The Wars of the Valar by Fiondil

---

Chapter 21: Disappointment

---

21: Disappointment

As it happened, they never finished their race. Námo woke about the time the planet’s primary was sinking. "Sorry," he said to Oromë with chagrin. "All of a sudden I just had to stop." He grimaced as he stood to view their surroundings.

Oromë stood as well, smiling, and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "Do not be concerned, Námo. I am not upset. Should we continue our race or wait for morning? I was ahead by two islands, but I’ll be happy enough to start the race again from here."

Námo gave Oromë a mirthless grin. "You were two islands ahead only because I couldn’t stop yawning."

Oromë laughed and gave Námo a hug. "So you say."

Before Námo could muster a retort, Manwë appeared, giving them both amused looks. "Your Máyar have been laying bets on who will win," he said without preamble. The two younger Ayanumuz gave him identical looks of disbelief and he chuckled. "Unfortunately, they’ll have to hold off on their bets as we need to be elsewhere."

"What’s happened?" Oromë asked.

Manwë shook his head. "Nothing, yet," he said, his expression enigmatic. "Námo, tell your Máyar to go back to the flat Atháraphelun and give Oromë’s People a hand."

Námo nodded, relaying the message to Maranwë who acknowledged the order and in the space between one breath and the next, his Máyar were gone. Námo turned to Manwë. "What is this all about?"

The Eldest shook his head again. "Not here. Follow me." He gave them the coordinates, ones that were unfamiliar to Námo, which surprised him, but he obediently memorized them and in an instant they were gone. When in the next instant they re-emerged, Námo almost cried out and would have fled, but Manwë had been expecting that and both Ulmo and Aulë were already there, waiting. Even before Námo had registered where they were, the two older Ayanumuz were upon him, holding him in place while at the same time sending soothing thoughts to calm him.

"What is this place? What is this place?" Námo screamed, struggling in his brothers’ grasps.

"Do you not recognize it, Námo?" Aulë asked.

Námo’s aura went dark in denial.

"Then why are you so afraid?" Ulmo asked, speaking gently.

"I don’t know, I don’t know! Please, I don’t know..." He continued struggling in vain until he exhausted himself and then lay quiescent but still fearful, his whole posture one of defeat.

Manwë looked at him with compassion. "Námo, open yourself to the memories. No, it’s well, my son," he took the younger Ayanuz into his embrace when Námo started to wail again. "We’re all here to help you. Just let them come. It’s the only way you can find full healing."

"No, please," Námo begged him. "Atar wouldn’t...."

"It was Atar who told me to bring you here." Manwë’s tone was implacable though there was an undertone of pity to it.

That stopped Námo cold. "What?"

Manwë nodded. "He told me to bring you here," Manwë said with as much compassion as he could. "You need to face this memory, Námo. This was the beginning. This is where Melkor declared war on you. Do you not remember?"

Námo stared about him, seeing the remnants of a supernova. He couldn’t understand why he felt such terror at the sight, and yet he did. He started to deny any memory of the place but then something opened within him and the sense of horror and shame and other emotions he could put no name to flooded him, caused him to scream and scream until he thought he would never stop.

He tried to flee but minds more powerful than his held him in place and indeed such was his terror that he could not have formulated any coordinates to flee anywhere. Vaguely he heard the others call to him, try to soothe him, but he did not recognize either their voices or his name; he was too wrapped up in pain to make any sense of anything beyond the immediate terror. Finally, exhaustion took over and he found himself in Aulë and Ulmo’s hold once again. He was whimpering, appalled at the sounds he was making, yet not able to stop himself. It took him some time to understand the conversation that was being held around him, though he could still put no names to the voices.

".... said that Atar wanted him here."

"He did."

"He’s not taking this well."

"You think?"

"What was supposed to happen?"

"I don’t know, but that wasn’t what I had expected."

"He’s denying the memory."

"He’s denying himself."

"I think this did more harm than good."

"He’s a Máhanaz, yet he’s acting like the least of the Máyar."

"Perhaps you should put him amongst the Máyar as you threatened until he’s ready to face his fears like an Ayanuz and a Máhanaz."

"Yet, who would accept his oath, or trust it?"

There was silence afterwards that seemed to last an eternity to Námo’s mind as he held himself still, fearing the answer to that question, wondering if that would indeed be his fate.

"I would."

