In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 50: Grief Unbound

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50: Grief Unbound

If the journey from Valmar to Ilmarin had been long but pleasant, the journey back was an absolute nightmare. Elflings cried and would not be comforted and among their elders questions flew back and forth and there was much speculation as to what could have happened, but there were no answers. The Maiar who were escorting them remained taciturn, their faces set, their eyes glowing with a fire that was now more clearly visible in the dark.

Ingwë and Arafinwë eventually joined Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro at the front of the procession once they were off the mountain and were on the road to Valmar. The High King gave Eönwë a concerned look. "Do you know what has happened, lord?" he asked quietly.

Eönwë did not look at him as he spoke but kept his gaze ever before him. "I have my guesses, Ingwë, but until we reach Valmar all is mere speculation," he replied in a soft voice. "My Masters are there accessing the situation and mayhap by the time we arrive the Trees will be shining again." But Ingwë and the others could hear the doubt in the Maia’s voice.

"And if the light never returns?" Ingwë asked, voicing the one question that was on everyone’s mind.

Now Eönwë turned his gaze upon the High King and his expression was almost too terrible to behold. "I do not know, Child," the Herald of Manwë said. "I only know that the Light can never be truly conquered by the Dark. It will always return, though not necessarily in the same form as before."

After that, no one bothered to speak and the rest of the wearying journey was made in silence, save for the weeping of the children and the occasional curse as someone stumbled over a rock unseen in the dark. The Maiar divided their attention between keeping a watch on the Children to ensure that none strayed in the dark and listening in on the conversation between the Valar as they accessed the damage to the Trees. What they heard made them weep though none of the Elves saw their tears.

****

Olwë and his guards made their way slowly up the Calacirya. It was an eerie ride, for the cleft should have been bathed in light but now sea mist was shrouding it and the air was turning frigid. Olwë remembered how eager he had been to listen to Elwë’s tales of the Trees and their Lights and he had longed to see them, but when he finally arrived on these shores, like all the Lindar, he found that his fëa cleaved more closely to the Sea and the stars than to the Light, so he felt no need to join Finwë and Ingwë further in Aman; Alqualondë was as close as he cared to be. Yet, in the long years of their habitation, the light streaming down the Calacirya had been a comforting sight, a promise of warmth and welcome for any of the Lindar who bothered to leave Alqualondë and venture into the heart of the Valar’s realm.

Now, all was dark and misty and he feared what he would find when he finally reached the city of the Powers. Tirion would be empty of people, he knew, and so he would not bother going there, but moved northwest around the hill of Túna to rejoin the road on the other side.

"What could have happened?" Elennen asked his lord as they rode side-by-side, the rest of the honor guard behind them.

Olwë shook his head. "I have no idea, save that some grave disaster has struck."

"I deem that this is Melkor’s doing," the chief of Olwë’s guards said darkly.

"I deem that you are correct," Olwë averred, then cautioned his horse with a softly spoken word to step carefully in the dark. Everything within him screamed for them to ride as quickly as possible before it was too late, but he knew that no matter if they could be in Valmar that very instant, it was already too late, too late for them all. He forced himself to keep to a steady pace. Even so, he knew that Valmar was too far away to make it in a single day. "In the meantime," he added, "let us find a suitable place to camp and rest the horses for a time before moving on. I would arrive in Valmar sooner rather than later but our horses are in need of rest and I would not risk them being injured by rushing headlong to the city. Even at our fastest gallop Valmar is at least two days away."

Elennen nodded and issued an order for one of the guards to range ahead and check for a place where they might hole up for a time.

****

Oromë and Tulkas, along with their Maiar appeared on the Mound of the Trees, giving Manwë grimaces. "He eluded us," Oromë said before anyone could ask. "And he is traveling with another, one of the Úmaiar. It belched clouds of darkness that blinded us."

"I could see nothing nor could I move," Tulkas snarled. "I could only beat the air futilely until the vapors dissipated."

"And then we were busy collecting our Maiar who ended up wandering hither and yon in the cloud, bewildered and dismayed," Oromë added with a shake of his head. "I have never known anything that could do that to us."

Manwë sighed. "It matters not," he said. "He is gone then, back to Endórë?"

The two Valar nodded. "The cloud moved ever northward and we kept watch to see if it would double back but it never did," Oromë replied. "By now he must be at the Helcaraxë."

