The Book of Short Tales by Lyra

Random - A Darker Shade of Black

In a discussion about femslash a few days ago, I snarked that I wouldn't touch it if the pairing didn't work for me, like Varda/Thuringwethil. About 24 hours later, I was bitten by a plotspider. It seems that Varda/Thuringwethil doesn't work for me, but Varda/Ungoliant does...

Kinda experimental, but there you go.

A Darker Shade of Black

They were created from the same thought, light and shadow. High-bright was the most powerful of them, and from the beginning, Soft Twinkle, Secret Shadow and Gloom-weaver* followed in her wake. But dearest to High-bright was Gloom-weaver, her opposite, and they loved each other: Not as sisters in the thought of the One, nor as lady and vassal, but in the way that opposites attract, and one cannot go without the other. They sought each other's presence constantly, entwined, mingled, poured their thought into each other. The melodies of High-bright were brilliant and acute, flashing and burning almost painfully; but the soft, dark silence of Gloom-weaver mellowed them, took the edge off them, soothed hurt senses and wove gentle darkness around them. Together, they were in harmony.

Together, they explored the secrets of their respective powers. Sometimes, High-bright felt that Gloom-weaver understood light better than she did. She certainly understood the need to look closer, see clearer, but where High-bright was blinded by her own light, limited by the gleam she cast on all things, Gloom-weaver could creep into the smallest crannies of creation and look into the deepest darkness behind the mists of time. What she found there, she shared with High-bright, in the way that they shared a theme in the music, their joy in existence, their very essence. They loved each other, enveloped each other, probed and caressed and kissed the deepest depths of each other's spirit. It was a love burning bright and hot, and yet dark and deep.

It did not last. Shadows are soft and passive, but light consumes and constantly needs fuel. By and by, High-bright was drawn rather to spirits more like hers, bright and sharp and powerful. Perhaps she was a little too flattered when some asked her to shed light on shapes they had thought out, or when they praised her for the beauty of her gleaming spirit. Perhaps she had grown tired of Gloom-weaver, whose spirit she now knew intimately and entirely, and who could offer her nothing new. Perhaps she meant no harm, but simply did not realise the hurt she caused Gloom-weaver, no longer tuned in to her silences. Perhaps she expected her to follow her, as Soft Twinkle did, ever at her heels to admire her. Perhaps, also, High-bright meant to return to Gloom-weaver later, once she tired of the novelties that now enthralled her, once she tired of the Blessed One, who charmed her most of all.

Gloom-weaver did not want to be reduced to a hand-maiden or an awe-struck observer, watching while the most gifted of Ainur interacted in splendour. But she did follow High-bright, trying to win her back with the arts she had been given. She toyed with the intensity of shadow, so that things could appear brighter, or darker, or other than they were. She made a whole spectrum of shades, all slightly different, each a little darker than the other.
But High-bright had no mind to admire them, when the Blessed One could mirror her flashing fire in gleaming air, and could break her light into many colours. And the Blessed One scorned Gloom-weaver's work. "See, all you can do is take what others make, and dim its brilliance. But I can make new colours where before there were none." And together, High-bright and the Blessed One turned away.

Gloom-weaver persevered. She wove shadows deeper and darker than any she had made before, so dark that they could swallow light rather than merely dim it, so dense that they became a thing of their own. But High-bright did not care for the un-light, when the Blessed One could clothe her light in white clouds that shone and shimmered and spread her light in the most enticing ways. And the Blessed One scorned Gloom-weaver again. "See, what you have made is but darkness. There was darkness before there was ought else. This is nothing new!"
And to High-bright he said, "Who is this lesser spirit who pesters us with her games?"
And High-bright, fearing that he might think her unworthy of his attention if she defended Gloom-weaver answered, "It is Gloom-weaver, one of my servants."

It is not known whether she spoke with regret, or whether she even understood how deeply she had hurt her one-time lover. In a single flash of light, all love for High-bright was burnt from Gloom-weaver's spirit forever, and her heart was scorched so deeply that it could never heal. The light was now hateful, the music was now a noise unbearable, and even her own existence was despicable. Gloom-weaver withdrew into the Void and wove mists of unlight around her, swallowing all light and muting all music. If High-bright ever looked for Gloom-weaver, she had no hope of finding her, for she could not penetrate the unlight, nor could she understand the darkness that was darker than the Void.

There Gloom-weaver might have remained, silent and invisible, forgotten until the end of creation. But in time she realised that she was not alone in the Void; and in more time, curiosity grew where she thought all feeling had been killed. She went to observe the spirit in the shadows, waiting, gathering strands of information. He was powerful and bright and sharp, she realised, easily as powerful as the Blessed One and High-bright together. Yet he was not with his brethren, showing off and making noise. Instead, he was exploring the darkness, quiet and alone. Gloom-weaver was intrigued. At last she came out of hiding. When she revealed herself, she fully expected to be scorned again. But the strange spirit was polite. He introduced himself as Arising-in-Might. He admired her unlight, and listened to her silences. He flattered her and asked to learn her powers. She wove the finest webs of shadow, the likes of which she had once made for High-bright. She showed him how she could change the shade of things, to make them seem other than they were. She showed him how she could protect herself from the hateful light.

He watched, and listened, and learned of her. He never mastered the art of weaving, but he became very apt at painting with shadows.
"I, too, have learned things that the others do not understand," he said when she had shared all that she could. "In the Void, I have looked into myself, and there found many things strange and wonderful. To thank you for sharing your wisdom with me, I would now share my knowledge with you. I have discovered a new concept that may be of particular interest to you..."
She leaned in to listen.

"I call it 'revenge'", he said.

Chapter End Notes

* As the Valarin corpus is ridiculously tiny and I would have had to make up pretty much everything (except for High-bright, which might be *phanai-dahan, perhaps with a personal ending -(long vowel)z), I gave up on constructing Valarin names for these folks. So I call them by English translations of what their Valarin names might have been. Believe me, it makes more sense than making up neo-Valarin words. - High-bright is Varda, Soft Twinkle is Ilmarë, Secret Shadow is Thuringwethil, and Gloom-weaver is Ungoliant. The Blessed One is Manwë – this is indeed what his Valarin name Mânawenûz translates to – and Arising-in-Might is Melkor.