Here is Chapter Four of my W.I.P. about the daughter of Manwë and Varda, written for the "Strong Woman" challenge.

TITLE: ILMARË THE HANDMAIDEN
AUTHOR: JENNI/DIGDIGIL
RATING: GENERAL
WARNINGS: NONE
SUMMARY: In this chapter, Ilmarë consults her parents and her brother about her feelings as she attends one of their parties. Then she comes to a decision.


CHAPTER FOUR


THE PARTY



Manwë and Varda had planned a large party to be held in the Ring of Doom upon Túna, to which the other Valar, some of the Maiar closest to the King and Queen and most of the beautiful Vanyar Elves were invited. Ilmarë wandered about the spacious lawn carrying an empty crystal goblet in her hand. It had been full of a generous quantity of wine but she had downed it earlier in a couple of tremendous gulps.

The train of her elaborate gown trailed on the lawn behind her, picking up a quantity of blades of the new mown grass, and making a soothing, rustling sound as she paced, but she was not calm. With much inner turmoil she ruminated over the words that she had carefully composed to speak to her parents later, if she had a chance. She glanced to where they stood, surrounded by the most important of the Valar: Tulkas, Oromë, Aulë and Mandos, deep in animated conversation. “No doubt they are discussing plans on new ways to deal with Melkor”, she thought ruefully, “And will have no time for me”.

While the party was in full swing it was very busy and noisy, with the bright twinkling stars above lighting up the large area of the Ring, where the thrones of the Valar sat normally in a circle, but these had been moved away so that the guests could mingle. Tables had been laid with sumptuous food. There were roasted pheasants and partridge along with plenty of fresh vegetables, fruit and elaborate pastries.

Stone pillars topped with huge bowls full of fragrant flowers and vines spilling over them had been set in a wide circle around the Ring. There were some chairs placed outside the perimeter where guests could sit and talk quietly to each other. Ilmarë crossed to one of these now, taking in the heady scent of jasmine which calmed her a bit. She stopped first at a table set with bottles of various wines from the different regions of Valinor and refilled her goblet with a very potent one.

She had just lifted the glass to her lips when she felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned to look at the person who had touched her. “Ilmarë”, he said, “Have I startled you?”

“No, dear brother, you have not”, she replied, and took a healthy swig of her wine. She had not seen Eonwë for a long time as he had been sent by their father to scout the borders of the lands for any sign of Melkor. Ilmarë regarded him with interest. He appeared to be happy and enthusiastic. His hair of platinum blond was trimmed short around his neck and ears, and shone almost as brightly as his mother’s. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he smiled at Ilmarë.

“Tell me, Eonwë, are you happy?” she asked to be sure. The Valar were adept at hiding their true feelings while outwardly presenting a sublime appearance to others. They rarely let down their guard until they were alone or chose to do so in front of others.

“Never happier”, he replied. “I do what I love to do, meeting many people and traveling all over these fair lands. Why do you ask, Ilmarë?” There was a note of concern in his voice and he watched her as she took another large gulp of wine. “Something troubles you”, he said. He took her free hand. “Come, let us sit and talk”, he said, indicating a group of empty chairs.

“I was just heading there when you came”, she replied thankfully. “I would very much like to discuss something with you”.

“Good, then let us sit”, he replied and taking her arm firmly, he led her to the seating area.

A splendidly turned out lady of the Vanyar, her hair piled high in an elaborate style and dressed in a magnificent gown of golden yellow brocade, approached them as they passed. “Ilmarë”, she called, “I must thank you for doing my hair this afternoon. I have had no less than a dozen compliments on it tonight”.

“You are very welcome, Lady Iriel”, smiled Ilmarë sweetly, and then Eonwë noticed that her smile turned into a wistful look of something approaching sadness for a brief moment as Ilmarë looked away into the distance.

When they had seated themselves, Eonwë reached out and took the wine goblet from her hands. He set it down on the soft, smooth grass at their feet and took her two slender white hands in his strong, large ones. “You asked me if I were happy, as if happiness had been on your mind for some time”, he said. “Yet it is not my happiness that you have been thinking about lately, is it?” he asked softly. She looked into his clear blue eyes and shook her head. She felt as if she would like to cry but she would not.

“I know that you do not mind having to be one of the Maiar, Eonwë”, she said. “You have told me that you love to do what you do. But I, on the other hand, feel the opposite of what you feel. I do not want to be merely Maiar when I think I should be Valar as our parents. We are their children. We should be of their kind”.

“But we are of their kind”, Eonwë replied, surprised by his sister’s words. “Maiar spirits are of the same race as the Valar. Only our powers are less, for the most part, but the most powerful of the Maiar, such as us and Melian and a few others, have no less than the powers of the lesser Valar such as Estë or Nessa. You should not let such a small thing bother you such that your life becomes unhappy, Ilmarë”.

“No, you do not understand”, said Ilmarë. “It is not the POWER or lack of power that upsets me. It is the secondary place we are given. It is a matter of how we are regarded and respected. It is that I feel as a servant, doing always what I am bid. For Ilúvatar’s sake, Eonwë, I do hairdressing. For ELVES!” she declared.

He looked at her thoughtfully. He felt that her spirit was restless and that this disturbance she felt did not bode well for her. He felt out of his league. As powerful as he was as a speaker and with the ability he possessed to convince and sway others, he knew that her unhappiness was too deep for him to reach. “You must speak to our parents about this”, he urged.

“Yes, I know”, she replied. “I have had an initial conversation with Mother this afternoon, simply to state what my thoughts were, but we have not talked at length yet about this matter”.

