Ilúvatar strode across the plaza with the determination of a fool. Or a knight. He did not know which he was playing tonight, and which the other fellow would be. Only that he was here. That plaza - which was larger than the house itself, he thought - was laid out in wide stone wedges that radiated outward from a fountain. Always a fountain. So the plaza itself was a large circle, which served as a reproduction of the sky. Each star was meticulously recreated with etched gold and covered in good solid glass, with lines to connect the constellations. A fairly new contrivance. The children came here to play games in the spring, and in the summer, running with their feet bare to be Leironuoth the Lion or Stardriel the Priestess, the Magic-Hunter Ralthia or the goddess Lorien herself. Tonight there were no children in the grand constellation of stone, treading lightly over back lit glass and shrunken stars. Tonight it was only the rich and the well-known that frequented the plaza in numbers, the furs of the winter months traded for light capes of summer and the sun. Ilúvatar might have been impressed with the display, ordinarily.

( Tonight he was only annoyed. )