In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 49: iMaptalë Cálëo

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49: iMaptalë Cálëo

Melkor had timed his revenge against Manwë to a nicety. He had learned of his brother’s decree to hold a festival of thanksgiving when he had dared to come close to the border of Aman at one point hoping to hear news of what was occuring and happened to overhear some Maiar who were still on guard there speaking of it. Thus, he knew that all of Valmar would empty out on the third day of the festival, for even the Maiar would congregate on Taniquetil. Only the Maiar of Mandos would be at their posts, keeping watch over those elven fëar residing there. He and Ungoliantë had avoided that part of Aman so as not to alert them, slipping around to the east when they had reached the plains below Hyarmentir, skirting Oromë’s forest and coming upon the Ezellohar from the southwest, thereby avoiding the Southern Fiefdoms altogether, for he could not risk being sighted by any Elf who had remained behind to tend to the farm animals. He had paused momentarily when they reached the Máhanaxar and he had thought perhaps to throw down the thrones and defile Manwë’s seat of judgment, but Ungoliantë, now that she was almost at the source of the Holy Light, whined and threatened so that he had to content himself with merely spitting on Manwë’s seat in contempt before following the úmaia to the Trees.

Leaping up onto the Mound, he drove his black spear into the very heart of the Trees, Telperion first and then Laurelin, and heard their screams of agony as their sap poured out of the wounds like blood. He laughed and did not mind Ungoliantë shoving him aside so she could more easily reach the sap, thrusting her black beak into the wounds and sucking it up greedily. Melkor watched the Trees die, the roots withering, the branches becoming brittle and the leaves shriveling to nothing until all that was left were blackened husks. All the while the light flickered and faded, though enough of it remained in the Wells of Varda that the stars were still invisible. Melkor did not care. The Trees were dead, which was all he desired. Even if the Valar combined their powers he doubted they would be able to restore the Trees. Let them have what little light remained in the Wells.

When he saw that Ungoliantë had sucked up the last drops of sap from Laurelin’s trunk, he started to tell her that it was time to move on, for he had one more destination in mind before fleeing Valinor forever and he did not wish to be caught, but she ignored him.

"I still thirst," she rasped and before he could stop her she was scuttling away towards the first of the Wells, belching vapors of unlight as she drank dry first one Well and then another, growing to such a size that for the first time Melkor grew afraid and wondered at the wisdom of seeking the úmaia out.

"We are wasting time, Acairis," he said angrily to hide his fear from her. "The Valar will be here soon. Do you wish to confront Manwë’s warriors or Tulkas, himself? Come. We must away and quickly."

"Just this last Well," Ungoliantë demanded and in seconds the last of the Holy Light in Aman was gone and Darkness covered the land. For the first time since the creation of the Trees, stars appeared overhead, shining brilliantly in that first Night, a night that would perhaps last forever.

And in the Darkness that was more than loss of Light, Melkor and Ungoliantë fled northward, heading for the Fallen Vala’s next destination, for now that he had had his revenge on Manwë, there was still one other upon whom his vengeance would fall. Fëanáro would rue the day he had slammed the door of Formenos in Melkor’s face.

****

In the throne room of the Valar the Elves huddled together in terror and distress, especially the younger ones who had never known true darkness before unless they had traveled down the Calacirya to gaze upon the starlit Sea. The room was lit only by Varda’s crown, but the shadows seemed long and impenetrable and there was much stumbling about. Some Elves were weeping and there was a babble of voices demanding answers or action, though what they thought they should do was anyone’s guess. Even Fëanáro looked nonplused at first, but then his leadership qualities came to the fore and together with Ñolofinwë and Ingwë, he sought to calm the others while the Valar took council. Varda ordered torches to be made for the benefit of the Children while Manwë and the other Valar rose, stepping out onto the balcony that faced west.

