A Night in Angmar
By Queen Elizardbeth
Note:
This story is part of my Arda AU, which I'm still working on. This is heavily steeped with references to the Silmarillion and Lord of the Rings, so if you're not huge into that stuff, this may not be the fic for you. There's more of an explanation at the bottom, but here is the basic idea: Tiunelu = Pacifica, Valacirca = Dipper, Merrigold = Mabel, Ceneli = Grunkle Stan.
Nightfall had long since been a terror to the First Children of Illuvatar. The legends and tales that surrounded it did not only fill elves with sorrow and grief, but it spoke of horrors that had long been banished from Arda. Foul creatures that spat void held here their domain, and wolves far greater than any that still remained on the marred land answer their master's blasphemous songs. The Valar seldom spoke of the first Darkening, for during it they stuck fear into the hearts of the Eldar, and woven into Morgoth's Second Triumph were the spilling of first blood and Fëanor's rebellion: two mournful tunes in the Song of Time. Though the Valar's Sickle served as a guide through the night and Ithil covered the world in his silver glow at this hour, clouds of shadow served as their bane. Any Sindar, Noldor, or Teleri who dared to tread in the darkness was either a champion of their house, or a fool walking to their demise.
Tinuelu's eyes scanned the surrounding ruins, her blessed vision struggling to pierce the night. She saw neither friend, foe, or even the twinkle of the horizon. The shadows seemed to swallow all sound, only the echo of the cold breeze escaped their extinguishing clutches. As a cold sweat broke across her skin, She urging her horse forward, hoping to get away from the black, crumbling ramparts. 'What horrors could have possibly risen such twisted barracks?' she thought. How she entered what was left of what appeared to be a great fortress eluded her. Her memories of the day were blocked by a haze of wrath, and the power that radiated off the remains sent through her waves of nausea. She looked to Varda's expanse for aid, hoping for the light of Earendil or another great star, but the celestial guides were hidden by drifting clouds.
She stamped out the idea of returning back to Ceneli's band before it had fully entered her mind and an angry blaze consumed her soul. How could that pathetic, weak excuse for a wizard have the audacity to claim that she, a Noldo learned in the art of song, could not care for herself? She was no longer being pursued by a werewolf like when they found her, and the greatest thing that threatened her at the moment was simply her horse's own cowardice!
The beast in question pawed the ground not wanting to continue through the crumbling fortress. Unlike his mistress, the horse currently possessed a grain of wisdom, and he began to retreat, his hooves moving in reverse of their natural order. Immediately, Tiunelu yanked the reigns back and forced her horse to stop. "Don't even think of it," she hissed into her steed's ear. "You and I are far better than needing the aid of humans, haflings, and Sindar alike. Our powers are greater than theirs." And with this the elf, warmed by her own wrathful flame, lifted herself from the horse's neck and began to sing through the night. The tune was woven of joy and honor; the memory of the Noldor's skill and power in the earth was in harmony with the knowledge that no elf of honor ever served the shadow. The two themes float up from the maiden and rose among the broken towers, and for a moment the shadows seemed to lessen, but as soon as she paused to take a breath, the shadows doubled in size, and a mournful scream echoed throughout the broken stones, shattering the Noldo's song. Tiunelu's horse whinnied in panic, and, rearing upward, tossed his mistress upon the jagged black rocks below. The elf let out a surprised shout, and attempted to land on her feet, but the heel of her left foot twisted beneath her, and she fell to the ground on her face.
Tiunelu pushed herself up, spitting black dirt from her mouth. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, only to smear her golden locks with earth and dust. "Great," she hissed through her teeth, her body seething with rage. Her horse had fled, the echoes of his hooves consumed by the dark. She tried to stand, but her ankle throbbed furiously, and she dragged herself up a collapsed pillar, gasping with pain. "Why did I even bother?" She whispered to herself, tears welling in her eyes. In her heart she knew Valacirca was right. She had never done a single thing for herself except demand that others bend over backwards to meet her needs. Her family had no honor, but were among the most wretched of the Noldor, who as a house were a burden to the Eldar. They had aided Fëanor in the First Kinslaying with much furor, and they had taken the flame to the White Ships. And even of them she knew she was the weakest. She had training in the art of war, and her songs only brought slight comfort. She rested her head against her bare arm, tears streaming across her soft skin. She was weak. Weaker than Valacirca and Merrigold. Weaker than Valima. Weaker than the Half-ling Soos.
You're even weaker than us.
Tiunelu froze, her eyes snapping open to the shadows from which the voice came. The black ruins were absorbing all sound now, leaving only the ragged whisper.
