II

Unsettling News

When the hobbits had gone through the appropriate door, with Varda telling them something of how they were supplied with provender, Manwë gestured to the five servants, dismissing them for the time being.  They bowed their acknowledgment before departing.  

The Vala then turned back to his herald.  “Now, would you please explain what you meant when you said that only 'some' are anxious to express their reactions?"

“Yes, that piques my curiosity as well,” Olórin said as he refilled his teacup, an attempt at nonchalance.

Eönwë sighed.  “I cannot say how serious this is, but I thought you should be told.  While most of the Eldar who witnessed your memories considered them remarkable and worthy of respect, a few have taken a strangely unexpected interpretation.”

The Istar was puzzled.  “About my confrontation with the Balrog or my death?”

“Neither, precisely.  It is not your death that is the issue, but rather what our Father said to you about it, that because you had been bound to the body of a Mortal Man, your fate after death was that of a Man.”

“But only after a fashion,” Olórin pointed out.

Eönwë nodded.  “Yes, I know that is what He said.  But some of the Elves have taken it to mean that what you experienced is what all Mortals experience.  They believe that from this evidence, the Gift of Men is to be taken directly into the presence of Eru Ilúvatar after death, without the risk of any true judgment for their crimes or misdeeds.”

Both brothers were shocked.  “But they know from their own lore that this is not so,” Manwë stated flatly.  “As their own fëar are called to Mandos upon the death of their bodies, so too are those of humankind; it is only after they have passed through Námo’s realm that they go on to their fate beyond the circles of the world.  Even we do not know precisely what that fate might be, though we do know that ultimately, it is indeed a gift.  I believe that some part of it is a chance for them to spend a time with our Father, free from the pains and travails of life in mortal flesh, but I do not know for certain.”

OlórinOlórin agreed.  "I went to the Timeless Halls — our home beyond Arda, not that of Men; there were none but Ainur there.  Surely they saw this in the memories I shared!”

“They did,” the herald confirmed.  “But how they chose to interpret it is another matter entirely.  While most of the Eldar felt honored to share your experience of your brief return to the Timeless Halls, some were angered by what they perceived as evidence that while Men were the Secondborn of Eru, they are His favored Children, and will become Ainur after death.”

“What evidence?” Manwë asked, as Olórin was too appalled to speak.

Eönwë toyed with the edge of his napkin, watching his fingertip as it traced over the raised embroidery designs. “Aside from the presence of only Ainur in that part of Olórin memory?"  He sighed.  "Though the Elves were born first and given the gift of immortality within Arda — as well as other great gifts of mind and body the other Children will never know — they are forever trapped here, while Arda as they know it endures.  When they die, their fëar go to the Halls of Waiting, and if they are not among those few whose transgressions and lack of remorse will keep them there until the End, they are reborn to a life still within the bounds of this world.  Mortals, on the other hand, pass through Mandos and are freed from the circles of the world.  They are not condemned to remain here.  Even if the notion that Men become Ainur after death is incorrect -- and I am certain that it is -- their fate is still to move beyond existence here, into some greater unknown.  The Elves cannot escape this world, or their fate within it.  Like us, they are doomed to remain here until the End — but theirs was not a freely made choice, as ours was.” 

He looked up into the other’s faces, meeting their eyes directly.  “If we, who have the freedom to shed our fanar and travel to places within Eä that they cannot go are beginning to chafe with boredom, how much more must this effect the Eldar, who are still confined to this one place, this one world?  To those with endless life, even the Blessed Realm is not so blessed, when each day is but a copy of the one before.  How long will it take before the comfortable boundaries of one's home become seen as the walls of one's prison?”

Only the sound of distant wind chimes and water softly splashing in the garden fountain disturbed the silence that fell upon the room.  At length, Olórin sighed.  “Well, this at least is not unexpected.  The Elven loremasters have long recognized that in time, immortality will become a burden and a great weariness, even for many of the Ainur.”

Manwë’s nod was heavy.  “But it surprises me that some are beginning to feel that weariness so soon.  I know in my heart that we are far from the Dagor Dagorath.”  He turned to Eönwë.  “Is this a common feeling among the Eldar?”

