(Of What Might Be, Or Should Be) by Anérea

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(Of What Might Be, Or Should Be)

Inspired by Zhie's colourful Master of Dreams, which made me think of different options and choices...

~*~

Writing the Valar feels much like attempting to represent pandimensional spaces in a two dimensional drawing. I imagine that however they actually communicate (whether it’s via words like “Greetings, how farest thou?” or colours or thrumming the threads of the space-time continuum) it would feel as normal to them as “Hi, how’re you doing?” feels to us. So this is my dimensionally-challenged approximation of these somewhat unfathomable beings in conversation.

Ulmo makes a rare visit to Irmo in Lórien and, even rarer, he’s seeking council. Floating together on Lake Lórellin, says Ulmo to Irmo:

“The younger Children are roaming the lands westwards of Hildórien.”

“And what of it? Arien and Tilion reported their awakening many seasons ago.”

“Well..." A few drops of water trickled into the lake. "They’ve actually been awake and aware for a good long time before that pair ascended." Sensing his companion's mild bemusement, Ulmo added, "I just saw no reason to say anything. After the Firstborn fiasco…”

Irmo raised an eyebrow, but then conceded. “Hmm, you may have a point. So, why bring them up now?”

“Melkor.”

“Ahh.” Irmo raised both eyebrows.

Ulmo took a breath. “Our kindred have swung from one extreme to the other with regards to the Children. First we interfered too much with the Firstborn: despite removing the major threat to them after we routed Utumno and captured Melkor, just because their fellowship was desired they were enticed into abandoning their natural home to come and dwell in the stagnant bliss that is Valinor—”

“You really don’t much like the place much, do you.—”

Ulmo flicked his hand back and continued. “—and now that Melkor is not only at large but meddling directly with the Secondborn, our brethren sit sulking under the Sun and Moon, insisting it's because they don't wish to make the same mistake again.”

“That’s unfair. And we don’t—didn't—know how far Melkor had attempted to spread his influence—”

“Of course you didn’t, fairly ensconced as you are behind the Pelóri, concerned only with the golden children that chose to dwell here, and to remain dwelling here.”

Irmo flinched but didn’t rise. This was not entirely true, although they both knew it was closer to the truth than some would readily admit.

“Are we just to abandon the Secondborn to Melkor’s whims?” Ulmo persisted.

“Ullubōz, it was you who was adamant last time that we should let the Children be, who anticipated troubles would come of bringing them here. Why the change of heart?”

“This is no change of heart. Nothing ever happens the same way twice. I am not suggesting that we haul these younger Children across the ocean on an island of their own, be it in sight of Aman or elsewhere; being isolated would no doubt wreck havoc with their psyche at the very least. And I’m certainly not advocating we charge in there with all our warring might to wreck destruction on the land yet again, and have Aulë add his tears to Niena's again.”

“Hmm, Tulkas would like nothing more.” They caught each other’s eye. Like Ulmo, Tulkas had never been deceived by Melkor. A great fighter, but rash and impulsive, it had strained his reverence for Manwë not to dash off with the Noldor to Melkor’s lair. Ulmo empathised.

With a sigh that sent ripples undulating across the lake, he said, “I do however believe it is neglectful of us not to assist them in some form. They are young and naive and have little experience with which to discern for themselves either the veracity or the deceit of Melkor’s credo.”

“Hmm. It was my understanding that Eru’s will is for them to discover things independently for themselves; that they learn how to learn rather than be taught how to be taught?”

“Indeed I believe it is his design, and with this I wholeheartedly agree. Yet offering guidance is a different thing entirely to indoctrination. By the time they might learn for themselves that their Dark King has only his own interests at heart, nothing independent of their hearts and minds will remain.”

Irmo glanced at the fine tendrils of mist evaporating from the area of lake containing Ulmo, a physical expression of his agitation, and mused how it was unusual for his aquatic companion to be quite so emotional.

“You’ve become very fond of these Children.”

