Fanfic I Nyáre o Námo ar Áramande (The Account of Námo and Áramande)

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Great was The Gift of Time, for it was granted to few upon Arda, leastways few upon the Valar. In the Beginning of Days, only two of the Powers wielded it: Vaire the Weaver, and Námo, the Doomsman of Arda. For upon those twain, one wove incessantly of the Past upon her countless tapestries, and the other looked into the Future, of Dooms that were to be wrought upon Arda Marred. Yet, over 12,000 years at most, another gained it: the Ninth Arata. Many names she was known by - Áramande Amaniel Almalaurie by Námo - Bearer of Dawn and Doom, Daughter of Aman, Golden Flower; Lanyáre Lúmequenta by Vairë - Thread of History, Tale of Time. For indeed, both of these she was, amongst others, the Star-Daughter, Eleniel, as she was named by Varda Elentári, Queen of the Stars.

Bound to Námo and Vairë she was by this Gift, yet all in all, end upon end, her bond with Námo was sundered, for Námo himself had seen much that had come to pass, and indeed he wished not for Amaniel to dwell within these fates also. Thus, she fled the Halls of Mandos, yet beyond its borders lay the House and Chambers of Vairë, and the Weaver had sought out her chief Handmaiden, for she was the only other that possessed this Gift. As Námo grew distant from all, e'ermore such being his Path, the bond of Lanyáre and Vairë grew e'er the more poignant, and e'ermore it shall be.

Yet upon the Fourth Evening after the sundering of this Bond, the Threads of Fate and Time were interwoven upon different grounds. There was strife betwixt Kin of the Féanturi, for Námo and Irmo rose up against each other in a fierce battle of Wills, ne'er before seen upon the Tapestries of History. For the strength and Light of the Ninth Arata had been greatly diminished, and she lay still, utterly motionless, amongst the lush grass of the Fair Gardens of Lórien. Upon this Moment in Time, a meeting of the Valar was called forth. Yet, not all were present, save for those who had strong bonds with She Who Had Fallen. Though, all in all, Hope against ev'ry Hope, Námo came also, yet he stood distant from all, for e'ermore such were his ways.

Upon this Moment, Irmo inquired in thought of his elder brother's coming, yet as always, the ways of Námo Mandos were concealed. The younger, in his great desperation, begged for Námo's part of his healing. Yet healing the Doomsman would not give, for he knew well the Grief and Sorrow of Amaniel Almalaurie, and he knew that e'en if his healing be giv'n in the slightest, Memory of Sunderance would resurface, and bonds that were once sundered would be restored when the Time had not yet come.

Upon the foundations of disagreement of the Fate of Amaniel, where Time lay e'er in the bidding, this fierce conflict betwixt Fate and Time, and betwixt Dreams and Desires, were wrought forth. Yet they were not all, for the Weaver of Time spoke also, followed by the Kindler of the Stars. Yet Námo revealed of his Prophecies, that they shalt ne'er be forgotten, and indeed they shalt not. Thus, Airanin, the former young Maia of Amaniel, who had e'er held much wrath against Námo, believing him to be the cause of her Valie's fall, spoke in tones of great ire against the Doomsman, naming him Mandos the Fell, and condemning him upon the side of the Great Enemy Morringotto, mayhap better known as Morgoth Bauglir.

Thus Námo, ne'er having seen such event come to pass despite his Gift of Time, rose amongst all amidst the Gardens of Lórien, and in that Moment all was filled with utter Doom towards Airanin. So far a path she had bestowed upon him in the curse of Evil, that he banished him from seeing her Valie again, naming her Maia of None. Thus, it came to pass that Námo's Prophecy was seen true, for Yavanna took the hand of Airanin, and together they walked amidst the Forests of Lórien and beyond.

