Here are the first three chapters of a story I am
currently writing for the "Strong Woman" Challenge posted in the SWG last month. This turned out to be longer than I had expected, and it is a WIP.

TITLE: Ilmarë the Handmaiden
AUTHOR: Digdigil/Jenni
RATING: General
WARNINGS: None, except for some possible scariness
SUMMARY: Ilmarë was a daughter born to Manwë and Varda, not permitted to be Valar also, but was appointed to be Varda's chief handmaiden, and made to be one of the chief Maiar spirits. She is not happy with her lot in life.


ILMARË THE HANDMAIDEN



A/N: The inspiration for this tale comes from “The History of Middle-earth, Vol. 10: Morgoth’s Ring”

From HarperCollins Paperback Ed. 2002, P. 28:

“Ilúvatar went forth from the fair regions that he had made for the Ainur and they came into the Void. There Ilúvatar showed them a Vision, and they saw a new World…globed amid the Void, and it was sustained therein, but was not of it”.



CHAPTER ONE



THE CHILDREN OF MANWË



The urge to destroy and do great damage arose quickly in him, and in a sudden onrushing wave of rage he flew across the lands, creating rifts of darkness in the green meadows, and casting down huge boulders that broke the trees and riverbanks with sharp, jutting edges of broken rock. Dust and smoke billowed upwards, marring the blueness of the sky.

After Melkor overthrew the Lamps of the Valar, and the Gods were driven from Almaren, they left Middle-earth altogether and flew to Aman, in the Blessed Realm. There, they made fortifications against Melkor and built mansions on the edge of Valinor, fenced in by the Pelori Mountains.

To King Manwë and Queen Varda in Valinor during a brief time of peace was born a son, whom they at first named Fionwë. They rejoiced in his birth and were happy that there was an addition to the race of the Valar, for the Valar were few in number. But it came to pass that in the mind of Ilúvatar the Valar were to number fifteen only, and there were to be never more than this. Ilúvatar put this idea also into Manwë’s mind since Manwë knew much of Ilúvatar’s thought. When Manwë went to seek out Varda and tell her the news she wept for what she thought was to be the doom of their child.

He had found her walking in the gardens of their home, cradling the small babe in her arms. He watched her walk along the paving stones of glistening white marble as the path twisted and turned among the Vardarianna, the trees that bore her name and grew among the rocks and cliffs at the top of Mt. Taniquetil. Roses were there also, many roses in all the different hues that there were in the world, and in her hair she wore rose blooms of white intertwined among the silver strands. She looked at Manwë questioningly as he approached.

“Husband, what is to become of our children, the Valarindi?” she cried when he gave her the news. “It was my desire to be fruitful and thus add strength to our kind”.

“Worry not, My Dear”, spoke Manwë softly. “I understand Ilúvatar’s wishes that we Valar may still be fruitful but cannot add to our numbers, thus remaining in keeping with His Plan, but no harm will come to any of the children that you may bear”.

“How is that so, Dear Husband? “ asked Varda.

“Our children shall remain of our race of beings of Ainur, but shall be called Maiar, of whom there number thousands and they shall be counted among these spirits, of whom there are greater and lesser. They, our children, shall be greater, and their powers shall be less than ours but they shall be of our immortal kind and still belong to us”.

Varda was pleased and relieved when she heard her husband’s words, and after some time she gave birth again to a daughter, and called her Ilmarë. At the time of Ilmarë’s birth, her older brother had been renamed Eonwë , and he grew quickly, and would go where his father went, and became familiar with all of the lands and the creatures of Aman.

As Ilmarë grew, Varda could see that her daughter was skilled with her hands. She spoke to Manwë of these skills. “Ilmarë is showing that she has an exquisite sense of detail”, she said, “and she has become delighted in the crafts of sewing and embroidery. As well she has a gift for arranging hair in styles becoming to the wearer, and for organizing her things with clarity and neatness. She has a care for cleanliness and tidiness. I believe that she would be best kept at home to work with me, and I would like to have her become my chief handmaiden when she is of the proper age”.

Manwë nodded. “I too have noticed that our son Eonwë is brave and shows much leadership skill. He is good with the spoken word, as you know, and good at convincing others to do what is right. Perhaps he should become my herald when he grows older”.

The King and Queen of the Valar sat often together in their chambers during the peaceful times that came in between Melkor’s bouts of rage and acts of destruction, discussing their two children and their futures over glasses of wine and bowls of fresh bread and fruit.

During this time Melkor had destroyed the Great Lamps of Arda and had fled before the wrath of the Valar to his pits at Utumno. But he would come forth occasionally and draw to him those of the Maiar that he could corrupt with his words of enticement. He would also speak with his sister, Niënna.

