Author's Note: Once again, a sudden update after long weeks of delay! Expect to see Chapter 10 in a few days, though; it's already finished! Thank you to all of my readers and especially my wonderful reviewers: knowing that I have you all to tell this story to is a lot of what keeps me inspired to write it. :)
Not long ago, I got a bit of an interesting surprise while looking idly through the indexes at the end of The Return of the King. What was my amazement to see, out of nowhere, that the first name in the "Persons, Beasts, and Monsters" index was Aldor - the same name as one of my original Quendi characters in this fanfic!I looked up the one reference to the name in LOTR's text, and it led me to the funeral of King Théoden. This canon Aldor, it seems, was the third Lord of Rohan.
Perhaps the fact that I'd seen the name in passing while reading LOTR is part of what led me to think of it when naming my fanfic character. Perhaps it was only a coincidence. Who knows? Either way, Aldor of the Quendi and the Orcs, and King Aldor of Rohan, certainly do share the same name.
So, I've decided that in my own version of Arda's history, Aldor of the ancient Quendi must have been remembered by some of his friends, and his name passed down through time until - like so many names of Elves from the Silmarillion - it was given to a mortal Man to bear as his own. Given the tragedy of my Aldor's story, that idea is one that I definitely treasure.
Chapter 9: Hallowed Iron
There was an escape from the breeding pits of the Orcs.
Melkor directed his servants to let the half-changed slave run for now, because it amused him. He expected him to try to reach an exit, but to Melkor's intense interest, the prisoner ran unerringly for Melkor's own throne room. Relying on some tightly-held memory from the time of his capture, he fled through the dark halls and past the hidden guards until he burst through the immense, arched doorway. Seeing Melkor seated in dark majesty on his throne, he fell to his knees and stared up with a face of awestruck terror.
"Please..." the twisted Elf begged, desperation in his voice. "My sister..."
"Your sister is the mother of Orcs now," Melkor said mercilessly. "Her whelps have already killed for me." He was the more darkly pleased because he knew he spoke no less than the truth. He recognized this Elf as the older of a pair of Quendi that he himself had captured a few decades ago, in a meadow under the stars that Varda had set to defy his reign. The brother and sister had been laughing when Melkor found them; then their laughter had changed to screams of terror.
Now, hearing Melkor's words, the helpless Elf collapsed sobbing to the floor. Melkor signaled to one of his demons, who was standing against a wall of the throne room to await his command.
"Burn the pity from him," Melkor ordered, as the demon swooped to the center of the chamber. "Teach him to fear for no one but himself."
The Valarauko disdainfully picked up the broken Elf by the back of his shirt.
"As you will, Master," the Demon of Might rumbled. Effortlessly carrying his still-sobbing burden, he left the throne room to head for his dark lair in the caves beneath Utumno.
Melkor smiled, curling his fingers around the end of his throne's massive arm. He had no doubt that his will would be accomplished in this.
"I do not like this task," Aulë said sadly, holding up the length of dully gleaming, linked gray steel that he was in the process of forging. "This is the darkest thing that I have ever wrought."
"That may be," Manwë replied, equally grieved. "But my heart tells me that it is not as dark as the things that our brother Melkor has been doing."
So, Oromë has found them. There could be no other meaning behind the song that the small group of free Quendi were now singing, their voices ringing joyfully as they stood in total unawareness of Melkor's presence. In the form of a huge coiling serpent, he watched with glittering eyes from where his body lay curled and twisted among the high branches of one of Yavanna's trees.
Her creations are surprisingly useful, he reflected, then dismissed the thought as he continued to listen to the Elves' music. They sang of surprise and wonder as well as joy, telling a story of how the Horseman had come one day and shown them that he was no monster, but a mighty and noble being who had offered them friendship.
Melkor seethed, hissing quietly in his throat at their words. These fool, trusting Quendi! Their own innocence has undone my plans to deceive them. He slitted his yellow eyes, gazing down at the group of Firstborn who were as achingly beautiful and as infuriatingly free as the first Elves he had seen, centuries ago. I should have foreseen it. If they were willing to accept Culnaur as a friend, why not Oromë?
