Chapter Four: Deliberation

“Nonetheless for long it seemed to the Númenóreans that they prospered, and if they were not increased in happiness, yet they grew more strong, and their rich men ever richer. For with the aid and counsel of Sauron they multiplied their possessions, and they devised engines, and they built ever greater ships. And they sailed now with power and armory to Middle-earth, and they came no longer as bringers of gifts, nor even as rulers, but as fierce men of war. And they hunted the men of Middle-Earth and took their goods and enslaved them, and many they slew cruelly upon their altars. For they built in their fortresses temples and great tombs in those days; and men feared them, and the memory of the kindly Kings of the ancient days faded from the world and was darkened by many a tale of dread.” ~ The Silmarillion, Akallabêth

6th of Víresse in the Year 3316 of the Second Age, King’s Reckoning:

“What are they saying?” Abârôn whispered to Lord Azruzôr. He marveled that his lord did not seem to be afraid; he himself was trembling and the Powers were not even looking at him.

Azruzôr hushed him, not unkindly, but he was too intent upon the conversation to translate.

Eönwë, who was standing next to Abârôn, replied quietly. “He asks my Lords to intervene and remove Sauron from his place of power in Númenórë, citing the many atrocities he has either committed or inspired others to commit. He said his Brother and Sister-in-Law were burnt upon an altar as a sacrifice because they refused to worship Morgoth.”

Abârôn looked at Lord Azruzôr, who was listening to his uncle closely; he had not known about the man’s parents.

“He also said,” Eönwë continued, regarding Abârôn with interest, “that you are an example of the cruelty Sauron inspires in others. For you were taken from Endórë as a slave ere he took you in.”

Abârôn flushed. He had indeed grown up in a little fishing village a few leagues north of the Agathurush. Men in a ship from Lond Daer had taken him captive to Númenór, intending to sell him as a slave when he was fourteen. He had managed to escape by jumping overboard and had been rescued by Lord Amânzîr, who had been sailing in Bay of Rómenna. That had been four years past and he did not know if any of his family had survived the razing of his village. The thought was bitter and Abârôn shoved away the emotions that came with it.

The Valar listened in silence and, when he was finished, Amânzîr looked the Elder King in the eye.

“I ask you to aide us in removing Tar-Mairon ere all is lost for Ar-Pharazôn seeks to War against you at his urging. I ask you to have mercy on those of us whom have remained faithful. And as for the Ban, I will suffer in myself the penalty, lest all my people should become guilty,” he said, bowing once more.

“It is a sad tale you tell, Child, though we are already aware of most of it,” Lord Manwë sighed. “Return to your companions and refresh yourselves for we must take counsel among us before we come to a decision.”

The Elder King waved his hand and there suddenly appeared a small wooden table next to Avalôbêl. On it were four goblets of crystal and a pitcher full of a clear, colorless liquid. Salmar poured it into the cups as Amânzîr made his way back over to them. Abârôn accepted the goblet he was handed, beholding it warily. He had eaten nothing since this morning and did not think he could manage any strong drink; his stomach was unsettled enough. Yet he did not want to appear rude, either. He sniffed the liquid and was surprised to find that it smelled of flowers.

“What is it?” Abârôn asked Lord Azruzôr, who had already drank half of his.

“It is called Miruvórë. Drink. It shall refresh you and ease your spirit,” Salmar said.

Abârôn took a cautious sip. He immediately felt stronger and more steady. He found much of his fear had left him and that he could look directly at each of the Valar. They sat in silence, their faces expressionless save for occasional flickers of emotion. One of his tutors had taught Abârôn how to read from a book called the Valaquenta, and he tried to see if he could guess the identity of each of the Valar. He had never before had cause to name all of the Powers, and was not certain he could remember all fourteen of them.

Lord Manwë and Lady Varda were obvious, though he could not see them properly, standing behind their thrones as he was. To the right of the Elder King was definitely Lord Ulmo. The Vala next to him looked so dark and forbidding he could only be Lord Mandos. Abârôn carefully avoided meeting his eyes, even though the Judge appeared to be staring intently at the Power to his right. This one had auburn hair and a beard; his muscled arms showed clearly through his russet robe, and Abârôn thought he must be Lord Aulë.

To his right, with chestnut brown hair and a forest green robe, was someone Abârôn thought was Oromë. The Vala next to him he guessed was Lórien, not because he recognized him from the descriptions he had read, but because he looked like his brother. The shape of their faces were similar, as were their black hair and grey eyes, though Lord Irmo’s robe was a deep purple. The Vala nearest the Ezellohar had to be Tulkas. His robe was dyed a rich red, his hair and beard were golden, yet his eyes were a queer yellow-brown.

The Valië to the left of the Elentári had golden hair, and her eyes and gown were the green of new spring leaves. Abârôn knew she must be Yavanna. Next to the Kementári sat Nienna. She looked much like her brothers and wore a dress of the purest white he had ever seen. The names of two Valier sitting next to the Weeper he could not remember, yet one wore a grey gown and had silver hair and the other was dressed in indigo, her hair raven. The last two must be Nessa and Vána, for they resembled their siblings in coloring, the first in a copper dress, the other in yellow.

“They are called Estë and Vairë,” Salmar said to him.

Abârôn looked at the Maia blankly.

