"Webs of Memory" - LOTR Fanfiction
This story has been sitting on my hard drive for years - a sequel of sorts to "Along Came a Spider" - and I suppose the time has come to let it come out into the light of day.
It was a pleasure to walk through Varda's garden for Olórin, even though he also knew that it was a relief for the rest of those around him that he'd take his pipe and go out into the open air. So few appreciated the lure of a good pipe and fragrant, potent pipeweed now that Bilbo and Frodo had passed beyond the Circles of the World. The dawn was mild, the breeze warm and gentle, and Olórin contented himself in wandering without thought of destination.
And that was when he saw her.
Her face was an uncomfortable mixture of familiar and unfamiliar, smooth and ageless and with that special glow reserved for those of the ainur. Hair like a cloak of dark silk lay in ripples down her back far past her waist, the ends lifting gracefully when caught by that warm, gentle morning breeze. Still, he couldn't help but notice that the edges of her fana, from hair to skin to delicate gown, seemed to shimmer occasionally as if she weren't in the habit of holding to a physical shape very often.
Unseen, unnoticed, he observed her from a short distance to the side as she bent to study something in front of her just a little closer, and as time passed, her expression grew thoughtful, somber. Sad. He couldn't help it. His curiosity got the better of him, and he tamped out the burning pipeweed so as to be less than offensive as he moved closer.
“I remember you,” she said calmly as he drew near, as if she'd always known he was there. “You are Olórin, are you not?”
“I am. But it seems, then, that your memory is in better shape than mine, my lady,” Olórin replied smoothly, moving closer, “as while your face seems familiar, it is not one I have seen in a very long time.”
Lips that were less than full quirked slightly. “Not surprising, as I have not wished to be seen for even longer than your memory allows.”
Olórin drew closer still, his curiosity not yet satisfied as to what it was that had caught the lady's attention to make her so thoughtful and sad. “That sounds ominous,” he commented lightly, determined to keep the conversation moving.
“No longer,” she replied with a slight shake of her head. “I am far less than ominous these days, especially when garbed like this.” A wave of her delicate hand indicated the gossamer gown and the fana that wore it.
“I cannot believe you to have ever been ominous,” he countered gallantly.
Again, those lips quirked in something not quite a smile, and Olórin caught his breath at the depth of hurt and sadness in those dark eyes that came up to meet his gaze only for a moment before returning to their previous study. “That is much of the reason I remember you,” she answered softly. “You never did.”
Olórin's mind spun rapidly, working to assess the clues she was giving as to her identity. As one of Manwë's principle maiar, he prided himself in keeping up to date with the manner in which both his greater and lesser brethren portrayed themselves when in physical form. But this ainu tested his abilities sorely, and the subtle rebuke and sadness in her mien pulled at his heart.
He decided to take another tack. “What do you see that interests you so?”
Her hand beckoned him to come closer, and so he stepped to her side and followed her pointing finger to the spider's web that stretched between the stalk of one of Varda's prized roses and the wooden lathing that gave support to the entire vine. “A spider's web?” he asked, amazed.
“Do you hear it?” was the reply, and the thin lips finally broke into a small smile. “They still remember.”
“Remember what? Hear what?”
Slowly the woman straightened until she could regard him directly. “I taught them that form,” she stated matter-of-factly, “because of the way the movement of the air around and through it made the webbing sing. It reminded me, back then, of the First Song, before it was... interrupted.”
She taught them? Once more Olórin's mind spun madly, until at last he found himself nearly breathless with revelation. It had been a very long time indeed since anyone had seen this particular ainu in this form. She had become infamous in the form she'd worn for Ages before, however, ever associated with Darkness and Evil. Even now, he had never heard the name she had chosen for herself in the Beginning Times, as she had ever been known, even amongst the ainur, by the name given to her later on by the Children to describe something ugly and despised. “It sings?” was all he could mutter in his astonishment.
