Chapter 11: A Little Chat

"Manwë. We need to talk."

The eldest of the Valar jumped, causing some of the miruvórë he'd just poured himself to spill from his cup. Námo suddenly appeared in front of him, his presence reminiscent of a thundercloud. Placing a hand over his rapidly-beating heart, and taking a few calming breathes, Manwë spoke in a sharp voice.

"Very well. But did you really have to give me a heart attack in the process?"

The Elder King glared at the Doomsman, whose expression and posture gave nothing away. Damn, Námo was good at the blank look. Manwë couldn't discern anything about what he wanted to talk about from just observing him.

"As far as I'm aware, the only people susceptible to heart attacks are the Secondborn. You'll survive. Now, we need somewhere we will not be disturbed to talk."

Manwë began feeling very concerned, but nodded agreeably.

"Okay. Would my study work? I can make sure we aren't disturbed."

"It will."

Quickly downing the bit of miruvórë left in his glass, Manwë led the way. Námo said nothing more, until they were taking seats in the study. The Elder King barely had time to sit before Námo started speaking. The Doomsman wasted no time in getting to the point.

"Manwë. I have recently heard some troubling news regarding you and Eönwë. I normally would not question what you choose to do with your Maia, but in light of recent events..."

The older Vala blinked in surprise as Námo trailed off. As far as he knew, there was no trouble with his chief Maia. But, he knew Námo wouldn't have come to him if he didn't have a legitimate concern about something. The Doomsman never did anything on hearsay after all. If he was here, and worried about Eönwë, then he was sure he had a reason to be.

"What sort of news? Eönwë isn't here at present; he's on Middle Earth with the Edain."

Námo's expression was neutral.

"I know this. I also know you wouldn't let him keep his wings on his fana while he's there. Why? What is wrong with his wings that he cannot keep them?"

Manwë blinked. Out of all the things he'd expected Námo to say, that was not on the list.

"There's nothing wrong with his wings. When he's here, where everyone knows him. Going among strangers, I simply felt it better he looks more like them. And the Edain don't have wings."

Manwë shrugged, not understanding what the big deal was. His reasoning made perfect sense. It wasn't like Eönwë was forbidden from showing his wings. Manwë just preferred he didn't while with the Edain. The Maia had even agreed it was for the best that he didn't, when they'd spoken about it.

Námo's face was expressionless, but his voice had a hard note to it that Manwë did not hear very often.

"If that's your reasoning, then please explain to me why Eönwë was allowed to keep his wings during the War of Wrath when he led our armies on Endórë? He was very high profile then. Everyone at least heard about him, even if they didn't see him. The Edain he is teaching now helped us in the War, losing many of their own in the process. Your reasoning makes no sense, Manwë. Not in the wider context of everything that's happened within the last few centuries."

Manwë blinked again, trying to figure out what Námo was saying. The younger Vala had a point, Manwë eventually conceded to himself, but he still didn't see there was a problem here. However, Námo seemed to think there was. And, as the Doomsman never did anything without a reason, it was in Manwë's best interest to help him understand the situation.

If he wanted the younger Vala to leave him alone, then he definitely had to resolve this concern. Námo wasn't only renowned for only bringing up major concerns, he was also famed for not dropping them until the situation had been resolved to his satisfaction.

Oromë had once referred to him as 'the bloodhound of Mandos' due to his one-tracked mind when it came to things he considered important. Like one of the Huntsman's hounds when it caught the scent of its prey.

"That was different. He was part of the Host of the West, all of who looked alien to those Second Born on Endórë. He wasn't living among them and teaching them. That changes things."

Námo frowned, his heavily masked eyes and deep hood making Manwë feel vaguely uncomfortable for reasons he wasn't sure of.

"I fail to understand how it changes things. Tell me, Manwë. Why did you choose Eönwë to teach the Edain? Why not someone else?"

Manwë raised an eyebrow, somewhat relieved. That was an easy question.

"I chose him because of his position here, and the fact he was the Captain of our Hosts during the War. He was already in a position of authority, and therefore more suited to dealing with the Edain, and earning their respect."

Námo did not look pleased with that explanation.

"From all accounts, he already had that. He earnt the respect of all on Middle Earth during the War. Even among the Elder here in Valinor who did not participate in the War, his name is spoken with reverence. Among those whom were on Endórë, who fought alongside our troops, he's affording a respect normally reserved for us Valar. To some, he's held in even higher esteem."

Manwë just stared at Námo. This information was new to him. He'd had no idea Eönwë was so highly regarded among the Elder residing in Valinor.

"How do you know this, when even I had no idea?"

Námo's smile was frightening.

