The Wars of the Valar by Fiondil

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Chapter 52: The Siege of Utumno

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52: The Siege of Utumno

"This is taking longer than I think any of us anticipated," Oromë commented to Námo as they surveyed the plain before the gates of Utumno.

Námo nodded, his expression grim. "We have been at it for five years already," he said. "Melkor’s strongholds are nearly impregnable."

"‘Nearly’ being the operative word," Aulë said as he came up to them. "All things made from the Matter of Atháraphelun can eventually be broken though it may take time."

"Time we are fast running out of," Námo said. "The Children...."

"Are safe enough where they are," Oromë interjected. "You know this. How long has it been since any of them came to your Halls?"

Námo grimaced. He had been reluctant to tell any of them about what had been happening within his Halls until Manwë and Varda insisted, saying that the time was mete for the others to hear the truth. There had been exclamations of surprise that quickly turned to fury at what Melkor had wrought and that fury had sustained them through the long siege.

"It’s been some time," he admitted somewhat reluctantly. "I think whatever creatures Melkor has fashioned can no longer be numbered among Atar’s Children. None of those whom we have killed in the last few battles came to me."

"What do you suppose happened to their fëar then?" Aulë enquired.

Námo shrugged. "I am not sure. I think perhaps they simply dissipated or perhaps returned to their maker."

Both Aulë and Oromë gave him puzzled looks. "Think about it," Námo said. "Have you not felt it every time the gates of Utumno or Angamando open and Melkor’s forces pour out to attack us? The very ground beneath us trembles with power, a power not born of natural forces. I think our Fallen Brother has somehow imbued the very world with his essence."

The other two stared at him in disbelief for several minutes. Finally, Oromë spoke. "If that’s true, then all of Atháraphelun must be... marred by his evil, including Amanaphelun."

Námo nodded. "So I believe, though our powers mitigate the evil in our own lands. Still, it cannot be denied and the Children, born of the Matter of Atháraphelun, will suffer his taint to some degree or another, even if we ultimately defeat him."

"So you’re saying that these creatures that he has made...." Oromë began.

"Say rather the creatures he has corrupted to the point that they are no longer recognizable as Atar’s Children," Námo interjected. "Melkor cannot create anything, I deem. He has lost the Power of Song, so he can only corrupt what already exists."

Oromë nodded. "What I meant to say is that these creatures born of Atháraphelun are mere extensions of himself, with no real separate existence?"

"Perhaps not to the degree you speak," Aulë said. "My Children, when first I created them, had no separate existence from me, for they moved and spoke only as I directed them, yet I think that these creatures, and I really need to come up with a name for them...." He paused, his eyes unfocusing with deep thought. Námo and Oromë looked on with amusement.

"Perhaps you could think of a name later," Námo said gently. "You were saying?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry." Aulë actually blushed but continued his previous thought. "I think these creatures are rational beings, though severely limited in self-cognizance. They only do what they are told to do and nothing more. I don’t think even Melkor could consciously control them all."

The other two nodded. "Well, it’s an interesting discussion," Oromë said, "but it doesn’t solve the one problem we have, namely, getting inside these fortresses and putting an end to this war."

"A way will be found," Námo said. "Atar would not have enjoined us to go to war at this time if he did not believe we would ultimately succeed."

Aulë nodded. "Yes, that is true... ah... I do believe the next battle is about to begin." He pointed to where the iron gates of Angamando were slowly opening. "Who wants to bet that Melkor will be sending out his own troops while our backs are turned?" He gave the other two a wicked grin and they both laughed.

"You go play with Aulendil’s troops, brother," Námo said, "We’ll keep an eye on Melkor’s."

Aulë merely nodded again, his expression already turning deadly as he contemplated the enemy ranged against them. His former Chief Máya did not have as many forces as his master but that was not to say they were any less effective. If anything, they seemed more dangerous than Melkor’s creatures. With a roar, Aulendil’s troops poured out of the gates, clashing with the waiting Máyar. Aulë thought his largest hammer into existence and waded into the fray, using the weapon to good effect, flinging Úmáyar and lesser creatures right and left in an attempt to reach the gates themselves.

