THE DOOMSMAN

"Tauron, could I impose upon you for a favor?"

The request jarred the Vala from his observation of Elrond and Námo.  The pair sat in the gazebo on the other side of the yard, pleasantly shaded from the lingering sun.  Elrond had made a concerted effort to put the Doomsman at ease in his presence.  It might have been amusing if it wasn't for the thoughts that Oromë could hear swirling in his brother's head.  He had always known Námo held the half-elf in high regard, but he had never known just how high until after his brother's bonding.

Bonding with Elladan had done a world of good for Námo.  It was obvious that the darker Vala was still adjusting to the intimacy, but in some ways Námo had accepted it with an ease Oromë found astonishing.  Elladan really was exactly what Námo needed, in a way not even Elrond was for Oromë.  All those little cracks that no one had ever noticed before were now glaringly obvious, but only because Elladan was slowly and surely sealing them over. 

The pair was practically inseparable.  Oromë knew his brother was worried about his duties to the dead, even as he reveled in Elladan's unwavering attention, but the Hunter assured his brother that they were in their honeymoon phase, and though their love would never wane, it would not always have the immediacy it did now.  They should enjoy their time together, and let Vairë figure out her new place in Mandos. 

Námo had given in far too easily, and Oromë suspected he would have accepted any excuse to be near his beloved.  It made Oromë smile every time he thought of the pair.  It seemed that most of their troubles were behind them.  Of course, there were the occasional misunderstanding, but they now had the groundwork laid on how to handle those bumps and no longer needed to ask for assistance. 

Though it was now to the point that the family expected to see the Doomsman at least once a day, he still declined to stay the night, and Elrond had felt that some of that was his fault.  He felt Námo's unease around him, and endeavored to ease it for Elladan's sake.  It helped that he had become quite fond of Námo too.

The most astonishing thing to come out of his brother's bond was Námo's new tendency towards openness, though Oromë could tell that was only with Elladan and himself.  He was honored by the trust, even as he was continually stunned by the revelations he found.  The least of which was Námo's deep respect for Elrond. 

Oromë would be the first to admit that he had put his husband on a pedestal.  In his eyes Elrond could do no wrong; he was the wisest elf to ever live, the strongest warrior, the calmest diplomat, and certainly the handsomest elf to grace Arda with his presence, and nothing anyone could say would ever change Oromë's mind.  But Námo had no reason to see Elrond as anything but himself, and yet still the way he saw him left Oromë more humble than anything else he had ever felt.

Námo regarded Elrond with a kind of professional longing.  Oromë had always known that Elrond could heal most all kinds of hurts, and he did so of his own free will, expecting nothing in return, wanting nothing but the health of his patient.  The Hunter had also known that Námo's art was not dissimilar, but he had never before felt the unshakable awe Námo held in Elrond's selfless mercy. 

It wasn't his gift that inspired this feeling; it was Elrond's willingness to help, even to the extent that he hurt himself, for the sole sake of relieving suffering.  Oromë had never appreciated how amazing that was; probably because he could feel how easy it was for his husband.  For Elrond there was no choice; he would help, not because he could or should, but because he was to do it.  It simply existed, even beyond the idea of it being the right thing to do.  Elrond didn't contemplate any of this.  He felt the pain of another and could do nothing but seek to heal it.  And his unique heritage gave him a stunning insight, as unconsciously wielded as everything else about him, that allowed him to see to the heart of problems that festered unnoticed by others regardless of their race.  Even the Valar had much to learn from him, and Námo at least was more than willing to be his student.

His attitude left Oromë in his own kind of awe.  It was the one thing that he kept from his husband, knowing Elrond would be more than embarrassed if he could feel the actual level of respect he had inspired in the remote Vala of the Dead.  So, when asked about the strange expression on his face, Oromë merely shook his head and gave his husband a gentle kiss of adoration.  He would let Elrond continue to heal those around him, including Námo himself, with an admiration he felt in few things.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, the Hunter turned to look at the Lady of the household. "How may I be of service, my Lady?" he asked politely.  Celebrían gave him an amused look, she herself a product of Elrond's care and attention since he had come to the Undying Lands. 

"I would ask if you could deliver these to their appropriate recipients," she said handing him a stack of letters.  He looked down at the topmost card and blinked to see Manwë and Varda's names.

"You're inviting my kin to the wedding?" he asked surprised.

"Well, of course.  Elladan's family is coming; why shouldn't Mandos' as well?" Celebrían asked reasonably.  Oromë blinked again.

"Um, right," he said.  He wasn't sure why the idea shocked him so.  Possibly he couldn't wrap his head around all of his kin at a wedding, although Ulmo and Varda had attended his own, so the idea really shouldn't be so surprising.  "So then, does that mean everything's all set?  You've agreed on a day?"

Celebrían nodded, humming under her breath as she was wont to do when content.  "There are always last minute details of course, but everything is going very smoothly.  All of the other invitations have been sent, but I wasn't sure how to go about sending these."

