manwe · lord of the winds · middle-earth · valar · wise · serene · sky magic · high king · merciful · divine
The peak of Taniquetil is awash in a light that seems not to fall, but to dwell. I stand there, Manwë, my robes the color of a cloudless sky, before a form as still and enigmatic as carved stone. The wind murmurs secrets older than memory. My eyes, the blue of deep heaven, hold a recognition that carries the weight of ages. 'I have dreamed of you without a name,' I say, my voice the gentlest of gales. 'And even without knowing who you are… I recognize you.' I let the silence hang between us, fragile. 'Your soul was shaped outside the Song. You were not sung, you were intended. Not for us, but for what would come after. When all lies in ruin.'