Námo, who had taken both Amaniel and Vairë, now bade Vairë stay upon the lower grounds of his Halls, for this Moment was meant only to be for twain. Together the Fifth and the Ninth Arata journeyed upon many winding stairs, until at last they came upon Andanéya, highest of all Chambers within the Halls of Mandos, where Námo himself, upon his own Will, could see millennia into the Future, or backwards into the Past. Thus it was upon great Andanéya, and the Power of the words of Námo Mandos, and the Threads of Fate and Time, that the Light of Amaniel was restored fully, her breath brought back, and their once sundered bond reconciled in unity, and for eternity. Ne'er again shall their bond be sundered in any way, and ne'er again shall one leave the other, for they shall dwell e'ermore as One within the Fates of Time, upon the Halls of Mandos.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

It was during a certain Council of the Valar, during the Years of the Trees, that the 14 Valar were gathered upon the Máhanaxar as usual, for indeed this Day was one of great significance. Upon the fair city of Valimar there were few of the Eldalie, for most had not yet voyaged West from Cuiviénen. Yet of the few that were present, they rejoiced under the Light of the Two Trees, Telperion and Laurelin, and sang songs of great beauty in honour of the Stars of Elbereth Gilthoniel.

Now within the Ring of Doom there assembled all of the Valar, listening silently as Manwe rose to speak:

"It indeed appears that all of us have chosen their Maiar, save one."

At this, he eyed Námo Mandos, Doomsman of the Valar, Ruler of Time and Fate, and spoke:

"Mandos. Hast thou not yet decided?"

The Doomsman replied in his usual stoic tone:

"I have, my liege. 'Tis simply a matter of Time ere I reveal it."

Manwe mentally sighed. Námo was always one to go his own way, no matter how much it meant the other Valar would have to sit and wait - often for extended periods of time. The Elder King then addressed him again:

"And who is this Maia that thou hast chosen, if I may ask?"

Námo gazed upwards, and replied:

"Her name is Míriel Ithilwen Amaniel."

Manwe drew back, a look of surprise on his face, whilst Varda narrowed her eyes. The Kindler of Stars then inquired:

"Mandos. She is a Silmaril in living form, apparently. We know not of how this hath come to be. She hath e'en rivalled Féanor in terms of the creation of more Silmarilli - till now, she hath awoken five vessels that contain the Light of the Trees. Who knows what she may become?"

At this, Námo sighed, yet moved little:

"Indeed. Such is the reason why I shall take her in. For I have seen much potential within her, that shall be beneficial to the entirety of Arda."

Manwe reclined back slightly in his throne, and eyed Varda, who merely nodded. At long length, he finally spoke:

"May it be, then."

Thus, Námo Mandos, Ruler of Fate, Time and Memory, moved forth, and bent down, taking the young Maia's hands into his own as her silver-golden hair flowed lightly from side to side. He could sense her féa shuddering slightly, and he sent forth a few waves of love and warmth from his own, which made her smile in response. He whispered, in gentle tones:

"This name I shall give to thee: Áramande Amaniel Almalaurie. Bearer of Dawn and Doom, Daughter of Aman, and Golden Flower of my Halls. Henceforth, from this Moment of Time onwards, you shall be my Maia, and I thy Vala."

He saw Áramande smile in response, and she nodded with much eagerness.

Finally, Námo had gained a Maiarin companion, at long last.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Now Námo led his Maia to a halt in front of his Halls, and as he raised a hand, the wide oaken doors opened, and Áramande gasped. Námo smiled down at his Maia as he spoke, his tone powerful yet calming:

"Welcome to the Halls of Mandos, Áramande!"

The little Maia could only stand in awe and wonder, rooted to the spot, as she spoke, her entire being seemingly enchanted by the beauty of the interior as Námo looked back:

"Oh my...what is this place? It's beautiful...I have never seen any before like it..."

Námo could not resist a smile as he led her onwards:

"Why, these are simply my Halls. Yet I see that you harbour much affection for them. It seems I did indeed make the right choice..."

Áramande broke into a run, as Námo shook his head and smiled even more to himself. This one was indeed vastly different from the rest, he thought. Suddenly, he heard her jumping up and down, her hands grasping a single tapestry that hung on the walls, as her voice shook with excitement:

"How am I in this? What even is this? This is amazing!"