“It depends on how you define common,” the herald replied.  “There are certainly many Elves who feel somewhat bored with their day to day lives, but only a few feel that boredom so strongly that it chafes them and prompts them into jealousy toward Mortals.  It does not concern me that such feelings exist among them, but I fear they are beginning to nurture them into an unhealthy resentment, like Fëanor’s.  I have no wish to see their boredom broken by the madness of another war — whether it is against us, or against their own kin.”

All three agreed with that sentiment.  “Do you know the names of those who are most upset?” the Elder King asked.

“Most of them, at least among those who came to Valmar for Eruhantalë.  I imagine that there are others among those who did not come who will react in a similar fashion once they hear the news.”

“Then perhaps we should do something to defuse the situation before it becomes more widespread and volatile,” Olórin said thoughtfully.

Manwë considered the Maia’s expression, which clearly showed that his mind was already working on the problem.  “And what would you suggest, my brother?”

A strange hardness flickered in Eönwë’s eyes for a moment, but Olórin smiled.  “Nothing other than the obvious,” he replied.  “Though Father moved Aman so that it is no longer reachable by those upon Arda itself, it is not so small a land as it has become in the minds of many who live here — the Elves in particular.  When they think of Aman, they think only of those parts that they knew of before the One sundered it from Arda.  Yet we who fashioned and helped to nurture this world know that it is far greater than that.”

“Very true,” Manwë said reflectively.  “Those regions are actually a small part of the entire landmass of this continent, perhaps only a tenth of it.  When Eru removed Aman to this plane it now inhabits, some thought that only the inhabited areas and a portion of the environs beyond were included.  We know, of course, that what He moved was not an actual piece of the world — for the resulting cataclysm would have destroyed much of Arda.  The Elves would think of this world as a duplicate Arda, made so by Eru, with that part of it known as Aman fashioned in precisely the same way, so that once the move was accomplished, we would have the same hills and trees and creatures and climate as they knew before, along with all they and we have built.  Yet there would also be dangers that they did not know, since beyond the borders of Aman, this world was wholly new and only marginally habitable, because the move needed to be made too soon, thanks to Sauron's corruption of the Númenoreans.  Even the greatest of their loremasters and scientists do not comprehend the concept of the co-existence of dimensional planes, and that they would not of necessity be in identical stages of formation.”  He chuckled. “Sometimes, I think my own comprehension of it is very tenuous.”

“Which is why we have not attempted to explain any of this to the Children,” Eönwë reminded him.  “If some took poorly to what Olórin showed them of his memories yesterday because of their own fancies about the nature of Men, how do you think they will react if they are told that there is an entire world beyond Aman of which they know nothing?  One they cannot be permitted to enter, not yet?”

“Not well, I imagine,” the Vala conceded.  “If they believe that they have been slighted by the fact that they were created to an immortal life within Time, they are likely to blame us for concealing our greater knowledge of this world and view it as an attempt to keep them imprisoned.  This has already occurred to us, and we have been working on a way to allow them to eventually ‘find’ the truth on their own.  Truly, if it were not for the fact that since Aman was removed from the same physical plane as Endorë, much of the rest of this globe is not yet sufficiently habitable to allow for reasonably safe settlement by incarnates, we would have told them long ago.  At the moment, they would not comprehend the immense dangers.  But when those regions are adequately prepared — if not wholly tamed — we will allow them to discover these new lands on their own.  But that will not be for many years, even by the standards of an immortal.”

“Which I have always believed is a wise decision,” Olórin said with a nod.  “Although you might consider allowing the Elven kings and a few others to be privy to this information soon, so that they will know that this secret was kept for their own safety, not as an attempt to control and confine them.”

Eönwë also nodded.  “I agree.  There are several of their people who could be taken into one of the less hazardous regions so that they can see the dangers for themselves and reach their own conclusions as to the currently inhospitable nature of the land.  It would not take very long for them to realize that for now, the rest of this world is simply too harsh to be survivable, even for the mightiest of the Eldar.”

Manwë considered this for a moment or two.  “Yes, that may well be the wisest course to pursue.  I will take it up with the others very soon.  Yet even if they concur, it still will not solve our current potential problem.”