You cannot take care of yourself, but must rely on the strain of others for your satisfaction. An useless Child of Illûvatar, never growing to much.
The voice left Tiunelu chilled to the marrow, and she attempted once again to stand, but the pain of her ankle dragged her back to earth. "W-who are you?" she demanded. "Show yourself!"
The shadows swirled around her hissing with laughter, the echoes jumping from the ruins like fleas across flesh. Alas, if only we could, whispered a voice to her left, seeming to inch closer with each word. Our king gave us these new "wonderful" forms when he ripped us from our bodies, so we might serve him even after his passing.
Only if he did that for himself! jeered another voice, coming from a crag of rock high above Tiunelu's head. In the dark of twilight, she could almost make out a wispy, bent form leering down at her. He's died twice now, once from simply fading into shadow, a second time at the hand of a mortal! A woman no less!
More shrieks of laughter came as a reply to the second ghost's comment. The nausea was beginning to become overwhelming for the elf, and the first voiced hissed out again.
Most correct, and even his god, the great Admirable One, has dissolved to nothing, so he has no hope of a second resurrection. And, the voice now was very close, she could feel it groveling closer to hear ear, Neither shall you have any hope of rescue.
As the voice spoke, shadows of skeletal hands appeared, stretching from their unseen casters to the hem of Tiunelu's cloak. We've been wanting a bearer for a long time now, and are we not lucky to find one capable of bearing us all right in the center of our kings former palace!
"Keep back!" Tiunelu cried, pushing herself up as much as she could, trying to recall her former power, "You have no power over me! I am Tiunelu Fornumen! I have been given dominion over the north by my father Precoth, from whom he received the power from Fëanor himself! You cannot hope to touch me, let alone take my for-" Her words were cut off as what felt like a hand made of pure ice slammed across her mouth, smacking her head back into the stone pillar. The shadows grasped the hem of her dress, pulling her down onto the icy ground.
Care to finish that, child? She felt frozen breath on her neck, and the smell of rotting flesh filled her nostrils. You will bear us all, and your soul shall be like a candle in the midst of a gale within your body. You will carry us out of Angmar, and we shall enter the hosts of men!
Frost spread over the ruins, running towards her body in streams with the speed of arrows. As each branch of frost struck, she felt the warmth of her blood being drained, and a chant rose up from amongst the horrid spires.
Cold be hand and heart and bone,
and cold be sleep amongst the stone:
never more to wake on frozen bed,
never, till Sun fails and Moon is dead.
In the black wind the stars shall die,
and then 'mongst men we shall long thrive,
then the dark lord shall lift his chain
from dark halls comes Val'nor's Bane.
Tiunelu tried to scream out, but the Wights held her down, and a great black ax loomed from the shadows, the blade being rested on her neck by an invisible executioner. The ax slowly rose up, and as it reached the greatest hight a man could swing, it began to fall, right towards the elf maiden's throat.
"KORON EN' NAUR"
A pillar of dragon fire blasted the ax-wielding Wight away from Tiunelu, and the frost turned to vapor in the flames.
"MEN IMYA RAM EN' TEMPLA"
Light spread out like a dome through the ruins, and the shadows were driven away from the elf. Tiunelu forced herself up, pulling herself onto the pillar a second time, and turned to face whoever had entered the remains of Angmar. She directed her eyes to the source of the great light, but before she could make out its bearer, the voice shouted, "Behold, spirits, the eyes of Arien, Lady of the Day!" With that, fire brighter than any the elf had seen spread through the ramparts, blasting the shadows in the black walls to dust. Tiunelu knew that voice. It was the voice to which she was accustom to hear muttering new spells under his breath while around his great-uncle's fire, but it was also the voice that drove her here. She pushed herself off the pillar and stretched out her arm, reaching to Valacirca, but she was yanked back by her cloak, and turning, she saw one last skeletal shadow clinging to it, ripping it to shreds. She cried out, and Valacirca turned, and sent a final torrent of flames at the Wight, rendering it (and Tiunelu's cloak) to ashes.
The flames soon died down, and the stars began to pierce through the haze in the air above the old castle. Tiunelu directed her eyes once again to Valacirca, his birthmark and many scars illuminated by the blue glow of his staff.
"Are you hurt?" he asked as knelt before her, eyes filled with concern. "Y-yes," Tiunelu gasped, the events of the night leaving her eyes wide with terror, "My ankle twisted beneath me."
The young wizard sighed, sliding his staff into the straps on his back. "Well we better get you back to Merrigold, she's better at healing than I." He glanced around the ruins. "Where is your horse?"
