In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 83: Judgment

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83: Judgment

The Maiar did not escort Arafinwë to the north gate, as he was expecting, but down the Landamallë. He stopped in consternation, wondering what was going on. Maranwë, who was leading, looked back at him.

"Are we not going to Taniquetil?" Arafinwë asked.

The Maia shook his head. "We were told to escort you to the Máhanaxar," he replied.

Arafinwë felt a frisson of fear course through him. "The Ring of Doom! But why....?"

"It is where Lord Manwë is," Maranwë answered. "There is no sense you going all the way to Ilmarin when the Elder King is here in Valmar, is there?"

The reasonableness of the Maia’s tone did not comfort Arafinwë in the least. Yet, why should he not be brought to the Máhanaxar? What better place to meet his Doom and the Doom of his bereft people but there? Steeling himself, he nodded and without another word, Maranwë turned and they continued their journey, past the dark mansions of the Valar, past the now silent Belltower, until they came to the west gate, its silver looking tarnished, the emeralds encrusted on it dull and lusterless. Again the gate opened silently of itself and Arafinwë couldn’t help looking back once they passed through to see it close just as silently behind them.

As they came to the Mound of the Trees, Arafinwë’s steps faltered as he stared up at the dark husks and he felt himself trembling. Olórin was now at his side, giving him a sympathetic smile. "It takes getting used to, seeing them this way," he said gently.

"So much hate," Arafinwë whispered. "Why did we allow it?"

Olórin’s expression became unreadable. "Come. The Valar are waiting," he said kindly.

Arafinwë nodded, never taking his eyes off the Mound. He started to follow the Maiar and then stopped suddenly again. If any of his escort felt any impatience, they did not show it. Instead, they stood silently, waiting for him. He had the odd feeling that they could have stood there forever if necessary. Some impulse drew him towards the Mound and the Maiar let him go. He climbed it to stand under the Trees, their dead leaves blocking out the stars so that he stood under perpetual darkness. He went first to Telperion, hesitantly reaching out with a single finger to touch its trunk, but stopping and stepping back to give the Eldest a profound bow instead. Then he moved to Laurelin and did the same thing before heading back down to the waiting Maiar. What they thought of his actions, he could not tell, for they maintained a neutral air. Without a word, they surrounded him and then they were moving towards the Máhanaxar.

They were nearly at the Ring of Doom when all but two of the Maiar faded from view, leaving behind a variety of floral and fruity scents, signatures of the Maiar, even as the bright multi-colored lights signaled the presence of the Valar. Only Maranwë and Olórin remained, flanking Arafinwë as they entered the Ring, coming between the sapphire throne of Lord Manwë and the pearl throne of Lord Ulmo.

Arafinwë looked about him and was surprised to see only two of the Valar there — the Elder King and Lord Námo, who sat there covered with a dark cloak, its hood thrown over his head. Arafinwë felt somewhat disappointed. He had thought that he at least rated a hearing before all the Valar, for was not the rebellion of his people against the authority of the Valar as a whole?

"But the Valar did not summon you, son of Finwë, so you cannot be disappointed if we do not all sit in judgment against you."

Arafinwë blanched. The words had come, not from Manwë, but from Námo, who only then pulled back his hood to reveal a face that could have been carved in stone for all the emotion it showed, though his eyes glowed with a dark fire that was terrifying to behold. Arafinwë swallowed, feeling faint. At that moment Olórin and Maranwë left him and went to stand beside the thrones of their respective lords.

"Come here, Arafinwë," Manwë said and such was the force of his command that Arafinwë had no choice but to obey. He came before the throne of the Elder King and knelt, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Look at me, Arafinwë," Manwë commanded and the Elda looked up. "And what would the King of the Noldor have of us?"

Arafinwë shook his head and in a tight voice said, "I am no king, lord, but your most abject thrall and I offer myself and my people to eternal thralldom for rebelling against your Authority." He threw himself face down on the floor and waited for his doom.

As he lay there prostrate, he heard Manwë address Lord Námo, his tone one of perplexity, though there was a hint of amusement in it as well. "I do not recall purchasing any thralls, do you, Brother?"

"Nay, Calamando, it is news to me." Námo said. "Stand up, Arafinwë."