"Then let us put our Fallen Brother from our minds for a time," Manwë suggested. "We have more pressing problems with which we must deal."

Oromë and Tulkas turned their attention to the Trees, dark and dead. "Is there any hope of renewing them?" Tulkas asked quietly as he went to Nessa, wrapping an arm around her waist as he stared up into the withered branches of Laurelin.

"That is what Yavanna is trying to determine," his spouse answered softly.

Yavanna was even then bending down to examine Telperion’s roots and the other Valar remained silent, waiting for her diagnosis. She straightened and reached for a low hanging branch, which snapped off and crumbled into dust at her feet. She stared at the remains of the branch for a long moment, then sighed, looking up.

"Foresighted was Fëanáro Finwion in the crafting of the Silmarils," she said. "Even we who are the mightiest under Ilúvatar might only create a work once, and only once." She closed her eyes and sighed before continuing. "It may be that if I have but a little of the light that resides within one of the Silmarils, I may be able to revive the Trees, ere their roots decay completely."

"A pity Finwion did not bring the Silmarils with him," Aulë ventured, "for it would save time."

"If necessary we can retrieve them ourselves," Irmo said and the implications of his words were not lost on any of them.

"But only if Fëanáro consents," Manwë said sharply and Irmo bowed in acquiescence. Then the Elder King sighed. "He will be here soon enough, along with the other Children. We will have to see what he has to say. Come. Let us await them at the Máhanaxar."

It seemed even to the Valar an eternity of years as they sat on their thrones in the dark before they spied the torches borne by the Maiar bringing the Eldar to Valmar. Eönwë brought them to the foot of the Mound and the Elves slowed their walk, gaping in dismay at the blackened husks of the Trees until Eönwë and the other Maiar urged them on to the Ring of Doom. There, Eönwë gestured for Ingwë, Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë to accompany him inside the Ring. The three Elves hesitated for a moment before Ingwë took the lead and the other two followed, while all the other Elves moved about to stand between the thrones.

Eönwë bowed to Manwë and then, with a nod from his lord, he took his place between the thrones of the Elder King and Varda. The other Maiar ranged themselves in a protective circle around the entire assembly, keeping watch for any further evil. The Elves just stood there, quite forgetting to give their obeisance, and at a loss. Ingwë kept glancing beyond Lord Manwë’s throne to the Trees rising above the Máhanaxar, tears running heedlessly down his cheeks, thinking of the first time he had beheld these wondrous creations, the absolute joy and delight and awe he had felt when he had touched the trunk of the Trees and had felt the life flowing through them. Even without touching them now he could tell that no life existed with them and his sorrow knew no bounds.

Ñolofinwë was remembering when he was an elfling and had been brought to Valmar to be presented to the Valar for the first time and how his parents had led him to the Trees and told him the story of their creation. His atto had described his reaction upon climbing through the pass where now the Calacirya was and beholding the Holy Light for the first time and how overwhelmed he had been. Little Ari had stood there mesmerized as much by his atto’s words as he was by the sight of the Trees shining before him. Now he stood there and openly wept unashamedly, feeling totally bereft. Then he felt someone placing an arm around his shoulders and, looking up, saw Lady Nienna there and her tears were as bright jewels glittering in the starlight.

Fëanáro stood there and felt something in him die, and in its place there woke a smoldering anger as he silently cursed Melkor for his crimes. Then Manwë was speaking to him and he tore his eyes from the dead branches of Laurelin to attend to the Elder King’s words.

"My son," Manwë said softly, "Yavanna has a thing she would ask of thee, if thou wouldst hear her."

Fëanáro looked to the Kementári and felt a foreboding come upon him but he nodded to her. "Speak, lady. What wouldst thou ask of me?"

"The Light of the Trees I brought into being," she said, "and within Eä I can never do so again. Yet, with thy help, Fëanáro, I can recall life to Telperion and Laurelin."

"How?" Fëanáro asked but he had a dreadful feeling he already knew what her answer would be.

"The Light of the Trees has passed away and lives now only in thy Silmarils, Child," she said gently. "If I have but a little of that light there is a chance that the Trees can be saved but it must be soon for once the roots have decayed then nothing will save them."

Then Manwë spoke. "Hearest thou, Fëanáro Finwion, the words of Yavanna? Wilt thou grant what she would ask, my son?"