"No matter," he whispered with the near-silent voice of the deadly snake he was. "I am still more powerful than all of the other Valar combined." Moving noiselessly through the thick green leaves, Melkor looped his body across the intertwining branches to another nearby tree, then slid gradually to the ground and slithered back towards Utumno. There were too many Quendi here to be worth the effort of capturing all at once, and he already had many thousands of Orc-slaves in his fortress to whom he could turn his attention.
My sister! I must... find her!
Fire wrapped his body again. The hopelessly valiant Firstborn prisoner twisted uselessly in the grip of the Valarauko whose flames were burning him. He wore no bonds of any kind; the comparative weakness of his body was all the captivity he needed in the hands of the mighty, nameless demon.
His body seemed to cry out silently in the desperate agony he felt, but only a hoarse, choked scream came from his mouth. His throat was far too parched and dry to produce any louder sound.
Where are you...? Halfway through the thought, he forgot who he was desperately trying to search for. The unimaginable pain of his torment rose up like a curtain of fire in his mind, blotting out everything else.
No! Help me! It was not a thought in words, but a desperate feeling of need for something to stop the pain. His need went unanswered, and the agony continued. Far away, he seemed to hear a deep, rumbling laughter; but he did not understand the sound, nor know that it came from the Demon of Might who was still holding him and taking delight in the agony of his small, helpless prisoner.
If the young Elf had remembered a sister, he might still somehow have managed to fight for her. He might have agreed, even now, to further torment for himself in order to keep her safe.
But he could not remember her. He remembered nothing except the pain. And he knew, though he could not put it into words, that he had to do anything in the world that he could to stop it.
Melkor looked up as one of his demon servants entered the throne room. He immediately recognized the Quendi prisoner who lay with his body locked into a tightly curled ball in the demon's hands, though there was very little about him that looked the same as when he had desperately run to Melkor almost two weeks earlier to plead for his sister.
Moved by a sudden, deep impulse that he could not name - Mere interest, perhaps? he wondered - Melkor stood up from his throne and quickly walked to meet the Valarauko.
The prisoner was shuddering in brief, intermittent fits, clearly terrified and just as clearly having very little idea of anything that was happening around him. Small, miserable cries of deep agony came from somewhere behind the burned arms that were pressed tightly against his face below the remains of his charred hair.
Melkor took the prisoner from his demon's hands and carefully cradled him in his own arms. At the sudden movement against his viciously burned skin, the Elf choked out a slightly louder cry of even more terrible pain.
As he looked down at the young slave who was huddled so tightly and helplessly in his arms, the flames in Melkor's eyes faded a little and his dark face grew slightly softer. Such burns... he thought, his heart and the depths of his soul stirring faintly with an unfamiliar emotion.
Then he smiled, all momentary feelings of compassion vanished. As it should be, he thought in satisfaction. This slave has defied me.
He looked up at his Valarauko. "Have you carried out my command?" he asked, deliberately tightening his grip on the prisoner. An almost-silent sob of utter agony tore from the Elf's scorched throat.
"Yes, I have," the Demon of Might answered. "He has been begging me for mercy for himself for several days now. I have heard no mention of his sister since the third day he was in my cavern."
"Good," Melkor said. Calling on the power that came so easily to him now, he began to heal the terrible burns that covered the slave's body.
It was a complicated task; the young prisoner's entire body was deeply damaged almost to the point of death. Still, it was no real challenge. A moment later, the burns were gone. The Elf's burned hair and the blackened rags of his clothing were the only remaining visible signs of the torment he had undergone.
Melkor set the terrorized Elf down on the floor. Instantly, the prisoner cast himself abjectly face-down in front of Melkor's feet.
The lord of Utumno smiled cruelly down at him. "Is there something that you wished to ask me for?"
"Please!" the captive gasped in panicked fear, his voice coming harshly from his scarred throat but sounding much stronger now. "Please, my lord! No more pain!"
