Darkened by reindeer_pizza

He had thought he had known hunger, when the snows were deep and the hunting poor, when his stomach clutched at his spine. What a fool he had been. The harshest winters were nothing compared to the pits of the Iron Hell. 

He clung to the edge of the pit, keeping his back to the wall. Food was thrown down regularly, but not often, and the ones who had been trapped here longer, who had already started to turn would sometimes grow impatient between feeding times. As long as he remained unobtrusive, showed no weakness, he had what passed for safety here. When he first arrived, he and the others had been stripped and their hair shaved, but he knew as it grew back the white locks would stand out in the perpetual gloom. He had already rubbed the filth of the pit into his skin, trying to blend into the jagged rocks and shadows of their cage. 

He stayed as still as possible, trying to conserve his energy. He had last eaten before his capture, and was trying to hold off from feeding on whatever scraps they tossed down. He would break eventually, he knew it, but he wanted to remain himself as long as possible.

Morëol. To be shadowed. That’s what they called them, the ones the Dark Rider and his Lieutenant had twisted into His servants. So many of their people had been taken in raids, only to come back and face their old clans in battle. Their skin was gray and pulled tight over their bodies, their fangs and claws grown long, and their eyes would radiate an unlight. Yet the morëol were not completely unrecognizable. They still looked like elves. Elves that had been dragged out of the realm of nightmares, but elves nonetheless. And whatever had been done to them, their skeltekta, the marks inked into their skin when they came of age, could still be seen on their faces.

He had heard the debates over if it was kinder to kill their own clanmates, or let them be slaughtered by strangers. His clan, the Cuind, viewed it as a mercy, though other clans disagreed. It didn’t matter. There would be none left to grant him the release of death, whether they recognized the marks on his face or not. 

The Cuind were the clan with the northernmost range, the ones who dared to stray closest to the Dark Rider’s strongholds. They were the ones who had suffered the most raids, and had lost the most kin. This last raid, the one he had been captured in, was the most brutal he had ever seen. He doubted there were any of his people that hadn’t been taken or slaughtered. When he closed his eyes, he could still see his mate, his Walkabani, being dragged away by a morëol bearing Hwenti clan marks. He hoped she was dead. It was a kinder fate than whatever awaited him.

He was pulled from his memory by the sound of fighting. A large Kindi male, skin already going gray, was locked in a scuffle with a smaller elf. They snarled as they circled each other, ears slicked back, each testing for a weakness. The smaller elf was already bleeding from a few scratches. The others in the pit gave them room to fight, eager for the outcome. Their jailers had taken too long. They had to make their own food.

The Kindi broke first. He lunged forward and grabbed the other elf. They wrestled, rolling over the broken stone floor. He could smell the blood. Against his will, he leaned forward. He didn’t care who won. All that mattered was who lost.

The Kindi reared back and bit down hard. A spray of dark blood gushed from the challenger’s neck. The Kindi swallowed his mouthful and went back for more, devouring his opponent while they were still alive. Some of the spectators rushed forward, trying to snag even a scrap of the dying elf. 

He dug his claws into the rock, holding himself back from the frenzy. He didn’t know how much longer he would last without food. 

His ears pricked at the sound of voices above them. He glanced up towards the top of the pit and saw a couple morëol standing there, holding stained sacks. They were pointing and laughing. One said something in their harsh language, which wrung another cruel laugh from their companion. They nodded at each other and upended their sacks into the pit. It was feeding time.

Dismembered pieces of elves rained down on them. He assumed that not all of those stolen in raids were taken to these pits, that some were kept unchanged as slaves. The Dark Fortress was a cruel place, yet they weren’t wasteful. When the slaves inevitably died, their bodies could be used to feed the next generation of monsters. 

The others noticed the new bounty falling on them, and left the Kindi to his meal. They scrambled around, snarling and snapping over arms and legs, tearing into elven flesh with abandon.

An arm landed by his hiding spot. The skin was pale with blue skeltekta criss-crossing over it. He could tell by the markings that it had belonged to a smith once. He had similar marks on his own arms. This was a person, someone who had lived and loved, someone with a name, with a family. This was a person, but now it was just meat.

And he was so hungry.

~*~

His skin was light gray when he was taken from the pit. He was dragged out in chains and taken to a chamber with a few other elves (Were they even elves anymore? They already looked so different from when they had first arrived). The flames of the torches along the walls flickered as the door at the opposite end of the chamber opened.

There was no mistaking the one who entered for an elf, despite their general shape and pointed ears. No elf had hair of living flame, and no elf could give off such an aura of malice. The very air was thick with his power, making it difficult to draw enough breath. The Lieutenant stepped closer. He went down the line of prisoners, looking over each one. Some he dismissed with a wave of his hand. Others, he would stand and stare deep into their eyes. What was he looking for? What was he judging?

The Lieutenant reached him. He tried to meet the Lieutenant's gaze. Slit burning eyes bore into him. He was pinned down, a spike of agony thrust through his skull. His soul lay bare, the Lieutenant picking and choosing the tastiest morsels at his leisure. Flashes of his life before were brought out and examined. Starlight in his mate’s hair. Burying his children, all too young to have names. Hearing tales of the Hunter, and those who went with him. The Lieutenant pulled at the thread of the stories, drawing out every scrap of information about the ones who left. Rumors of Elwë meeting a spirit, his people unwilling to go on. The forest that sprung up around them, twisted by the powers from elsewhere. He didn’t even remember hearing most of this, yet the Lieutenant dragged it from the recesses of his memories with little effort. 

The Lieutenant blinked and it was over, and he moved to the next elf in the line. 

~*~

After that initial meeting, he did not see the Lieutenant again, for which he was infinitely grateful. Instead, it appeared that his darkening was the responsibility of another spirit. He and the others who had survived the ordeal of the first pit (predators among prey, devouring their kin, even now his stomach roiling against what was done to survive) were shoved in cages too small to even stand in, and the spirit would come and rip apart their minds, twisting them into something new. 

