Chapter Sixty-Four: Angels and Demons

Elsewhere, not very far from Elrond I's bedchamber, Estë sensed her husband's agonized cry, and her head jerked up so quickly that she heard her neck crick. Stepping away from the elf she was ministering to as she healed her own discomfort, the Valië left the room in a whirl of pale grey, and left behind a distinctive, lingering aroma of lavender.

Arriving moments later in the elder half-elf's bedroom, the Healer started at the horrible scenario. Lórien sat hunched in his chair, as Elrond I jerked and whimpered fitfully below him. Estë urgently, but gently lifted her husband's drooping head, prying open his closed eyelid. The eye beneath it was staring into space, its sense dead.

Frantically, Estë checked for Lórien's pulse and breathing, and sobbed in panic when she found neither. There… there had to be a reason behind this. She had to be calm. Yes, that was it, calm. Think things through, the Valië ordered herself. Find a way to do whatever you can. When in doubt, call for help.

All right, what did she know was certain? Her husband was dead to the world, and Elrond I was asleep and dreaming. But could either of them be roused? There was only one way to find out.

Estë first sent a thought into Lórien's mind, praying for an answer. All she received was a painful echo, an image of barrenness. The Dream-lord's spirit had truly departed from his body. The Valië then shook Elrond's right shoulder as hard as she dared to, sending out a barrage of urgent thoughts to his mind.

This time she felt a bizarre, forceful sensation of something sucking at her thoughts, as if it was feeding off of them. She quickly cut off the flow, swaying momentarily where she stood. A tear streaked her face, followed by another and another as hope left her. When in doubt, call for help…

Estë composed her thoughts and sent out a desperate message to Manwë. The Wind-lord came immediately to her aid, almost before the words had fully left her mind. He needed no explanation, but swept to the bed at once. A swift once-over of both Elrond and Lórien confirmed the Healer's worst fears.

"We cannot hope to help them," he sighed heavily. "No-one can. Wherever they are, our friends must fight their own battle."

----

Lórien stared uneasily about at his new, dark environment, all five of his senses tingling in unadulterated, effervescent horror. There was nothing here, nothing but blackness. But that same blackness was so thick, it felt like it was crawling all over him like a swarm of dark insects, their many legs pinching and tickling at him in a most unpleasant way. And the muted pounding of his own heart against his ribs was deafening in the silence. Where was Elrond? This was his mind, he had no right to be off gallivanting somewhere else…

"I'm right here," said a voice in his ear, that came from just behind him.

The Dream-lord nearly jumped out of his body in utter shock – and since he was a Vala, that was literally possible. Even so, it took him rather a long while to calm down enough to turn around.

"Elrond," he breathed at last, his voice thick with relief as he put a hand to his thumping heart. "Thank goodness."

"It isn't thanks to any goodness that you're here," the half-elf replied grimly. "Wherever 'here' happens to be," he added, gazing around at their completely empty surroundings. All they could see was blackness, save for each other.

"I assure you I have no idea," Lorien sighed. "I also assure you that this was not of my devising. I think it has something to do with my task."

"Yes, about that," Elrond I spoke up. "Was your so-called task to send me nightmares?"

"Yes," the Vala confessed, hanging his head in shame. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. It was…" He trailed off, his shoulders slumping dejectedly.

"Don't apologize," said an understanding voice from nearby, as a third figure came into their sight. The newcomer appeared exactly alike to Elrond I, and for good reason. It was his godson and his other half.

"Well, at least we know I'm all here," Elrond I managed to smile. Then he sniffed. "Here in Nowhere."

"Is it, though?" Lórien wondered aloud. "Somehow, I imagined your subconscious to be a good deal… well, brighter."

Elrond I shared a glance with himself, and both halves spoke together. "It normally is."

Well, I am sorry to disappoint – actually, I'm not – but we can't all have everything we want, can we? At least I have something, though… you, here, all alone.

Elf and Vala froze, not daring even to breathe loudly. Slowly, so slowly they turned, three pairs of blue eyes wide with horror. Both friends immediately wished they hadn't moved, but by then it was too late. They were staring their enemy in the face… or at least, in the eyes. That was all they could discern: two great crimson orbs hovering in the void above them, that appeared to be sizing them up, mocking them without making a sound.

"Why have you brought me here?" Lórien demanded.

Now, why would I tell you that? simpered the voice from somewhere in the vicinity of the eyes. It would spoil all the FUN.

