A/N: As always, thank you for the reviews!
Second-to-last
week of this, probably. I will miss it when it ends...
There. That's enough thinking about that.
Here we go.
As usual, don't own the Tolkien characters, and the Sue Morwen in here is
stealing a canonical name.
The Game of the Gods, 28.
"There he is."
Morgoth lifted his head apprehensively. Finwë was perched on a ridge above
them, clutching something that Morgoth would have known was his diary even if
he hadn't received the threat from Finwë himself. There was just something
about narrative inevitability and all the evil he had suffered.
"I want you on the west of him, Nienna," Yavanna went on.
Nienna sighed and shook her head. "If Finwë had just been content to
control his libido, then none of this might have happened," she murmured,
and trotted off to the west.
"What is she talking about?" Morgoth asked Yavanna, without taking
his eyes off the Elf. "Fëanor would still have existed, and that was the
great evil."
"I know," said Yavanna, herding him towards the front of the ridge.
"But Nienna's spent more time than any of us trying to talk to Indis, and
Finwë, and Míriel, and I think the situation has made her more stricken with
grief and obsessed with stopping it than she already was. Her latest idea is
that Fëanor should have been enough for any father, and that the Noldor
wouldn't have run away if Fingolfin and Finarfin hadn't been born."
Morgoth thought about that. Then he said, "Nienna worries a lot about
things that can't be changed, doesn't she?"
"Oh, yes," said Yavanna.
They had come just below the ridge now, and Morgoth could hear Finwë's voice.
"-and then I realized that the eldest son of Fëanor was, well, the eldest,
and had shining red hair, and walked exuding a sense of mastery all about him.
I began to wonder if that sense of mastery extended to everything he did-"
Morgoth yelled out hastily, since he could see that the appreciative crowd
below the ridge included Tulkas. "High King of the Noldor!"
Finwë stopped reading, just long enough to peer from side to side. Then he
shrugged and looked at Morgoth. "Since no one else who could claim that
title is here right now, then I suppose you must be talking to me."
Yavanna snickered. Morgoth glared at her. He felt the Valar were far too prone
to finding humor in this situation, especially in times and places where there
was none at all.
"What do you want?" Finwë continued, drawing Morgoth's gaze back.
Morgoth held up the carved wooden box of Sues, and drew one out. Finwë should
be able to have some sense of what it was; he had done some stupid things, but
he wasn't that stupid in general, just oversexed.
"Interesting," said Finwë. "Not as interesting as the next page,
of course, where we find out just what your first fantasy was about
Maedhros." He turned the page of the diary. "This was the one that
made Námo laugh so hard I was able to walk out of Mandos," he added
conversationally.
Morgoth moved quickly. He remembered that passage, and it wasn't something that
he could stand to hear read. He drew another Sue from the box and held her up.
Finwë chuckled. "Really, Morgoth, did you think that would be a reason for
me to stop? I heard about your Sues from my son. I wasn't impressed then. I'm
much more interested in what you were doing with the cherries-"
"It's who they are that's important, not what they are," said
Morgoth, speaking so quickly he surprised himself. He didn't think he'd spoken
that quickly since he was trying to convince Ungoliant not to hog all the
light. "You ought to watch them."
Finwë shrugged carelessly. "For a moment or two. Then we should get back
to you and the cherries."
Morgoth hastily threw the Sues forward, choosing the rocky ground as the
gameboard. It would serve, anyway.
-----
"Come on, Morwen."
Vanimelda brushed her hair out of her eyes and shook her head. Her half-sister
would lag behind and refuse to catch up with her, through what Vanimelda
thought was sheer bad temper. They were going to see the hill of Halifiren and the
Tomb of Elendil. Surely that was enough to make anyone hurry.
"I don't wanna."