Melkor laughed to himself. "Is there nothing else?" he inquired. "Do you not still wish to beg mercy for your sister?"
"No, no!" the Elf screamed wildly, shaking his head in confusion. "I do not know what you mean! Please, the burning... no more!"
"Very well," Melkor said, feeling extremely pleased. "Because you ask me so desperately, perhaps I will grant your request."
He turned his attention to the Valarauko. "Take him and throw him into the barracks," he directed. "Tomorrow he will begin his training as one of my soldiers."
The demon's eyes flared cruelly. Bending down, he scooped up the Elf in one powerful hand. Then he started to carry him away.
"No!" the prisoner shrieked. He obviously believed that he was being returned to the fiery torment that he had just left. One hand reached back towards Melkor, clutching at the air in a desperate grasping gesture as he stared back with a beseeching face and round, wildly terrified eyes. "Have mercy! Please, lord...!" His shrieks came from gradually farther away as the Valarauko carried him out of the throne room.
Do not reassure him as to your destination, Melkor instructed his departing servant. Allow him to remain in terror during the journey to the training barracks. I want him never to forget that I own his soul.
Looking down from his vast halls above Eä, Eru Ilúvatar bent his head and wept, real tears of grief trickling down his immortal face. He was crying not only for his young burned son who had been put through agony for love of his sister, but also for Melkor, one of Eru's oldest children, whose beautiful heart was lost amid so much evil and hatred.
My dear, precious Melkor, Eru thought, as he saw how close his child had come, in one brief moment, to freeing himself from his evil. The fact that Ilúvatar had always known that this was how things would have to be did not make his pain as a father any less acute. You have failed again.
"My lord!" the Maia called Dínfareth said urgently, but as quietly as was always his habit. One of the secret spies who worked alongside Thuringwethil, he had not been seen in Utumno for many years. "The Valar have mounted an attack. They mean to take back these lands for themselves and the Firstborn. I have only just managed to arrive ahead of them!"
"How soon will they arrive?" Melkor asked quickly. He was more annoyed than anything else at the news, but he intended to take this attack seriously. The others will learn that they cannot move against me without facing the full power of my realm! he thought sharply.
"They will be here within hours, I fear," Dínfareth replied. "One of my fellows has gone to warn Lord Culnaur; the Valar intend to attack his stronghold first, then sweep forward to ruin you here after his defeat." He bared his teeth in a wolflike smile. "At least, those are their words," he said disdainfully. "I have no doubt that you will defeat them, of course."
"Of course," Melkor agreed. He thought quickly for several seconds. "Fortify the Gates," he said, speaking so that all in his throne room could hear. "We will send no help to Culnaur. He has already been warned; he will have to stand on his own."
As the people of Utumno moved swiftly and smoothly to obey, showing no more concern at the coming attack than Melkor himself felt, he turned his attention briefly back to the Maia whose name meant 'Silent Hunter'.
"Dínfareth," he said, "thank you. You have done well. Now return to your task as best you can; do not allow yourself to be suspected." There was no need, Melkor knew, to give more specific instructions. Dínfareth would be very capable, as always, of working out the details on his own.
"Now!" Melkor said almost exultantly, as his Maia spy departed from the hall. "We will teach my brother Manwë and his friends what it means to challenge the Lord of Eä."
At that same moment, Culnaur and his magnificent fortress of Angband were already under siege. His warning had come hours earlier; like Melkor, he had decided to focus his power in the defense of his own home.
At least for now, he thought, a bit grimly. He was certain of his Master's power, but he was also well aware that he himself was only a Maia and might not be able to stand against the entire army of the attacking Ainur. If Angband were to be lost, Culnaur and his people were well-prepared to fall back and join Melkor's forces in the defense of Utumno.
Standing inside one of Angband's few actual windows - which opened only into a narrow hallway backed by the solid stone of the mountain above the fortress itself - Culnaur watched as the hosts of his enemies approached the Iron Gate. As he stared out across the gleaming, impressively arrayed ranks of the Valar and Maiar, he caught sight of a familiar, solid, brown-haired figure.
