The great meadows of Yavanna, once resplendent, green, and full of life, were now shadowed by the loss of the Sacred Trees of Aman. However, that mattered little to the most joyful of the Valar: Tulkas. Alongside Oromë, he recited poems and stories as old as Arda itself.
"It was then, like thunder before the storm, that I arrived in Arda," Tulkas said with animated gestures, mimicking a fall. "The clouds tore apart with my golden flash; the earth roared like a mighty beast, bowing before my strength."
The young Elves listened spellbound, their eyes wide with amazement at his tale.
Despite his imposing appearance, Tulkas was a being of purity and joy. His laughter echoed through the mountains and rivers of Aman, bringing solace where there was only sadness and fear.
"I rose with strength; my presence drove back the darkness that Melkor had rooted in Arda. My steps made the Dark Lord tremble, and he fled to the deepest pits like a cornered beast," he added, proudly flexing his muscular arms. "He ran like a coward… and he will do so again when I decide to hunt him."
The children laughed and looked at him with devotion. Tulkas was close to them; his figure could inspire respect, but his heart was full of kindness. He loved Eru's smallest creatures, and his treatment of the weak was always protective.
"I'll be as strong as you, Lord Tulkas!" exclaimed a boy with golden curls, whose brightness rivaled the summer sun. "I'll use my strength to protect all my friends!"
A thunderous laugh, like joyful thunder, rolled across Yavanna's meadows.
"Well said, little one! I will be watching your progress," Tulkas replied, pleased.
Near him, Oromë—leaning on his two great hounds—smiled upon hearing him.
"You always say the same thing," he murmured to himself, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Tulkas heard him, and a slight twitch crossed his face, though his discomfort went unnoticed by the others. Such was the camaraderie between the two. They were rarely seen apart, bound by years of friendship and by Nessa, Oromë's sister and Tulkas' wife.
Clearing his throat, Tulkas smiled again.
"Well, little ones, go to your mothers. My stories will continue another day," he said kindly.
"Yes, little ones, obey. The best stories are for those who know how to listen," Oromë added, standing up with his majestic bearing.
Then, a whistle from him rang across the clearing like a protective wind. Falcons and eagles gently descended from the skies, landing on nearby branches.
"They will accompany you," Oromë said. "They are my faithful companions, guardians of the children of Eru."
The young Elves departed singing, their voices rising through the trees like a hymn of gratitude.
An Elf of serene beauty emerged from the thicket, as elegant as the moon and as majestic as a sunset. He approached the Valar, who greeted him with smiles.
"Child, it's been days since I last saw you," Tulkas said, bending down to place his hands on his shoulders. His tone was fraternal; such was the bond between him and his apprentice, Ilarion.
Ilarion, the eighth son of Fëanor, had been a disciple of many Valar. His goodness and love for life made him beloved by all; his light rivaled even that of Varda's stars.
"Forgive me, Lord Tulkas," he said with a gentle smile. "My visit to Lady Varda has delayed me a bit."
"Varda?" Tulkas repeated, intrigued. "What took you to see her?"
Ilarion laughed softly, as if arranging his thoughts before answering.
"Haven't you heard the news, my lord?" he asked in a more serious tone. "I will soon depart with my father."
Tulkas' smile instantly faded.
"I suspected it," he murmured. "I felt it a long time ago, but I hoped to confirm it."
He knew the young man would leave Valinor with Fëanor, following the jewels he so desired. There was a time when Tulkas wanted to confront the proud Elf, but Nessa stopped him, reminding him of Manwë's command not to intervene.
"Well, it seems the little sparrow is ready to leave the nest," he finally said, wrapping Ilarion in a powerful embrace. "So you've come to say goodbye."
Ilarion bowed his head, overwhelmed by emotion.
"Yes, Master Tulkas, Master Oromë… I have come to thank you. Thanks to you, I am who I am. No matter what my father says: to me, you will always be my family."
His voice trembled. He had contained his feelings before Varda, but now he could no longer hold back.
"Come now, little Ilarion," Oromë said softly. "This isn't goodbye… it's until we meet again."
A whistle from him echoed through the clearing, and from among the trees emerged an enormous wolf, white as snow. His bearing was regal, but his gaze was kind.
"Since you are leaving, let my faithful companion go with you," Oromë said.
Ilarion smiled broadly as he recognized him.
"Huan!" he exclaimed, kneeling to hug the wolf.
The animal, happy, reclined beside him as the Elf stroked its fur, so soft it seemed woven by Vairë herself.
"This is my gift to you, Ilarion," Oromë said. "Huan will protect you, as he has protected Valinor for countless ages."