Category: Tolkien-Universe
Rating: T
Couples: Canon Ones
Warnings: AU
Chapter: 17
Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me
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Virilomë reclined against her sister's legs. Her entire body felt uncomfortable, both from being lightly toasted by those Trees and from having to force herself into this shape to fit under the cloak. Her many eyes blinked when feeling something slide from herself, and in the corner of part of her eyes, she saw the Painbringer flinch lightly. Ah, someone tried to contact her.
"Namó, what happened here?" The male next to the Painbringer spoke up, eyes fastened on her.
"I know little more than you do, Manwë." Her sister's mate answered, shifting a bit so his legs were touching her side. The little weaverling was standing on the armrest beside him, pressed against his chest. "Lady Míriel came here to warn us that the Trees were under attack, and we acted on that." The Cocooner evenly stated. She couldn't see his face, so she shifted her form some so she could keep part of her eyes on him.
"And this void-being?" The Painbringer pointed at her, and she resisted the urge to hiss. Her sister was doing that plenty, uninjured hand digging into the threads that made up this chair.
"Vairë's heart-sister." He looked away from the circle, at the cluster of little ones in the middle. One of those looked about ready to snarl, if Virilomë knew facial expressions well enough at this point. Was that the broodling of the little weaverling? Probably. "My law-sister, Virilomë, Mistress of Nothing."
"Oh, is that my official title now?" She would have reached up for him, if he wasn't fully bathed in the light of the Trees. Some of her eyes caught some more twitches at her voice.
"Placeholder, unless you like it that much." His eyes caught all the light, letting nothing escape, being probably the closest they had to her nothing. "Less relevant now than learning what happened, if you don't mind."
Considering how much work had gone into the Trees, she could concede to that. "The little weaverling might have to translate, unless the rest here know my tongue already?"
"I will translate." The little weaverling spoke up, trembling lightly. "I will repeat the Lady Virilomë's words as she speaks them."
"Very well." The one she was now pretty sure was the Broodmaster - and therefor twin to the Poisoner - declared. "Lady... Virilomë, might you explain to us what happened to lead to this?" Respectful, she had to grand him that.
"Should I preface with our meeting?" She tilted her head back, most eyes fastening on the two behind her.
"Later perhaps." He waved her off, hand clutching his mate's.
"Very well." She gestured at the little weaverling to pick up her words. "He came to my den, offering me the ability to freely travel as I pleased, without having to consider the light, and a grand meal, worthy of my stature. In trade for a small favor, aid with something that would be useful for myself as well." She pointed in the rough direction of the Trees. "Devour the Trees, remove their light."
"And you didn't... why?" One of the others asked, and if she'd have to make a guess, not one she had anything to do with ever before, not even remotely.
"My sister and her mate took great care to respect my works, why would I not return the favor for theirs?" She asked the obvious, to her mind. If the blinking was any indication, it was not as obvious to those around. "Yes, this Work is annoying, but not nearly enough to ruin another's weave."
"I suppose Melkor objected to her rejection of his offer, which resulted in the fight a bit ago." The Cocooner spoke up.
"Ah, I think he wisely figured he better not fight me." She whirred in amusement. "He decided to deal with the Trees himself without me. I forced my involvement, and my sister's by extension." She'd briefly wondered if she'd overdone it, but seeing they were still attending her heart-sister, she might have underdone it. "Someone might want to check on them, by the by, I fear he might have gotten a hit in before I moved."
At that, one of the lesser voices disappeared from beside a larger one, meaning she'd now figured out who the Grower was.
"So why the warning about Formenos?" One of those that had followed demanded. "Namó, you were very specific about Formenos when we got there, when the straight path he took would not have gotten near it."
"My Silmarils." The one she'd suspected of being the little weaverlings brood spoke up, anger in every line of his face. "He was going to take those too."