"Do you see aught?" Ulmo asked Manwë, for the Elder King’s sight was the keenest among them and it seemed that the Darkness was as a living thing in its own right and the other Valar could not penetrate it. Manwë nodded and what he saw dismayed him, but he kept his voice calm as he gave his orders.

"It is Melkor," he said, and only the other Valar knew how angry he was at that moment, angry and hurt. "Oromë, Tulkas, after him. He is heading north. Be wary, though, for I do not think he is alone."

The two Valar gave one another grim looks before calling for their Maiar to attend them and they were gone. By now the Elves were calming down and with the aid of torches they were making their way outside where Maiar were attempting to keep the Children who were ranged upon the mountain slopes from panicking. Findaráto stepped out to the courtyard with the rest of the Elves, still holding Amarië’s hand. His eyes had rapidly adjusted to the dark, as they always did whenever he went to Alqualondë. He, at least, was used to the sight of the stars, but many, Amarië included, stood looking up in stunned amazement at the sight of Varda’s handiwork and there was much milling about and pointing to one star group or another.

"Itarildë! Itarildë!"

Findaráto turned to see Elenwë standing nearby screaming her daughter’s name, looking frantic. He called to Ingwion who was just ahead of him. "Take Amarië. I will help Elenwë." Not giving Ingwion time to answer, he strode over to where the elleth was still calling for her child. "Elenwë," he called. "I will find her. Where is Turo?"

Elenwë shook her head. "I do not know," she replied. "I... I think he went that way." She pointed in the direction of the front gates.

"Then you should go as well," Findaráto said, looking about, hoping to find someone he knew who would see to Elenwë while he searched for Itarildë. "Look! There’s my friend Urundil. Urundil!" He waved to his friend who turned around and saw him, giving him a nod as he made his way through the press of people. "This is my cousin Turucáno’s wife, Elenwë," he said to the Aulendur. "Will you escort her while I look for her daughter? We think my cousin is somewhere ahead."

"Of course," Urundil said and gave Elenwë a bow. "My lady, it will be my honor to escort you."

"But...."

"No, Elenwë," Findaráto said forcibly. "Go with Urundil. I will find Itarildë and bring her to you. I promise. Where was the last place you saw her?"

Elenwë pointed towards a fountain. "She was playing with some other elflings," she said, "but when it suddenly went dark everyone panicked and I couldn’t find her." She was in tears now and Findaráto gave her a hug.

"I will find her, Elenwë. Trust me." With that he gave Urundil a nod and was already turning away in search of the child before Elenwë could speak another word.

Most of the crowd was dissipating as everyone filed out of the main courtyard and headed down the mountain. The Valar were already gone, leaving their Maiar to deal with the Elves. Eönwë led them, striding with measured steps, a torch held high for all to see. On his left walked Fëanáro while on his right was Ñolofinwë. Ingwë and Arafinwë were in the midst of the Elves, urging them to remain calm and to follow Lord Eönwë. Findaráto ignored them as he searched the portico, finally spying the little elleth hugging a pillar, her gaze transfixed on the starry heavens. He went to her and picked her up. "Stay with me, Little One," he said quietly.

"Fi-finda! What has happened? Why is the Light gone? Wh-what are those?" She pointed upwards into the night sky.

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Findaráto could not help chuckling at the elfling’s spate of questions, especially the last.

"Those are stars, Little One," he said, glancing up in wonder and trepidation, for he was as much at a loss to know what had happened as any of them.

"Stars," the child said, her voice full of wonder. Then apparently another thought came to her for she was squirming in his embrace, obviously looking for someone."Where are ammë and atto?" she asked. By now they had left Ilmarin altogether and were making their way down the mountain more or less at the end of the line, though as they wended their way down, Maiar gathered those who had stayed on the mountain slopes to celebrate, urging them to join the procession. More torches were produced though a number of the older Elves insisted that they could see quite well without them, recalling the early days of their existence before coming to Aman.

"I do not know," Findaráto answered the child as calmly as he could, "but they are well, never fear. We will find them soon."