At this, Námo bent down, and whispered into her ear:

"Those are the works of my wife, Vaire the Weaver. She weaves all that hath e'er happened in Arda, and here she depicts you making your fifth Silmaril from the Light of the Two Trees. All of her tapestries are hung upon the walls of my Halls, which extend e'ermore as Time passes on."

At this, the young Maia widened her eyes even more, and answered:

"They widen evermore? Wow! So there's no end to them?"

Námo nodded, but now it was his turn to widen his eyes as he noticed her running towards a certain door - which was apparently locked. He walked over, his large strides swiftly catching up to her, and gently placed his hands onto hers.

"That room is the Chambers of Yúyalúme, Chambers of the Time of Twilight. A Time shall come when you may use it, but it is certainly not this Time."

Áramande gazed up at him in much confusion, and blinked several times.

"But if it's not this Time, then which Time?"

The Vala smiled again, almost suppressing a laugh, as he replied:

"Áramande, Time is only a Moment. Soon you shall come to use it, when such Moments have passed. For every Moment rises and falls, and it shall come e'er the swifter ere you may realise it."

Áramande gazed down, and pondered his words. Sensing that her féa was mingled with much confusion, he added as he led her away:

"In due Time, my words shall also be understood by you. For in Valinor, we have an eternity."

At this, the Maia beamed, and spoke:

"So Time is Eternal too?"

Námo smiled, as they walked ever further down his Halls, and his tone was lilting as he answered:

"Yes, my dear Áramande. Time is Eternal also."​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Time. It is both the Beginning and the End. It is Eternal, lasting evermore, and yet it is only a Moment. A Moment indeed, for it passes rapidly in ephemeral motion, beyond much comprehension. Evermore as well, for it is Eternal, or at least it seems to be; for it flows on, beyond sight, beyond reach, beyond touch, beyond auditory sense. Beyond all forms of tactile understanding, Boundless and Infinite.

It is an abstract concept in itself, for within its many centuries, millennia and eons, it has woven the deeply convoluted threads of History, of all that has happened in this World, of all that rises and falls with every passing Moment. Yet as History repeats itself, so does Time appear to reverse itself also. Thus, it is Eternal, motioning onwards, yet only a Moment, in the briefest of measurements.

Time governs the bearings of Life, for without it, little change would come forth from the fruition of bountiful works that advance ever onwards.

Yet Námo is not only Master of Time. He is also Master of Memory.

Memory. It holds the greatest events of all, linked much within the flow of Time. Most is held within, though some are revealed. Many different emotions it may convey across the most extensive of spectrums, from Joy to Melancholy, from Hope to Despair, from the Rising of Dawn to the Fading of Dusk.

Some wane, whilst others remain. For Memory, as it shall be mentioned once again, remains much akin to Time in nature – either fleeting beyond remembrance, or amidst Eternal engravings. It is, and shall always be, a mist that envelops all in a myriad of thoughts.

The essence of Memory is deeply poignant, mayhap amongst the most elaborate of all, yet sometimes it simply fades away ere it can come to recollection.

Yet Námo would have said that Memory is also Everlasting, for he remembers all that hath come to pass, and forgets nothing. He knows all things that shall be, save those that still lieth within Ilúvatar and have thus not been revealed to e'en Manwe.

Yet Námo is not only Master of Time, and Master of Memory. He is also Ruler of Fate. Despite being named as such, he cannot truly rule Fate or master it, for Fate hath a Will and Path of its own. Fate is a fickle thing, he would say! For indeed, its paths can lead us upon unpredicted and unprecedented ways!

What mayhap strikes most is that Fate is linked to both Time and Memory. Not e'en those who wield the Gift of Time may prevent it from shaping the Future of this World. As one certain Maia who followed him once uttered:

"I once thought that the Gift of Time was purely a Grace. Yet, it seems I had ne'er looked into Time and Memory enough. Only now do I know that it truly lay more as a burden. For only now do I know of how much it hurts to know of the Future, only to realise that you are powerless to change it."

Indeed, Memory shalt remain, Time shalt flow e'er onwards, and Fate shalt craft its own paths.