“That was not what I had in mind,” Olórin said.  He pushed himself away from the table and rose to pace toward the garden windows, his thoughts racing as he examined the possibilities that had presented themselves to him.  Still in a thoughtful mien, he paced back toward the table, but did not sit again.  “If the rather stagnant nature of their lives is a major contributing factor in those Elves who are beginning to view their immortality as a punishment or curse, then a possible solution is to end the stagnation.”

Eönwë snorted softly.  “The last time they tried to do that, it ended in war.”

“Only because we did not know how much the whisperings of Melkor had poisoned Fëanor’s mind and heart. We were familiar with strife and battle, having fought Melkor even before the Elves awakened, but we could not — did not want to imagine that any of the Firstborn would raise a weapon against their own kin, much less take the unthinkable step of actually killing them.”

Manwë’s sigh was heavy with remorse.  “For that, I take full blame.  Others warned me that Melkor was dangerous.  When Fëanor threatened Nolofinwë with death before their own father, it was plain that matters had already gone too far.  A weapon such as a sword is not meant for the hunting of game.”

Both Maiar were quick to contradict him.  “It is not,” Eönwë said first, “but it was not your fault that Fëanor was only too happy to learn its making from Melkor.  He may have been the greatest craftsman of the Elves, but Fëanor’s pride was the equal of Melkor’s, as was his folly.  None of the Valar were in any way to blame for his hypocrisy, cursing Melkor even as he eagerly learned from him the skills to slay his own kin, whose only wrong, if such it could be called, was to exist.”

Olórin stopped his pacing behind his empty chair.  “Last night, Manwë, you told me that Melkor was jealous of the Maiar, and in time all the other Ainur, because he felt our existence robbed him of our Father’s love.  You might say that he taught this evil attitude to Fëanor, but you would be wrong.  Fëanor’s jealousy was of his own making, and began long before you permitted Melkor his freedom.  Certainly, Melkor preyed upon his weakness — his jealous possessiveness toward his father — but it was already there to be exploited."

He shook his head.  "Indeed, if any are to blame for the sickness of mind and heart that claimed so many of that family, I would have to lay that guilt at the feet of Finwë.  He did nothing to teach Fëanor that it was not right for a son to love his father so much that he would not allow even a brother to express that same love; indeed, he helped foster such misguided thinking by failing to defend and support or even comfort his younger sons against the jealousy of his eldest.  If Finwë had been less besotted with his own firstborn and even a bit more attentive to the needs of the rest of his family, much of the tragedy of the First Age might never have come to pass.  You cannot take the blame for Melkor’s actions upon yourself.  You attempted to show him mercy when he had done naught to earn it, and the Noldor should have learned from your example.  Yet instead of rebuking him for threatening his brother's life, as a proper father ought to have done, Finwë chose to follow Fëanor into exile in Formenos, forcing Fingolfin to take up a crown he did not want.  If the Noldor became restless and unhappy in Finwë's absence and began to entertain notions of founding realms of their own because they had been abandoned by their rightful king, that is not your fault.”

“Olórin is right, my lord,” Eönwë said firmly.  “Those of us who love you know that you have bitterly regretted the evils that occurred after Melkor was released from his confinement in Mandos, but you are in no way responsible for his actions.  Evil marred Arda long before the Firstborn awakened, and it was made a part of the Music itself when Melkor chose to sing in discord.  You did not give him free will, and it was not your place to choose his paths.  You were given the responsibility of ruling Arda as its first king, but that never gave you the power — or the right — to dictate the choices each of us make.  You have dealt with what came of Melkor’s madness and Fëanor’s rebellion as well as any could have done.  It serves nothing to cling to a regret over something you could not have changed.”

Manwë remained still for what seemed a long moment; then he smiled, his blue eyes sparkling with pride.  “You are both wise, and generous,” he said, inclining his head to them in a gesture of respect and affection.  “I do know all these things — Varda and many of the other Valar have said as much, often enough — but I fear that in my heart, I will always wish things could have been different.  And I know you wish the same.”  

He took a deep breath, then released it in a soft sigh.  “So, Olórin, if you believe the way to rectify this resentment Eönwë has mentioned is to ease the growing boredom among the Elves, how do you suggest we go about it?”

