They're dead... by Yirth-kaio

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It's only a part of a very long story

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“It’s madness, cousin,” Galadriel whispered, watching Fingon’s preparations. “You may die there – meaninglessly…”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” he assured her and checked the sharpness of his two swords and a dagger once again. She only shook her head. Many times she heard that phrase – scarcely those who spoke it were careful enough to be able to really return.

 

“Someone has to find out what happened there,” he added before leaving the room. “Perhaps there is no danger at all…”

 

Galadriel sighed and shook her head again.  He was as reckless as ever… Fingon the Valiant... Fingon Never-caring-about-how-serous-the-danger-may-be… She might have been reckless too, as her memory reminded her, but she was carefully reckless, as she immediately retorted to the memory, watching her cousin out of the palace already, mounting his horse and riding away…

 

Fingon was spurring his steed, as if the world’s fate depended on his speed, though he knew it did not. Whatever happened in Valimar several days ago, was already done and… and the outcome was hidden in the mist. Perhaps it was Eru’s wrath again? But the first time Seyore came to power was not accompanied by weird happenings.

 

The streets of Valimar were perfectly empty, though in the windows, behind carefully drawn curtains, some moving silhouettes could be noticed. The Vanyar were there, but not willing to leave their houses. Fingon shivered. Maybe the Vanyar were not so brave as the Noldor, but their staying indoors had surely other reasons than fear to face the danger. What happened might be more dangerous than anyone in Tirion imagined.

 

When he saw no guards at the doors of Manwe’s palace, he was not surprised at all. The palace itself seemed to emanate mist, chill and despair.. Fingon stood before the magnificent building for some time, looking at the windows. Faint light was there and some misty shadows appeared once or twice to be gone in the next moment.

 

Still the Noldo did not falter in his wish to come in and find out the truth whatever it might be. The inside of once light and fair palace reminded him most of the Halls of Mandos, so the elf could barely find his way to the chamber where Manwe dwelt. Only before the door Fingon stopped realizing that his heart is sinking somewhere. What if Manwe is not here? The elf had not seen any living soul in the corridors, be it another elf or a maia, so perhaps the Valar were gone too… Maybe they all left this place for some reason…

 

He opened the door. It was dusk in the room, with only one candle on the table. Beside the table someone with fiery-red hair was sitting and writing something.

 

“Errr… greetings,” Fingon murmured, scanning the room searching for any signs of where Manwe might be. “Where can I find lord Manwe? I wish to talk to him…” he formulated his thoughts and worries into obvious phrases.

 

“Greetings, Findecano,” the red-haired one turned around and Fingon recognized him as Telron, a wight from the Void, that seemed to have arrived into Arda after Seyore and had to do something with the events during Seyore’s temporary rule. “I am sorry but you cannot find him anywhere any more…”

 

“What do you mean?” the Noldo frowned, entering the room finally. “Where is he? What happened?”

 

“He is… nowhere.. dead… devoured…” Telron glanced at the elf briefly. “We have killed him and the others.”

 

“You have done what?!” Fingon’s voice broke on the last words.

 

“Killed the Valar,” Telron replied, his gaze cold and distant, as if the whole situation didn’t bother him at all. “Drained their souls. Granted them quick and painless death at least,” he turned away and sighed inwardly, escaping the Noldo’s glance.

 

If only you knew… If only you could understand why we are doing it, why we are hurting you so much with these lies… If only I could tell you that they are... no, I shouldn’t even think…

 

“You’re a monster! All of you are!” Fingon shouted barely holding back tears of rage.

 

“Yes… we are.” The wight nodded, settling in an armchair and tapping on the elbow-rest slightly with his claws. “That’s our nature.”

 

“How… how could you? Why?” the elf sank helplessly in another armchair staring blankly in front of him. “They trusted you…”

 

“They did... yes,” Telron shook his head, suddenly feeling the weight of the crown on his head with all the responsibilities together. Once Manwe wore it – and now he trustfully gave it to Telron… to a rebellious half-blood wight.

 

“Listen, Findecano,” he murmured after some time. “Their time has passed and they proved it one last time, trusting us, born predators… traitors… and…”

 

“You speak like you are proud of being all that,” Fingon stated with disgust. “But don’t rejoice yet. You may have deceived and killed them, but neither Valinor nor the rest of Arda is yours, and will never be! We shall better die up to the last one of us, fighting against you and your cursed rule!” the Noldo jumped up, clenching his fists. “You thought you seized the world, but you will have a war instead of celebration!” with these words he rushed to the door.

 

A war… this word echoed in Telron’s mind, bringing the memory of Manwe’s words. They won’t accept you without a fight, I’m afraid… and after the fight it may be even worse… There was not a single moment to spare and before the elf could reach the door Telron jumped up too, covered the distance between him and Fingon in one dash, caught the elf by the arm and hissed with a clear menace in his eyes:

 

“You are not going anywhere, Findecano!”

