“Does Arien trouble you, my love?” Varda chuckled, noting how Manwë had been furiously swiping running sweat from his skin with a small towel upon returning from his day-full sojourn among the Elves of Vanyamar. He had taken a form not unlike the Firstborn in all measures and now paid the cost.

 “It is her nature,” he grunted, his tone a half-hearted complaint.

 “What news from the city?” Varda queried, steering the conversation away from the delicate subject. “You blocked your mind.”

 “I wanted to know how to be an Elf,” Manwë said evasively. “True incarnate beings have limited mental abilities; you know that.”

 Varda raised an elegant eyebrow.

 “Let us not speak of it now, shall we? I am still tired.”

 The second eyebrow joined the first, creating a perfect line on Varda’s fair face.

 In short, they were ensconced in an open courtyard located in the northern part of their abode in Ilmarin. There, in the middle of the flagstone yard carved with vine patterns, sat a fountain. Water sprouted from a hole on its midst, creating a shape of cool geyser akin to a blooming rose which was visible even from a horizontal view. Bushes of white, yellow, orange, pink, red, green and indigo roses lined its inner edges, forever watered by the soft spray that landed on them. The bushes, put in pots, were placed on the wall of arranged black river stones which formed a step lower than the outer edge. Visitors, those who would not mind their clothes snagged by a few thorns, usually sat on the outer edge, enjoying the cool breeze that resulted from the proximity to the fountain.

 Manwë had another plan, though.

 He lifted a few pots then lined them on the ‘visitors’ bench’. Afterwards, he changed his clothing with a single thought into a light sleeveless tunic and breeches. When Varda asked why he had done so, his immediate answer was a secretive smile.

 After all, not a moment later she saw the answer for herself.

 The Lord of the Winds climbed onto the outer edge, then descended to sit on the inner one, letting his lower legs dangle in the churning and bubbling cool water. Spray from the fountain created a cool mist which wafted around him and soothed his hröa and fëa at once.

 But it was not enough, apparently, for then he made a gentle breeze blow from opposite him, bringing the larger water drops to him… and to Varda who was standing behind his back. `Ah… The joy of the wind and the water…` he said to no one, trying to ignore his disbelieving, fuming spouse behind him. He heard Varda growl and Ulmo chuckle playfully.

 `You are treading the edge of a knife, brother,` the Lord of the Waters commented only to his best friend. `You realise that you are going to face her wrath later, do you not?`

 `I shall take the risk. I need the respite.` Manwë flicked the concern away. Indeed, in times like this, the rose fountain, as the Maiar in his service called it, was the best place to relax… and to cool himself down – literally and figuratively.