Itarildë snuggled further into her cousin’s embrace. Findaráto glanced at her and saw the contented look in her face and the smile on her lips as she gazed at the stars glittering above them, apparently no longer afraid. He sighed as he shifted her weight a bit so it was more comfortable for him, thinking that perhaps his cousin’s little daughter was the only person in all of Aman who was glad that the Light had died.

****

Nelyafinwë was riding patrol along the perimeter of the valley and wishing he were back in Formenos where his anatar was residing over a feast. Atar had left earlier, escorted by one of Lord Manwë’s Maiar. He went alone, for the other exiles followed the royal family’s lead and decided not to accept the Valar’s invitation. Nelyafinwë suspected though that not a few wished they had gone anyway so they could once again see their kin whom they had left behind in Tirion. The first-born son of Fëanáro had to admit to himself that he would have liked to have seen Findecáno again and wondered if his ammë had gone as well.

His anatar had decided to hold his own feast on the day that his son left for Taniquetil to be held at Second Mingling after the day’s chores were done. But all day Finwë had felt uneasy and that unease grew as the hour of Second Mingling approached. After speaking to Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë about it, the two had volunteered to patrol the valley to ensure that all was well. They left with a small group of men, with Nelyafinwë making a sweep to the west while Macalaurë went along the road leading out of the valley with the intention of then turning west to meet up with his brother. Together they would then head north across the fields and back to Formenos. Nelyafinwë hoped that they would be able to report to Finwë that there was nothing amiss.

As he and his men rode along the southern flank of the valley he glanced idly at the stone pillars that stood sentinel above them and could not help smiling at the thought that for all their wisdom the Valar had failed to take into account the cleverness of the Noldor. His thoughts were interrupted when one of the ellon called out. "Look! There is Prince Macalaurë."

Nelyafinwë turned his attention from the pillars and waved as he saw his brother and almost at the same time the two set their horses to a gallop and they laughed as they met. "Beat you!" Macalaurë cried as they came together.

"Unlikely," Nelyafinwë retorted with a fond smile. "Anything?"

The second son of Fëanáro shook his head. "Nothing. I even went to the crest of the road and looked out onto the plains below and there was nothing. What about you?"

Nelyafinwë shook his head. "All is quiet as far as I can tell. I am not sure why Anatar was feeling uneasy." He gave his brother a shrug. "Well, let us return to Formenos before the twins eat everything up."

Macalaurë laughed and was about to comment when the light around them, soft with gold and silver, for it was now Second Mingling, flickered and started to fade. They looked about in amazement and not a little fear. "What is happening?" Macalaurë asked, his eyes clouded with confusion as he gazed up at the sky which was turning dark. He gasped as stars began to appear and he was not the only one.

Nelyafinwë dismounted. "Stay here," he commanded and ran up the hill, careful not to pass or even touch the stone pillar at the crest. He gazed southward and a frisson of fear swept through his fëa and he turned swiftly to run back down the hill. "Ride!" he cried out. "Ride to Formenos!"

"Nelyo, what...?" his brother started to say but Nelyafinwë cut him off.

"Ride!" he screamed, leaping upon his horse, and without looking to see if he was being obeyed, he urged his steed to as fast a gallop as he dared now that all lay in darkness with only the stars to guide them. The others, thankfully, were right behind him.

Across the valley they rode in great haste and Nelyafinwë prayed they would reach Formenos in time before what he saw coming towards them arrived. As they came to the village surrounding the keep, they saw a great commotion as people poured out of the gates to stare about in wonder and fear. Nelyafinwë saw his anatar standing in the courtyard with a torch in his hand, his expression grim. His other grandsons stood around him. Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë dismounted and went to them.

"We need to get everyone back inside," Nelyafinwë said without preamble, his tone urgent.

"What did you see?" Finwë asked calmly.

"Darkness that moved with great speed heading this way," Nelyafinwë answered.

