#yes i imagine Maglor as the math and music theory guy

[eri-pl]

Slim Advent calendar 22: Time

“My lady.” Cano bowed as deeply as a prince’s son should before a Valie.

Vairë nodded to him. “What a pleasant visit. May I call thee Macalaurë? This has always seemed to be more poetic.” She kept working on her loom, pulling through it colorful threads with speed and precision beyond any other's.

“Of course.” He chose his next words carefully, not to say anything too controversial. He would much prefer to discuss those matters with someone less caring about controversy, and likely more knowledgeable, but his father barely let him talk to any of the Valar. Cano hated politics. And the fact that he had to be political in order to learn more about art. “May I ask you about the Great Music?”

“Lady Varda knows more, though she does not talk much. But even many of her Maiar would probably be a better source of inspiration, or, even more so, of Irmo's. But ask if thou willst.”

“Was there time then? Before Eä?” Cano forced himself not to blush. His father would probably find at least three logical errors in those questions.

But Vairë didn't admonish him. She paused her work for a moment, then answered. “No. There was no time then.”

“Please, don't treat this as doubting you, but, how did music work when there was no time?”

Now she paused for longer. Cano wondered how much to look at the Valie, and how much at the colorful, lifelike tapestries surrounding them. He should seem bold, but not too bold; decisive but not rude. The tapestries were so light that they flickered like flames with every breath, which made it even harder to not stare at them all the time.

Finally, Vairë spoke. “It might be better to say it thus: there was time, but unlike now. Order, but not yet a measure. Earlier ones came before the later ones, but none were longer than others, until they lasted over then and then more. They had no length, only direction.” Before Cano could verbalize his confusion, she added “Thou lovest thy father. That's one of the things the Noldor are famous for. And thou lovest your harp. And surely thou lovest thine father more, but it's not possible to say how much more. Twice? Thrice? Hundredfold? This question does not make sense. Now imagine time being in this way. That's how it was when we came to be, and that's how it was when we sang the Music.”

It took Cano some time to imagine, but she let him think in peace, and in the meantime worked.

“I see. That's harder to work with, but not impossible.”

Vairë looked at him deeply, pausing her work again. “Dost thou wish to create something resembling the Music itself? Do not.”

“I—” Now he let himself blush. Father wasn't there to chide him about it, and Cano really didn't want to anger one of the Powers. “Not something mighty. But I am seeking to increase my understanding of what music is.”

“Fine then.” She resumed weaving. “It would be pointless anyway. The Music was deeper in a way I cannot explain in any way thou wouldst understand. Like a fabric is to a thread. And yet, it was not complete.” The last words she said with sadness.

“How so? It's the world not complete then?”

“No, unless in the sense that it hasn't come to its end yet. The world is more then the Music, and we do not know all of it.”

Cano stood still, as politeness would have it — he was not some Vanya to sit when visiting one of the Powers, no matter what he would prefer, father made it clear — and Vairë seemed to understand this. It was enough that he asked them strange questions.

“Does this mean, my lady, that there shall be a time when your knowledge ends?”

“Not soon. And not as thou imaginest it. The Music was not…” She took one of her threads. “This is like the Music.” With quick movements of her fingers, she crocheted it into a small square. “And this is like Eä.”

She used a multicolored thread, so the square was mostly gray, but a contrasting line ran across it. “Those are the parts we have not sung. They are not limited to one place, as thou seest. But it is not a big part. The Music ended on the cadence, at least on a six-four before, if I were to compare it to the structures from thine book.”

Cano’s heart leaped with joy. Vairë herself had read his book? And didn't find it useless? Father had said it was decent, but not strict enough. But how could he make thinking about music even more strict? It was an art too, after all.

“I hope to write another one when I learn enough.”

Vairë smiled. “I'll gladly read it.”