CHAPTER XXVII


How odd fire is—

It writhes, it burns,

It warms, it nourishes.

A perilous beauty,

Cruel and sharp.

A celestial demon,

Wrathful and enchanting.

Just watch how it dances,

How it hums with the heavens,

Like the vibrations of love

Throbbing in the air.

Is the fire scarlet,

Like freshly spilled blood;

Or is the fire ruby,

Like the perfume of wine;

Or is it crimson,

Like a rose?

If it is a rose,

It must be a beautiful one.

Flawless and luscious petals,

Smooth as silk.

If it is indeed wine,

It must be an ambrosial one.

The taste sweet as nectar,

The aroma like oak.

If it is the scarlet of blood,

It must be an enthralling one.

For the hue, so deep and dark,

May never release its grasp on me.

Yet now it seems to me;

The ways of my heart

Have shattered and pieced itself together again—

I am changed.

For the fire is no longer

The perfume of wine,

The crimson of a rose.

I find it to be a dark fire,

Ebony like the drums in the deep,

Never fading,

Never releasing its grasp on me.

Yet sometimes when I look,

I can see the true form

Of this ravenous, lovely fire.

It is only a mirror;

Only yourself.

The Scarlet Fire


For hours I had laid there in the shadows of the cave, the pain too great for me to move much at all. In the beginning I tried to make the ointment to relieve the pain but barely retrieved the ingredients before I sagged back down again, the stone bowl of willow bark crashing to the ground. Laying a few shaking fingers upon my brow, I found that my skin was scalding hot and realized I was sweating all over, which made it a lot more uncomfortable.

Shifting onto my side, I reached for the bowl of water but I was just so tired. . .lying down would feel better maybe. . .but I needed the water. . .my throat was so dry. . .too tired. . .just lie down for a bit. . .wait, I needed something. . .what was that I needed. . .what was it?

I drifted off into nothing, my conscious ness wandering in an unknown dimension far away, knowing naught, thinking naught, remembering naught. There was only a silvery mist lingering about in the air like the last sealing blanket.

Then in the moonlight shining down upon the entrance of the cave, there was a slight movement. I turned my face to it, slowly; it was the only part of my body I could move without causing too much of an inconvenience. It was a wolf, an albino one, with fur so white it seemed like he would be invisible in the snow. Without reaching into his energy, I knew who it was. Mairon, in his wolf-hame, come to ensnare me at last.

"So you've come," I said, still lying on my side, unable to move. "Here I am at last, at your feet, at your disposal. You can do what you want with me now. Make me into the weapon that will destroy Beleriand." My voice was shaking for yes, indeed, I was afraid. I had every right to be, didn't I?

He said nothing, however, and padded into the cave, almost like a normal wolf. He came next to me and looked at the water bowl I had been reaching for, my fingers mere inches from grasping it. Shifting into his usual form, he poured water from the large stone basin into the bowl and slid an arm around me, hoisting me up. I was too thirsty to argue, and greedily drank the water as he tipped it into my mouth. When I could drink no more, he laid me back down on my back and sat by me on a rock, looking out at the moonlight. Out in the sky, the moon hung full and bright, like a lantern.

"Is it not interesting how the logic of predator and prey works? The prey will not stand a chance against the predator, and therefore must flee. There is no choice to fight, no choice to find some courage in themselves. Sometimes they may outrun their predator, and steal a few more days, or years alive, but the predator was meant to catch the prey, and so they will. Such is how the ecological niche operates." He turned back and began making the ointment I had failed to complete. I said nothing, and stared glossily at the moon. The night was quiet now that the fever had died down somewhat and the pain was not roaring and rushing like waves in a treacherous tempest too much anymore.

Mairon finished with the ointment and placed it aside. After examining the wounds that Thuringwethil had given me, he began to dress them. "You were a wolf, like me," he said, cleaning the blood away from my skin.

"Were," I repeated.

"How did it feel, killing Thuringwethil?" he said.

"Good," I told him, "if the wounds did not hurt so much."

Both of us were silent for some time, until I spoke again.

"Why," I said at last.

"At this rate, it looks like you would die of dehydration and starvation rather than the scar," he said. "And you are, in fact, my yendë."

"I'm sure you have plenty of bastard children," I spat. "Why do I matter so much?"

"None of the others survived," he told me. "You are the only one."

"What—" I began, then stopped abruptly. "What was my mother's name? She never told me."

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I called her Mirerúnya. Her ataressë was Ithilótë."

"Hm."

"I would say she was quite a brave elleth, daring, more like, and foolhardy and naïve too," he told me. "She wanted to try everything that was new out there."

"Did you love her," I asked, "or was she just another one of your games?"

"The latter, I'll have to say," he said. "I prefer ellyn, honestly, if you did not know."

"I knew."

"Although I did find her an interesting one. Usually I don't stay with people that long. I just have a nice night and leave—"

"I get it."

He smiled, although it was more of an exposure of teeth. "You have daddy issues."

My expression came nothing short of what the fuck?

"You and all of your—ah, what do I call them?—friends, you all have daddy issues," he said.

"Is that what your spies tell you when they go slinking back to your tunnels?"

"Yes, and no."

I sighed in exasperation.

"Go to sleep. I'm taking you back to Doriath tomorrow in the night."

I sighed again. "If you're trying to make me not hate you, it's not working."

"I'm not trying to make you think anything."

"You don't understand. You took more from me than you can possibly think. I lost everything in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad—everyone—and it was all you behind it. You and your master."

"You left the Fëanorians yourself."

I hurled a wave of energy at him and he went crashing to the ground. A spasm of pain knifed through me but I bit it down and ignored it best I could. "How dare you say that."

"It is true, is it not?"

"Shut up and get out."

"You left everyone all by yourself, first the Fëanorians, then Doriath—I'm trying to take you to a place where you're not going to kill yourself."

"What do you care? You killed Findekáno."

"I—"

"Get out."

Slowly, he backed out of the cave, and shifting into his wolf-hame, went down to the river, where the golden leaves still fell.

I lay on my back, empty eyes lifted towards the moon until sleep took me.