Chapter Thirty-four: The Darkness

After Melkor's unwelcome visit to Formenos, the last thing I wanted was for more intrusion by the world beyond the city walls. However, not yet three years after I had sent Melkor from my home, we received a message from Manwë himself, brought by Oromë.

I received the Vala in the great anteroom of my citadel, which was hung with banners bearing the colors and sigil of my house, and set with rows of chairs for when I held audience. I sat at the end of the hall upon a great throne, behind which hung a magnificent tapestry Finwë had brought from Tirion, one which my mother had woven, of the coming of the Eldar to Aman.

The hall was indeed a magnificent sight, and even Finwë said it was even finer than where he had held court in Tirion, but Oromë's eyes were solemn and indifferent as he approached where I sat.

"So. The Valar come to meddle in my lot once more," I remarked haughtily, holding my head high. My father stood behind me, and I could feel his silent support like the warmth of a fire at my back in the dead of winter, even when all else was dark and cold.

"The Valar have a right to know the doings of those who dwell in their lands," Oromë countered smoothly, then said, "I bring summons from the Lord Manwë Súlimo to Fëanáro of Formenos. His message is this--Fëanáro son of Finwë, come and do not deny my bidding. In my love you remain, and you shall be given honor in my halls. Soon we shall celebrate the flowering and ripening of Valinor in the mansions of Manwë upon Taniquetil's white slopes, and Eldar, Valar, and Maiar alike shall attend. It is the wish of Manwë to see the Eldar become a people undivided by dispute once more, and where better to amend the folly the princes of the Noldor have wrought then in the sight of all the peoples of Aman?"

"It was no folly--it is no folly," I muttered furiously under my breath, and the air grew thick with tension.

"I will not waste words of anger with you, son of Finwë," Oromë replied composedly, "But see to it that you are able to attend the festival upon Taniquetil. It is the wish of the Valar, and it is ill to gainsay them of that wish. Farewell." He walked with even, steady steps from the hall, not once looking back.

"Must they hinder every freedom?" I growled, slamming my fist down on the arm of my throne once Oromë had gone, "If the Eldar are free to come and go as they please in this land, why am I commanded--commanded, as if the Valar were my betters!--to be present at their foolish ceremonies? I should leave these shores and have done with it all!"

"Manwë is lord of these lands," Finwë explained from behind me as he strode to my side, "While you dwell here, it is only proper to obey his commands, my son. Go to Taniquetil, and the Valar will be pleased with you."

"Yes, just as pleased with me as with a frivolous lapdog they can convince to do some senseless trick!" I scoffed wrathfully, "I will not be collared like a beast to the foot of Manwë's throne forever like one of their Vanyarin slaves, Father; I will not have it!"

"Please, Fëanáro, do it for me," Finwë implored, his eyes grave with experience, "Your pride is great, but you must overcome it to seek the content of the Valar. It is an arrogant and imprudent deed to wake the rage of the Valar, slow as that great fury may be in coming."

"If it is your wish," I relinquished at last, but then persisted hopefully, "But will you not come with me?"

"No, my son, you must do this alone," Finwë said firmly, his face growing cheerless but resolute. "While the ban lasts upon you that you may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people, who have turned their hearts and tongues against you."

Slowly, reluctantly, I nodded at last to his prayer, my heart filled with a deep unease that came not only from the Valar's summons.

I left early a few mornings later, upon Rokkolaurë and attended by none. My farewells were brief, and only Finwë and my sons came to the gates to witness my passing.

Carnistir and Curufinwë tried to allay me from my journey with hot, furious words, for they were ill-pleased that I was being summoned by force to the thrones of the Valar, and were indignant that the Powers would seek to tarnish our honor once more. But I withstood their furious pleas with nonchalant resignation, and told each of them to cool their wrath while I was gone. All the other sons were unruffled by my departure, save for Makalaurë, who caught my arm when I came to embrace him.

"Father," he said in a low, anxious voice, "Something is going to happen, I know it. Please, do not go. I had the most awful dream last night, about the streets of Formenos running with blood and the light of the Trees fading from the sky. Please, Father--"

"You have always worried too much, Kana," I reassured him, though his eyes were more frightened than I had ever seen them, "Keep your sword at your side and fear nothing. I will be gone for a short while only." I kissed him on the brow, and looked deeply into his eyes. "I will return, I promise you, and right whatever wrongs that may have occurred."