Why do you struggle so, little one?the spirit asked. Its voice was a sweet lie, poisonous words dripping honey. Give in to the glory of Melkor, and you will be made anew, more powerful than you could ever have been without him.

His ears slicked back against his skull. He growled at the spirit, showing off his ‘improved’ fangs.

He could see now, what the elders had meant when they said the fëa shaped the hröa. All of them had already started to turn, skin graying, claws lengthening, yet they still appeared mostly elven. Now, he could see where the morëol had come from. The large Kindi who had dominated the pit was the first to be lost. His skin clung to his wiry muscles, fangs growing so long he could no longer close his mouth. The light gray tinge of his skin darkened as his blood turned black. His eyes were the worst. They had been pale, once, like all Kindi, but now they were two pits in his skull, emanating a dark unlight. After his eyes changed, the thing-that-was-once-an-elf was taken away, and did not return.

He could feel his own body changing, though much slower. His fangs were sharpening, and he had to relearn how to eat without cutting up his lips. He didn’t want to know what his eyes looked like, if they were starting to go dark. His mate had loved his golden eyes.

So stubborn, the spirit said in his mind. It matters not. All things break in time.

The spirit pulled back. He breathed a sigh of relief. The spirit smirked and slammed back into his mind. His body was on fire. White hot knives carved at his flesh. He twisted and writhed from the pain. 

The longer you resist, the more it will hurt.

“Fuck you!” he yelled. Not the most eloquent reply, but it was all he could force out through the pain. 

As quickly as it started, the attack stopped. He lay panting in his cage. Physically, there was nothing wrong with him, though he could still feel where the imaginary knives had cut him. 

Do you know what you said to me? the spirit asked, its tone light, almost conversational.

“Fuck you,” he panted.

The spirit shook its head. No. You didn’t speak in that miserable dreck your people call a language. You spoke the tongue of Angband. You are already one of His.

~*~

He wanted to die. Why couldn’t he die? He tried to will his fëa to leave his body, to flee from this place. The mark branded into his chest burned with each attempt. His struggles grew weaker and weaker. Death would not be a release, not for him. There was only one path forward. He would be a morëol, a mindless monster, set against his own people to rend and destroy. 

“Let me die,” he prayed to the ancestors, the first elves who awoke on the shores under the stars. 

“Let me die,” he prayed to the stars themselves. 

“Let me die,” he did not pray to the Valar. The Dark Rider was their kin, and though they had taken Him away, they were still of the same kind. The elves who had followed them were probably no better than him now, twisted and shaped into new forms to better serve their masters.

He took a deep breath. He only had enough energy for one more attempt. He visualized his fëa freeing itself from the prison of his body and floating away, free to dance among the stars. He had been too gentle earlier, trying to set his fëa free. He reached deep inside himself and ripped.

He screamed from the pain, worse than anything the spirit had ever done. He couldn't stop. He was so close. He could feel freedom in his grasp. A little more. Just a little more.

~*~

There was a rough grip on his ankle, dragging him across a floor worn smooth by time and use. He blinked, the dull torches still too bright for one who came so close to death. He glanced around, though his vantage point is oddly at floor level. What happened? He had been so close. It must have failed. 

He looked towards the thing dragging him. A morëol had him by the leg and was pulling him along. He was out of the cage. His hands weren’t bound. There was no one else around. Did it think he was dead? Was he being taken to be cut up into food?

He took a slow, deep breath. It was an awkward angle to launch an attack, but this was his only chance. He pulled back his free leg, and kicked out.

It dropped his ankle in surprise. It turned, and he leaped. Claws and fangs out, he ripped and slashed at the morëol, using every trick he learned from the pit. It was startled, off balance. It swiped at him with its claws, getting a lucky hit on his face. Blinking blood out of his eyes, he pulled its head back to expose the throat. He sank his overgrown fangs into its flesh, holding on until it stopped twitching. He shook it, making sure it was dead.

The hallway was empty for now, but he didn’t know how long that would last. He tugged the body into a small alcove and stripped it of its gear. Maybe he could pass as one of them long enough to get out. 

He licked the black blood from his lips and looked at the corpse one final time. He was loath to walk away from that much food, but there was no way to carry it with him, and he needed to be long gone before it was discovered.

He crept through the halls, not sure where he was going. He sniffed the air, trying to go where it was fresher, but that always led him to more and more of the Lieutenant’s creatures. He couldn’t trust his nose, so he followed his ears. They flicked and twisted, trying to catch every scrap of noise. His wanderings took him away from the populated parts of the fortress, down little used utility halls, until he heard a new sound. Running water.

He followed the sound until he came to a small, stinking waterway carrying away the fortress’s filth. It had to drain somewhere. Maybe outside? He followed the water. His little stream was soon joined by others, and it grew and grew into a river of waste water.

The smooth brick had long ago given way to rough hewn rock when he had to stop. The water passed through a metal gate set in an archway in the rock. He couldn’t see anything past a bend in the tunnel, yet the air was fresher than he had scented in ages. 

He looked at the grate, then at the river. His escape, foiled by a few metal bars.

No. He had come too far for this to be the end. He called on his training as a smith and hummed at the metal. It shrieked back at him, its Song made discordant and raw. Someone, something had tortured this metal, ignoring proper crafting in the name of efficiency. It would take too much time to unravel the Song.

He turned to the rock the grate was set in. This, too, had had its Song disrupted, but the agony was old and mild compared to the grate. He Sang to the rock, coaxing it to reshape itself, to shift just enough to make the grate loose. The rock grumbled and groaned. He Sang louder, desperation leaking into his voice. The rock cracked. He shoved at the grate, and it pulled free from the rock. He thanked it, weeping from the joy of almost freedom. 

He took a deep breath, and plunged into the water.

The armor he stole, while useful for hiding his identity in the fortress, weighed him down and interfered with his swimming. He struggled to get air before being dragged down again by the current. He was buffeted about, slamming into the stone walls. Another gasp of air. Twisting and turning through the waterway that people were never meant to see. Breathe! Scraped against the rough rock. When would it end? Would it end? Stop struggling, the current is stronger. Let it carry you.

