Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Peace

Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, returns to Aman after the War of Wrath.

 

Please note that translations for elvish terms (or words from other languages, as the story progresses) are usually listed at the end of each chapter and in the Appendix B. List of Characters, Place Names and Other Terms.

 

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“When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not within the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation and to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.”

(“Of The Rings of Power and The Third Age”, The Silmarillion, J.R.R Tolkien)

 

“Sauron’s original name was Mairon, but this was altered after he was suborned by Melkor. But he continued to call himself Mairon the Admirable, or Tar-mairon ‘King Excellent’ until after the downfall of Númenor. The Quenya form equivalent to Gorthu was ñorthus, ñorsus, stem ñorsũr-.”

 (“Word, Phrases and Passages in The Lord of the Rings”, Parma Eldalamberon XVII)

 

 

1. Peace

I am one of the Ainur, a Maia of Manwë, a creature of Ilúvatar since before Time began and Eä was brought into existence and kindled with the flame of the Imperishable Fire.

I weave my being into light, I soar amongst the stars, dive into the core of suns, and dance in the luminescent pulse of the Song, that chimes from every speck and spark. I rejoice in the beauty of Arda, marred but still glorious.

There are Children, those who know me little, who whisper of my betrayal, of having unleashed evil back onto the world through my deeds. They fear and avoid me.

To those I say, once I was one of you. I touched, felt, bled, and wept; I laughed, loved and hated, not clad in a fana but bound to a hröa. I learnt of the gifts from the One to his Children, beautiful and bittersweet.

I do not deny my guilt, but I have paid dearly for my errors. At times I even begged for flight into death or oblivion, both banned to those of my kindred. My pleas were never answered.

Long did I mourn for one who chased mirages and became lost in the darkest shadows.

 

~o~

 

The Utmost West of Arda, Year 590 of the First Age

The years of war had sapped my strength.

I had witnessed the agony of those writhing in the unquenchable fire wrought by the whips of the Valaraucar; I helplessly watched the despair of the tireless healers who strove to comfort the wounded and maimed, and the grief of uncounted Children faced with the violent departure of their kin to the Halls of Mandos; I admired the courage of those few survivors of Angamando who had not succumbed to madness and were determined to rebuild lives broken by thraldom.

A whole continent lay under the waters, its life and beauty destroyed by the power our host had wielded to vanquish Moringotto, once known as Melkor, the single source of all this evil.

When the moment arrived, I felt no pity. Yet I shuddered as the Moritarnon opened between its mighty basalt jambs, carved with the shapes of hideous dragons. The blackness of the cold chasm before me was almost painful to behold, and the Maiarin warriors around me quailed at the sight.

I sensed the dark aura of dread wrap itself around the crippled, slouching shape of Moringotto, burdened under the weight of Angainor. To his credit, he did not cower or beg.

‘Do you regret?’ The question left my lips before I could stop it.

He turned to fix his piercing eyes on mine. Defiance had long fled from them, but a flicker of his former rage leaped into their black depths and for an instant he was the mighty Dark Lord of old.

‘Only that I lost all, that your two-faced masters will rule uncontested from their precious paradise.’

Without a further word, he hobbled forward and reached out with his arms.

The Void seemed to leak through the Door to embrace him. Moringotto vanished and Angainor fell with a rattle on the empty basalt threshold.

He was gone, as were his minions, those he had tricked or seduced into his allegiance. Gone, too, were the Silmarilli, to air, fire and water. My mission was complete.

I willed myself back to Endórë, where I tarried. I stayed with the Atani for a few of their years and taught them many things, in the hope that my lessons would ease their toils and lift their hearts. I had shared too much with the Children to simply walk away to the bliss of Aman and leave them to rebuild their world.

 

~o~

 

Valinor, Year 4 of the Second Age of Arda

At last one day I was summoned by Manwë. I shed my raiment and swam in the heights of Ilmen, amongst the fires lit by Varda, singing my joy before I returned to Valinor. In token of victory and to prove the banishment of the Dark Foe I carried Angainor, light as a feather for anyone it did not mean to bind.  