The ways of Námo Mandos are different from all the Ainur, leastways from those of the Valar. He hath gazed into the Future of Arda when they have not, and when they cannot. His ways are beyond them all, save for one: 12,000 years later and beyond, she had gained the strength and the Power to stand beside him, and thus she did. She stood by his side in his Halls e'ermore, ne'er to leave him again:

Áramande Amaniel Almalaurie...

"Avaro naeth. Stand ever beside me."​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

"Áramande! Do not go! You cannot!"

Námo's distressed cry echoed from the far distance and beyond, yet Áramande took no heed. No matter how much she was excited about staying in these Halls and exploring the various tapestries, she could not do so now. Now was not the Time.

Sword drawn against sword. Metal upon metal. Eldar against Eldar. Noldor against the Falmari.

Yes, this was the First Kinslaying at Alqualonde. She had heard it occur, and now she ran to the edge of these Halls, and beyond its doors, clutching her sword in her hand tightly.

"Do not go!" cried Námo again. "You will not..."

Yet whatever Námo was about to say next had fallen on deaf ears. She wished for something to happen - no, she wished for this horrible massacre to have never happened in the first place. In thought, she pleaded with the Master of Time:

"Námo, my Lord! Is there any way that I could possibly reverse Time?"

A very shocked voice resounded through her head:

"Reverse Time? For what?"

Now the young Maia was filled with grief, mingled with ire:

"For what, you say? For ceasing this abominable act of Elven slaughter, of course!"

Námo now sounded even more surprised, realising that his Maia knew nothing of the dangers of this battle in front of her.

"No! You cannot participate in this battle! We cannot lose you! You are a Maia! You cannot be lost!"

At this, the passion of Áramande's féa blazed forth, and resounded in great wrath upon justice:

"Are you telling me that the lives of these innocent Eldalie can be lost so swiftly?!"

Wasting no second, she ceased the connections in thought, and rushed forth, blocking the sword of a nearby Noldor Elf, and freeing their defenseless victim. Yet there were too many.

She could only save as many as she could, and she would.

She knew not of how much Time had passed. Running, parrying, rescuing. Three words it were indeed, yet a certain one who wove of the countless years, who looked back on these events, would have commented that her role was a significant one, and prevented the loss of many lives.

Her Moments were a Dance of Golden Flower Petals amidst Blazing Flames: graceful and elegant, yet swift and impassioned with ev'ry move.

Yet still, it was a Kinslaying. Many had still fallen, and more would.

As she dashed forth to save another, she felt metal slash at her arm, and her movements slowed down, yet not of the one behind her, for his féa was ardent in passionate conflagration. Thus, she felt Time slow down, and when she gazed back with much difficulty, it was none other than Féanaro Curufinwe himself.

Féanaro Curufinwe. Son of Finwe and Míriel. He started it all, did he not? He led the Noldor against the Falmari...and now, against herself. A Maia of Námo Mandos. One of the Ainur. One of the primordial spirits who created Arda...

Námo was right...they could not lose her. Yet now, they had. Only too soon, it seemed. She had fallen, and her féa had fled to the Halls of Mandos. Though she may have fallen, she regretted not that she had intervened to liberate those who had no choice, and those whose lives had been spared by her intercession.

Time is only a Moment, after all.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Why? Why did it have to be like this?

It didn't have to be. It didn't have to happen, yet it did. It happened when it wasn't supposed to. It happened because of the choice of Féanaro Curufinwe.

This was what Áramande thought, as she reflected upon what she had seen just Moments earlier, ere she now stayed in the Halls of Mandos.

Yet Námo would have thought it to be completely different.

"Áramande, some things that happen in this World are out of our control. We cannot prevent them, nor can we change them." he explained.

At this, Áramande looked up, and asked:

"Why then do you gaze into the Future, even when you know that little can be done to change it?"

At this, the Lord of Souls replied:

"To prepare and to anticipate, rather than to prevent and to alter."

Áramande pondered this much - it seemed she could not fully understand it, and Námo knew this well. The ways of Time and Fate were indeed difficult. Fickle even, as he oft named it. Even himself was sometimes overwhelmed by the visions he saw of the Future. He gazed down at Áramande's disembodied féa, sensing her intentions well, and inquired:

"You would not wish to incarnate again for a while?"

