Secrecy and Sorrow

Nienna

My bare feet made no din on the cold floor of my brother's halls as I rushed forth through the shadows, holding the hems of my cloak and skirt above my ankles so that they did not whisper over the stone and reveal me. My eyes were focused straight ahead, to the source of the faint, gravelly sobs I heard from some distance away.

The sounds of weeping, mingled with the dull clinking of chains, grew louder as I neared my destination. By the sickly light that filtered down from the few windows above me, I discerned the vague silhouette of the one I was searching for: a captive wretch, alone and uncared-for… except by me.

Melkor's head was bowed, but he lifted it slowly as I approached. A weak smile pulled at his cracked, bleeding lips, and he whispered into my mind. Fui…

Hush, I murmured tenderly, slipping toward him and cupping his chin in my palm.

I saw his tear-filled brown eyes, and his skin, which was much fairer now than of late; it was not just due to an effect of the eerie light. The sable hue had started to fade to a much warmer tone, such as that of the other Valar's skin. His long tresses were still every bit as black as ever, falling over his uncovered shoulders in disheveled, grimy tangles.

The days had been unkind to him; I could nearly see his ribs protruding from beneath the muscles of his chest, and his all-but-naked, chain-wrapped body was abundantly pimpled with cold. He hung down from the wall somewhat, with his knees slightly bent and both hands held above his head, fettered to the stone with cruel iron half-rings. His wrists were badly chafed, and crusted with dried blood.

You should not have come, Melkor told me insistently, tears slipping down his gaunt face. Námo will know… he will be furious.

I am willing to risk that, I answered resolutely. You do not deserve this.

Your pity is what I do not deserve. My kinsman's voice was listless. You cannot free me. Only Aulë holds the key to unfasten these chains.

I can discuss this with Námo and Manwë, I reassured him. Perhaps a second appeal shall end with your freedom. There is still hope for you.

If there is, I do not see it, Melkor sighed despairingly, his head hanging and falling from my hand. His sunken eyes drooped shut, and I flinched in concern, but he opened one eye halfway and gave me an attempt at a smile. Sighing, I moved slightly closer and wrapped my arms around his chest, hoping to offer him at least a little warmth from my own body. I could feel his heart beating softly against mine as we stood together in silence; my head rested on his shoulder, and we stared quietly into each other's faces.

Why are you doing this? Melkor asked me uncertainly.

To keep you warm, I replied matter-of-factly. And because I care about you, no matter if the others do or not. You can return to the Light, Melkor. I know it. You only need to try.

I have been doing little else for weeks! he cried. My past sins are like a burden of stone to my heart. I cannot move beneath their weight. I have tried to plead forgiveness from Eru, but the memory of my darkness haunts my soul, hinders my tongue and halts my prayers. More tears dripped down his hollowed cheeks.

I lightly brushed my hand across his face, heedless of the droplets that coursed down my own skin. For a time we wept together, each of us decreasing our own sorrow by sharing it. But when at last breathlessness halted us, we began mental conversation again.

I still do not understand, Melkor said quietly. Why do you pity me so?

Because I believe that there is a light buried inside every darkness, I told him gently. You are living proof of that. My fingers traced his paled skin tenderly.

He stared at me in soundless confusion for a few seconds, and then whispered fearfully in reply, And is there a darkness buried inside every light as well?

I did not answer him right away. The question worried away at my heart, and I submitted to a chilling uncertainty. What if the answer was "yes"?

Melkor appeared to read my mind, and spoke up quickly. Never mind that, Fui. You need not answer. He stared intently into my eyes, and I immediately felt immensely comforted. His soft eyes glistened wetly, and I knew mine were doing the same. Smiling, I pulled my cloud-grey cloak from my shoulders and draped it over his.

You cannot give me this! Melkor protested. Námo will see it, he will know you have been here.

Then so be it. I will not allow you to suffer; if there is any way I can help you, I will take the risk.

Melkor's head abruptly jerked up, and his eyes widened in fear. Someone is coming. Go, Fui! And take your cloak with you – please!

I lingered near him for a moment as I reluctantly took the garment back. I will come back as soon as I can. Please continue to ask for forgiveness from Eru, and from my brother. It may, in time, end well.

He nodded once, hurriedly. I swear I will. Now go!

Sharp footsteps were drawing rapidly nearer. We parted and shared one last, brief look, before I finally fled away to my own halls. I barely heard an echo of Námo's voice coldly addressing Melkor, and then the familiar ebony-colored ceiling, walls and columns of my dwelling greeted me.

Giving a soundless sigh, I donned my cloak again and wept alone in the darkness. With each tear that left my eyes, a vow echoed in my heart. I would do all I could to free Melkor, no matter how high the cost. I would never stop trying.