In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

---

Chapter 84: Pityahuan

---

84: Pityahuan

Manwë stared solemnly at the Elda sitting so dejectedly beside his throne and sighed inwardly. He had not wished to do what he had done, but Arafinwë had given him no choice. The Elf could not see that it was arrogance, not humility, that drove him. Humility, it seemed, was not a characteristic found in the House of Finwë. Manwë feared that abasement would need to come first for Arafinwë before he would learn true humility.

*He is as stubborn as the rest,* Námo bespoke to him as the two sat in silence while Arafinwë continued weeping. *How long do you think he will put up with this nonsense?*

*The question is, rather, how long will we?* Manwë retorted, sounding exasperated to Námo. *He’s not supposed to be here at all. I thoroughly expected him to be in Tirion when Ingwion arrived seeking his help in finding Ingwë and defeating Ingoldo’s bid for the throne. He cannot do that if he’s chained here.*

*So we need to make conditions so miserable for him that he will rebel and demand his freedom.*

*Only I doubt he will,* Manwë said with a sigh. *I will, however, look for an excuse to punish him.*

*Punish him?* Námo exclaimed. *Is he not already being punished?*

*Not to his mind,* Manwë answered. *No. I will find the smallest excuse to punish him, some small rebellion on his part that will necessitate me taking action against him.*

*And then what?* Námo demanded. *How does that solve the problem of getting him and Ingwion together?*

*We’ll see,* Manwë replied and Námo knew he would get no further explanation and let it drop.

*Well, in the meantime, what do we do with this one?*

*What we always do with any of them,* Manwë retorted. *We play it by ear and hope for the best.*

Námo snorted, though only Manwë and the two Maiar heard him.

****

Arafinwë remained chained to Manwë’s throne after that. They released him when necessary so that he might attend to personal needs or when they allowed him to stroll through one of the gardens or courtyards for a little exercise, a Maia holding the end of the chain. Otherwise, he ate and slept beside the throne. A Maia — never the same one — came twice a day to place two bowls before him. One was filled with water, the other with a type of mush or porridge. A spoon was provided for his use.

The first time his meal was brought to him, he nearly balked at the thought of eating the mush. It looked rather unappetizing, something one might feed to pigs, and he was going to refuse, but when he caught Manwë’s eye, he blushed and took the bowl and ate, trying not to grimace. It wasn’t that it tasted terrible; it had no taste at all. He forced himself not to gag and gratefully washed it down with the water. When he finished eating the Maia picked up the now empty bowls and walked away.

Manwë reached over and patted the Elf on the head. "That’s my good Pityahuan," he said approvingly and Arafinwë burst into tears.

****

He often wept, though he tried not to. Manwë never forbade him. The other Valar, when they were present, ignored him. Arafinwë sat hunched against the side of the throne in abject misery, paying no attention to anything around him. Every once in a while, Manwë would reach down and pat him on the head in an absentminded manner and call him his Little Hound. Arafinwë always burst into tears then; Manwë continued to pat him on the head.

Once in a while he was led to an antechamber to bathe. It was a small chamber consisting of a single large tub and a small table on which were laid out bathing paraphernalia, including a large absorbent towel. On each wall of the room was hung a large ornate mirror. When he was brought there the first time, he was surprised to see a Maia waiting for him who was feminine in appearance. She wore the indigo tabard and star of the People of Varda. She thanked her brother Maia for bringing Arafinwë . He simply nodded and left without a word.

Varda’s Maia — and none of them ever introduced themselves to him — smiled at him and, much to his surprise, reached up and removed the collar from his neck, laying it on the floor beside the tub. She then gestured to him. "You may remove your loincloth and bathe. You’ll be given a fresh loincloth afterwards."

Arafinwë stared at her in consternation. "Ah, would you mind turning around while I do?"

If anything, her smile broadened. "You’re wasting time, Pityahuan," she said — on Manwë’s orders, none of the Maiar were allowed to address him by his rightful name. "Remove your loincloth and get in the tub or I’ll do it for you."

It was less a threat and more a promise and Arafinwë grimaced and did as he was bid, turning his back on the Maia, though it was a useless exercise in modesty because the mirrors allowed her to see him in all his glory regardless. He climbed into the tub and then just sat there, swishing the water around, too embarrassed to wash with the Maia watching. She shook her head in amusement and picked up the washcloth and the soap that was on the table beside the tub and held them out to him.

