1. In Father's Chamber
“But you see, good father,” the Vala sputtered, sweat streaming down his face. “’Twas not I who corrupted the Maia, but rather that despicable Melkor! I cannot be blamed for his sway over the weak.”
Ilúvatar, sitting upon a throne of ivory and silver before one of his angelic sons, snorted. Quite loudly, too, for Aulë trembled at the sound, where he knelt upon a shimmering golden carpet. He was sure that The One was angry.
“Aulë, my son,” Eru said at last, seeing that the Vala was quite shaken enough to be receptive to aught he might say. “I am not angry with you, as you may think. I love thee still, and there is little that could change that.” Aulë gulped at the word “little,” hoping he would never inadvertently do whatever that was. “But why can’t you be more like your brother Manwë? He’s always such a good boy, and those eagles of his have never gone astray.”
The father of the Dwarves looked around the chamber wildly, his mind whirling with thoughts of how he might be measured nearly equal to his brothers and sisters. “But father,” he said, deciding on a specific track. “Was it not I who helped your children the greatest, teaching them how to make wondrous beauties out of the things of the earth?”
“Was it not Fëanor your pupil who made the greatest beauties of all, the Silmarils? Was it not his lust of such things that plunged Arda into war, a war that sent many of my children into the keeping of your brother Mandos?” He suppressed a grin at the look on Aulë’s face, the horror of having his argument shunted aside so quickly.
“B—but...I could not possibly have been responsible...Yavanna created the Trees, the Light of which was the very essence of the Silmarils of Fëanor! But neither can you blame her for that which she herself did not do.” Whew, he thought, his quick recovery heartening him once more. Surely he can say naught to that, for Yavanna has always been one of his favorites.
Ilúvatar made a deep “hmmm” sound, as if he were thinking deeply. At last he said, “Then be sure to send her in on your way out, for you are right that she is the other half responsible. And so she will take half of what was to be borne by you.”
“Father!” Aulë cried pitifully, fearing that his wife should have to suffer because of his—he now realized—faulty argument.
The booming laughs of The One echoed throughout the chamber, rumbling down from the Heavens as thunder high above the world. “Oh Aulë, my son!” he gasped in between laughing fits. “Always so uptight! I did not summon you here to punish you! If you will remember, you were the one to bring up the subject of your Maia apprentices turning to the ways of evil under Melkor.”
Aulë’s expression was one of extreme confusion. “You didn’t? I did? Then—why did you summon me here?”
Eru smiled. “I merely wished to commission you to make me a set of rings,” he answered simply. “I am intent of changing the décor of my chamber—” he gestured around the room with a broad sweep of his arm “—that has been the same old drab since, oh, the First Age! I am going with blue this time, you see, and I need new rings as well. Silver, if you will, with stones of sapphire. I trust you will be able to come up with a design I can appreciate. Please go along and do that now.”
Utterly bewildered at that point, Aulë stood and made to leave. But his father stopped him in the doorway. “Oh, and Aulë?” He looked back over his shoulder. “Please do send Yavanna in on your way out; I will also be requiring some new flowers to replace those already in here, and she is the only one of my children with a green thumb.” Aulë nodded and as he closed the door behind her he heard, “And I do need to have a talk with her about creating plants that inspire jewels which will spring up wars...”
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.