A/N I don't own anything, so don't sue. Also, I know that there's a bit of a controversy over whether Nienna was the sister of Manwë and Melkor, but I've decided that she was (it's in Morgoth's Ring). Other than that, I hope everything is according to the prophecy.

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Twilight and Rebirth

by Tasarinan

And in that time when the world is old, and the Valar weary, was the patience of Morgoth rewarded, as the Black Foe overcame the strength of the Walls of the World, and entered once more unto the Circles of the World. Gathering his fell servants to him, this army of darkness marched on Valinor, leaving anguish and devastation in its wake. Orodruin, dormant since the fall of Sauron, once more spilled its deadly fires upon those who dared approach it, and those hardiest of men who had tamed the dread lands of Mordor in the centuries since Sauron's fall, fled in terror from the rivers of fire and veiled skies. Over the northernmost ridges of the Ephel Duath this dread horde advanced, and though valiant Men took up arms to hinder them, yet their efforts were in vain, for the servants of Morgoth were many, and the losses inflicted by these Men insignificant. Ever north these foul legions crept, and ever more devastating was their wrath. The Ents and Huorns of Fangorn challenged Morgoth, and though the forest was littered with the bodies of the slain, still the noble tree herders were forced to abjure the battle to save their flocks from the fires that Morgoth set about them. The Elves had long since abandoned Middle Earth, and were little more that legend to all but the most learned scholars of Minas Tirth, the greatest city of men. Yet Morgoth felt the echo of their presence, and the golden woods that men knew as Lórien were laid waste by his armies.
Morgoth paused on that place which centuries ago had been known as the Naith of Lórien, and was pleased with the destruction his armies had wrought, yet his black heart burned to take vengeance on those who had cast him out. Therefore he unsparingly drove his armies on, their ranks swelled by the orcs who had lain hidden in the darkness of Moria. The faint echo of the songs of the Elves of Imladris was forever drowned by the trampling feet of the armies, for though Morgoth had not known of its creation, still he sensed the beauty of the valley, and in his hatred of Elvenkind, destroyed it utterly. In his descent unto the Circles of the World, Morgoth had seen that there was no longer a bridge of ice to the Undying Lands, so when his legions reached Lindon, though it pained him to abide in the Havens of the Elves, yet he rested. In base mockery of the works of the Teleri, the orcs built a fleet of black ships, and when all was in readiness this evil flotilla began its crossing to Aman. Long was that crossing, hindered as it was by the winds of Manwë and the wrath of Ulmo, whose hands tore the vessels asunder. Yet the greater part of Morgoth's fleet survived these assaults, and past the silent city of Alqualondë, and the deserted Tol Eressëa, the Black Fleet came to rest at the foot of the Calacirya. As the horde set foot upon the shore, still there were no sounds, nor armies to hinder them, and Morgoth gave a great cry of triumph that he was unhindered, and thus victorious. Yet his heart misgave him, and as he led his armies to the crest of the rise, spread out on the plains before him was the last Host of the West, stretching from north to south in an unbroken line. Sad were their countenances, yet stern their hearts as Elves and Maiar bore weapons in the ultimate defence of Valinor. Three there were who led this defence, and as Morgoth signalled his armies to attack, he slowly walked towards these chieftains of Valinor. As battle raged about them, there was a calm in which Morgoth regarded his opponents, one of each of the kindred abiding in Aman.