Aulë, he said in silent challenge, directing his thought outward to the mind of his former master. Far out on the fields in front of Angband, the mighty Smith lifted his head and scanned the face of the cliff until his eyes found Culnaur.
Go away from here, Culnaur told him sternly. This is my home and my palace. Melkor and I own these lands now. You have no place here.
Culnaur, Aulë replied in a tone of grief with an undercurrent as unforgiving as the strongest of stones. You were my friend and my little brother! Now see what you have done to yourself. All of these works that you have created; they could have been things of beauty, as you used to make! Instead you and Melkor have built fortresses and prisons. This is not what Eru meant for the world he made!
Absolutely incensed by Aulë's words, Culnaur swept his left arm out to the side in a grand gesture to indicate the entirety of Angband's fortress. This is a place of beauty, as well as power! he thought back in anger and pride. If you cannot see it, that only means that you are blind. Now go, or be destroyed.
Aule turned briefly, seeming to speak quietly to Manwë and Ulmo who stood beside him. Then he faced Culnaur once again, his face hard and stern. It is you and Melkor who have doomed yourselves, he said silently. For the sake of Eru's Firstborn, we will overthrow your tyranny and undo the evil of your reign.
At that, Culnaur laughed aloud; the Valar and their people did not yet know about the Orcs! His laughter rang out over the invading army's heads even as he sent the thoughts of his mind to every one of them, no longer speaking only to Aulë. When you meet some of those Firstborn, he told them in a tone of cruel mystery, you may face a hard decision as to how you wish to 'undo' our evil.
Some hours later, the battle for Angband's defense was not going well. Aulë's power had torn apart much of the very stone of Angband and its surrounding mountains, and Culnaur's people were hard pressed to defend the gaps. Ulmo, along with his again-loyal servant Ossë and many others, was summoning the very waves of the ocean itself across the land to crash against the parts of the fortress that still stood undamaged. Water swirled and bubbled around the defenders' feet as it poured into the fortress through the breaks that Manwë's living soldiers could not yet win through.
Despite the power of Culnaur and his servants, it was becoming clear to him that Angband could not stand against these forces for long. In his heart, Culnaur knew that this was no less than he could have expected. Directing a fraction of his servants to remain and continue the battle for as long as they could, he led the rest of his people away through secret exits and swiftly across the lands toward Utumno.
Angband's walls were not yet out of sight behind them when there was a great rumbling sound and the ground shook fiercely beneath the retreating Maiar's feet. Stricken, Culnaur looked back to see his entire fortress and a large part of the mountain itself crumbling to the ground.
Grieved as he was at the destruction of his spectacular home, Culnaur realized that it was not the most important thing. As he saw the last remnant of Angband's routed defenders fleeing in open retreat towards him, followed by the swiftly advancing army of the Valar, he understood clearly that they must all reach Utumno ahead of that army and make a stand alongside Melkor.
Moving as swiftly as they ever had, united by fury and an equally intense feeling of shame at their failure to hold Angband, Culnaur's host arrived at the walls of Utumno moments ahead of their wrathful pursuers. Quickly and efficiently, he and the several Valaraukar who were his captains arranged their forces in a defensive formation outside the Gates.
Standing with his eyes closed and his fists clenched tightly at his sides, Culnaur tore apart the earth itself between his own army and the attacking one to create a wide, fiery moat filled with blazing deep-red lava. Summoning the seething fires from deep within the ground, he filled his moat to overflowing until the molten flames leaped and splashed out across the ground.
"You will not stand against us!" Manwë challenged from beyond the fire, his voice a roar of wind.
Yet for long days, the defenders of Utumno did indeed stand undefeated. Finally, though, they were driven aside long enough for Tulkas and Aulë to blast and wrench apart the massive stone gates, tearing a way through to the inside of Melkor's castle.
