Tyrannosaurus by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

   It was the 120th birthday of Bilbo Baggins, he stood on the highest porch of Rivendell while the bright sunshine gleamed on his new waistcoat, a gift from the sons of Elrond from far in the East, and smoked the fresh pipe weed that Gandalf had brought him. He sighed contentedly, it had been a fine luncheon, and there would be an even finer feast in the evening. The Ring was fading from his memories, he rarely searched his pockets any longer, and the sibilant song had grown still. He wondered if it had turned it’s attention to young Frodo, and began to worry again.
But Gandalf appeared at his side, causing Bilbo to start guiltily, and shake his head and cough. Gandalf laughed.
   "What are you up to, Bilbo Baggins?"
   "Why nothing! I merely... I was worrying about Frodo, if you want the truth."
   "Frodo? He is very well, and as respectable as you were notorious."
   "Notorious? I like that! Those petty, mean..."
   Gandalf laughed again "Mad Baggins they call you. Ha! If they knew half of what you had accomplished they would certainly feel justified. What sane hobbit would confront a live dragon?"
   Bilbo opened his mouth to argue, then shook his head "Really, they have good reason to doubt me. No one in their right mind..." his voice tailed off and he frowned, his fist had clenched itself, his teeth ground together as he willed himself not to look for the Ring. Gandalf sighed and laid a hand briefly on his shoulder.
   "Dear Bilbo, I am partly to blame, dragging you across Middle-earth... Do not be hard on yourself."
   Bilbo took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. At that moment the sunlight struck the waterfalls and a score of rainbows shone in the bright valley. From below the sound of Elven song rose about them, and Gandalf laughed with the innocent delight of a child. Bilbo looked up at the Wizard, wondering how one so careworn could yet know such joy; in his blunt hobbit way he resolved to simply ask him.

   Gandalf was silent for a time, looking carefully at the tiny hobbit, white haired and wrinkled, puffing on his tiny pipe, then at last he spoke.
   "You often ask me of the time before the Elves, when I myself was young. But since today is your birthday, I shall tell you the tale of the first rainbow."
   Bilbo looked up into the twinkling smile of the Wizard, and as Gandalf began to sing, the shining eyes grew brighter and brighter until they were more dazzling than stars, and Bilbo felt the world, and himself and all his cares fall away like dust in the wind.

   The prodigious labour was complete, or so they thought; Oromë was home, the great head of a fell beast borne on a sling between two horses, Valaróma sounding his triumph. They gathered to sing welcome to the hunters, and Oromë called joyfully to Yavanna.
   "This is the last! Henceforth your beloved trees will be safe from the insolence of our foe, and the Children of Ilúvatar will never be troubled by such monsters."
   Olórin looked at the mighty jaws and the deadly teeth, each as long as his forearm, and marvelled at the courage of those who had faced the beast. But Oromë was laughing as Yavanna brought him wine and thanked him with a song and a smile.

  Tilion smiled at Olórin and clapped him on the arm "You think it terrifying dead? You should have heard it roar! I thought my heart would cease to beat! But we surrounded it, and the great spear of Oromë struck true." He paused for a moment, a slight frown on his pale fair face "Though... for a little time it seemed that not even death had stayed its charge, for it bore on towards Oromë, and Nahar himself reared back... But suddenly the strings that held it upright loosened and it fell in a bloody heap. What a creature! Though it be indeed of the Enemy’s shaping, yet still I marvel at it, the power and majesty, the deafening roar! These things will remain forever in my thought, though all are now slain."
   Olórin looked thoughtfully at the beast, and wondered if that were true, if the Enemy had truly played all his pieces... But Tilion was laughing, all were singing, and the voice of Yavanna rose above the music, calling forth a feast.

   There was much excitement, fine robes to select, delicacies to prepare, wines to set forth, and much discussion of music for dancing. Olórin helped as much as he could, but amidst the laughter and the commotion, Vána the Everyoung was still, as one awaiting he knew not what. He paused then, and looked about, at Almaren.
   The Lamps shone brighter than all the stars of Varda, and there in the midst of their mingled Light grew greenery in more shades than there were words to describe.    Everywhere the work of Yavanna was shown forth to best advantage under the Light, more kinds of plant than there were colours of green, tall trees strove to match the Pillars, tiny moss to soothe the feet, and between, every shape of stem and leaf imaginable by the fathomless mind of Yavanna. The beauty of the scenery was richer than Olórin had imagined possible when they had all helped to sing Eä into being, more fanciful and elaborate than any but Yavanna herself could have brought forth, and he marvelled anew, breathing in the fresh air and the thousand thousand scents of all that grew.

