. If he was not fettered by those chains I would be, but the fear he showed when he was bound up in them was real when he tried to disincarnate and could not. I would question if he can even locate the door, so scrabbled I made the dimensions inside there. It is just…" He trailed off and shifted, as if about to turn to observe the door again but he stopped himself at Irmo's grip on him. "He did not just kill them. If but stealing life from them was of all he is guilty. The vileness of what he did to them beforehand, I just –" He cut the words off.

"Grief." His brother nodded and Irmo squeezed him comfortingly before letting go. He hesitated, feeling tentative all of the sudden if he should even ask, but he looked at Námo hopefully. "May I see them?"

The request seemed to shake him from the turning of his mind. Indeed, the very gloom cast over the hall receded. He tilted his head, regarding Irmo with interest. "You have yet to see the Children, do you not?"

Irmo nodded. "Estë and I have devoted the time we have to healing the Máyar injured in this latest battle and those still recovering from when we retook Atháraphelun."

Námo nodded in turn, eyes thoughtful before giving him a small smile, this one much warmer and recognizable as his brother. "Follow me."

Irmo fell in step with him as he led him down the hall and along a much shorter route back to the main arcade. They walked down a different colonnade completely, the halls denoted to this one all connected by white arches decorated in mithril and pearl. Námo led him down two more of the halls and through a wide archway into an open and airy one (all still self-illuminating as there were still no windows that he could see). It was straightly designed, the marbled flooring here shot with flecks of bright gold, with a row of doors on both sides. These doors were far less imposing than Melkor's own and much smaller, narrow and constructed from a single plank of nessemelda wood (from his own gardens, Irmo realized with a burst of delight). All of these doors had stood open at one point he remembered, but now several were closed. Námo led him to one such door and opened it on its silent hinges, dismissing the Máya who stood right inside. She bowed and vanished from sight just as Irmo entered, his eyes immediately drawn to the only furniture in the room: a single slender bed with a soft pillow and the creature lying atop it.

Irmo gasped, awe sweeping over him.

Námo smiled in response. "He is sleeping. He can neither hear us nor sense us."

He heard the words, but it was a long moment wherein time felt suspended before Irmo had the wherewithal to reply. Even then, he could not remove his attention from the quiescent Kwende lying on his side, hands curled loosely alongside his head. "Is he the one you were speaking of?"

"Yes."

Irmo was rendered immobile. He could not recall when last he had been so struck with wonder, mayhap back home in the Timeless Halls when Atar had shown them his Vision for this place, an occasion that had moved him with such conviction as to leave everything to chase after it. Not so, he corrected himself; here – here was home now, here with these remarkable, extraordinary beings….He edged closer, gaze roaming along his form. He recognized how this was only a fëa he was looking at, bereft of its hröa, but he was still amazed at how beautiful and fragile it was. He was so precious, so peaceful, the Child's expression in his sleep one of pure serenity, not at all alike to what Námo described upon his arrival here. The sleep was for healing, he suddenly understood, witnessing how every iota of this fëa seemed to pulsate with contentment.

Irmo let out a shaky breath. "How could he hurt them?" he barely whispered, incredulity tearing through him. "How could he see them and not be amazed? How could he –"

Námo came alongside and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his chest. The familiar warmth of his brother's spirit encompassed him fully and Irmo felt himself calm, the distress dissolving before his brother's sturdy presence. "I know," Námo said gently, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He released him but did not step away.

Irmo reached out his hands but stopped, retracting them in mild embarrassment. He did not know what he was doing. As if he could extend his own hands and by the power of his command make the Child heal faster. He wanted to will the Child whole again, wanted him to wake, to see what he was like. Oromë had told tale after tale and still did of their dancing, their families, the customs they had already established, their language, how they lived. And their singing. Irmo and so many others had expressed delighted disbelief at his report that the Kwendi not only loved to sing but were gifted in it. That they would be created with an instinctive joy for such a thing was an unforeseen blessing and he had told Oromë as much. Why such surprise, Brother? he had responded with a laugh. Atar designed them no less than he did us. Truly is it a wonder we might find resemblance with them? What did this Child look like when he smiled? What color were his eyes and hair? What was his voice like? What did he think of the World that he awoke – no, was born into. Did he approve? Did he love it? Had all their creations made him happy?

"Irmo."

Irmo jolted at his call and the look on Námo's face was one of amusement. Irmo straightened, uncaring if his brother was laughing at him, for he smiled fully and the delight rushing through him was exhilarating. He clasped his hands firmly in front of him. "I hope they come." He looked at Námo. "This is what all this has been for. Everything was for them." At the council he had been more ambivalent about inviting the Children to reside with them here, truly neither for nor against it, but now… Oh the thought of dwelling with these marvelous beings, of learning about them, teaching them, seeing what they will do –

Námo reached up with his finger and tapped his nose. Irmo scrunched his face at the weird sensation. "Come. Let us leave him to his sleep." He summoned back the Máya and she appeared, occupying the same position as when she left, just as they stepped from the room. As Námo closed the door Irmo looked down the length of the hallway, eyes alighting on the rooms with doors that stood open.

On the ones that were closed.

His eyes lingered solemnly on one of those in particular, but he turned to follow Námo back the other way, coming up alongside him. "Will you cast an illusion of a starry field overhead in here like Manwë did in Ilmarin? Whenever they wake, these Children who know only Kuiviénen would like that, I think."

Námo scoffed. "What he did was no illusion. It was a conduit to the true stars outside and I have no notion of how he achieved it without ripping Atháraphelun apart." He sighed, glancing up at the ribbed ceiling. "Mayhap I will, I cannot say yet. Having any Children under my ministration is yet a marvel and I am still learning how to best care for them."

Irmo bumped his shoulder. "You will. Tell me how I or the rest of us may assist. It would be a privilege." He would admit it to only Estë, but he was almost envious in the kindest way of Námo's role as consoler and caretaker of the dead that had manifested even if in the most awful manner. He was able to be with the Children and know them, if only through their fëar. But if the Children elected to come, perhaps that yearning would be fully abated. "I should design the pathways of my gardens to replicate the complexity of these halls, toss you among them, and then you must incarnate and in fana only find your way out."

The corner of Námo's mouth quirked upward. "That would make entertaining play."

Irmo chuckled. "Come. Let us find the others and see if Oromë has sent any word yet."

Námo nodded, and his gaze turned solemn again. "Let us hence."

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He had.

o-o-o

Out of Love Cometh Grief
Out of Love Cometh Longing
Out of Love Cometh Invitation
Out of Love Cometh the First of Errors

This was written for the Lord of the Rings Secret Santa 2023 over on ao3, for the prompt of Irmo and Namo being loving/supportive of one another, and it was a delight to write. Thank you for reading!