"He fled. I likely would not be in such a condition if it weren't for him." She muttered the final piece to the ground, not wishing to meet her savior's eyes.
Valacirca scowled at her as he lifted her up, her golden hair flowing out over the arm that supported her. "You likely would not be in such a condition had you not left us. Why did you leave?"
Tiunelu flushed red, preparing to spit a venomous answer, but she was cut off by the man's remorseful sigh, and Valacirca ceased walking and hung his head. "Never mind. I know it was my words that drove you." He looked up, his brown eyes contacting her own icy blue eyes. "I came initially to tell you I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said such cruel things to you, and I hope I can make up for the damage I've done."
Tiunelu was taken a-back, and murmured in reply, "I would assume that your actions a moment ago would have given you piece in mind…" He stared at her, his face riddled with confusing, and he continued to walk out of the shadowy barracks. "I would have saved you from that fate regardless of any of your previous actions, and neither do I expect others to forgive me immediately for-"
"You were right."
Valacirca bit his tongue in shock, but hid his superficial pain so Tiunelu could continue.
"Ever since you and your sister saved me from the werewolf, I have been nothing but cruel to you and your uncle's band. I've expected all of you to mold your entire plans around my own goals, and never so much a toe outside of my own comfort zone to aid any of you." She felt the tears forming once again in her eyes. "I am a pathetic child of Illûvatar…" she muttered.
"Wow, now hold on," Valacirca said gently, as he attempted to idly walk down a flight of broken steps. "You are not pathetic. You were able to outrun that wolf for some time, and your songs brought healing to our group." Whenever I actually sang, Tiunelu thought, but that comment she kept to herself. "And Merrygold and the others will be happy to have you back."
"Are you sure?" The elf questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Even your great-uncle, whom, if I recall, was ready to ring my 'pretty little neck'?"
"Well Ceneli will have to deal with it, because I want you back."
Tiunelu stiffened in Valacirca's grasp, her face feeling warm. "Really?"
"Absolutely. Everyone has issues, and to be honest, your not that bad."
Tiuneli felt her face turn as pink as the sunset that past hours ago, and she gingerly wrapped her arms around Valacirca's neck, resting her head on his shoulder.
Despite the nervousness that coursed through her body, Tiunelu almost wished that he would continue bearing her, but soon enough, they reached the wizard's horse, and she found herself being lifted up into the saddle. The elf shivered slightly in the cold, her bare arms having no protection from Manwē's power. Valacirca looked at her, and, noticing her chill, gently draped his own traveling cloak over her shoulders, and then sat behind her on the horse. "Sorry," he muttered as he wrapped his arms around her from behind to reach the reigns. "Is that better?"
"Y-yes" murmured the elf, her face feeling as hot as that flames Aule's forge.
"Alright," Valacirca said, his own face beginning to feel warm. "Let's get back to camp." And together they rode through the night, Varda's domain glittering above them.
I know what you want… AN EXPLANATION!
Ok, so as I said earlier, this one-shot is part of my Arda AU, which currently consists of this, multiple character designs, and a few rough drafts. But I'll explain the basics of the AU here.
When?
About 10 years after the destruction of the One Ring. Most of Eriador has been reclaimed by Aragorn, but the northern regions, such as Arnor and Angmar, are ruled over quarreling clans of men, Dunedain, and orcs.
Where?
Northern Eriador.
Who?
Valacirca and Merrigold are Dipper and Mabel (The Valacirca constellation being the Arda-equivalent of the Big Dipper), and they are both Dúnedain descendants of Númenor (unrelated to Aragorn). Valacirca has a relationship with Lady Varda similar to Tuor with Ulmo, and she made him near the equivalent of a Istari Wizard.
Ceneli is Grunkle Stan, who leads a small band of outlaws in the North, his lieutenants being Valima, a Sindar elf equivalent of Wendy, and Soos the Hobbit. Valacirca and Merrigold join him after their family and village are wiped out by a rival clan.
Tiunelu is the Noldor Elf equivalent of Pacifica. She was rescued from a werewolf (Middle-earth werewolf, bear in mind) by Valacirca and Merrigold, and she is very skilled in the art of magical song. She is very proud of her talent, and due to her status as a high-class Noldor, she sees all others, even Valima, as below her.
What am I planning on doing with this?
I have a basic story arch, which will include Stanford, Candy and Grenda, Robbie, Gideon, McGucket, and Bill. I'm not going to spoil too much here, but I will say this: Bill plans on opening a Door to welcome someone far worse than Keyhole or Kyptos!
Tell me what you think of both the story and AU in general! If you have any suggestions, let me know!