As predicted, no sooner had the Ayanumuz turned their attention on Angamando (though they had learned the hard way not to do so fully) then the gates of Utumno opened and out poured Cosmoco and his troops. Námo, true to his word to Aulë, along with Oromë, had kept an eye on Utumno, directing his own People not to engage the enemy pouring out of Angamando, but to wait upon their lord’s command. Long experience had taught these Máyar not to question Námo’s directives, trusting that their lord knew what he was about.

Cosmoco proved the greater threat this time around, and they realized that Aulendil’s foray was meant to be a diversion. Námo arranged his Máyar along a line midway between the two fortresses, while Oromë’s People took the vanguard this time. Manwë ordered most of the other Máyar to keep Aulendil’s forces occupied, pretending that they thought Angamando more dangerous than Utumno at the moment. The fact that the Ayanumuz had learned to change their strategies so sometimes they seemed to be falling for Melkor’s tricks and sometimes not, made them less predictable than Melkor probably hoped. Their Fallen Brother’s own strategies were woefully limited and ultimately self-defeating.

"He’s not learned the lessons of warfare we have garnered over the long ages," Varda had said at one point. "It seems his own fixations do not allow for innovation."

"Which should work in our favor," Manwë had commented. "It is a flaw we need to exploit."

"Just as long as we don’t allow him to exploit any of our own flaws," Námo had rejoined with a wry grin.

The others only nodded, well aware that they were no less prone to stupidity than their Fallen Brother. "And there’s only one of him and fourteen of us," Ulmo had reminded them, and so they were careful in how they conducted the war and themselves, keeping focused and not allowing the taunts and barbs of the enemy to move them.

It was not an easy thing to do and some of the Máyar were more prone to allow their emotions to run high, though Námo’s own troops were unmoved. The fire of their fury burned cold, and that made them even more dangerous, for they attacked their foes with a preternatural calm that was almost frightening to see. To make matters worse (for Melkor’s forces), Námo’s People had the unnerving habit of singing as they joined in combat and their songs were terrible to hear. Even some of the other Máyar would pause in their battles, stunned by the force of power generated by Námo’s People as they slew their enemies for the sake of the Lost Ones, now safely sleeping in their lord’s Halls.

"Steady now," Námo said as he watched Oromë lead the attack against Cosmoco and the other fire-demons, whom the Children would one day call Balrogs, a glint of his own fire shining through his eyes. Oromë was angry, though few would have guessed from the calm way in which he met his foe. Cosmoco had gotten the better of him some time before, when he had made a major miscalculation in strategy and had been trapped by the fire-demon and his cohorts. Roimendil had nearly been destroyed in the process trying to come to his lord’s aid and Oromë had been hard-pressed to rescue him and get them both to safety. The Ayanuz had been both furious at his own folly and fearful for his Máya and it had taken Irmo and Námo some time to calm him down and allow Estë to tend to Roimendil. The Máya was still recovering a year later, but Estë had assured Oromë that he had not suffered any lasting harm. Since then, Oromë had become more cautious but no less deadly. Cosmoco had, in fact, learned to fear this particular Ayanuz greatly.

Indeed, at the sight of the Ayanuz stalking him, Cosmoco sent his underlings before him in an attempt to avoid Oromë. Rushirithir, now mostly healed of the wounds inflicted on him by Námo, took the lead, along with one whom they learned had renamed himself Yelur, for he loved cold above all else and reveled in it. Although the hröar of the Ayanumuz and Máyar were stronger and more resilient than those of the Quendi, they could still suffer from extreme temperatures. They had learned to be as wary of the Úmáyar who wielded ice as much as those who wielded flame.

Námo watched with clinical detachment as the enemy advanced. "Maranwë, take half your troops and come round to Oromë’s left flank," he instructed. "That’s where the main attack will come."