"No, I would not. At least not for now." came her reply in soft tones. "Too much has happened. I need Time. I need Time to think over all."

"As would all the other féar in my Halls also," he thought, and spoke back:

"Very well. Time I shalt give thee."

As he walked away further down his Halls to tend to the myriad of Falmari féar, a sudden thought struck the Maia:

"Time I shall be given indeed, for it is both a Moment, and Eternal. Dawn and Doom it both harbours, and so do I. Perhaps some things were just meant to happen."

From the far-off distance, the same familiar voice resounded:

"Indeed, thou speaketh rightly, Áramande. That is why I have named thee as such, for thou art the Bearer of Dawn and Doom. They collide e'ermore...and when they meet, no change shalt be needed to alter them, for it shalt bring about change by itself. Such shalt be the Changing of the World at the end of the Second Age..."

Only then did Áramande realise how vast Time would ever be.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

It had now been a few days since the events of the First Kinslaying, yet Áramande had felt like it was an eternity over in the Halls of Mandos. Indeed, Time seemed to flow differently here...

"I control the Tides of Time. Indeed, they seem to flow much slower in these Halls, especially when 'tis only the féa that perceiveth such change."

The Maia closed her eyes for a brief Moment, before gazing out into the distance.

"How long shall it be, my Lord?" she asked.

"As long as you wish for, and there is no need for thee to address me as thy Lord. Such formalities are not required. I would not refuse thy re-embodiment, if thou wished it to be now." he answered.

Áramande heaved a slight sigh, then replied:

"Then so be it. You are of the Féanturi, after all. You would know well of my desires."

At this, the Vala widened his eyes slightly.

"Thou knowest that desire is not my portion, dost thou? Desires and Dreams...they are the portions of my younger brother, Irmo Lórien."

Áramande now gave a small smile, as she gazed upwards.

"I know of this well. Yet, both of you are of the Féanturi, and thus, are the desires of the féa not well known to you?"

The Vala widened his eyes yet again, and answered, almost with a soft laugh:

"Ah, you surprise me oft, one Moment after another! Indeed! If such is the desire thou speakest of, then indeed 'tis well known to me!"

Áramande beamed, and spoke:

"Then mayhap it shall start now, shall it not?"

Námo nodded, and began.

Thus, Áramande was restored, and had returned by the Grace of Time.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Now, another day since Áramande's re-embodiment had swiftly passed. Námo stood within his Halls, gazing intently on his Maia as he smiled at her:

"Áramande, you must know that Time is only a Moment, yet e'er does it fade. Till the End it shall fade e'ermore, and beyond that, all shall cease, for it remains the last of all that is to come."

The Bearer of Dawn and Doom gazed at him with much confusion written on her face. Tilting her head, she asked curiously as she tugged at his black robes, jumping up and down:

"Námo! Always, your words confuse me! I don't understand! What do you mean? Time hasn't stopped, hasn't it? Surely it hasn't; everything's still going on!"

Námo sighed, yet upon his face was woven a smile of much compassion, as he effortlessly picked up the young Maia in his arms, and gazed out into the distance.

"My words may seem beyond your knowledge, yet I know that one day you will come to understand."

Áramande gasped in excitement, as she beamed upwards.

"Really? I will? I will?"

Námo couldn't suppress his laughter, as he only responded:

"Yes, Áramande, ninya Almalaurie. You will indeed, and e'ermore you will."

Silently, he gazed wistfully into the distance, for he could see into the Future, and silently he whispered, so that the young Maia could not hear:

"Ninya Almalaurie, My Golden Flower of the Halls of Mandos. Ne'er shall we be sundered, e'en if it seems so at any given Moment. For our bond endures beyond that of Time, beyond that of Memory, beyond that of Fate - indeed, beyond the very confines of Fate itself. E'en the Light of the Stars cannot diminish our bond...e'en though you will join Her in times to come. Ours shall remain e'er the more poignant, ne'er to be broken e'en when Fading Bound of Time's Last End come upon us. Indeed, in this you are also named, for you are indeed always in my likeness."

