Where History Has Been Fixed
Playlist Navigation Bar
Adraefan: 21. Chorus V (Prayer Answered)
Far away, above the clouds, by the Sun.
It is hot here, very hot
(by the Sun, after all)
not really a problem.
The Valar sit, eat, drink, chat idly,
sometimes casting Their omnipresent gaze
down onto the world
to check up on things. Or rather
celebrating the fall of Sauron
and vicariously enjoying the peace in Middle-earth,
Manwë, Breath-God, Greatest Valar, Súlimo,
handsome, fair, perfection
divine, one could say (safely)
wild hair drifting up and mingling with the Sun’s flames
He smiles now.
And Arda glows with it.
Beside Him, the Star-Queen Varda,
(known to some as Elbereth)
eyes twinkling, a galaxy in that gaze,
which is now turned downwards
fixed on pretty-city Minas Tirith
(currently in reconstruction of many sorts).
Manwë will not tolerate gloom,
not when Great Evil has just been destroyed.
“Wife, wife, wife,
what sorrow dims your starry gaze?”
The other Powers
(who were in the middle
of arguing over who exactly who who
can best sing the Pelennor Fields Battle: Song)
hush look listen
in respectful reverence.
Manwë’s smile fades and it grows cold
even by the Sun.
“This is your fault, husband.”
Now only Varda, mightiest Valar-Queen,
would have the courage to say such a thing.
the other Gods sit on Their hands, bite Their lips.
“No it isn’t.”
Look, husband, lord, Breath-God, look,
he prayed to Us, back by the Tree
a nice sincere respectful prayer
(he is an honorable Man, I like him)
and he said, he said if We didn’t listen
if We didn’t stop the death-guilt around him
if We didn’t save that elf-exile
he would go mad.
And look now!
He’s doing it!
He’s doing just what he said!”
(and below, lunatic screams wrenched from invisible torture).
It is sad indeed.
Varda: “It breaks my Heart!”
are so bright they hurt to look at
they glow with the Sun’s light filtered
through them and down into Arda.
Now the lids half-close
He cocks His head,
sighs as well.
But the Breath-God’s sigh
is a Mighty Thing.
hands c-c-clutch the table for s-s-s-s-support
g-g-glasses shake (one breaks CRASH).
“Well, it was a silly thing to wish for
…in the middle of an Epic War.
Good-bad son of Gondor
(yes, I like him too)
lifetime soldier, war-hardened, battle-scarred
should have known better.
You can’t deny fate!”
Varda is unsatisfied.
No one wants to see her weep.
That is Nienna’s duty
one crybaby will do, thank you.
Manwë in a bind
and how does the old proverb go?
Marriage is love respect honor cherish
blah blah blah
and, above all, compromise.
So He looks down, stretches His arm,
stretches His arm down into Minas Tirith
a huge Sunlit golden muscular (big biceps triceps)
that no one seems to notice
stretching down, further further
reaching into the sorry scene
and giving limp-mad-screaming-Boromir
a good shake.
Pulls His arm up and raises His wine.
Varda smiles, Manwë smiles,
the Sun brightens, warms,
the Powers smile
and go back to the retelling:
(for the millionth time,
but who tires of such a great story?)
with only one question stalling Them:
Who shall play handsome Aragorn?
Me! Me! Me!
Playlist Navigation Bar