With those words, spoken quietly by Oromë (for he now recognized at least one of the voices) he broke down again, weeping in shame and defeat. He felt himself being released from the hold of the others and then another wrapping himself around him, sending calming thoughts of unconditional love and acceptance. He barely registered the words that were spoken thereafter by someone he still could not identify.

"We’ll leave them for now. Come, we still have work to do."

At that all the other presences were gone from his mind, save the one that held him. Oromë. He realized it was Oromë and in his desolation wondered what it would feel like to take oath to this one. Would Oromë’s Máyar accept him, and what of his own People? How would they survive without him? The thought of having to give over his Máyar to another was so devastating that he started weeping in earnest again, struggling to escape Oromë’s embrace.

"Hush now, brother," Oromë said to him. "It won’t come to that, I promise you."

"Y-you said you wo-would t-take my oath...."

"And I would, if I needed to," Oromë replied, "but I won’t need to, Námo. Do you know why?"

"Wh-why?"

"Because I already have it," came the whisper of an answer.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Námo asked in confusion, thinking perhaps he had indeed given oath to Oromë already only he was blocking the memory just as he was blocking... no! he would not think about that.

"Shush," Oromë admonished him, holding him tighter. "It is not what you think. I only meant that you gave me your fealty the first time you allowed me to guard you as you slept when we were in the tenth dimension. You gave me your trust then and I have sought never to abuse it."

Námo thought about that for a time, then sighed. "I failed, didn’t I? I failed Atar and...."

"You haven’t failed, Námo," Oromë said. "I don’t think Atar actually expected you to succeed in facing what you need to face immediately, but he must have decided you needed a little push."

"Why?" Námo’s confusion was evident in the yellowish tinge of his aura.

"You need to face your memories of the times you and Melkor...."

"No!" Námo struggled out of Oromë’s embrace. "No."

Oromë’s expression was one of deep sorrow and compassion, so much so that Námo found he could not look upon the other Máhanaz, settling his gaze instead upon the wreckage of the supernova all around them. "Yes, Námo," Oromë said with total conviction. "You will have to face those memories, but you need not face them alone. I will be there and others, if you will allow them."

"Oh, Oromë," he whispered, his expression bleak, "why can I not be strong like you?"

"And who says you’re not?" Oromë asked, wrapping himself around the younger Ayanuz to offer him comfort. "Do not give into despair, Little Brother. Trust that Atar loves you, as do I, as do we all."

Námo sighed. "Vairë was right," he said, his voice full of self-loathing. "I am an idiot. I should never have...."

"Hush," Oromë admonished him. "There is no point in playing ‘what if’. You did what you did and things happened. They could have happened to any of us. Melkor might well have entrapped you at a different time and place. Concentrate on what is, brother. You’re here safe with your family and not Melkor’s captive, or worse, his thrall."

Námo thought about that for a time, then nodded, still feeling as if he’d let everyone down, including himself, including Atar. That last hurt the most, that he might have let Atar down. Oromë divined his thoughts and hugged him closer. "You can never disappoint me, Námo, nor Atar. Be at peace, brother. Know that we love you too much to allow you to disappoint us."

"Thank you," Námo responded with deep sincerity.

"Now, why don’t we leave this place and go somewhere else?" Oromë said, his aura brightening to it’s normal copper orange.

"Where do you suggest?"

"Ah.... actually I was wondering if you could give me a hand with something."

Námo gave Oromë a searching look, for the other Máhanaz had sounded almost apologetic. "What?"

"Well, I’m... well the truth is..."

"Oromë, you’re stammering."

The future Lord of Forests and Hunter of Evil laughed self-consciously. "So I am." He took hold of himself and started again, locking gazes with Námo, his expression serious. "I’m not good at the planetary sciences, especially the inner dynamics. I was wondering if you could help me there."

Námo looked at him in surprise. "You know more about that sort of thing than I, " he protested.

"Just the surface geometry and geophysics, not any of the deeper aspects of designing worlds," Oromë said dismissively. "I really wanted your... aesthetic opinion."

For a long time Námo just stared at Oromë, wondering what his fellow Máhanaz’s motivations were. Still, he was just intrigued enough not to dismiss his brother out of hand. Besides, he owed Oromë for believing in him, so the least he could do....

"Let’s away from here and you can tell me what you’re having trouble with."

Oromë smiled at him and sent him a certain set of coordinates and they were gone, leaving the remnants of a star and dark memories behind.