 

“Ah… so you are afraid, monster?” the Noldo whispered malevolently. “But if you kill me now, others will come and you shall pay for all evil you have done… and for my death too.”

 

Telron listened to him with a sad smile.

 

“I will not kill you, Findecano,” he said quietly, still holding the elf’s arm.

 

“You will have to kill me or in the next few hours this palace will be under siege,” Fingon promised gloomily.

 

Telron shook his head again.

 

“There is another possibility… I won’t kill you, but I won’t let you go ntil you promise to wage no war against us.”

 

The Noldo burst out laughing bitterly.

 

“You can’t be that naïve to think I will ever promise that! Let me go!” he made a violent and desperate attempt to free himself from the wight’s grasp, but it only made Telron squeeze his arm harder and press him to the wall.

 

“You are not going anywhere,” the wight reminded, draining some strength from the elf – just enough to bring him to the edge of losing consciousness.

 

“What… what are you doing?" the elf breathed out barely audibly. “Let me… go…”

 

“For the sake of Valinor and for your own sake I won’t let you go,” Telron replied and carried the elf back to the armchair. “Stay here… and try to forgive the unforgivable.”

 

Try to forgive us these lies… try to forgive all pain and despair we brought… If only I could tell you…

 

Fingon stayed motionless in the armchair gazing through Telron as if the wight was not there at all.

 

“Do you understand what you have done?” he asked weakly after several minutes of silence.

 

“We… we do... we had no choice…” Telron sighed rubbing his temples.

 

“Poor excuse. They had never done you any harm…” the Noldo whispered.

 

“Indeed… and believe me, killing them hurt us more than their death now hurts you,” the wight sat on the elbow-rest. “You… probably know that Tulkas was my father…”

 

Fingon shivered:

 

“And you… you were able… to kill your own father? Or to watch him being killed and do nothing?”

 

“I had to… to save him from the fate much worse than death,” Telron brushed the elf’s hair with his fingertips, wishing he could tell the truth. A sudden prang of fear made him shiver too. What if their plan was a failure from the very beginning? What if they sent the Valar to death instead of saving them? Painful death after suffering a lot… If Aivare ever found out the truth, he’d have no mercy to the plotters…

 

“What could be worse than being killed by your own child?” Fingon’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

 

“There are things worse than death, Findecano, and you know it well… years of constant tortures… or a soul torn into pieces literally… and many other things that twisted and cruel imagination can invent,” Telron shook his head. There were indeed many things…

 

“But you could have hidden them somewhere instead!”

 

“Aivare would have found them anyway… the wights are able to sense the presence of ainur even if they are leagues away, and the more powerful the wight is the keener his senses are, ” Telron sighed. And he may find out one day he has been deceived. The war may cover the truth a bit longer, but the price is too high – in any case… and we shall pay the most… pay with the pain of choosing whom to lose…

 

His head started to ache of these thoughts and he took the crown off and buried his face in hands, trying to pull himself together. Their rule lasted only a few days and he was already deadly tired. Each day seemed a century, filling him with almost morbid care for the world and with weariness.

 

“You are in your own trap now,” Fingon whispered quietly. “Between that Aivare of yours and the rest of the world… You are as far from the victory and peace as it is only possible.”

 

Telron raised his head again.

 

“I am… we all are.” He murmured. “But I don’t want any victory over you… We had to kill the Valar but we don’t want to kill every living soul here and in Endore… That’s why I don’t want to let you go now. The war you are longing for will bring you only sufferings and defeat, as inevitable as the change of day and night… We are far too powerful, more powerful even than Melkor was – and where he was one, we are eight… Too many for you… too many,” he finished in a whisper.

 

“I have told you already that we shall better die than live under your cursed rule!” Fingon winced. “If you hold me captive here, it will only prove your hostile intentions to others! Now… let me go!” the elf reached for the dagger with his free hand and stuck the blade into Telron’s chest. For an instant the wight’s grasp weakened but it was enough for Fingon to break free. The next moment he was out of the room, running away through the mist, barely percepting the surroundings. He stopped only in the street quite far from the palace and looked back. There was no storm brewing, no fire in the sky... nothing. Only mist and silence…

 

Back in the palace Telron slowly pulled the dagger off the wound, examined the edges of the blade, damaged by his blood…

 

The war then… he nodded slowly, glancing at the blood, still streaming from the wound. First get through our defenses! He smiled at the simplicity of the way out. In some minutes he was in the throne hall already, surrounded by the other wights.

 

“We need to make a truly unbreakable Veil,” he said. “The elves are going to siege us…”

 

“Why not just striking first?” Daenar suggested with a smirk.

 

“Shut up, Morgoth,” Telron replied also smirking. “They are our people now,” he added solemnly. “We are to protect them, not attack. And we shall protect them – from ourselves.”

 

The mist around the palace was thickening…

 

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Chapter End Notes

Perhaps some small remark is in order. Telron called Dae "Morgoth" because Dae took his father's place at that time, hence the naming.