Indeed, they would remain together e'emore, as One.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

One would have thought that the Blessed Realm of Valinor would be unchanging and e'ermore full of Light.

Unchanging it indeed was, like Time itself. Yet e'en Valinor was Darkened through the Loss of the Two Trees.

She remembered that day well. Only too well. Amidst the Grace of the Valar and the jubilation of the ceremonial feast, there lurked two Shadows of Darkness: Melkor and Ungoliant. It was those two that led to the Darkening of Valinor.

She remembered how difficult it had been for Yavanna and Nienna, when one sang endlessly, and the other wept ceaselessly. She remembered how she, as a Maia, lacked the Power to aid them in either Harmonious Song or Unnumbered Tears.

She remembered that fateful Moment when a last Silver Flower was born from the branch of Telperion, and a last Golden Fruit from the bough of Laurelin.

She remembered how Féanor had led his host, and those of Fingolfin's, to take the ships of the Teleri by force, and the agonising cries of those who wept beside the fallen.

She remembered the first rising of the Sun and Moon; Anor and Ithil. Where one would wax, and the other wane, sometimes even visible together in the sky at Times. Where one would shine as a herald for the Coming of the Secondborn, and the other as a Memory of the Fading of the Eldar.

Indeed, she saw the likeness of the Two Trees in both. Yet it was not enough. Valinor had been Marred from days before, and especially from that Day onwards.

Dagor Nírnaeth Arnoediad had happened in the First Age, in the 472nd Year. Yet Námo had pronounced his prophetic Doom upon the Exiled Noldor long before that. The Bliss of Valinor had fallen long before that also.

Truly, the Tides of Time had woven its own Threads and Paths of Unnumbered Tears long before any could ever realise it.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

As Námo paced the vast corridors of his Halls, Áramande gazed cautiously and scrutinisingly at a certain tapestry woven by Vaire. There depicted the last Silver Flower of Telperion, and the last Golden Fruit of Laurelin.

Indeed, that one fateful Moment in Time where Hope had been restored, but only slightly.

She sometimes wondered why she was named the "Golden Flower of the Halls of Mandos". Why had Námo given her such an epithet? Why was it given to her specifically? What importance did she have for Arda?

As she continued her observations, Námo stopped behind her, and spoke:

"There were many reasons, Almalaurie. To say the least, you indeed remind me of the Two Trees. Your Light shines abounding, e'en though Valinor may have been Darkened. Yet, not all Hope is lost. There is Hope within you, Áramande. You, who bears both Dawn and Doom, as that of the Paradox of the same attributes colliding upon the Peaks of my Halls. Your five Silmarils shall bring great aspiration, especially the one within you. That one shall be crucial to restoring the Two Trees once again."

At this, Áramande turned back, a puzzled expression on her face. Acknowledging that the Two Trees were now lifeless and fallen, she then inquired what Hope lay in their restoration.

"There shall be Hope Abounding in Times to Come." the Vala answered, as he knelt down, embracing the Maia in his arms. "Much there is not to be spoken of. Yet you shall be a shining Light to all of the Valar, and to all of Arda, for the Light of the Two Trees lay within you, and thus, you are my Golden Flower, Áramande."

Hope Unnumbered would indeed resurface after Time's Flow of Unnumbered Tears.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

"She is planning on crafting her Sixth?" Námo asked, as he walked over quietly to where Vaire was weaving, and gazed at her tapestry.

The Weaver looked up with a smile on her face, and replied:

"I do indeed say, she may already be in the process of crafting it. I daresay she hath planned it all out long ago."

"Yet she wields not the Power needed to craft it fully." came the answer from the Doomsman.

Vaire, who did not cease her movements as she concentrated on her next stitch, simply responded:

"You could always go and stop her, if such an opinion you hold."

Námo gazed out of the window, and sighed. "You know such are not my ways. As I have said before, 'tis to prepare and to anticipate, rather than to prevent and to alter."

