Yet Were Its Making Good, For This by LadySternchen  

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Part Two- Changed

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Mablung sighed deeply as the sun sunk ever lower behind the mountains, and the colourful waves turned dark. Much as he loved the starry night, it still made him sad that this play of colours was ever so short lived. Still twilight brought other joys, like the birds’ evening song. Mablung sang with them without thinking, that being such a deep-seated habit. It was still how the Iathrim, and especially those that had lived within Menegroth or close to it, were easily discerned by everyone in Aman, even if they wandered or lived among others- they would sing their morning and evening songs with the songbirds no matter what, and Mablung was no exception to that. He also was not at all surprised to find a few nightingales land next to him, his own bird among them.

“Well met.” he said softly. “Have you brought friends?”

The bird chittered, making it sound as though it were laughing, and Mablung laughed, too. The arrival of the birds had stirred a memory in him, a memory that never failed to amuse him. As it was he had been very suspicious of any friends his bird brought for quite a while, ever since the memorable day one of them had materialised into his former Queen, and so almost sent him back to Mandos out of fright. Melian had at least had the grace to be apologetic at first- or at least appeare to be. Soon, however, she had moved on to tease him rather than be abashed about scaring him so, and had not ceased to do so ever since.

He could not quell the flood of emotion that welled within him as he thought of Melian. Prior to her revealing herself to Mablung, little had been seen nor heard among the elves of Doriath’s fabled Queen. All had assumed that she had just chosen to live among her kin somewhere in the gardens of Lórien, and cared not to reunite with those she had once called her people. Not Mablung, though. He knew her better than that. She had given him her word that they would meet once more and so he had been sure that if she chose to keep her distance, there had to be a reason behind it. It had not taken too much imagination to understand that this reason was her overwhelming grief.

Mablung had not, for all his knowing Melian, thought of the Queen as a being of Spirit that could actually take whatever shape pleased her, however, and the sight of a very innocent-looking bird turning into Melian in all her Maia-radiance had been quite the shock. Once that had subsided, and Melian had again managed to control her laughter, she had explained to Mablung that she had indeed mostly lived among her birds ever since her return to Valinor, staying first in Lórien, then with Vana and Yavanna, and then, when Thônwen had been re-embodied, had kept her company in bird’s-form. Mablung felt very honoured to think that after her sister-in-law, who after all had ever been her dearest friend, he was the first she had revealed herself to.

Melian had nonetheless kept living in the shape of a bird most of the time, and in that form kept Mablung company through many sunsets and sunrises with no-one being any the wiser, apart from her closest kin. Not even Olwë had known of her presence in his city- that was, until that fateful day they had first learned of the ships.

Even after so many thousand years, Mablung was still torn between amazement, sorrow and anger when he thought back to the day that Manwë himself had sought Olwë out in Alqualondë, with a very upset Melian in tow. That in itself was close to unheard of, as Manwë so seldom descended from Taniquetil, least of all to seek out another- and moreover, Melian had never been one of his Maia, and had usually no dealings with the Elder King whatsoever.

The reason for this highly unusual visit had been explained to them almost as once, when Manwë told them about the fleet of the Númenóreans heading for Valinor, and revealed the likely consequences of their coming. Even Mablung had felt stricken then, because little though he knew about Númenor, he was still aware that these Men were descendants of so many he had known and liked, or even loved. And one had needed to be no genius to know that for Melian, this was a hundred times harder.

In the end, Manwë had turned to Olwë, saying:
“I shall leave Lady Melian in your keeping, King Olwë. I put my trust in family-bonds to prevent her from getting involved in any strife.”

The astonished disbelief of Manwë committing Melian to his care had been very apparent in Olwë’s voice when he finally found his speech again.

“I… meaning no offence, my Lord, but… you want me to keep a Maia in check?”

Having her brother-in-law speak so to Manwë about herself over her own head had not gone down particularly well with Melian, and nor with Thônwen, who had stood with Elmo just behind Olwë. Mablung still chuckled at the memory of her cuffing the king around the head, displaying just the same endearingly familiar impertinence towards him as she had done towards Elu in Doriath.

“Melian is not ‘a Maia’, Olwë, she’s our sister!” she had snapped.

Manwë, too, had shaken his head with a very gentle expression, even if it was not an outright smile.