The Istar took his seat again, but a kind of restless eagerness remained in his eyes.  “We of the Ainur may be familiar with the entire continent of Aman, but the Eldar are not.  It is time to allow them to expand beyond those regions with which they are familiar, and in which they may feel overly protected.  There is enough habitable space beyond the reaches of Valinor and Eldamar to occupy the need to explore and discover new things and places for those who are becoming restless, until it is safe to allow them to explore even further.”

The Vala leaned back in his chair as he considered this suggestion.  “And if they ask why we did not open these lands to them during the time of the Trees, when some of the younger Elves greatly wished to know the excitement and adventure of exploration, seeking for realms of their own, what do we tell them?”

Olórin spread his hands widely.  “The truth, of course.   Even the light of the Trees could not reach to all parts of this continent, just as it could not reach across the Sea to Endorë.  Melkor may not have spread his taint throughout all of Aman as deeply as he did through Middle-earth, but he lurked in parts of it that were not under the direct influence of the Valar before he fled again to the East, as did some of the Maiar who fell under the sway of his corruption. That darkness came with us into this new Arda, for his marring of the Music resonates throughout all of Ëa. Every Elf in Aman knows of Avathar, but few know that since the rising of the Sun and Moon, our people have worked very hard to cleanse those areas of evil, and it has been a long and difficult task.  Even now, they are not completely without dangers or hardships, but to those with courage and fortitude, they can be made habitable, just as those who went to Beleriand tamed that harsh and rugged land as best they could.  To those of the Eldar who are beginning to feel caged, it would offer a challenge that might be precisely what they need to dispel such restlessness.”

Manwë pondered this for a moment, then looked to Eönwë, one eyebrow arched.  “And do you agree with this as well?”

“Yes,” the herald said without hesitance.  “We have never deliberately kept the knowledge of Aman’s full breadth from the Eldar, and if they consult their own records, they will know it.  It is they who have forgotten, not we who have deliberately kept them in ignorance.  In the days of the Trees, it was common knowledge, and the simple fact that those who ventured into the shadowed regions never returned was enough to convince them that the dangers there were real, and should be avoided.”

The Vala acknowledged this.  “I know that Ingwë still remembers, and Arafinwë, but do any of the others?”

“Both Finrod and Galadriel already know the true extent of this continent,” Olórin answered readily, and with certainty.  When the others regarded him curiously, he explained.  “Avathar, of course, is common knowledge, but Finrod knew of the rest of it even before Fëanor’s revolt.  Oromë told him of it when he was but a child, full of questions.  He also knew that it would be a long time before any part of Aman beyond the light of the Trees was opened to them.  While Melkor remained free, he felt an unfamiliar land steeped in darkness was a terrible danger.  He had never been to Endorë, of course, but it was not a place unknown to the Eldar; indeed, their own kin still dwelt there beneath the stars.  Galadriel heard her brother's tales, and later learned more of it from Melian while she dwelt in Doriath, but by then, it was too late to go back, and she knew her destiny lay in Middle-earth.  There are others who still remember.  Turgon, Glorfindel, Fingon, Fingolfin — even Olwë and a number of the Teleri are aware that there are parts of this continent beyond the familiar bounds of Valinor and Eldamar.  Many others have forgotten, but a surprising number have not.  Even Círdan knows of it, from Ulmo and Ossë.”

Manwë smiled broadly.  “I have always felt that your fondness for the Eruhíni would prove to be a great asset to us, even if some of my brethren have considered it a peculiar aberration.”

The Elder King tipped his teacup, saw that it was empty, and tapped its edge. It promptly filled with a steaming, fragrant brew.  He took a sip, then continued.  “We have been discussing the matter of allowing the Eldar to extend their settlements for many years — since a short time after the sinking of Númenor, in fact.  At that time, we knew that it would take some years for the Elves to become accustomed to the change of the world, even though the actual physical upheavals settled rather quickly.  We also knew that the time would come when they would begin to feel confined, and rightly so.  Even though they were meant to live within the bounds of Arda, those bounds were never meant to be so narrowly defined.  The subject has come up more often now that the threat of Sauron is over and the time of Men in Endorë has begun.  We had actually intended to begin discussing the matter with the Elven leaders within a few years.  Perhaps it would be wise to do so even sooner.”

