III: Request

Dawn on Ilmarin was a sight to behold. Standing on a balcony, looking out towards Tol Eressëa, barely visible from this great height, Melian watched as Arien rose out of the sea, the sun sending tendrils of color through the night sky, delicate and glorious all at the same time, the stars fading reluctantly before the majesty of the last fruit of Laurelin. A gentle breeze blew through her hair and birds of every hue flew through the air, singing the day into existence.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice spoke behind her, deep and calm and full of joy that could barely be contained. Melian turned and curtsied before the Elder King, the light of Ilúvatar that shone in his eyes making the sunlight now spreading across Aman seem dim in comparison. “I never tire of it,” Manwë said as he joined her on the balcony.

“Nor I,” Melian agreed quietly. “I remember when we first saw Ithil rise, how splendid it seemed. Yet, nothing prepared us for the coming of Anar.”

Manwë smiled at her gently. “No, I don’t suppose anything would.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a few moments longer as Anar continued on her course, bringing light and warmth to Aman once again. Then Melian dared to ask the question that had burned within her since Olórin had come to her, rather than waiting for Manwë to speak first.

“Why did you summon me, sire?”

Manwë glanced at the Maia standing next to him and indicated that she should follow him into the small reception room behind them. “My brother Irmo misses you, you know,” he said instead of answering her question. “He misses your dancing and singing most of all. We all do.”

“I have not danced since Doriath fell,” Melian answered. “I have had no reason to in all the millennia that have passed since. And you haven’t answered my question,” she reminded him quietly yet firmly, somewhat appalled at her own audaciousness.

Manwë laughed. “Ever persistent, aren’t you, my dear?”

“Willful rather,” said a musical voice echoing Manwë’s laugh.

Melian looked to see Varda entering with Námo close behind her. She blushed and silently cursed herself for her presumption, even as she curtsied to the other two Valar.

Varda approached, her eyes bright with amusement, bending down to offer Melian a kiss. “One of your more endearing traits, meldanya nettë,” she whispered in Melian’s ear. Melian blushed even more but managed a slight smile at the Queen, though she felt her smile flee when her eyes lit upon Námo standing behind Varda, his expression unreadable. Then, much to her surprise, the Doomsman of Arda slowly winked at her, a smile flitting so briefly across his face that Melian wasn’t sure she even saw it.

Elflings indeed! Melian thought, remembering Olórin’s words, but before she could decide how to respond, Manwë gestured towards some chairs in the middle of the room, otherwise empty of any other furniture, though the walls were hung with some of Vairë’s tapestries. There were three chairs in a semicircle with a fourth facing them. As Melian sat in the fourth chair she had the uneasy feeling that this meeting might be more an inquisition than a conversation.

Reading her mind, Varda laughed lightly. “It’s not what you think, my dear. Fear not!”

Manwë nodded. “You asked why I have summoned you, but in truth it was not I who summoned you, but Another and I am merely privileged to be His herald in this matter.”

Melian gasped softly as she realized the implications of Manwë’s words. “You mean—?” but the thought left her speechless. “But what—?” she tried again, but Manwë raised his hand and Melian fell into silence.

“I do not know the reason for His request, I can only tell you that He wishes for you to go to Middle-earth to deliver a message.”

Melian stood up in shock. “No! When I left Doriath I vowed never to return to Middle-earth. I did not make that vow lightly, I will not break it now, not even for Ilúvatar.”

“Melian,” Varda pleaded. “Think what you are saying.”

“I know exactly what I am saying, my lady. Did I not refuse even Yavana when she asked for the Maiar to help her heal Arda after the defeat of Helcaran? I refused even to join in the last battle of the Ice War, when nearly all of Aman was emptied of Maiar to bring an end to the Glacial Age in Middle-earth once and for all. I will not return to Middle-earth. I will not.”

She fought not to cry, and on one level felt appalled by her words and behavior. Celebrían and Elrond’s elflings would not act so. Embarrassed and confused she walked away from the three Valar, finding herself staring uncomprehendingly at one of the tapestries adorning the walls. It took several seconds for her mind to register what was before her, a scene from a later period of Arda’s history showing Men constructing a large stone circle of giant megaliths in the middle of a broad plain. She did not recognize it or its significance. Trying to fathom what the scene might mean she barely felt the presence standing behind her.

“You’ve never forgiven me for Lúthien, have you?” Námo said to her quietly. She turned to look at the Vala in surprise, for it was the last thing she thought to hear from him. His expression was impassive and she was unable to determine what he might be feeling. “Nor have you ever forgiven Eru for allowing it.”

Melian found she could not look him in the eye at these words, for there was some truth in what he said and it shamed her to realize that it was so.

Now Manwë joined them. “I met her, you know. Did she ever tell you?”

