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Mahal's Blessing (Prologue)

Title: Mahal's Blessing
Prologue: In Which Mahal Makes a Choice
Pairings: Gen (this part);[Fic Pairing]Consensual Azog/Fíli, Smaug/Kíli/Bilbo
Word Count: 879
Disclaimer: If I owned the hobbit no one would die
Summary: Fíli and Kíli are soul-mates, but have different names over their hearts.


Aulë was the Smith, the Maker, and he looked down upon his creations and saw that they were good.

He had carved his children from the rock, granting them the strength to endure the hardships of the world and the long lives of mountain stone. His dwarrows were gifted with three lifetimes of the race of mortal men in order to grow in wisdom and become masters of their crafts. Yet unlike the elves, Aulë's creations also felt the cold touch of mortality so that they would treasure more the time they had.

Aulë loved his children and named them beautiful in the way of fine-wrought steel and they loved him and called him Mahal in their tongue. Yet despite how much he wished to keep his dwarrows safe within his halls, Mahal knew he had to release them from his charge and let them live full measure on Middle Earth, for a tool that is not used might as well be broken.

But because he loved his children, Mahal granted each of them one last blessing before he cast them forth, a blessing to protect them until he could gather them back into his embrace. For each spirit that he crafted was tied deeply to another, every dwarf he ever forged was only half a pair.

The Smith marked their bodies with the sign of their soul's union and thus each dwarf was born with Mahal's blessing in runes upon their wrist. This mark existed from birth but would only appear to mortal eyes once a dwarf's match had been given breath as well, for Mahal did not want his children to pine away in futile search. Yet once visible the runes spelled the name of their umùradulganaz, the one dwarf who would always be there within their hearts and would support them, would love them, and would warm them through the darkness of the world.

So Mahal declared and so it was.

---

His actions were right and they were good and they lasted through the long beginning of the world. Through the First Age and the Second and Mahal's blessing would have continued unchanged evermore, but in the Third Age Mahal looked upon his newest children and found himself confused.

The Valar had never seen such tangled spirits, their threads of fate woven tightly as any two he'd ever forged. But while all other dwarrows were bound heart and soul together these two most assuredly were not, they were bound by umùrâd alone. Their heartstrings spun off, stretching far past the borders of his domain in a snarl of thread and fate that defied his skill to read. Mahal could not untangle either's kurdu without slicing through the strands, but he also did not know if they should be unwound at all. So he took his wayward children and he brought them to Vairë, the Weaver, and asked her to read their fates.

Vairë looked down upon the knotted lives that Mahal held and her eyes filled with wonder and with pain.

"Never have I seen souls with threads like these, never amongst all the lives of Middle Earth, but though the web looks tangled it has a pattern that is fragile and is strong." She told him as she read the strands that Mahal showed her.

"You cannot cut the soul thread for it is wound too tightly and if you try these children will die broken and in grief, but the choice about the heartstrings is up to you alone. If you sever the strands that pull them from their people, your children will burn their life-spark quickly and their karûd will never flower. The world will grow dark with death and destruction, but there will be light at the end of it all.

Yet if you leave them as they are woven I cannot say, for that future spins upon a chasm's edge. All I know is that they will find either our salvation or our doom when they meet their karûdulganaz, but salvation is the harder path to walk."

Mahal heard her words and was filled with grief for he wished to bring no pain upon his children. Yet he knew what Manwë would say, that he should sever their heartstrings and let them suffer for the surety of a better world. How could he risk all the peoples of Middle Earth on the hope that these two would choose salvation, risk everything so that they'd have the chance to love? But Mahal was not Manwë who claimed to speak for the greater good, nor was he Melkor to twist pain for his own ends. At heart the Valar was a Maker, not a Destroyer, and he could not bring himself to harm his children no matter what the cost.

So Mahal decided to trust in his creations, trust that he had built his dwarrows well, and he whispered his blessing upon these tangled threads before he released them to their fate.

---

Thus it was on Middle Earth that two dwarrows were born a scant five years apart. Like all their people they bore Mahal's blessing branded on their wrists, but these brothers also carried another on their hearts, hidden from view until the time was right.

Chapter 1: In Which Soulmates Are Not Lovers


umùrad/umùrâd - soul/souls
kurdu/karûd - heart/hearts
umùradulganaz - soul of god's origin (i.e. soul-mate)
karûdulganaz - hearts of god's origin (i.e. heart-mate)

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
sra_danvers
Mar. 18th, 2013 11:14 am (UTC)
I love the idea and all the prologue!!
rata_toskr
Mar. 18th, 2013 02:22 pm (UTC)
Glad to have you reading this fic as well [the next of A Terrible Mistake is up too if you haven't gotten there yet :)]
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )