Aule's Dilemma by Uvatha the Horseman  

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Eonwe talks about the War of Wrath

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Town of Valmar - Present Day (TA 3018)

It was a beautiful spring day. It was also the anniversary of Valinor's victory in the War of Wrath. They marked the occasion with a festival in Valmar, an easy walk of a mile or two away in pleasant weather.

The younger apprentices were too young to remember the War: the strength of the Enemy, the very real possibility they could be defeated and overrun, and the terrible cost they paid to prevail. For the younger apprentices, the Festival meant nothing more than sweets, theatrical performances, and prizes. As the date grew closer, they grew increasingly excited about going.

On the morning of the Festival, Aulë declared a day of no work so his people could go. He knew from previous festivals they'd go anyway, pleading some non-specific illness, then re-appearing at their anvils the next day with a bad sunburn. Aulë knew not to ask.

Aulë felt good about the progress he'd made on the project. He decided he'd go to the Festival with everyone else. It would be the first day he'd taken off since Manwë brought him the Ring. It would do him good to be away from the task for a day. When he came back, he would see the project with fresh eyes.

Music from the Festival reached him before he arrived at the Festival, held in the center of Valmar. Stages for music and theatric performances had been built on the town green, and the aroma of roasting meat suggested the food stalls were already open.

Aulë made a point of visiting the row of booths built by the Maiar of each Vala's household. By tradition, the booths housed some sort of game and gave out small prizes. Ulmo's people gave out seashells, Oromë's had clay figures of horses, and Yavanna's offered paper flowers. The booth made by his own people depicted the insides of a mine streaked with a mithril vein hidden in plain sight. Celebtan explained the game, and Bronze gave him a pewter charm of an anvil. Aulë thanked him gravely. They had spent days making those charms for the booth.

Drums and trumpets announced the entrance of Lord Manwë to the Festival. Eönwë, his herald, led the procession. He carried Lord Manwë's standard, impossibly tall, the pale blue and white silk floating in the breeze. Armed soldiers followed in close ranks, the sun blinding from their polished armor. Lord Manwë himself came behind them, resplendent in blue and silver. An eagle perched on his wrist, and an unseen wind stirred his pale hair. The crowd murmured as all eyes turned to him.

The afternoon progressed. Aulë was content to listen to the musical performances and watch people walk by, singly and in groups, dressed in their most festive clothing. Darkness fell. The torches and braziers were lit. Ale and cider flowed. Flutes and strings accompanied the singing, and people got up to dance. The festival took on an exuberant tone.

Eönwë sat alone at a small table in a far corner of the tavern's patio, his shoulders slumped. He looked tired. Aulë crossed the courtyard to join him. Eönwë wore blue and silver, the livery of his master. He wore a hand-and-a-half broadsword at his belt, and an inch of chainmail showed below his sleeve.

"I have a letter for your master." Aulë reached into his pouch. His fingers closed on a seashell and a clay horse. He'd put the letter to Manwë in the drawer of his desk. It was still there. "Never mind, I'll send it later."

There were people nearby, absorbed in their own conversations. Eönwë's table, tucked in a corner, was relatively private. The barmaid came by with a pitcher. Eönwë held up his hand to wave her over. He didn't need more; he was already slurring his words.

"Something bothering you, lad?" Aulë sat down on the bench beside him.

Eönwë stared into his tankard. "The War of Wrath Festival forces me to think about the War. I'd rather not."

"Why not? You led our forces to victory. You should be celebrating. Enjoying the attention, not hiding away in a corner drinking yourself blind."

Eönwë spoke quietly, as if to himself. "He was my friend. I hate what's going to happen to him." Eönwë and Mairon had been inseparable when they were young. Whenever you saw one, the other wasn't far away. "The Festival has always been hard for me. The War, it's a wound that never heals." Aulë hadn't fought in the War himself. He stayed in the Forge, making weapons and equipment.

Aulë and Manwë were close, but it was rude to speak to one of Manwë's servants without asking. But there was something he'd wanted to know for a very long time. "You were the last to see Mairon. What happened?" That was a polite way of saying it. Aulë thought what they all thought. That Eönwë had captured the Enemy's second-in-command and, for no apparent reason, had let him go. That Eönwë was an idiot.

Eönwë wouldn't look at him. "He didn't come back. I blame myself."

Not a surprise. We all blame you.

A barmaid came by with a pitcher. Aulë raised his hand for another round, even though Eönwë had clearly had enough at that point. Aulë felt guilty about plying the lad with drink, but not guilty enough to stop doing it. As far as he knew, Eönwë never opened up about that day, and he appeared about to do so now.

Aulë pressed him. "You were the last of us to see him. How did he look? What did he say to you? What was his mood?"

