Nienna

[CirdanLinweilin]

OCC: No comments, questions or unapproved additions are to be made in this thread.

This is my first ever Fan-fic. So please be understanding. If you have any questions, comments, and or advice, don't hesitate to DM me. Enjoy!


"I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil." Gandalf

Chapter I
Fo.A 8
West of Endor, upon the Belegaer
Midnight

Vëantur, poor, tragic Vëantur, struggled upon the tempestuous sea. The waves rose like black towers, asserting their mighty and unfeeling dominance upon the meek mariner. The mariner fought to keep his wits in this cursed storm. He wailed, yelled, and shouted at the mute clouds floating indifferent to him, cursing his plight upon the dark, emotionless sky. No answer, he was utterly alone, and utterly doomed. Doomed, doomed. A weak body upon a torn sail.

He slowly rose up to the sky and cried with all his tragic might:

"Úcarnet nin! Aica umbar! Súrë túla cendeletyallo!".

Finally, exhausted of all reason, with a voice both fell and fey, he raised his right hand, bloodied and broken, ushering in all his pain and grief, cursed the Valar, whom he believed abandoned the Free Peoples of Middle-earth in their darkest times:

"Valar! Istan quetë ya merin, ar lá hanyuvatyen! Úcarnet nin! Úcarnet nin! Úcarnet nin!".

Then, Vëantur collapsed upon his wrecked and cursed ship, resigning himself to the doom of his own grim thought.

The wind roared with cataclysmic fury. The seas rose like colossal walls and towers, baring their jagged teeth. Black water foamed and rushed at Vëantur. The wind howled, it tore. The rain assailed and stung Vëantur. The wind formed into mammoth twisting columns rushing and racing. The sea dominated Vëantur. At the Last, before all became shadow and void, the soft weeping of a woman far away to the west was heard by the mariner's careful ears. It dismayed Vëantur into silence. He hid his face in great dread.

The void cameth. The sea arose..and Vëantur, both fell and fey, was fallen into his doom...weeping and wailing resonantly, even into the chill, grim and unconquerable sea of Belegaer.

All faded into gloom. The storm subsided and all was calm upon Belegaer.

All that was heard hence, was a soft gentle wind from the West, cooing and nurturing, calling out to the monstrous sea that is Belegaer. The sea firmly responded.

Doom hath been passed.

 

[CirdanLinweilin]

Chapter 2
Fo.A 8
West of the West
Dawn

"Amatúlië!"

Vëantur, heard the soft music of the voice hailing him, but struggled to awaken. He desired to lay pinned under the doomed mammoth waves that were, not too long ago, pinning his meek body and holding him in the unconquerable abyss. Once more, the clear voice spoke: "Amatúlië! Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo! Ma istanyel? Ma istal quet' Eldarin?" spoke the soft melodious voice, with gentility and care. Vëantur, racked with pain and sorrow unbearable, strove to speak, then slowly but surely, words came from his weary mouth: "Mana? Istan quet' Eldarin, Nányë Vëantur, marta..." After speaking, Vëantur slinked back into his spiraling grief.

"Indeed, 'Sea-lord'" The voice speaking in Vëantur's tongue for the first time. It both elated and shocked the poor mariner at once.

"Ela! Tullen tye-rehtien, Vëantur. Thoust need not be alone in thine sorrows and thine griefs, A hauta sinomë, thou art indeed welcome, Sea-lord." Spoke the voice with compassion, gentleness flowing out of her music like a thousand clear streams.

Vëantur desired mightily to see the woman speaking to him, with such care and kindness. A kind of which Vëantur never thought he'd hear again, in these dark times where what we desire most is what we hate the best. In a vast expense of effort, Vëantur gazed upon the unexplainable beauty of the one speaking to him. He felt instantly a great blend of pain and euphoria, the Light of the One speaking to him to great for any one man to bear, even of the Dúnedain. The Grey Light pierced his Heart and Struck his Soul. Vëantur could not defend himself from the sublimity and grace of the one watching over him. He felt watched by the gaze of a thousand stars, set in a grey sky bedecked with silver flowers. It was too much for the weary mariner.

"V-..." He mumbled.

The woman, clad in grey with silver hair, and eyes of deep blue oceans of poetry, set her hand upon his, and moved closer, it felt like hot ice.

"Rainë. Quetuvangwë sí ve nildu?" Spoke the woman.

They stared deep into each other's eyes, Vëantur feeling grasped in every way by this woman, whether by fell witchcraft, or fey magics, he could not look away, even if all the forces of Sauron and The Black Enemy were arrayed against him. And he did not want to.

The woman smiled a tender smile and spoke again.

"Rainë. Speak, Man of the West."