CHAPTER TWO



NIËNNA



The Vala Niënna, sister of Manwë and Melkor, lived in a large, lonely mansion on top of the cliffs at the edge of the west coast of Valinor. These cliffs overlooked the Void. If one stood upon the cliff-edge, there was to be seen only the swirling clouds and mists of the Outer Sea covering the sky beneath. Niënna’s house was surrounded by tall Yavannamirë trees which cast long shadows over the mansion and hid it from most eyes. It had no windows at all on the side that overlooked the lands to the east, but only on the side looking out to the Outermost Darkness. Its outside walls were of dark polished wood and covered with vines that grew in the light of Valinor, but shaded and hung down over those who passed beneath. It was a place of solitude. Spiders lived there too, in the dozens, but while they were very large in size, these spiders were not evil as those of Melkor’s making, but were benevolent and graceful, and they spun webs of whispered serenity and secrecy in order to aid Niënna in her innermost thoughts.

Niënna, the Vala of Weeping and Healing of Sorrows, would wander about her lands and often walk to Mandos’ Halls in order to speak with him and his spouse, Vairë the Weaver. They would talk often about the troubles that Melkor had caused and Niënna would weep for all that had gone wrong with Creation.

Melkor would come under cover of shadow every now and then to Niënna’s house and when she would encourage him to talk to her, he would cast his wiles upon her mind and endeavor to convince her, as his sister, that he should be pardoned and allowed to roam free. He appealed to her as her brother, reminding her of their likeness of mind while they were Ainur in the Void and creating the Music together. When she reminded him that he had been discordant, he replied that it was only out of boredom and a desire for things of greater challenge for him that he did any of the foul deeds that he wrought, and that if he were allowed to roam freely, that he would do most of the work in helping the Valar correct and repair any of the damage that he had done to the lands of Middle-earth in Arda.

Niënna would tell him that the other Valar would never permit him to roam freely again, and upon hearing her words he would fly into a rage and vow that he would repent if given the chance. These words he spoke to Niënna over and over again.

Niënna sighed as she sought in her mind how best to try to cure Melkor of his evil thoughts and ways. She was determined to try as it was her wont to take upon herself all sorrows and try to mend them. He had just left her house after his latest visit in a fell rage, flying back into the Walls of Night from an upper window, which she now moved to close. As she reached out to pull the casements shut, a great spider dropped suddenly from the ceiling to suspend itself directly in front of her.

“Niënna”, it whispered and shuddered slightly upon its strand of webbing.

Niënna stood in the spacious but bare room void of furnishings. Her mansion was very large, with many rooms but she lived in it alone and it was mostly empty. This room had a dark wooden floor which was coated in dust, and large cobwebs blanketed the corners of the ceiling, swaying in the wind, and the open window shutters creaked and groaned as gusts of wind blew against them. The room’s only occupants were a dozen great golden spiders. Niënna sighed and breathed in the acrid aroma that Melkor had left behind, a harsh smell of iron and decay that had not yet been borne away by the breezes.

She reached out and touched the swelling of the spider’s golden, furry abdomen, marked in patterns of white and black. It was trembling.

“Niënna, he tried to take me with him”, it said, and she could feel its fear. She stroked its soft pelt gently.

“Worry not”, she spoke to it in soothing tones and wept her healing tears upon its body as it stretched out a pointed toe to touch her and she held one of its long legs in her tender hand. “You are still here, as safe as you may be”.

“But he will be back”, it whispered to her. “And you will let him in, as you always do. Why do you let him in, Niënna?”

The Vala cast her gaze downward wearily. Then she looked at the spider directly once more, the soft grayish light from her eyes gently warming its body.

“He is my brother”, she sighed. “And I do not approve of any of his malicious actions, but I cannot keep from trying to make him turn from his evil ways. I am compelled to try to help him. You are safe for now. Go back to your place of rest”.

With those words she gave the spider a gentle push and it crawled back up the high walls to a corner of the ceiling where it joined the others and tried to hide itself away from any more notice. It pondered its possible fate if Melkor had been successful in squiring it away with him. Afraid now, it moved away from the windows.



TO BE A HANDMAIDEN



Ilmarë had been asked by her mother to add the finishing touch to the hair of one of the great ladies of the Vanyar. There was to be a great feast held upon Taniquetil by her parents, and many of the Vanyar ladies had approached Varda and asked if Ilmarë could do their hair for them. As she went to place the tiara set with diamonds and topaz gems on top of the lady’s golden head, it caught upon a pin stuck in her elaborate hairstyle and wrenched itself out of Ilmarë’s hands. It clattered noisily to the floor and some strands of the lady’s hair came loose upon being pulled and fell around her neck and shoulders. She squealed and put her delicate hands to her face in distress.