"Wash, or I will do it for you."

Arafinwë sighed and took the cloth and soap and began washing, feeling more and more humiliated. When he was done, he climbed out of the tub and began drying himself, again turning his back on the Maia even though he knew it was pointless. As he finished toweling himself off the Maia came to stand before him and handed him a clean loincloth. Arafinwë was sure she was smirking.

Once he was dressed, she spoke. "Take up your collar, Pityahuan."

Arafinwë gave her a puzzled look, not sure what she meant. She gestured to where the collar lay. "Only you can put the collar back on," she explained.

"But you removed it," he retorted.

She nodded. "Yes, but as I said, only you can put it on."

For a moment he stood there trying to understand what she was saying, but then shrugged and with a feeling of distaste, reached down and picked up the collar, putting it around his neck, wincing as he heard the sound of the two ends clicking together. He could not understand how it was that the Maia could remove the collar but he could not and decided it was just one more aspect of the powers of the Ainur that he could not hope to comprehend. Even as he was putting the collar on, the same Maia who had brought him to the bathing chamber entered and took the chain, leading him back to his place beside Manwë’s throne, the Maia casually placing the end of his chain on the throne’s arm. Manwë reached down and patted him as he always did. "Good Pityahuan," he said. Arafinwë did not know how much deeper into despair he could go then as tears fell from his eyes once more.

****

Over time, though, he began to accept the routine, embarrassing as it was. As it was always the same Maia who awaited him in the bathing chamber, a day came when he finally got up the nerve to ask her name. She smiled at him and introduced herself as Sáyandilmë of the People of Varda. He found himself asking her about her other duties when she wasn’t forced to watch him bathe and she told him something of what she did. It was actually a pleasant experience for Arafinwë and he felt less inhibited in her presence. When he climbed out of the tub and dried himself off, he surprised himself by thanking her when she handed him a fresh loincloth. Without being told, he then reached down to where his slave collar lay and put it on.

That seemed to be a turning point. When Arafinwë was led back to the throne and Manwë patted his head, as was his wont, the Elf did not burst into tears but leaned into the Vala’s caress, practically purring. Manwë looked down at his thrall and smiled, then leaned over and kissed Arafinwë on the top of the head.

"You’re a good thrall, Pityahúnya," the Elder King said, and Arafinwë wept then, not from shame but from joy that he had so pleased his Master.

The next time he woke from sleep he discovered that someone had covered him with a light blanket and his head was lying on a pillow. Manwë, who always seemed to be there whenever he woke, just smiled at his confused expression. "Do you like my little gift, Pityahuan?"

Arafinwë could only nod, too overwhelmed by emotions to which he could put no name to speak.

****

Acceptance of his condition came slowly, however. In idle moments he would finger the back of the collar to try to find the catch. He knew there was one since he had made the collar himself, but, try as he might, he could not find it. The collar was as smooth in the back as in the front. He could not understand how the Maiar were able to remove it.

One time he found himself alone in the throne room and was fingering the collar. He felt this need from deep within to get it off him and he was frantically pulling at the collar, trying to move it around so he could get a proper look at the back. He was determined to find the catch. So intent on his task was he that he never noticed Námo stepping up to the dais where he sat. Suddenly, fingers wrapped around the collar and it came off into Námo’s hands. Arafinwë looked up in surprise and trepidation.

Námo looked at the Elf dispassionately. "The curious thing about collars such as this one," he began quietly, "is that only the person who made it can put it on himself, but he is also the only one who cannot remove it." The Lord of Mandos stepped down and walked to the main doors at the other end of the chamber, then turned around and placed the collar on the floor. Straightening he called out. "Run, Pityahuan, run to me."

Arafinwë could only sit there in stupefaction, not sure what was going on, not sure he really wanted to know. Then Manwë was there, sitting on his throne and terror swept through Arafinwë’s fëa at the Vala’s expression.

"You disappoint me, mólinya," Manwë said. "You promised us obedience in all things. Did you not hear your other Master call to you?"

As if on cue, Námo called out again. "Run to me, Pityahúnya. RUN!" Arafinwë sprang up and ran, sobbing as he did.

When he reached the Vala, Námo simply pointed to the floor and Arafinwë instantly knelt before him. Námo reached down and patted him on his head. "Much better, Little Hound. Master likes his thralls to be obedient. Now pick up your collar like a good Little Hound and put it on."