"I have my ways of finding out information. It wasn't even that hard. The events of the War are still a hot topic of conversation among the Elder. Especially those younger generations born after the Darkening. For them, the War is the most exciting thing that has happened in their lifetime. Those whom weren't allowed to go and fight, especially, see it as some glorified Holy War. And the fact Eönwë was the one leading our forces…they see him practically as a god. But we are getting off track. Manwë. I strongly feel you need to reconsider your reasons for abusing Eönwë in this way."

Manwë sat up straight, a look of absolute horror on his face. Which was rapidly replaced by anger.

"I would never abuse anyone, Námo! Especially not those under my care! I'm not my brother. How could you even say something like that?"

Námo's eyes hardened further.

"There are many kinds of abuse. Physical, mental, psychological, and emotional. It's true Melkor loved all these things, and used them frequently. However, not letting Eönwë keep his wings, a part of his identity and being, through some idea they would interfere with his work, is ridiculous. And falls dangerously close to the psychological abuse category."

Manwë's mouth was opening and closing, no words coming out, as he struggled to understand what the Doomsman was saying. Námo had a cheek! He'd never abused anyone, and didn't plan on starting now! He wasn't his brother! Suggesting Eönwë keep his wings hidden while with the Edain wasn't being abusive; it was being practical.

Wasn't it?

Manwë spoke in a carefully controlled voice, trying to keep his sheer anger from spilling out.

"I fail to see how any of this concerns you, Námo. Eönwë is my chief, my Maia, and therefore under my authority. He may have served you briefly once, but those days are long since over. He's mine now. I will decide what he does and doesn't do."

At those words, Námo's posture changed. While his fana wasn't very large, suddenly his presence seemed to fill the entire room. Though his eyes were still hooded, somehow, Manwë felt the piercing stare. The other Vala's voice had turned glacial, his whole posture dark and forbidding. In that instant, he was every inch the Lord of Mandos. And it was frightening.

"For claiming to be different, you are sounding remarkably like your brother. He once said those exact words to Mairon, right before torturing him with implements he forced the Maia to make."

All the blood drained from Manwë's face at hearing that, and he swayed dangerously. It was a good thing he was sitting down, or he'd likely have ended up in a heap on the ground. Looking at the Doomsman in horrified shock, it was a while before Manwë was able to formulate his thoughts enough to speak.

"He – he truly did that?"

Námo nodded shortly.

"Yes. More than once. I don't think you understand just how much harm he did, Manwë. Not only was he physically abusive, he was very controlling. Rarely letting Mairon sleep or eat or even see to personal needs without his explicit permission. Which he didn't often grant, not towards the end. The last hundred or so years of Melkor's rule on Middle Earth were hell for all involved, though Mairon took the brunt of Melkor's temper." Námo's masked eyes bore into Manwë's. "Not only did he do that, he also controlled the fana Mairon was allowed to wear. Restricting his ability to change forms at will, while ensuring practically every thought Mairon had was under his control. And then acting like it was perfectly normal and acceptable. That Mai should accept it and thank him for it!"

Námo's voice hadn't risen in volume, but from the effect his words had on Manwë, he might as well have shouted it from the rooftops. The Elder King could do nothing but stare at the Doomsman in absolute horror and shock, anger having evaporated as he tried to understand how his own brother could have done something like that. However, Námo wasn't quite finished yet.

"While nowhere near as bad, I see similarities between that, and what's happening here. By not letting Eönwë wear wings on his fana while he is teaching the Edain, you are controlling his fana, making him conform fully to your will. For no real reason."

The Doomsman said no more, simply sitting back, watching the Elder King, his emotionless expression and posture set in stone. Manwë was still pale, struggling to absorb all this information. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he never had a hope of understanding his brother or his actions. Why on earth would Melkor do that to Mairon?

Come to think of it, why did Melkor do everything he did to Mairon? Manwë realised, with shock, he'd never actually given any thought to why his brother would do those things, and not want to change. He'd always thought he must have done something wrong. If he could just make it up to his elder brother, Melkor would go back to how he'd been in their youth in the Timeless Halls. Before even Varda or Ulmo had come along.

Back when it was just the two of them, and Atar.

Thinking of what his brother had been like back then, and what he'd done while on Middle Earth, made Manwë's world tip even more precariously to one side. Ever since Melkor's first betrayal, Manwë had been hoping it was all some misunderstanding that would be resolved if he could just figure out what to say and do to persuade his brother to come back. When he'd been brought before them after his time in Mandos, begging for pardon and forgiveness, promising to be good if they would just give him a chance, Manwë's heart had sung with joy.

He hadn't bothered consulting with anyone else about what to do, not even Atar, such was his happiness at the prospect of a chance to regain his brother. For a while, it had been perfect, with Melkor truly seeming to have changed his ways. Manwë had started to regain hope that things would go back to the way they'd once been. For a few brief years, things had been perfect.

Until they suddenly weren't.