Makalaurë nodded, and the fear receded, though it did not disappear. I continued on last to my father, who smiled as he saw me approach.

"You are right to do this," he told me, "Do not think it ill."

"I hope so," I whispered, and embraced him, "Farewell, Father." Without a glance back for any of them, I mounted up and spurred Rokkolaurë northward. The last time I had gone to Taniquetil, my father had met Indis. Now, when I returned to those pale slopes, I could only hope for a better, but equally enormous, twist of my fate.

I rode hard and fast, and Rokkolaurë never seemed to tire once in the entire journey, for he was Vala-bred and endowed with a speed surpassing that of even the finest Eldarin horses. We were approaching the snowy peak of Taniquetil by noon, and making our way up to the mansions of Manwë and Varda not much later.

Though the mountain air should have been chill and gusty, it was instead strangely warm, though the snows did not melt. At the feet of the mountain range, great fields of ripe wheat grew, ready for the harvest, and the scent of flowers was a delicate undertone in the air. Even from afar, I could hear the sound of many fair voices raised in song, singing praises of Eru, the Valar, and the blossoming of all beautiful things that had come to Valinor.

It was a great festival indeed, if the rumors I had heard were true--the greatest since the arrival of the Eldar in the Undying Lands. There was an abundance of food and drink to be found, and there would be songs and dancing for many days to come. The Noldor had abandoned Tirion to attend, and the streets of Valmar were, no doubt, empty of the usual combination of Vanyar, Maiar, and Valar they normally held.

Only the Teleri of the Three Kindreds of the Eldar were not to be present, for festivals and great celebrations, especially those far from their beloved Sea, were not much to their liking. They remained on the shores, though I could often hear in the distance, the sound of their singing, pale and delicate compared to the closer songs of the Noldor and Vanyar, which were rich and lustrous as the light of Laurelin.

Illustrious event though it was, I had not brought the Silmarils with me. I had left them locked safely away in their subterranean treasury of iron; I would not let the Valar themselves covet their light, as Melkor had said.

Nor did I dress as was befitting such a glorious celebration. I still considered myself a prisoner of the gods, and was dressed in a tunic of unadorned black, a simple gray cloak made of wool, and high dark boots. There were no brooches or circlets to relieve my austere, sober raiment, and the callous severity that both my clothing and face cast was intentional.

I would find no pleasure in the foolish revelry or in the fine foods, or even in the company of my own people. Everyone would know when they saw me that I did not come of my free will, and that I knew the truth of the Valar's pretense of love and tenderness for the Eldar.

I came without fanfare to Ilmarin, the fair palace of Manwë and Varda, and ordered a groom to tend to Rokkolaurë before entering the gates. The festival was on the third of its seven days, but was managing to retain its following of cheerful peoples and music. Before me lay an enormous throng of all the peoples of Valinor, dressed in fine clothes of bright hues and all laughing and talking together. Singing wound its fair way through the chatter, and also the rattle of knives and goblets from the tables where the food lay.

The Valar sat nearby, in even more corporeal forms than when I had seen them last, with only a bearing of heightened nobility to distinguish them from the other races. They were looking down upon the celebrations with silent but fond pleasure, smiles playing at the corners of their mouths.

There was a brief, awed quiet when I entered, before the whispers began, but I ignored all of it, making my way as a drab shadow amid the crowds of merry Maiar and Elves. Some called out to greet me, but I disregarded them as well, keeping my head down often, though my eyes flashed balefully whenever I looked up. I took a seat beneath the shadow of a small, blossom-laden tree, watching the revelry with disdainful eyes, the scent of the lovely flowers about me turning cloying and oversweet in my nose.

How could the Eldar be so ignorant? Like delighted slaves, they flocked to the feet of their keepers, making no move to take off the chains binding them to their jailers. I longed to stand and rally them into rebellion, but remembered Finwë's words, and kept true to my father in earnest. Long I sat in quiet thought, regarding the affair before me with loathing, until a few moments before the mingling of the Trees' light.