"Why don't I start at the beginning. But you know how it ends. I could have saved him, and I failed."

Arda - End of the First Age (Eönwë 's story)

Eönwë stared into his tankard. "When the Council decided to do something about Melkor, I was charged with leading the Forces of Valinor against his stronghold, so I saw a lot of things up close. I've been asked whether I was the one who cut Melkor to pieces, or if I was just a witness. Don't ask. I don't want to talk about it."

Aulë waved to the barmaid to top him off again, which leaving his own mug untouched. He sat in silence, waiting for Eönwë to go on.

"After Melkor fell, his armies collapsed. Orcs, dragons, trolls, everything. Those of the survivors who fled were hunted down and killed.

"Mairon had been one of Melkor's captains. Had he tried to escape, whatever happened to him at our hands would have been very unpleasant. For him. But he did something smart. Instead of fleeing or waiting to be captured, he walked into our camp, unarmed, and knelt at my feet.

"When I saw him, he'd just learned that Melkor was gone. He'd fallen into a stunned, disbelieving state of grief. His eyes were focused on nothing, and his hands were as cold as ice.

"He said he regretted the harm he'd done, and that he wished to return home and resume to his old life. I knew him well enough to tell truth from lie, and could tell his repentance was real.

"If it were anyone else, I'd have had him arrested and placed under heavy guard. But because he sincerely repented, I told him to find his own way to Valinor to appear for trial. I thought, if he made the long trip, alone and unaccompanied, it would show the Valar that his repentance was real.

"Unfortunately, there was so much going on at once, I couldn't spend as much time with him as I would have liked. Armed men had broken into my tent, killing the guards and escaping with the Silmarils. The thieves had just been captured, and I was called away to decide their fate. When it was settled, I went looking for him, but he was gone. I never saw him again."

The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Aulë came to bed late, as he had every night since he took on this project. Most nights, he could hardly stay awake long enough to wash off the soot.

Tonight, he lay awake. His head whirled with what he'd learned from his preliminary calculations. It couldn't be that bad, he told himself, but it was.

Outside, the night was alive with the songs of crickets and frogs. He couldn't believe how loud they were. An hour passed.

"Vanna, are you awake?"

"I am now." Yavanna sounded less than pleased with him.

"Why do you think Mairon didn't come back? Eönwë said he wanted to."

"I expect it was the near-certainty of standing trial and being sent to prison."

"When Mairon left here, I watched until he vanished from sight. He didn't look back, not once. Since then, never once tried to contact me. Not once, not even after a disaster, to let me know he was still alive." Aulë fell silent for a while. "I'll never see him again, will I?"

"I don't see how he could get a note to you, even if he'd wanted to. It's not like he had a way to send a letter or pass on a message through a mutual acquaintance."

Aulë said, "For the longest time, I wanted him to come home. Now I just want him to be safe."

After a bid, he asked, mostly to himself, "Do you think I ever mattered to him?"

Yavanna propped herself up on one elbow. "I didn't tell you this story when it happened. You were still so upset about the Trial and didn't allow his name to be spoken, but I think you need to hear it."

Dol Guldur - Middle of the Third Age (Yavanna's story)

"This happened not long ago, in the middle of the Third age. We still didn't know who the Necromancer was. I sent one of my Maiar to get close to Dol Guldur to see what she could learn. She took on the shape of a she-Orc and set up an alehouse in the little village at the foot of Dol Guldur.

"When the Plague came through, Dol Guldur was hit hard. The Plague appeared to shut down Dol Guldur for more than a month.

"When things went back to normal, an elderly Orc who looked important came to the alehouse. He was a specialist in herbs, and he'd been working 20-hour days for weeks while the Plague swept through the fortress.

"He said that when things eased up a bit, he went to the kitchens for something to eat. He found them operating on a skeleton crew, serving only dried meat and waybread, so he took the five-minute hike down to the village in search of a meat pie and a proper mug of beer.

"He didn't notice that the beer she served him was stronger than the norm. Or that a pretty girl, by Orc standards, was hanging onto his every word. Either way, it served to loosen the tongue of an exhausted old man.

"The old healer confided to my Maia, the barmaid, that he'd treated someone of high rank who was out of his head with fever and calling for someone called Owlie. No one in Dol Guldur knew of anyone named after an owl."

"Of course, my Maia noticed that Owlie sounded almost like Aulë, but she didn't attach any importance to it. We all thought the Necromancer was a human sorcerer, possibly one of the Nazgûl. We didn't seriously think it might be Mairon.

Aulë was deeply touched. In the throes of delirium, Mairon hadn't called for Melkor; he'd called for himself.