For a moment, Finwë hesitated, but the look of fear in his grandson’s eyes convinced him of the sincerity of the ellon’s words. He nodded and headed back inside with his grandsons following. "Get everyone to the Third Hall," he commanded. "Turco, you and your other brothers gather all our treasures and secure them in our deepest vaults. Cáno, the elflings are going to be terrified. Perhaps you can calm them with your singing."

Macalaurë nodded and called for one of the servants to fetch his harp even as he made his way towards the Third Hall.

"What about the tunnel?" Nelyafinwë asked. "Should we not send our people through? I fear that whatever is coming will not be deterred by bolts and locks."

Finwë nodded. "Which is why I want everyone gathered in the Third Hall. It is the closest to the tunnel’s entrance. Start sending the ellith and elflings through but caution them not to wander too far from the entrance at the other side. In this darkness it will be easy for them to stray and be lost."

"What about you, Anatto?" Nelyafinwë asked, looking concerned as the others scattered to do Finwë’s bidding.

"I will be right behind you," Finwë lied. "Go now while I seal the doors."

When his oldest grandson hesitated, he took him in his embrace and kissed him. "Go," he commanded softly.

Nelyafinwë nodded. "We will keep the tunnel door unbarred for you," he said and then he left.

Finwë waited until his grandson was out of sight before turning to the guards that were still manning the doors. He gestured to one of them. "Fetch my sword," he commanded and the ellon ran to do his lord’s bidding. Finwë, meanwhile went back outside and gazed southward. Above him Varda’s stars, the very stars under which he had led his people to Aman, glittered with cold indifferent brilliance to the drama unfolding below them, but to the south the stars were disappearing behind a black cloud.

There was the sound of the guard approaching and Finwë turned to see the ellon clutching his sword, his eyes wide with terror. He forced himself to smile as he addressed the remaining guards. "Go, all of you, and seal the doors behind you."

"But my lord...." one of them began to protest but Finwë shook his head as he drew his sword from its sheath.

"Do as I have commanded," he ordered brusquely, turning back to face the oncoming Darkness. "And... and tell my son... my children... that I love them." With that, he strode away from the doors and stood in the center of the courtyard. He heard the doors slam shut behind him and the bolts being secured. He felt a brief pang of sorrow for them all and then straightened his spine, holding his sword before him.

The Darkness settled before him. He gasped and took an involuntary step back as he saw Melkor and some hideous multi-legged creature step forth from the noxious cloud. Then he tightened the grip on his sword, and forced himself to advance, knowing himself to be doomed. "Míriel," he whispered as he raised his sword, "I am coming, beloved."

****

Olwë and Lirillë, along with Lindarion, Falmaron and Olwen, were on the royal ship picnicking and listening to the music drifting on the air about them. It had been Lirillë’s idea. "No reason why we can’t have our own little feast," she had said and the others readily fell in with her plans. They were sipping on a mellow yellow wine and speaking of inconsequential things, laughing at one of Olwen’s jokes, as the ship sailed around the still waters of the Haven, when the music faltered and then simply died. Olwë rose to his feet and stepped out from the small pavilion that had been set up on the upper deck for their use and looked about in consternation. The others followed him.

"Why has the music stopped?" Olwen asked and then gasped as she moved around the pavilion so that she happened to be facing south. "Where is the light?" she exclaimed and everyone made their way to the rails. Their view of the south and the opening of the Calacirya was blocked by the seawall but there was always a halo of light in the southern skies. Now, though, it was dark.

"What does it mean, Atto?" Olwen implored, clutching Olwë’s hand.

He wrapped his arms around her to give her comfort, though he was suddenly afraid himself. "I do not know, Daughter," he said quietly. Then he turned to see the ship’s captain making his way to them. "Return to the city. Now."

The captain nodded, issuing orders to the crew, and there was a sudden scramble to comply. The royal family remained where they were, staring intently to the south, none of them daring to voice what they all feared. When the ship reached the wharfs and was safely berthed, Olwë told the captain to keep the ship in readiness for his imminent return.

