“Aspects.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I was ruminating on the complexities of multiple aspects.”

The raven scoffed. “Well, YOU certainly have plenty of those. Three alone, here.”

The tall thin figure, dressed in black formal robes perfectly appropriate to the Court of Gondor, nodded as the raven alit on his shoulder. “Three,” continued the raven. “Two of ‘em female too, I like that.”

The figure sighed, used to the impudence of his avian companion.

“Sorry, Lord Shaper,” said the raven, well aware that he owed his continued existence to the being on whom he rode.

The entity, black-clad and black haired, only smirked slightly. He glanced at his companion, his eyes solid black lid to lid, with no pupil, but only the distant flickers of stars within them. “It’s alright, Matthew.”

After a moment of just barely respectful silence, the raven spoke again. “So… which do you prefer?”

“Which aspect?”

“Here, I mean.”

The tall entity thought for a moment. “Irmo. Not that gender has any meaning, but Irmo is in fact closest to my true purpose.”

With the raven on his shoulder, the Valar walked higher and higher through the city streets. No one acknowledged his existence, not even the guards. Not even the guards of the Citadel, where the two companions walked right up to the sacred tree.

Irmo reached out his hand, and three petals fell into his palm. “Irmo. Varda. Vaire.”

The raven bobbed. “God of Dreams. Goddess of Stars. Goddess of History. It doesn’t bother you? That they felt the need to dice you all up and then make you female?

“Why should it?” Irmo replied. “Each world defines us according to its needs. My brother is as much Melkor as he is Tulkas. And yet they have him fighting himself.”

“Silly,” grumbled Matthew.

“Not at all. That is their history, their stories. They have their own truth. Ask my eldest brother, if you want a better explanation.”

“brrr, No thanks. He can keep his misty hedgemaze.”

Irmo smiled slightly. “But come, I have a better purpose here than ruminating on philosophy.”

He walked away from the White Tree. That night, when all four guards were off duty and asleep, each would dream of their gods, and of philosophy.

Irmo walked calmly into the great hall, where a great many people were gathered. At the far end, on a dais, a King with his Queen stood over another couple. That younger couple gave each other vows and promises, before witnesses, and soon the whole hall erupted in cheers as the young dark-haired prince swept his fair bride into a kiss.

“A wedding! I love weddings,” Matthew said cheerfully.

“Yes, today Prince Faramir weds Lady Eowyn.”

Matthew eyed his master. “And why are you here?”

Irmo raised a brow. “I always try to attend family events.”

Matthew fluttered his wings in surprise. “Family! Who’s family?”

Irmo did not reply, but made his way through the crowd effortlessly. Again, none seemed to see him, yet all made way before him. Finally, he came to where the happy couple stood receiving the congratulations of all their kin.

Raising a hand over the Prince and Princess of Ithilien, Irmo whispered his blessing. “Only fair dreams from now on.” Then he turned on his heel and made his way out of the marble citadel.

Once they were outside, Matthew began his questions again. “OK, now I know there has to be a story here.”

“It was many ages ago, and not at all what you’re thinking. More of an… adoption. They call it a Gift of Numenor. He is descended from one to whom I granted only True Dreams. One of this House may always enter the Dreaming through the Gates of Horn.”

“Ah!” Matthew cried, recognizing something. “That wave dream!”

“Yes. And the dream of the Light in the West.”

“I get it now. That’s pretty cool. And real nice of you to stop by and bless them like that.”

Irmo shook his head. His friend always managed to over-simplify matters. Returning to the courtyard, he paused a moment, as if savoring the surroundings and the view.

“Boss?”

“Yes Matthew?”

“I take it you’re not planning on a repeat visit.”

Irmo smiled his slight smile again. “No, Matthew, I am not. This tale is done, and all my parts in it. But it will be remembered. To these people, their history is their tales. It will be retold and retold for generations.”

“Yeah, until this world ends.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps someone else, on another world, in another age, will dream of this place, and these events.” Irmo’s voice took on his own aspect, dreamy and distant. “He will dream the tales, and then share them with others, who in their turn will dream, and create tales, and share them with others….”

“And on and on and on! Yeah, boss, I get it.” Matthew fluffed his feathers. “And around and around we go.”

“It does give structure to eternity, Matthew.”

“If you say so,” grumbled the raven.

Quietly amused, the entity, both god and concept, held out his hand to his companion, who obediently hopped into it. “Come, let us return home.”

Both disappeared in a sudden breeze that rustled the branches of the White Tree, sending a flurry of white petals dancing, and shifted shadows around it.

Dream of the Endless

AN – k, that’s it. There are only 7 Endless of course. At last, a finished story! Whew. I forget what triggered me to equate the Endless with the Valar. I suppose because the Endless are themselves 7 of the Great Themes of storytelling (and one can break down Love into Dream & Desire, if one wants to), and LoTR certainly has all of them. For those that don't know The Sandman comics, The Realm of Dream has 2 gates: the Gate of Horn and the Gate of Ivory. Only true dreams come through the Gates of Horn. All other nonsense comes from the Gates of Ivory. Let me know if you have any more questions.