“You must”, he said earnestly. “Please wait here. I shall go and fetch her”. Eonwë squeezed her hand reassuringly and went in search of Varda, crossing the green lawn with long, purposeful strides.

As she waited, Ilmarë looked around at the guests, who looked to be enjoying themselves tremendously. There was much laughter in the air, mixed with the soft music being played by two harpists, one at either side of the Ring, in perfect harmony with each other. Ilmarë looked at all of the people in attendance and rapidly counted them in her head. They numbered 137 and she noticed that she had done the hair of 29 of the Vanyar ladies, and 5 of the lords. She sighed and looked down at her hands. Her nails were short and plain of necessity, where the other ladies’ were long and varnished. They never toiled. She toiled. She looked up, a frown appearing between her brows. She could see Eonwë returning with Varda in tow.

Varda approached across the lawn, a vision in white trimmed with silver. She looked carefully at her daughter. Her eyes shone with flecks of silver within the grey, and her silver hair sparkled in the starlight. Ilmarë could tell that Eonwë had not said a word to Varda about her feelings, but Varda knew what the impending conversation would be concerning. She sat down beside Ilmarë.

“Darling daughter, it grieves me that you are unhappy”, she said. “I do not understand how your brother is quite happy with the arrangement, yet you are not. You knew of your fate as a small child as it was set down by Ilúvatar, the father of us all. It is not something new that has been thrust upon you. You grew up happy to play with hair fashions and you enjoyed embroidery and sewing, and your father and I assumed that you loved being in the position of handmaiden”.

Ilmarë hung her head, but she felt no guilt for what she had said and would say. “It is simply that I cannot accept being on a lower plane than the Valar”, said Ilmarë. “Eonwë does not fee this about himself, but I feel it strongly”.

Varda sighed. “Well, I will talk to your father about the matter. I am sure that we will think of something that we can do to make you feel better”, she said reassuringly.

“Thank you, Mother”, Ilmarë said in return. She was not appeased. She knew that her parents had a habit of telling a person that ‘everything was going to be fine’, or that ‘they would do everything they could to fix a problem’, and then would either sit back and wait for the problem to fix itself or get fixed in some other way by someone else, or they would discuss a problematic situation endlessly and various solutions would be put forth but they seldom actually would take action to cure an ill.

Ilmarë became weary with the party at this point. “Good evening, Mother. I would like to retire now”, she said as she stood up, and then she bowed low to kiss one of Varda’s hands. “I will leave the matter with you”. She brushed her hands down the front of her blue silk dress, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed while she sat in it. She smiled at Eonwë, who stood and kissed her cheek.

“Worry not, little sister”, he whispered in her ear. “I will talk to Father myself about your unhappiness to try to speed things up for you”.

She gave him an affectionate hug and then turned and walked toward the mountain path that would take her back to the palace. The night was pleasantly warm and many stars twinkled in the sky above, giving off a fair bit of light. She breathed in the scent of fir trees and freshly cut grass. The sounds of relaxed chatter and clinking glasses became fainter as she made the slow climb upwards. She tried very hard to let the sense of her surroundings envelop her so she would not have to think anymore about her predicament on this night. A feeling of weariness almost overwhelmed her.

“Ilmarë, may I speak to you a moment?” a soft but high pitched voice came from behind her and Ilmarë stopped, startled by the sound. Niënna put out a hand to prevent Ilmarë from jumping in fright. “I am sorry if I startled you”, she said.

“Aunt Niënna”, gasped Ilmarë. “I did not notice you at the party”. She gazed at the Vala dressed in a plain but elegant dark grey silk dress and wearing a hooded cloak of black velvet. Her hair was black as her cloak and her green eyes sparkled with the light of the Valar in the starshine.

“You seemed preoccupied”, remarked Niënna. “I did admire you and your brother as I watched you standing together. The thought came to me that you both should have portraits done while wearing those clothes”. She looked admiringly at Ilmarë’s dress of sky blue, with its narrow stripes of silver threads running down its length.

Ilmarë considered her words with bitterness. “I wonder if our portraits would hang in a place of prominence as do Father and Mother’s and the other Valar’s”, she thought.

“Why thank you, Aunt”, she replied graciously, brightening somewhat. She had always found her Aunt Niënna to be kind and sympathetic. “I made this dress myself, as well as Eonwë’s tunic, out of the same bolt of fabric”.

“My goodness, but you are a talented girl”, Niënna remarked. “You must promise to make me a dress one of these days”.

An idea began to form in Ilmarë’s mind. “I would have to take a fitting”, she said. “Will you be going home tonight, or did you plan to stay at our house?”

Niënna looked a bit nervous. “No, I cannot stay”, she said. “There is something I need to attend to at home tonight. I was just going to find a servant to send to the stables for a horse and wagon to take me there. I did not feel like walking. And then I ran into you”.

“Well now, I have just had a thought, Aunt”, Ilmarë suggested. “Could you wait while I go up to my rooms and gather a few things? If you like, I could accompany you to your house and then I could do a proper fitting for you there”.

“Oh, Ilmarë”, said Niënna, “Would that not be too much trouble for you? I am in no hurry for the dress”.

“No, Aunt, you would, in fact, be doing me a great favour if you said yes”, replied Ilmarë. “I feel that I would very much like to get away for a few days”.

“In that case, how could I say no?” smiled Niënna. “I shall walk to the stables now by myself and meet you at the junction of the palace path and the western road with horse and wagon”.

“Thank you, Aunt!” cried Ilmarë, a feeling of relief flooding through her. “I shall go and put a few things together and then come and meet you straight away. I shall leave a note for Father and Mother, telling them I will not be home for a few days”. Then she turned and skipped up the mountain path, feeling happier than she had in many days.