As Time Unrolls by Lyra

Sun VII

And then, in the distant (?) future...

Sun VII.
Tenn' ambar-metta

"I wonder how it is going to end," says Manwë.

Vairë raises an eyebrow. "So eager for the end?"
"Not particularly," Manwë says. "But it stands to reason that it is not too far away. The ages have grown ever shorter, after all."
"And Menelmakar has been flickering most oddly these past nights," Varda adds.

Vairë looks around at her brethren. She had wondered why so many of them – even Ulmo! – had decided to visit her weaving chamber, as if their interest in Arda Marred had reawakened after centuries.
"And you do not know, my lord?" Vairë asks Manwë, disbelieving.
Manwë's hand moves in a vague, expansive bow. "I know some very basic benchmarks," he says. "But nothing specific. I had hoped that Námo would know more, and had told you some of the details."

Vairë now raises both eyebrows. "If he knows more, he has not shared that knowledge. Your guess is as good as mine, I am sure."

"Another war, I reckon," says Tulkas. "I mean, another big one."
"Or global warming," ventures Vána.
"Or some sort of dreadful accident that spirals out of control," Oromë suggests.
"At any rate, some kind of man-made desaster," Yavanna states dryly.
"I don't know, it might also be a deluge," muses Ulmo.
"Or a meteor strike," says Varda.
"Or a super-volcano," Aulë adds.

"Some say the world will end in fire," Nienna says, making them all jump, "some say in ice...*" At the other Valar's bewildered looks, she spreads her hands. "What? I happen to like poets."
Manwë huffs. "That's all very well, but we still do not know how it's going to happen."
"What of it?" Vairë says. "At least we know that we won't have anything to do with it."
But even as she speaks, she feels a strange twinge, and frowns, and introspects. "What on earth...," she says.
"What?" Manwë says.
"I hold with those who favour fire," says Vairë, with a nod in Nienna's direction. "It seems that I spoke too soon. Please excuse me." And she leaves them, gathered around her loom in confusion, to seek out her spouse.

"Námo, dear?"
"Yes, Vairë?"
"You wouldn't have released Fëanor early, by any chance?"
Námo gives her a reproachful look.
"I would never do such an absurd thing," he says flatly.
"It was precisely the right time."

Chapter End Notes

* Nienna and Vairë quote from Robert Frost's poem "Fire and Ice". It seemed appropriate, somehow.