Silence reigned in the Ring of Doom and Fëanáro stood there, feeling the eyes of all upon him and sensing the expectation of hope rising amongst the Elves. He gazed around him. The Valar sat impassively waiting for his answer. His half-brother gave him a nod, but Fëanáro was unsure what the meaning behind it was. Ingwë simply gazed on him with an unreadable expression worthy of the Valar and he had an urge to ask this eldest of the Eldar what he should do, as if he were an elfling needing council. He wished his atar were there to guide him.

The continuing silence was apparently too much for Lord Tulkas, for the golden-haired Vala suddenly uttered an oath that Fëanáro did not understand, save only that it was in Valarin. "Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay!" he cried. "But who shall deny Yavanna? After all, did not the light of the Silmarils come from her work in the beginning?"

Before Fëanáro could respond, Aulë spoke up, admonishing Tulkas. "Be not hasty! We ask a greater thing than thou knowest, Brother. Let him have peace for a while longer."

Fëanáro shook his head. "For the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only; and in that deed his heart shall rest. It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their like." He paused, staring at his feet and when he spoke

again it was barely above a whisper and full of pain. "If I must break them, I shall break my heart, and I shall be slain, first of all the Eldar of Aman."

For a heartbeat no one spoke and then Námo shook his head. "Not the first," he said darkly and many looked upon him in wonder and not a little fear, not understanding his words.

Fëanáro, however, did not seem to have heard the Vala’s words, for he suddenly cried out, "This thing I will not do of free will. But if the Valar constrain me, then shall I know indeed that Melkor is of their kindred."

There was a sigh that was nowhere and everywhere. "Thou hast spoken," Námo intoned and many of the listening Elves blanched at the coldness of his tone and they were filled with a nameless dread that something terrible, more terrible than the death of the Trees, would follow those words.

Then again there was silence, and thought was stilled. After a while, though, Nienna rose from her throne and moved out of the Ring, the Elves giving her space as she made her way to the Mound which she climbed. She threw back her grey hood and wept, her eyes shining like stars in the rain as she washed away the defilements of the monster that had destroyed the Light. As her tears abated, she began to sing in mourning for the bitterness of the world and all the hurts of the Marring of Arda. No one there was unmoved by her song, not even Fëanáro, though he struggled not to show it. Even as the song ended, though, there was a shout from the midst of the Maiar standing guard and they heard the sound of several riders approaching in great haste.

"Let them through!" Manwë ordered.

There was a confused flurry of activity and then seven ellyn strode into the center of the Ring. "My sons!" Fëanáro exclaimed. "What is amiss? Why have you come?"

Before any of them could answer, Manwë chuckled. The sound was so incongruous under the circumstances that they all stopped and stared at him in surprise. Manwë merely raised an eyebrow, the faintest of smiles on his lips. "I must assume you finally completed the tunnel leading from the Third Hall?" he enquired, giving the Noldor a knowing look. "The one that goes under the hills and thus avoids the barrier above?"

Even Fëanáro seemed to be blushing as they realized they had not been as clever as they had thought or hoped, though in the uncertain flicker of the torches, it was hard to tell.

"But enough," the Elder King continued, more solemnly. "Tell us your news, child." He addressed Nelyafinwë directly.

The eldest son of Fëanáro shuddered. "Blood and darkness, my lord!" he cried and in the torchlight he was pale and obviously distraught. "Anatar was heavy with grief at the departure of our atar, and a foreboding was on him. Macalaurë and I agreed to ride a sweep through the valley, believing that Anatar was only concerned for Atar and so we thought to still his worries. There was naught amiss in the valley and we were about to return to the keep but suddenly we were aware that all was growing dim. The Light was failing." He paused and swallowed noisily and Macalaurë had to steady him. "I... I climbed a nearby hill to see what was happening and saw a darkness swallowing the stars to the south and heading our way. In dread we turned and rode back in haste to warn Anatar, who ordered us to seal our treasuries and go to the Third Hall and begin sending the ellith and elflings out of the tunnel."

"Where is Atar?" Fëanáro asked in a whisper. "Is he well?"

Nelyafinwë sobbed, covering his face with his hands as he spoke, his words broken and hard to understand at times. "Even from the Third Hall we heard the sound of great blows struck... and the earth shook with them. And then... and then there was one piercing cry." He stopped, choking with grief. Macalaurë took up the tale.