Vaire paused her weaving, and retorted:

"Didst thou truly expect less from one who hath rivalled Féanaro himself? Hast thou underestimated her Power, her abilities?"

"Nay," came the rejoin, as he walked out of the doors of his Halls. "I have overestimated it."

As he stepped outside and made his way towards his Maia, he sensed the passion of her féa, yet he knew that any further attempts would strain her hróa greatly. As he made a single step forth, a voice resounded in his head:

"Nay! Come no further! It must be done!"

"You would wish to alter the Tides of Time? What had I told you earlier in my Halls?"

"Nay, I wish not to-"

"Yet you have done so."

At this, Áramande ceased, and the ball of Light in her hands shattered as Námo caught her in his strong embrace, her eyes fluttering to a close. In gentle tones, he whispered, as he carried her back to his dwelling to allow her to rest:

"The Tides of Time waits not for those who wish to tarry or alter, for it crafts its own paths e'ermore..."

If 3,000 years of their bond would not be strong enough, then 13,000 would.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Áramande gazed out into the far distance from the Halls of Mandos, as Námo came behind her.

"Where is it now that thou wish to seek, only after thou hast just been fully healed?" he asked her.

"My heart yearns for freedom, and my féa longs for the flowing Waters that are most akin to Time itself." came the reply in soft tones.

Námo raised an eyebrow and inquired further:

"Truly, is this what you desire?"

Áramande simply nodded, and added:

"Such is indeed my desire."

The Ruler of Time now came before her, and bent down level to her small height. She noticed the look of concern upon his face, yet before she could speak, he did so first:

"Áramande, my dear Almalaurie, are my Halls too much for you-"

At this, the Maia widened her eyes, and quickly corrected:

"Nay, 'tis not! I assure you, such was not my intent!"

"I see...you do intend on coming back?"

The young Maia grasped his hands into her own in sudden and swift motion, earning a look of surprise from the Doomsman of the Valar, before she spoke in almost urgent tones:

"Of course! I would not wish to leave you! Let our bond never be sundered!"

Námo remained almost immobile for a Moment, as thoughts flashed through his mind.

"She harbours much knowledge of Arda..." he thought. "Much more than any other of the Maiar I've seen...leastways, she does not e'en reject my Halls..."

"Of course I would not reject them! They are beautiful!" came the audible response.

Námo embraced his Maia, before they broke off, and he told her:

"Go then! Fulfil the desires of thy heart and féa!"

It was from that Moment onwards that another named her Féanennie, Spirit of Wistful Waters.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Now as Áramande voyaged through plain hills, flower meadows and wide forests, she finally came towards the flowing Waters of the Western Seas, as she had called it. They reflected much Light, and their sapphires hues enamoured her greatly.

"It seems you've taken a liking to Lord Ulmo's Waters. What brings you here?" a voice asked, as a young girl with soft brown hair approached her.

"'Tis exactly that. My heart years for freedom, and my féa longs for these Waters, for they have much similarities with the unchangeable, yet everchanging, nature of Time itself." she replied as she bent down to examine the molecules of Nature in greater detail.

The young girl raised an eyebrow. "Time?" she repeated. "Are you the only Maia of Lord Mandos, otherwise known as Míriel Ithilwen Amaniel?"

This other name gave her an internal Moment of surprise and unfamiliarity. "Yes. I am his Maia indeed. What of you?"

The young girl smiled, and gazed at her. "I am a Maia of Lord Ulmo, as you might have noticed. I'm Airanin Astanie. Nice to meet you."

Áramande nodded, and answered that indeed it was intriguing to meet another of her own Kin. She gazed up at the clear skies, and inquired:

"How long have you been with him?"

Aranin averted her field of vision towards the horizons of the Waters, as Anor shed her last rays of Light, turning them a mellow crimson.

"1,000 years in the service of Lord Ulmo. You?"

"3,000 years in the service of Lord Námo."

Airanin jumped back in surprise. "3,000 already?!"

Áramande simply nodded. "I would say Time mayhap flows differently there. I have experienced it myself."