Ulmo looked up at the clouds, seeing other, more distant waters, where wandered the beings whose nature was so endearingly mysterious to him. He changed tack.

“While the lands lay under the sleep of Yavanna, while the Secondborn still roamed the shores of Hildórien, they would enjoy hours purely listening to the Music I played for them; their minds were more open and trusting when their lives were simpler. With the quickening of all life under Arien’s light, their minds became quicker, sharper, directed with intent and cleverer, but less receptive to the subtleties of the Music. And now more guarded too, thanks to Melkor’s influence.

“I still play the Music for them—in the deep crashing of the waves, the soft shushing through seashells, the pattering of raindrops. They used to comprehend it more fully, but now, although they hear it and their spirits still feel it call to them, they understand it less and less with their minds. And since Melkor came among them they have become suspicious of each other and wary of my waters. His lies have enticed many of them away from my songs; my music doesn’t reach their hearts and he plays his discord into them instead. I grieve for what is becoming of them. And for what may yet still come.”

Floating in silence, they were conscious of the ever-present Music playing through them, through the gardens, the lake, and throughout Eä.

After a while Ulmo continued. “The Music will play out, yes, yet the Themes provide wide scope for melodies to vary within it; some may adhere closely to the apparent intent while others seem to diverge wildly only to merge harmoniously again in one way or another. Clouds and snow, for instance; Melkor created intolerable cold and heat which alters the very nature of my creation, yet instead of being annihilated by it, water now takes on forms more beautiful than I had even envisioned.”

“The balancing harmony.”

They both drifted in thought for a while, before Ulmo spoke again. “Although these younger Children have the virtue to shape their lives beyond the Music, while they dwell here in Arda they also live within it and it moves them. It is not so much a question of whether the Music will be played out as how it is played. We know the Themes do not dictate the form or rhythm, the tonality or texture of the Music, nor what shall come of it—”

“Only that it shall play through to its end.”

“Indeed. Whether the Children toil through the Music in fear and pain, or flow through in love and joy, they will still arrive at their Destination, the better or worse for the Journey. Thanks to Melkor’s part in our creation, their individual journeys cannot be without fear and suffering, yet we would be remiss to stand by while our ex-kinsman snuffs out all light along their paths. Perhaps even more so with these younger Children whose lives here in Arda are but a flicker. In truth, I foresee that they will shine an even brighter light than they otherwise might have in Arda Unmarred, given the opportunity. But how to approach them? You know how wary the Firstborn were when Oromë arrived; now after Melkor’s meddling the Secondborn have become even more distrustful.”

“Dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“The minds of the Children are more open in sleep. In sleep they are more connected to their true nature—and to the nature of the Music. When awake, their thoughts play louder than the Music. Thoughts influence them more and thus they are more influenced by words—hence Melkor’s cunning in using their own creation of language against them.”

“You believe this to be the same with the Secondborn as with the First?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? They are kindred after all.”

Considering this, Ulmo asked, “But if their minds are so open and unguarded in sleep, I would be wary of unduly manipulating their thoughts by planting ideas in their minds.”

Irmo scooped a handful of lake and let it trickle between his fingers.

“Dreams are more subtle than that. They are linked to the reality of their waking world, but not bound to it, not bound to its limitations. In their dreams the Children may absorb unfamiliar concepts by using familiar objects to represent them and thus understand them. Communicate the Music to them in pure form through their dreams and their own minds will translate it into terms they can fathom and comprehend. Show them what might be that they may desire what should be. Show them options. Show them the elements playing out beyond their immediate awareness; provide them with a vision that fills the gaps in their knowledge where Melkor is concerned. Thus their choices in waking life will be informed, even if they don’t always know from whence their insight comes, yet their decisions will still be their own.”

~*~

And thus, under Irmo’s instruction, began Ulmo’s long (if not always entirely successful) side hustle in oneirology.

Chapter End Notes

The title is from a note in Morgoth's Ring (referring to the names Namo and Irmo): 'Judgement (of what is) Desire (of what might be or should be)'.

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