Melkor's second betrayal had shaken Manwë to his core, especially the fact his brother's treachery and deception was only revealed to them after Fëanor pulled a sword on his own brother. From that point on, Manwë began to realise his brother had never intended to go back to being good. He'd never intended to help them realise Atar's plan for the world. From the time he'd been brought before them the first time, he'd been plotting to destroy everything they valued.

More specifically, everything Manwë valued. Melkor had played on his emotions to gain access to everything he needed. While several Valar had openly seethed, no one had gainsaid Manwë when he decided to let his brother go free without restrains.

Not even Námo had said anything against it. Surely he had to have known things would not end well. His foresight must've given him something on that day.

"Why – why did you never speak up again my decision to let Melkor go free? Why did none of you ever say anything against it?"

Manwë stared across at the Doomsman. Námo hadn't moved since making his last statement; not so much as one muscle had twitched. His voice when he spoke, however, was a tad gentler then it had been.

"Would you have believed me, or even listened, if I had said anything? In your heart, you'd already decided, before he was even brought out, that you wanted to give him a chance. Nothing anyone said, nothing that was shown to you, would have persuaded you to do otherwise."

Manwë dropped his head to his hands in despair, realising Námo was right. He'd wanted so badly to believe his brother, that he hadn't even stopped to find out how others felt on the matter. Hadn't stopped to look at the situation, and make an informed decision based on the information he had.

In that, he'd failed in his duty to both his fellow Valar, the Maiar, and the Children. He'd failed in his duty to Atar also; this last thought caused a big fat tear to trickle down his face as he struggled to maintain some sort of composure. He'd failed Atar.

He'd failed Atar.

*Nay, my son. You have not failed me. Disappointed me, yes. But not failed. None of you, not even Melkor, have ever failed me. You are incapable of doing that.*

Manwë started at hearing Atar's voice in his head. The gentle words contained such love that the Vala could no longer control his tears. Abandoning all efforts at keeping his emotions in check, Manwë broke down and sobbed. He no longer cared what anyone thought, and, as love enveloped him, the Elder King cried like he'd never done before, finding release in tears he'd suppressed for a long time. Atar held him throughout the whole process, silently offering him comfort and support.

Lost in his misery and grief as he was, Manwë started when another presence entered his consciousness and embraced him. Looking up through tear filled blue eyes, the Vala was started when gentle silver eyes met his. Námo didn't say anything at first, simply holding Manwë, giving him time to compose himself. It took a while, but eventually Manwë felt calmer. He also felt tired and totally empty of emotions. Even trying to think about things about things was almost impossible right now. Cuddling further into Námo, Manwë closed his eyes, letting his conscience drift, feeling more at peace then he ever remembered feeling.

Námo said nothing the whole time. When he eventually did speak, his voice held a calm gentleness Manwë had never heard in it before.

"Shhh. It will be okay, Manwë. We all make mistakes, and the first step to fixing them is to acknowledge we made them to start with. And in this instant, I think, once you are feeling better, you owe Eönwë an explanation or three. How much you tell the others is up to you, but Eönwë deserves to know the full story."

Námo ran a gentle hand through Manwë's hair, and the Eldest melted into the attention. He said nothing for some time, and when he eventually did speak, his voice was hoarse.

"I am afraid of what he will think if I admit things to him."

Manwë didn't know why he was sharing one of his deepest fears with Námo; it just seemed the right thing to do. The Doomsman's expression softened at the admission, and he gentle tilted Manwë's face upwards to look at him.

"Eönwë loves you dearly, Manwë, and looks up to you like he does no other. Talking to him about your mistakes and feelings will not diminish you in his eyes, have no fear of that. It will only make him love you more. The Maia often feel inadequate next to us, as you well know. Letting Eönwë at least know that we're really not so different, will not harm your relationship. It will only enrich it."

"How can you be so sure?"

Námo's expression and posture softened even further as he hugged the other Vala to his chest. Rubbing Manwë's back, he spoke very gently, and with as much emotion as he ever showed outside of Mandos.

"Let's just say I speak from experience. Tell him the truth. He honest with him. I promise, you won't regret it."

Well, that breakdown happened a little sooner than what I anticipated it would. Plot Bunnies, what evil plan are you hiding from me now that you need Manwë semi-sane for? *They give innocent looks and bound away*

I still would like to strangle Manwë with his own hair though. If he would just stop falling apart over how he'd failed his brother (in his eyes), and realise his current behaviour is setting all those around him who remain on the path to destruction...

*angry muttering*

For those who've expression concern over Melkor controlling Manwë, I can safely say he's not. However, he has set certain things in place with the knowledge that Manwë will probably make a mess of things. Melkor knows how to manipulate too well...

Thank you for those who are reading this story, and for the reviews! They're what's pushing me to keep posting, even when it's a struggle.