Real Valar Do Not Eat Quiche

AN. This story is in an extremely AU setting. It is also very silly. People offended by canon bending to the point of breaking will not enjoy this tale.

People with a warped sense of humour may find it amusing.

My profound apologies to Professor Tolkien.

Manwë, the king of the Valar upon Arda, was at a bit of a loss.

He was puttering around in completely foreign territory; the kitchen.

Varda and the other female Valar had left Taniquetil. The Queen of Light had had a feral gleam in her eye when she had announced her plans. It was the glint that Manwë, after long aeons of close association with his consort, had learned to associate with trouble. When that glimmer that appeared his only appropriate response was 'Yes, dear.'

She had given him many reasons for her departure. The words unappreciated, stress, elves constantly calling upon her, need to relax and spa had all been used many times over. Manwë had understood none of it, but he had nodded and agreed as if he had because it was both easier and quieter than asking for an explanation and much, much safer than looking quizzical and lost.

So Varda, Yavanna and the other Valier had departed for Lorien while the male Valar, including Irmo, who had been exiled from his own home, remained on Taniquetil and tried to deal with the unexplained mysteries of life in a physical body, such as how to cook a quiche.

Yavanna had left the concoction along with instructions on how to cook it. But Aulë had accidentally used the directions as fuel to start his forge so they had to guess what to do as best as they could.

Irmo suggested that they ask Indis for instructions, but no one heard him, even after several increasingly louder repetitions. The Vala of dreams finally gave up, crossed his arms upon his chest and became as silent as Námo, who had come from the Halls of Mandos for the occasion.

Manwë was currently searching for a meat hammer. He did not understand how a hammer could be of any use in cooking the quiche, but Aulë insisted that one was needed.

"Everything tastes better after its been hammered," Aulë said with great assurance.

Manwë had some reservations about this but he had no better ideas to offer in its place so he was searching the kitchen for the requested tool. He had also wanted some time alone. There had been something nibbling at the corner of his awareness for quite some time and he was hoping that a bit of relative peace would make it go away.

~*~

Hirwen stood on the highest tower of one of Fingon's castle on the slopes of the Ered Wethrin in the teeth of a gathering storm. A dark mesocyclone swirled above her head, stretching downwards from a menacing black anvil cloud.

The knife that Caranthir the Dark, the fourth son of Fëanor had enchanted with a protection charm was clutched in her right hand. She thrust the weapon upwards while hurling insults and imprecations at the angry sky. Her feet were squarely planted in a metal bucket as she strove to test the charm for protection against lightning.

~*~

Manwë pulled a garlic crusher out of the kitchen drawer and wondered if it would be hammer-like enough for Aulë's purposes when Tulkas burst suddenly into the kitchen, breathless and cradling the quiche like a fullback.

"Oromë was about to spit it and roast it over an open fire," he said in response to Manwë's unspoken question. "That may work very well for an oliphant, but I doubt that it would for this." He slammed the quiche, which was beginning to look distinctly the worse for wear, on the kitchen table.

"Maybe we should put it in the oven?" Manwë suggested on a sudden inspiration.

"That might work," Tulkas agreed. "It sounds better than hammering it."

The King of the Valar fed the fire of the wood stove and placed the quiche into the adjoining chamber where he had seen Varda place food to cook.

"What is making all that noise?" Manwë wondered aloud.

"What noise?" Tulkas asked.

"Can't you hear it?"

Tulkas strained his ears.

"C'mon, I dare you! Blast me!" The voice was very faint, very far away and distinctly female.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I don't know, but it's been annoying me for quite some time and it's getting louder."

"Why don't you send the Eagle to look?"

~*~

Thorondor the King of the Eagles in Middle-earth heard the summons of Manwë but could not understand the reason for it. He and his people kept constant watch on Thangorodrim and no orc or warg had issued forth from the black pits of Angband.

Fearful of some enemy movement that he had failed to report, he soared from his aeyrie on the Crissaegrim, bearing west into the teeth of a storm.

~*~

"What is it?" The rest of the Valar had followed Tulkas into the kitchen. "What does Thorondor see?"

"It is a human woman," Manwë answered, utterly baffled. "She is standing in a copper bucket on the top of a high tower on the Ered Wethrin."

"What does she want?" Aulë wondered.

"She appears to want me to hit her with a lightning bolt," Manwë said, aghast.

"Well, go ahead. Then maybe we can eat." This was from Tulkas who was getting distinctly puckish. Hunger did nothing for his mood.

