In the darkness, they stood. His arms were wrapped around his waist; his head rested on hers.
"The stars are beautiful tonight, meleth." She murmured. He pressed a kiss to her black locks.
"So are you, my dear." Honestly, though, it wasn't much of a compliment. He thought she was gorgeous even in rags covered with dirt. She gave a warm smile.
"Trite," Enyaliel muttered. Ringdae gave a snorted laugh but said nothing in reply. A lone caw sounded across the land, and the maid turned to look, closing her eyes bliss. "Do you know why the nightingale sings in the gilded cage?" She asked. His face twisted.
"No. Why?"
The land had become a battleground. Mountains were shattered, oceans evaporated, plains torn to pieces of dirt in the wind. This was the end; it had been foretold. Ringdae turned to Eönwë, who gave him a subtle nod, and the half-elf drew in a tense breath.
Morgoth and his army were right in front of them.
Valar against Valar.
Maiar against Maiar.
Brother against brother.
Dagor Dagorath was here.
"Little Raven." The Fallen Valar called to Ringdae from across the field, and his grip on his knife tightened. He had always hated that nickname. "Come to me, little Raven." He had his arms open wide, "Come to me now, and all will be forgiven." Eönwë placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, either to comfort him or hold him back, the peredhil didn't know. It didn't matter. He'd made his choice years ago. "Little Raven…" Morgoth cooed. Ringdae didn't move and the Valar's face shifted to a scowl. "So be it, little Raven. You will bow before me, as your father does, in the end." And with that, the army of shadow charged forward, a machine of war. Ringdae stole a glance at Eönwë, and they nodded.
The armies clashed.
And even as he dealt out death to those around him, his late wife's words whispered in his mind.
Do you know why the nightingale sings in the gilded cage? Because it longs for the freedom it sees outside its bars. That song is its lament, but also its hope.
Ringdae was the Nightingale.
His knife was the Song.
Morgoth was the bars of his terrible Cage.
And that was the only thing he saw the fallen Valar as until he lay with his heart broken and his blood splattered on the grass.
The Nightingale then sheathed his Song and smiled, for he was content. The last of his demons were defeated. The chains that bound him had been shattered at last.
And when you face your Cage, my Nightingale, face it with the brunt of your Song. It cannot stand against you.
Translator:
Meleth: love
Peredhil: half-elf