   But there was Vána, still and silent, almost frowning, though whether from displeasure or thought, Olórin would not presume to guess. He approached the high seat of Manwë, where Oromë and Aulë laughed together, and listened awhile.
   The great voice of Aulë was hushed to a whisper as he addressed Oromë.
   "We all know that you love the maiden, why do you not speak?"
   "My sister urges caution. Vána has yet to dance, she scarcely sings, she is waiting, though for what none can say."
   "Caution? Ha! You face mighty beasts with no fear in your heart, yet you heed words of caution? Strike while the iron is hot, Oromë! If not now, when?"
   "The Lady Vána is no rock, to beat into shape with your hammers! She is... I cannot say... She is more subtle than I, or you, she is perchance more subtle than her own mighty sister... The hunt... When we pursue the creatures of the Enemy, we must also be subtle, we must listen, and watch, we must be still and silent, we must become as the trees amongst which they prowl, that we might surround and vanquish them. But Vána is no beast, she is the sister of Yavanna, herself mighty among the Valier, and I am at a loss, for my spear cannot aid me in this, and I have naught else to offer save the trophies of the chase, disdained by the lady."

   Aulë frowned and shook his head, recalling the bold smile of Yavanna, and the swift eagerness of each for the other. Indeed she had set her roots deep in his flesh! But Vána was of a different kind to her bountiful sister, she was, even as Oromë said, subtle and quiet, and few could discern her mood or her thought. He sighed deeply and turned to Manwë, who smiled with deep blue eyes, and listened in a spreading stillness, until even the turbulent heart of Oromë beat steady.

   But Manwë smiled and spoke to Oromë "Do you ask the maiden to dance with you, then it might be that her heart will turn toward you."
   Then all three looked to where Vána stood, still as a windless tree, but Oromë shook his head "I do not dance as Nessa does, at one with the music. I would merely perform, and that poorly. It will not serve."
   Aulë looked thoughtful for a moment, and nodded "I have found this myself, that the dancing lawn is empty. There is all the preparation, all the excitement, I myself as keen as any other, but when the time come, and I step forth, with or without my beautiful lady, there is naught there, only the emptiness. Yet after, when I look back, and we have danced, then I remember our laughter and smiles, and the moments of joy."
   Manwë smiled "The dancing lawn is filled with our dancing! It is we ourselves who bring music and dance to fill the emptiness, to express our delight in the music, in each other and in the joy of our being! It is we who shape the memories, it is we who live both in the moment, and beyond, in the timeless realm of anticipation and of memory." He smiled his dazzling smile, and Oromë thought of other times, and smiled himself. But the eyes of Manwë widened and he raised a hand "Hearken! Ulmo sings! And there is his horn, mighty Ulumúri!"

   Aulë and Oromë looked at each other, Manwë gazed upwards, as clouds gathered, glowing in the Light of the Lamps. As the sound of the mighty horn faded, the first drops of rain began to fall, and Manwë held up both hands and opened his mouth, drinking the rain. Without turning his head he spoke.
   "Now is the moment, Lord of the Hunt. Go to the fair Lady Vána."

   Olórin followed at a distance, watching Vána from afar as she stood still amongst the singing, dancing Valar and Maiar. Melian the sweet singer drew near to Vána, and the dancing circled and spiralled around them, and Oromë stood not before Vána in challenge, nor behind her in pursuit, but beside her in companionship, and in a stillness to match her own.
   Then it was that the wonder appeared in the clouds, sparkling amidst the raindrops, the first rainbow, brought forth by the power of Ulmo, the might of Manwë and the grace of the Lady Varda.
   All were still. The dancing and the singing ceased, and in the stillness only the sound of the falling raindrops could be heard. Olórin felt his heart bursting with wonder and awe, the colours of the rainbow unlike anything he had ever seen, brighter than the eyes of Manwë, richer than the leaves of Yavanna, redder than the fires of Aulë, and new colours, colours without name, blended into a marvel of water, air and Light.

And Vána sang.