Eönwë’s nod was decisive.  “Definitely.  We know, of course, that a large group of Maiar have been at work in the outer regions of the continent for a very long time.  Most of those that I know personally felt that things were close to being ready over fifteen hundred years ago.”

Manwë nodded.  “Quite so, and we had just decided that it was time to bring the Elven kings into our counsels when Sauron’s wraith servants invaded Angmar and caused considerable fear among the Elves, as well as the Men they attacked.  Many Eldar fled West for safety, and the influx of refugees created significant instability in Eldamar. The repeated attacks upon both the realms of Men and Elves that followed convinced us that matters were growing more grave with each day, and allowing a major change in the lives of those who came here seeking stability and peace would be exceedingly unwise.”

“A sound decision,” Olórin opined.  “The Noldor in particular would have suffered, since Finarfin’s own granddaughter was one of those who sailed, in desperate need of healing.  This happened while I was in Middle-earth, but from what I have been told, he was greatly upset by Celebrían’s condition, as were all her close kin -- so much so that for a time, it took the combined efforts of the king, Finrod, and Queen Eärwen to adequately govern their people.”

Manwë confirmed it.  “That is true.  Even after Celebrían was healed, Arafinwë's house remained unsettled.  That she could have been so terribly wounded and abused said much about the state of affairs in Endorë, and their worry for their kin still in the East did not abate until Sauron was defeated.  Some, I believe, did not truly feel that the war was over and their loved ones were safe until your ship arrived.  Others are still waiting, I fear, but we cannot allow the good of Aman to suffer until those still in Endorë decide if they wish to come hither.  As soon as is feasible, I will bring this matter to the other Valar, and we will make a decision.”  

He favored the Istar with a mischievous smile.  “If I tell them of your convincing arguments in favor of beginning this process, then perhaps even Tulkas will understand why you were clearly meant to be my brother.”

“No!”  Eönwë’s sudden and unexpectedly forceful reaction startled his companions.  He winced at the looks of utter shock with which they both favored him.  “I beg your pardon,” he said most sincerely.  “I fear I was somewhat too... emphatic.”

“Indeed,” the Elder King agreed.  “To what are you objecting so strenuously?”

The herald ran one hand through his thick dark hair.  “That is difficult to say.  I brought up the matter of the Eldar first because I considered it easier to broach.  There are also some of our own people who did not react well to yesterday’s revelations.”

Olórin closed his eyes, his expression unreadable.  All traces of humor fled Manwë’s face and manner; he went still in a way that both Maiar knew meant that he was anything but still within.  “Who?” he asked so mildly, one who did not know him might think he was utterly disinterested in the answer.

Eönwë hesitated.  “I had hoped that I would not need to tell you of this, but I see now that I cannot avoid it.  I would not have known of this at all, but for the vagaries of chance.  During the celebration yesterday evening, I spent a time drifting among the various groups, unseen.  It was not my intent to spy or eavesdrop; I often do this because it allows me to spend a part of such feasts simply enjoying the happiness of others, without the formality and discomfort that too often follows when I am recognized as the Herald of Manwë.  I have never been as skilled at adopting the form of an Elf as you are, Olórin.  Even if they do not recognize me, the Children always know somehow that I am not one of them.”

The Istar understood.  He opened his eyes, which were tinged with sadness.  “I had the same problem at first.  It took a good deal of practice to hone the skill of passing among them unnoted and yet in fana as one of them.  I suspect you project a much more forceful and noteworthy aura than I.  It would make anonymity quite difficult.”

When Manwë said nothing but remained attentive, waiting, Eönwë continued.  “Perhaps I would have been happier if I had been incarnate.  Then I would not have heard things I now wish I had not.  Some of the Children I overheard expressing their displeasure about the fate of the Firstborn were discussing it with several Maiar. Emotions were running so high, even the Maiar did not notice my presence.”

Manwë nodded, his demeanor still deceptively serene.  “Extremes of emotion can have that effect among us.  I presume they were not overcome with joy.”