Maranwë didn’t bother even bowing but gestured to several of his forces and did as Námo had bid. Meanwhile, Námo was giving further orders to his remaining troops. "When the enemy strikes, I want the rest of you to move to the center line and reinforce Oromë’s People there. Ignore the right flank; I’ll deal with that. Just hold the center and keep Cosmoco’s forces occupied."

Aicatirno, who was Maranwë’s second, nodded and gave Hurinórenámo, his brother in Atar’s Thought, a feral grin which Hurinórenámo returned. These two were counted among the deadliest of Námo’s troops, all the more so because they alone did not sing in battle but remained impassive and implacable in their resolve to see the enemy annihilated. Even as the Máyar were readying themselves for the upcoming encounter, Yelur moved away from the center without warning, leading several of his own troops to strike at Oromë’s left flank, just as Námo had predicted. At once Aicatirno raised his sword and immediately he and the remaining Máyar were heading into the fray to hold the center. That left the right flank still seemingly vulnerable.

Námo watched as Cosmoco tried to sneak around his own minions towards the right flank, most likely with the intention of striking Oromë personally while the Ayanuz was too busy fighting off the other fire-demons. For all Cosmoco’s cowardice at times, he was a formidable enemy, second only to Aulendil in Melkor’s councils from what the Ayanumuz could deduce. He was not to be taken lightly, but Námo had no real fear of him. Pretending to be too engrossed in the battle along the left flank to notice Cosmoco’s surreptitious advance, Námo bided his time, waiting for just the right moment.

Then an unholy roar rent the air, startling everyone, Námo included, who turned at the sound to see that Aulë had nearly reached the gates of Angamando, obviously intent on taking the fortress, only to be stymied at the last moment when Aulendil’s troops (those left standing and not too far from the gates themselves) suddenly ran back into the fortress at some unspoken signal. The iron gates shut with a finality that was almost taunting and Aulë was left standing before them, his expression one of absolute white fury. He roared again in frustration, pounding the gates with his massive hammer but to no avail. Melkor had made sure that nothing could destroy those gates, not even the wrath of the Ayanumuz.

"Námo, behind you!" he heard Oromë shout.

Námo turned around just in time to see Cosmoco’s whip come rushing at him but with no time to deflect or avoid it. Fire, both cold and blazing, swept across his hröa and he let out an involuntary scream as he was driven to his knees by the pain. His eyesight dimmed somewhat and his breathing became ragged as he struggled to remain conscious. Another lash of the whip struck him and he screamed again. There was the sound of laughter, cold and cruel and relishing the pain that was being inflicted, and Námo suddenly found himself, not on the frozen plain before Utumno, but in a dark cave on a nameless planet and Rushirithir was standing before him smiling as he licked the end of his whip, a whip red with Námo’s blood.

The Ayanuz felt disoriented, unsure what was happening, only knowing that he was in pain, pain laced with fear and shame at what had been done to him, what was still being done to him. His fëa shuddered at these thoughts. Then, Rushirithir stepped back and raised his whip again and Námo started screaming before the lash ever landed, unable to stop...

"Námo! NÁMO!!"

He tried to shrug off the hands that held him, sure that they meant to drag him away to some place darker and more dreadful than the cave, but he was unable to prevent them and his screams did not stop. Pain engulfed him and the memory held him in thrall. It was some time before his mind registered the fact that someone was gently caressing him, soothing him, whispering words of comfort and love, as his screams faded into whimpers. The touch of the other reminded him of an earlier time and he felt a shudder run through him at the dreadful thought that he was once again in Melkor’s hands.

"Open your eyes, Námo," came the voice and it took Námo precious seconds to realize that they belonged not to his hated torturer but to....

"Va-vairë," he whispered as he opened his eyes to see his beloved staring down at him with an expression of deep concern mixed with abiding love. She smiled and it was as if a hundred suns had gone nova and Námo felt his hröa relax into her embrace.

"Welcome back, my love," she said as she leaned down and kissed his lips. He felt too exhausted to respond but it was as a balm to his fëa and their bond helped strengthen him and the pain he had been feeling ebbed somewhat to a more manageable level.

"Wh-what happened?" he asked, half fearful of the answer. "I.. I thought I was healed." He felt tears come unbidden and he turned his head to hide his shame.