With all his meek yet powerful and passionate might, overcoming, even for a mere second, the vastness of his grim thought, Vëantur spoke:

"Man esselya ná? Vanima?"

The woman smiled a dear smile of both joy and laughter, she laughed at the manners of the poor mariner and it rang like the sound of Yule bells.

She spoke: "Nányë Nienna." She smiled.

"Nienna" A swift joy passed over Vëantur like a dawn wind at the first tidings of Spring.

"Melin tirië hendutya sílalë yá lalat, Nienna." Spoke Vëantur with both meekness and humbleness.

Nienna laughed a clear laugh that covered Vëantur like clear stream water.

"Alassenyan." Spoke Nienna.

Nienna rose from her seat, her graceful, divine, hand still clasped with Vëantur's. "Mauya nin avánië, Vëantur. I will not be long, I shalt return, Tenna enta lúmë." She kissed Vëantur upon the forehead, which drove him into a deep slumber.

Vëantur fell asleep speaking these words:

"Namárië, Melda heri!"

Vëantur closed his eyes, and fell into a sweet slumber...

 

[CirdanLinweilin]

Chapter 3
Fo.A 8
West of the West
Noon

A soft grey light emanated from the darkened chamber. The air was held in solemn stillness, no bird chirped. There, a soft, gentle, woman, clad in grey, stood mournfully yet powerfully, her entire presence filling the earth. She looked out over the world, in it's silent turning, ever yearning and ever watchful for the days of joy and happiness, after the violent piercings of grief. A grief that nearly swallowed it whole. Yet, a light shone from a green country, under a swift and joyful sun. Much peace was bought with bloody pain, and innumerable sacrifice.

Nienna held this all in the chambers of her powerful, sorrowful heart. She wept for the sufferings of Man and Elf and Dwarf, of the ancient past, the hallowed present, and the fateful future. Her face radiated a grey beacon into Eä, shining into silent shadows with a modest hope, and a glorious beauty.

Suddenly, Nienna's head was a-flutter, her mind turned to her last conversation with the sorrowful mariner, who spoke with such venom towards the Valar, yet spoke with such tenderness and gentility with herself. Could it be possible he was struck with her beauty, her words, her presence? Verily, it was a combination of these things, that struck the poor mariner, with great awe and fear, and nothing more.

Yet, the thoughts nagged at Nienna's mind. There was...a tenderness to the mariner...a gentility and a care...a broken strength, anxious to rise up again, as the sun rises over the earth. And a Power, willing to protect and care for...a handsomeness...

"Fó! I shalt not let these childish thoughts rule my vision! They are but distractions, brought in with the wind as petals that are as easily drawn away! He is but lér, and I am Vala, of the Aratar! A Valier! Mighty in deed and word, my tears drench the earth with all their sorrowful strength and wash away wickedness. I cannot, shalt not, let harmful and playful emotions rule my Day! Ván!"

Thus spake Nienna, Valië, of the Aratar, commanding that these words not affect her, and these emotions not assail her mighty heart.

A man, lying, breathed a painful gasp.

Nienna turned.

 

[CirdanLinweilin]

Chapter 3
Fo.A 8
West of the West
Noon - Afternoon

"I heard thee..." murmured the Mariner, these words spoken sent a chill down Nienna's chest.

"Did he hear me?!" thought Nienna as she turned, and all the silver glow of her radiance outshined all the flames in the chamber.

Vëantur struggled to speak, staving off drowsiness.

"On the waves, treacherous waves, amidst the wind, soft and clear, crying innumerable tears among the howling winds. Under the harsh moon, I heard thee, weeping softly, as a gust from the West." spoke Vëantur, finally fighting off sleep.

"How couldst thee? Thine ears aren't that attuned to Us, Who Are Beyond the World." asked Nienna in an inquisitorial manner.

"Tis a strange gift, I have been burdened with. To always hear clear crystal blue eyes cry grey tears. Why, oh Nienna, do thou cry and wail and mourn? For indeed, I hath heard thine tears since I was starry-eyed and innocent..." spoke Vëantur solemnly and softly.

"Lacárima" breathed Nienna

"Nienna, if thou art truly the one whose tears I hath heard since birth, I hath heard them since, and with pause, forever drawn to them as a moth towards a flame, a small grey flicker in the evening twilight. A small silver lamp, in the early dawn." proclaimed Vëantur with sorrow and love and compassion coalesced into one heartfelt confession, which was harder than any deed of arms or vain glory that Vëantur hath ever made, especially in the presence of the One of whom he speaks.

"Vëantur, I..." Nienna was at a loss of words.

"Why do thee cry, vanimelda?" spoke Vëantur gently.

"Vëantur, stop." spoke Nienna sharply.