At last, at last the water spilled out into a river snaking its way through the mountains. Using what little strength he had left, he made his way to the bank. He crawled onto the shore and collapsed. He should keep moving, he was still too close. He couldn’t find the energy to move. At least if they found him, he would die free, under the stars.

~*~

Now that he was out, the next question was where to go next. He had no more immediate plans than ‘away’, which was accomplished easily enough by following the river. Yet he knew he couldn’t keep going forever. The river would eventually feed into a lake, or maybe even the sea, and what would he do then? He could probably use the stars to navigate back to his home, but he doubted there would be anyone waiting for him. Even if some of his clan had survived, what welcome could he expect, changed as he was? 

So he followed the river, hoping that a better plan would find him before the Enemy did. He had plenty of water to drink, and was able to do some meager foraging, but the ever-present hunger hounded his steps. The time in the clean air, away from the foulness of Angband was doing him good, but his physical recovery was slow. It was little surprise then, that he didn’t see the people until he was almost on top of them.

The sound of singing pulled him from his reverie. A tributary flowed out of a cave mouth to join his river. Deep voices singing in a strange tongue drifted in the air. The sound was too lovely to have been made by dark creatures. Though he did not recognize the words, he could feel the intent. They were not merely singing, but Singing to the stone. 

He crept forward to get a better look. 

What odd creatures they were! Shorter than any adult elf he had ever seen, and with hair covering their faces. Their bodies were thick and muscular, yet there was a solid grace to their movements as they worked.

He shifted, and sent some rocks scattering. One of the creature’s head snapped towards him. It warned its fellows, and they all turned towards him. 

He stood and held up his hands, showing he wasn’t holding a weapon. The one who had noticed him stepped forward and spoke. 

He didn’t understand them and shook his head.

They muttered amongst themselves before another one spoke in broken Sindarin. “You elf?”

While his clan did have some contact with Elwë’s people, he personally spoke very little of their language. As for the question, well, that was the question now, wasn’t it? Did he still count as an elf? The process to darken him had already begun, it was obvious in his face, his skin. Yet they had asked, had not attacked. Perhaps they were unfamiliar with the Enemy. Perhaps they did not know.

Yet he would be honest. His voice was rough from disuse. “Morëol,” he choked out, garbling the word.

The speaker cocked their head. “Eöl? You…Eöl?”

He opened his mouth to correct them. He wasn’t Eöl, he was…he was…

He blinked. His name. What was his name? He had lost so much in that pit. The memories of his life before were fleeting and fragmented. He knew of his clan, he knew he had a mate (and oh, what was her name? Their children, he didn’t think any had survived to earn names, but what if he had forgotten them too?), he knew the vague outlines of history. But there were so many gaps, like moth-eaten fabric. What was his name?

A misheard scrap of a word. A sound that didn’t mean anything. Yet it was all he had. He nodded. “Yes. Eöl.”

Chapter End Notes

Tolkien did not write much about the various Avarin languages, so I use Primitive Elvish as a stand in when possible. Words used in this chapter:

Skeltekta: skin mark/tattoo
Walkabani: (name) Fierce Beauty
Morëol: become dark

So Eöl came to live amongst the dwarves. While they were distrustful of him at first, it was more to do with the fact he was an elf than the fact he had spent time in Angband. Yet slowly, trust was earned. His skill with smithcraft and Singing to metal and stone went a long way towards establishing his place amongst them. He was also taught Khuzdul, though this was partially out of practicality, as while Sindarin did have words for various metals and stone, true Dwarven smithcraft could only be properly spoken about in their own tongue. But he did not return the favor with his own tongue. The fragments of memories that remained to him were precious, and sharing them with others felt too intimate.

He was cleaning his personal forge when Rin, the first dwarf who spoke with him, popped in.

This forge, too, was the result of practicality. None of the dwarves had private forges, instead working together and sharing tools and materials easily. However, the difference in height and strength between Eöl and the dwarves made such working conditions less than ideal.

“Eöl, do you have a moment?” she asked.

He nodded and set down the rag he was using to wipe down his workbench. “Did you need something?”

She stepped inside. “How would you feel about joining my brother’s merchant caravan?”

“Why? I’m hardly a merchant. Can’t be for muscle, you’ve all made it clear I don’t hold a candle to the hardy stature of the dwarves,” he said. His voice was low and almost monotone, but Rin could hear the subtle teasing note hidden deep within.

“It is indeed a shame you were born an elf and not a dwarf. You’d be beating away the ladies with a stick,” Rin said. “But it’s an elf Nin needs. He’s hoping that if he brings an elf, the elves he’s trying to sell to may be more receptive.”

“He wants me to be shop decor?” Eöl asked. “Standing around and looking pretty isn’t one of my strong suits.”

Though the physical torments of Angband had begun to heal, there were things that even time could not erase. He was covered in marks of his torture, his skin would always be a pale gray, and his fangs and claws were sharper than that found on any other Avari. The last fight he had been in, the one that had won him his freedom, had left him with large scars on his face that pulled his upper lip into a permanent snarl. Yet his white hair had grown long and healthy again, and he wore in dwarven braids, and some of the scars had begun to fade. He even got new tattoos to show his mastery of dwarven smithing, the fresh ink mingling with his old skeltekta.

“That’s what I said, but he’s convinced. Are you going to humor him, or should I break his poor little heart?” Rin asked.

Eöl sighed. “When is he leaving and where are we going?”

Rin beamed at him. “In two cycles, you’ll be heading to Menegroth.”

~*~

He knew of Menegroth, though he had never been there before. He was familiar with dwarven architecture and thought that the city would be built along similar lines, given that the dwarves had aided in its construction. However, he was surprised at how un-dwarvish it was. If he hadn’t known better, he could almost have believed he was out in the woods. The pillars had been carved to resemble trees, and there were whole gardens full of flowers both living and carved from gems. The sounds of water splashing in fountains provided accompaniment for the nightingales as they sang. Even the cavern ceiling high above had been crafted to resemble the sky, with small lanterns and more gems in the place of stars (perfectly matching to the placement of the real things at midsummer).