Trembling in shame, Arafinwë complied, the click of the collar closing around his neck loud in the stillness of the room.

"Good Pityahuan," Námo said. "Now go back to your place."

Arafinwë started to rise, but a hand held him down and he looked up to see Manwë there shaking his head. "No. Disobedient thralls do not walk." Then the Elder King pointed back to his throne. "Go now. Show your Masters how obedient you are."

Arafinwë looked at the two Valar in disbelief, not wanting to understand, but from their expressions there was no mistaking what was meant. Giving a sob he began crawling on his hands and knees back to his place by Manwë’s throne, his head hanging in abject shame. He was only a little way further along when he realized that the room was no longer empty. All the Valar were there, sitting in absolute stillness, watching him crawl across the floor. He began weeping harder then and could barely see where he was going. When at last he reached the Elder King’s throne, Manwë was already sitting there waiting for him. He nodded to Arafinwë as the Elf crawled up the steps of the dais.

"Remember, Little Hound, Master likes his thrall to be obedient in all things."

Arafinwë could only weep harder as he huddled against the throne.

****

There were times when he was left to himself in the throne room. Normally he would sleep then. Since the Darkening the counting of days had ceased but there was always a period of rest. During one such rest period Arafinwë found himself unable to sleep and was idly tracing the carvings on Manwë’s throne and noticed that the chain that held him in his place was not attached to anything. The end of the chain merely lay on the top of the armrest. Curiously, he tugged on the chain, thinking that it should simply slide off, but it didn’t. He tugged harder, determined to see the chain move. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he suddenly found himself loose, but a deep desire to be free welled up from within once again and he began to tug frantically on the chain, practically weeping in frustration when it would not budge. He continued tugging and weeping for some time until exhaustion took him and he fell into an uneasy sleep, never knowing that several Maiar stood in the shadows watching.

Someone was slapping him gently on the cheek and calling to him. "Pityahuan, wake up."

His eyes focused and the person stopped slapping him. He had expected to see one of the Maiar, but when he looked up he found himself staring into the eyes of the Lord of Mandos who was kneeling before him. He shrank back somewhat at the stern expression on the Vala’s face. Námo reached out and gently stroked the Elf’s cheek.

"You will never try that again, Little Hound," the Vala said softly, almost conversationally, and Arafinwë could only shake his head as he cowered against the throne. "Remember, you are a thrall, and always will be. Freedom is not a word you will ever need. Forget it. S’ avaquétima."

Arafinwë nodded mutely at that and without another word the Lord of Mandos rose and strode away. It was a long time before Arafinwë fell asleep. When Manwë later appeared and sat on his throne he did not reach down and pat his Little Hound that day as was his wont. Arafinwë burst into tears anyway.

****

There was a second turning point.

As Arafinwë grew to accept his status, the shame he had initially felt ebbed away until he barely felt it, though it never left him completely. He began to think beyond his own misery and took an interest in his surroundings as Manwë and the other Valar continued the business of ruling Arda. He was not privy to anything beyond his ken but he began to watch as Manwë made rulings and discussed decisions affecting all of Aman, Eldar and Valar alike.

Listening to the Elder King discuss affairs of state with the other Valar, Arafinwë realized that, prince of the Noldor though he once was, he was woefully ignorant of statecraft. Being the youngest son, he had had no expectations of ruling and therefore had had no real training. Sitting at the feet of the Elder King, chained to Manwë’s throne, he began to learn.

Sometimes a situation arose and questions came to mind, for his ignorance was not able to fill in the gaps of his understanding. The first time such questions arose in his mind, he was listening to the Elder King and Ulmo discussing something to do with the Teleri, though Arafinwë could not quite figure out what it was. Manwë looked down at the Elf sitting silently beside him and smiled.

"Ask your question, Pityahúnya," he said and Arafinwë looked up in surprise. Manwë nodded encouragingly.

For a moment, all questions fled, and then slowly, hesitantly, Arafinwë asked a simple question, mentally cringing in fear that his ignorance would displease his Master, but Manwë’s smile broadened and for the next few minutes he carefully and patiently explained the situation to the Elf, answering that and many other questions. Sometimes Ulmo would interject a comment of his own.