Vanimelda sighed. "It's all right, Morwen. We'll rest." She should
have remembered. She was used to running and walking and even riding, since she
was the Princess of Gondor and frequently in and about around the city. Morwen,
who had dwelt in the lower reaches of Minas Tirth, had stayed in the city most
of her life. It was all right for her to rest for a little while.
----
"Very nice," said Finwë absently. He was flipping through the diary,
and Morgoth had a horrible feeling that he knew what the Elf was looking for.
He glanced up a moment later, with a bright smile. "Shall I tell everyone
what Morgoth was doing the first night after he saw Maedhros?" he asked.
"Yes!" Tulkas roared.
"No!" Morgoth shouted, and gestured to the two Sues again.
-----
Morwen looked up as Vanimelda neared. Vanimelda smiled. The hair was dark as
night, darker than their father's, but King Elessar's features were still clear
in her. Vanimelda had known the truth the first night she met Morwen, digging
through the castle's garbage. Vanimelda was Princess of Gondor, daughter of
Arwen and Aragorn, and Morwen was the daughter of Aragorn and a woman in the
lower city.
-----
There was an ominous silence. Morgoth glanced up and tried to pretend he had
meant that to happen.
"My descendant," said Finwë, "betrayed my other descendant who
gave up her immortality for him?"
"Just once," said Morgoth innocently. He paused. "Or was it two
times? Pregnancies aren't always certain on the first try, you know."
Finwë yelled something incoherent.
Morgoth grinned smugly, and gestured the Sues forward again.
-----
"I don't wanna, I don't wanna," Morwen whined, leaning her head on
her knees and letting her hair fall around her face.
Vanimelda smiled gently at her. Morwen sometimes resented her for being the
legitimate daughter of the King, but Vanimelda had tried to entertain her out
of that. She would trade her life for Morwen's any day. She was spoiled with
jewels and dresses all day long, since her mother liked those things, and
flattered by being told that her blue-green eyes were like the sea. She wanted
to be on the streets, spunky and scrappy and dodging guards.
-----
"He would never have betrayed Arwen. He was not that kind of man."
Morgoth looked up to see Finwë crouched just above him. He smiled. "Are
you so sure of that?"
"Yes," said Finwë fiercely. "My blood ran in his veins, however
distantly, and in hers more closely. He would never have done such a
thing."
"And yet, Elves who also had your blood in their veins did terrible
things." Morgoth eyed the diary. Finwë was holding it behind his back, and
Morgoth wondered if that meant he would notice if Morgoth edged forward and
grabbed it. Probably. Better to wait for a more opportune moment. "The
Kinslaying, for example."
"That was inspired by you."
"Yes, and my killing of you." Morgoth smirked. "Do you remember
how you died, Finwë?"
Any response Finwë might have made was cut off by the shrilling of alarms.
Yavanna flinched beside Morgoth. "Escapees from Mandos," she said.
"More of them. And it sounds-"
The alarms abruptly stopped.
"And what does that mean?" Yavanna muttered. "Either Námo
suddenly recaptured them, or he decided to let them go willingly, and neither
makes any sense."
"Morgoth."
Morgoth turned back, alerted by the taunting tone in Finwë's voice. The Elf
winked at him and started reading.
"-fire in my veins to match the fire in his hair. I had long thought of
this, but I had never actually done it. I thought-"
"Shut up!" Morgoth yelled. "Shutupshutupshutup! Or I'll tell
them how you really died, and what you were really doing with Indis and
a pillow when I found you!"
Finwë snarled at him, but didn't come nearer and didn't drop the diary. Morgoth
sent the Sues into motion once more.
-----
"Come on," said Morwen, to appease her sister. "I wanna reach
Halifirien, too."
Vanimelda smiled at her, and ran merrily away across the grass. Morwen stood
more slowly, eyes locked on Vanimelda's back.
How she would like to put a sword right through it!
It wasn't only for her hair or her bastard birth that her mother had named her
"dark maiden." She had been born with part of the Shadow still inside
her, Sauron's evil still abroad in the world. Sometimes she heard a voice
whispering to her at night, of death and destruction and evil, and she had
started learning to fight with a black sword because she thought it was the
right thing to do.
