OF EARNUR, THE LAST KING OF GONDOR
In my youth I strove with the Dark in the North and overcame it.
I
did not understand the nature of the Dark at that time. For I never
felt the Dark Lord, the One that in Gondor is Nameless, touch my mind
until the night my father was carried to the Houses of the Dead.
I
believed all I was taught in the days when I strove against the power
of Angmar, of course. Without question I accepted the teachings of my
childhood and the Regency of the Valar. I had been taught that the Dark
was a horror beyond contemplation, and that its destruction was the
life's work of my house. I fought and was victorious with that ideal in
mind, and all gave me honour and glory for it.
Perhaps it was
that honour and glory which first made me think of the Dark as
fascinating. But in the depths of my mind I sense that that is not so.
When first I rode into battle against the armies of Angmar I felt
something stir in me: the Darkness which was inside me.
As most Men, I denied it even to myself.
...............................................................................
The night came on which they brought me the news that my father was dead, and that the burdens of the Kingdom were now mine to bear.
That
night I felt the Darkness touch me again. That night the Dark Lord
coiled round my mind in consolation, and then with sweet, blissful
amplification of my grief, flavoured with His darkness, made my very
anguish fulfilling. I was bewildered, knowing not what I felt.
I
stood in the chamber in the Houses of the Dead with my head bowed as
the Steward broke his Staff and cast it to the floor, there beside my
father's bier. It should have been a loss beyond all bearing, but again
the Dark Lord stirred in my mind. And now my grief was lessened,
soothed by His voice, which told me that all mortal men must suffer so,
by the will of the Lords of the West, except those who had the strength
to defy them, and become His. Those that gave themselves to the Dark
need never die, need never pass beyond Arda and be seen never agin by
those that cared for them. I denied the powers of the West then, in
that place where tradition says all choices are heard. And at my choice
He who spoke in my mind gave me joy, and was unto me a Lord of Gifts.
He had touched something in my mind which I never knew I hungered for
until the moment.
Soon after that time, on the threshold of the
Citadel, a Messenger came to me from the East. He was a mortal man,
sent by one who was no longer mortal. No one dared ask from where he
came. He stood there long days until I passed him. And he said to me
that a King, once of Men, awaited me in Darkness, and challenged me in
arms and battle. And it seemed to me, hearing him speak, and looking
upon his face, that the King of whom he spoke offered me more than
combat.
That night I dreamed, as the Messenger intended I should
dream. And the dreams were sweet, though they burned me to the bone and
beyond, into my soul. Almost I would have declared myself the vassal
the Dark that night, and have gone forth onto the battlefield and into
my soul itself and knelt to Him. But I had always been told that I was
a servant of the Light, and I found it hard to turn from that.
For
in the morning came other images to my mind, images of Wind and
Starlight. By the oaths that my forefathers swore when they took the
crown, I was made vulnerable to the Lords who sent them. Those Lords
would not easily allow one of my line to choose against them. They
spoke of duty, and told me I should find it a joy.
So it was
that on the day I received the crown of Gondor those who served the
West restrained me from riding to meet the dark undead King who
challenged me, for I was uncertain and did not truly understood the
Darkness within me. I knew, though, with a sudden surge of joy, as that
one rode away, that he would return for me, as I knew it from the
moment I heard his voice cry in the North in my youth.
And in that moment my hatred of the West was kindled. As the Dark One intended it should be.
Seven
years then passed. In that time I had thought only for battle, and only
for those battles which bore the taste of Darkness. I sought
fulfillment in making my foes, defeated, cried out to their Lords. But
never felt I That which I craved, That which could fulfill me.
Ever
more in battle with the men of the Darkness I strove. Ever more they
fell before me, screaming. I gloried in their destruction, envying them
more and more with each battle that they tasted the Darkness in their
minds, and for that Darkness willingly died. But never, as I hoped, did
that Darkness that once I had heard reach from their minds to mine.
And
so for many years I fought for the Light, hoping that the day would
come when the Darkness would answer my challenge, and the King who I
longed to face again would stand forth, if I was threat enough to him,
as once I had been in the North.