Finally when he had run out of questions, Manwë smiled at Arafinwë. "I am very pleased with you, Little Hound. I think you deserve an extra treat. Mánatamir," he called and one of the Elder King’s Maiar suddenly appeared. Arafinwë recognized him as the one who normally escorted him on his walks through the courtyards and garden. Manwë gave Mánatamir his instructions and then Arafinwë was following him outside, past the courtyards to a small postern gate which opened up onto a field of snow. Mánatamir reached up and unsnapped the collar. Arafinwë looked at the Maia in shocked surprise.

"You may play to your heart’s content, child," Mánatamir said, "but you must come without hesitation when I call you. Do you understand?"

Arafinwë didn’t but he nodded anyway and with a gentle nudge from the Maia he began walking out into the field. The bulk of the mountain surrounded the field on three sides and the court of the Elder King was on the fourth. The snow glinted silver under the ever-present stars, and the lights from the court cast purple shadows. Arafinwë was not sure what he should do but at one point he bent down and scooped up some of the snow, letting it fall again around him. That seemed to please him for he did it again and again until finally he let out a cry of pleasure and began running through the field, falling into snowbanks and burrowing into the snow, reveling in its coolness against his skin.

He played as he had not done since he was an elfling and for a time forgot that he was naught but a thrall. When Mánatamir called to him, he came, if somewhat reluctantly, and meekly knelt in the snow to pick up the collar lying before the Maia’s feet and put it around his neck. The sound of the click that locked the collar around him was loud in the snow-filled dark and whatever joy he had felt in his play fled, though he did not cry.

When he was returned to his place by the throne, Manwë asked him if he enjoyed his little treat. Arafinwë nodded. "Yes, Master. Thank you." Surprisingly enough, he actually meant it.

Later, coming back from the privy before the rest period, he discovered that a fur rug had been placed on the floor where he normally lay. He wept at the softness of the rug under him as he lay on his stomach, the blanket covering his lower extremities. Námo came then and sat beside him, rubbing his back.

"There, there, Little Hound. It’s not so bad after all, is it?"

Eventually, Arafinwë fell asleep.

****

He was allowed to play in the snowfield three other times after that. At first, he did not venture far, for he feared he would be punished, but the third time he was let loose he wandered far enough to come to a cleft in the wall of the mountain that lay to one side of the field. He climbed the cleft in curiosity to find that beyond were more mountains, though lower than the one he was on. A path wound itself down the mountain from the cleft into what appeared to be a valley. He looked back to the postern door and was surprised at how far away it was. He looked back at the valley spread out below him. Freedom lay beyond the cleft, but it was not a freedom he could take for himself.

"S’ avaquétima," he whispered to himself and he crouched against the mountain with his arms about his knees and rocked himself, repeating the sentence over and over again. It took several minutes before he realized that someone was calling to him and without another glance at the forbidden valley he stood up and headed back towards the postern gate. He could see that a second person had joined Mánatamir.

"Run, Little Hound, run!" Námo cried and Arafinwë ran.

He tumbled to the feet of the Vala and leaned against his legs, seeking approval for his obedience. "Did you see, Master? Did you see me run?"

Námo knelt down and patted. "You are a good thrall, Little Hound. You learn obedience well. Are you happy, Little Hound? Is my Pityahuan happy in his thralldom?"

Arafinwë leaned further into Námo’s caress and smiled. "Oh yes, Master, Pityahuan is very happy."

"Do you love me, Pityahúnya? Do you love Master?"

Arafinwë nodded. Yes, he did. Master, both Masters, were hard with him sometimes, but they cared for him too and were always willing to reward him when he was good. He whimpered slightly with delight as the Vala continued stroking his hair, which had begun to grow back. He wondered idly if it would be cut off again. When Námo kissed him on the forehead he did the one thing he never before thought to do, he tentatively reached up to wrap his arms around the Vala and Námo let him, taking him fully into his own embrace.

Suddenly, he was crying, crying as he had not since first he had become a thrall. "I’m so-sorry, Master. Pityahuan’s so-sorry."

"Shh. Don’t cry Arafinwë. It will all work out in the end." It was the first time since his chaining that anyone had called him by his real name.

****

Pityahúnya: My Little HHound, contracted from pityhúninya; cf. yonya, contracted from yoninya. Huan become hún- before a suffix.

Mólinya: My thrall.

S’ avaquétima: ‘It is not to be said, it is forbidden to be spoken’.