Interlude: And I Alone Am Escaped to Tell Thee
The water had been gray and grim for long days.
Cirdan sighed, rising from where he kneeled to dip long fingers in the waves eating about the sands of the Falas. Many days. Storms and rain, and huge waves rising, but crashing deep in the ocean and not in the shore, as if held back and roaring in frustration. Osse was not pleased - as it were, he was probably furious.
Which was not such a rare thing when the excitable Maia was concerned, and yet.
And yet.
The memory of tall, dark forms, terrible and beautiful, strange, with light in their eyes and swords in their hands, rattled the lord of the Falathrim from whatever peace the sea had to offer.
He raised his eyes from the waves, and smiled slightly.
"My Lord Osse," he said, attempting a light tone.
He was answered by a violent splash of cold water, knocking him down to the sand and holding him there as if it was a great hand, crushing the air out of his lungs, rendering him utterly helpless as he stared up, stunned. Osse, clad in his slender Elflike form as he was, stood upon the wave, dark fire mingling with water in his eyes.
"Fool! Ignorant child! Traitor!!" the Maia roared in a voice like the crashing of waves. "How could you help them?!"
The Elf's eyes grew wide, and he tried to answer, but the water still held him with force unimaginable. He could not breath. He looked upon the great being with begging eyes, the deep blue of the sea, and at last, he felt a quavering in the water hand.
The water crashed down and retreated back to the sea, and Osse fell onto the shore and remained collapsed there, sobbing rivers into the sand.
Shocked to the very core of his being, Cirdan did not even stop to catch his laboring breath. With infinite care and reverence, he knelt by the Maia, and gently, softly, dared to speak.
"My lord."
Slowly Osse looked up at him. He did not seem to mind being revealed so in his weakness. His eyes hardened when he looked upon the Elf, just for a moment, then rage shattered before grief.
"Yet you live." he muttered - and his form crashed into a great wave, roaring as it returned to the sea. Now he rose over the water in a terrible visage, and spoke in a fell voice, raging as the storm, rising as thunder, words with dread to match their sound.
"Cirdan of the Falas! Alqualonde is in ruin! Slain lie the Teleri by the hands of their kin - their kin who came now to Middle Earth - and fate touches not the one responsible! I was bidden not harm him - you were not!" With every word the water rose up, up to cover the newborn sun, up to hide the vastness of the ocean, a great shadow cast upon the golden shore. Clouds rose and wind, the smell of salt becoming bitter, the water dreadful cold, the rage in the eyes of the Maia like a spear of sheer ice. "Let the Noldor kinslayers know true vengeance!"
And without another sound, he was gone, raising up the water in rage, foam splashing white, the sunset painting the waves red. Alone on the sand he left Cirdan, who sat there for a long, long time.
And when at last he rose, one thought lingered in his mind, dark, mournful.
Doriath.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Deep are the dungeons of Morgoth Bauglir, in the north of the world under the dread mountains. Tall are his dark spires, and black as night is his realm, and silent are his thoughts that are like poison slow and wicked, and his sight pierces time and the vastness of the world.
Now he saw the dispute among his enemies, the anger, the hate, and rejoiced.
All as planned, all perfectly as planned.
At the feet of his dark throne, he remained constantly aware of the cool, focused presence of the greatest of his servants. Sauron the Maia was weaving some spell, humming as he did to concentrate the raw, wild magic he wielded. He was clad in his fairest form, as often was his perverse pleasure to do in the ugliest, darkest depths of Angband; charcoal-black hair streamed a bit past his shoulders, smooth and bright, his eyes sparkled silver, and his frame was beautifully gentle, almost childlike. The combination of that, the quiet humming, and the blackness all around was spellbinding, and Sauron knew it very well.
"Cease that senseless music," the dark Vala snapped in a voice deep and dark as the Void.
Sauron looked up; in this form, he looked very innocent while doing so, and wounded. He stopped humming with quiet indignation.
"Forgive me, my lord. I merely wished to watch," he said in a low, purring tone.
Morgoth did not spare him one look. Burning eyes remained fixed on the empty distance.
"And what have you seen?" he asked emotionlessly.
Sauron gave a slight shrug. "Elves, quarreling thoughtlessly over their petty grudges. Letting that one Feanor live was a stroke of genius, if I may say. They would kill each other over the right to kill him."
A slight grin played upon Morgoth's dread face. Sauron did not miss it. Smiling in the cover of the dark, he allowed himself to speak on.
"An interesting creature, that one is. I would watch him more closely if I could - which of course, I cannot, without my lord's permission, and yet."
"You ask my permission?"
The Maia looked innocent. "Would my lord grant it?"
A while the dark lord sat in thought, but Sauron had time. He hummed quietly to himself.
"If you wish it," Morgoth at last said slowly.
Sauron's eyes lit up even as his shape slowly changed to resemble an Elf more closely. He gave the obligatory low bow with a sly smile, and with a laugh, turning, marched out of the dark chamber, out into the friendly darkness, humming his magical tune all the while.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Joan Milligan
The water had been gray and grim for long days.