Thoroughly frustrated, as it had taken a long time to arrange this hairstyle, Ilmarë excused herself to the lady and stormed out of the room. She was in a special room that used to be one of the bedroom suites in Manwë and Varda’s mansion that she had converted into a place where the ladies and some of the lords of the Elves came to have their hair done. There was one large room in which were placed a row of chairs, and each one of these was in front of a small table upon which stood a basin of water and a ewer. On a second table beside the first were all of the other hairdressing paraphernalia that Ilmarë used to construct her hair styles.

On the opposite side of the room was a row of tall curtainless windows through which poured a great deal of light, which made it easy for Ilmarë to see what she was doing when she worked. Above each set of tables were hung gilt edged mirrors through which the ladies could watch their hair being dressed. Ilmarë had painted a mural around the perimeter of the room, which continued between all of the windows, that was of a pastoral scene of rolling meadows of green and gold. Complementing the walls was the floor of green marble with gold flecks on the tiles. There were slender young fruit trees bearing lemons and limes placed in large black marble bowls in each corner of the room, and from these trees emanated the cool citrus scents of the blended fruits. Ilmarë would often use the juice from these fruits as a rinse for the Elves’ hair in order to make it glisten.

As she stormed out, Ilmarë passed a hand over her brow and tried to calm herself before she lost her temper and did or said something that she would later regret. She needed a few moments to collect her thoughts before she sought out her mother and made her intentions known.

She crossed from the large styling room into a smaller one, which had been the sitting room of the bedroom suite of old, wringing her hands and planning her speech to her Varda. Ilmarë was not a girl who acted rashly upon her emotions. Every opinion that she made known was usually carefully thought out ahead of time. She took a seat upon a lounge chair in this comfortable room where she often came to meditate and looked around it. Its walls were painted a crimson colour and upon them hung family portraits and smaller paintings of chubby babies, all in ornate gold frames. She sniffed as she looked at the portrait of herself as a babe in her mother’s arms. Varda looked proud of her in this painting. Gold mouldings also lined the ceiling, which was domed and coloured the white of doves’ eggs. The room’s furniture was plush and upholstered in comfortable satin brocade in red and gold. It was windowless but for two openings in the domed ceiling, through which the daylight now spilled, and when it was night the starlight shone in. Another door was at the opposite side of the square room through which Ilmarë had entered, and this door opened onto a long corridor at the end of which were her parents’ private chambers. After pondering for a moment or two, Ilmarë rose and entered the corridor. As she walked its length, she went over in her mind what she wished to tell her mother. Her heels clicked upon the silvery marble floor and echoed as she made her way along it.

She was pleased to see that Varda was sitting in her dressing room when she entered.

“Mother, I wish to speak with you”, she said.

“Ah, Ilmarë, there you are”, replied Varda. “Please come here and help me with these laces”. She pointed to the bodice of her undergarment.

“Mother, I have left Iriel of the Vanyar in the styling room”, said Ilmarë, “for I wish to speak with you of an urgent matter”.

“What is it, my darling?” Varda turned to look at Ilmarë, fearing that something was wrong.

“I am sorry, Mother, but I wish to be a handmaiden no longer”, she stated.

Varda merely stared at her with her usual composure. Neither of them was upset, and Varda did not seem surprised. Ilmarë continued.

“I do not understand why, as the daughter of the King and Queen of the Valar, I must wait upon Elves, although I mean them no disrespect. Mainly, I am unhappy because I do not wish to continue doing this hairdressing and the other chores I have been given to perform”.

“I felt that this would come to pass one day”, Varda replied. Ilmarë went on.

“As a child of the Valar, I do not understand why I am not Valar also”, she said dispassionately. “I wish to be Valar. I do not want to be merely Maiar, who waits upon Valar and Elves. This cannot be my destiny. I feel it is wrong for me”.

Varda held Ilmarë‘s gaze in hers. “Daughter, I have explained to you why this is so. Ilúvatar, our Father, has deemed it”.

“He should undeem it”, pronounced Ilmarë. “Please see what you can do, Mother. I will talk to you again on the matter, but now I must go back and finish Lady Iriel’s hair. I do not want to keep her waiting any longer”. With that, Ilmarë turned and strode out of the room and back down the hallway, heels tapping rapidly and sounding purposeful as she went.

Varda watched her go and considered what Ilmarë had said to her. Then she reached behind her and with some difficulty, fastened her own laces.