Farewell, Most Fair by sallysavestheday

Farewell, Most Fair

The ash sifts down, black in the pale air, settling on their upturned faces and their open, disbelieving hands. The great thunder of the falling tower goes on and on, until the deep resounding throb becomes so familiar that the silence when it ends is almost painful – a stillness that marks a border between what has been and what, now, the new world might become. In the hush, there is only the harsh rasp of their breathing and a faint rustling and settling of the remaining stones.

Olórin does not know who begins the cheering, but the waves of it pour over the assembled forces like clear water, washing away the certainty of death like so much dust. There are tears, too, on nearly every face, as the Men of the West and their allies breathe free again at last. Tears not least on his own cheeks, for that reason and for others, now that the darkness has passed.

He is gone: the bright Eye, the beautiful Enemy, once so fair and strong. Never wise, perhaps, but keen and clever and sharp as a diamond, all heat and brilliant, dancing air. Time was, that whirling spirit wound with his own and Sang, gloriously, calling forth wonders out of the dark. For a little while, they moved together, bound and tender, tasting the Music and singing it back to lighten the night.

Chasing perfection, He had fallen: all His marvelous designs corrupted in that desperate, furious seeking, that increasing rage. No longer Admirable, but still fire-bright, red hot and burning, burning, devouring the splendors of the world in His ravening hunt for power and purpose and might. Darkness swallowed Him, beyond cure, beyond redemption. Few now remember His luminous beauty, His brilliant joy in creation. His ancient, dazzling light.

Olórin wipes his undisciplined eyes but the water will not stop rising. He stares at the space where Barad-dûr was until the hot wind of Sauron’s passing dries his tears.