With the word 'fun', their environment changed. Light rushed back, although it was only a sick half-light from the cloud-obscured moon which appeared in the sky that had taken the place of much of the emptiness. Lórien and Elrond found themselves standing on firm ground – some expanse of level rock, by the look of it.

The red eyes had gone; in their place stood a tall, bony, black-skinned figure whose arms were folded across its bony torso. Two immense, bat-like wings unfurled from the figure's protruding shoulder blades, and a tangled mane of greasy black hair fell past the lanky shoulders. Its eyes were as bright red as fresh-spilled blood: miniatures of those they had just seen.

Lórien sent urgently into Elrond's mind: That is not Morgoth's true form. It is merely a guise, such as the wolf you saw long before. Be careful! He can alter his shape at will.

The elf nodded both of his heads, not taking any of his four eyes off of the black figure as Elrond II spoke to it. "What do you want?"

Only what I have craved for the past four thousand years. YOU.

"Mm-hmm," the young half-elf nodded slowly. "You know, I've never in fact understood the exact reason for that. Maybe if you clarified it a bit for me…"

The figure gave a mocking laugh. What is there to clarify? All I desire is to dominate the world. You, weakling, are precious to those whom I wish to overthrow.

"Riiiiiight," Elrond I spoke up, drawing out the word. "And are you really sure you want to reveal all of that while one of 'those whom you wish to overthrow' is standing between my two halves?" Elrond was the only elf who could use that phrase and have it make any sense.

Irmo has long known of my intentions, said Morgoth haughtily. Indeed, I have wanted that dominion ever since before Eä was even created. But things have changed because of one elf who occupies twice as much space on the earth as he should.

"You will never take him," snarled Lórien, stepping forward. "Not so long as the Valar's words are law among all races of this earth. If one of us still breathes, you will remain as ever you were – cut off from all else, a prisoner of the Outer Void."

Brave words, Dream-giver. But are your feet as sure as your tongue?

The Dark Lord leapt, flinging himself full-force into the silver-haired Vala's body as the half-elf jumped aside. Lórien struck back in the midst of the fall, thrusting his own body forward, turning the tables and pinning his foe to the stone. Lórien couldn't hold back a triumphant smile as he informed his opponent, "You're not as sure-footed as you claim to be."

Morgoth growled in rage, rolling over so that the Dream-lord was now beneath him. Nor are you as strong as you claim to be.

"Oh, I never claimed to be strong," said Lórien cheerfully, even as he wrestled his rival. "You're the one who seems to be doing a lot of that."

The ex-Vala's face contorted in rage and malevolent determination. Then why don't we take our fight to another level?

As Elrond I and II watched in spellbound shock, Morgoth changed shape faster than the eye could detect, becoming a huge black stallion. Great hoofs pawed the air as he reared onto his hind legs, preparing to trample Lórien under him. But the Dream-lord retaliated, assuming the form of a horsefly, which bit the horse on its ebony hindquarters and darted away before the lashing tail could swat him.

Morgoth immediately turned to a praying mantis, and snatched at the irksome insect with its long forearms. Lórien then changed into a bat, whose high-pitched sonar calls adeptly began scrambling the predator's brain. But the Dark Lord switched yet again, before the damage was too severe.

An ebony-feathered owl swooped down upon the silver-furred bat, its beak open, ready to swallow. Lórien became a wildcat, and raked his claws ferociously across his opponent's wings. As Morgoth plummeted to the ground, wings spattered with black blood, the Lord of Dreams advanced, growling and hissing. But Morgoth then took back his initial form, and lay panting as he stared up at his feline adversary in unspoken rage.

Lórien became himself again as well, smoothing his robes offhandedly as he returned the ex-Vala's glare. "Do you yield?"

Never. Morgoth struggled to his feet, and the Dream-lord made no attempt to help him. I will best you yet!

He attacked once more, and Lórien, who was in a much healthier condition, tripped him neatly as he lunged forward. But the Dark Lord quickly gripped his rival's ankle as he hit the rock, and the silver-haired Vala fell beside him. Then Morgoth was on top of him, his hot breath scorching Lórien's face as he spoke in a hiss of a voice.

Do you want to know what it feels like, this body? Here, let me show you…

He pressed his clawed hand against the Vala's forehead, and Lórien screamed in pain. A searing sensation surged through him, originating where Morgoth's hand met his brow. It spread out in an agonizing flood, overwhelming him, burning him… and changing him.