"Prince Fëanáro?" I looked up. It was a Maia, looking down at me with amused, smiling blue eyes set in a handsome pale face, his hair gleaming a brilliant white-gold in the light.

"I am Eönwë, herald of the Valar," he explained, by way of introduction, flashing white, even teeth, "Manwë would see you before his throne."

Saying nothing, I stood to my feet and followed him through the masses of people. As we passed through the last few clusters of prattling courtiers, I saw Manwë upon his throne of sapphire glass, with Nolofinwë standing at his side.

My half-brother was dressed in radiant shades of gold, pale yellow, and white, seeming like a straying beam of Laurelin's glow more than ever. His hair, brighter even than Indis', gleamed in the light, and there was a light of constant gladness in his deep blue eyes. Nolofinwë's handsome face broke into a smile when he saw me come near, his expression so sincerely happy and welcoming it made me wince.

"Brother Fëanáro, I greet you," he exclaimed cheerfully, as Manwë looked on, "It is the greatest wish of the Valar that we, the two greatest princes of the Noldor, reconcile our relationship as kindred, and forget all grief done."

"But what of my wound upon you?" I asked contrarily, lifting my chin in quiet defiance.

Nolofinwë's demeanor did not falter for a moment, and he shook his head in a singly elegant, dismissive motion.

"It is nothing. I place it behind me, and as a fault of us both," he replied, though his gray eyes grew sober at mention of our one-sided quarrel at the gates of Finwë's house.

"Nothing indeed," I echoed thoughtfully, trying not to let my suspicion of Nolofinwë's forgiveness come into my voice.

"Yes. Therefore--" He extended his hand to me, and said solemnly, "As I promised, I do now. I release you, and remember no injustice."

Forgiveness--the thing I wanted both most and least in that moment. It would buy me freedom from the Valar who longed to see me leashed and obedient among their other thralls, yet would entangle me further in debt to my half-brother. Could I choose honor over my own pride?

At last, something whispered at me to obey, and I took Nolofinwë's hand in my own. It was the first time I had ever touched the first son of Indis out of kindness or any sort of benevolence, and I tried not to shiver or think too hard upon it.

"Half-brother in blood, full brother in heart I will be," Nolofinwë promised me industriously, sounding as though the words came from his heart, which--knowing him--they probably did. I was both revolted and a bit flattered by his honesty. "You will lead, and I will ever follow. May no new sorrow or doubt divide us."

The light falling about us was a brilliant blend of silver and gold; the merging of the lights was at hand, and night was near. I could already feel it in the air--the burgeoning presence of twilight that lent a beautiful musky silence to the land. Such a serene atmosphere could only bode well for the hour of my making peace with my half-brother.

"I hear you," I told Nolofinwë, voice hard and stiff at first, though I let it soften as my reluctance faded. Still, I swallowed hard before I added, "So be it."

Suddenly, even as we began to release our hands, the Trees' light flared suddenly to a blistering brightness, as if in a great agony, and then abruptly went out, plunging us all into a pit of inescapable black.

For a moment, there was only a still, eerie silence, in which all I could hear was the thudding of my heart. In the wild wandering of my eyes for some source of light, I looked upward, and saw the stars shining in their full glory, blazing like cold beacons in the firmament for a brief instant before even they guttered and went out, covered by some suffocating dark cloak.

Then, all at once, screams and shouts assaulted me like lances from every direction at once, and I raised a hand to my eyes as if to shield myself from a vivid light, brighter than that of a thousand forge-fires, though now I was trying to shield myself from a darkness that fed on the fears of my very spirit. It was deeper than the dimmest of shadows, blacker than the darkest coal. Without even the gentle light of Telperion to guide and comfort me, I could see nothing, only a dark more profound than the black of my eyelids when I shut my eyes.

Terror needled through me, gnawing at me as if it were a dog worrying a bone, and I fought the urge to curl up on the ground and die of sheer fright. With growing despair, I tried to remember the reassuring starlight, but even that moments--old memory eluded me. There was a great evil in this night, which prowled everywhere at once, seeking the flesh of its fearful prey. I could sense the pungent malice like a strong, vile scent in the air, thick and syrupy-dark, as it raked its icy claws through the shattered black heavens. The screams had faded now, as if all were afraid of revealing their presence to the evil that stalked in this dark, and only the faint sound of weeping and moaning echoed in their wake.

