As Time Unrolls by Lyra

Sun I

Sun I.
No Matter of Choice

"I wonder whether this was truly necessary," Vairë says, donning her armour.

"What do you mean?" says Námo. "Going to battle? I thought we agreed -"

"Of course we agreed. That is necessary. I wonder whether it was necessary to wait until it was almost too late – if it is only 'almost' too late."

"You know that we had to wait," says Námo, patiently, in the way he speaks to the confused and newly dead. "We were not asked for help, after all."

"You mean, we did not listen. I'm surprised we listened to that poor half-mortal; I half expected him to get a kick rather than his prayer granted."

Námo tilts his head. "You sound angry, my dear."

Vairë gives him a perplexed stare. "I wonder why," she says.

Námo rolls his shoulders uncomfortably; he does not like armour, and it seems that they will be needing it for a long time. "We could not interfere sooner. It was doomed that we should not listen. We could not go back on the Prophecy. We are, after all, bound by rules."

"By rules, or by pride?" says Vairë.

Námo raises his eyebrows. "You spend too much time considering the fates of the Children. They begin to rub off on you," he says. "We are as we have been made. It cannot be helped."

"I know that. Still I wish it were otherwise." She gives her plated jerkin an experimental tug. It sits nice and snug and will, she hopes, offer the necessary protection. She takes up her spear, and heaves a sigh. "It cannot be helped," she echoed. "Well. Let us go to war."