Melian looked at the Elder King in surprise, shaking her head.

Manwë nodded. “Just briefly, mind you, but I was curious to see what manner of creature a Maia and an Elf had engendered. I wanted to see for myself the person who could so move my brother as she had.”

“She confounded me,” Námo said simply, his tone one of perplexity that bordered on awe, staring at the tapestry as if he could find the answer he sought within the weave of its cloth. “None has ever swayed me from my tasks, nor from that which Ilúvatar has entrusted to me, and yet—” he shook his head, as if to rid himself of an unpleasant memory, then looked directly at Melian. “Lúthien was her mother’s daughter. Her love for the mortal was absolute, as was his for her. Not even death could keep them apart. If Ilúvatar had not granted her desire to be with Beren I assure you she would never have left Mandos until all of Arda had been remade, for she would have scorned ever to be re-embodied and you would have still lost her.”

“Lúthien’s destiny was too tied up with that of Beren’s for her life to have ended any other way than it did,” Manwë continued. “It was Ilúvatar’s will that it be so.”

Melian could no longer fight back the tears and as Manwë held her she began to cry, all the sorrow and pain of the past rushing upon her, the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“Mauya len lerya yendelya, Melyanna,” Manwë crooned softly, gently stroking her hair. “Lúmë ná ar lúmë vanwa. Áse lerya.”

After a few moments, the tears slowed and Melian struggled to regain her composure. Feeling her stiffening in his embrace, Manwë released her, his expression gentle. Varda came to them then and took Melian’s hand.

“Come and sit down, melinya,” the Queen of Arda said, her voice full of sympathy. “I have sent for some refreshments. I think we could all use some, don’t you?”

Melian allowed herself to be led back to her seat. A table had appeared with a decanter of cut crystal filled with míruvórë and four matching goblets. Varda poured some of the nectar into each goblet and handed one to Melian who sipped the heady drink slowly, savoring its honey flavor. For some time no one spoke, each concentrating on their own thoughts. Finally, Melian put down her goblet and sighed.

“Why me? Are there not others who can relay a message just as well if not better?”

The three Valar exchanged glances. It was Varda who answered. “As to the why, we can only guess, but we deem that the relaying of this message is too important to leave to just anyone.”

Melian raised her eyebrows, her look skeptical.

“Events are being put into motion the likes of which not even the Valar could foresee, for these events are not found in any of the Themes which we helped propound,” added Manwë. “Ilúvatar is on the move. He means to do a thing that none here ever thought would, indeed could, happen. I said earlier that Ilúvatar wished for you to go to Middle-earth, but the truth is, He needs you to go.”

“N-needs? How could Ilúvatar ever need anything?” Melian asked in shock.

Now all three Valar were smiling, even Námo. “How indeed?” responded Manwë. “Yet it is the truth. So I ask thee who was once Queen of Doriath: wilt thou go? Wilt thou put aside thy oath for Ilúvatar’s sake...and for ours?”

The formal tones of the Elder King brought Melian up short and for an agonizing moment she was at a loss as to how to respond, but taking a centering breath she rose from her chair and, executing a deep curtsey, replied with equal formality, “Yea, Lord, I will go, for thou dost bid me.” And her words were as much directed towards Ilúvatar as they were to Manwë.

Much to Melian’s surprise, the three Valar breathed sighs of relief, as if they had doubted the outcome of this meeting. Melian knew just how they felt.

****

Meldanya nettë: my beloved sister.

Helcaran: Name of the Ice King, one of Sauron’s lieutenants who escaped the destruction of Barad-dûr. He was ultimately responsible for the Ice Age which destroyed the human and elvish civilizations of the Fourth Age; from helca (ice, icy) + aran (king).

Mauya len lerya yendelya, Melyanna. Lúmë ná ar lúmë vanwa. Áse lerya: "You need to let your daughter go, Melian. It’s time and past time. Let her go". [literally: It is necessary for you to release your daughter, Melian. Time (it) is and time past. Release her.]

Melinya: my dear, contracted from melininya.

A/N: It is unlikely that Melian and the Valar would have spoken during their conversation, and if they did speak aloud, they would have spoken in Valarin, rather than in Quenya or even Sindarin. Unfortunately we know little of that angelic language and what words from Valarin we do know have been adapted into Quenya. For ease of writing I have had them speak aloud throughout, but the words of comfort that Manwë communicates to Melian would most likely have been given by means of ósanwë, and I have attempted to indicate the depths of such intimate communion by putting Manwë’s words into Quenya rather than into English.

By contrast, I imagine the conversation between Melian and Olórin in the previous chapter to have been conducted mostly aloud and in Sindarin, for old time’s sake — and out of habit — if for no other reason.