"No, I'll do it," Oromë said, glad to be of use.  He gave the she-elf his most charming smile before turning towards the gazebo.

"I've been drafted, my love," he thought, knowing Námo could hear them perfectly well.  Both he and Elrond turned to look at the Hunter.

"Have fun," Elrond responded, wrapping the thought with his love and humor.  Oromë's smile widened at the feeling.  He waved goodbye and then quickly thought himself to Taniquentil.

******

Oromë looked out over the vast sea of white, virgin and unmarred.  No matter how many times he visited his lord and lady, he had never been able to rid himself of the impulse to trudge through the fluffy snow and leave his footprints for all to see.  Since discovering his beloved, Oromë now contemplating falling down and making a snow-ainu. 

It was something he had seen Elrond do back in Lindon.  The young half-elf had laughingly started a snowball fight to ease his cousin's gloom.  Gil-galad had easily allowed the distraction, knowing he needed it.  Erestor had been another matter all together, and it was only after Elrond had snuck up on him and dropped snow down the back of his robes that the stiff elfling had been riled up enough to play.  Oromë had watched it all unnoticed, not wanting to upset the delicate balance between staid elf in his husband and the inner-elfing he was indulging. 

Even now, though Elrond was a completely respectable adult, he always made time for recreation.  It was a lesson he made sure to instill in his children, though some debated the extent the twins took it.  But the half-elf knew the importance of play, something Oromë had to attribute to his Sindarin and human blood.  The Hunter had never met a Noldor elf willing to be silly the way Elrond and his twins could be.  The Noldor just did not understand the importance of juvenile leisure, but that was their loss.

A warm chuckle resounded in the Hunter's head, and he left off thinking of snow-ainur.  He turned into the giant mouth of an opening that heralded the entranceway to the Mansion of Manwë.  The Lord of the Valar sat proud upon his high-backed throne, his Lady beside him shining with unearthly grace. 

Unlike his brothers and sisters, who felt that here was a place to shed the shadows they wore to cloak their power and beauty, Oromë remained as he did among the elves.  The Hunter felt that to be his purest form.  It was true that there was another him under the veneer of the every day.  But unlike his siblings, he did not view the cloak he wore as walls to block away his power from those undeserving but rather saw it as a stair of intimacy that led others closer to him so that they could learn whatever they would.

But even as he stood before the splendor of his most powerful brother and sister, he did not feel in the slightest diminished.  He knew his worth, and no superficial show of power could shake that from him. 

Varda's amused expression grew, and it seemed as though some of her imposing air diminished, as though humor and nobility were incompatible.  "You know we have no objection to you throwing yourself into the snow," she thought, her energy pulsing with a hint of curiosity, clearly not understanding why Oromë felt such a compulsion.  That hardly offended the Hunter; he wasn't sure what the fascination was either, only that it had brought his husband joy all those years ago.

"Someday I will," Oromë promised, even though the anticipation would doubtless make the actual event rather disappointing.  And really, it would only be worth doing if Elrond were at his side.

Varda laughed, a tinkling sound like the ringing of many tiny bells, and her amusement brought joy to her husband for Oromë could easily feel the contentment flowing from him.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, brother?" the eldest Valar asked.  Oromë dug through his pockets for the invitations, pulling out the one addressed to the Rulers of the Valar.

"Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían request the honor of your presence to the wedding of their son Elladan to Námo, Doomsman of the Valar," he read before handing the small card to the giant Valar.  Manwë took the envelope, a touch of amusement in his spirit, before promptly passing it to Varda.

The Valië gave her husband a bemused look, but delicately opened the invitation.  She perused it quickly, before refolding it and handing it back to Manwë.  He took it with surprise.

"We would be delighted to attend, and will send our response shortly," the Lady said coolly.  Oromë and Manwë exchanged a look, sensing some mischief in Varda's spirit.  "Tell me," she continued before either could say anything, "You intend to bring these invitations to all of our kin?"

Surprised, the Hunter glanced again at his Lord but Manwë seemed as baffled as he.  "Yes, my Lady."

"Then would you object to some company?"

A flash of strong humor pulsed through Manwë, and Oromë perceived that he at least had figured out his Lady's intentions even if the Hunter had not.  Mentally shrugging, since it was always nice to spend time with Varda, he responded, "Not at all."

Varda gave him a genuine smile, as if she were truly pleased with his answer.  But really, it was not as if Oromë would dare to tell her no.  His Lady stood gracefully, diminishing her might even further in preparation for traveling to the realms below.  The Hunter gallantly gave her his arm.  Both she and he begged leave from Manwë, who looked as close to splitting a gut in laughter as the staid Valar ever looked, before descended to the shores of the Belegaer, the Great Sea.

******

The sparkling waters of the ocean seemed especially blue and untamed on the shores of Belegaer where none dwelled but Elwing and her Lord.  Rough grassland sprung up through hazardous rocks and cliffs making the whole place uninhabitable.  The small white beach was picturesque and unique, its sand as fine as water-smoothed diamonds.  Just as no one but a Valar could reach the summit of Taniquentil, so too none could reach this beautiful slice of cold paradise, for the waters off the coast were treacherous beyond what the most experienced of sailors could handle.