A few feet away, Elrond could only gawp, spellbound at the terrible spectacle. Lórien and Morgoth were changing shape together, their bodies twisting and contorting, becoming… each other. The Dark Lord adopted a fair complexion, silver hair and pale grey clothing, while the Lord of Dreams was stripped to almost total nakedness, save for a loincloth of threadbare fabric that was tied around his ebony-skinned waist. When both figures stood up, the watching elf gasped in shock.

Morgoth climbed slowly to his feet, absently smoothing his robe as did so. He didn't turn right away, but spoke, in the voice of Lórien, to the black form huddled at his feet.

"Oh, you've been through worse. Bear it like a man, why don't you?" He gave a spiteful laugh. "But then again, you never claimed to be strong…"

BE SILENT! roared the figure who resembled Morgoth. He scrambled upright, panting heavily, his eyes blazing with rage.

Elrond I and II both gasped at the same time. Lórien's new eyes were not now the eyes of Morgoth, however the rest of his body belied it. The irises that stood out starkly against the ebony face and ivory whites were not blood-red, but a pale blue hue similar to that of Elrond's eyes. Those were the eyes of the Dream-lord, not the Dark Lord. And they were shining with tears.

The figure of Lórien turned around, and the half-elf now saw, with a brutal stab of horror to each heart, that in the fair face burned two icy, ruthless crimson eyes. Morgoth's eyes. The sight of his worst enemy looking back at him out of his friend's face was more than enough to make Elrond want to be immediately and abominably ill.

The false Dream-lord grinned viciously, with Lórien's teeth. "What is it? Don't you know me, Elrond?"

"You're not Lórien," Elrond II whispered, struggling to hide his fear. "You will never be him. You're just a lie. Everything you ever told me was untrue."

Morgoth's cruel sneer never wavered. "Now, now, is that any way to treat a brother?"

"You are no brother of mine!" Elrond I cried out. "You're nothing but a shadow! Get out of my mind, and go back to the Void!"

Yes, whispered the real Dream-lord from behind the copy. That's it… banish him.

Morgoth suddenly whipped around, the back of his borrowed hand catching Lórien full in the face. He staggered and toppled to the side, knocked off-balance, and cracked his head viciously against the unyielding stone. He lay there unconscious and unmoving as Elrond rushed to his side.

Morgoth sneered all the more angrily, twisting the mouth that was not his. Without prior warning, the stone beneath the elf and the fallen Vala began to split and crumble. Elrond I and II dragged their comrade to safer ground, but soon the younger half-elf cried out as he fell past the hole where the rock had been just moments before. Only his quick reflexes saved him, by urging him to grab his godfather's ankle.

Elrond I, dragged backward by his own weight, soon found himself gripping the jagged rim of the ledge for dear life. Morgoth knelt just above him, using Lórien's hand to reach down to him. His lips parted as he prepared to speak, and in that fraction of a fraction of an instant the elder half-elf knew exactly what to do next.

Morgoth seemed unaware of the Dream-lord's crumpled form lying prostrate beside him as he gave a disarming smile, and added a singsong lilt to a murmur in the fallen Vala's voice:

"Eeny… meeny…"

Time was moving in slow motion. The words took minutes to move from lips to ears, and an unnoticed hand crawled through the air, toward the wrist of a black-skinned figure on the ledge above…

When Time snapped back to full speed, Elrond I took control, and he snarled out the final two words of the age-old lullaby in rhythm to his next actions.

"Miney—"

He seized the unconscious Lórien's arm in his white-knuckled left hand.

"—Mo."

He let go with his right hand, allowing he, his godson and the lifeless Dream-lord to fall down and down and down, into the infinite oblivion below…

…and back into his body, with a shock that made one heart skip even as it jerked another back into the steady pulsating rhythm of life. Elrond I stirred in his bed and blinked as he awoke, and Lórien drew in a first blessed breath as his spirit returned to his own body and carried him back to awareness.

The Dream-lord slowly lifted his leaden-feeling head, gazing blearily around him. Elrond I was sitting up in his bed, panting hard, with his hand pressed to his apparently galloping heart. And Estë and Manwë stood at the bedside, tears of pure relief in their eyes and on their cheeks.

Lórien managed to summon a faint smile and a slightly hoarse whisper. "The tables have been strangely turned on us, it seems."