Arafinwë reluctantly complied. The two Valar sat in silence for what seemed an eternity to the Elf, but at last Manwë sighed. "I will not accept your offer, son of Finwë. Your people are free to seek their own destiny, as are you."

"Nay, lord," Arafinwë protested. "My people may be free, but I am not. I beg you to accept me as your thrall to do with as you will."

"And what of the Noldor, Arafinwë?" Námo asked. "Are they to be bereft of their king, they who are bereft of all else? Would you rob them of the last dignity they hold to themselves, that as wretched a people as they are, still they are led by a rightful ruler, no less than their Telerin and Vanyarin kin?"

"They must choose another to rule them, lord," Arafinwë answered as tears began to fall. "I am no king. I seek no honor or glory beyond serving the Valar as their thrall, for truly I am not fit for any other purpose."

"Do you understand what you are requesting, Arafinwë?" Manwë asked quietly, sorrow filling his eyes. "We did not summon you for we had already forgiven you. The moment you turned back you were forgiven. We have had our own sorrows to deal with and left it for you to deal with yours. Do you truly understand what coming here means? Accept that we forgive you and lay no blame upon you or your people. Go back to Tirion, Arafinwë, and rule with whatever grace you may find within you. Go back. Your beloved Eärwen awaits you."

Arafinwë swallowed nervously. This was it. He could turn back, repent of his decision and accept the judgment offered him. But he had turned back once before and knew himself to be a coward for doing so. He was still a coward but he could not turn back from his course a second time. He shook his head, but did not speak.

Manwë glanced at Námo and nodded once. Námo stood and advanced upon Arafinwë, who now trembled with a rising dread, but found he could not collapse as he wished. He was held up by the strength of Námo’s own will upon him. The Vala reached him and placed his hands on either side of his face.

"You wish to be a thrall of the Valar. Child, you little know the true meaning of the word, but I assure you that before another Age passes in the Outer World, you shall know and in the knowing you shall experience such abasement as you can never imagine." He paused to let the words sink into Arafinwë’s soul and the Elda quailed before him. "In thralldom there is no freedom, either in hröa or in fëa. Your will is not your own and you live on the sufferance of others. And if you ever seek to escape your thralldom you will be hunted down mercilessly and brought back to even greater shame and ignominy."

Námo stepped back and Manwë spoke then, his voice implacable. "And here is your first taste of shame, Arafinwë. You may strip."

Arafinwë gave the Elder King a startled look. "M-my lord?"

"Strip, Arafinwë. Remove your clothes, for did you not know that a thrall walks naked before all? And no longer am I your Lord, but your Master and you will address me as such."

"And me," Námo added, his tone equally unbending. "Now keep what dignity you still possess and remove your clothes yourself, or our servants will do it for you."

Arafinwë felt his face grow hot with embarrassment, his lips quivering as he complied. The Valar and the Maiar stood impassively watching. His fingers fumbled with ties and his tears made it difficult to see. When he started to remove the final piece of garment, Námo stayed him with a shake of his head. "You may keep the loincloth," the Lord of Mandos said and for some reason that just made everything more shameful for him, though he could not understand why.

"Olórin, Maranwë, take our thrall to Aulë," Manwë ordered the two Maiar. "He will know what is to be done next."

The Maiar bowed and came to Arafinwë, taking him by his arms and marching him out of the Ring without a word. They passed the Ezellohar without stopping, and made their way silently back up the Landamallë to the mansion of the Worldsmith, taking him through colonnades and courtyards until they reached what appeared to be a forge where Aulë was waiting for them. The Vala stared at the Elda with an expression that was hard for him to interpret. There was no pity in the Vala’s eyes, neither was there sorrow.

"Come, Arafinwë," the Vala spoke with a deep voice. "Your first task is to forge the chains of your own thralldom."

Arafinwë looked at the Vala blankly. Aulë gestured and, without understanding how, the Elf found himself before the forge and Aulë was behind him, guiding him in the making of a mithril chain and collar. His mind went numb of all thought as he labored over the fire, sweat dripping from his near naked body, his fair hair lank. How long it took to forge the thin-linked chain and delicate collar, he could never afterwards say, but finally he stood dumbly staring down at his creation.

