THIS IS MAKING ME LITERALLY INSANE. OF MY FUCKING GOD I JUST CANT. AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHGGGG.
This is so good 😭😭😭😭 I already left you a comment on AO3 so I'm not repeating myself her, but FUCK. What a way to get murdered on a nice Saturday like this 🥲
Friend, thank you so much for the heartache.
Manwë Week Day 6
"You did nothing wrong, my beloved son. You did what I have always commanded you to do."
Day 6: Fallen | Storm
Relationship(s): Manwë & Eru, Ulmo
Synopsis: When the Númenórean armada approaches Valinor and Manwë prays to his father for help, Eru uses him as his instrument once more.
Warnings: Bit of blood and body horror (maybe, warning to be safe)
AO3
AN: Inspired by and based on Eru's Instrument by @the-red-butterfly. I loved this one so much and was so sad that I missed the event, so here's a very late gift!
A wonderful fic based on it has been written by @i-did-not-mean-to, so I decided to take some creative liberties and focus more on the aftermath. Enjoy!
When Manwë awoke from his trance, the only thing he saw was an apparition of his father above him. Impossibly bright and unknowable, it seemed to him that the One smiled like He had done in the days of his youth.
"You have done well, my child."
Dizzy and confused, Manwë attempted to rise, but swiftly collapsed on the cold, hard floor again. Where was he even? Still on the highest tower of his palace or had his father taken him somewhere else? And what had happened to exhaust him so? His fána ached and his limbs felt stiff and twisted as if he was a puppet, discarded with its strings cut.
"Father..." he whispered, "Father, what happened...?"
"I took matters into my own hands, as was your prayer to me. The Children have been reprimanded and are now gone from your realm."
"Reprimanded...? Gone...?"
"Yes, my child. Númenor is no more."
It took a few moments until Manwë felt the full gravity of Eru's words. He still struggled to rise and found himself unable to see beyond the light of the One's presence, but there could only be one meaning.
The Children were dead. Their once-blessed kingdom was destroyed and taken from them forever.
And it was his fault. It had to be, for his father was infallible and to govern Arda in his stead was his sacred task.
"You did nothing wrong, my beloved son. You did what I have always commanded you to do."
Eru's gentle admonishment, seeing into his heart as easily as breathing was to him, felt like mockery to Manwë. Yes, he had followed his father's command, but he had hoped that He would repair what had been broken, not destroy and discard His own creations.
Melkor has gone to the Void for this, a small, unbidden voice of rebellion whispered in his mind. Afraid of his own thoughts, he quickly silenced it.
Despair swept over him like the roaring sea where Númenor had once been, and Manwë's wings fell like dead leaves, dissolving into thin air and leaving only a few stray feathers as he began to sob. Blood filled his mouth, causing him to cough and curl up, one hand clutching his chest where Eru had taken hold of him — his robes, he suddenly realised, were torn and soaked with the same liquid.
"Child."
His father called out to him, but he couldn't answer, shaking uncontrollably as he tried in vain to suppress his emotions while frantically holding his battered fána together.
"Repair yourself."
Manwë nodded, only to cough again; yet he knew he didn't have the strength to heal himself at present and wouldn't have it for a while. By Eru's grace the Valar could neither be destroyed nor slain within the circles of Eä so he would endure, but the sheer weight of his grief almost made him wish that he would not.
The One vanished without another word, leaving his favourite son collapsed on the floor. Manwë attempted to reach out with his spirit to cry for help, yet before he could manage to make himself heard, he sensed the presence of Ulmo.
His best friend, loyal as always, had come. He was going to be safe.
Manwë allowed himself to be picked up and cradled in Ulmo's arms, but his relief was short-lived when he saw pure terror engraved into the other Vala's mien.
"What have you done?" Ulmo asked.
"It w-wasn't... I just... prayed..."
He placed his hand on the one clutching his bloodied robes, attempting to seal the wound with his own flesh.
"It wasn't you, right? Tell me it wasn't."
"No... Father..."
Ulmo nodded gravely, and it seemed to Manwë that he understood; though his grief had been eased only ever so slightly, as whatever horror he had witnessed remained.
"Ulmo... what did he...?"
In lieu of an answer, the Lord of Waters carried his friend to the very edge of the plateau on top of the tower, allowing him to finally see.
The armada that had approached Valinor had vanished without a trace. Númenor was no longer visible in the distance. The sea remained in turmoil, as if it too was crying out in anguish for all the lives that had been lost.
"It... is all... my fault..." Manwë managed before sobs broke his voice again.
Ulmo turned away from the carnage then, unable to endure it any longer. Two additional arms and hands sprouted from his shoulders, one pressing against Manwë's chest, the other cupping his cheek. His lips parted, yet what he meant to say the Elder King would never know as Varda arrived in a flash of light, summoned by his distress.
"What happened here? Did Eru...?"
"Yes, but it seems as though there was a price to it," Ulmo said, showing her the limp fána of Manwë.
"Beloved–"
"You must summon Irmo and Estë, my lady," he urged before Varda could give voice to her emotions. "I shall carry him to your chambers, but he requires further assistance."
Manwë could only listen to their exchange, closing his eyes in defeat. He was going to be saved, he was going to be cared for — and the Children were not. Too gladly would he have sacrificed his chosen shape if it could have meant a better outcome, but the One would have never allowed him to make such a bargain in the first place.
His head rested against Ulmo's mighty shoulder as they walked, his best friend holding and carrying him as gently as he could.
It was only later when Manwë lay on top of his bed and idly watched Estë tend to the gaping wound in his chest that the reality of what had happened slowly dawned on him: He felt violated in body and spirit. Surely his father, loving and perfect as he was, could never do something like that to him?
Yet He had stripped him of his free will and used him to destroy the very beings he had refused to hurt. Because Manwë was His instrument, as Eru had said, uncaring of the ruin of his fána and his ëala alike, even as he called him his beloved son.
Thanks for reading! ♡
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