Alas, for as beautiful as the city was, its people were not. Physically, yes, they were lovely, as all elves are. But the stares and the whispers Eöl could feel pressing down on him marred their beauty in his eyes. He refused to be cowed by them. He had nothing to be ashamed of, for what shame was there in survival? No, he had not come through his trials unchanged, but he doubted any of the gawkers could have done better than him in the pits of Angband.

He helped Nin and his merchants set up in Menegroth’s marketplace. He was mostly there as window dressing, but he was able to answer some of the questions prospective customers had. Nin’s plan did seem to be working, as many elves came to their stall, though Eöl wasn’t sure if the heightened interest was translating to heightened sales. Thankfully, the market stall wasn’t the main point of the excursion (that was the delivery of commissions and wholesale goods to several of the city’s guilds), but merely a way to earn some extra coin.

He had just finished explaining to some young ladies that, no, the daggers weren’t just decorative and yes, they were sharp, when he felt a familiar pressure against his mind.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Not here.

How had the spirit found him? How had it gotten in? He wouldn’t go back.

He wouldn’t. Go. Back.

He turned his mind to the presence. He took every ounce of his rage and pain and loss and honed it into a mental javelin. He took aim and hurled it with all his might at the invading force.

He heard a gasp of air as he felt the presence shudder from the blow. His ears flicked towards the sound. He turned to face his foe, snarl on his lips.

It was not his former tormentor.

This spirit was cloaked in the flesh of a tall elven woman, dressed in a luxuriously embroidered green dress with sleeves that almost touched the ground. Every movement made the scenes stitched into the fabric shift and dance, as if they were alive and not mere threads. Her midnight hair was held back from her face by a crown of jeweled flowers, and more gems had been braided into the long tresses. She had a hand pressed to her heart, but her expression was one of confusion, not pain. He had never met her, but could easily guess who she was.

He had attacked the queen of Doriath.

The young male elf serving as her escort fluttered around her, concerned about his queen’s sudden pause. She gently waved off his concern and looked directly at Eöl. He stared back, golden eyes unblinking.

She glided towards his stall. Nin bowed.

“Your majesty, you honor us with your presence,” he said.

She gave him a smile and nodded her head. “It is always a pleasure to see what new delights the children of Mahal have brought to our halls.” She turned to Eöl. “I believe I owe you an apology. I did not mean to cause you any distress.”

This was unexpected. “My dealings with your kind have not been pleasant, my lady,” he said, not sure how else to respond.

“I can see that,” she said in a voice heavy with sorrow. “Truly, I only meant to glean some information about the newcomer to my city. Most are unaware of my presence. I would not have harmed you.”

“Entering someone’s mind without permission is harm, whether they are aware of the violation or not,” Eöl said. Nin not so subtly elbowed him, trying to warn him about being rude to the queen.

“Such is the price paid for safety,” she said. “Keeping out the dangers of the world has a cost.”

“You could have done as your subjects seem content to, and judged me by my appearance,” Eöl replied. He could feel Nin’s frustrations rising. He knew he should stop antagonizing the queen. He knew what it was to anger a spirit in their own domain. But perhaps that was why he wasn’t backing down.

“Appearances can be deceiving. Had I judged by your face, I would not have known of your skills with magic,” she said.

“Magic?” he tilted his head. “I am no sorcerer nor spirit. What are you talking about?”

“Perhaps skill was the wrong word. Potential. Like I said, most would not have been aware of my presence. You not only felt me, you were able to retaliate, crude as your attack was. If I had to hazard a guess, this potential is also what served you and saved you while my kin imprisoned you.”

He did not question that she knew of his time in Angband. Anyone who looked at him would know of his past.

“Your kin?” he asked. “You still claim them then, despite what they have done?”

“Do you still claim the darkened ones?” she asked in turn.

He looked away.

She took mercy on him and changed the subject. “I would like to help you harness your potential. Stay in Menegroth and become my student.”

“Your offer is generous, my lady,” he began, “However, I must decline. My freedom was hard won. It would be foolish of me to willingly walk back into a cage.”

“I would not trap you here. No one is forced to stay in Doriath. They remain because this is their home. This is where they and their families can stay safe,” she replied.

“It is a lovely home, but it is not my home. Nor do I think it ever will be,” he said. “Once again, thank you for your offer. My answer is still no.”

She smiled. “That is quite alright. My offer will stand, should you ever change your mind.” She swept away, her attendant following in her wake.

“Did you have to offend the queen?” Nin hissed. “We’re lucky she didn’t just tell us to leave!”

Eöl shrugged. “You’re the one who insisted on bringing me. I told Rin this was a bad idea.”

~*~

Queen Melian did not kick them out of Doriath, despite Nin’s fears (and complaining). They concluded their business and returned to their mountains, carts lighter and pockets heavier. Eöl resumed his typical role in the community, that of smith instead of shopkeep.

Yet the queen’s words were never far from his mind.

While he was in the forge, keeping his hands busy with good, honest work, it was easy to dismiss her. He was no mage, and what little power he did have was found in the skill of his craft. A well-forged blade, beautifully repaired armor, this was magic enough for him. When he would crawl into bed with nothing to distract him, however, his thoughts had a different turn.

The dwarves had been good to him, though they had no reason for it. He could never repay them, no matter how hard he worked. Should they choose to rescind their kindness, he would be back out in the world, alone and vulnerable. Even if he wasn’t alone, numbers were no guarantee of safety. His people had been many, and they had been destroyed just the same. The dwarves were hidden in their halls of stone, but the Sindar had both a beautiful fortress and a powerful spirit to protect them.

He knew what was to be at the Enemy’s non-existent mercy. He would rather die than be held prisoner again.

He stayed with the dwarves for a few more years, trying to deny the appeal of gaining more strength to be better equipped to protect himself from the dark forces of the world. In the end, though, he knew he had already decided.

