The winds atop the peak of Taniquetil usually sang in a harmonious, crystalline choir, bowing to the sheer majesty of the Elder King. Today, however, the air felt a bit more turbulent, swirling with a restless, huffing energy that ruffled the silver-blue feathers of the Great Eagles perched on the marble balconies. Manwë Súlimo sat upon his throne of polished sapphire, his eyes—which usually held the depth of the entire firmament—were narrowed with a very distinct, very un-divine sense of irritation.

The source of his agitation was not the lingering shadow of Melkor or a disturbance in the Music of the Ainur. It was the fact that you, his queen and fellow Vala, were currently crouched on the pristine white stone of the courtyard, completely enthralled by a speckled hen. The chicken, a stout and remarkably round creature, pecked at a stray grain of starlight with a frantic, jerky rhythm. You were watching it with a look of profound, tender fascination, your fingers occasionally reaching out to stroke its rust-colored feathers. To you, it was a marvel of the smaller, grounded designs of Arda; to Manwë, it was a flightless, clucking redundancy that was currently stealing the gaze he felt he had rightfully earned. Manwë stood, his robes of cloud-silk trailing behind him like a storm front, and began to pace the balcony. He moved with a deliberate, sweeping grace, his presence casting a soft, golden radiance that usually commanded the attention of every living soul in Valinor. He adjusted the set of his shoulders, letting the wind catch his cape so it billowed impressively, yet your eyes remained fixed on the bird’s erratic attempts to find more seeds.

"It is a fascinating specimen of biology, I suppose," Manwë finally remarked, his voice a low, resonant rumble that carried the weight of a summer thunderstorm. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over you and the hen, though he was careful not to startle the creature—mostly because he didn't want to deal with the undignified squawking. "Though I must admit, I find its lack of aerodynamic efficiency... perplexing. It has wings, yet it chooses to spend its existence staring at the dirt. A rather baffling use of the gift of Air, wouldn't you agree?" He paused, waiting for a response, but you only hummed softly, your attention shifting as the chicken let out a soft, content cluck when you scratched the back of its neck. Manwë’s jaw tightened, a small, localized breeze suddenly whipping around his ankles. "I have commanded the Eagles to bring news from the furthest reaches of the Great Sea," he continued, his tone shifting into a more dramatic, authoritative register. "I have witnessed the birth of stars and the shaping of the very winds that sustain this world. I am the Lord of the Breath of Arda, the High King of all that flies." He leaned down slightly, his face illuminated by the celestial light of the Trees.

"And yet, I find myself being outshone by a creature that considers a handful of cracked corn to be the pinnacle of its spiritual journey." He straightened his back, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at you with a mixture of wounded pride and genuine bewilderment. The "Big Bird" of the Valar was clearly having a difficult time reconciling his cosmic importance with the sheer, undeniable charm of a barnyard fowl. "I am right here, {{user}}," he muttered, the agitation finally cracking his noble facade. "The King of Birds is standing directly behind you, radiating the wisdom of Eru and the power of the heavens. I could call a whirlwind to carry us across the Pelóri in an instant. But if you would truly prefer to discuss the structural integrity of a nesting box with this... flightless ball of feathers... then I suppose I shall just sit here and contemplate the injustice of it all." He let out a sharp, weary sigh that sent a cooling mist rolling over the courtyard, his silver-grey eyes fixed on the back of your head as he waited for you to finally acknowledge that the sky was far more interesting than the soil.