“No, Olwë. As Thônwen has said, Melian is your sister-in-law and I want you to step up for your brother and keep her safe during this event, that will undoubtedly be upsetting to her in ways that the rest of us Ainur cannot even begin to comprehend.”

Thônwen had rushed past Olwë once Manwë had taken his leave to embrace Melian, who had still looked rather haughtily at Olwë. The king had recoiled, and Mablung had not blamed him at all, feeling quite glad that he had never been on the receiving end of a look like that.

Any cool feelings between Melian and Olwë had been totally obliterated by the arrival of the mighty fleet of Númenor, however. All of Aman had been eerily silent, no breeze nor bird had stirred- and nor had any elf within Alqualondë. Olwë had stood, in all royal splendour, on the quay beside his queen, so that all within the city could see them, and could see that their king and queen would not move a muscle, regardless of what the Men did. Half a step behind him on either side had stood Melian, Elmo and Thônwen, and Galadhon together with Mablung himself. Galadhon’s wife Celebren had stayed together with their son in the woods of Tol Eressëa with Dior and Nimloth, and though Galadhon had left his home only very reluctantly at the Valar’s bidding, he had understood after all that this event needed special precautions. The Valar had not only insisted on complete silence by all inhabitants of Aman, but also put much effort into separating and securing the ancestors of those now assaulting the Blessed Realm. Dior and Nimloth stayed within their own realm, with Beleg and Finrod bidden there in the hope of keeping the royal couple from doing anything stupid. After all, Finrod had been close to Beren, and Dior deeply respected him.

Tugron, Anairë and Fingolfin had been put in the firm but gentle keeping of Finarfin and Eärwen, whereas Idril and Tuor had been allowed to stay with Eärendil, Elwing and her brothers. The idea there was that Tuor and Idril would be more occupied with comforting Eärendil than with their own sorrow, while the twins could perhaps calm Elwing a little.

Thus far had had been the theory. Mablung had had his doubts about whether it would be working out, admittedly, a feeling only reinforced when he had glanced at Melian when standing on that quay. She had glowered at the flagship and the figure dressed in gold that stood upon the bow, mumbling under her breath, looking nothing short of livid.

“Traitor!” she had hissed “Shame of my blood!”

“Aunt…” Galadhon had tried to reason, looking at the same time alarmed and slightly amused “…please let not that…”

He had had no chance to finish the sentence, for Melian had snapped back:
“What? Let not that what? Anger me? Upset me? These fools are defiling the memory of my daughter, your cousin, Galadhon. Do you think Lúthien would stay put and let them destroy everything?”

“You are not Lúthien though!” Thônwen had argued feebly.

“Indeed.” Melian had growled through gritted teeth, still with her eyes fixed on the ships.

“At least get your unworthy hands off that sword.”

Mablung had winced then, and did so still when thinking back. Only her words had made him realise that the sword Ar-Pharazôn had been wielding, the sword he had taken to its watery grave, had been Aranrúth. The King’s Ire…verily. Only that it had once been named for wrath borne of love, not greed, and Mablung felt sure that the difference would be just as important to Elu as it was to himself.

It had seemed to take an eternity for everything to be over, and Mablung had possibly never been so very afraid. The earth had been shaking beneath their feet and the skies and seas had roared, and even Melian had looked terrified. Olwë, though quaking from head to toe, had stood his ground, giving hope to his people even as the waves crashed around them. They had all drawn strength from his unwavering trust in the Powers, and after what seemed to them like endless ages, it had finally come to an end. And when the sun had risen again, and the sea calmed, they all had stirred as from a stupor.

There had been nothing of the Númenóreans or their ships to be seen, and though everything had looked exactly the same as before, Mablung had known instantly that it was not, and would not be ever again. There had been some unfathomable, root-deep change to the very land, the very sea, the very earth.

Thônwen and Elmo had had their arms around each other and their son, Olwë had been supported by his wife, strength finally failing him, which had not surprised Mablung at all. He himself had felt very weak at the knees, and he had not had to stand his ground and watch the horror happen. Over Melian on the other hand yet another change had come. She had been very pale, and rubbed her fingers together as if testing the feeling of her own skin, seemingly deep in thought.

