Downfall: A Triptych by Himring

Chapter 1: Sauron

Read Chapter 1: Sauron

And here I was thinking that you had abandoned us, after creating all of this, turned your back, despite all your magnificent promises or threats. How hollow those sounded to me, quite early on! So, whatever happened, whatever we did, you were going to claim it had been your intention all along? How, then, did your intention even matter at all, for any practical purpose?

But now you have very palpably interfered!  Apparently even you can be pushed too far. Who would have thought it? Why now, rather than at any other time? Was this one time really so different from all the rest that you felt it justified restructuring the universe?

There is a lesson in it, I suppose. At least, others will draw a lesson from it, or pretend to. Excuse me if I do not sufficiently appreciate it. I am busy burning as my body drowns. It is a distraction.

Besides, what kind of lesson is this supposed to be? Another land sunk beneath the sea? Another million deaths?

It tells me nothing. I will just go on trying to tidy up, enforce order—even if I always seem to end up just shifting the mess from one corner of the house to the other and yes, maybe making it worse.

(But excuse me, the Fall of Numenor, Eru—what a mess, what a total, unholy mess!)

Even if I have to confess that I no longer quite remember why I wanted order so much. That I do not quite remember what order is supposed to be for.

Untidiness irritates me. Isn’t that reason enough? If life persists in being untidy, at least I will put it in boxes, sort it into drawers—whether it consents to go in, to fit, or not.

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Chapter End Notes

Canonically, Sauron expected the Valar to kill the invading Numenorean army, but had not expected the scale of Eru's intervention, which was why his body was caught in Numenor's downfall and he returned to Middle-earth without it.

Chapter 2: Uinen

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I did not feel such strain, such anguish as this even at the beginning of days, when Melkor battled the Powers over all of the waters of Arda, dividing Osse from me. I am being stretched and ripped apart, my hair torn out and whipped away in the maelstrom, my limbs pulled every which way, impossibly extended. Above me, Osse roars, too drunk on violence to feel the pain—yet.

Ulmo, defend!

But he has stepped aside and yielded his will to one greater than he.

Through me, through the midst of my body, they tumble, dropping, sinking, all, all, those who named my name, those who called on me for help, right among those who knew nothing of me, who despised me—burned, broken and crushed, gasping and struggling in their fear and agony—they cannot breathe, cannot live—their torment only stilled in death.

Abhorred-Admirable, dare you quibble with the One, even now, as if yours was a mere difference in philosophy, as if you had played no part in all this pain and dying, denying responsibility? How dare you invoke order? How was your intent in this any other than to destroy, even if you did not foresee this consequence? I would waylay you, if I could, so that not even your dark spirit should escape what you yourself brought about.

I will wrap the bones of the dead in my hair, bury them in sand. They have no other home left but me, now.

Chapter 3: Elendur

If you are unfamiliar with Elendur, you may be interested in Oshun's bio of him on this site, but it is not necessary to read it to understand this chapter.

Read Chapter 3: Elendur

On his great-grandfather’s estate in Romenna, there had been a large pool, close to the house, not far from the quays of the harbour. The pool harboured turtles. Elendur had been fascinated by them as a boy, by their slow movements. He remembered watching them for what seemed like hours, their dim shapes floating below the surface emerging more clearly when they came up to breathe.

In his new life as refugee in Lindon, he found himself haunted by those turtles and their fate in the Downfall. It seemed absurd, when countless lives had been lost, to keep thinking about these few animals in particular. Maybe it was precisely because all those lives were impossible to count or account for, because the scale of the destruction was unimaginable, even though he had seen it with his own eyes, that his mind, slipping away from that unimaginable whole, and from the loss of so many he had known, fixed on those turtles. Or maybe it was because he felt the turtles should not even have been there, at that time, in that pool, caught up and dragged along in the wake of their ruin, a responsibility too lightly undertaken.

It had been too easy, back there, even in the last days, to think of their conflict as almost an extended family feud, a bitter, even bloody one, but entirely theirs. However, even then he had known that was quite wrong, that it was not just about the Houses of Andunie and Armenelos debating high principles or jostling for position. Rancour and panic fatally pervaded their whole society, poisoning it all the way down to the beggar in the back alley and the farmer in the field. But their ruin had spread even farther than that, making the very earth beneath their feet suffer. And when they arrived in Middle-earth, he was shocked to find their ruin was already ahead of them, had overtaken them on the way, wreaking destruction on the coasts here, too, killing people who had never even heard of Numenor, probably.

He was haunted by the turtles, who should not have drowned, by their nature, but must certainly have, because of his family’s choices, because people had decided to keep turtles in a pond.  Fragile, despite their shells, the backs of those turtles bore the freight of the Downfall in his dreams. He imagined the floor of the pool cracking, battered by flying debris and by the Great Wave, the miniature lake and its surroundings sucked down into the deep, along with the flailing animals who had had less warning, even, than the people.

But eventually, one light summer night in a dream, near the peaceful waters of Lake Nenuial, he saw a blue arm, unlooked-for, emerge out of the darkness, the chaos and the confusion, easily scoop up those turtles and deposit them in calmer waters, a long way off.

Upon waking, he still saw, in his mind, the scaled blue fist opening, giant fingers deftly releasing the turtles. And he wondered, whether Osse, in his overpowering rage, might still, if the dream spoke true, have spent one thought on sweeping those turtles to safety and allowing them to swim free. Or whether Elendur merely wished he had.

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Chapter End Notes

The prompt set was:

(1) Deus Otiosus: In this archetype, a god creates and then abandons the
universe. Start your story with a character leaving someplace. When the
character departs, open your next prompt.

(2) Theomachy: Myths often involve conflicts or battles among generations of
gods. Include an example of intergenerational conflict or disagreement
between characters in your story. When you reach this conflict OR write
another 200 words, you can open your next prompt.

(3) World Turtle: Several world myths envision the universe upon the back of
a giant turtle. Reveal a soft emotion or bit of backstory about a
character who seems tough or protective.