What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

Prologue

To many, Aman may seem as far west as west can be. It is named the Uttermost West after all. This is not entirely accurate however; a very few can go farther west still. Past the Halls of Mandos, where the dead wait (and wait and wait). Past the Halls of Nienna, where all the tears of the world flow in silvery falls to stream into dark pools. Past the Walls of the World, abandoned and crumbling, now that Aman is peeled off the globe. Past the Ekkaia, more memory now than actual sea, which goes from blinding light to deepest night in an instant as the Lights of the Sky sail quickly past. 

Here many of the Valar fear to tread. Here the fabric of the world is weak, and there are nameless things gnawing around the edges, waiting for their chance to devour. A few who are very powerful, very bold, very foolish, or perhaps a mix of all three, know that as far west as west can be there is a door.. It is black and huge — although size is a tricky thing to judge at the margins of the world; even únat seems slippery here. 

There is a ceaseless Guard on the door. Over the years the Guard has grown. Dark pillars, ever watchful, hedge around the door. The only sound is the memory of waves and a click click click sound from within the pillars. The Guard does not sleep, they cannot sleep, and each moment stretches to its breaking point. 

Some say there should be a guard on the Guards. Great woe would befall the world should their guard cease, or should one slip away. The question of who would guard the Guards is never satisfactorily answered though. Eärendil, sailing along the edge of darkness with his Silmaril and his sword always glances down to make sure that all is as it should be, but that is only once a day. From his ship, he cannot hear the noises coming from inside the pillars.

As far west as west can be there is a Door, and it is guarded. The world is empty that far west, so there is no one to note that there’s one less thing going click click click.