   Tulkas of the Valar stepped forward. "Though we are become weary, yet we are not weak. Herein lies thy doom, Morgoth."
   So saying, Tulkas wrestled Morgoth to the ground. Eonwë, herald of Manwë, and representative of the Maiar stood by, holding the chain Angainor as the battle of the Valar unfolded before him. The forces of darkness were being decimated by the Host of the West, though Elves and Maiar were also numbered amongst the fallen. Yet perilous though their efforts were, they were as naught compared to the ceaseless grappling of Tulkas and Morgoth. For days did their sparring continue, until by some unspoken agreement, the combatants stepped apart. Morgoth surveyed the battlefields of Aman, now littered with the slain, and his ire arose as he perceived that his army had failed.
   "Is then Mandos incorrect?" he bellowed at the three who stood before him. "Am I then to grapple with Tulkas until the end of Arda? Where is Túrin?"
   "Túrin Turambar is dead," spake Eonwë.
   The terrible laughter of Morgoth spilled forth into the silence of the battlefield. "How then can he deal me the death blow, as Mandos promised?"
   The eyes of the three looked above Morgoth, and the evil Vala turned to find the vast watery form of Ulmo towering above him. Ulmo's hand opened slowly, and the son of Húrin stepped onto the plains of Valinor, the Mormegil in his hand.
   "Long have I nurtured this Man," spake the Lord of the Waters, "and now in fulfillment of the prophecy, the bane of Morgoth is come."
   Ulmo retreated to the sea as Túrin stepped forward. Grim was his expression, and no utterance made he as he lifted his black sword Gurthang to his forehead in silent salute. Morgoth unsheathed his sword, though he made no salute.
   As the swords crossed, Morgoth spoke. "I fear not the son as I feared not the father. The might of man is as nothing to me." Then he gave his full attention to the battle and spoke no more.
   Swift was Morgoth to strike and Túrin's strategy became defensive. Almost it seemed to the onlookers that Gurthang moved independently of Túrin, for when the man misstepped, still the strike of Morgoth was parried. For many hours did the fight continue, and Morgoth was unscathed. "How then shall the Prophecy be fulfilled?" he sneered. "No blade of mortal man could injure me!"
   Túrin paused, and once more raised his sword in salute. A ray of sunlight illuminated the warrior, and the blade that he bore, but the answering radiance dazzled Morgoth, and in that brief moment of weakness did the Mormegil strike the death-blow. Morgoth looked down at the sword protruding from his chest, and realisation dawned, as the light of a Silmaril, set upon the pommel of Gurthang, blinded his dying moments. The blade was withdrawn, and the body of the Black Foe crumbled into ash. A sudden gust of wind blew the remains into the sea.
   Túrin nodded, and turned to face the three. He held the sword upon his palms and presented it to Eonwë, who took the weapon solemnly. Túrin bowed deeply before turning away from the three and walking back to the sea, his form fading with every step.

   "Victory!" roared Tulkas.
   "Victory," repeated Ingwë, the Vanyarin High King of the Elves, his sad eyes sweeping the battlefield.
   Eonwë was silent, though his eyes were drawn northwards. The Valar and Valier were walking towards them, Manwë and Nienna weeping openly for the loss of their brother.
   "Now it is done, as was prophesied, and the marring of Arda may now be undone," spake Manwë.
   "Yet how shall we begin?" asked Yavanna, in a sorrowing voice. "Aman has been tainted by this army, and death brought once more unto the Undying Lands. How can this be undone?"
   "It is now the time of healing, for Arda, and all who dwell therein," said Varda. "Let us begin with that which first was tainted by Melkor's wrath. Telperion and Laurelin must shine once more."
   "Eärendil has been summoned," spoke Manwë, and the Valar raised up their eyes to regard the stately descent of Vingilot.
   "Yet how can the third be retrieved? Was it not cast into a chasm of fire?" asked Aulë.
   "Yea," answered Mandos. "But the retrieval of the third Silmaril lies in the hands of its maker." At the wondering look of the others, Mandos turned westwards. "From the Halls of Mandos do I summon Fëanor to our presence, to hear our judgment." Soft was the voice of Mandos, yet all heard his words. The nobles of Aman stood upon the bloody battlefield in silent vigil, and though naught was seen, yet the fiery spirit of the son of Finwë became apparent to the assembled company. Mandos raised a hand. "Curufinwë Fëanor, a choice was once offered unto you, to deliver those jewels made by your craft into the hands of Yavanna, to sustain and heal the Trees of Valinor. Your choice was made void by the actions of Morgoth, so once more this choice is offered to you. Will you yield the Silmarils?"
   "Long have I dwelt in the Halls of Mandos," quoth the spirit, "and much have I learned from the souls who shared my internment. My right to decide the fate of the Silmarils has long since faded."
   "You are the creator of the jewels," spake Aulë. "This right - this burden cannot be revoked. Speak now, Fëanor. Would you yield the jewels to rekindle the trees?"
   The spirit considered before responding. "I have come to learn that everything which has existence in Arda has suffered the taint of Morgoth. If aught that I have wrought can aid in effacing the Marring, small will I consider the price."
   "Though you yield to our persuasion, know that I cannot allow your father to join you," warned Mandos. "The sacrifice of Finwë, freely made, permits Míriel and Indis to live. The rehousing of Finwë would doom one of his wives, and is contrary to our law."
   "I have accepted my father's sacrifice, as I have accepted the necessity of my own," answered the spirit.
   Mandos nodded. "It is the judgment of Námo Mandos that Fëanor son of Finwë be released from my Halls, and clad once more in bodily raiment."
   Manwë and Varda raised their hands and bowed their heads. A great light shone before them, and within that light a figure grew until the radiance was eclipsed, and Fëanor stood before them. His eyes were filled with wonder as he stared about him. "Where then are the jewels?" asked Fëanor.
   "One is borne within the blade that Eonwë holds," responded Yavanna, "and the second is bound to the brow of Eärendil, who approaches." At her gesture, Fëanor looked up, and cried out in wonder at the dazzling white ship descending toward them from above.
   Mandos laid a hand on Fëanor's shoulder. "The final Silmaril is confined within the bosom of the earth. He who retrieves the last jewel must content with the mighty fires of Orodruin." His eyes were stern as they regarded the newly embodied Noldo, who blenched at Mandos' words. "Though your fëa is rehoused, yet you must undergo the cleansing fire to be shriven of your heinous transgressions. What we ask is not beyond the scope of your power, for your fëa is strong, and can sustain your hröa through this ordeal."
   Fëanor bowed his head. "I will abide by the promise I made, to yield the Silmarils to Yavanna."
   "So be it," intoned Mandos.

