As Time Unrolls by Lyra

Sun V

Written for the B2MeM 2012 "Crossover 1" prompt, Crossover with a mythological story.

The Christian nativity story, to be precise, so tread with care if that's a touchy subject for you.

Sun V.
New Rules

"I wonder if it is Adûnaic," Eärendil says thoughtfully, and at Vairë's glance explains, "Bethlehem. It sounds sort of Adûnaic."
"I doubt it," Vairë says. "Derived, maybe. I can get you a skilled linguist, if you need one," she adds, because she is feeling a little mischievous. She has been feeling mischievous more and more often lately. Námo says that it is her way of dealing with her work. He may be on to something.

Eärendil shudders. "No, thank you," he says stiffly. "It is not that important."
Vairë smiles to herself.

"Anyway," Eärendil says, "'the son of Eru'? How does that work? Are we not all Eru's children?"
"Supposedly, this time it is to be understood more literally."
"Literally?" the no-longer-mortal mariner says, staring at Vairë, who stares back, her face carefully blank. "Then who is the mother?"
"Some mortal maiden, apparently. Please do not ask me how that works. I do not chronicle everything. There is such a thing as discretion."

The mariner bites his lower lip. "My apologies, Lady Vairë," he says. "May I ask another question?"
You already did, Vairë thinks, but this time she stops herself in time. The poor fellow is confused enough as it is. No wonder. They all are.
"Certainly," she tells Eärendil.
"What is the purpose of... this?"

Vairë ponders him for a moment, then goes ahead. "Father wants to change the rules," she explains. "Something about damnation and love and foregiveness."
"I am not certain that I understand," Eärendil says.
"I am not certain that I understand," says Vairë. "Námo does, supposedly, but he appears to think that I should just do my job and stop asking questions. Did I say that out loud?"
"You did, lady."
"Pretend that I didn't."
"I shall, lady."

Good boy, Vairë is tempted to say, but stops herself again. Instead she says, "Rules, once set, are exceedingly hard to change. Even Father is bound by them, you see, except He no longer likes His old rules. So He means to contravene them by some sort of elaborate self-sacrifice."
Eärendil looks blank.
"Mortals have always been forbidden, on pain of doom and death, to come to Aman," Vairë illustrates helpfully. "Unless they just happened to have a Silmaril with them. This whole 'son of Eru' business – that's the Silmaril this time. In some way. Somehow."
"Oh," Eärendil says.
"Yes," Vairë says. "Anyway. Time for your great performance. Are you ready?"
"As I understand it, I'm just to be a messenger star," Eärendil says. "I've been doing that for years."