I was surprised at the request that I must appear at the Máhanaxar. My intention had been to pay obeisance to my lord at Ilmarin, not outside the gates of Valmar in sight of the despoiled Ezellôchâr. But I was not troubled at Manwë’s choice. Perhaps it was the importance of the occasion that had prompted a reunion in such a formal setting.

However, I knew something was amiss as soon as I stepped into the Ring of Doom, again wrapped in a luminescent fana for the benefit of the Quendi that had attended. King Arafinwë of the Noldor was there, surrounded by those of his people who had returned with him from the Hither Lands after battling the hordes of Angamando.

A large group of Teleri had travelled to Valmar too, surely to hear the confirmation of Melkor’s demise. And several of my fellow Maiar, none of whom had been at my command during the war, were clad as warriors in glittering armour of silver and white, and guarded the circle, forming a barrier that even to me, their kinsman, seemed most forbidding.

Only a few hushed murmurs broke the silence, and faded instantly when Manwë rose from his seat. 

‘Welcome back to Aman, Eönwë. Long have been the years of your absence, and many deeds have been sung of the triumph against our fallen brother Melkor. We are grateful to you for leading our hosts to victory, and for carrying out the sentence that has cast the Black Foe out from this world until the end of Arda.’

To one who knew him as well as I did, his praise sounded hollow. I reached out to him through ósanwë, but his mind was closed to mine.

‘You requested an audience here in the Máhanaxar, Lord Arafinwë, to bring to us a matter of great concern. Step forth and speak!’ he said.

Arafinwë walked into the marble circle, and when he reached its centre, bowed to the Valar. Then he turned to where I stood to the left of Manwë’s chair. From the fury in his eyes I guessed his purpose, even before he spoke.

‘The War is won; Moringotto is banished. And yet the threat remains,’ the Noldóran said. ‘Your commander Eönwë detained Melkor’s minion Sauron, the fiend who tormented and slew so many of our people, including my son, and yet he secretly allowed his freedom. Furthermore, he had two of the kinslayers at his mercy but let them walk away with the Silmarilli even though they had slain several of my warriors.’

I well remembered his rant at my orders to spare Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë. His anger had grown into outrage when he later found out that Sauron the Abhorred had walked willingly into our camp, surrendered himself to me and rejected the summons to return to Aman.

‘For these misdeeds I demand justice,’ he concluded. A strong murmur of assent rose amongst his company.

‘Eönwë, will you accept judgement?’ asked Manwë gravely.

I winced at the lack of any warning, but I would not question Manwë's purpose, even less in such a public and solemn setting. ‘You alone, my lord Manwë, own my allegiance. Your word is my command.’

Manwë raised his hand. Two Maiarin warriors stepped forward, led me to the centre of the circle and remained to stand guard at my sides. Such display was purely a performance for the Children, who are partial to this sort of formality. Naturally I would not flee, but even if I had wished to, I could not evade the powers of the assembled Ainur, surrounded as I already was.

The Noldor of Valinor were renowned sticklers for ceremony and protocol, so I bowed deeply to each of the Powers in turn. I perceived Manwë’s tacit approval and Varda’s amusement.

Then my questioning began. I answered truthfully and in great detail my lord’s queries and those of his brethren about the events that Arafinwë had mentioned. At last I was bid to explain the reason for my decisions.

‘Pity it was that prompted me to allow Fëanáro’s sons to leave with the stolen jewels, bloodied swords at the ready. Pity, and the wish to avoid further slaying.’

My mind was open to all of the Valar, but none touched it to signal their entrance.

‘Why pity my nephews when they had shown no mercy, Eönwë?’ demanded the Elven-king. I did not fail to notice the meaningful absence of any title when he addressed me. Ever before he had wearied me with his insistence to name me a “lord” despite my repeated requests to use less formality between us.

‘They had already endured too much grief in their doomed quest to recover their father’s jewels. I wished them to believe they had fulfilled their oath, in the hope they would thus be swayed to return.’ A disapproving murmur rose from the crowd, but I pressed on. ‘With Fëanáro dead, only my lady Yavanna could have claimed the light of the Silmarilli as her own. She had already chosen not to do so in greater need, when the Trees were destroyed.’

Yavanna did not gainsay me, and nobody else dared raise their voices to argue my logic when she was involved. As the silence stretched, I braced myself for the real attack.

‘How about Sauron?’ queried Arafinwë, accusingly.

‘Mairon knelt in repentance and vowed he would work to repair the damage he had inflicted. I believed in his sincerity, but commanded him to come before this court.’ Ironically, I was here because he was not. ‘He dreaded the thought of being banished or imprisoned with his master, whom he had renounced. I pitied him and all those others who had misguidedly followed Melkor.’

What I kept to myself, because speaking would only enrage the Noldor further, were the fond memories of times long past, during the infancy of Eä,  when Mairon and I had been inseparable companions. We had toiled and played together in this new world wrought into Time; we had shared our thoughts and our joy as we swam in the currents of space, pulsing with the beauty of the Music brought into being.

Neither did I mention my regret and anger at his slow transformation, nurtured by Melkor, who had taken my friend’s curiosity and thirst for knowledge and twisted it into a craving for power, and the means to lure him closer. First I had watched, then pleaded, but Mairon, deaf to my warnings, had abandoned Aulë’s teachings to embrace those of the Black Foe. For a while we still sought each other, but this contact grew thinner, until he barred my mind from his, and I knew I had lost him.

My response prompted angry shouts from the mob, naming me a fool and a traitor.

‘Did you not pity my son Findaráto?’ cried Arafinwë, and in his eyes shone both wrath and grief. ‘He was slain and devoured by Sauron’s pet werewolves, after he and his companions were tortured to betray their purpose.’

Absolute silence followed his words. Everyone in the Noldóran’s host seemed to hold their breath in fearful anticipation. During his years in Endórë no one had ever dared to speak in his presence about the gruesome death of his son.

I was still attempting to shape a suitable answer when Manwë finally spoke to me through ósanwë.

‘I understand why you acted as you did, Eönwë. A measure of pity might have been appropriate when deciding the fate of most of Melkor's followers, deceived, coerced, or both. Not so when dealing with Melkor’s most trusted servant, who has ever proved to be as twisted and perfidious as his master. You said to Mairon you could not judge one of your own order, and yet that is what you unwisely did by merely summoning him to submit to our judgement in Aman, instead of seizing him to prevent his escape.’

‘I see I erred. As Eru Ilúvatar is my witness, I have not embraced Darkness. Do what you must to repair my negligence.’

Our conversation had lasted less than the blink of an eye. To those around us nothing had happened. I fell to one knee and waited for his ruling. I trusted him. Ever had I been at his side to shape Arda, to guide and care for the Children, to fight his brother; he was more than my lord, he was kin, friend and mentor.

It was Námo who stood up next to his kinsman.

‘What is done cannot be undone,’ pronounced the Lord of Mandos, ‘but whatever fate Endórë is destined to suffer because of your actions you shall share it, Eönwë, for better or worse.’

As Manwë’s herald I had been privileged to watch Námo’s proclamations of doom rather often. Truly, he had mastered the art of making each of them a lesson in dramatics, and I expected no less on this occasion. I also expected little leniency, if only because of the stern, sad mien of my lord. 

‘Eönwë of the Maiar of Manwë, you are banished to the Hither Lands for two whole ages of the world, unless Sauron, once known as Mairon Aulendil, returns to this circle to be judged before that time is spent. On you I appoint the task to seek him and deliver this summons.’ 

Until that moment I had thought that the worst was over, but his brooding pause and the cold light in his eyes spoke otherwise. I knew he was about to deliver the killing blow, and I had to remind myself that I was no craven, but a warrior and one of the Ainur.

