DISORDER: Chaos Theory

SUMMARY: A day in the life of the Lord of Mandos.

WARNING: Not as serious as you might think.

****

Vairë paused in her weaving and looked up to see her beloved standing at the doorway of her workshop, looking somewhat frazzled.

"Is there something wrong, my love?" she asked.

It was rare for the Lord of Mandos to look anything but cool, confident, and uncrinkled. Today, however, appeared to be one of those rare days. Námo’s blue-black hair was mussed, his front braids lopsided. His midnight blue velvet tunic looked as if he’d slept in it for the last two yéni, and his expression could only be called ‘haunted’.

He was also dripping wet.

"Why do you ask?" he asked diffidently, vainly trying to put his braids in some order and to smooth out his tunic.

Vairë glanced at the puddle forming around her spouse’s feet and looked up with a smile. "Oh, I just wondered. You rarely visit me in my workshop this time of day. I thought perhaps...."

Námo sighed and came further into the room, plopping down on a bench near the door. His garb made a squelching noise as he did so and he looked slightly embarrassed at the sound. Vairë gave him a shrewd look.

"Mortal or Elven?"

"Wh-what?" Námo tried to focus on his spouse, unsure of her meaning.

"Is it one of the Mortals or is it one of the Firstborn giving you grief?" she clarified.

"Oh... um... Elves," he answered.

"Anyone in particular?" Vairë asked with not a little exasperation at Námo’s unhelpful replies.

Námo blushed. "Sorry. I guess I’m a bit... flustered."

Vairë nodded and got up to sit next to her husband, handing him a towel. "Go on," she said.

"Well... everything was going well," Námo began as he wiped his face. "The Mortals weren’t any more trouble than usual and several were actually ready to leave the Circles of Arda. Tindomerel was handling the logistics of getting them into the boats, so I left her to it and went to the Mardi Winiron to see how the little ones were doing before moving onto the Mardi Envinyantiëo." He paused, grimacing. "That’s when things went... not as planned."

Vairë refrained from saying anything while Námo stared glumly at the wall opposite where they were sitting. It was adorned with one of Vairë’s tapestries showing a scene from the time of the Darkening: the creation of Isil. It was one of his favorites and he never tired of looking at it. Now, however, he barely saw it, so wrapped up in the memory of the last few hours.

"I knew the minute I walked into the main hall that there was trouble," he finally said.

"How did you know?" Vairë asked.

The Lord of Mandos turned and gave her a sour smile. "Maranwë was perched on the top of the fountain looking decidedly unhappy."

Vairë felt her eyebrows leave her forehead in surprise. "Why?"

"My question exactly...."

****

The Lord of Mandos stopped in surprise when he saw his Chief Maia clinging rather precariously atop the statue that graced the fountain in this particular hall. It was a statue of Námo with a butterfly in his outstretched hand. Maranwë was sitting on the statue’s head. Námo casually walked up to the fountain and stared up with interest at the Maia, who was clearly embarrassed. "Let me guess: Glorfindel? Findaráto? Or no, the both of them."

Maranwë could only nod miserably.

"Anything I need to know before I go after them?" he said as he gestured for the Maia to come down.

"Only that they are just becoming more and more impossible, lord," Maranwë said, as he started to climb down from his perch. "Calimo and Vanimeldë have both threatened to take oath with one of the other Valar."

"Indeed? Anyone in particular or just whomever they happen upon first?" Námo looked more amused than offended. It seemed that ever since Glorfindel had wakened and joined the other fëar waiting to be Reborn at least one of his Maiar was always threatening to leave his service. Once Findaráto had befriended the former Balrog-slayer the two Noldor had been wreaking havoc right and left. "I will refrain from asking why you were up there," Námo said, glancing briefly at the statue, "but I don’t want to see it happening again."

"Yes, lord," Maranwë said humbly, giving Námo a deep bow.

"Which direction were they headed?"

The Maia pointed towards an arch to his right and Námo nodded. "Carry on with your duties," he ordered as he traversed the space and passed through the arch, never noticing the slight grin on Maranwë’s face.