"Hush," Vairë said, reaching down and forcing him to look at her. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, my love. Cosmoco’s attack simply took your mind to an earlier time. It was naught but a memory."

"It was so real," he said forlornly. "I was there... all over again."

"But only in your mind."

Námo looked up to see his brother kneeling next to them. Irmo placed a hand on Námo’s forehead and began to gently rub it, sending soothing thoughts that had Námo actually sighing with relief from the tension and pain he had not realized he was holding within him.

"You had an episode, a flashback, you might say," Irmo explained. "The unexpectedness of the attack simply surprised you and it brought back a particular memory, unpleasant no doubt, but a memory only. It was not real."

"So you say," Námo retorted, unconvinced.

"So I say," Irmo echoed with a decisive nod.

"Will it happen again?" Vairë asked worriedly.

Irmo shrugged. "As to that, I do not know. All I will say is this," and here he looked pointedly at his older brother, "You are as healed as you are ever going to be, Námo. That does not mean that you are as you were before these things happened to you. You are who you are because of what happened to you. Accept that and embrace it and learn from it. There may be moments such as this one when the memories return in full force, but learn to recognize them as memories that can no longer harm you and I think you will do well enough."

"Not very comforting," Námo said with a huff.

Irmo’s expression turned sorrowful. "I’m sorry, Brother. I wish I could be more positive in my prognosis, but the truth of the matter is, this is all new to me as well, and I’m still groping for answers."

Now Námo was chagrined and reached up and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "I am sorry, Irmo. I did not mean to disparage your honest efforts to help me through this. You are correct. I am who I am today because of what I endured. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that naive and innocent Ayanuz I was when we first came into Eä but looking back I realize that in the long run, I much prefer who I am now to what I once was."

Irmo’s expression lightened and he bent down and gave Námo a brief kiss on his brow. "I think I like you better now than before, as well."

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Irmo nodded, his expression turning sly. "You’re much easier to live with now that you’re espoused."

"Why you..." Námo attempted to punch Irmo in the arm for that but his brother slipped just out of his reach with a laugh and stood up.

"See that he rests for a time, Sister," he directed to Vairë, then gave his brother a fond smile before moving away, presumably to check on any other wounded.

Námo looked up at Vairë. "Is the battle over?"

She nodded. "Yes. The enemy has slunk back into their bolt-holes again."

"What happened after I... I...."

"Aulë saw what was happening and came to your rescue."

Námo grimmaced. "Aulë’s cry of frustration distracted me, otherwise...."

"Well, it’s over with," his wife said with a decisive sniff. "Blaming Aulë or yourself or whoever will not change what happened."

Námo gave her a surprised look. "I do not blame Aulë. I blame Melkor... for all of this." He struggled up into a sitting position to find that he was back in the encampment of the Ayanumuz, a ring of his and Vairë’s Máyar surrounding them. The Máyar faced outward and it was obvious they had taken upon themselves to form this guard of their lord and lady while said lord recovered from the attack. Vairë gave him an amused look at his expression.

"I didn’t have the heart to dismiss them," she whispered and he nodded, knowing full well that he would have not been able to do so either had their positions been reversed. He looked about and spied his Chief Máya. "Maranwë," he called as he stood, accepting Vairë’s aid, for he still felt weak and disoriented.

The Máya turned, his expression both glad and worried. "My lord! You are well?"

Námo nodded. "Yes. I am well, or rather I will be soon enough."

Then Maranwë did something unexpected, as did all the other Máyar who had turned around when Námo had called Maranwë’s name. Almost as one they knelt, laying their swords or other weapons before them.

Námo gave Vairë a puzzled look but Vairë just shrugged, no more enlightened than he. He turned back to Maranwë. "Would you care to explain... this?" He gestured to the ring of Máyar on their knees.

Maranwë did not look up. "We failed you, lord," he whispered dejectedly. "None of us could reach you in time. Only Lord Aulë...."

Námo had heard enough. "And so what do you want me to do about it?" he asked somewhat coldly.