   Eärendil bore his kinsman aboard Vingilot as they journeyed towards Mordor. Silent was that ship, for Eärendil was accustomed to solitude, and Elwing did not accompany her husband on this final voyage in the darkness 'twixt Sun and Moon. The Valar had decreed that Men should not glimpse the shining Foam Flower, so the winds of Manwë bore the Elves to Orodruin in the dark of night. Sad was the gaze of Eärendil as he beheld the destruction wrought by Morgoth, yet he was hopeful that these evil scars would be cleansed by the healing light of the Trees of which his mother had sung to him. Fëanor his kinsman was amazed at the changing of the world, for Beleriand, whence he had led the Noldor rebellion, was no more, and it seemed to his eye that Men were abroad where ere he looked, as they had not been during his first embodiment. Though the skies were filled with ash dark clouds, yet the Elves could see the glow of Orodruin's fires as they neared their destination, and all of Eärendil's skill was required to negotiate the cruel peaks of the Ephel Duath. Vingilot came to rest some distance from the blazing mountain, and though his heart misgave him, yet the son of Finwë leapt from the vessel and dived into the bubbling cauldron of red hot lava.

Exquisite agonies tore at him, as his fëa strove to maintain his hröa against the deadly heat and poisonous gases. Blinded and tortured, the Spirit of Fire floundered in the deeps of the mountain, his quest forgotten in his desperate attempt to sustain his hröa. Further and deeper into the flames he fell, and just as he reached the limit of his endurance, his blindness was illuminated, and his eyes beheld the final Silmaril, which blazed as the Sun. His hand closed upon the jewel, and in the midst of all of the pain, Fëanor felt the jewel leave its fiery imprint upon him. Long he fought against the fires of Orodruin, and oft did he sink unto the depths until, naked and blazing as a new Sun, the Spirit of Fire was expelled from the mountain, and thrown into the skies. Cold winds converged upon the comet as Fëanor flew through the darkness and though the winds lashed him with their veriest strengths, still Fëanor came to rest upon the deck of Vingilot, and Eärendil drew the shining vessel away as Orodruin exploded, raining stone and fire upon the dark lands over which it had towered. Fëanor lay unmoving upon the deck of Eärendil's ship, the deck about him forever blackened and burnt. Eärendil laid a cloak upon his kinsman, yet it burnt away into nothing. He saw that although the hröa of Fëanor was unblemished despite his fiery torture, the shape of the Silmaril was scarred silver upon his hand, which clutched the jewel tightly. The journey continued, and Fëanor remained still, until the shadow of Vingilot fell over Belegaer. In one sudden movement, Fëanor arose, and leapt into the sea, and though Eärendil halted the vessel to seek his kinsman, yet there was naught to be seen, for a vast cloud had arisen at the meeting of fire and water. Suddenly there came a great bird of the West flapping towards Vingilot on snowy wings, and Elwing stepped upon the ship, folding the wings of her craft behind her. "Why do you tarry?" she asked her husband.
   "I await the return of Fëanor," declared Eärendil, though Elwing shook her head.
   "He is beyond our aid. Come. The Valar await us on Ezellohar."

