Title: The Hours of Darkness
Author: Cúdae
Rating: PG-13 for theme.
Summary: The Sickle of the Valar, the Valacirca, a sign to those who would see it. It challenges Melkor in the darkness. Caranthir sees the seven stars of its blade and remembers, remembers what he has done and thinks of what he will do. Deep shadows of romance. A short, two part story.
Disclaimer: All characters and constellations created by Tolkien, no copyright infringement intended, no profit being made.
It is a dark night. There are clouds overhead, scraping pieces of the sky and carrying them away in a grey mist. The moon glimmers, a thin slit in the deepness. The world is silent and still. Far away down a long corridor, in a long hall, in a long forgotten place, there is movement. A rustle of clothes, a pound of a heart, a quick gasp of breath. Then the silence resumes.
It is oppressive, a crushing sound like a thousand ocean waves crashing on the rocks. The sound presses into the ears and crushes the thoughts. Everything is gone. Save the silence. The wind cannot even find the strength to fight it. This silence envelops all it touches, encasing them in a sturdy box of wood none can touch, molding them into a thing without thought, without feeling.
My soul screams in this silence, fighting it off like a thousand foes.
And she, she sleeps soundly beside me, never noticing the resounding noise of our home. She cannot hear the taunting, laughing voices of the darkness. Like a blade to the flesh, she murmurs Quenya words to unseen visitor. Her eyes, open to the moon, watch what no other can see. Watch what I cannot see. We are not one… we are not one soul. I have no escape from the quiet as she has. I cannot share in her dreams, I cannot see the things she sees, and I cannot breathe the air she breathes. In her dreams. We are not one.
Her eyes dart closed, and then open again like a shy girl's eyes. Like the eyes of the girl I once knew. With her hair in long braids, she ran from me. She ran, her dress catching the twigs of the earth. I followed her to a stream, to a place where she would return in later years, when both of us where older. She laughed a sound to mock the rippling of water around the cool pebbles. And I stood in silence, forgetting the voice of Maedhros I had not hearkened to, for I heard only her laugh.
Her laugh… I have not heard it in many long years. Her smiles seem even fewer than her laughs. I know there is darkness in her mind, like the silence in my own.
The sound of feet shuffles past our door. I rise and look into the hall. Nothing. There is no one. The silence curls itself around my neck, threatening as a noose.
"Maglor?"
The soft sound escapes my mouth unbidden. No sound replies and I mock my own foolishness. How many years has it been since I cried last for Maglor? How many years has it been since last he heard me? How many years since he came?
My feet move me without command. Into the hall and through the door at the farthest end, I walk. Silence extends in all directions. A low moan echoes through the quiet, suppressing the dark peace with its own sorrow. I can see it coming, rippling the air like a boat in the water. The sound presses toward me until it presses against my face. It blinds me and tears at my skin. My hair is whipped back from my face and my lungs are caught in the sound only my ears can feel.
And then, it is gone.
I turn to watch it continue on its path, wondering how many others will face it this night and I realize where I am. I followed by feet unknowingly to the world outside. There are many sounds out here, but none so loud as the cricket's mournful cry. Yet still, silence presses against me, eating at me- even when there are other sounds to feast upon.
I turn back to the door, expecting in some deep part of my essence for her to have woken and to have followed me. The doorway yawns garishly empty. Why should she come? It has been so long since we last probed the depths of one another's souls; I fear she has forgotten me.
I remember her. Her spirit runs deeper than the ocean and farther than the sky. I glimpsed only the smallest part of it. It was beautiful. Her fea shone like a Silmaril, yet brighter and more magnificent in my eyes. She in turn reached for the depths of my self, but walls long in the building blocked her and she retreated. I did not spoil her beauty, yet it was spoilt. Little may take the place of the Silmarils in my mind now. Her beauty seems dimmed.
A soft step, like that of a child, reaches me. I turn to the trees and remember. There had been a day when she stepped out of the trees and came to me, folding her arms around my shoulders and holding captive my eyes. Her father was a stern man, and he called for her to return home. She looked away from me and her embrace fell loose. Then she was gone, a slim shadow in the muted light.
Meadhros had called me fortunate when I went back to my family's home that night. I stared blankly into his face, faintly aware that he was far taller than I was. Now, alone in the nighttime silence, I wonder what he knew. I wonder what he knows.
Meadhros is a rock, strong and cold, now. Yet I remember him when he was warm. I remember when he was more than the ally of my people; I remember when he was my brother. The silence presses in on me again. It chokes me and bears me to my knees.
I look to the sky, appealing to the Valar for their aid, knowing they have forsaken me.
I scan the heavens, waiting for Varda to answer my pleas. She answers them with a craft of the ancient days and I stand transfixed, staring at that which I have always seen, but seeing that which I have not.
- - -
To be continued in Part 2.
I hope you enjoyed. Constructive criticism is more than welcome.