The smile grew just a little bit. “Oh yes!” She glanced down and pointed at the small garden creature, who sat at the very edge of her creation. “At least, it does to her. I am not certain these forms we both wear now have the ears to hear it, however.” Her finger pointed to where the dew was slowly gathering as the morning mist settled. “If you could hear it, though, you'd know that the Song changes as the dew condenses on the webbing, changing the pitch and the harmony. How many times I remember sitting just inside the caves, listening to the winds through the webs outside and thinking about the Song That Was.”
“Before Melkor, you mean.” Olórin mentioned very carefully. “Before the first disharmony.”
She shook her head. “Not necessarily. Even dissonance has reason and purpose, and sometimes fits the song. It took a very long time - and eventually the guidance of Eru Himself - for me to realize this.” She glanced at him sideways. “We seem to have all forgotten that nothing that Was, Is or Shall Be is outside Eru's Plan - even the dissonance.” She cocked her head and gazed back at the little spider's web. “Even now, as the dew gathers, there are points of disharmony in the song the wind plays through the webbing; and yet, that song is as it should be, as it was meant to be. It never fails to resolve.”
Olórin stared at her, dumbfounded. “You are saying that even...”
“Even Melkor was accomplishing Eru's purpose,” she declared with a small, firm nod of her head. “How much better to know what not to do than to see an example of what happens when one does do it.”
No, that was a step even Olórin couldn't make. His mind filled with the thought of all of the suffering and death that had accompanied Melkor and his followers as they strove to pull all of Ennor into their sway: the ugliness that had come in their wake, the loss of four of his brothers, the number of troubled Elven fëar still residing in Mandos' Halls and Mortal souls hastened beyond the Circles of the World far too soon. “I have trouble believing that,” he offered with a sniff.
“I know,” she replied gently. “I did too, for a very long time. Like I said, it took Ilúvatar Himself to take me in hand and teach me this lesson in the darkest hour of my existence, and it was the hardest thing I ever learned.”
Where has she been for all this time? Why has she never shown herself here before? Olórin's heart swelled with the wistful tone in his companion's voice. “So you have rejoined us now, at last?” he asked gently, hopefully.
She shook her head. “No. It was a soft morning, and I saw the web of one of my long-distant daughters and came only for a short visit.” Her fana rippled, as if her hold on physicality had grown even less secure. “When I come, I never stay long and am gone long before most stir.” Her gaze caught and held his. “I always did prefer the darkness to the light, you know. I still do. Besides, I am not welcome among the rest of them, even now. They have never forgiven me for my part in destroying the Two Trees, and they never will.” Her hand rested against her abdomen, as if the very thought sickened her.
“Then that is their mistake, and their loss,” he told her gently with a smile. “We all have done things that deserve forgiveness. For my part, I wish you well, and I always have.”
She gifted him with a breathtakingly beautiful smile. “Thank you, Olórin. You are most kind. I have heard of your time among the Children in the latter days, and it is no surprise to me that you were the only one of your brothers to have returned here. You have a compassion that tempers your wisdom, something so many of the rest of them lack. For my part, I too wish you well.”
“Come back and visit again,” Olórin called as the fana in front of him rippled one last time and then faded away, blown into motes of nothingness by that same, warm breeze that wafted through the tiny spider's web and made the drops of dew shimmer like pendant adamants in the growing morning sun. He wouldn't tell his Master of the visit, knowing that Manwë and the rest of the ainur had yet to forgive her for her part in the history of Ea and her perceived betrayal of them all. She was right in that, and the very thought that such an otherwise gentle soul would forever remain ostracized from their society saddened him immensely.
He'd have to come to the garden in the fore-dawn hours more often, then; and in the meantime, he would have to think about everything she'd told him.
Still, he was intrigued by something she'd said at the start of their conversation. So Olórin knelt in the moist grass and bent forward to see if, despite Ungoliantë's stated regrets about the drawbacks of human form, he really could hear the echoes of the Song That Was - dissonance and all - in the dew-bejeweled webbing of a common garden spider.
