SECRET and SILENT: The Oathkeeper

SUMMARY: Keeping the oaths of others is not easy. Eönwë must make a difficult decision concerning one such oath.

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Aman, Year of the Two Trees 1400:

Eönwë, Herald of Manwë and Oathkeeper to the Valar, stepped into the windowless room and walked unerringly in the dark towards the ambo where a large blue leather-bound tome sat. A chest-high candleholder topped with a fat white candle stood beside the ambo. With a simple gesture, a flame appeared, giving the room some illumination. He stared at the tapestry that graced the wall before him. It was the only other furnishing in an otherwise bare room.

He remembered when the events depicted in the storied web took place. It had been the very first time he had acted in his official office as Oathkeeper. It had been both exhilarating and frightening — exhilarating, because he was just becoming aware of the true purpose for which Atar had created him; frightening for the same reason.

He sighed, and glanced idly at the tome before him, running a finger lightly across its embossed cover. Impressed into the leather was a seal: within a double ring was the Flame Imperishable and within the ring were the words: Aistainë nántë i himyar vandantar, an óravuvantë námientassë.

How many Children were saved by this simple thing: to abide by and honor one’s oaths to others and especially to Atar? A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. The Book of Oaths, in fact, was not necessary, but it served a purpose as a visual reminder to the Children of his office. He had to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed pulling it out of thin air and, with all the studied calm of a clerk noting someone’s misdeeds before the High King’s court, proceed to record whatever oath had been uttered. He also enjoyed pretending he needed to look a particular oath up, slowly perusing the pages while the person sweated before him.

None of that was necessary. He had perfect recall and every oath ever uttered was indelibly imprinted upon his memory. It was fun nonetheless. There were times though.....

He sighed again, shaking his head. Unfortunately for him, the Children were not the only ones whose oaths he recorded. He stepped around the ambo and walked towards the tapestry, mentally sending a thought ahead to unlock the door which was its true nature. Only one other person knew of this hidden chamber....

****

*Thou dost hold the oaths of all my Children, Eönwë,* Atar said to him shortly after Lord Námo had accepted the oaths of Lady Vairë's Máyar until she could be rescued from Melkor’s clutches. *And I do mean all.*

*Even those of my brethren?* he asked fearfully, not sure he really wanted such an awesome responsibility.

*Yes, child. Not only thy brethren among the Máyar but among the Ayanumuz as well... and among those who have fallen to Melkor’s blandishments.*

Now Eönwë blanched. *No, Atar, please!* he protested. The thought of remembering the oaths of his masters as well as those of the Enemy... no, he couldn’t do that. How could he and remain sane?

*Hush now, child,* Atar admonished him gently. *If I did not think thou wert not strong enough to bear such a burden I would not have given unto thee this gift.*

*Gift! You call this a gift?* Now Eönwë was becoming angry. *A curse, rather.*

*Nay, child,* Atar replied with grave serenity. *It is a gift, one that will prove useful in the future. For now, merely accept it.*

*Yes, Atar,* he responded meekly, for what true choice did he have, other than to rebel against Atar and join with Melkor and he would never do that.

Eons later, as the Children would measure time, while Ilmarin was being constructed, Eönwë had requested this room built to certain specifications. Lord Manwë had granted the request and asked no questions, for which his Herald was eternally grateful. He then went to Lady Vairë and asked that she make the tapestry showing her lord accepting the oaths of her People, to which she readily agreed, though she looked at him askance when he made one small additional request concerning it. Once the room was finished, only he had the key to unlock the door. Only he knew about the second chamber, a chamber not of this dimension but imbedded within the very fabric of the tapestry itself. Even Vairë did not know of it; she only wove in the key that unlocked the door to the dimension....

****

He stepped into the tapestry itself and found himself in another room that was almost a mirror image of the other, save that there were two ambos and two Books. A single candleholder stood between them. There was nothing else in this room, not even another tapestry. When he needed to leave, he would simply think himself out, automatically locking the door behind him.

