Perfection. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

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   He took so long that a crowd gathered. He took so long that he felt their expectation as further pressure on his perfectionism. He took so long that he scarcely recalled the purpose of his task.
   Everyone was choosing a form, a body, the image of the manifestation of the Children of Ilúvatar. Aulë himself had strode forth, a mighty male, sturdy and square. Varda was spectacular, darkly beautiful, with eyes of unbearable brightness.

   He had studied the Children, both to understand their function, and to uncover the secret of their fascination. It was a part of the Third Theme, and the most obscure. His orderly mind, and unacknowledged passion for order, found the whole of the living world to be untidy, dirty, asymmetrical, full of murky fluids and... and things. Yavanna would sing quietly and suddenly there were plants climbing all over everything, making a mess, and he was astonished to see everyone else, or nearly everyone, cheering delightedly.

   He thought he could hear the true note, the perfect form of the Children, symmetrical, orderly, precise, and, if he was as skilful as he hoped, accurate.
   The effort was considerable, he knew that it would be more difficult to leave the form once he had assumed it, and more difficult to maintain. But the thing was either done properly, or it was not done at all. He must assume a form. He must comply with his own standards. He must be perfect.

 

   The result made him reel back, almost frightened, but when he had grown accustomed to his reflection, he sighed with relief, and inspected his craft. The epitome, he thought, here is the epitome. This was the intention of Eru Ilúvatar!
   He held up a hand and turned it over, moving each finger in turn, slowly at first, and then faster and faster until they were a blur of motion. He smiled then, and for the first time understood the smile as an act, a motion of muscle and sinew, a deed. He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling the eyelids close, and soothe his eyes. Powerful feelings, partly from his exalted spirit, partly from the living flesh, moved the body. He leaped into the air, flailing his arms and legs, spinning and skipping, humming a melody from the Third Theme. The flesh! It sparkled with life, the intensity of sensation was overwhelming, intoxicating; he stood, breathing carefully, his thought racing ahead to all the things he could, would, do with this flesh. A thought came to him, there had been much made of 'eating', he had watched as others dared to bite into other living things, and consume them.

   There were apples on a tree, he reached up, paused for a moment, wondering what Yavanna really thought of the fad for eating, and remembered that it was to be a necessity for the Children. He pressed his lips together and plucked the apple and bit into it.
   He was astonished, it was alive, he was alive, but in the taste of the apple he felt that he had opened a crack in the fabric of Arda, and through that crack tasted the raw substance of Eru himself. The shock burned through him, a flash of swift fire, and then the flesh knew the taste of apple, and all thought was scattered. He ate the whole fruit, preferring some textures to others, and then in a dizzying moment became aware of all the other things that could be eaten, and then, deeper still, of all the other sensations that could be experienced.
   The flesh! What a marvellous gift! He longed to share his joy with others. He looked once more at the reflection, at the perfect features and the long smooth limbs, and smiled at his image in the glass. The crowd was larger than ever, there was singing, and some good-natured shouts. He took another deep breath and stepped forth.

The crowd gasped as one. Yavanna clapped her hands together delightedly, and beside her Aulë, his lord, nodded approvingly. The mighty voice of the Vala sounded over the hushed crowd "Mairon!"