Nightfall by Ithilwen

Dark Victory

Chapter 3 - Dark Victory

At first it felt strange, walking alone through the quiet streets, now lit only by the flickering torch in his hand, the soft glows emanating from the windows and doorways of the houses and shops, and the cool brilliance of the stars. But as he headed away from the palace towards the outer edges of the town, Maitimo felt his fear gradually begin to lessen. Now that the first shock had worn off, he found to his surprise that he was beginning to see a strange, wild beauty in the darkened sky and the fierce glint of the stars he'd previously only glimpsed faintly through the shimmering light of the Trees. Voices echoed softly all around him, people talking and singing, and occasionally even laughing, as families gathered together around their hearths to soak in the warmth and light from their fires. Now and then he smelled the aromas of food cooking; occasionally he stopped to talk briefly with a person looking out from a door or window, whose attention had been caught by the sound of his footsteps or the glimmer of his torch. To his surprise, Maitimo even came across small numbers of people walking calmly through the city; a few of these folk had been born at Cuiviénen, and were therefore familiar with the strangeness that had settled over the land when the Treelight failed, but most, like Maitimo himself, had been born in Aman. As the time passed uneventfully, their initial terror had slowly given way to curiosity, and they had timidly ventured forth from their homes to admire the stars.

Grandfather was right; this light is not bright and warm, but it is more than enough to see by. Varda made it for us, after all, Maitimo found himself thinking as he gradually approached the northern edge of the city and looked out at the now-darkened foothills. We could get used to living under it, in time. But a small tendril of dread still remained stubbornly rooted within his heart, for the Trees had never gone dark before, and try though he might, he could not make himself believe that the Valar had deliberately chosen to extinguish them. After all, the Valar had brought the Eldar to Aman in part to share the Treelight with them; why would they suddenly withdraw that gift now? It did not seem likely that they would do so merely so that the Eldar could view the stars properly again after their long separation from them. Something had gone wrong, and though Maitimo wanted to believe the Valar would protect them from any possible threat, he also remembered that the people of Formenos were exiles now. They wouldn't safeguard Tirion and Alqualondë and the other coastal settlements while abandoning us to our fate, he said to himself firmly. After all, even Father's banishment is only temporary - and it is only Father who angered them, not the rest of us. They haven't forgotten us, they won't forget us... But try though he did, Maitimo was unable to uproot that last, lingering bit of doubt. To distract himself, he studied the heavens, trying to pick out the old, familiar star patterns he'd learned as a child in Tirion and which were now almost totally unrecognizable, their key stars half-hidden within a swarm of lesser lights.

He'd spotted the Butterfly, and the Fishhook, and was searching for the tight cluster of the Netted Stars when he felt it: a slowly rising sense of dread. Bewildered, Maitimo looked about, at first seeing nothing to explain the growing sense of menace that had begun to steal over him. Finally, he looked south - and to his horror saw that, rapidly and inexorably, the southern stars were going out. Something was sweeping towards Formenos, a strange cloud of Unlight that was quickly covering the sky, and a wave of fear seemed to emanate from it like some noxious fume. As Maitimo watched, the people began to leave their houses, pushing and shoving past each other, fleeing northwards in terror.

"In the unlikely event that you should spot something unusual, report back to me at once," Grandfather said. I have to get back home! Maitimo began to run, fighting his way through the panic-stricken people, desperately attempting to return to Finwë's palace. But each step brought him closer to the enveloping blackness, and as the Unlight continued to cover the sky he felt his own fear steadily rising, until each footfall was a massive effort of will. And then he noticed that it wasn't merely the stars that were going out; now the buildings were disappearing too, one by one, smothered in a thick cloak of absolute darkness...

He never remembered turning to flee. Indeed, Maitimo was later able to recall very little of what happened next; his mind was filled only with fragmented images and sensations that formed no coherent pattern. The Sickle of the Valar, hanging low in the sky, suddenly going out, defeated by the Darkness. Streamers of the repellent Unlight reaching out to envelop and smother him, his torch's light abruptly snuffed, with only the undiminished heat he still felt on his hand providing proof that its flames still burned. Stumbling for an eternity, blind and terrified, through a completely lightless world. Tripping and falling repeatedly, while feeling his heart pounding so strongly in his chest that he was sure it was going to burst. The disembodied voices of other people, screaming and crying in the blackness all around him, as they, like he, struggled to wrest their way free of the suffocating nothingness that had entrapped them all.