"Pick it up, Arafinwë, and let me see," Aulë ordered and with trembling fingers the Elf complied. The metal was cool and smooth beneath his touch. It was a thing of beauty for all that it was a symbol of great evil. He handed the collar and chain to the Vala, who nodded.

"One thing more is needed." He placed the collar in a vise and with delicate tools carved something into it. When he was done, he took the collar out of the vise and held it up for Arafinwë to see. Inscribed on the collar was a single name: Pityahuan. Arafinwë glanced at the Vala with a questioning look.

"Your new name, thrall," Aulë said, then he laid the collar down before Arafinwë’s feet. "Put it on," he commanded as he straightened, his expression neutral.

Arafinwë stared at the collar for a long moment before slowly bending down and picking it up. As he placed the collar around his neck there was an audible click and the collar was locked. Arafinwë felt suddenly ill.

Then with a single fluid motion Aulë forced Arafinwë to his knees and, holding him down, he took some shears and clipped the Elf’s hair so that it barely touched his shoulders. Arafinwë was too far into shock to cry out. When the final lock of golden hair fell to the floor, Aulë left him there, kneeling in the wreckage of his hair. "Take him to Ilmarin," Aulë said and handed the end of the chain linked to the collar to Maranwë. "Be sure no one sees you."

The two Maiar nodded and Maranwë gently pulled on the chain, forcing Arafinwë to stand and the three made their way out of Valmar and along the road through Eldamas. Arafinwë was feeling too numb to care if any other Elves were about, though the few who were never took notice of them, thanks to the powers of the Maiar, cloaking them in a veil that none but the Ainur could penetrate. Arafinwë’s own sight had narrowed down to the chain that linked him to Maranwë. The journey seemed endless to Arafinwë, though he knew that they stopped at least twice so that he could attend to personal needs and rest. Olórin tried to get him to eat some coimas or fruit, but he refused, accepting only some water, for he was suffering more from thirst than from hunger. He refused to sleep, simply lying there staring up into the heavens until the Maiar deemed it time for them to continue.

Eventually, they reached the outskirts of Vanyamar but even then Arafinwë barely took notice, refusing to look up. They followed the road around to the north. The climb was long and done in silence. Olórin insisted that Arafinwë rest at one point, for the Elf’s energy was flagging.

"You must eat something, child," the Maia said gently, holding out a piece of coimas. Arafinwë started to refuse but Maranwë cut him off. "It isn’t wise for a thrall to disobey those set above him," he said not unkindly, and Arafinwë recognized the implicit warning in the Maia’s words and accepted the waybread, nibbling on it. The Maiar waited until he had swallowed every bite before they set off again. Arafinwë had to admit that he was feeling stronger for having eaten.

Past the Rainbow Bridge and the waterfall they went until they were finally before the gates of Ilmarin with the ever watchful stone eagles keeping silent vigil and the statue of Varda holding up a miniature star. Only then did Arafinwë look up. They went past porticos and colonnades and courtyards with fountains until they entered the mansion through a side door that led down a hallway to a set of tall doors made of gold and mithril. The doors opened silently by themselves and Arafinwë found himself in the main throne room.

"Ah, I see our thrall is properly attired," Manwë said from where he sat on his throne. Námo was also there, but no one else. The Elder King gestured for Maranwë to bring Arafinwë forward. "Lay the end of the chain here," he ordered and the Maia placed the chain on the right arm of the throne, then bowed and stepped away. Manwë pointed to the space between his throne and the one next to it. "Sit here, Arafinwë, sit here at my feet."

Arafinwë complied, sitting on the cold marble dais, his arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes dark with shame. Manwë reached down and lifted the Elf’s head, forcing Arafinwë to look at him.

"Who am I, Arafinwë?"

Arafinwë swallowed before answering, his voice paper thin and barely above a whisper. "Y-you are my M-master."

Manwë nodded. "Yes, I am." Then he patted the Elf’s head, much as he would a child or a favorite pet. "Welcome, Pityahuan. Welcome to your new life."

Arafinwë burst into tears even as Manwë continued stroking his hair.

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Pityahuan: Little Hound.