Elvish Vocabulary
Ainur -Q. the first created beings, which include Valar and maiar
Fana - Q. raiment, physical embodiment of a Vala or Maia
fëa - Q. soul (pl. fëar)
maia - Q. lower class of Ainur, servants to the Valar (pl. maiar)
It was a pleasure to walk through Varda's garden for Olórin, even though he also knew that it was a relief for the rest of those around him that he'd take his pipe and go out into the open air. So few appreciated the lure of a good pipe and fragrant, potent pipeweed now that Bilbo and Frodo had passed beyond the Circles of the World. The dawn was mild, the breeze warm and gentle, and Olórin contented himself in wandering without thought of destination.
And that was when he saw her.
Her face was an uncomfortable mixture of familiar and unfamiliar, smooth and ageless and with that special glow reserved for those of the ainur. Hair like a cloak of dark silk lay in ripples down her back far past her waist, the ends lifting gracefully when caught by that warm, gentle morning breeze. Still, he couldn't help but notice that the edges of her fana, from hair to skin to delicate gown, seemed to shimmer occasionally as if she weren't in the habit of holding to a physical shape very often.
Unseen, unnoticed, he observed her from a short distance to the side as she bent to study something in front of her just a little closer, and as time passed, her expression grew thoughtful, somber. Sad. He couldn't help it. His curiosity got the better of him, and he tamped out the burning pipeweed so as to be less than offensive as he moved closer.
“I remember you,” she said calmly as he drew near, as if she'd always known he was there. “You are Olórin, are you not?”
“I am. But it seems, then, that your memory is in better shape than mine, my lady,” Olórin replied smoothly, moving closer, “as while your face seems familiar, it is not one I have seen in a very long time.”
Lips that were less than full quirked slightly. “Not surprising, as I have not wished to be seen for even longer than your memory allows.”
Olórin drew closer still, his curiosity not yet satisfied as to what it was that had caught the lady's attention to make her so thoughtful and sad. “That sounds ominous,” he commented lightly, determined to keep the conversation moving.
“No longer,” she replied with a slight shake of her head. “I am far less than ominous these days, especially when garbed like this.” A wave of her delicate hand indicated the gossamer gown and the fana that wore it.
“I cannot believe you to have ever been ominous,” he countered gallantly.
Again, those lips quirked in something not quite a smile, and Olórin caught his breath at the depth of hurt and sadness in those dark eyes that came up to meet his gaze only for a moment before returning to their previous study. “That is much of the reason I remember you,” she answered softly. “You never did.”
Olórin's mind spun rapidly, working to assess the clues she was giving as to her identity. As one of Manwë's principle maiar, he prided himself in keeping up to date with the manner in which both his greater and lesser brethren portrayed themselves when in physical form. But this ainu tested his abilities sorely, and the subtle rebuke and sadness in her mien pulled at his heart.
He decided to take another tack. “What do you see that interests you so?”
Her hand beckoned him to come closer, and so he stepped to her side and followed her pointing finger to the spider's web that stretched between the stalk of one of Varda's prized roses and the wooden lathing that gave support to the entire vine. “A spider's web?” he asked, amazed.
“Do you hear it?” was the reply, and the thin lips finally broke into a small smile. “They still remember.”
“Remember what? Hear what?”
Slowly the woman straightened until she could regard him directly. “I taught them that form,” she stated matter-of-factly, “because of the way the movement of the air around and through it made the webbing sing. It reminded me, back then, of the First Song, before it was... interrupted.”
She taught them? Once more Olórin's mind spun madly, until at last he found himself nearly breathless with revelation. It had been a very long time indeed since anyone had seen this particular ainu in this form. She had become infamous in the form she'd worn for Ages before, however, ever associated with Darkness and Evil. Even now, he had never heard the name she had chosen for herself in the Beginning Times, as she had ever been known, even amongst the ainur, by the name given to her later on by the Children to describe something ugly and despised. “It sings?” was all he could mutter in his astonishment.
The smile grew just a little bit. “Oh yes!” She glanced down and pointed at the small garden creature, who sat at the very edge of her creation. “At least, it does to her. I am not certain these forms we both wear now have the ears to hear it, however.” Her finger pointed to where the dew was slowly gathering as the morning mist settled. “If you could hear it, though, you'd know that the Song changes as the dew condenses on the webbing, changing the pitch and the harmony. How many times I remember sitting just inside the caves, listening to the winds through the webs outside and thinking about the Song That Was.”
