Aule's Dilemma by Uvatha the Horseman  

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The Ring has been Found

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Aulë had fallen behind on his work. Greeting the new arrivals occupied most of the day. He returned to the Forge after the rest of the household had gone to bed to finish the piece he'd been working on when the new arrivals interrupted his work.

He crossed the courtyard. Blue twilight had given way to full darkness, and the overcast hid the stars and waning moon.

The Forge was completely dark inside. He lit an oil lamp and carried it to his accustomed workspace on the shop floor. The hearth had been swept bare of ashes, and the tools cleaned and oiled. The slate board held a working drawing of his design, the chalk lines crisp and straight.

Aulë lit an oil lamp to hang over his workbench. He could see the tongs rack and the anvil in firelight from the hearth. He arranged charcoal in the long, narrow firepot and lit it, then worked the bellows to make the flames leap high. It would be a few minutes before the coals were hot enough for forging.

While he waited, he retrieved the piece he'd been working on, checked it against the chalkboard drawing, and mentally rehearsed what he was going to do. When the coals glowed orange, he laid the iron on them to heat and pulled it out when it too glowed orange.

The repetitive blows of the hammer on iron lulled him into a meditative state. There was no sound except for the rain on the roof and the crackle of the embers. He needed this badly. He felt calm for the first time since what happened in the kitchens that morning.

A sharp, insistent knocking on the outer door shattered his peace. Aulë set down his hammer and unbolted it to find Manwë, Lord of the Eagles, on his doorstep.

If Manwë wanted to speak to him, he would summon him to the Circle of Doom or to his home atop Mount Taniquetil. For lesser matters, he sent a note. Aulë couldn't remember when Manwë had last visited the Forge in person. A long time, and never late in the evening.

Lord Manwë wore robes in various shades of blue, the outer one heavily embroidered in gold thread. The fabric over his shoulders was dark with moisture. The damp had frizzed his white-blond hair.

"I heard your hammer, so I assumed I'd find you here."

Aulë stepped aside to admit him, paying obeisance with a slight nod.

Eönwë, Manwë's Chief Maia and herald, followed close behind his master. He wore full armor. His helm partially covered his golden hair, and fragments of blue garments showed below his chain mail sleeves. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

For a sickening moment, Aulë thought he was about to be arrested. He sometimes did things in secret after he'd been denied permission. Nothing important, but it added up. Aulë's mouth went dry.

Cirdan the Shipwright brought up the rear. His long hair and beard were snow-white. He wasn't wearing ceremonial attire like the others; he looked like a working sailor. Tar stained his hands, and salt encrusted the plain fabric of his tunic. Cirdan was one of the few who could still make the ocean crossing. He must have brought news from overseas, from Arda.

It was possible this wasn't about himself. Aulë let out his breath.

Once the three of them were inside, Manwë shot the bolt, securing the outer door from within.

"Is there somewhere we could speak in private, without risk of being overheard?" Manwë's face revealed nothing of the subject he wanted to discuss.

Aulë led them across the shop floor, past the hearth where the embers still glowed and his work sat cooling on the side of the hearth, to the windowless interior room known as the Vault which he used for secret work.

Aulë lifted the spell that sealed the door, then stepped aside to let his visitors enter. The room was unchanged since this morning, when he'd allowed the newcomers to glimpse inside.

Aulë tensed as Manwë squeezed around the tongs rack, his embroidered robes almost brushing against the oily tools. The others found places to stand between the hearth, workbench, and the desk.

Aulë still didn't know why they were here. His mind raced with small guilts: Council meetings skipped, corners cut, lies of omission. He could think of a litany of misdemeanors they might or might not know about. He kept his face still and waited for the hammer to fall.

Manwë motioned for Eönwë to bolt the door, and then said, "You can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, not other Valar, not your most trusted servants, not even your wife."

He looked around as if to be sure there was no one else in the small space to overhear them, and then he said,

"The Ring has been found. I want you to unmake it."

Aulë blinked in surprise. It was a moment before he was able to speak. "We already discussed it, and I said 'No'."

"We discussed it over a mug of ale, long before the Ring was found. It's not hypothetical anymore. You're the only one who can do this." Manwë said.

"You're not afraid I'll claim it for myself, or be corrupted by it?" asked Aulë.

"You're one of the Valar, so you're so much more powerful than anything one Maia could have put into the Ring. I doubt it would have an effect on you at all. Nice try, though," said Manwë.

Aulë tried another approach. "I'm not the only one who can unmake it. Curumo has enough skill, and he's made an extensive study of Ringlore."

"I'm reluctant to criticize another one of your servants, but for various reasons, it would be a bad idea to give the Ring to Curumo."

"You could have had one of your eagles carry it to the volcano and drop it in."

"I almost did, until someone pointed out there was a possibility that the power released from the Ring would be restored to its maker, particularly if he was aware of it when it happened," said Manwë.

"Why didn't Cirdan throw it in the sea when he made the crossing?"

"It was feared the nameless creatures that dwell in the uttermost depths might be drawn to it."

"By nameless creatures, I assume you mean Ossë?" Aulë asked, and then felt bad about having said something unkind.

Ossë, Chief Maia to the Lord of the Waters, had always been a delinquent, a bad influence, a trouble-maker. Aulë used him as an example of what not to be. Ossë with the Ring would be interesting, like a tidal wave is interesting, but not in a good way.

Manwë's voice softened. "We don't know what the unmaking would do to your former apprentice. I know he was dear to you.

Aulë leaned back against the edge of the hearth, his arms crossed. This conversation needed to end.

Manwë pressed. "As a responsible and law-abiding leader of our community, you set an example. People look up to you. He was one of your people. You're the one has to deal with him.

"I know I raised a monster. Ever since the trial, I've tried very hard not to think of him at all."

Manwë was quiet for a time. "Have you ever wondered how the Ring was made?"

"I may have, on occasion." It was the most important piece his most gifted student had ever made. Of course Aulë wanted to know how it was made.

Manwë gestured for Cirdan to come over. The famed Elvish navigator produced a small leather pouch, hung from a thong around his neck and hidden under his clothing. He opened it and spilled the contents onto Aulë's workbench. Light from the oil lamps reflected from a small object of gold.

"I'll just leave it here with you so you can have a look." Manwë pushed the door open and left the confined space. Eönwë and Cirdan followed him out onto the shop floor.

"I never agreed to this!" Aulë shouted at Manwë's retreating back, but the Lord of the Valar and his entourage had already found the outside door and disappeared into the mist.