After that, defeat seemed swift and almost inevitable. Melkor and Culnaur decided that they must even expend their comparatively small and fragile Orc-soldiers against the Ainur who now poured into Utumno's depths. But it did no good; even as both the Maiar of Melkor's kingdom and the terrified, whip-driven Orcs tried to hold back the attacking forces, others of the Valar sent their power against the very walls and roofs of the underground palace.
The cold gray stone shook, trembled, and burst apart in place after place. The faint but needle-sharp light of the stars streamed into caverns that had never before been open to the sky.
Furious, and deeply shaken by the destruction of these two strongholds that he had seen as absolutely impregnable, Culnaur finally abandoned his attempts to guard what remained of Utumno from the outside. Looking around, he saw that most of his people had already fled or been driven away. He gathered the ones he could still find and ordered them all inside the ruined fortress, to bring the final stand of their battle to the enemies who were already deep within the broken halls.
As they moved into the depths of Utumno, they saw nothing at first except for the destruction - and in the Orcs' cases, death - that had been left behind by the fighting. Many of the once-beautiful caverns they passed through were now littered with the broken bodies of Orcs whose breeding and training had taken dozens or hundreds of years. Culnaur shook his head at the waste. The Valar have destroyed more of our work than they know.
With a feeling of passing interest, Culnaur recognized the lifeless body of Aldor, the first Elf that Melkor had ever captured, lying dead among the bodies of the other slain Orcs. His features, in death, still seemed to hold an expression of desperately acute shame and regret.
We never did entirely own that spirit, Culnaur reflected, irritated at the memory of Aldor's long years of pleading not to be forced to do evil. Still, he did choose to follow every command we gave him, even though he would desperately have wished to do otherwise. I suppose that in a way, that was an even greater victory for us.
Dismissing the thought of Melkor's Firstborn slaves from his mind for the time being, Culnaur turned to one of his Valaraukar captains. "Lead our forces into battle wherever you find it," he directed. "I must find Lord Melkor."
Melkor's heart was pounding rapidly in his chest as he stood at bay in a small, round cavern at the very depths of his iron mines below Utumno. His mind was reeling at the swiftness of his castle's defeat; he had been certain that his enemies could never overcome it! Now he could hear the footsteps of those same enemies rapidly approaching, and he had no place further to flee.
"Melkor!" his brother Manwë cried out, as he swept into the cavern at the head of his victorious besieging army. "We saw the beings who guarded your rooms and hallways; they were not Maiar! What can you have done to them? They cannot have been anything else but the Quendi!"
Behind him, Oromë and Tulkas, along with several of the other Valar and a small cluster of their Maiar servants, moved quickly into the cavern. Melkor's only possible exit was now blocked and filled with a living wall of his enraged enemies.
In spite of his impossible situation, Melkor's heart filled with pride and indignation. "I have done as I pleased with the subjects of my realm! You have no right to speak judgements against me. I am the mightiest of all beings in Arda!"
Manwë made no reply in words, but caught and held Melkor's eyes with his own. His face was at once grieved and resolutely condemning.
Then, one of the Maiar stepped up beside the stern Vala. Melkor, breaking away from his brother's gaze, recognized Olórin who was one of Oromë's hunters. In a few brief seconds of almost whimsical distraction, Melkor reflected that it was very unusual to see Olórin not on horseback.
"Now you will learn the price of your hatred, Melkor!" Olórin shouted in fury. "How dare you do such things to Ilúvatar's world, and to Ilúvatar's Children?"
"Indeed," Ulmo said gravely. His voice was quieter and deeper than Olórin's, but it held a sense of vastly more power. Like the oceans that were his domain, Ulmo's anger seemed to run far deeper than what was visible in his solemn dark-gray eyes.
Melkor had forgotten how frightening it was to face so many of the other Valar at once when they stood against him in wrath. His fear made him even angrier.
"Begone, all of you!" Melkor cried out in fury, though his heart trembled with secret fright.