‘You shall be bound to a hröa no different to those of the First-born, and unlike the fana you now wear, you will not have the power to free yourself from this form except if you are slain. You are banned from actively seeking this release in death. Were you to suffer it, though, you must return to Mandos to be rehoused and sent back, until your sentence is fulfilled.’

‘You shall speak to no one of your true identity, nature or purpose, except to the one you seek, and neither will you reveal his true name to others, unless you have irrefutable proof of his reversal to evil. We would not wish to drive him further away; if the repentance you witnessed were genuine, we would rejoice if he returned to his kin, to justice, penance, and eventual redemption.’

‘As for Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë, Fëanáro’s first-born is already in the Halls of Waiting. If you find his brother, you shall speak my command to him, that he must seek Círdan and return to Aman. It is justice, not revenge, that he will meet for his deeds.’

‘This is the judgement of the Valar, and your doom.’

I quailed at the strict terms of my banishment but my trust did not waver when Manwë looked me in the eye and sought to read my mind. I showed him both my fear and my willingness to pay for my errors. He soothed the former and praised the latter.

‘My lord Manwë,’ objected the Noldóran, stepping forth. Alarm had replaced the earlier outrage in his tone. ‘We deem this is too harsh a punishment and would plead for your lenience to alleviate it.’

I glared at Arafinwë. How did he dare come up with such qualms after demanding and being granted a scapegoat?

‘Do you now question the wisdom of the Valar, or their fairness?’ I answered before Manwë could. My lord shot me a warning glance, but I proceeded, regardless. ‘I do not. I shall abide by this judgement,’ I vowed.

Had I known the misery my pledge would provoke, I might have instead thanked Arafinwë for his appeal and begged for mercy.

‘So be it, Eönwë,’ spoke Manwë. ‘In the morning you will be housed into a hröa and a ship will be made ready to depart. In the meantime, you are free to seek those you would say your farewells to.’

He rose from his seat to mark the end to the proceedings.

‘How do we know he will not flee?’ cried one of Arafinwë’s counsellors. I recognised him as brethren to a captain of our host who, during the final attack of Angamando, had been scourged to death by the fire whips of a Valarauco in front of our eyes.

In the numerous years of my existence I had seldom been treated to the sight of Manwë’s utter speechlessness.

‘Did you not listen to Lord Eönwë’s words?’ The King of Arda was indignant, as if the question had cast an insult on his own honour, not on mine. I was grateful for his use of the honorific in front of the crowd. I may have been banished, but not removed from his service and his trust.

‘He has accepted his penalty and will be here in the morn.’

I sensed the doubt of Arafinwë’s followers, and saw the frowns and scowls on their faces. In a flash of inspiration, I decided that a dramatic gesture was called for. Slowly, as to ensure no one saw my movements as a threat, I strode to where Angainor lay discarded and I draped it over my shoulders. Immediately it glimmered with red and green hues and wrapped itself tightly around my limbs. A violent shudder shook me when the burden of its full power fell upon me.

My first instinct was to shed my visible form. I regretted the attempt as soon as the pressure of the chains choked me. Not by impeding my breath, which is an unneeded artifice in a fana, but by somehow crushing the core of mind and energy that is I, Eönwë. I desisted immediately, terrified, and cried out in pain. Never before had I understood the workings of the mighty device that Aulë had wrought.

The Quendi gasped in alarm. Manwë touched my mind in reassurance.

‘You fool!’ he spoke fondly, to me only.

‘Will this satisfy you and your people, my lord Arafinwë?’ I cried haltingly. My weakness was not feigned. The effort to remain standing was making me tremble like a leaf. How had Moringotto borne this torment for years?

The Noldóran nodded, clearly uncomfortable at my plight. He made a deep but hasty obeisance to the Valar and left the Ring of Doom. His people and the Teleri followed him in silence, their hurried steps clattering loudly against the smooth stone. I slumped to the floor, unable to stand any longer.