That brought the heads of all the Máyar up, their expressions one of confusion. "We... we failed..." Maranwë reiterated but Námo cut him off with a gesture.

"Only when I say you have, my children," he interjected, his expression still cold, determined to stop this abject nonsense before it went too much further. He did not need to look at Vairë to know she was doing her level best to hide her amusement. He was afraid if he did he would start laughing and ruin everything. "Now stand up all of you and returned to your posts. I rather doubt I’m in danger of attack in the midst of our own encampment. Maranwë stay."

The Chief Máya stuttered to a halt while his fellows all rushed away after giving their lord and lady their obeisance. Only when the three of them were alone did Námo dare give Vairë a glance. She gave him a brief smile of encouragement. Then he turned his attention to the Máya standing there in stoical silence, apparently expecting a severe reprimand. Námo decided not to disappoint him.

"The next time any of you start crawling about the ground in abject pity for imagined dereliction of duty," he said as sternly as possible, "you’re going to wish you had fallen into Melkor’s hands rather than mine." He paused for a few heartbeats to let that thought sink in. Maranwë’s face paled almost to white at the implications of his lord’s words. Námo nodded, satisfied that he had gotten his message across. "Did you keep the left flank protected?"Maranwë could only nod. "Did the others hold the center as I had directed?" Námo continued his interrogation. Again Maranwë nodded, unable to articulate verbally any response because of the shock he was feeling. Námo nodded as well. "Then all of you were doing as I had commanded, therefore none of you failed me. You may tell your fellows what I have just told you. Go."

For a second Maranwë just stood there, rooted in indecision, but then he gathered himself together and gave the two Ayanumuz his obeisance before turning and fairly running from their presence. Silence ensued for a moment or two before Vairë gave her beloved a hug. "A bit overdone, dear, but I think they got the message."

He gave her a warm smile. "One can only hope." He staggered slightly, his head beginning to spin with the effort of keeping upright. Suddenly, he felt strong arms embracing him and looking up saw Oromë there along with Manwë, their expressions one of concern, though there was a hint of amusement lurking in Oromë’s eyes.

"I understand you gave your Máyar a talking to that would have done Varda proud," he said, stealing a glance at Manwë, who only chuckled.

"They were being foolish...."

"They were being Máyar," Manwë interrupted, "who live for the sole purpose of serving us. When you went down they thought they had been remiss in their oaths to you. You cannot blame them for that."

"Nor do I," Námo said, "but I won’t have them beat themselves up over something none of us foresaw."

Manwë nodded. "I’ve had a similar conversation with Aulë."

Námo gave the Eldest a surprised look. Manwë nodded. "He’s feeling a bit guilty that his own fury distracted you when it did, which is why he’s not here tendering his apologies to you. He’s actually hiding."

"Oh?" was all Námo could say.

Oromë answered, giving him a wide — and to Námo’s mind, wicked — grin. "Somewhere in those hills to our north. Says he’s too ashamed to face you or anyone else at the moment."

Námo rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I have to wonder who’s older, him or me."

Manwë and Oromë laughed and Vairë sniggered. "Come, Little Brother," Oromë said, stressing the epithet and giving the others a wink, "why don’t we go see if we can cheer him up."

Námo nodded, glancing at Vairë with an unspoken question in his eyes. She merely leaned up and gave him a brief but loving kiss on his cheek. "Go, beloved, and give Aulë your assurance that in spite of his... gaffe... you still love him."

Manwë chuckled. "And when you have convinced him to come out of hiding, we will have a council of war, for this siege has gone on far too long and I would see it end sooner rather than later."

"When?" Oromë asked.

"The next First Mingling will occur in about four hours," Manwë stated. "We will convene the council then."

Both Námo and Oromë nodded. Though the Light of the Trees was not visible to them here in the Outer Lands, they all knew what the hour was. "We will bring him," Námo said simply and then he and Oromë left to find their brother Ayanuz.

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Yelur: (Quenya) ‘Cold One’. In later ages he would style himself Helcaran ‘Ice King’.