Far Over Land and Sea by polutropos

Dagor-nuin-Giliath

Prompt: Splendor lost.

“Canafinwë!” his father bellowed. Between them, crackling, flaming whips cut through the northern sky. Fëanáro cried through the noise, “Sing! Sing our Enemy to ruin!”

But the songs in Macalaurë’s breast had tied themselves in knots and stoppered his throat since that night on the piers. It was the price, he deemed, of borrowing threads of the Enemy’s Music for himself.

Varda’s stars flickered overhead, distant and cold. The winds were still. The air grew thick with the ash-laden breath of the fire demons. Even so had a cloud of smoke engulfed the firth when the ships burned. By the time the first great mast toppled, Macalaurë could no longer make out where his blazing arrows fell.

There was no beauty in such foul fire.

Fëanáro’s flashing helm was swallowed by the shadow of the greatest of the Valaraukar. Macalaurë’s commands rose above the tumult, sending line after line of soldiers crashing against their foes. It was not enough.

“Macalaurë!” Maitimo called to him now. “You must sing!”

Faced with destruction, the knots unravelled. Macalaurë’s Song, deep and terrible, surged over the field of battle. The whips of the Valaraukar were as streaming seaweeds caught up and tangled in the wave of sound. The elven forces followed in its wake, their swords gleaming like silver foam.

As their foes faltered, the warriors of the Noldor took up the Song and pressed forwards. A thousand mighty voices rolled over the plain. The enemy fled.

Fëanáro exulted – then collapsed. The victorious Noldor made their retreat in heavy silence.

No dirge was sung for Fëanáro’s remains as they sped away on a black gust.

It had not been enough.