Eönwë grimaced.  “They were not.  The Elves were upset by what they felt Olórin’s memory of his time after death implied, and the Maiar were attempting to mollify them with their belief that what they had seen was... not real.  The one who was kindest called it a fabrication of a mind normally given to inspiration and invention thrown into chaos.  The others felt it was either an outright lie designed to increase his own importance, or a collusion between you, my lord, and Eru to reward Olórin in ways he had not earned, simply because he has always been your favorite.”

Olórin paled, but Manwë remained placid.  “And on what did they base this accusation?”

The herald demurred, unwilling to repeat things he found distasteful in the extreme.  “On their belief that Olórin would not have entered Eä to begin with had you not offered him a personal invitation.  I know as well as both of you that this was not a display of favoritism but simply encouragement.  Olórin certainly was not the only Maia who was unsure of his or her place in the host and needed some help in finding it.  If his memory was true, they felt he had used his time with Father to prejudice Him in his favor — which of course is not possible.  And they believe that the gift Father gave to him was made completely at your request, and in the fashion you desired: a unique circlet, to show that he was to be considered of higher rank than any other of the Maiar.”

The Istar remained silent, but his roiled emotions were plain on his face.  Manwë, on the other hand, maintained his serenity, but in a way that the Maiar knew meant that his anger was great and growing greater, as still air precedes a terrible storm.  After several moments had passed, the wind-lord nodded once.  “You need not tell me who said these things,” he stated quietly.  “I know well enough who would spread such venom.”

“As would I, had I not heard them speak myself,” Eönwë admitted, his tone rough with anger of his own.

Olórin swallowed to clear his throat, which had grown thick with the emotions eddying through him.  “You are speaking of some of our people who fought during the War of Wrath,” he said, very quietly.  Eönwë confirmed it with a nod, and the Istar closed his eyes for a moment against a brief stab of pain.  “They took what I said to Father about my role during the First Age to mean that I considered my tasks more difficult than theirs, and therefore more worthy of praise.”

“Or that you dismissed the role of the warrior as commonplace and insignificant,” the herald added, disliking the taste of the words on his tongue.

“Then they were not aware that I, too, was a part of that battle, though I fought against the unclad Maiar who sided with Melkor and not his physical armies.”

Eönwë sighed heavily.  “If they were, they have either forgotten, or have chosen to forget.  They are bitter, so afflicted with it that they have become blind.  I am not certain of all the causes for this, but one thing at least was clear to me: they all felt a great sense of injustice.  They felt that when they went forth to fight in the War, they did not return to a hero’s welcome, while you, who were sent merely to guide and teach, came back to the praise of all the Valar as well as our Father.  That you were often required to fight the servants of the Enemy hampered in ways they were not, and died in single combat with a Balrog apparently means nothing to them.”

Manwë’s voice was even, but the brightness of his eyes showed the fire flaring within, lightning searing through stormy skies.  “I see,” he said softly.  “Yes, I see very well indeed.  You need say no more, Eönwë.  I believe I understand what has happened, and what needs to be done.”  He rose from his chair, his every movement filled with purpose. 

Eönwë opened his mouth then closed it again, uncertain; he glanced between his lord and Olórin, then made up his mind.  “It pains me to say it, but I do not know that anything should be done, my lord.”  He made a great effort to keep his tone neutral when the Vala’s brilliant gaze turned to him.  “I am not advocating injustice, I assure you.  It has been difficult for me to refrain from going after each of these ingrates and beating sense into them with my sword — or worse.  But if you react in anger now, they will blame Olórin first, insisting that this is just another example of your favoritism.  And then, they will turn on you, and hold this up as proof that you have lost the perspective and objectivity a king must have to be a properly just ruler.  I am not concerned about what our people might think of this, for in the end, they know that you were made king of Arda by Eru Himself, and though they may not like His decision, they have no right to question it.  It is the potential reaction of the Eldar that concern me.  As things stand now, if some of our own people begin to murmur against your rule, it is all too likely to stir up the kinds of animosity and restless resentment that led to the revolt of Fëanor.”

A frown furrowed Olórin’s brow.  “Then does it not follow that we need to begin some kind of process which will allow that restlessness to be channeled into more productive pursuits?”

“Yes, of course.  But if Manwë declares to all and sundry that you were somehow instrumental in his decision to act now....”

