Houseguests - by Ithilwen
Tilion had never regretted his choice to guide the Last Flower of Silver through the sky. But when he was honest with himself he had to admit that when he'd volunteered for the job, he'd really had no idea of exactly how boring it would prove to be!
Occasionally he'd get close enough to Arien to exchange a few quick words with her before the blistering heat of her fires forced him to retreat, but not often; in any case, she'd never really warmed to him and so never had much to say. Eärendil was a better conversationalist, visiting as he did with his wife during his brief dockings at Valinor; at least he occasionally had some juicy gossip to share. But more and more it seemed to Tilion that not much of interest ever happened in Valinor these days. How many new Vanyarin lays praising Manwë could he honestly be expected to listen to? The thousandth sounded much like the first to his ears.
The aftermath of the sudden and dreadful Change of the World had provided some all-too-brief excitement. Even as the waves flowed over the foundered island of Númenor, Manwë had sent a team of Aulë's Maiar to help Tilion camouflage those petals which would now face the new Round aspect of Arda. Tilion wasn't sure he understood why such a disguise was needed, but he dutifully helped the other Maiar spread layers of grey ash and dark rock over the delicate crystal Aulë's people had fashioned to protect the flower's fragile, radiant petals. The final result seemed rather unaesthetic to Tilion's eyes, but Aulë's servants were pleased with it, and the disguise did not block Rána's light even if it did hide the full beauty of the Flower of Silver's form, so Tilion saw little point in complaining. When he wanted to view the petals directly, he could always move over to the Straight Side, after all. It was only a minor inconvenience, in the larger scheme of things, hardly worth making a fuss over.
Then Aulë's servants returned to Aman, their task complete, and Tilion was left alone again, to look down alternately on the Round and Straight aspects of Arda, and to stare longingly at Arien, and to wave at Vingelot as it sailed by, year after year after interminable year…
And then it happened. Just when he thought he was on the verge of going mad, Tilion saw something quite unexpected – and better yet, interesting. A small white cylinder with a golden spider balanced precariously on its end came hurtling up from the Round aspect of Arda straight toward Rána. As Tilion warily watched, the spider dropped off the cylinder and floated down gently to the surface, where it kicked up a bit of dust as it settled into position. To the Maia's astonishment, a door soon swung open on the side of the spider (which he could now see was clearly mechanical in nature and not one of Ungoliant's stranger offspring, as he'd first feared), and out clambered one of the Secondborn, wrapped from head to foot in a bulky, oddly flexible suit of white armor. Another Man soon followed. After so many long Ages of waiting, Tilion had visitors!
Following the Change of the World, Manwë had given all the Valar and Maiar a strict command: no direct contact with any of the Secondborn allowed, save on his orders. Tilion was disappointed that he would not be able to speak with his new guests, but nothing in Manwë's orders said he couldn't observe their doings. Unclad as he was, the two Mortals would be unable to perceive him so long as he was careful. Tilion moved closer, watching curiously as the two Atani bounced around clumsily, pausing now and again to scrape up dust and pieces of rock and to drop several strange boxes and a mirror onto the cloaked surface of Rána. The Maiar winced as he saw the two Mortals firmly drive a long pole, topped with a stiff, brightly colored square of cloth, deep into the grey powdery camouflage coating, and prayed they wouldn't crack the crystalline vessel beneath. The Last Fruit of Laurelin was protected by a thick rind, but the petals of Telperion's Flower were delicate and easily bruised. If Aulë's vessel cracked… Tilion shuddered at the thought of the tongue-lashing he'd surely receive from Yavanna should the bloom underneath be damaged by the Mortal's pole, but what could he do? If the Flower was marred, surely the fault lay with Manwë, whose own orders had prevented Tilion from warning the Atani to be careful!
Tilion's guests, to his disappointment, did not stay long. All too soon they retreated back into the body of their mechanical spider and sealed the door tight. Flames suddenly burst out from beneath the spider's belly and it shot up into the air, leaving its legs behind. Tilion watched sadly as the spider's body joined up with the white cylinder overhead and the strange vessel swung back toward home. Only when he'd finally lost sight of the tiny craft did he turn his attention back to his charge. Time to clean up the mess his visitors had left behind.
He pulled the pole out of the ground, and sighed with relief when he saw its tip had not in fact shattered the protective crystal beneath. The colorful cloth on the pole made a good duster, and Tilion was careful to sweep away every last footprint. He gathered up the mirror and the odd boxes and securely attached them onto the leftover spider legs. The result was a sizable bundle, but fortunately things up in Ilmen didn't weigh much; he'd have no trouble hauling the entire lot over to Vingelot. Eärendil could easily stow it all on deck and hand the entire mess over to the Valar the next time he made port.
As he began to lift the remains of the spider up, Tilion spotted a small square piece of metal affixed to its side. He paused to look at it. Etched on the shiny metal surface was the image of the Round aspect of Arda, and beneath that, strange markings:
Here Men From The Planet Earth First Set Foot Upon the Moon, July 1969 A.D. We Came in Peace For All Mankind.
Words, clearly, Tilion, thought, but not written in the letters of Rúmil or the tengwar of Fëanor; he could not read them. It must be some strange Mannish script. Perhaps Eärendil would be able to translate it for him; he was part-Mortal, after all, and doubtless familiar with his ancestors' writing. At least this would give the two of them something new to talk about for a while.
As he hoisted the remains of Eagle aloft, Tilion found himself wondering how long it would be before other Mortal visitors would arrive, and how long they'd stay. Perhaps, if he asked Manwë very nicely, the next time he'd be permitted to entertain his guests. After so many years alone, it had felt very good to have company.