There was a stack of tapestries in Vairë's workroom, hidden under a canvas, that the Valië would be perfectly fine never seeing again, and that she wished she had never had to create.

Some of the more astute realized what a burden her husband's foresight was, mainly those gifted with that curse. But few if any realized that sometimes her own work was just as hard.

She knew everything that had happened in the past: the good, the bad, the triumphs, the atrocities. While most of the events of the Ages covered the vast halls of her husbands demesne, even the ones depicting the horrors that occurred, some where simply to Dark for Vairë to do more with than finish and throw them onto the stack in the corner, and do her best to forget.

It never quite worked.

The tapestry she worked on today was one such cursed creation. Alone, for she dismissed her Maiar when she had such a task, she worked as fast as her skills allowed her, trying not to take in the subject. But it was useless, for the scene laid itself over her sight, as if she had witnessed it firsthand. Often, that allowed her perfect recreation that she was known for. At times like this however, it was no gift.

Finishing at last, she quickly took it off her loom, and without looking at it again, sentenced it to the pile, replacing the canvas, almost successfully ignoring the other tapestries that already resided there.

She stood there for a moment, arms wrapped around herself, before giving up, and thinking herself to where her husband was. Vairë leaned into Námo's comforting embrace, burying her head in his chest.

"Which now?" he asked gently. She opened her mind and soul to him, revealing what she had been forced to record. His arms tightened around her as she fought tears.

"Come with me," Námo murmured, kissing her forehead. He kept an arm wrapped around Vairë as they traveled through the vast expanse of Mandos, finally stopping where they could see a group of fëar, children all, playing happily. Vairë recognized two of them as the subjects of her most recent tapestry. She leaned into her husband's side, soul soothed by the sight.

"They are healing," Námo assured her. "And someday they will be reborn, to live their life as they should have." Vairë just nodded, never leaving her husband's embrace, as she used the images before her to drive out the scene of what they had endured before their death.

She almost succeeded.