"We wanted to rush to see what had befallen Anatar," he said in a whisper that nevertheless could be heard by all present, "but it was as if we were frozen and could not move, however much we desired to, for it seemed that some black power had entered the keep and we were all robbed of wit and will. Then we heard the hideous sound of evil laughter and a shout of triumph the reason for which we did not understand. It was only as the laughter faded that we found that we could move again. It was as if a cloud were lifted from our hearts and minds and we knew ourselves again."

Fëanáro, all this time was growing paler and paler and he grabbed his eldest son by the shoulders. "What of Finwë!" he fairly shouted, shaking him. "What happened to my atar?"

"Darkness and blood, Atto!" Nelyafinwë cried, pushing Fëanáro from him, his face wet with tears, his eyes filled with a grief that was too terrifying for any to behold. "We... we found the king slain at the door. His body was... was black and burnt and his expression...." He paused, swallowing noisily, trying to get himself under control. Finally he went on. "His sword lay beside him, twisted and untempered as if by lightning-stroke. All the house was broken and ravaged. Naught is left. The treasuries are empty. The chamber of iron is torn apart. The Silmarils are taken!"

"NO!!" Fëanáro screamed, falling upon his face and lying as one dead.

Instantly, Estë was kneeling beside him to succor him, but he suddenly rose, brushing her aside. He clenched his fist and shook it at Manwë. "Curse the day I listened to thy summons and the hour in which I came to Ilmarin, O Manwë Súlimo. And cursed be Melkor for all time. No longer will we name him thus. Moringotto will he be forever known among the Eldar."

Then with a wail of grief he ran from the Máhanaxar and fled into the night, distraught. Nelyafinwë called to him and without taking proper leave of the Valar he rushed after his atar

with his brothers behind him, all fearing that in his grief at the news of his atar’s death he might slay himself.

The two younger sons of Finwë had remained silent during the recitation of their atar’s death but now Ñolofinwë gave a great cry. "Atto! My atto is dead!" and he collapsed to his knees and he was inconsolable. Ingwë knelt beside him, wrapping his arms around him and rocking him. Arafinwë just stood there in shock, his expression blank and his eyes unseeing. Estë went to him and held him close, rubbing his back as if he were an elfling.

"Let it out, child," she whispered. "Do not hold it within you."

For a second or two he just stood there unresponsive and then, as if her words were a floodgate opening into his soul he burst into tears. Estë held him even tighter, crooning a wordless lullaby. The other Noldor gathered there began a great lamentation and none stayed them in their first grief. Finally, though, tears abated and silence settled upon them. Then, and only then, did Manwë speak, addressing all the Eldar.

"Go, my Children. Return to your homes, each to his own place. Take what comfort you may with one another."

"And thou, lord," Ingwë said where he still knelt beside Ñolofinwë. "What wilt thou do?"

Manwë sighed and it was as if all of Arda, indeed all of Eä, sighed with him. "What we can, child, what we can."

And then the Elves, Vanyar and Noldor alike, gave the Valar their obeisance and melted away into the darkness, with Maiar keeping a silent watch, leaving the Valar alone, sitting on their thrones. Only when the last of the Children were gone, lost in the darkness, did the Valar weep.

****

Olwë heard the sound of lamentation before he saw the dark mass of people moving slowly down the road towards him and his guards. He motioned for them to halt and he dismounted, watching the wavering flames of torches casting odd shadows. Even in the darkness he could see that Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë led the procession with their wives and children behind them. When Ñolofinwë saw him, he raised a hand, signaling a halt. Then he and Arafinwë came to him. Olwë could see tear streaks on their cheeks and the looks of despair in their eyes and knew that something very dreadful had happened.

"Oh, children," he said softly. "What has happened?"

It was Arafinwë who answered. "At...atto is dead," he sobbed, "and so are the Trees."

And then both ellyn were weeping and Olwë felt his heart nearly breaking with the grief of their news. He opened his arms to them and they fell into his embrace. He rocked them gently, as if

they were elflings. "Oh, Valar, save us all," he whispered and then he, too, was weeping and he feared that in the anguish of his fëa he would never be able to stop.

****

Moringotto: Black Foe. The earliest form of the name is given as Moriñgotho. In Sindarin this became Morgoth.

Note: Melkor’s attack on Formenos as described by Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë is derived primarily from Morgoth’s Ring, ‘The Annals of Aman’, HoME X.

~ End of Part Two ~