There had been no making head or tail of it for Mablung, until none other than Yavanna herself had appeared in Alqualondë not long after the Great Change. That in itself had been somewhat alarming, for it was almost as rare for Yavanna to come among the Eldar as it was for Manwë. Melian, however, had not seemed surprised at all. Rather, it seemed that she had in truth awaited the Valie. It was of course common knowledge that Melian was called kin of Yavnna and Vana, but he had never before truly anticipated what that meant. Before he had worked out whether that made Yavanna feel closer or Melian stranger, however, Melian had broken the silence, saying:
“I was going to seek you out, for you must know… or at least to you I shall speak openly. I…”

“I know, Melyanna. This is why I am here. Do you think such a change can come over one of our own without our notice, even in this hour of upset and grief?”

All the while, Yavanna had been smiling down on Melian gently, but neither that nor the Valie’s words had seemed to hearten her. If anything, she had looked more deeply confused by it, still rubbing her fingertips together in that peculiar way.

“How?” she had managed to utter at last “I made no such decision.”

Mablung had not understood a word of it, but Yavanna obviously had. And what was more, it seemed to quite amuse her, for she had chuckled:
“Ai, little cousin, I think you may find you did choose, though you seek to conceal the truth even before yourself.”

The look that Melian had given Yavanna had been apprehensive, and the latter had hastened to continue:
“Just to be clear, this has nothing to do with any choice your husband has made, or may make in the future. This was your decision alone. After all, no other among our kin has ever meddled so deeply within the matter of Arda itself. You have borne child, and it seems that after all, this weighs heavier than the very fabric out of which you were made. Maybe it was simply your time to realise, maybe it was that you felt the One’s will more closely when He demonstrated His might against those Men, maybe you needed to be confronted with your own flesh and blood once more to realise- but you have long since chosen to live as one of the Firstborns, like you were when you were dwelling in Middle-Earth, when they called you their queen. Do not marvel at it, thus. Trust your heart instead.”

Melian had stood with her head bowed, so that her black curls obscured her face. Mablung had known that she was crying nonetheless.

“I… I will not deny my heart, not at all. It is just… my beloved has been more deeply wounded by our daughter’s fate than even I, and I fear that he will never overcome this hurt. And you see, as a being of spirit, I might have… might have convinced Námo to let me be with him, should he indeed decide never to return among the living. But now…”

Melian’s voice had broken at that point, and it had taken all Mablung’s self-restraint to keep a calm face, to not betray his own emotions to the onlookers. Yavanna had placed her hand under Melian’s chin and gently made her look up, and when Melian did, Yavanna had stoked strands of her hair behind her ears, and wiped her cheeks clean of tears.

“I know. But it is indeed otherwise than you think. You think of a door closing that was never in truth open to you, when the opposite is the case. Now, there is a choice, though one I pray you would not make lightly.”

And when Melian had said nothing but instead only gazed at Yavanna in incredulous wonder, the Valie had added:
“I am glad that your mind shall hitherto be at peace where this matter is concerned, but I will not deny that I shall miss you, fluttering among my branches with your birds.”

“I shall miss that greatly, too. But if there has to be a choice, it can only be this.”

“Indeed so.” Yavanna had said, and embracing Melian in farewell had departed.

That had of course explained the change that Mablung had perceived in Melian, though at first had not realised what it was. She had chosen to bind herself to her elvish form once more, and walk among them as if she were an elf. And as this was the way she had always been in Middle-Earth, as this was the way Mablung had best known her, it was not so surprising perhaps that he had not noticed the true nature of her transformation at once.

“I… was unaware that this choice was before you, my Lady.”

Olwë’s words had startled Mablung out of his musings then, for he had not noticed before that the king himself was among the onlookers.

“Forgive me my… tactless and… stupid words at your coming to my city. I did not mean to offend you, nor snap ties between us before they were even formed.”

“I have taken no offence.” Melian had whispered back.

A few moments had passed with them just looking at each other, then they had both smiled tentatively.

Ever since, Melian had travelled between Lórien and Alqualondë, often accompanied by Thônwen, who quite rejoiced in trading the sea for the woods from time to time, and by Mablung himself. He seldom left Melian’s side, for apart from the deep friendship and shared grief that bound them, by her side was where he felt he belonged. And having found that place was a very, very comforting thing.