Ra. [She repeats quietly, letting the word roll off of her tongue. Perhaps this Ra was another name for Eru Illúvatar, but it had a different soft of weight in her mind and he was the grandfather of no one. He was creator only. It was he who had made the world and he who had laid the first children out in the far east. It was he who made Morgoth and allowed all of his cruelties, for only he was enough to truly stop him. What was it that the king had said? All Valar and Maiar existed because of Illuvitar. All were a part of him, part of his song.
Even the discordant note that would not stop.] Our creator is called Eru Illúvatar. We are called his children but I suspect you mean this in a more literal way than we do? It was he who played the first note in the song and he that left the first elves sleeping in the east to awaken, and he who allowed Dwarves to have true life when Aulë, the great smith, created them in secret and was found out. It was he who made men and let them follow after us.
[Though she is clearly not human, that is the first time she has said so explicitly..] He has never spoken to us directly, only through the Valar Manwë who alone has his ear. And Manwë does not often care for the elves who did not forsake the world and go east. [Hidden under her gentle, musical voice is anger about that. Perhaps her grandparents did “fail” in making the journey, but she could not see what was so wrong or worthy of scorn and neglect about loving the world that the creator of every single one of them and the Ainur too had made with the intention of them living in. She could not understand how Morgoth and his evils were something that until the last, Manwë had seemed to think they deserved. That he occasionally sent a giant eagle to save the foolish Noldor didn’t change the fact that he ignored the rest of them. He ignored her entire people, their lives, their home. He had allowed their home to be shattered and cast into the sea when Melkor was his brother…
Mithiel had never known anger until these last decades and now she boiled beneath the surface, like water cast upon the heaping slag piles that made the Thangorodrim.]
The Nile… is that a river? [She asks, her eyes softening again and curiosity returning now that she has a distraction, however brief, from her thoughts on the Valar and their poor sense of justice.] Doriath is a forest… was a forest… It was broken by the host of the Valar and now dwells increasingly beneath the sea. It was full of trees and caves, flowers and mushrooms and crops. I have spent all the years of my life within it’s girdle or not far out of it until the water came. I was born by the Sirion river that cuts through it’s western side. Beyond the borders of Doriath were more forests and grasslands, then the mountains beyond which I could see little. But I have never heard of such a sea of sand before. it was… beautiful in a way. [And terrifying, too.]
no subject
Even the discordant note that would not stop.] Our creator is called Eru Illúvatar. We are called his children but I suspect you mean this in a more literal way than we do? It was he who played the first note in the song and he that left the first elves sleeping in the east to awaken, and he who allowed Dwarves to have true life when Aulë, the great smith, created them in secret and was found out. It was he who made men and let them follow after us.
[Though she is clearly not human, that is the first time she has said so explicitly..] He has never spoken to us directly, only through the Valar Manwë who alone has his ear. And Manwë does not often care for the elves who did not forsake the world and go east. [Hidden under her gentle, musical voice is anger about that. Perhaps her grandparents did “fail” in making the journey, but she could not see what was so wrong or worthy of scorn and neglect about loving the world that the creator of every single one of them and the Ainur too had made with the intention of them living in. She could not understand how Morgoth and his evils were something that until the last, Manwë had seemed to think they deserved. That he occasionally sent a giant eagle to save the foolish Noldor didn’t change the fact that he ignored the rest of them. He ignored her entire people, their lives, their home. He had allowed their home to be shattered and cast into the sea when Melkor was his brother…
Mithiel had never known anger until these last decades and now she boiled beneath the surface, like water cast upon the heaping slag piles that made the Thangorodrim.]
The Nile… is that a river? [She asks, her eyes softening again and curiosity returning now that she has a distraction, however brief, from her thoughts on the Valar and their poor sense of justice.] Doriath is a forest… was a forest… It was broken by the host of the Valar and now dwells increasingly beneath the sea. It was full of trees and caves, flowers and mushrooms and crops. I have spent all the years of my life within it’s girdle or not far out of it until the water came. I was born by the Sirion river that cuts through it’s western side. Beyond the borders of Doriath were more forests and grasslands, then the mountains beyond which I could see little. But I have never heard of such a sea of sand before. it was… beautiful in a way. [And terrifying, too.]