Vëantur stared at Nienna with a look of betrayal and hurt, like he has been stung, as a puppy is kicked by it's master and fed dreadful words by the mouthful, Vëantur felt a hurt more grievous than any dart or blade.

Nienna came to realize this, and attempted in vain to rectify, however, she failed.

"Harna..." spoke Vëantur as he fell back into a sorrow more deep and fell than the one he was saved from at the dawn of this tale, he was inconsolable. He was a broken, yet gentle man, who wanted nothing more than to comfort the mourning Queen whose infinite tears he hath heard since his very own, only to be shot down by a wicked dart. Nienna suffered for hours to soothe him, only to fall in desperation upon her knees in prayer: singing a melody and a song overcame Vëantur as a swift, sunny, breeze.

Nienna sat in solemn, striking, silence until the chamber was filled with no sound nor wisp, then she fell herself into a deep remorseful sorrow with loud, broken wailing. For on this Day, it was She, Lady of Pity and Mourning who hast caused sorrow. She held Vëantur's hand tightly as he slept and she wept, not ceasing to release her hand if even for an eternity.

All of a sudden, a Light awakened in Nienna, breaking down every wall and tower of the castle around her mighty heart. A feeling of person, a new soul, different from what she is, walking into the Light from a far-away country and overcoming her as a soft, lovely word overcomes a fell depression. It conquered her at the soft sound of tens of hundreds of thousands of clear, ringing bells, without a fight, how they rung, for what seemed like ages. Then she did, perhaps the most world-shattering event of all of Arda's History, more sorrowful than The Long Defeat, yet more Joyous than The Fall of Sauron, it both decimated every Rule of Nature set down and built up that very choice every being in Arda is faced with in their lives. It was unprecedented, it was reckless, profound, it shook Nienna to her very core. It was cataclysmic. Every Star shone every color imaginable, every flame danced, every fauna sung, every flora reached for the heavens, every wave crashed, every river ran as fast as tramps of doom, the wind blew into twisters and hurricane, every Elf in steeple sung, every iron of the Dwarves was heard, and every cry of Men was heard. The laughs of Hobbits could be heard, and one not too far away...that stopped suddenly, with an awareness that is sharp and deadly.

Nienna held Vëantur's hands both with her own, tightly and passionately, not pondering for a moment nor eternity to let go...and betrayed her very Being and Role, in, what, is argued by historians to this very day, was more exciting yet dangerous than Beren happening upon Lúthien, or Tuor, Idril...

She kissed Vëantur upon his sleeping lips.

The she spoke.

"Ánin apsenë, Vëantur. Lórë..." spoke Nienna with sheer sorrow and regret.

"Melindo."

 

[CirdanLinweilin]

Chapter 4
Fo.A 8
West of the West
The Next Morning

"And He took Her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they told high upon the walls in the sight of many..."

"Melda heri! Melda tári! Quetuvangwë sí ve nildu?" spoke the gallant man, now rejuvenated from his struggle and his face beaming like sunlight upon waves.

"Yé! Ná, Alassenyan! Melda heru! Melinyel!" spoke the woman of grey radiance, shining in the sun all her mystical wonder, she shone as a thousand clear streams all leading into a silver pool bedecked by stars. Her face radiated and her Crystal Clear Blue eyes shone forth her excellence. Her lips of rose were beaming love, romance, and power. Light erupted from her fingers and toes.

"Melinyel, Melda heri, Melda tári, Thou blaze forth as comets, and erupt into being as stars. Thy arms art my hearth, and thy voice the fire." spoke the hearty, and passionate man.

"Thy arms art my castle, and Thy Heart; My Sky. I name Thee: Alcarondas, "Castle of the Sea", treasure it always, my love, and may that name forever bind us to the same fate, wherever it may lead! Náto!" Spoke Nienna in blazing romance and violent passion.

"Náto! May it Lead!" Cried Vëantur as he lifted Nienna's shimmering pale body high into the air, and the morning dew glimmered under the young virgin morning sun, and the two lovers frothed with their dedication and fidelity and grace and romance.

In a perhaps selfish, yet undeniably powerful exuberance and expression:

Vëantur and Nienna Plighted their Troth, clad in nothing, shimmering under the virgin sun, and facing the East with might and glory. After their Troth hath been Plighted, they embraced and kissed passionately, high above the Walls of The West of the West, in broad, ever-seeing daylight, no shadow to pierce nor cloak. All was naked in the Light.

Nienna's lustrous grey hair glistened in the sun, and it waved in the cool, Western, wind.

They retired into the Halls for the newly morning hours.

A second Bell rung out like a doom-bell, and all song and voice ceased.

A triumphant roar echoed through Arda, and without.

And It was not pleased...