Manwë made contact again and sensed my distress. He brushed the chains with his will, and they loosened a little, so that my confinement was bearable again. But now that the ordeal was over I felt drained, and slightly resentful. How could an error of judgement prove so costly?

‘Eönwë.’ I felt his mind open to mine again. This time I was allowed to sense his pride, and the depth of his love for me. ‘You know I will not forsake you.’

I let my apprehension and dismay surface to the fore. Two whole ages bound to a hröa was hardly a lenient sentence. I dared to point out silently to Manwë that his brother Melkor may have received a more merciful punishment when he was first sentenced to stay in Mandos for three ages. He gave me the equivalent of a smile.

‘I cannot ease your fears. Námo has not revealed to me what he has foreseen. But trust that your fate and your plight are bound to the Music.’ He paused but I did not break the silence. ‘The restrictions placed on you are merely the result of lessons learnt too late. Too painfully have we suffered as a result of attempting to shape the affairs of the Children. Will you have faith?’

‘Always.’ I believed in my response without reserve.

For a while we spoke through ósanwë about Endórë, the Children, our wonder for Eä; we both carefully avoided mention of what had just happened. With a final soothing caress he left me.

He did not free me from Angainor.

Soon afterwards Melyanna came to keep me company. Both of us had always shared a fascination for the lands beyond the sea, and seen the ugliness of Melkor’s evil work there. I had not spoken much to her since she had returned from Endórë and I was glad she sought me despite my disgrace.

She spoke to me of her beloved Elwë; of Lúthien, whose beauty had enthralled me when she pleaded to Mandos for Beren’s life. Melyanna mourned her daughter’s death beyond Arda, and I could find no suitable words to assuage her grief. Instead I shared with her some of my memories of Elerondo and Elerossë, her only surviving progeny in the Hither Lands.[6]

‘I do not know where my errand will take me, Melyanna, but I shall watch over them if our paths upon Endórë cross,’ I said impulsively. Then I tugged against the links binding my arms, and shook my head. ‘How ridiculously empty my pledge must sound to you! I am to be powerless, by the will of the Valar.’

‘I am grateful for your promise, Eönwë. Do not be bitter. You will be far from powerless.’ She waved her hand down to point at her own fana, and smiled. ‘Being bound to a hröa and its needs will indeed be a challenge at first, but once you learn to accept it as part of who you are, you will rejoice at its power; in turn it will show you the secret beauty of Arda, wonders that can only be perceived by the Children, or by those of us who become Incarnate.’ She paused, and touched my hands with hers. ‘Find that beauty and that joy, Eönwë.’

Despite her uplifting words, when she left I pitied myself, banished from my own kin, not because of evil but of misguided mercy. I was miserable. The pressure of Angainor had become a constant discomfort verging on pain, not of the flesh, but of the deeper kind that gnaws at the mind, like sorrow or shame.

I stared up at the stars and for the first time ever they felt remote, untouchable. The sky in Endórë had always seemed different, somewhat dimmed. Here Varda’s jewels shone above me in all their glory until Isil rose to bathe the night in a silver sheen. Tilion hailed me in greeting and his progress across the sky helped me mark the hours.

I feared tomorrow.

 

 

 

Notes:

 

[1] fana (Quenya) raiment of the Ainur in the shape of the Children of Ilúvatar; hröa (Quenya) almost equivalent to the body of the Incarnates (Elves and Men).

[2] Angamando (Quenya) iron-prison. Morgoth's fortress in the North of Beleriand, more commonly known by its Sindarin name: Angband.

[3] Moritarnon (Quenya) the Door of Night, that opens into the Void. The name and the description are recorded in The Book of Lost Tales (The History of Middle-earth I).

[4] Ezellôchâr (Valarin) the Green Mound where the Two Trees once stood. Better known as Corollairë and Máhanaxar in Quenya.

[5] ósanwë (Quenya) thought-transmission, or telepathy.

[6] Elerondo, Elerossë: Quenya versions of the names Elrond and Elros.