Walking up to the ambos and mentally lighting the candle, he stared at the two tomes. One was bound in white leather, the other in black. Like the tome in the other room, both had the embossed seal of the Flame Imperishable within a double ring. He remembered when Atar had instructed him on how to construct this particular room and why....

****

*This chamber is not to be mentioned to anyone,* Atar told him the first time he had tried the key leading into this other dimension.

"Not even to Lord Manwë?" he asked aloud, feeling somewhat disturbed. To hide something from his liege lord, to perhaps even to have to lie to him about it....

*Nay, child,* Atar rejoined gently. *I require thee not to dissemble before my vice-gerent. Yet, there are things not of his purview and he is wise enough to recognize this and will ask thee no questions. He knows, for I have told him, that thine office is a sacred trust between me and thee.*

"Why this chamber, Atar? Why should not all three Books be held in the outer chamber?"

*The outer chamber is for the sake of the Mirroanwi, but this chamber is for those who once dwelt in the Timeless Halls and their fate is different from those of my other Children. Any of the Ayanumuz, especially Lord Námo or Lord Manwë, may call upon thee to reveal an oath uttered by one of the Mirroanwi, but no one, not even my vice-gerent, shall have the authority to see the contents of these two Books. For this reason, only thou shalt have access to this chamber. It must forever remain a secret between me and thee....*

****

He glanced at the white-leather Book, a finger tracing the double ring as he idly read what was embossed on the front, for the words were not the same as those imprinted on the blue Book: Qui nályë voronda pitya engwinen, lil nauva antaina elyen.

Yes, he had been faithful, or had tried to be, in all things pertaining to his sacred office, but it had not always been easy. He glanced at the black Book. He hated this book with all his being. He hated that it existed, but more, he hated that he had to deal with it at all. Again, the words imprinted within the double ring were different and they were the only thing about this Book that pleased him: Mana hlussaina i-óressë nauva ramaina i-mallessen.

He reluctantly opened the tome and stared at the first page and wished he could just walk away. He wished he could just forget. "His words are lies," he whispered fiercely and with great anger. "His oaths are false."

*Yes, they are.*

"Yet Lord Manwë believes them."

*Yes, he doth.*

"And I cannot tell him the truth."

*No, thou canst not.*

"I have never questioned my need to keep silent about the oaths which I record, Atar, until now. Lord Manwë deserves to know the truth about Melkor."

*Perhaps, but that truth will not come from thee, child. That is not in thy purview.*

"But, Atar, he will destroy us with his lies," Eönwë objected. "Already there is unrest among the Noldor who listen to his honeyed speech, never suspecting the poison hidden behind his every smile."

*That may be true as well, Eönwë, but again I say unto thee, that is not thy purview. Thy task is to record the oaths uttered by all, nothing more.*

Eönwë shook his head. They had had this same discussion more than once, and it always ended the same way — with him acquiescing to Atar’s wishes little though he liked it. He sighed and took a quill out of the air and began writing in the book, his fëa cringing with every false word he recorded, wishing someone else could take this awful burden from him. With every word he wrote of Melkor’s lies, he felt soiled and unclean.

*Never that, child,* Atar said gently, sending a wave of pure Love as Eönwë shut the Book with some relief, closing his eyes and reveling in the feeling of being cleansed of the psychic filth that always seemed to cling to his fëa whenever he had to record anything in the black Book. *Remember, Eönwë, I chose thee for a very special reason. However painful or unpalatable thy task, know that I am always beside thee, supporting thee. A day will come when thou shalt stand before all in my Name and read the accounts and I assure thee, in that time there will be a reckoning and a vindication of thine office.*

"Thank you, Atar," the Maia said with simple sincerity. He felt the smile that seemed to follow Atar’s words.

*Thou art a good and faithful child, Eönwë, in whom I am well pleased, therefore I think I will give thee a gift.*

"A-a gift?"

*Yes. In Tirion there are elflings at play, pretending to be fierce warriors. One of them is named Laurefindil and he is about to utter an oath of loyalty to one of Ñolofinwë’s sons, one that all of them will speak, but only his wilt thou record, for only his will be spoken with utter sincerity, young as he is.*

Eönwë felt himself smiling. He always enjoyed recording the simple heart-felt oaths of elflings, for they were spoken in unselfconscious fervor and it gave him much joy to record them. And he had to admit, even after two hundred and sixty-seven years of the Trees, seeing the elflings at play was a joy and a wonder to him. To have the chance to record this one’s oath was indeed a gift and a blessing. "That I will do gladly, Atar," he replied, blowing out the candle and thinking himself out of the hidden chamber. In the outer chamber he blew out that candle and headed for the door.

*Don’t forget the Book.*

Eönwë stopped and laughed. In his excitement to record little Laurefindil’s oath he had completely forgotten his prop. Not that the elfling or any of the other Children would see it, but any Maia or Vala in the vicinity would recognize that the Herald of Manwë was about his proper duties as Oathkeeper and offer him their respects. He took the Book up and, humming a cheerful tune, exited the Chamber of Oaths with a smile.

****

Námo looked up from the tome he was perusing in the scriptorium of Ilmarin and saw Eönwë walk past, clutching the blue Book and humming to himself. He had seen the same Maia walk by earlier on his way to the Chamber of Oaths, his demeanor grave and heartrendingly sad. He nodded to himself as the Maia continued on his way, unaware of Námo’s scrutiny.

*He recorded it then,* Námo bespoke to Atar.

*Yes, he did.*

Námo sighed and had anyone seen him then they would have quailed at the absolute coldness of his expression. There would have been no doubt that they were in the presence of the Doomsman of Arda.

*A heavy burden,* was his only comment.

*No less heavy than thine own, my son, and one which he beareth with as much grace as dost thou.*

*And Melkor?*

*Child,* came the soft admonishment, *dost thou need ask? Hast thou not yet learned that I tell no one’s story but their own?*

Now Námo’s mouth quirked into a small smile. *Oh, I know, Atar. You cannot blame an Ayanuz for trying, though.*

Laughter trickled into Eä from the Timeless Halls as Námo returned to his perusal of his own Book of Prophecies, unconsciously humming the same tune as Eönwë had.

****

All words and phrases are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Aistainë nántë i himyar vandantar, an óravuvantë námientassë: ‘Blessed are they who abide by their oaths, for they shall have mercy in their Judgment’.

Máyar: An older form of Maiar.

Ayanumuz: (Valarin) Plural of Ayanuz: a Vala or Valië.

Mirroanwi: Incarnates, i.e. Elves and Mortals.

Qui nályë voronda pitya engwinen, lil nauva antaina elyen: ‘If thou art faithful with small matters, more will be given thee’.

Mana hlussaina i-óressë nauva ramaina i-mallessen: ‘What is whispered in the inner most heart will be shouted in the streets’.

Ñolofinwë: The Quenya form of Fingolfin. The son in question is Turucáno, who would be known in later history as Turgon.

Author’s Notes:

1. The scene depicted in the tapestry is in reference to my story Wars of the Valar, Chapter 9 "Rescue Run".

2. Vice-gerent: an actual word used by Tolkien to describe Manwë’s role in Arda. It has a meaning similar to ‘vice-regent’, i.e. a person appointed by a ruler or head of state to act as an administrative deputy.

3. 267 years of the Trees is equivalent to almost 2,558 solar years.

4. In the Year 1400 of the Two Trees, Melkor was released from Mandos after three ages (300 years of the Trees or 2,874 solar years) as promised by Manwë:

‘Beyond the gates of Valmar Melkor abased himself at the feet of Manwë and sued for pardon, vowing that if he might be made the least of the free people of Valinor he would aid the Valar in all their works....And Nienna aided his prayers; but Mandos was silent.

‘Then Manwë granted him pardon.... and it seemed to Manwë that the evil of Melkor had been cured. For Manwë was free from evil and could not comprehend it.... and he saw not to the depths of Melkor’s heart, and did not perceive that all love had departed from him forever.’ — The Silmarillion, Chapter 6, "Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor"