Along Came an Elf by dalliansss

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Snake-tongue and Barrel-riding

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Melkor, Vala of Change and Duality, fled south of Aman just as the Valar were turned the other way, anxiously watching the departure of the Noldor from Tirion-upon-Túna. He unclad himself, shedding his fana, and so proved to be undetected as he flew formless, south, far south, even beyond Mount Hyarmentir, there toward the shadowed peaks where the Lights of Laurelin and Telperion cannot reach, and where creatures from the Primal Void lurked, beings of darkness older than the Ainur themselves, even older than himself, the First of Eru’s Thoughts Incarnate. Nobody, not even the Ainur, knew where these creatures came from. Even Eru Ilúvatar did not answer queries about them. What Melkor knew was this: for as long as Eru existed, the Void existed also, as did the creatures that lurked inside it.

 

Creatures of the Primal Void were extremely dangerous: they devoured radiance, light, forever attracted to it and forever hungering for it – and once they devoured light, nothing escaped, not even fëar wrought from the Imperishable Flame. Yet they cannot consume the Flame itself, and so Eru can not be harmed by the Primal Void. Where there is Darkness, there is Light: this is the First Balance of Duality, and from where Melkor sourced his Purpose. 

 

He reached his destination and he withdrew as much as he could of himself, keeping his own radiance well-concealed, so as not to provoke the eternal hunger of the creature he came to negotiate with. He wore his elven fana, his fair form of jet-black hair and amber-gold eyes, as he walked barefoot upon the grass that led toward the dark crags and crevasses where Ungoliant made her home. Yet he did not fully approach; upon reaching an ample distance, Melkor halted there. 

 

I summon the mistress of these shadowed cliffs, Ungweliantë, he called, his voice coming from all directions, echoing upon the gloomy gray cliffs. I come to thee with a proposition.

 

There was silence, at first, and then the clicks sounded – echoed by the surrounding crags and cliffs, making it appear like there were a thousand other fell beings hiding in those clefts and secret passages. And there could very well be – the dark places of Aman, Endorë and the depths of Ekkaia housed terrors and horrors that even the Ainur would be hard-put to battle against. 

 

Melkor braced himself; Unlight crept from a rather deep gorge just to his right, and he turned toward it. The darkness moved as if it had a life of its own, and he let his amber-gold eyes linger on the creeping darkness that no Light, save Eru’s, could escape nor penetrate. It would serve him well to have a bit of Unlight. While he can unclad himself, in the future, a cape made out of this primal dark will suit him very well. 

 

But to the task at hand.

 

The Spider emerged. She was akin to the size of a small, sizable hill – six eyes of utter darkness, darker than the deepest, starless night. Her chelicerae clicked rhythmically, one, two, three; one, two, three– and she easily towered over him while he wore his current fana. 

 

Brave of you, light thing, to come close to my lair. I have devoured two of your fellows, but their lights were meager. I know you are hiding your radiance, said Ungoliant, staring down Melkor.

 

“I find myself in need of the aid of a mighty creature such as you, for a deed of great purpose,” Melkor stated. “In return for your aid I promise you a feast, out of that which sustains your existence.”

 

Why do I not devour you now where you stand? Ungoliant advanced menacingly, rearing up, her chelicerae clicking. 

 

“Because I will make for only a short-term satiation,” said Melkor, standing his ground, even as the first pair of her many legs reach for him. “And you know this to be true. Whatever radiance I possess will only satiate you for…one, two, five years at most? And for eternal beings, what is five years to us? Mere seconds. No, I offer you a greater feast that will satiate you for a longer time. If you listen to my proposal.”

 

Ungoliant paused. If she were alone, it was easy to shut up this light thing and eat him where he stood, like what she did to Oromë’s hunters. But in the past few weeks she had gone to befriend Turko, and had learned a lot talking to him as he kept himself awake and chatty to distract from the pain of his broken leg. 

 

A hunter can’t just hunt everything, heritúra, Turko had told her. If predators consume everything without giving chance for prey to replenish numbers, what will there be to eat in the future, eh? If you consume Arda, where will you be? Eh? Eh? You will float around, in the great nothing, I suppose – s-sweet Námo, it hurts – and you’ll be hungry forever, because there’ll be no food left, and then you’ll have to eat yourself in the end. Doesn’t make much sense, h-huh? I suppose you could float yourself to the nearest star in reach, I don’t know how you’ll do that, but uh, suppose let’s say it’s p-possible. Rrrrrrgh, Ilúvatar in Eä, it hurts, I’ll die, I’ll die– and…and…where was I? Yes. Stars. Float….how even… ha ha…ha…

 

Keeping Turko’s words in mind, she stared down Melkor, lowering herself back onto her legs. What do you offer, light thing? She queried.

 

Melkor tilted his head forward – a miniscule bow. “If you follow me to the peak of Mount Hyarmentir, I shall show you.”

 

Silence settled between Spider and Ainu, Ungoliant clicking her chelicerae. She processed this. If she left her lair, she would leave Turko, whose leg was still broken. He would not be able to defend himself…but she had to see light thing’s offer. Always her hunger dictated much of her decisions, and though it delighted her to befriend Turko and promised herself she would not eat him, she could not truly pass up this chance. Ever since the Bright One existed in the Void, all that light called to them, her brethren, things of the dark and shadow, and since time immemorial they pursued the Bright One, but ultimately could not harm It. They could only devour what Bright One created. And when Eä was created, she and her kin were drawn to it, descending to it as the Ainur did, hiding in the dark and secret places for the unwary to pass, consuming them, if only to assuage their hunger, which has existed since Bright One first sparked into Existence.

 

“Well, mighty one?” Melkor prompted.

 

A click. Very well. Lead the way. If you trick me, I shall devour you.

 

Melkor turned heel, and once more unclad himself. He took to the air unseen, but Ungoliant could follow him, and she crept from her lair, keeping to the crags and hills, crossing the plains as a great darkness that momentarily blinded anything she passed. Together they ascend Mount Hyarmentir, the second highest peak in all of the world, next only to Taniquetil on the summit of which nestled glittering Ilmarin, Manwë and Varda’s abode. 

 

Distance did not matter to ones such as Melkor and Ungoliant, and there by the peak, beyond the clouds, Melkor once more assumed his elven fana, and pointed toward the direction of Ezellohar, where Laurelin and Telperion arose, fair and mighty in form and brilliance.

 

“Behold the Two Trees of Valinor,” Melkor pointed toward the Trees with his great lance. “Yonder those two are the source of light in all of Aman, save from the inherent light the Ainur bear within themselves. And by the Trees you shall also find the Wells of Varda, which contain further light with which you may help yourself.”

 

Which task are you trying to accomplish that you shall offer me all this? Ungoliant asked, turning six eyes to Melkor. She clicked her chelicerae warily. Creature of the Primal Void she might be older than the Ainur, still, if it came to battle and all the Ainur in Aman put their strength together, she would be hard-put to win such a conflict, even if she could devour many of them. And what Ainu or fëa she devours, there shall be no returning for them.  They cease to exist from all planes completely. There was no rebirth, no resurrection – nothing. 

 

“We shall head north toward a city called Formenos,” Melkor replied after a pause. “Where I shall get more gems to reward you with. Precious stones filled with radiance and brilliance, wrought by the Noldor, the craftspeople of the Eldalië. Then, you shall aid me to cross the Helcaraxë so I might return to my fortress, Angband. In exchange for your aid, I shall give you what gems we shall get from Formenos, and for this final task, you shall also grant me a piece of your Unlight. There on Endorë, we shall part ways, and you can go along to do whatever pleases you most.”

 

And why are you trying to accomplish all this? Ungoliant asked next with a series of clicks.

 

Melkor half-turned to the Void Spider. “Because, mighty one, if the Eldar stay here in Aman, everything shall rot into entropy and I will not have that happen.”

 

…Whatever that meant. Ungoliant could care less about light thing’s purpose. The sight of the Two Trees stirred her ancient hunger, and the promise of more…the decision was easy to make, but then she remembered tittandil, Turko, and she could not leave him alone in her lair. No matter. She would take him along, hide him from light thing in a small bag of her Unlight, and then she would drop him off somewhere safe before they crossed this Helcaraxë.

 

Very well, she said. I shall aid you. But you shall not deceive me, light thing, else I shall devour you too if you try. You in turn shall reward me with both hands, sparing nothing, for the risk I shall take here is very great, and I will only be appeased by a reward of equal greatness.

 

“In three days we shall meet here again on this peak,” said Melkor, ignoring her threat. “Then we shall set out to do what we must do.”

 

==

 

Three days.

 

Three days for Tirion-upon-Túna to have been mostly emptied, save for the Noldor who would not be sundered from their homes and what meager livelihood have remained after much of the populace. It was supposed to be the time of the High Feast, but Tirion had become a ghost town, and there was nobody to celebrate. Manwë had sent his maiar, after the Noldor to get them to return to the city, and at that moment, the Noldor were encamped at a great location halfway between Formenos and Tirion, near the foothills of the Pelóri. 

 

It was then that Melkor and Ungoliant struck; both clad in Unlight (and Turko with them, concealed in a bag of Unlight) and so they escaped the eye of even Manwë – going right for the Two Trees. Melkor struck Laurelin and Telperion with his lance, and Ungoliant tore into their roots, injecting her poison into them as she devoured their sap in insatiable hunger. 

 

Darkness came, and it came fast – thick, insidious murk. Ungoliant moved swiftly; after the Trees, she drained Varda’s wells dry, not leaving a single drop of radiance in them. Then, cloaking herself and Melkor once more in Unlight, they traversed the thick dark to Formenos, and there lay waste the city, Ungoliant devouring all unfortunate creatures that stood in her path. 

 

Finwë and a handful of retainers defended the main keep in vain, for Melkor himself struck them all down with his lance. Finwë he pinned with his lance against the wall of Fëanáro’s treasury, and there he broke the safe which held the Silmarils. 

 

They burned his hands, but the Vala would not be deterred by pain. 

 

It was then that Maitimo and Findaráto, who had gone to Formenos ahead of the main Noldorin host, tried to engage the Vala in combat, both princes maddened by grief at their grandfather’s murder. 

 

Melkor did not even need to truly fight them. Ungoliant’s Unlight had a mind of its own, and it seeped inside unless she kept it at bay, and it got to Maitimo and Findaráto both, quickly incapacitating them and sending them both falling unconscious on the floor. Melkor and Ungoliant then fled northward, toward the bitter cold of the Helcaraxë. 

 

(And Turko, hidden, screamed inside his bag of Unlight, unaware of what had happened.)

 

~0~

 

Lúthien knew her nanneth instructed her to give rooms with no windows to Tyelkormo, but if what they knew about him was correct, he was a Great Hunter of Oromë and would go mad within the week if he were put in a chamber with not even a small window. So, instead of the room originally prepared for him, Lúthien led him to one of the guest suites that had a small window that looked out toward one of the barracks of the Marchwardens of Doriath under Lord Mablung’s command. Like this, Tyelkormo could have a view of the surrounding tunnels and mine shafts of Doriath, and also he would not attempt to escape what with the barracks close and where he could easily be seen.

 

Or at least that is what Lúthien thought.

 

Here we are, Lúthien said as she opened the door and led the way into the room. She spoke to Tyelkormo through ósanwë, for now. If they kept conversing like this, his mind would be aided and guided to comprehend Sindarin in no time, and he would be fluent in her language. She estimated a month. 

 

Tyelkormo stepped into the room: it was a sizable, round room – a twin-sized bed surrounded by two ornately-carved pillars with the motif of leaves. There was a writing desk, some books. A hearth, though presently unlit. A plush-looking couch. Tyelkormo approached the balcony, and gave a start at the sight. Instead of trees–

 

Wait, he whirled around to face Lúthien and Daeron. Why are there– are we– are we underground?!

 

We are, said Daeron. And so you can put out of your mind any plans of escape. You will be caught even before you make it to the first gate of Menegroth.

 

But Tyelko was out by the balcony again, looking around, eyes so wide that Lúthien worried they might pop out of his own head.

 

How is this– how could any Eldar live underground? Manwë’s hairy nostrils, how do you all survive without light!? How!?

 

You should address the Valar with more respect, Daeron glared. 

 

Tyelkormo raised blond eyebrows at the great minstrel of Doriath. And someone needs to pull the stick out of his arse.

 

Lúthien clapped a slender hand over her mouth. She quickly stepped between the two. Peace, Daeron. Peace! She turned to Tyelkormo, her heart fluttering as she let her gray eyes roam over his strong, chiseled features. We Sindar have lived in Menegroth long. The dwarves of Ered Luin delved these caves for us, and we can enjoy starlight here as you would outside of Menegroth. Tis possible, I assure you.

 

But underground!? Tyelkormo exclaimed again. He returned to the balcony, craning his neck up to look at the gloom above them. 

 

Daeron tugged on Lúthien by the arm, and they momentarily left Tyelkormo to gape at what he could see of that part of Menegroth. They stood outside the room, Daeron shutting the door for now. 

 

“What are you doing? Why did you lead him to these chambers?” Daeron asked his childhood friend (and beloved). “The Queen clearly instructed you to lead him to the chamber specially prepared for his use–.”

 

“And where will he go?” Lúthien countered, folding her arms. “He knows not Menegroth; he will be lost if he so much as attempts an escape. And Lord Mablung stays in those barracks often, and he will not be escaping the eye of the Marchwardens from these chambers.”

 

“Lúthien. Princess– I know this ellon is strange and new to you, and ever have you yearned to explore the world outside of Doriath – but this Tyelkormo, this one, he is Amanyar and we do not know how he ended up on our lands. His arrival is too much a coincidence with the return of the Enemy, and we are no strangers to thralls–!” Daeron urged, giving Lúthien a pleading look. “I beg you–!”

 

The door suddenly opened, and Tyelkormo stood there, looking at Daeron from head to toe.

 

How dare you insinuate I am even with the Enemy, he spat. The thought was so venomous and forceful that Lúthien flinched. I, who have ridden with the maiar and Great Hunters of Oromë, keeping Aman itself safe from the fell creatures of the Primal Void and the Ice Giants of the Helcaraxë. How dare you. I don’t see you doing anything – did you help your Marchwardens regain territory when the Enemy was imprisoned in Aman, or did you stay in these marble halls and sing some useless ditty while others did that job for you? Huh?

 

Daeron flushed red quickly. Then his right hand curled into a fist, streaked the distance – and Lúthien yelled – but Tyelkormo caught Daeron’s fist squarely with his left hand, without a flinch.

 

Then Tyelkormo flashed a feral smirk, all teeth, and crushed Daeron’s hand, breaking bones with a sick crunch. Then it was Daeron’s turn to scream.

 

==

 

And Turko found himself in a Sindar dungeon.

 

Yavanna’s tits, are you all so easy to insult? Turko muttered as the bars slid into place behind him. He turned – but the Sindar guard who led him here had been quick to leave. So much for a guest’s welcome; the Sindar were easy to insult, and for an offense that they began, they threw so-called guests into cells. Gotcha. At least the dungeons were clean. Turko sat down on the floor and peered about at the other cells there in that tunnel delved in solid rock. By the looks of it, he was the only prisoner there at this point in time. Great. No snitch for when he attempted to escape. 

 

He made himself comfortable in his cell, stretching out his long legs. Let’s see. Caves. There will be spiders, snakes, bats…more than enough friends to help me get out of here. 

 

Song would be catchy, and the guards will be alerted that he’s up to something. So first, Turko attempted the language of snakes; soft hisses rolling from his lips where he sat in his cell, taken on a meditative stance. The language of the creatures of Yavanna and Oromë’s creatures were known only to very few of the Eldar; it was a rare ability among the Amanyar, but common to the Avari. The Sindar have begun forgetting it as they progressed through the Great Journey; only a few among their ranks now knew of the secret languages of the earth’s living things. 

 

This could take days, he knew. Still, Turko sat there, uttering the language of the snakes, his soft hisses carried along by the very air. 

 

==

 

To say Lúthien was upset was an understatement. One – it had been very rude and wrong of Daeron to speak as such, and at some point he may have deserved the broken hand. May have. Two – it had also been incredibly rude on Tyelkormo’s part, when Menegroth sheltered him, where their healers had fixed his leg good as new, and he repaid them by breaking Daeron’s right hand. The damage done of course was nothing the healers could not fix, and she herself Sang his bones back into place, but still, Daeron would not be able to play any instrument for a while to ensure his hand recovered properly. 

 

Needless to say, her Ada had been very wroth, though her nanneth said nothing. 

 

She wanted to take food down to the dungeons to Tyelkormo, but her father forbade her, and so she went above-ground instead, restless and annoyed at everything and nothing. She was annoyed enough she was distracted from singing and dancing, her usual past times, and so she sat down and turned to embroidery instead with her handmaidens, and she usually loathed the task. 

 

Meanwhile, the Marchwardens under Captain Cúthalion’s command reported that the darkness by the northern borders of Doriath had gotten so thick and choking that starlight could no longer penetrate the region. That and fell spiders had been sighted going into the dark, and Captain Cúthalion even surmised some of those foul creatures came all the way from Ossiriand or even Taur-im-Duinath. Something was gathering those spiders there. 

 

Thingol contemplated the report. He turned his thoughts to Turkafinwë Tyelkormo, still in one of his dungeons in the tunnels of Menegroth. He had questions that needed answering. He turned to Mablung then, and ordered that the Amanyar be brought before him in the great hall. 

 

The instruction was barely out of Thingol’s lips when Melian shifted upon her throne. 

 

“He has escaped,” the Maia-queen said. “Bar all the tunnels feeding into the River Aros.”

 

==

 

It had been a beautiful snake with a black, forked tongue and the most vibrant orange scales that answered Turko’s subtle calls first. The snake introduced itself as Orange, and asked what it could do for a Hunter of Oromë. Turko then instructed the reptile to get him the keys to the dungeon, which would be with the Sindar warden. Orange thought about it, and then said that it would recruit some more of its friends to help with the task, for the dungeons of Menegroth were vast and there were more than one warden in the place. 

 

Turko waited in his cell for two more days, in addition to the first three which had passed him by as he sat there patiently. Then Orange returned, with two fellows – Green and Purple, and they had the ring of keys that belonged to the warden of Doriath.

 

It was the sixth key that Turko tried that finally unlocked his cell doors. The snakes told him that there had been a bit of revelry among the patrols and guards last eve, and they were all drunk as a consequence, and so he could escape. He could use the barrel route, Purple hissed, as Menegroth dispatched empty wine barrels into the Aros, to have the currents take it all the way to Sirion, where some Laiquendi wine-makers resided. The barrels were also enchanted and very, very tough. 

 

So Turko, thanking his new friends, scooped them all up with him, and they went to where the barrels for dispatch awaited. It was as Orange and Green and Purple had said – the guards were drunk, and nobody seemed to be patrolling at that hour. What day was it, even? Turko didn’t know. But before he went into the barrels, Turko stole food from the larder – wrapping up dried meats, bread, cheese – anything he could carry and fit into a small burlap sack, which he also stole from the shelves.

 

That done, he crept into one barrel while Green dealt with the lever (Green was a massive boa constrictor, and had the heft and weight to be pushing levers down, unlike Orange and Purple, which were slender, sleek and small things). 

 

The floorboards gave, and Turko went, bouncing down into the half-dark, with fourteen more barrels falling with him. 

 

The current was strong, and swift, and the barrels were indeed tough. Still, it was a nauseating journey. By sheer luck, his barrel made it out of the egress tunnel just as the bars descended from above, shutting the tunnel close. 

 

Woah! What the! Turko barely had time to think as his barrel bounced down the river Aros.

 

Have to reach the ssssshore, Purple hissed by his left ear. Elsssseeee you will be taken all the way to Sssssssirion.

 

Turko opened his mouth to answer – but water slammed into his face with such a force that he hit his head against the barrel wall. “Nienna’s bloody tears!” He exclaimed in outrage. “This has– got to be the wildest– mode of transp–” Another mouthful of water, and Turko gave up on attempting to talk. 

 

He struggled to poke his upper body out of the barrel – everything was whizzing past very quickly – and then Orange was hissing in his ear: left left left left, rock! Pussssssh left hard! NOW!

 

Turko barely had time to obey. However possible it was to throw all his heft and weight left– his barrel bounced out of the water, arched high – and then crashed against the shore, splintering all around him with a great, loud crash. 

 

Coughing and spluttering, Turko rolled onto his back, and pushed the wet hair out of his eyes. He winced as he sensed his satchel of food squashed underneath him. Damn. There goes his cheese…

 

“Some damn adventure this is,” he says as he sat up. Purple and Orange were still twined around his upper arms apiece. He snatched his satchel, and, looking wildly about, sprinted away from the river.