The dark shadows of midnight, the wind that beat at the windows, all seemed to pass when I lay in my father's arms. His long, deft fingers would stroke my temples and smooth out my fluffy, black hair, as he softly sang me a lullaby, my Ada, who lavished me with praise and with kisses. Arms ever enfolded about me as he taught me the secrets of lore and life, whispers that tickled my ears, hands that taught me their craft, eyes that could tell what I meant even when I could not speak it. That was what he had been to me, this man who stands near me now.
I remember the beginnings of the rebellion, how Haru shouted against the Valar in the streets, how his words rang out, and how my Ada stood near him, and I was not there with him. I hid in my house afraid and ashamed, and father did not see the bitter tears I cried then or hear my prayers to the Valar and Eru to keep him safe, to make him change his mind, but perhaps Elbereth had grown deaf and maybe Ilúvatar would not hear the words of the son of a renegade.
Then darkness fell, and all was so swift. We were all moving, crying, cursing, hating. Haru stood on stairs of crystal that blazed like fire beneath his feet. My father was with him and my uncles, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. And their swords and their voices met and became as one. They swore an oath unbreakable under the starlit sky, but I said nothing. I did nothing; only I felt their pain and my mother's fear. Leaving Valinor I could hardly bear, yet I would not leave my father.
I would not leave him then, nor later when we struck down without mercy the Teleri, as they fell before our feet staining the sea and the sands of Aman with their red blood. Then I knew I had lost everything. I could see it her screaming eyes, though she never said a word. All that was left was pain…and my father.
Now he stands near me, this monster that used to be a man. His dark hair streaming wildly about his broad shoulders, I fear the madness in his eyes. He has taken all that I have to give, my very life he has taken as his own and has darkened it with his sin, yet even now he craves more, but I am too weak to give in.
"Well, my son, are you finished packing?" he snarls at me, clawing my shoulders.
"No, Ada," I said, pulling away, "I never started."
"What do you mean?" he asks, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"I am not coming with you."
My father stands there, saying nothing, and then for the last time, I see him smile.