After a while in which we cringed with dread in the utter dark, the resonant voices of the Valar became clear among the cries and grieved sobbing, and I listened hard to their words, seeking comfort even in the voices of my enemies.

"It is Melkor's doing," Manwë was saying, in a voice low and hard with grief, "He has darkened the light of the Trees."

"My Trees. . .what has he done to my Trees?" a woman's voice whispered, rent with tears and shuddering, as though she was gasping for air. I guessed it was Yavanna, for it had been she that had made the Trees.

"Curse that foul mongrel!" Oromë's voice snarled, "I will follow after him and make him repent his malicious deeds!"

"I shall follow you, my brother," echoed a fierce voice, no doubt that of Tulkas, who was the greatest in bodily strength of all the Valar, "We shall hunt him to the ends of the earth."

At this, the Valar began speaking all at once, some in argument and others in agreement, until Manwë's voice rose again and silenced them.

"He is perhaps too far gone," Manwë told them, "But perhaps he is not after all. Go, Oromë and Tulkas, and take your great hosts with you. If Melkor can be apprehended, then so he shall be. We who remain shall gather the people back to Valmar, and see what shadow he has placed on our realm."

There was a sudden rushing of footsteps in the night, and voices called to each other and answered in growing numbers. I knew Oromë and Tulkas were wasting none of the time they had been given to wait for Melkor to escape futher.

Absently, as the last vestiges of my fear faded, I echoed Yavanna in wondering what Melkor had done to the Trees to thus smother their light in this blinding dark.

As the people began to recover their wits, and the rumble of the hooves of the Valar's host could be heard on the plains below, the remaining Valar held true to their words and began organizing a journey to Valmar to survey the damage Melkor had done. Those who had traveled to Taniquetil by horse rode to the Valar's darkened city, and those who had come on foot were provided with steeds, and soon we were all riding in a great mass for Valmar, huddled together in fear and dread. The incessant blackness that had once swallowed us whole was now beginning to fade, and the stars shone dimly through the thinning veil upon us as we came to the hill of the Ezellohar.

I would not have recognized the Ezellohar if I had not known it well, for my memories did not bear much resemblance to what I saw before me then. The grass was withered and black beneath our feet, and the thrones of the Valar were thrown carelessly upon the blackened earth, their adamant glass shattered by massive blows. Even the high seat of Manwë lay in ruin, the elegant runes and carvings that had once covered it in beauty now befouled with murk and marks as if from heavy strokes.

But most shocking of all was the two scorched, lightless husks that had once been the Trees. Every leaf on their once lovely boughs had been turned to tattered black shreds at the feet of the Trees that had bore them, and the branches reached desperately to the starry heavens, empty and skeletal, as if begging for mercy from the horror that had been dealt them. Upon each trunk, great sheaves of the scalded bark had been ripped away, and the tender greenwood had been stabbed and torn at viciously, though no sap ran from the wounds, as if it had all been sucked dry.

The sight was not as shocking as the realization that the ever constant, ever fair light of the Trees was gone, seemingly forever. They had always shone in Valinor, ever since I had been only a child, and I could not remember a day without their light. No more would the people of Aman be greeted by the golden radiance of Laurelin at dawn, or be serenaded to slumber by the gentle rays of Telperion.

From afar, and advancing rapidly, I heard the thunder of hooves over the grassland, and knew Tulkas and Oromë were returning. When they came to a halt before us, Manwë looked to Tulkas curiously, but the Vala shook his head in frustration and grief--they had not found Melkor.

About me, many of the Eldar and Maiar were weeping openly at the loss of the Trees, while others stared at the sight bleakly, like lost children, and I myself was fighting back the sorrow, even though I was less prone to such emotion.