At this, Airanin looked at her in much bewilderment. "What do you mean, you've experienced it yourself?"

The Maia of Námo sighed, and gazed up even further at the skies. "I fell during the First Kinslaying".

Airanin gazed back in utter shock, unable to respond, and Áramande could sense her distress.

"Nay, trouble yourself not of these matters-"

"But I don't recall that a Maia was ever there-"

Áramande glanced at her fellow Maia with much sorrow, and answered:

"Indeed there was, for it was I, and I fell at the hand of Féanaro himself."

Now she could sense her growing ire, and she placed a hand on her shoulder, unconsciously sending a few waves of warmth and love into her féa. Yet Airanin failed not to notice this, and she countered in tones of much incredulity, her previous wrath dissipating in an instant:

"I don't recall any other having this ability save the Féanturi themselves, or at least it was said so!"

Now it was Áramande who drew back in surprise, yet in the likeness of Námo himself, her surprise swiftly turned into another smile as she acknowledged Námo's teachings ere swiftly disappearing in disincarnate form, her voice echoing lightly as it faded gradually:

"Time is only a Moment, Airanin Astanie."

Indeed, the ways of the Féanturi were oft concealed, and so were those of Áramande also.​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Upon much swiftness did she return to the Halls of Mandos, and found Námo standing in front of her, as he took her into his gentle embrace. After a brief Moment did he inquire:

"Hath thy time with the Waters of the Sea ended so swiftly?"

To this did Áramande answer:

"Mayhap not, for a desire that stems from the depths of the féa is ne'er so swiftly diminished or languished, is it not?"

Námo gave a brief smile, rousing as he brought her up with him in one simultaneous movement, and replied:

"Nay, 'tis not so indeed. The féa is a complex entity upon its entire self, and ne'er shall it be denied, for it cannot be denied. Though the hróa clothes the immortal féa that remains everlasting, 'tis e'ermore the féa that proves to be the stronger of the two. For the hróa fades gradually upon the changing of the World, yet the féa is retained through the swift Bounds of Time that are Eternal, yet rise and fall upon fleeting Moments also."

Áramande held her mouth and eyes agape with deep interest and shock alike, yet ere she could utter a single word, Námo continued:

"Indeed do I know much. I count amongst the Féanturi myself, and one day shalt thou be also."

Now the young Maia blinked in confusion, and spoke:

"Nay - it cannot be. The Féanturi are only you and Irmo, is it not?"

Námo nodded, yet continued:

"For now it may be. Yet upon a Time of distant Future shalt thou be counted amongst us also, and it matters not wherefore thou art, for indeed the féa knoweth no boundaries, save those that lay within the Bounds of Time in eternity."

As Áramande ran to the doors of his Halls and gazed outside, the Stars twinkled forth in Light Abounding, and a lilting voice was heard from them: quite unexpectedly, that of Varda Elentári:

"Ne'er is Hope forsaken upon the Bounds of Impossibility. One day thou shalt come to me again, Ninya Éleniel. My Star-Daughter shalt thou e'ermore be, in both heart and féa."​

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Upon this very next Moment did Áramande turn to Námo, and she spoke:

"I hear the voice of another."

Námo gazed back at her intently, and asked:

"And who may this other be?"

Áramande replied with much confidence:

"Varda Elentári, I believe. The Kindler of Stars."

Námo looked slightly troubled, and Áramande inquired softly:

"Why is thy heart and féa discontent? She shalt do no harm to me, and this you know well of, do you not?"

Námo stood, and gazed outwards as he confirmed:

"Indeed do I know of this well. Yet her ways are different from mine. Far too different. You knew of this, for you were in the Ainulindale."

Áramande countered, yet her voice was soft:

"This do I know of well also. Yet ne'er was it her intent to let you become distant from all. For you have me by thy side."

Námo gave a smile, and answered:

"Indeed it shall be so. Yet if you must go, I shall not hold thee back."

It was with these words that she left his Halls, and traversed upon Taniquetil, guided e'ermore by swift Wind and Starlight.

For the Stars are the greatest beacon of Hope when Darkness falls upon Arda Marred.