At the moment, Vanimelda was singing in tune with the nightingales, or whatever
stupid birds she had found to sing with her in the daylight. Morwen shut her
eyes, smiling.
"Soon enough, sister," she whispered, "you shall be dead, and I
shall be Queen of Gondor."
"Mooor-wen! Are you coming?"
"Coming," she whispered, and ran after her.
-----
"It would not happen," said Finwë sharply. "None of my
descendants would be that petty in her evil."
Morgoth looked up in surprise. He had thought that Finwë was going to say
something about none of his descendants ever turning to evil, and he was going
to counter with the example of Fëanor again, but this was different. "What
do you mean?"
Finwë stared at him in pity. "We aren't gadflies, Morgoth, to bite at the
flank of evil and just sting it a little. We make the world feel our presence.
You've felt it, haven't you, both the first time that Fëanor came after you and
this time when he escaped? We shake the world. This girl dreams of stabbing her
sister in the back due to a case of sibling rivalry and taking over one Kingdom
of Men. Not nearly grand enough."
Morgoth stared at him a moment in bafflement. He was never going to understand
Elves, or at least not Noldor.
Finwë began to smile then. "Of course, you had some pretty grandiose
visions yourself," he said. "Shall we read them?" And he opened
the book again.
Morgoth began hastily to speak, encouraged by Yavanna's motions to him. A net
of Valar was drawing tighter around the Elf, getting ready to hold him. If he
could just distract Finwë for a little while longer, then it might be enough.
-----
"There it is. Halifirien."
Morwen nodded, eyes on the sides of the hill for just a moment before they
turned to Firien Wood, which surrounded the hill. They were a lovely woods,
dark and deep, and full of secrets that she could perhaps exploit when she
killed her sister. Morwen had decided this was the last trip. No more of
Vanimelda's dancing and singing to birds, and telling her she had a wonderful
life and should just buck up. She had eaten garbage often enough in the
streets, had slept on cold cobbles and been abused. She wouldn't take it
anymore.
Vanimelda saw her sister's pensive gaze, but shrugged it off. Morwen got like
this sometimes. Vanimelda had just learned to ignore it and to go right ahead
and along her journey. Things would look up tomorrow.
*****
They camped that night in Firen Wood, and Vanimelda lay on her back, watching
the stars, content. Her parents had been nervous about allowing her to venture
all the way towards the border of Rohan, but Vanimelda had laughed off their
fears. There was nothing in all the Kingdom that would dare to hurt the
daughter of Arwen and Aragorn, and she was enough protection all by herself for
Morwen.
----
"Oh, really?"
Morgoth looked up again. Finwë was considerably nearer, but the diary was still
clutched behind his back.
"Really," Morgoth said. "Evil has been cleared out of that area-
well, except for Morwen," he added conscientiously. "What could harm
them?"
Finwë scowled. "They still shouldn't be there. They still shouldn't exist.
King Elessar would not have taken two lovers."
"Why not?" Morgoth asked. "You did."
"There was a law," Finwë began, rising to his feet, "that
said I could wed Indis, because Míriel refused to come back from
Mandos-"
"Yes, yes," Morgoth said, waving a hand. "That made it legal. It
doesn't make it right. Besides, if it was applied in this case, Aragorn would
just have to kill Arwen or the woman who bore Morwen, and he would be free to
wed the other."
Finwë looked close to epilepsy, or perhaps apoplexy. He snarled at the two
girls lying secure in the vision of the Wood.
Morgoth shrugged and waved a hand.
-----
A crackling, thumping sound woke Vanimelda. She sat up with a yawn.
"Morwen? I told you that we wouldn't go see the Tomb of Elendil until
tomorrow-"
She stopped. The light of the fire caught on small, bright red eyes, and then
she was able to see the squat shape close to the ground. This wasn't Morwen
after all, but an animal.
