Ballad

Modern Soulmate AU (still mellow though LOL).  Maybe Caranthir isn't quite destined to be alone forever.  Names: Mandos = Námo, Morgoth = Melkor, and Eru is called "Father" because that's how I imagine the Ainur addressing him.  I think that originally showed up in "Justice", but I don't remember.  Anyway, this is a bit of a prologue to a story I actually have started writing currently titled "DSW Romance" for reasons that will become apparent later.  But the idea of reincarnation of the whims of Eru has been in my mind for a very long time.  After all, is Túrin Turumbar not scheduled for rebirth just in time to slay Morgoth in the epic battle at the end of the world?  Takes place in a time fairly close to ours somewhere in America.

Disclaimer: Tolkien created the Silmarillion and inspired my muse

Pairings: Caranthir x Haleth (Mandos x Vairë in the background)

Characters: Mandos, Vairë, Caranthir, Haleth (Eru, Morgoth are mentioned)

Warning: modern!AU, some conceptually sketchy material, reincarnation, slight sexism mentioned, one very mild cuss

Song: Heartlines

Words: 1,381
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ballad (noun): a narrative composition in rhythmic verse suitable for singing; an art song accompanying a traditional ballad; a slow romantic or sentimental song
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/ballad

When he first spotted her spirit, glowing brilliantly as a diamond amongst black coal, Námo did a very understandable double-take and wondered if he was imagining things after so many years of weaving in and out of past, present and future.  Perhaps he was going a bit senile?

Yet, in all his countless millennia, he never forgot a soul.  And this was undeniably her:

A young woman studying obsessively to become an officer of the law, an honorable job for a character of stalwart and unquestionable loyalty and sense of duty.  Not to mention an unquenchable thirst for adventure and undeniably overzealous stubbornness.  This woman was not a lady to listen to the prejudiced ranting of a male-dominated society about her place in the world and the weakness of the female psyche, but rather stepped forth and defied all of them with her strength of character and sheer determination, as assured and exemplary as any man.  Námo did not doubt that she could become anything she wished if her heart was set upon her goal, and that convinced him more than anything.

Without a doubt, it was her--it was Haleth of the Haladin.  Her theme.  Her music.  Her role in the Ainulindalë, it seemed, was far from complete.  He could hear her in his vast expanses of memories, one little trill in the grand scheme of all things, but an important detail that rung out over the trumpeting thunder of Melkor's ruckus.

But there was that slight problem--that it couldn't have been Haleth, who had died in the First Age a very, very long time ago.  Not unless there was a greater force at work behind his back to bring all the cacophony into a final harmonious chord...

The Doomsman rolled his eyes and wondered if any of his brothers and sisters realized that their Father was a complete romantic sop.  As if the Beren and Lúthien stunt hadn't been proof enough (they all insisted it was Námo's dominion over the dead that brought the mortal back unto the corporeal plane of Eä, conveniently forgetting that his demesne overshadowed dead elves, not men), now there appeared a mortal woman's soul reborn into a new mortal body, conveniently positioned on a crash-course with the life of her soulmate, a very, very old elf languishing his time away being a cranky old recluse locked up in a dingy little apartment.

He could see many ways in which this situation could unfurl, a veritable swarm of threads splitting and intertwining and zigzagging off into the distance, each its own variation on a theme, telling its own little rhyming tale of comedy or tragedy.  Slowly, cautiously, he picked his way through the channels of time, watching Lady Haleth--now Haley MacDonald--graduating from her university, watching her work her first assignment on the job, watching her become the woman he always knew she was, be it thousands of years in the past or a handful of blinks in the future.

And he watched her life intersect with his over and over.

And oh! was that not interesting?  The vala felt an amused smile slinking over his face, brightening his typically dour demeanor.  What a future!

"What doth have thee so pleased, husband mine?"

Ah, Vairë.  As usual, she could read his nearly stoic facial features as though he had written down his every emotion upon parchment for her perusal, so in tune they were after so many years as spouses.  Fondly, he inclined his head and let the smirk upon his lips be; there was no reason to hide good tidings.

"I am merely sharing a private joke with our Father.  He has an interesting sense of humor."

She gave him a nonplussed look, but didn't question him further, very used to the odd moments of amusement that sometimes trailed after a particularly deep glance into the blossoming reality. "For whom am I going to be weaving my next creation?" Oh yes, she knew him well.

"Caranthir Fëanorion," he replied smoothly.

