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Fiondil's Tapestry  by Fiondil

SIGNAL: Wires Crossed

SUMMARY: Sometimes even the Valar have difficulty getting through.

WARNING: Humor alert. Please be kind to your computers and refrain from eating and drinking while reading.

****

Sometime in the Seventh Age:

"Anything?" Námo asked Manwë as he entered the throne room of the Valar in Ilmarin.

The Elder King shook his head in frustration. "I’ve been trying all morning to get through to him, but haven’t had any luck yet."

Námo gritted his teeth. "What could possibly be happening that would take his attention so thoroughly? Even at the height of the War of Wrath we had no difficulty contacting him."

"It’s this situation going on in Middle-earth now I deem," Manwë said as he rose from his throne to walk out onto the balcony; Námo joined him. "My eagles have been coming to me constantly with updates on what is happening there. I suspect he is too busy at his end to deal with us."

"So what are we supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?" the Lord of Mandos exclaimed. "Never have I had these many Mortals descend on me all at once. I cannot keep up!"

Manwë gave the younger Vala a wry smile. "An exaggeration, surely. It cannot be that bad, can it?"

Námo gave Manwë a jaundiced look. "Always when combatants on both sides of a conflict found themselves in my Halls where I was able to... er... clarify a few things for them" — Manwë snickered at that; Námo ignored him — "they have realized how foolish they have been and have reconciled with one another before continuing beyond the Circles of Arda, but this time! I had one idiot demanding to know why his enemy wouldn’t stay dead no matter how many times he strangled him."

"What did you tell him?" Manwë asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Nothing!" Námo replied. "I just pointed to a sign Maranwë made in desperation that reads ‘YOU ARE ALL DEAD!!! DEAL WITH IT!!!’ In six Human languages, including Latin, no less!"

"Latin!? Why Latin? That language hasn’t been spoken among the Mortals for millennia."

Námo shrugged. "When I asked, he said he liked the way it looked."

"So what did you do with the Mortals then?" Manwë asked, deciding not to comment on the idiosyncrasies of Námo’s Chief Maia.

Námo gave Manwë a feral grin. "I threw them both into an empty cell and left them happily trying to kill one another all over again. But if that wasn’t enough," he continued, "I caught one of the captains trying to recruit a couple of my Maiar to his cause!"

The Elder King couldn’t help but start laughing. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! Ancalequirindë was there and gave me a wink while she happily explained to the stupid git why his plan to take over Mandos wouldn’t work and then went on to offer her own ideas of the best way to do so!" He threw up his hands in defeat. "And on top of that, I’m running out of boats."

"Hmm... that is serious, but I think you can manage."

"I’m seriously considering asking Aulë to build me a 747," Námo retorted.

Manwë gave him a wry grin. "Somehow the image of a 747 taking the Mortals out of the Circles of Arda instead of the swan boats you’ve used from the very beginning just doesn’t do it for me. There’s no romance to it."

Námo’s face took on a dreamy expression. "If we remove all the seats I can really cram them in. No first class seating for any of them and I’ll have the Maiar who were assigned to guard Melkor’s cell act as stewards." His expression became almost cheerful at that thought.

"Ouch! That’s too cruel even for you."

Námo sighed and nodded, looking deflated. "I’ve had to section off a part of the Halls of Healing for all those Mortals who have died from non-war-related causes. I don’t want them getting hurt."

"Understandable."

"And I’ve had to pull a number of my People from their usual duties, including those from the Halls of the Elves and the Gardens of the Reborn, to handle the overload, which is why Ancalequirindë was there instead of in the kitchen where she belongs." The Lord of Mandos scowled. "Many of them have never had to deal with Mortal fëar before and they have no idea how to cope with their idiocies."

Manwë nodded. "A terrible situation, to be sure," he said with a straight face. "Well, shall we try again?"

Námo nodded as they went back into the throne room. They took their respective seats and Manwë composed himself, sending his thoughts through the emptiness of Eä unto the very walls of the Timeless Halls. Námo waited as patiently as possible, schooling himself to stillness, even resorting to counting backwards from one billion. He had reached eight hundred million and twenty-two when Manwë stirred.

"Well?" Námo asked.

Manwë shook his head. "I still get the same message: ‘The party you are trying to reach is not in ósanwë range. Please try again later.’"

Námo groaned, his face in his hands. "Why doesn’t Atar have ‘call forwarding’?"

Manwë snorted in derision. "For the same reason we don’t."

Námo looked up and gave his fellow Vala a feral grin. "Telemarketers."





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