Cirdan sighed, rising from where he kneeled to dip long fingers in the waves eating about the sands of the Falas. Many days. Storms and rain, and huge waves rising, but crashing deep in the ocean and not in the shore, as if held back and roaring in frustration. Osse was not pleased - as it were, he was probably furious.
Which was not such a rare thing when the excitable Maia was concerned, and yet.
And yet.
The memory of tall, dark forms, terrible and beautiful, strange, with light in their eyes and swords in their hands, rattled the lord of the Falathrim from whatever peace the sea had to offer.
He raised his eyes from the waves, and smiled slightly.
"My Lord Osse," he said, attempting a light tone.
He was answered by a violent splash of cold water, knocking him down to the sand and holding him there as if it was a great hand, crushing the air out of his lungs, rendering him utterly helpless as he stared up, stunned. Osse, clad in his slender Elflike form as he was, stood upon the wave, dark fire mingling with water in his eyes.
"Fool! Ignorant child! Traitor!!" the Maia roared in a voice like the crashing of waves. "How could you help them?!"
The Elf's eyes grew wide, and he tried to answer, but the water still held him with force unimaginable. He could not breath. He looked upon the great being with begging eyes, the deep blue of the sea, and at last, he felt a quavering in the water hand.
The water crashed down and retreated back to the sea, and Osse fell onto the shore and remained collapsed there, sobbing rivers into the sand.
Shocked to the very core of his being, Cirdan did not even stop to catch his laboring breath. With infinite care and reverence, he knelt by the Maia, and gently, softly, dared to speak.
"My lord."
Slowly Osse looked up at him. He did not seem to mind being revealed so in his weakness. His eyes hardened when he looked upon the Elf, just for a moment, then rage shattered before grief.
"Yet you live." he muttered - and his form crashed into a great wave, roaring as it returned to the sea. Now he rose over the water in a terrible visage, and spoke in a fell voice, raging as the storm, rising as thunder, words with dread to match their sound.
"Cirdan of the Falas! Alqualonde is in ruin! Slain lie the Teleri by the hands of their kin - their kin who came now to Middle Earth - and fate touches not the one responsible! I was bidden not harm him - you were not!" With every word the water rose up, up to cover the newborn sun, up to hide the vastness of the ocean, a great shadow cast upon the golden shore. Clouds rose and wind, the smell of salt becoming bitter, the water dreadful cold, the rage in the eyes of the Maia like a spear of sheer ice. "Let the Noldor kinslayers know true vengeance!"
And without another sound, he was gone, raising up the water in rage, foam splashing white, the sunset painting the waves red. Alone on the sand he left Cirdan, who sat there for a long, long time.
And when at last he rose, one thought lingered in his mind, dark, mournful.
Doriath.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Deep are the dungeons of Morgoth Bauglir, in the north of the world under the dread mountains. Tall are his dark spires, and black as night is his realm, and silent are his thoughts that are like poison slow and wicked, and his sight pierces time and the vastness of the world.
Now he saw the dispute among his enemies, the anger, the hate, and rejoiced.
All as planned, all perfectly as planned.
At the feet of his dark throne, he remained constantly aware of the cool, focused presence of the greatest of his servants. Sauron the Maia was weaving some spell, humming as he did to concentrate the raw, wild magic he wielded. He was clad in his fairest form, as often was his perverse pleasure to do in the ugliest, darkest depths of Angband; charcoal-black hair streamed a bit past his shoulders, smooth and bright, his eyes sparkled silver, and his frame was beautifully gentle, almost childlike. The combination of that, the quiet humming, and the blackness all around was spellbinding, and Sauron knew it very well.
"Cease that senseless music," the dark Vala snapped in a voice deep and dark as the Void.
Sauron looked up; in this form, he looked very innocent while doing so, and wounded. He stopped humming with quiet indignation.
"Forgive me, my lord. I merely wished to watch," he said in a low, purring tone.
Morgoth did not spare him one look. Burning eyes remained fixed on the empty distance.
"And what have you seen?" he asked emotionlessly.
Sauron gave a slight shrug. "Elves, quarreling thoughtlessly over their petty grudges. Letting that one Feanor live was a stroke of genius, if I may say. They would kill each other over the right to kill him."
A slight grin played upon Morgoth's dread face. Sauron did not miss it. Smiling in the cover of the dark, he allowed himself to speak on.
"An interesting creature, that one is. I would watch him more closely if I could - which of course, I cannot, without my lord's permission, and yet."
"You ask my permission?"
The Maia looked innocent. "Would my lord grant it?"
A while the dark lord sat in thought, but Sauron had time. He hummed quietly to himself.
"If you wish it," Morgoth at last said slowly.
Sauron's eyes lit up even as his shape slowly changed to resemble an Elf more closely. He gave the obligatory low bow with a sly smile, and with a laugh, turning, marched out of the dark chamber, out into the friendly darkness, humming his magical tune all the while.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Joan Milligan