This was going to be interesting indeed.  Their Father had something incredibly complex planned out in his great epic theme, and Námo wondered how the lyrics would write themselves in the end.  Truly, he was looking forward to the completion of this stanza of their cosmic ballad.

But first, he had some errands to run.  Someone as stubborn and sensitive as the ancient Fëanorion would needs some prodding in the correct direction, or he might land sharp at his cue.

---

"I do not need a job."

They were in a cozy little café, and Námo could not deny that he was enjoying himself immensely, perhaps a touch sadistically.  Caranthir was every bit as snarly and snappy as he recalled from the days of rebirth.  Just like a crotchety old man, he was set in his ways, and he did not appreciate being ordered to change his reclusive tendencies into a more social pattern.

"As amusing as it is to observe your reputation as an enigmatic hermit, I do believe it would be beneficial for you to expand your horizons.  Meet new people."

Caranthir was not buying his not-so-subtle manipulation.  Indeed, the elf seemed less convinced by the moment.  One did not live over the span of more than seven ages of the world without learning to recognize when they were being used and baited.  Never mind that it was ultimately for the elf's benefit that Námo was poking his head into business that was not strictly supposed to be his.

"I have never needed to 'meet new people' before.  I have lived a quite satisfactory existence without the nuisance of mortals flitting in and out of my thoughts like fleeting rain-showers.  In fact, it seems to me that such interaction would be more detrimental than beneficial."

It was experience talking.  One need only know that his mortal lover had lived only a scant handful of years after their meeting and parting to realize that Caranthir was avoiding the pain of permanent attachment and inevitable separation.  Who, after all, would wish for a repeat of such a traumatic experience?

Yet the music dictated otherwise.  And, secretly, Námo had to admit to being just as much a sentimental old fool as their Father.  He wanted a happy ending, or at the very least a bittersweet parting.

And the possibilities...

But those could wait for further analysis.  The first task was to intersect two lives properly.  And Caranthir was proving to be a resilient creature of bad habit.

"It will be worth your while," the vala finally argued. "I can say no more than that without venturing into dangerous territory, not to mention upsetting my rather uptight siblings.  Besides, it would not be an adventure if I just told you what would happen.  Can you not trust me when I tell you that you will not regret this decision?"

After all, Námo was never wrong.  Once spoken from his lips, it was the law of the world.  It was written.

That square jaw tightened, teeth grinding softly, but Caranthir did nothing more than sip his lukewarm tea and sigh in defeat. "Fine, I will go along with your ridiculous scheme.  Damn you!"

Námo grinned in victory.  And he couldn't help but wonder if everything was following script, played out like an opera for their Father beyond the edges of the world, that never-ending ballad that somehow always managed to twist and mold their little mishaps and tragedies into something sweet and beautiful at the end.

"Here is the place of employment I had in mind..." The vala shoved the paper across the table into reluctant hands.

Caranthir took one look and threw it down as if burned. "This is..."

And the vala was gone, a mirage in the late afternoon sun, leaving the elf with his cold tea and crinkled newspaper.  Caranthir sighed in the purest frustration, once again looking (with noticable disgust) down at the circled icon--DSW.  A store that sold designer shoes and handbags.  It almost brought bile up the back of his throat.

"Not funny..." the elf finished.

And Námo, watching silently from above, just laughed.
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Forgive me for skiving out on the traditional Tolkienverse.  I couldn't help myself when this idea popped into my mind.  It has to do with a scene I've written in another story where Mandos shows up at a café with Caranthir for a chat and gets accused of "knowing this would happen" post-meeting reborn!Haleth.  Let it not be said that Caranthir can't tell when he's being moved around like a living, breathing chess piece, even if the results are in his favor in the end.

As for the modern part, if you look up the proper timeline on Tolkien Gateway, you will see that Tolkien included our current time as part of the "Seventh Age", and therefore it implies a fictional connection between our reality and the Tolkien genesis.  Not that I subscribe to this belief in real life (not quite that obsessed), but it's certainly fun to write about :3.

Song: Heartlines by Florence + the Machine.  Not a group that I would usually listen to, but I happen to enjoy this song, and it fit the rather humorous and subtly sweet mood of this piece.  Oh, and if you're bored enough, search for Noldor U on dA and try to find the story about Orodreth and his ethnographic obsession with the society of socks (that's not the title, but the title is just as bad LOL) by *LadyBrookeCelebwen--another awesome fanfiction writer for our underappreciated fandom.