Finally, the last few shreds of reason were torn from him by the Dark, and he gave in to his panic. Reduced to the level of a terrified, witless animal, Maitimo ran through the blackness, heedless of everything but his terror, until finally he could run no more. Exhausted, utterly numb, mind blank with fear, the sword he bore at his waist forgotten, he collapsed shaking onto the ground and waited there helplessly for death to come and claim him.

* * * * * * *

Finwë was halfway up the staircase when he felt the strange sense of foreboding overtake him.

He'd just finished returning the Silmarils to their snug underground hold. After several lingering moments spent admiring the many other wonders his gifted son had created, Finwë had begun the long walk back up from the deep hold, lamp held securely in one hand. It was time he returned to the roof; though he doubted that many of his people would have ventured out from their homes yet, he knew it was important that he be in a place where those few who had could easily see him, his presence providing reassurance in the new (to them) shadowy world Formenos had been cast into. And even more important, he needed to be there to keep watch over his city, to protect it from -

The Hunter. Finwë stopped, startled. Where had that thought come from? This was Aman, not Middle Earth, and his childhood was many ages distant now... Now was no time for such foolish notions! Shaking his head ruefully, he continued up the stone staircase - only to stop again, as a slowly building sense of unreasoning dread filled his heart. A dread he now recognized, for he'd felt it before, long ago, when he had lived along the shores of dark Cuiviénen...

He remembered the hideous sounds that sometimes echoed out of the shadowed forests, and the inky shapes that raced across the stars, and most of all, the fear that prompted his kin to huddle together for security around their small hearths. "Stay close to the fire, little brother, or one day the Hunter might just snatch you away from us!" Aldwë had often warned him when he was small. But his beloved older brother had not heeded his own advice; Aldwë was bold, and curious, and would occasionally roam far from the shores of Cuiviénen while intent on his quarry. The time came when he set forth in pursuit of a deer, and did not return. And a young Finwë had watched as the light slowly dimmed in his parents' eyes with each new turn of the stars that marked his elder brother's passing; even the new radiance that shone from their younger son's face when Finwë had at last returned from Aman to tell the others of his tribe of the wonders he'd seen in that place of light had not rekindled it. They had chosen to remain behind at Cuiviénen rather than journey with their surviving son to Aman, for the shadows of that land mirrored the ones inside their sorrowing hearts.

It had been many years since Finwë had felt such a malevolent touch on his spirit, but he recognized it now. Something is coming to Formenos, he thought; something evil, that menaces my city and my kin. And I cannot cower beside the fire now, as I did in my childhood, for we in Formenos dwell far from the safety of Taniquetil. The responsibility for my people's security resides with me, and I dare not fail them. Whatever the cost might prove to be, I must attempt to drive this thing away! Varda, help me! Knowing he needed to arm himself, Finwë turned and began to descend into the vault again; to his surprise, he found the sense of dread and imminent doom fading steadily as he went deeper into the ground. When he arrived in the vault, he quickly looked about for weapons. Finwë had disapproved of Fëanáro's swordcrafting, and out of respect Fëanáro had reluctantly given it up, but surely there would be at least one good blade lying about unused. Or a spear, such as his grandson Tyelkormo favored for hunting boar...

He found a sword. Finwë lifted it, feeling the balance and heft of the blade. A good weapon; better than the one he'd wielded during the Great Journey, and that had been deadly enough. His initial fear for his people was now giving way to anger; with the lethal steel securely held in his right hand, Finwë resumed his ascent, steadfastly ignoring the sense of horror that slowly built as he ascended to the surface.

When at last he emerged into the courtyard, Finwë thought he was ready. He was, after all, a veteran of many battles against the Hunter's foul minions, fought during the long march to the western shoreline, all hotly contested under the same silver starlight that now shone over Aman. But he did not emerge into the clean starlight he had expected, but into a Darkness which quickly flowed around his body and surrounded him, cutting off all light. He tensed, alert, sword held ready - but he could not see to strike.