****

Námo looked around at the hall through which he was traversing, frowning suspiciously. It was quiet... too quiet. There should have been Elven fëar roaming the corridors, singing or playing or just quietly talking, but there was no one, not even any of his Maiar.

"Where is everyone?" he asked rhetorically as he rounded a corner to find himself facing a stampede of seemingly frightened Elves. The fact that they were incorporeal did not deter them from running over the Lord of Mandos in their fright. Námo suddenly found himself on his back staring up at the ceiling and it took him several seconds before he noticed that two of his People were standing over him with looks of concern on their faces.

"Forgive us, lord," Morinehtar said as he offered Námo a hand. "We did not know you were there."

"What is going on?" Námo demanded as he got to his feet. "Why were those Children running as if Melkor’s minions were after them?"

"Er... well," stuttered Elemmartamirë, stealing glances at her fellow Maia, "the truth is, lord, that... um... well...."

"Elemmartamirë," Námo said, not sure if he should be alarmed or annoyed and settling on just being faintly amused, "in all the ages in which you have been in my service I have never seen you at a loss for words. Do not disappoint me now."

The Maia blushed. "Forgive me, lord, it’s just that we knew not what else to do to stop them from following Findaráto and Glorfindel into the... um... lower levels except to... er... pull a Wrath-of-Mandos on them."

Now Námo was seriously alarmed. "Why would they... no... forget that. What are Findaráto and Glorfindel doing in the lower levels and how did they even know where to find them?"

"That we do not know, lord," Morinehtar said. "We didn’t even know they were missing until we noticed several of the other Elves heading in this direction. When we realized where they were going, we... well... we did the first thing we could think of to stop them."

"We just didn’t think they would actually run you over, lord," Elemmartamirë offered apologetically, looking very contrite.

Námo sighed. He had not been sanguine about releasing Glorfindel from healing sleep as early as he was and having to undergo Judgment. The Lord of Mandos would have been happy if Glorfindel and Findaráto had never met within these Halls. Separately, they were both forces to be reckoned with. Together, they were a menace to civilization as the Amaneldi knew it, not to mention a threat to the sanity of the Valar, especially this particular Vala.

"Very well," he said. "Go after the Children and make sure they are well. If I have to put half of them into healing sleep over this, you two will be spending the next three ages ushering the Mortals into the boats taking them from the Circles of Arda."

Both Maiar cringed as they gave their lord their obeisance. It had to be the most boring task any of them could think of and they always dreaded it when their duty rotation brought them to that particular chore.

Satisfied that he’d gotten his point across, Námo nodded and headed down the hallway after two errant Elven fëar. Had he bothered to look back he would have been astounded to see his two Maiar surrounded by the very Elves who had run him over.

"Were we convincing enough, Morinehtar?" asked one of the Elves nervously.

The Maia smiled warmly at them. "You were all splendid. Thank you," he said. "Now off you go and play."

The Elves needed no other encouragement and soon they were fast in a game of catch-me, even getting the two Maiar involved in the game.

****

Námo strode down one corridor after another, taking several stairs down into the lower levels where few went. These levels were reserved for those Elves who had refused Judgment outright even though they had heeded Námo’s summons. Fëanáro and most of his sons were unhappily ensconced here as were a few others. Somewhat further down in the lowest depths was the cell where Melkor had been held. None of the fëar who were destined to be Reborn should have been able to find their way here. Even most of Námo’s Maiar never ventured into the chthonic depths of Mandos where it truly lived up to its name.

Somehow Findaráto and Glorfindel had managed to find the door that led into the nether regions. Námo was beginning to suspect that they might have had help but could not imagine any of his People giving it. He came to a central hall where three other passages met and paused to get his bearings. Further down on his right were the cells reserved for Eöl and Maeglin and a few others who had proven traitorous to their lords. He doubted his two wanderers would have gone down there. It was dark and unwelcoming, not to mention the fact that had they gone that way they would have been caught by the grim Maiar guarding the cells and delivered into Námo’s hands by now. The passage to his left was unfinished and dead-ended after only a few hundred feet. He vaguely recalled thinking of expanding Mandos in that direction once upon a time, but had decided against it, opting to expand elsewhere. That left the passage he was facing and that led straight for...