But not in battle, but in the quiet of my heart, he came.
That
King was no longer a Man, though once he had been as I. In his
presence, I felt all my power and dominion falter, for though he was
only a pale Shadow of the One Dark Lord who had once spoken to me, he
was beyond my understanding. I had withstood him on the battlefield in
my youth, and perhaps I should have withstood him again, but that the
memory of him was a memory of the Dark that I now craved.
'In
the morning,' he said, 'I shall again make challenge of battle to you
before all of your people, as I did before. This night I seek to learn
how you shall answer me.'
Uncertain still, I hesitated.
'Many
years ago you declared in your heart that you were a servant of the
true Lord of Arda, Melkor. But those that rule Arda in His despite
claimed you by the oath of your forefathers, which they counted as
yours. But now the Dark Lord who is Melkor's truest servant, sends to
you the gift of freedom, to decide who it is that you will worship. And
he sends me to you in the hour of your choice.'
Then he laid his
hand upon my arm, and where his unseen fingers touched my flesh there
was the coldness of midwinter night and the keenness of a blade. But at
his touch, my mind was opened again to the Power that my own
uncertainty had denied me, and I knew my final choice was near.
Then He was again in my mind, as He had been before, dark, terrible and sweet, and through that night He caressed and knew my mind, and I the darkness within me answered him.
Then His servant came to me before the dawn and folded around me his unseen arms and his power, and the cold and darkness took me. He spoke to me long, for the Dark Lord wished that I should fully understand the choice He offered me, and sent His servant to teach me its reality. That night I learned more than living man should know of that terrible fate which the Nine shared, and an echo of which, in His service, He offered me. I fell out of mortal sense with into dreams of the cold of the Wraithlord, and I knew that the dream was a pale reflection of the reality.
I returned to awareness in the warmth of morning, but no longer was my fate unclear. I knew what the Dark Lord desired of me; I knew that I wished it too, because it was His will. Nervous and longing, I paced the battlements. And at dusk, the Lord of the Nine came.
I remember not what words he spoke. To those who knew not Darkness, and the way it made sport of mortals, the words were a challenge to battle. But to me they were a call to ride forth to the Destiny I had already claimed as mine. Dissembling, I put on my armour, as though I purposed to give the battle he demanded, and I selected some few of my knights, that would please the Dark One before they died, either by their yielding or by their defiance.
And so we rode into Morgul Vale, and the Gate of the City was opened to me. Those who rode with me despaired then, and were dragged to what ends the Lord of the Dark Land desired; I heeded it not. I rode on, and stood alone in the great Court of the Citadel, aware of the cold spirits that waited there, but not speaking to them, and mastering the fear that rose in me, for it was less than my longing to be as they.
Then my Lord Himself came to me, a form of shadow and mist, and bade me kneel. And then at last He offered me the choice that deep within I had craved all my mortal days; to pass into the dark and the cold and to serve Him, to be utterly known to Him, to be without will or desire other than His, for as long as He should remain in Middle Earth, and if He should fail, to share the fate of His Master, and go forth into the Void.
The Morgul blade that would seal my fate He himself put into my hands, and guided it over my heart. I looked into His eyes and their flame kindled in me an answering spark, and in that moment I defied the Valar, as they had never thought to hear one of my line defy them. And I knew that my choice was a horror to the Lords of the West, that a King of Gondor should choose as I chose, and I knew that my new Lord laughed that it was so.
Of my free will I drove the Morgul blade home, in full understanding of what I wrought. I fell into the Darkness and was given to Him, and to His Lord, who waits and claims such as I. And I cannot understand why any would have it otherwise.
This it was that the line of Elendil in Gondor failed. Let those who sit enthroned in Valinor forever remember it. Men are not as they would have us be.
Author's note: This fanfic is dedicated to the Lord of Gifts, who reigned once in Middle Earth, and will reign forever in my heart.
The story of Earnur's riding to meet the challenge of the Lord of the Nazgul is found in Appendices A and B of Lord of the Rings.
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