“The two Valier whose names you cannot remember. They are called Estë and Vairë and are married to the Fëanturi. That is, Mandos and Lórien,” Salmar explained.

Abârôn felt the blood drain from his face as he realized that the Maia had answered a question he had not spoken aloud.

“Forgive me,” Salmar said quietly. “I did not mean to frighten you. Yet it is natural for our kind to communicate mind to mind rather than with speech, and the thoughts of Men are more easily discerned than those of the Eldar.”

“You ought to know better, Salmar,” Eönwë said sharply. “You fought in the War of Wrath and should remember that no Mortal takes well to having their thoughts perceived by others.”

“Those of us who did not fight on land with the Host of Valinor seldom had the opportunity to befriend a Man long enough to discover such things,” Salmar replied, sounding irritated. “I did not do it out of malice so there is no need for you to take such a tone with me.”

“I will use whatever tone I believe you deserve. You are fortunate you are not of the Manwënduri and under my authority, else I would teach you a lesson you would not soon forget. You have always been impetuous but what were you thinking bringing these Men here? You have aided them in breaking the Ban, and do not think Lord Ulmo will shield you from the punishment you will be receiving.”

Abârôn winced at Eönwë’s tone, still trying to adjust the knowledge that the Maiar could read his mind.

“Never has my Lord sought to shield me from the consequences of my actions,” Salmar retorted fiercely. “And I will gladly suffer whatever punishment our Lords deem necessary for me to receive. I have spent much time in the waters around Númenórë, Eönwë; you have not. I know that the Adûnaim rebel against the Valar’s authority but there are those still loyal to us and I will not be ashamed of my decision to aide these Men if it prevents disaster from befalling them.”

“Yet those who would defend authority against rebellion must not themselves rebel!” Eönwë said, exasperated.

“Bârimhên,” Amânzîr interrupted the quarreling Maiar, “While I find both of your arguments compelling, perhaps now is not the time to discuss them?” All four Men were staring at the two Maiar, forgotten goblets of Miruvórë still in their hands.

Salmar and Eönwë both appeared embarrassed for a moment, and then Eönwë grimaced.

“You are correct, I am afraid we forgot ourselves. Please forgive us,” he asked, bowing slightly and placing a hand on his heart.

“Of course. It is perfectly understandable,” Amânzîr said graciously.

“Is it?” Azruzôr muttered, and his uncle elbowed him in the ribs, giving him a sharp look.

“This is quite good,” Avalôbêl said, endeavoring to change the conversation. “What is it made from? I have never tasted anything quite like it.”

“Nor would you,” Salmar answered, just as eager for a new subject. “Miruvórë is made from the nectar of some of Yavanna's flowers. It is usually only drunk during festivals when the Valar serve it to the Eldar. You should be honored, for I believe you are the first Mortals to ever taste it.”

Avalôbêl looked alarmed at this and gazed into his near-empty cup with some concern.

“It shall do you no harm, I promise,” Salmar said, laughing at his reaction.

The Sun had set completely and it was now full dark. The stars glittered coldly above them, reflected in the dark granite that paved the Ring of Doom. It would have been difficult for the Men to see were it not for the many lights emanating from the City of the Valar. Abârôn wondered what manner of lights they were, for they did not flicker as the flames from candles and lamps did, but were steady and unwavering. Yet even in the dim light, the Powers seemed to glow of their own accord. Motionless, they did not even seem to breathe.

“I wonder what they are talking about,” Azruzôr muttered, gazing at the silent Valar.

“As do I, Nephew. As do I,” Amânzîr replied quietly.

Glossary                                                                                   

Agathurush (Adûnaic): name of the river Gwathló (Greyflood). Literally means, ‘Shadowy river from the fens’.

Lond Daer (Sindarin): port founded on the estuary of the river Gwathló in S.A. 750 (then called Vinyalondë, or ‘New Haven’). It was the first permanent settlement of the Númenóreans in Middle-earth. During the War with Sauron in S.A. 1700, the port was used by the Númenórean forces as a beachhead. Lond Daer declined in importance after the War yet it was still one of the major ports in Middle-earth. Lond Daer literally means ‘Great Haven’.

Tar-Mairon (Quenya): the official name that Sauron was called in Númenor as the king’s adviser and as the High Priest of the Cult of Melkor. He was more commonly known as ‘Zigûr’ which is an Adûnaic word meaning ‘Wizard’.

Miruvórë (Quenya): a type of cordial used by the Valar and the Elves. It was the nectar of the Valar made from Yavanna's flowers, poured during their festivals in Valinor. The name ‘Miruvor’ refers to the cordial of the Elves in Rivendell and was likely a different substance than Miruvórë, perhaps an imitation that was named after it.

Valië (Quenya): the singular title for the seven Queens of the Valar. The plural is ‘Valier’.

Elentári (Quenya): ‘Queen of Stars’. A title of Varda.

Kementári (Quenya): ‘Queen of the Earth’. A title of Yavanna.

Fëanturi (Quenya): ‘Lords of Spirits’. A title given to the brothers Námo (Mandos) and Irmo (Lórien) of the Valar.

Manwënduri (Quenya): ‘Servants of Manwë’.

Adûnaim (Adûnaic): ‘Númenoreans’. The singular form is ‘Adûna’.

Bârimhên (Adûnaic): ‘My Lords’.