"Oh for the love of Atar!" he muttered as he hurried down the corridor into a large round hall, its further walls and the ceiling lost in gloom. In the center was a dais made of obsidian upon which sat a black granite throne with his emblem of the Sun-in-Eclipse carved on its back. It was, in fact, the place from which he often sat in judgment of the more recalcitrant of the Elves who came to him. Its intimidation factor was quite…immediate. Few Elves stood before this particular throne without a great degree of trepidation.

Such was not the case with the two Elves who were climbing all over the throne in obvious curiosity.

"I don’t remember this place, do you?" Glorfindel was asking Findaráto even as he was climbing the back of the throne to sit on top of it.

Findaráto shook his head. He was sitting on the throne seat, which was actually not built to elvish measurements but to Valarin ones, so his feet didn’t quite reach the floor. He looked, in fact, rather ridiculous to Námo’s eyes. "It reminds me of something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it," the former king of Nargothrond replied.

"Well, it’s rather large," Glorfindel commented. "Do you think Lord Námo sits here whenever he wants to pretend he’s Lord Manwë?"

Findaráto nearly fell out of the throne in laughter and Glorfindel giggled. Námo decided he’d heard enough and made his presence known.

"Children," he said in sepulchral tones. "You should not be here."

Glorfindel gave a squeak of fright and fell off his perch, disappearing from view. Findaráto scrambled out of the seat and ran behind the throne. Námo raised an eyebrow in amusement, not sure if the elf was attempting to hide or had gone to help his friend. When, after a few seconds, neither ellon showed himself he gathered it was the latter.

"Come out, both of you," he commanded and when there was still no sign of them, he sighed and stepped behind the throne, stopping in surprise when he realized that they weren’t cowering in fright as he had expected. In fact, they weren’t there at all! Looking about, he realized they’d snuck away, ingeniously keeping the throne between him and them as they made their escape down another corridor. Being incorporeal, they had made no sound when they moved.

"If they weren’t already dead," Námo muttered, beginning to get annoyed, "I would kill them all over again… slowly."

The odd thing about the throne room was that no matter which corridor one took out of it, one always ended up back in the main hall on this level. It took no time at all for Námo to realize that the two Elves had not retraced their steps back to the Halls of Renewal but had gone down the other corridor where grim-faced Maiar guarded certain cells. Námo almost smiled at the thought of the two ellyn being intimidated by these particular Maiar.

His smile fled when he finally found them. The Maiar who guarded this hall were specially chosen for their lack of humor and dedication to their work. They were not easily swayed by their charges and they exhibited a grim sort of satisfaction in keeping the Elves cowed. Neither Glorfindel nor Findaráto appeared at all cowed. Findaráto in fact, was chatting up to Aicatirno as if they were old friends, while Glorfindel was jumping up and down in front of some of the other Maiar trying to see into the cells, which was rather hard to do with a sword-bearing Maia blocking his way, not to mention there were no windows in the cell doors.

"So why do you have to guard them?" Findaráto was asking. "Anyone I know?"

"Or me?" Glorfindel piped in, still trying to see past the imposing figure of Hurinórënámo who stood there as if made of the very stone of which Mandos was built. Aicatirno refused to answer Findaráto’s queries, and indeed, the ellon was not giving him any chance to answer anyway, as one curious question followed immediately upon another:

"Do you get tired standing about all day doing nothing? Is that a real sword or just pretend? Can I look at it? How long do you have to stand here? Are you being punished, too? Lord Námo punished me once by making me stay in my sleeping chamber for just forever. I was soooo bored! Aren’t you bored? Why…."

"Children, come to me now," Námo said in tones that actually made the grim-faced Maiar pale slightly.