"So, little king, you would challenge me then?"

Finwë whirled, turning right towards the sound, but saw nothingness. Melkor! he realized, dismayed. But he tried to keep any hint of fear from entering his voice. "You should leave while you still can, foul one. Manwë will -"

"Do nothing," Melkor chuckled; this time, the voice emanated from the left. Whirling again, Finwë lashed out blindly, but the blade contacted nothing. "Manwë is cowering on Taniquetil, helpless and afraid. Why, he's nearly as blind as you are, little king! For I have destroyed the Valar's precious light; even now they sit weeping at the foot of two shriveled husks. I am the lord of this darkness, and you will now bow before me and swear me fealty - if, that is, you wish to go on living."

"You will not find me so easy to kill," Finwë spat, voice defiant though his heart pounded in mingled rage and fear. "And I will never bow before you, nor shall any member of my kin!"

"Foolish creature, most of your kin already call me Lord! True, your own children and their children have not yet prostrated themselves before me, for they fled like the cravens they are, abandoning you to my mercies. But that is no matter; I will return to deal with them at my leisure another time. Yes, I will return, and when I do I shall mold them into more pleasing shapes - just as I once did to your brother Aldwë. Oh, little king, you would not believe the screams he uttered while I was improving him - but in the end he was grateful for all the care I lavished on him, and dwelt submissive and content within my stronghold. You should have seen all the children he fathered in my service! Your nieces and nephews outnumber the sand grains on the beaches of Aman - or they did, before the Valar, whom you revere so much, so cruelly butchered most of them. Why you show such devotion to those merciless slaughterers of your family, I will never understand. But that is no matter. The Valar have befuddled your heart, that is all, and I can easily set you right again once you have acknowledged my authority. Now kneel. My patience is wearing thin."

Finwë was almost grateful for the darkness now, for it hid from Melkor's view the tears streaming down his face. But he was careful to let no hint of his grief touch his voice. "No. I will never kneel to you, nor shall any of my children. You are the Lord of nothing save folly. And though the Trees may shine no more, their Light now dwells within our hearts, and no horrors you unleash shall ever succeed in driving it out of us."

"This grows tiresome," Melkor replied. "I could, if I so desired, soon forcibly bend you to my will - but I now perceive that you are hardly worth the effort to teach. And I have other business in this place, which I should be attending to. So I will now leave you to the company of my companion. I do not think you will find it as enjoyable as my own, but since you have so clearly made your choice..." And then the voice went silent, and Finwë found himself standing alone in the impenetrable blackness.

He stood ready, still utterly blind but alert, listening intently, waiting for the sound that would indicate the direction he needed to strike. Then he heard it - a harsh chittering noise, coming almost straight from above. Suddenly the dull sense of dread he'd felt since he'd walked out into the darkness was gone - only to be replaced a few heartbeats later by a wave of fear like nothing he'd ever felt before in his long life. Under this new onslaught, Finwë's control at last gave way to panic; he lashed out with all his strength, swinging his arm in a great, sweeping arc - and felt the edge of the sword connect with something hard and then slide off, as though it had hit metal, or a shield.

And suddenly Finwë found himself becoming entangled in some filthy, clinging substance; though he tried desperately to cut himself loose, the sticky material fouled his blade, and despite his efforts his arms were soon pinned helplessly against his sides. He felt himself being lifted up, spinning sickeningly through the air, all sense of direction lost, nothing but Darkness everywhere - followed by the piercing pain of something stabbing brutally into his chest, and a rush of heat as his very blood seemed to turn into fire... As an agony greater than anything he had ever known consumed his senses, Finwë could not prevent himself from screaming in despair.

* * * * * * *

"And though the Trees may shine no more, their Light now dwells within our hearts, and no horrors you unleash shall ever succeed in driving it out of us." When he heard that boastful fool's tortured howl, and the greedy sucking sounds that soon followed it, Melkor could not help but smile. For had not the Lord of Arda promised his servant Light to sate her hunger? Still smiling, he quickly entered the now-abandoned palace. He needed to hurry; his servant would not remain distracted for long, and there was one Light here Melkor was determined to find and keep secret, for he had no intention of ever sharing it with anyone...