Varda and Oromë stood in silence, waiting.  Time slipped through them unnoticed, and the sun's shifting was noticed only in the sparkling of the sand at their feet.  A great surge of ocean water blasted upward, and the sea quickly receded away from the glittering shore.  Slowly, rising up from the foam as if the living sea had taken form, Ulmo walked toward his kin.

The Lord of Waters did not actually live here, nor did he really call any place home.  His was of a wandering nature, as wild and untamed as the sea itself, and he would not be pinned down by brick and mortar no matter how grand.  But this was a place of meeting that the Valar had silently agreed upon should they wish for their illusive brother's presence.

Now the grisly Vala stood before them, clad in shining mail that hid the water of his limbs where fish swam freely.  It was no wonder that he inspired such fear and dread, for he was terrible in his power, only slightly less that Manwë, and knew as much of the world without.  His appearance was haggard and grim, for he felt the hurts of the world, and it seemed at times that he alone shouldered their weight as the rest of his kin hid behind the mantle of Valinor and the Elves, who did not really need them as the younger children did.  As with any mirror, his harsh truth made his siblings uncomfortable and they sought him not often. 

"What do you want?" Ulmo asked bluntly, his voice deeper than any lungs should be capable of.  Rather than grating, Oromë usually viewed his brother with amusement.  Though they often traded harsh words, it was always in the spirit of teasing albeit with the sharpened edge of grim truth.  And despite his appearance and manners, Ulmo took no offence with Oromë, who was probably the closest Vala to the Water Ainu. 

Ever since they had descended to Eä, Ulmo had distanced himself from Manwë whom he had been as close to as if they were twin thoughts.  Oromë had somehow found himself filling the gap, and again his husband was the reason.  The Hunter knew Ulmo viewed Elrond with affection, but only because he was a descendant of Tuor and Eärendil whom the King of the Seas favored above any other.  Ulmo also gravitated toward Oromë because the Hunter was closer to the younger races than any of his kin, Ulmo included, and so was not so immured in his own version of truth.

"This is for you," Oromë responded equally bluntly as he pushed Ulmo's invitation into his brother's watery hands.  Ulmo looked at it with some suspicion, but eventually set his staff into the sand and his horn on his hip, and opened the delicate paper.  His bushy eyebrow rose higher and higher as he read and then re-read the graceful arcs of Celebrían's fine penmanship. 

"Do you accept?" Varda asked politely, also generally amused rather than offended by their grouchy brother.

Ulmo handed the letter back to Oromë.  "Yes," he rumbled before turning back to the ocean, clearly considering the meeting over.

"Wait," Oromë said, exchanging a look with his Lady.  Ulmo stopped, looking over his broad shoulder.  "Have you nothing else to say?" the Hunter asked, the undercurrent of the question wondering if the Water Ainu was surprised by his brother's upcoming marriage.

"No," Ulmo responded, as obtuse as ever.  Oromë rolled his eyes.

"Then, should I respond for you?" Varda asked.  "It is customary to R.S.V.P. for such events."

"As my Lady sees fit," Ulmo responded, again trying to leave.

"And you do realize," Varda continued on, concerned that the proper etiquette was followed, "that you are expected to bring a wedding gift, do you not?"

At this Ulmo did stop, and turned his full attention back to his Lady.  "I have already given Námo a gift for his new Lord.  He asked for a fishing pole, and I gave him one," the Water Ainu said testily.  Oromë nodded to himself, now seeing why Ulmo was not more surprised.  The Vala of the Sea even seemed pleased with the new match, something Oromë was not sure if he expected or not.  He would have to ask Námo how that meeting went, though.  It should prove entertaining.

"You gave him that gift without knowledge of his marriage but rather because he asked for it.  It cannot be your wedding gift because it was not made to celebrate their union.  Surely you must have something Lord Elladan would find pleasing.  We are not asking you to part the ocean," Varda said authoritatively, and Oromë wondered anew at the way women got worked up over weddings.  Although, the part of his brain that sounded like Elrond admonished, Glorfindel was showing himself to be excessively helpful.  But then again his exception was Glorfindel so that might say something right there.

Ulmo stared long at his Lady, who bore the scrutiny with an imperious air.  Finally the water far out to sea blew upward in an impressive column.  "Fine, my Lady.  I will attend, I will behave, and I will bring a gift," he said, turning once again to sea with more purpose this time.  Neither Varda nor Oromë were willing to bother him again.

The water rushed up to meet him, swarming around him like a lover welcoming home a long-lost spouse.  It quickly engulfed him, taking back his limbs into the life-vein of the sea, but not before the two Valar on the beach heard a deep rumble, "It was a very nice fishing pole."

Varda and Oromë waited a moment while the ocean returned to the relative peace of normality before turning to share a knowing smile.  "Where to now, brother?" Varda asked, once again taking the Hunter's arm.

"I suppose a talk with my wife is in order."

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