The Istar’s frown faded, and though it did not entirely disappear, it turned to one of deep thought rather than dismay.  “It could have unexpectedly unpleasant results, fostering and appearing to support notions that the Elder King has discarded an impartial rule as the regent of Eru Ilúvatar for one of favoritism toward not only his own kind, but to only certain of his subjects — his direct kin, in particular.  Among the Eruhíni, this is generally one of the first outward signs of corruption in any kind of politics, and in hindsight, it might easily reinforce the still lingering suspicion that his initial lenience toward Melkor was prompted solely by the fact that they were brothers.  Yes, I can see how this might be a concern.”

Manwë’s expression hardened, to one of stern implacability.  “What is of greater concern to me is that any of our people can harbor such unfounded resentment toward one of our own who has done nothing to earn such treatment,” he stated bluntly.  “Whatever they might think of my decisions concerning Melkor has no bearing on such negative attitudes toward you.  You have done nothing wrong — and you have always been my brother, Olórin, whether or not we ourselves knew it to be so.  This is how our Father created us, and it is not a matter for the approval of others.  Now that it has been fully revealed, I cannot even seem to pretend to dismiss it.”

His steely glance returned to Eönwë, softening.  “I appreciate your concern for my reputation, my son.  I very much understand your desire to protect both myself and Olórin from unfounded accusations of prejudice and treachery.  But if I turn a blind eye to such calumny to protect the image of my kingship, then I do not deserve to be king.  Whether or not others care for what resulted, all Olórin has done was to perform unexpectedly well under what none of us knew would be impossibly trying circumstances.  I cannot stand idly by and allow the gossip of small minds to continue to fester and spread, unanswered.  If I did, I would be no better than Finwë.  His silence said far too much; it was proof that he loved Fëanor in his blatant wrongdoing even more than he valued the life of Nolofinwë, and thus twisted that love into an instrument for the use of evil.  The Elves would see this similarity, and consider my inaction an endorsement of the lies and gossip.  Even if it angers those who will not believe the truth, I must act, and act swiftly.  It is better to be accused of favoritism than to allow this malice to grow, unhindered.  Justice delayed is justice denied.”

“But you must move carefully,” Olórin said, winning a surprised look from the Vala.  He smiled wryly.  “I agree with what you have said, but I also know what Eönwë is trying very hard not to say, so let us go directly to the point: He is afraid that our own people will view any swift action you might make in my defense as a repetition of the mistake you once made with Aránayel.  Even you have admitted that you did not sentence her in a manner that befit her crime, that you overreacted because of your haste and your lack of experience with behavior such as hers.  Moreover, because you acted too quickly and allowed your affection for me to cloud your judgment, you failed to see what would have been the best punishment, one that would have guided her in a way to gently and effectively correct her flawed attitudes and not unintentionally feed her bitterness and resentment.  I cannot believe that any of us want a repetition of that mistake.  This situation must be considered carefully, so that the response can be properly weighed and implemented — as quickly as is possible, of course.”

Eönwë had been holding his breath, and now released it in an immense sigh of relief.  “Yes,” he said, nodding vigorously.  “That is precisely what I feared.  I would not see that happen again, if I could prevent it by speaking up now.”

Manwë did not respond for several moments, nor did his expression change.  Then, slowly, the last remains of hardness melted into a smile.  “Both of you are right,” he said, “and I thank you for your counsel, as well as your loyalty.  But I assure you, I have learned from my past mistakes, and I have kept that clearly in mind.  What you have reported, Eönwë, is not a case of naive misunderstanding or romantic rejection.  This disquiet comes of a deliberate and willful refusal to acknowledge both proven truths and my authority, as well as that of Eru Ilúvatar Himself.  It is imperative that it be dealt with before it spreads and poisons not only the peace of Aman, but the minds and hearts of both our people and the Children.”

He moved away from the table and toward the wall of windows.  He stopped in a pool of multi-colored light that streamed through the tinted panes, watching the reflections of sunshine twinkle like stars on the dancing waters of the garden fountain.  For a time, he was silent, clearly deep in reflection; when he turned back towards the waiting Maiar, there was another kind of twinkle in his eyes.  “I fully agree that this situation must be handled with care, and I believe I know just the way to begin going about it.”

Next: 

Brothers Abroad