Making the Gift by Lyra

Aulë slept like a rock, grey, cold and unmoveable. Having reassured herself that his spirit was still somewhere underneath the impermeable layers of stone, Yavanna kissed him and left him to his recovery. Estë would surely take the best possible care of him.

At the end of these labours, she knew, she herself would need a lengthy sojourn in the gardens of Lórien. The work of millennia had to be squeezed into mere decades, and all the Valar involved were pushing themselves to their very limit. They could not let things proceed at their natural pace, taking a thousand Valian Years to set up a new dwelling, a half-century to sing Trees into being. By that time, the Edain whom they meant to reward would be dead, and their children, and their children's children. So the process needed to be sped up a great deal. It was possible, but it was an arduous effort even for the greatest among the Valar, the kind of work that could be undertaken once and only once.

In spite of these daunting thoughts, Yavanna was eager to tap the creative forces of nature once more. She was grateful for this opportunity to balance out the destruction wrought in the War of Wrath. When she met Vána to set off for the new island, she could feel that the other Valië was having similar feelings. Naturally, joy and anticipation were always part of Vána's being, but it had been a long time since she had radiated both so openly.

The island was, as yet, a rough and bare lump of solidified lava, surrounded by a sea still choppy from the upheaval in its depths and the changes in its currents. The volcano that Aulë had used to raise the land now lay dormant and peaceful. Yavanna looked up at its lofty summit and could not help feeling a sense of awe. Sky-high and steep, the mountain rose up like a link between heaven and earth. An eagle cried somewhere high above, circling the peak, then joined by another great bird, and another. Yavanna smiled to herself. Clearly Manwë had thought the same.

But there was no time for sightseeing now. Vána had already begun to enliven the black rock with the first pioneer mosses, and Yavanna hurried to join her in creating further plants that could gradually prepare the way for ferns and shrubs. Together, the two Valier simulated the passing of the seasons in a single day, adding layer upon layer of hardy, modest plants that thrived and died and decomposed in a matter of weeks until the soil was thick and rich, welcoming the seeds that Yavanna had brought, the bugs and earthworms she hummed into life. Flowers began to bloom and trees began to rise. Closing her eyes, reaching deep within her soul to access the eternal melodies created so long ago, Yavanna summoned the first vertebrates.

When the two Valier left the island, they were worn and exhausted to the core; Estë and Irmo had to steady them on their way back. But the formerly barren rock around the high volcanic cone was now ready to welcome its human inhabitants. Lush and verdant and teeming with life: the Land of Gift.

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