Manwë's Birthday Party by Dawn Felagund, Tarion Anarore, , Rhapsody, , oshun, , Isil Elensar, , pandemonium_213, , Beatrisu

Chapter 1: "Valmar of Many Bells" by Dawn Felagund

"Blast these bells!" Manwë muttered to himself as he paced the length of his halls and attempted to rub away a flourishing headache. It was the day of his birthday party, and he was bundled neck to foot in a set of resplendent and very itchy party robes that Varda had had commissioned especially for the occasion. In Valmar below, they were celebrating the happy occasion of Manwë having erupted fully formed from the thought of Eru 45,000 millennia, twelve centuries, and five years ago. And they were celebrating the only way they knew how, bless their vapid blond Vanyarin souls. They were ringing the bells.

Constantly.
Incessantly.
Un-friggin-ceasingly.

And with each burst of chimes, a very eager Varda to came sauntering in the room, chortling, "Yoohoo!" thinking that the first party guests had arrived. Elbereth, Lady of the Stars, she who had quailed even Melkor and to whom all upon Arda cry in need became as giddy as Vana and Nessa with ten liters of Cherry Coke shared between them when the word "party" was mentioned, particularly when her husband's name "Manwë" was mentioned in the near-proximity of "party" in the same sentence.

Tinkle-ring-chime-dong-CRASH--

A fresh onomatopoeic cacophony rollicked up to the streets below, Varda pranced into the room--"Yoohoo!"--and flounced away again when she discovered it was just the Vanyar again and Manwë's headache tightened just a smidgen, just enough to make him wonder when at last his head would finally explode. Well, Varda would probably think it just some clever party confetti designed by the Aulendil and bearing a nice pretty pinky-gray hue speckled with shards of what resembled bone--

ROAR!!!

"What the fu--" he heard Varda enter the room behind him, yoohooing all the way "--Formenos?"

"Dear, Fëanor hasn't lived there for ages," Varda reminded him as she whisked again from the room.

From its inception, this party had been a nightmare. First, it had conflicted with Melian's baby shower. Melian--pregnant by Eru-only-knows-what this time--had insisted on a baby shower, despite the fact that Nienna's recently updated Big Book of Valarin Customs and Border Protection had explicitly warned against showers for any but the first-born child. Then, Varda had attempted to hire some Elves to clean the bird droppings from the terraces, only she'd made the mistake of hiring Noldor, and there had almost been another rebellion. Well, it wasn't Manwë's fault that Eru--in His supreme omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent wisdom--had decreed that Manwë be Lord of the Birds and that he had a constant entourage of eagles, hawks, and recently (disturbingly) turkey buzzards flying in through his windows. Finally, two days ago, there had been a fresh snowfall upon Taniquetil, and Aulë--eager to show off his technological prowess--had come stumping up the mountain with a newfangled contraption that he called a "snowblower," having been ordered by a frazzled Varda to clear the paths. Only the thing had exploded, leaving a thin coating of soot on the front of the palace and most of the snow, rendering it a filthy gray color. Back down the mountain Aulë had stumped, muttering about "beta versions" and "nuclear reactions gone awry" while Varda collapsed from a mixture of distress and rage and, coming to, had hired more Elves to clean up the mess. Luckily, she'd hired Vanyarin help that time.

Just when Manwë was sure that no one was going to come to his party--slightly relieved and more than a little embarrassed by that; even Mandos had had a bigger turn-out this year that he preferred to call "small and intimate" rather than "paltry"--and it seemed that the Vanyar had stopped with the "many bells" act, there was a tiny noise from the direction of the front door. tinkle-chime, it went. tinkle-chime tinkle-chime. Manwë cocked his head. He glanced behind himself, waiting for Varda to charge into the room. Surely it wasn't ...? No, surely, if it was the doorbell, then he'd have a set of size-eight footprints (size six if she was in Vana's company) peppered across his back; surely the poor guests would already be having crab balls, spinach-artichoke dip, mango salsa, and cocktail weenies being foisted beneath their noses; surely--

tinkle-chime

Surely not!

But just in case--and mostly to save himself the pain of Varda's rage if she found out he hadn't (because he didn't care a whit for this stupid party, of course)--he went to the door. Just in case it was the doorbell.