"We will not 'begone'!" Tulkas retorted in hot indignation. "Stand forth and face me in single combat, O Melkor who thinks himself great! Then we shall see who will triumph!"
For a moment, Melkor's heart seemed to boil inside him. Then his anger turned cold. How dared they challenge him in the heart of his own stronghold?
"I accept," he said coldly.
Tulkas and Melkor stepped towards each other warily, as the other Ainur moved back to leave them the entire space of the cavern's center for their battle. Behind Tulkas, Manwë spoke briefly to Olórin and several of the other Maiar, who bowed quickly before him and then turned to leave the cavern.
"Where have you sent your servants?" Melkor asked his brother mockingly, though he kept most of his attention on the slowly approaching Tulkas.
Manwë's gaze was steady as he answered. "I have sent my herald Eönwë and his companions to find and root out any other evil that may be hidden here."
Let them try, Melkor thought, then found himself trembling against his will as he looked into the steely eyes of Tulkas. This was his greatest enemy, someone he had never faced without running. Now, he had no choice but to do battle.
As the two mighty opponents locked arms in a wrestling grip, Tulkas suddenly burst forth laughing. Enraged at the mockery, Melkor threw his weight forward and twisted to his left, pulling Tulkas briefly off-balance and forcing him to pivot partway around Melkor's body.
Tulkas recovered quickly, grinning now. He caught up with his own movement and continued circling to Melkor's left, drawing Melkor along with him. Melkor wanted to strike him in the face and remove that grin, but he could not release the warrior's arms.
Abruptly, Tulkas changed direction and started circling back to Melkor's right again. Melkor fought to throw his opponent off his footing, but without warning Tulkas let go of Melkor's right arm, wrenching free of the demonic lord's own grip on that side at the same time.
Caught entirely unprepared for such an unusual move, Melkor found himself spinning entirely about until he was facing away from Tulkas with his left arm twisted and held behind his back. Before he could adjust or try to free himself, Tulkas planted his own free hand firmly in the center of Melkor's back and slammed him violently down to the floor with his face against the stone.
Melkor tried to right himself, but Tulkas was already kneeling on top of the small of his back, and he found himself helplessly pinned to the ground. Tulkas grabbed his arms and wrenched them back, as Melkor roared in fury.
In acute disbelief, Melkor felt a chain closing around his wrists, binding his hands behind him. Another length of chain tangled around his feet even as he tried to kick out at his captors.
Never before had his fierce pride been humbled so crushingly. Never had his spirit or his body been confined against his will! Even when I bowed my head to Ilúvatar after the Great Music, he thought, even then it was my own choice to make that movement!
Stern hands reached down from behind and placed a cover over Melkor's eyes. Then he felt himself being picked up and actually carried, like a captured animal, on what had to be the broad shoulders of Tulkas. Melkor could hardly breathe for humiliation.
He was also finding it almost impossible to think. His mind just kept repeating a confused denial that he - Melkor - He who arises in Might - could possibly have fallen so far.
Author's note: This chapter was hard for me to write, because I knew what its ending would be. Oh yes, I still love Melkor dearly in spite of everything! I can't help it. He's Melkor, and I'm a Melkor fangirl. So maybe that's part of why it took me this long to update...
"Hallowed Iron" is a translation - partly mine, partly Tolkien's - of the canon name Angainor for the chain with which Melkor was bound. 'Anga' or 'ang,' frequently used in names in the Silmarillion, simply means 'iron.' The Silmarillion's index of name components lists "Angainor" as one of the words in which it has this meaning. I derived my translation of "Hallowed" for the rest of the name from 'aina,' listed in the index as meaning 'holy.'
My new character Dínfareth is yet another example of my merry attempts to create character names in Elvish! I put it together from 'dîn,' meaning 'silent,' and 'faroth' which according to the Silmarillion's index "is derived from a root meaning 'hunt, pursue'." Then I changed the spelling just a bit because 'faroth' struck me as being plural - well, whatever! I like making up these Elvish names, whether or not I have any idea of what I'm doing. =)