“Before Melkor, you mean.” Olórin mentioned very carefully. “Before the first disharmony.”
She shook her head. “Not necessarily. Even dissonance has reason and purpose, and sometimes fits the song. It took a very long time - and eventually the guidance of Eru Himself - for me to realize this.” She glanced at him sideways. “We seem to have all forgotten that nothing that Was, Is or Shall Be is outside Eru's Plan - even the dissonance.” She cocked her head and gazed back at the little spider's web. “Even now, as the dew gathers, there are points of disharmony in the song the wind plays through the webbing; and yet, that song is as it should be, as it was meant to be. It never fails to resolve.”
Olórin stared at her, dumbfounded. “You are saying that even...”
“Even Melkor was accomplishing Eru's purpose,” she declared with a small, firm nod of her head. “How much better to know what not to do than to see an example of what happens when one does do it.”
No, that was a step even Olórin couldn't make. His mind filled with the thought of all of the suffering and death that had accompanied Melkor and his followers as they strove to pull all of Ennor into their sway: the ugliness that had come in their wake, the loss of four of his brothers, the number of troubled Elven fëar still residing in Mandos' Halls and Mortal souls hastened beyond the Circles of the World far too soon. “I have trouble believing that,” he offered with a sniff.
“I know,” she replied gently. “I did too, for a very long time. Like I said, it took Ilúvatar Himself to take me in hand and teach me this lesson in the darkest hour of my existence, and it was the hardest thing I ever learned.”
Where has she been for all this time? Why has she never shown herself here before? Olórin's heart swelled with the wistful tone in his companion's voice. “So you have rejoined us now, at last?” he asked gently, hopefully.
She shook her head. “No. It was a soft morning, and I saw the web of one of my long-distant daughters and came only for a short visit.” Her fana rippled, as if her hold on physicality had grown even less secure. “When I come, I never stay long and am gone long before most stir.” Her gaze caught and held his. “I always did prefer the darkness to the light, you know. I still do. Besides, I am not welcome among the rest of them, even now. They have never forgiven me for my part in destroying the Two Trees, and they never will.” Her hand rested against her abdomen, as if the very thought sickened her.
“Then that is their mistake, and their loss,” he told her gently with a smile. “We all have done things that deserve forgiveness. For my part, I wish you well, and I always have.”
She gifted him with a breathtakingly beautiful smile. “Thank you, Olórin. You are most kind. I have heard of your time among the Children in the latter days, and it is no surprise to me that you were the only one of your brothers to have returned here. You have a compassion that tempers your wisdom, something so many of the rest of them lack. For my part, I too wish you well.”
“Come back and visit again,” Olórin called as the fana in front of him rippled one last time and then faded away, blown into motes of nothingness by that same, warm breeze that wafted through the tiny spider's web and made the drops of dew shimmer like pendant adamants in the growing morning sun. He wouldn't tell his Master of the visit, knowing that Manwë and the rest of the ainur had yet to forgive her for her part in the history of Ea and her perceived betrayal of them all. She was right in that, and the very thought that such an otherwise gentle soul would forever remain ostracized from their society saddened him immensely.
He'd have to come to the garden in the fore-dawn hours more often, then; and in the meantime, he would have to think about everything she'd told him.
Still, he was intrigued by something she'd said at the start of their conversation. So Olórin knelt in the moist grass and bent forward to see if, despite Ungoliantë's stated regrets about the drawbacks of human form, he really could hear the echoes of the Song That Was - dissonance and all - in the dew-bejeweled webbing of a common garden spider.
Elvish Vocabulary
Ainur -Q. the first created beings, which include Valar and maiar
Fana - Q. raiment, physical embodiment of a Vala or Maia
fëa - Q. soul (pl. fëar)
maia - Q. lower class of Ainur, servants to the Valar (pl. maiar)