"What do you mean to do?" Lirillë asked as they made their way through the city towards the palace.

"I am going to Valmar," Olwë announced. His subjects were gathering all around, seeing their king, calling out for an explanation, but Olwë ignored them, for he had no answers to give them.

"Is that wise?" Lirillë asked with concern. "We do not know what catastrophe has struck Aman. Send a messenger...."

"No!" Olwë exclaimed. "I will go to Valmar."

"Then let us go with you, Atar," Falmaron begged.

"No," Olwë replied. "I want you to stay here and help your ammë keep the city calm."

"And how do we do that, Atar?" Lindarion demanded with a scowl. "What answers do we give them when they come demanding them?"

"Tell them that I have gone personally to discover what has happened," Olwë replied. "That should satisfy them until I return."

"It does not satisfy me," Lirillë said angrily.

Olwë stopped and held her, giving her a kiss. "I know," he said, "but I will send no lesser herald to the Valar. Something grave and terrible has happened. I know this in my heart. And more, there is a heavy sorrow within me that has naught to do with the Light failing. I fear some personal calamity and I would know what it means. No, my love. I and I alone will go."

They continued on to the palace where Olwë’s steward awaited them. Before the ellon had time to speak, Olwë was issuing orders. "Eällindo, I am going to Valmar. Have my horse brought to the royal ship and have Elennen meet me there with an honor guard." He dismissed the steward and went to the royal apartments where he changed out of his clothes to don his riding leathers while Lirillë, apparently resigned to her husband’s going, began packing extra clothes and personal items in a bag for him.

Then he was kissing her good-bye with a fervency that surprised her. He hugged and kissed his children and then he was gone, leaving by a secret way that led directly to the royal wharf so that he would not be hindered by his subjects who were already crowding the front portico of the palace looking for answers, answers that no one could give. He only hoped that when he reached Valmar, those answers would be forthcoming. Even so, he dreaded what he would find when he got there.

****

"Any sign?" Oromë asked Tulkas as he brought Nahar to a halt beside the golden-haired Vala.

Tulkas had leapt ahead, surefooted in the dark while Oromë had had to caution Nahar not to rush headlong in the gathering night. Now, however, he had stopped, shaking his head and scowling in frustration. Oromë looked about him. They were now far north of Formenos, not even bothering to stop there to ask of the Noldor for tidings, for there were signs that Melkor had already sped past that particular valley and was now heading towards the Helcaraxë.

"This time he truly means to go north," Oromë muttered.

Tulkas was about to reply when Roimendil, one of Oromë’s Maiar, who had ranged ahead, gave a shout. "There, my lords!" he cried, pointing. "That cloud there is moving northerly."

Oromë raised the Valaróma to his lips to sound the call to the Hunt and the two Valar with their Maiar gave chase. It was not long before they came upon the black cloud that hid their quarry. Suddenly, though, they found themselves blinded and dismayed, lost in the Darkness of the cloud that seemed to them to be almost a living being. Oromë sounded the Valaróma again, but its notes faltered and died away to nothing, swallowed up by the Darkness. Somewhere in that cloud he could hear Tulkas shouting imprecations and there were shouts of alarm from the Maiar who were floundering about.

And then within the cloud there came the sound of mocking laughter, evil and full of spite, which faded into the distance even as the dark vapors dissipated, leaving the two Valar and their Maiar standing there, impotent in their fury.

Melkor had escaped them once again.

****

iMaptalë Cálëo: ‘The Ravishment of Light’.

Author’s Notes:

1. Turo is Turucáno (Turgon), Cáno is Canafinwë/Macalaurë (Maglor) and Turco is Turcafinwë (Celegorm).

2. I would like to thank Rhyselle for allowing me to use features of Formenos described in her ficlet, ‘Death in Darkness’.