He accompanied Nin’s caravan to Doriath once again. Nin was starting to move slower, and his beard, once a deep black, was shot through with silver. This too was another reason for him to leave. He wouldn’t have to watch anyone else he cared for die. They could live on as they had always been in his memories, untainted by time and disease.

Queen Melian was unsurprised by his return. She smiled at him when he spoke about her offer, and welcomed him to Doriath as her student.

“Everything that is, was, or will be is part of the Great Song,” Melian began. “Through careful manipulation of each thing’s inherent connection to the Song, we can perform great feats. Some people have an innate connection with particular pieces of the Song. Your connection with stone and metal, for example.”

Eöl nodded. They were wandering through the starlit woods outside of Menegroth, Melian leading the way with no apparent destination in mind.

“The Song within individual things can come together to create greater melodies. Doriath has a Song, composed of the Songs of all the plants, birds, beasts, elves, and earth within it. If you listen carefully, you should be able to hear it, and through this Song, learn what the forest knows.” Melian came to a stop. “Open yourself and try to listen.”

Eöl nodded again. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He tried to spread his awareness out to the forest as he did with the metal on his anvil. His ears twitched and strained, flicking after every rustle in the undergrowth.

Melian gave a soft laugh and his eyes snapped open. “You look like you’re about to explode. Here,” she took his hand and pressed it to the rich, damp earth. “Try connecting just with the earth. But don’t force it. Open yourself and extend your fëa towards the Song.”

He closed his eyes again and tried to open himself. It was a challenge. He was so used to building up walls to keep others out that it also trapped him in. He could feel the hum of the forest, dangling tantalizingly just beyond his grasp.

Perhaps the forest was simply too large. He hummed, trying to listen for the Song of any nearby stones. A few hummed back, buried beneath the loam. Rocks were simple things, with no will of their own. Yet, there was still that familiar resonance that would respond to his hums. That must be the Song Melian spoke of.

He changed his tune, trying to push past the simple stones, to the earth that surrounded them. The Song was similar enough that the jump wasn’t too hard. He stayed with the earth learning the notes for the pieces within it. Stones, yes, ground so small and fine that each individual grain could barely be seen, but other bits as well. Bones and leaves, cast off dead things that would feed the next cycle of life. The roots of the trees, forcing their way through the ground, searching for the light little melody that was the water hidden deep below. Threading through it all was life. Teaming life, mushrooms and flower roots and worms and bugs and small invisible beasts he didn’t have the words for. The more he looked, the more saw. The more he listened, the more heard.

“Eöl. Eöl!” Melian’s voice snapped him out of the music.

He blinked and looked around. “What?”

“It is good that you can hear the Song, but you were going too deep. As the Song enters you, you enter the Song. If you aren’t careful, you can lose yourself,” she explained.

“What happens then?” he asked.

“I don’t know what would happen to you,” she said. “But it greatly diminished me.”

“Oh?” he asked, wiping the dirt from his hand as he stood.

“You have heard of the forest to the east of here, Nan Elmoth?” she asked.

“I have. Your people say it’s cursed.”

“That isn’t quite true. It isn’t cursed in the traditional sense. Neither the Great Enemy nor any of his servants sewed discord there. But it has been strongly affected by magic. My magic, though it no longer recognizes me and has grown wild and fey,” Melian said, her eyes growing distant with memory. “When I first met my husband, we stood in that forest, entranced by each other. I delved into his Song, and the Song of the forest. But I was foolish, and didn’t know when to stop. My magic got away from me, and changed both my love and the land around us. Thankfully, he seems to not be too scarred by my mistake. The same cannot be said for Nan Elmoth. The magic darkened, and it twisted the plants and animals within. What was once a place of love has become a place of great danger.”

“Is that how the elves here changed?” Eöl asked.

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve noticed some physical differences between the Sindar and my people, more than can be accounted for by being distant relations,” he said.

“Such as?” Melian asked.

Eöl didn’t speak, instead wiggling his ears. They were larger and far more mobile and responsive than any Sindarin elf’s, who could only shift them a little. The Sindar also had far smaller fangs and claws than him, and while his eyes were slit, their pupils were round, though he was unsure if that was due to a difference between their people, or if it was because none of the Sindar had been twisted in Angband.

“I am not doing what they did to you in Angband. I am not intentionally changing my husband’s people,” she said.

“Yet they have changed all the same. Though I am glad, for their sake, that the change appears to have been painless. But I do wonder what you will do to me, should I stay for a long time. I have changed enough.”

“And you will change more, though not through any work of mine,” Melian said. “Even elves change, though it is a very slow process. To live is to change. You will grow, learn, adapt. Even now you are different from the elf who first visited Doraith with dwarves.”

“Is it a change for the better?” Eöl asked.

“Only time will be able to tell.”

~*~

“It’s disgusting, really. How can your mother even stand to be around that thing?”

“She claims he is skilled with the Song.”

“More skilled than you or your sister? Or any others that live here? What makes it so special?”

“I’ve certainly never heard it sing.”

“It probably sounds like a toad.”

“Surely a toad’s croaking would sound sweet in comparison to whatever noise orcs call singing.”

“At least the queen’s favor keeps it on a tight leash. Imagine if she couldn’t reign in her pet.”

“Please, he’s not a pet. He’s…a, a curiosity if anything. I’m sure she only took him on out of pity.”

“I suppose you would know. Is it true that it only eats raw meat?”

“A word of advice,” Eöl said, rounding the corner to face the gossips. He could hear them flapping their gums from several hallways away. “If you’re going to yammer about things that don’t concern you, do it where you won’t be overheard.”

Daeron at least had the sense to look ashamed, but his friends did not.

“Why should I care what a beast thinks of me?” one said, stepping closer to Eöl. “I’ll say it louder. You don’t belong here. Even if you were an elf you wouldn’t belong here. The Unwilling made their choice. You refused the call, and now you’re taught by our maia queen? Why should some marred freak get an honor denied to the rest of us?”

“I agree, you were here first. So tell me, if she won’t teach you, what does that say? Because I think it reveals a lot more about you than it does about me,” Eöl said.

The elf reared back and threw a punch at Eöl’s face. Eöl caught his fist and dug his claws in. The other elf tried to free himself, but Eöl’s grip was iron. His struggles caused blood to well up around where Eöl’s claws pierced his flesh.

The other in the group started towards Eöl. He hummed, connecting with the earth beneath their feet. The ground shifted and rose up, clinging to their legs and trapping them. They cursed and shouted at him.

“You were the ones who were curious about my singing,” Eöl said. He glanced over at Daeron, the only one who hadn’t tried to attack him. “You should pick better friends, my prince.”

He shoved the elf who had tried to punch him back, knocking him into the dirt. Before any of the elves could free themselves from their earthen shackles, he vanished.

~*~

The bark of the branch he lay on was rough against his back. Faint music drifted through the air, coming from deep within the halls. There was some sort of festival or party going on. He hadn’t been paying much attention. He had attended a few after his move to Menegroth, but the ever-present whispers had grown to a poisonous hiss. Better to stay out in the woods and practice what he was being taught.

He gazed up at the stars through a gap in the leaves. He extended his fëa towards them, trying to connect with them as he did with Doriath. He could feel them just beyond his reach, their Songs too faint for his ears to catch no matter how hard he strained.

“Why am I not surprised to find you out here?” a familiar voice asked.

He pulled his fëa back. “Hello, princess.”

Luthien laughed. “Is there a reason you’re not at the feast?”

“I have no desire to be gawked at,” he answered.

She climbed up the tree and sat on a nearby limb. “The stares do get tiring after awhile.”

“They stare at you because you are their beautiful, beloved princess. They stare at me because they're still waiting for me to snap and start killing people,” he said.

“It can hurt to be placed on a pedestal as much as being thrown in a pit,” she replied.

He let out a bitter laugh. “I hope that you never see the pits that I have. You are meant for starlight, not darkness.”

“So are you,” she said. “All elves are made for starlight.”

“You must not have heard,” he said, injecting false cheer into his voice. “I am no elf, merely the queen’s pet orc.”

“Who called you that?” Luthien asked, rising in her anger.

He waved her off. “It isn’t worth the battle. The words have been said many times by many lips. And they aren’t precisely wrong.”

“You aren’t an orc!”

“You’re not denying the ‘pet’ bit,” Eöl pointed out.

“You aren’t that either,” she said.

“No?” he asked. “I am a curiosity. Your mother generously allows me to learn magic, and she generously allows me to stay, despite my marring. How kind of her to take pity on a poor, lonely Cuindi, I mean Avari. Or perhaps it’s not generosity at all, but a desire to keep a dangerous thing on a leash.”

“If you resent her this much, why do you stay?” Luthien asked. “She would not hold you here.”

“You misunderstand me. I don’t resent the queen,” he clarified. “Most of your family has shown me more kindness than I was expecting. It is your people that I grow weary of, the whispers haunting my steps, the expectations placed on me because of what I am, what was done to me. I would happily stay in these woods forever if there were no other elves about.”

“You still sound like you want to leave,” she said.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the stars above. “I’ve found myself growing restless lately. There’s something pulling me, calling me. I want to answer that call.”

“Do you plan on coming back?”

He nodded. “At least to visit. I still go to see my friends under the mountains. I would not treat you as less than them.”

“What’s it like? Beyond the edge of Doriath?”

“Beautiful. Terrifying,” he said. “There are vast plains of grass, and when the wind hits them just right, it looks like a golden lake as the plants dance in the breeze. There are places so dark that no light can penetrate, so the plants and animals produce their own light, like living stars. Up north, there are places where the water freezes and turns white, only leaving when spring arrives, bearing new life and flowers. Yet through it all, there is danger. The Enemy, yes, and all his monsters, but that isn’t the only source. Your mother taught Doriath to be kind. The rivers don’t flood. The rain is gentle. The scars of the ancient battles have long healed over. But out there? I will not say the world hates us, but it doesn’t give a damn if you live or die.”

“Despite that, I still wish to explore it some day.” Luthien said.

“I’m sure you will. I can’t imagine anyone being able to stop you, if you truly put your mind to it,” Eöl said.

Luthien smiled at him. Then, her expression changed as she looked at something behind him. He turned and saw a streak of white shooting across the sky. It grew brighter and brighter as it passed low over their heads. They lost sight of it as it moved east. After a few minutes, there was a low rumble and the earth shook.

“What was that?” Luthien asked.

“I don’t know,” Eöl said. “But I’m going to find out.”

His horse stepped nervously from side to side, unwilling or unable to move closer to the edge of the trees. He peered between the twisted trunks, trying to make out any shapes in the murky shadows. The air was warm and the stars twinkled a friendly greeting overhead, yet Nan Elmoth seemed to suck in all light and heat, an inescapable black hole.

He could turn around, forget this nonsense. No one had asked him to seek the falling star. Even when he had mentioned it to Melian, she had seemed uninterested. There was no guarantee the star was even in the dark woods. It could have fallen beyond the forest, or even been destroyed during its descent.

He dismounted and patted his horse’s neck, trying to reassure her. Not letting go of the reins for fear she would bolt, he stepped closer, raising a hand and pressing it to the rough bark of the nearest tree.

He knew Doriath, was used to Doriath. Doriath was a hound, lazing by the fire, warm and content and sleeping, yet ready to rise and defend its master should it be called on.

Nan Elmoth was not Doriath.

Nan Elmoth was awake.

Stranger. Stranger. Stranger. Strange. The message pulsed through the trees, passing from root to root through the dark earth. Branches rustled in a non-existent wind, creaking and groaning as the trees spoke to each other.

“Everywhere I go, I am a stranger,” Eöl said. “But I do not wish to harm you. I am seeking something, something I think may have landed in your heart.”

The star’s light, burning bright
Leaves reaching, branches seeking
Pain and crashing, branches thrashing
Rip and tear, dark despair
Heaven’s wrath, a broken path
Seek the stone, flesh and bone

Eöl blinked and pulled his hand away. “Does this mean I may enter?” he asked.

The trees shifted and pulled back. It wasn’t a true path, merely an opening between the trunks. He tried to lead his horse through, but she wouldn’t budge. He glanced between her and the woods.

“Thank you for bringing me this far,” he said, stroking her nose. “I can make my way from here.” He let go of her reins. She nudged him, then once she realized he wasn’t coming, turned and raced away.

He stepped into the woods, sticking to the almost path the forest made for him. He wandered for over an hour before he found the first signs. He turned around a large tree and saw the unmistakable trauma of a large object crashing through the woods. Broken branches were scattered everywhere, and a few of the smaller trees had even been felled. He touched one of the shattered trunks and felt an echo of the tree’s dying scream. The tree was gone, but the forest remained, and would remember.

He followed the star’s trail of destruction, finding more broken branches and twisted trunks. When he reached the end, he was surprised by how underwhelming the star was. For all the damage it had caused when it carved its path through the woods, it wasn’t very big, barely coming to his waist. It also wasn’t particularly pretty. It didn’t shine and was a dark, dull gray.

Swallowing his disappointment, he lay a hand on the stone.

Who are you? the star asked. Its voice was weak, and if it had lungs, Eöl would have said it was gasping out its last breaths.

“Eöl,” he replied. “Who are you?”

I once was Anglind, but alas, I can no longer claim that name. While I once was fair, I listened to the Great Enemy instead of my Lady and allowed his shadows to enter into my heart. I can see clearly now, but it is too late. My Song is ending, alone in the dark, Anglind replied.

“Not alone,” Eöl said. “And I can make you fair once again, though you will not look the same. I can work stone and metal to make beautiful things.”

I do not want to be beautiful, Anglind said. I want to strike against the Enemy. That is my last wish. Make me into a weapon, that I may strive against the darkness even after my death.

“I will,” Eöl promised. “I will make you into a sword, and you will be able to drink the blood of evil-doers to your heart’s content.”

Thank…you…Eöl… Anglind whispered. The star said no more.

Eöl looked around. Anglind’s descent had left a clearing in the heart of Nan Elmoth, as well as making plenty of fuel in the form of broken wood. He could make a crude forge here.

He could sense the trees watching as he worked, though they didn’t interfere. He gathered the branches and trunks and set the wood in a pile, making a clear space. He hummed as he worked, discovering the Song of Nan Elmoth.

There were a few familiar elements, a trill here, a harmony there, little touches that reminded him of Melian. However, the forest had created its own music, building on the base the maia queen had laid to make something entirely new. Yet even in this new cadence, there was something familiar, though it didn’t sound like Melian.

It sounded like Eöl.

Or at least, it sounded like the darkened part of his Song, the tune that had been corrupted by his time in Angband. He wasn’t sure where the darkness had come from in Nan Elmoth, but there was no denying its presence. It didn’t frighten him like it once did. This darkness was simply part of Nan Elmoth, like it was simply part of him.

He built his forge, crude as it was, and melted down Anglind, refining the star-iron ore into something usable. It felt good to work with his hands again, doing the motions that were second nature to him. As he worked the star-iron, he heard how the darkness had woven its way into Anglind’s Song as well.

He pulled on everything he knew as a smith and everything he learned from Melian to forge the star-iron. The Song flowed through him and his connection to the metal and the forest, drawing the three of them, Eöl, Nan Elmoth, and Anglind, closer and closer, binding them together. He poured his very fëa into the twin blades that took shape beneath his hands, forged with fire fueled by Nan Elmoth.

At last, at last, the swords were complete. He didn’t know how long he had been in his creative trance, though he knew it must have been a few days based on his hunger.

“You will be Anguirel,” he said to the first sword. “And you will be Anglachel,” he said to the second. He smothered the forge fire and lay down, the two blades at his side, Nan Elmoth keeping watch as he slept.

~*~

“You’re back!” Luthien said, dragging him into a hug. He staggered under the enthusiasm of her greeting, still not recovered from the creation of the star blades.

“I said I would return,” he said.

“You didn’t say that to us,” Melian said as she and Thingol entered the royal family’s sitting room. “You passed beyond my sight almost a month ago. Where have you been, my apprentice?”

Eöl gave the queen and king a small bow. “Forgive my absence. I went searching for the falling star in Nan Elmoth.”

“And what did you find?” Melian asked.

Eöl laid a bundle on a table. He unwrapped it to reveal the two swords. “These are Anguirel and Anglachel, made from the star Anglind. It was the star’s wish to be wielded against the dark.”

The princess and king leaned in to more closely examine the blades, but the queen pulled back as if expecting the swords to leap up and attack.

“How can they be wielded against the dark when they are of the dark?” she asked. “Eöl, what have you done?”

“What do you mean?” Thingol asked. “The swords don’t seem evil to me. They are beautifully made, and either would be an honor to bear.”

“Can you not hear the darkness in their Song?” Melian asked. “They were made of corrupted material, in a corrupted forest, by…” she stopped.

Eöl crossed his arms. “No, please, continue. What were they made by?”

Melian sighed. “I meant no offense. But you are surely aware that your Song was changed by your time in Angband. That change will be passed on to your creations. Anything that holds a piece of your fëa will also carry the stain of Angband.”

“Are you saying that everything I make is doomed to be tainted by what was done to me?” Eöl snarled, his ears slicking back against his head. “Will I never be free? What’s the point of being away from that hell if I carry its curse with me?”

“You are alive, you are safe, and you are still yourself. That is more than most who enter Angband can say,” Melian said.

“Yet I am not whole, and apparently everything I make will only spread its stain further. Why bother to teach me if I’m so cursed?” Eöl asked.

“I had hoped that by teaching you about the Song and Music that we would be able to remove the remaining traces from you,” Melian said, “But now I believe to do so would kill you. It is too tightly entwined in your fëa. I’m sorry, but you will forever be darkened.”

“I see,” Eöl said. He rewrapped the blades and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Melian asked.

“Somewhere my presence will not be considered a blight,” he growled.

“Wait!” Luthien said as he opened the door. “Please don’t go, you just got back.”

“I’m sorry, princess,” Eöl said before slamming the door behind him.

~*~

Nan Elmoth did not seem surprised by his return. The leaves rustled in greeting as he stepped beneath the shadowed bows. He made his way to the clearing that held the remains of his forge. He fell to his knees and rested on the dark earth.

Why do you weep, little shadow? the wind through the branches asked.

Eöl touched his cheek, but his fingers came away dry. “I’m not crying.”

We feel your tears all the same, the crickets chirped. Your soul is in pain.

“What could you know of my pain?” he asked.

You’re lonely, a fuzzy bee buzzed.

Poor little shadow, a stalking beast purred as it circled the clearing on silent feet. Your people are gone.

The dwarves were kind, but you could never fit in, never belong with them, an owl hooted.

The elves are disgusted by you, a cluster of pale mushrooms chorused. ”There, but for the grace of the Valar, go I.”

You were never a person to the queen, just a project, the ground beneath him rumbled. Even if she couldn’t fix you, she could keep you on a leash, stop you from hurting others.

“What’s your point?” Eöl asked. “Do you think me a fool? Do you think I don’t know all of this? What do you want from me?”

Stay with us, the forest said. We see you and we know you. We are like you. We too have been changed and darkened by forces outside our control. We were once full of light and love, but now we are abandoned and hated. Stay with us, little shadow.

“Everything has a cost,” he said. “What will staying cost me?”

You be of Nan Elmoth
You will be of us
You heart will belong to the forest

The woods echoed in his mind with a hundred different tongues.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

You may go where you wish, the trees said, but you will never truly leave us, nor we you. You will carry us in your heart, and we will give you strength, safety, love.

“I’m so tired of being alone,” he said, slumping down, his cheek pressing against the forest floor.

Branches reached down as roots reached up, wrapping him in a living cocoon.

You will never be lonely again.

~*~

Thingol picked his way through the underbrush, his guards flanking him as they made their way deeper into Nan Elmoth. He had fond memories of the forest but time had taken its toll, turning the once beautiful woods into a place of danger. If he had his choice, he wouldn’t be here at all, but Melian had asked, and he would not refuse her. Now if only he could find that blasted Eöl!

The shadows grew denser beneath the bows of an ancient tree, solidifying into the shape of an elf.

Eöl bowed his head. “Hail, King Thingol. To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

His eyes gleamed in the faint light of their torches. The months away from Doriath had been good to Eöl. He stood taller and had gained muscle. His armor was strange though, like darkness made solid, and he moved with an unnatural grace, more like that of a wild animal than a proper elf.

“I come bearing the words of my Lady. She wishes to apologize for what she said before you last departed,” Thingol said.

Eöl didn’t seem interested in his words, barely paying him any heed. He was more focused on analyzing the elves Thingol had picked to accompany him.

“What is she apologizing for? That she said the words, or that I heard them?” Eöl asked, still not looking at Thingol. “Many share the same sentiments. Including the one on your right. How did your hand heal, by the way?” he said to the elf in question.

They stiffened. “Fine. Didn’t even scar.”

“Pity. I hope the lesson sank in, at least. Or do you still gossip about people with Daeron?”

Thingol coughed. “Their actions are irrelevant. Melian is sorry that you were hurt. She would have come here to deliver her apologies herself, but was unsure how you would react to her presence. She hopes that you will return with us to Menegroth.”

Eöl paused, seeming to mull the idea over. “No.”

“No?” Thingol asked. “What do you mean, no?”

Eöl examined his claws. “I have no interest in returning to that nest of vipers you call a home.”

“Then where will you go? You can’t stay here,” Thingol said, indicating the gloom of the forest. “It’s far too dangerous.”

“Why can’t I stay? No one else wants us. Why shouldn’t we stick together?” Eöl asked. “I understand Nan Elmoth in a way you never could, oh bright King Thingol, filled with the light of the Trees. What do you know of darkness?”

Thingol rolled his eyes, thoroughly unimpressed by the spooky act Eöl was putting on. “Understand it or not, it is still part of my domain. Meaning I decide who has leave to reside within it.”

“Nan Elmoth does not recognize you as its master,” Eöl said.

“Oh? Does it recognize you instead?” Thingol scoffed.

Eöl laughed, a rough, grinding sound. “Nan Elmoth has no master, other than itself. We have embraced each other, but neither commands the other. We are a partnership, outside your laws.”

“Be that as it may, I will not simply hand the forest over to you. It is precious to me as it is where I first beheld my Lady. You may not have it simply because you have spoken with it,” Thingol said, trying to get a hold of the situation.

“What would you demand as compensation?” Eöl asked.

Thingol thought, casting his mind about for what the strange, mutilated elf could possibly have that would rival the value of the forest. Unbidden, the image of twin gleaming blades rose before him.

“The star swords,” Thingol demanded. “Give them to me, and Nan Elmoth is yours.”

“More trinkets for your treasury, my king?” Eöl sneered. “I will not give them to you. They deserve more than to be forgotten in a hoard.”

“Then I will have you removed from this forest,” Thingol signaled to his men.

Eöl took a step back. “Wait! I will not give them both to you. But I could be convinced to part with one, in exchange for exclusive rights to Nan Elmoth.”

Thingol held up his hand for his soldiers to wait and made a great show of thinking it over. “Very well. One of the star blades and you become Lord of Nan Elmoth.”

Eöl stepped closer and unstrapped Anglachel from his back and passed it to Thingol.

Goodbye, Eöl, the blade whispered as it left his hands. Thingol didn’t appear to hear it.

“I believe that concludes our business. Unless you have a message for my wife?” Thingol said.

“I am grateful for her help and what she has taught me. I hope we will meet again someday, but for now, I wish to be alone with my forest,” Eöl said.

“I see,” Thingol said. “I hope your wooden kin bring you peace.”

Eöl watched as the king and his men left his forest. “I hope that as well.”