But our feelings all dimmed in compare to the sorrow of Yavanna. At the sight of the shadowy, dead Trees and the absence of their light, she had fallen to her knees, tears sliding down her cheeks as she looked hopelessly upon the desolation of the black hill. At last, at the urging of the other Valar, she had stood again to her feet, but only to reach out with trembling fingers to touch the bleak, dark boles of the Trees, and to see the branches crumble to dust in her fingers. At the sight of a mighty Vala so desperate and forlorn, the many gathered at the Ezellohar cried the harder. I remained motionless and staring, only watching the movements of fate before me.

At last, Yavanna stood to her feet, turning a tear-stained face to all assembled about her. "The light of the Trees has passed away, and lives now only in the housings of the Silmarils of Fëanáro," she told them, then looking toward me with sudden hope, "Foresighted indeed was he! Even for those who are mightiest under Ilúvatar there is some work that they may accomplish once, and once only. The light of the Trees I brought into being, and within Eä I can do so never again. Yet had I but a little of the light, I could recall the life of the Trees, before further harm is done and their roots decay; and then our hurt shall be healed, and the malice of Melkor confounded."

I knew what she was trying to say, trying to convince me to do, and felt all eyes settle upon me as a source of new hope, but I shied away from the thought of breaking my Silmarils for their light. Yavanna spoke of work that one could achieve only once in their lives, and I thought of how long and hard I had labored over the three jewels. Would I--could I--bring to ruin the glorious height of a lifetime of relentless work, even if for the good of many?

I was mired so deep in this thought that I could barely hear Manwë urging, "Do you heed the words of Yavanna, Fëanáro son of Finwë? Will you grant what she asks?"

Spellbound by the frantic considerations of my mind, I did not answer him.

"Speak, Noldo, yes or no!" barked Tulkas impatiently, despite the murmurs of the other Valar to still his wrath, "Who will deny Yavanna? Did not the light of the Silmarils come from his work in the beginning?"

"Be not hasty!" Aulë chastised Tulkas, again speaking in my defense. I marveled at his seemingly boundless faith in me. "We ask of him a greater thing than you know. Let him have peace yet awhile."

But I was growing weary of being snapped at and goaded into speech. After Aulë spoke, I replied resentfully, "For even the lesser people, as for the great, there are some deeds that one might accomplish only once; and in that deed one's heart may rest. It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their like; and if I must break them," my voice rose in passionate despair at the thought, "I shall also break my heart, and I shall be slain, the first of all the Eldar in Aman."

There was a shocked silence at my insolence, but in the stillness Mandos murmured, "Not the first."

Confused, I ignored Mandos, and turned back within myself to think. Would the Valar never stop harassing me for my jewels? Were they not mine, to keep as I would? The gods were growing to be more my enemies by the hour, and I did not trust the safekeeping of the Silmarils in their hands.

I remembered, despite myself, Melkor's advice that the Silmarils were not safe in the realms of the Valar. He had once been a Vala as much as they were now, with perhaps a clear understanding of their thoughts gained from experience; why should I trust the Valar, when I trusted their kinsman not at all? To leave the Silmarils in the hands of any of them would to be to entrust mice in the keeping of snakes and cats.

Driven by my anger, I cried, "I will not give you the Silmarils of free will. But if the Valar will force me to do so, then I will know indeed that Melkor is of their kindred!"

"You have spoken, son of Finwë," Mandos rumbled emotionlessly, and a great moan of despair rose from the throats of all. I was aware that the gaze many of the Eldar rested upon me had now turned angry and despairing, but I cared little. What did their opinions matter to me? All of Aman seemed to have been prejudiced against me from the first. Why would I grant them such a lavish gift?

Nienna, the Vala who reigned over pity and grief, knelt at the foot of the trees, murmuring a low, sad song as she wept in desolate despair. Many who had ceased their weeping in hope that I would relinquish the Silmarils also cried anew, and I turned away from the spectacle in rage and unfeeling sullenness, angry that they would try to tug at my heart even after I had refused their plea. The Silmarils were mine. I would not abandon them to the careless hands and the ruthless, covetous hearts of the Valar.

Author's Note:

Now that we've reached the real root of this entire darn story, these next few chapters will be coming fast and furious for a while, pausing only to draw heavily on Silm canon… BRACE YOURSELVES!

Love,

Blodeuedd