Chapter Text
Prologue
Beyond time, beyond space, yet within touching distance of all parts of both, lies the land of Valinor. Home of the Valar, who are unto us as gods; home of the Elves, the Elder Race who were before the coming of our kind; a land of peace and unity that has yet seen darkness, a paradise that is yet only a reflection of the true paradise beyond.
And even in paradise, the gods can know sorrow.
Varda, Lady of the Stars, She Who Even The Shadow Fears, has ever watched humanity from her celestial viewpoint. Ever has Earendil the Mariner, who is both Morning and Evenstar, brought her news from his unending journey. Ever has Varda felt their pain as her own. But unlike her sister, Nienna the Mourner, Varda is not one to sit idle.
“They have suffered enough,” she whispered to her children the stars one night.
“Who has, my dear?” Manwe, Lord of the Air and mightiest of the Valar, asked her. He had noticed his wife staring into the sky, communing intently with the stars above, seeking news, seeking stories of the world of men, and would know what secrets her mind held.
Varda indicated with a flick of her wrist, and a series of images passed before them. Of a Ranger of Middle Earth with a broken sword. Of that same Ranger old and grey, in the robes and crown of a king, lying dead on a funeral bier. Of a seemingly young maiden robed in black and veiled, watching over the dead king with tears in her eyes, dark hair hiding ears that, unlike those of her dead husband, were pointed. Of a man on a far shore, looking very similar to the not-so-young widow, and at his side a blonde woman, both with the same pointed ears, staring desperately into the east, hoping for a ship that both knew would never come. Of a dark-haired man with striking blue eyes and an odd resemblance to the Ranger-King, falling back through a tattered veil, never quite knowing what had hit him. Of a green-eyed boy with a scar on his forehead screaming and trying to get at the man, prevented only by the quick reactions of one haunted by the Beast. Of a Halfling with pale, almost translucent skin and soulful blue eyes, clutching at an old wound, face screwed up in pain. All these images passed before Manwe’s eyes in an instant.
“They suffer much,” the Vala observed. “But is it right to change the fate of the world for the sake of these few?”
“I would not change Middle Earth’s ultimate fate,” Varda replied. “But their souls cry out to me, and I would help them if I could.” She turned to Manwe, eyes set in a steely look that said that if Manwe did not help her, she would go it alone. “Well, husband?”
Manwe bowed deeply, a sardonic smile on his fair features.
“My dear Lady, I have never sought to keep you from doing anything you might wish to do. However, I would not advise you to undertake this alone. Have you spoken with our Feanturi kin?”
“Vaire and Namo?” Namo presided over the Halls of Mandos, where the souls of dead Elves went, while his wife Vaire wove the stories of all who walked in mortal life. Between the two of them, most of the mortal world fell under their purview. “Why, Manwe, my dear, are you assisting me after all?”
Manwe smiled cryptically. “Merely pointing you towards a possible path. What you and Vaire decide to weave is up to you.” Bowing, he took his leave of the Star-Kindler, leaving her alone with her thoughts. At length, Varda began to smile. Casting her voice out on the wind, she addressed herself to one of the younger Elves, a Wood Elf of Middle Earth, who had been one of the last to make the journey to Valinor.
“Greenleaf, I have need of you…”
A pause, then the reply, brought back to her on the breeze.
“O Elbereth, I am yours to command.”
Varda smiled and began to issue instructions. Finally she finished, and having bid goodbye to the edhel, she turned and made her way to the Halls of Mandos, where the second piece of her plan lay lying in wait. A descendant of Numenor and Imladris, and a Champion in his mortal lifetime, whose name translated roughly as the Brightest Star in the Darkness, who had fallen in battle and found himself among the Elvenkind. His mortal family might not be exactly wholesome, but they had done well in naming their son at least. Naming him for a star meant that they’d inadvertently dedicated him to Varda the Star-Kindler. And Varda meant to make good use of her newest servant…