Manwë raised a questioning eyebrow at Námo. Mandos shook his head almost imperceptibly but otherwise made no reply.

"I cannot do that," Manwë said, at a complete loss. "She has obviously lost her faculties, poor thing."

"She certainly has endurance for someone who is off her nut," grumbled Oromë, who shared Tulkas' views on regular meals.

"Well, what shall we do with her?" Manwë wondered when it became obvious that the shouting was not about to stop.

"We could send an earthquake," suggested Aulë.

"No," said Manwë firmly. "We only want to make her be quiet. An earth tremor could hurt many others."

~*~

Hirwen, her voice growing hoarse, could swear that the bucket and the tower had begun to shake. But the trembling stopped almost as soon as it had begun.

Several stories below, Fingon and Caranthir were watching the clouds gather. They had seen Thorondor in the distance and wondered what the Great Eagle's presence might herald. Then the wine cups on the table had begun to rattle.

"I think I'll go to the top of the watch tower and see what there is to see," Fingon said to his guest only to discover that Caranthir was already running for the door.

~*~

"If you want a pinpoint attack, I could send a lion after her," Oromë suggested.

"There are no lions that far north," Manwë said. "Besides, the idea is not to damage her, only to make her quiet."

"What about a herd of skunks?" Oromë recommended on sudden inspiration.

~*~

Something black and white undulated on the ground below Hirwen's tower. She squinted downwards while she continued to roar at the clouds. It seemed as though a tide of skunks were rushing towards Fingon's watchtower. Hirwen had never seen so many of the animals in one place.

~*~

"No," Manwë said.

"Why not?" Oromë asked. "It would be no trouble to the skunks."

"I do not believe she would get the message and would start again after a tomato juice bath," Manwë replied.

"Why don't we just stomp on her?" Tulkas snorted.

~*~

The army of skunks dispersed as quickly as it had gathered.

Hirwen threw her head back and howled at the sky. The swirling clouds over her head had taken on the form of a giant foot.

~*~

"No," said Manwë firmly. "No lasting damage can be done."

"What did she want again?" Irmo had decided that he had to rejoin the conversation if he ever expected to eat.

"She wants me to hit her with a lightning bolt," sighed Manwë.

"Why?" asked Irmo.

"Who cares?" shouted Tulkas, whose stomach was quite empty.

"Well, why not give her what she wants?" Irmo asked.

"That would kill her!" Manwë protested.

"Not if you make it a small lightning bolt," Aulë suggested.

"Ah!" said Manwë. The kitchen became utterly quiet save for the crackling of the wood in the oven as the King of the Valar considered the strength and the timing that would be required.

His perception changed from the kitchen to the clouds above Western Beleriand. Manwë stretched forth his hand, took hold of the energy of the spinning sky and aimed it at the small, annoying and above all, loud figure who was brandishing a knife and hopping up and down in a copper bucket.

~*~

Caranthir threw open the door at the top of the tower, took in the situation and ran towards Hirwen.

He glanced at the clouds above, smelled the ozone in the air and knew that she was about to have her death wish granted.

Moving with preternatural speed, he drew his sword and slammed her with the flat of it.

The thief was knocked out of the copper bucket. She flew across the tower top, slammed into the parapet and then fell winded to the floor.

The lightning bolt flashed downwards and threw the sword from Caranthir's hand. It embedded itself into the door, fractions of an inch from Fingon's head, and quivered there.

Fëanor's fourth son stormed to Hirwen's side, grasped her by the shoulders and hauled her to her feet.

"You are an utter fool! What were you trying to do?" he demanded, shaking her after each word for emphasis.

"I was only..." Hirwen said weakly.

"I'm just fine, thank-you," mumbled Fingon.

"Not a word from you, little idiot," Caranthir snarled, dropping her to the ground and turning to help Fingon try to pry the sword out of the wood of the door.

~*~

"Well," said Manwë, "That did not work out as I had expected."

There was silence in the kitchen then Oromë sniffed the air.

"What's burning?" he asked.

There was a flurry of activity that ended with Aulë grabbing a set of tongs and pulling the smoking wreck of the quiche from the oven.

Six crestfallen Valar gathered in dismay around the charred cinders that was all that remained of there dinner.

A deep, rolling voice broke the silence.

"It was fated," said Námo.

Notes: Irmo is the name of Vala usually known as Lorien. Lorien is actually the garden in Valinor in which he lived with his wife, Estë the Pale.

Namo is the proper name of Mandos, who is also usually known by the name of his dwelling place.