The two elves stopped and stared at the Lord of Mandos blocking their escape, for this hall also came to a dead-end a few cells further on. They cringed at the sight of him but obeyed readily enough, knowing they had been truly caught. Námo gave the Maiar a considering look and then nodded. The Maiar each gave their lord a single nod in return. Námo then turned around and ushered the two Elves away.

Findaráto turned and gave the still silent Maiar a wave. "Namarië," he said softly.

Glorfindel also looked back with a smile.

Had Námo bothered to look back himself he might have just caught the hint of a smile on each of the Maiar’s faces and have seen Hurinórënámo waggle his fingers at them in farewell. However, he was more intent on returning these two to their proper hall. They made it as far as the main hall where Námo had found Maranwë when Glorfindel balked.

"I want to climb the statue like Maranwë did," he exclaimed and slipped neatly out of the Vala’s reach and started to do just that.

"Oh no you don’t," Námo exclaimed as he grabbed Glorfindel.

The ellon gave a squawk of anger. "You’re a… a ninny!" he proclaimed at the top of his voice as he struggled in Námo’s hold.

Námo gave him a shake. "Silence!" he commanded, but just then Findaráto started beating on him while Glorfindel continued to thrash about.

"Don’t hurt Glorfi!" he screamed. "Don’t hurt my gwador!"

Between Glorfindel thrashing about and Findaráto beating on him somehow the Lord of Mandos lost his balance and with a mighty splash found himself sitting in the fountain. Glorfindel managed at the last moment to slip out of his hold and Findaráto just stood there staring at him in shock. Then, before he could stop them, the two ellyn gave whoops of laughter and ran off again, thankfully back towards their own hall….

****

Vairë gave her spouse a sympathetic smile. "My poor beloved. No wonder you look so…"

"Wet?" Námo offered in a sarcastic tone.

"I was going to say ‘so upset’," Vairë corrected. "I think you’ve been working too hard lately. Perhaps you should take some time off. I’m sure your Maiar can handle things for a time."

"I’d like to know how those two managed to find their way to the lower levels," Námo said, ignoring his wife’s suggestion.

When Vairë remained silent, he gave her a searching look. "You didn’t," he exclaimed, frowning.

Vairë just smiled, refusing to say anything.

"Why?" he asked.

Vairë shrugged. "Why do you think?" she countered.

Námo stopped his retort and closed his mouth. Why, indeed? It wasn’t true what she had said about him working too hard, he’d just been rather busy lately. Still… while he had been chasing down the two elves he’d not been thinking of other things. It had almost been fun seeing what mischief those two Children were getting themselves into. He wondered if his Maiar were in on it and decided that perhaps they were. Visions of punishment details began to formulate in his head, but then he shook it and sighed. "Those two are still a menace," he said.

"To Aman?" Vairë asked in all innocence.

Námo gave her a sour look. "To me."

His wife gave a silvery laugh and stood up. "Go dry off, dear," she said as she went back to her loom and began weaving again. "Remember, there’s always tomorrow."

The Lord of Mandos stood. "That’s what I’m afraid of," he muttered as he stalked out of the workshop trying to make a dignified exit in spite of the sloshing sounds he made while walking.

The Weaver of Arda paused in her work, giving her beloved a fond look as Námo left. Phase one of her plan to get her spouse to lighten up a bit and relax more had been partly successful. Now she needed to work on phase two. As she returned to her weaving she began to plot how best to use the two Elves who were presently the bane of Námo’s existence to good effect....

****

All words are Quenya.

Mardi Winiron: Halls of Children.

Mardi Envinyantiëo: Halls of Healing.

Amaneldi: Elves of Aman, specifically those who never rebelled against the Valar.

Fëar: Plural of Fëa: "Spirit, soul".

Námo’s Maiar:

Aicatirno: "Fell Watcher".

Calimo: "Shining One".

Elemmartamirë: "Star-fated Jewel".

Hurinórënámo: "Hidden Heart of the Judge".

Maranwë: "Destiny", Námo’s Chief Maia.

Morinehtar: "Darkness Slayer".

Tindomerel: "Daughter of Twilight", a kenning for Nightingale.

Vanimeldë: "Beautiful Dear One".