Vanimelda smiled and held a hand out. "Hello! Who are you? My name is
Vanimelda. I-"
That was as far as she got before something ripped through her arm and tossed
her into the air. She landed hard, bleeding, crying, pain going through her as
the weapons already had. She just managed to turn and look, and saw the animal
step into the firelight.
Now she could see the dark bristles, and the madness in the small eyes, and
know it for a wild boar. The red gleam on the tusks was her blood.
Vanimelda tried to crawl away, hearing stamping behind her as the boar readied
itself to charge. She heard the stamping increase, felt a flash of pain, and
then realized the boar had torn into her belly. She curled around the wound,
fighting for breath.
She heard Morwen laughing.
Looking up, she saw her bastard sister dancing in celebration, her dark hair
flying behind her. She stopped and smiled sweetly at Vanimelda.
"I roused the boar," she said. "I control it, and you
shall be dead soon, and I shall be Queen of Gondor."
Vanimelda breathed shallowly. The wound didn't hurt that much, she found, but
she knew she was still going to die. "Why?" she whispered. "Why,
Morwen?"
Morwen seemed ready to explain, but the boar turned and faced her in that
moment, and her eyes widened.
"No," she whispered. "I roused you."
"That doesn't mean you control him," said Vanimelda, watching the
boar run after her sister. Morwen fled into Firien Wood, but the beast was
right behnd her, and a scream later, Vanimelda knew her sister had probably met
her end.
She closed her eyes, head filled with history. It was something to die this
way, as Folca King of Rohan had died by the tusks of the Boar of Everholt.
Of course, dying with a sense of history was nothing to living with a sense of
it. Vanimelda did have time for that thought before she passed into darkness.
-----
Morgoth blinked at the board. He hadn't meant for the girls to die that way.
What had happened?
"I think the world is defending itself now," said Finwë. Morgoth
looked up to see him sitting on a boulder just out of reach, and swinging his
legs. The diary hung in one hand. "Or your girls were just stupid enough
to go into a boar-inhabited wood, and look what happened."
"Maybe that's it," said Morgoth, keeping his eyes steadfastly focused
on Finwë's face. The Elf didn't seem to notice Ulmo reaching out from behind
him.
Finwë spoke without turning his head. "All ready, my son?"
"Yes, Father."
Morgoth whimpered and turned around. He wasn't proud of the whimper, but it was
the only sensible thing to do when Fëanor was standing behind him surrounded by
all seven- no, six of his sons. Celegorm was missing.
Maedhros grinned at him and tossed a lock of hair over his face. Maglor was
talking with the twins, Amrod and Amras, who were giving Morgoth speculative
looks as if wondering what it would be like to hurt him. Caranthir was smiling
at Morgoth in a funny way, and Curufin in an even funnier way. Morgoth backed
up a step.
"But where is Celegorm?" Finwë was saying.
"He preferred to stay in Mandos with his new love," said Fëanor,
turning the words into a sigh. "Something about her escaping from him if
he stepped outside."
"He found someone to wed him?" Finwë asked, voice climbing.
"One of the Sues, Father."
Finwë looked hard at Morgoth. "Ah," he said. "Well, that
explains it. Most Sues are dim enough to do anything, in my experience."
"Enough of this," said Ulmo, and lunged at Finwë.
The Elf jumped expertly, flinging the diary as he went. Morgoth lunged. It was
headed towards Tulkas at the moment, and Tulkas was the worst person he could
imagine having it-
Except the one who caught it. Fëanor, who had jumped deftly between the book
and the two Valar, winked at him, and then turned and swept west again, his
sons and his father all jogging dutifully behind him.
Morgoth started to follow. Fëanor was very close. He did have some hope of
catching him.
Until Shelob came clicking and hissing out from behind the ridge and engulfed
him in a web, of course.
One goal down, one more big one to go...