   The winds bore the Foam Flower unto Aman, where all of the Elves, Maiar and Valar were gathered at the withered skeletons of the trees, in the darkness. The Sun and Moon had been recalled, and Ithil stood by Telperion, cradling the silver flower, even as the radiant Anar bore the golden fruit of Laurelin. Elwing unbound the Silmaril from the brow of her husband before they approached Ezellohar, and stood by Maedhros, son of Fëanor, who once more carried a Silmaril of his father's craft, removed from the sword Gurthang, which was girt at his side.
   "I offer you the sword of Turin your kinsman, Eärendil," spake Maedhros gravely.
   Eärendil inclined his head. "I accept, and offer you the jewel of your father."
   Maedhros ungirted the Mormegil, and Eärendil took it, raising the blade to his forehead in salute. Elwing, daughter of Dior Thingol's heir, placed the jewel into the hands of the tall son of Fëanor, who bowed. The assembly was silent.
And from the east a great wave arose, and the Ulumúri sounded in the silence as the Lord of the Waters emerged, attended by Ossë and Uinen. In his arms Ulmo bore a bundle swathed in white, which he set upon the ground before joining his kin. The white cloak was thrown back, and Fëanor stepped forward, cradling the final Silmaril. "I have been shriven in the fires of earth, purified by the wrath of the air, and cleansed in the waters of Belegaer," he declared, as he approached the green mound. "Yet I am not healed. In the light of the trees will all our hurts be healed, and I offer these jewels, as I promised, to rekindle their light."
   Fëanor paused by Maedhros, who bore the Silmarils to his father their maker, and for a moment his light became too great to look upon, before it faded to a fiery glow. Onwards he walked until he stood before Yavanna, and bowing, offered the Silmarils to the Valië. Yavanna inclined her head as Fëanor stepped back to stand beside Maedhros his son and Míriel his mother, who had left the House of Vairë to honour her son. The Valië of the Earth turned to regard the long dead trees, and lifted her voice in song. Achingly sweet was that melody, for it told of love and loss, yet it seemed to the listeners that their hearts were glad to hear it. The tears of Nienna fell upon Ezellohar as Yavanna's song continued, and Ithil stood before Telperion, bearing its last flower at its crown. His voice joined Yavanna's, providing a poignant counterpoint. Anar bore the fruit of Laurelin unto the form of the golden tree, and added a third theme to the song. Suddenly melody spilled forth from all who were there assembled, and this music was long and beautiful, for there was no discord, and the harmonies were countless. Still more singers joined their song, as distant voices from Middle Earth were heard, the rumble of the Ents, the earthy tones of the dwarves, and the innumerable voices of men, swelling from the lowest to the highest. The harmonies of all twined and grew, and joined with others before separating, and twining once more. In the midst of the song, Yavanna began to glow, and she set down the Silmarils at the foot of the trees. Though the light was dazzling, still she could see a single tendril stretching towards the flower of Telperion, and a silver light filtered down through each branch of the tree until dark green shoots were seen growing rapidly. Blossoms burst open before the singers, and silver light bathed the assembly as the song ceased, save one voice. Nienna's tears ended as Telperion waxed, and new growth was perceived in Laurelin the golden, and still the sole voice continued, swelling to a great crescendo as the Pelóri Mountains sank silently, allowing the silver light of Telperion to roll out into the world. Silence returned as the song ceased.

"Hearken now unto my words, o' my children, and know that ye are the third theme of thy Father, and blessed, and through thy harmonies thou art become the ultimate theme. In each melody lies the part thou shalt play in this new accord, and though ye yet understand it not, in time thou shalt come to comprehend thy part in thy Father's song. Fear not! For all ye accomplish but adds to the glory of this music. Go ye then unto the world and fulfil thy song, as I love thee, and enjoy the bliss that is Arda Unmarred."

Laurelin waxed as Telperion waned, and Arda Unmarred was hallowed by the mingled gold and silver light of the Trees Healed.

fëa – soul
hröa - body