Part V: Silver, Gold and Ebony

Arien lifted her eyes to Tilion's face, freezing him in place with her gaze. Pain, trust, and pleading were scrawled clearly across her flaming features. The silver-clad Maia shivered inwardly with the notion that Arien was placing her very existence squarely, willingly, in his hands. A brief exchange of thoughts passed between them.

It will not matter if you strike me; I am immortal, as are you, Arien insisted faintly, her eyes burning into his. You can do me no harm.

But Tilion replied with tears glimmering evidently in his own eyes. I could not bear the thought of even appearing to harm you. I love you, Arien. I have always loved you.

For the briefest moment, the Maia wavered in his defiance of Morgoth, the arrow nocked to his bow sliding down just a little on its string, but he just as soon steeled himself. And, most strangely though it seemed, he smiled. No… he grinned, much to Arien's confusion and the Dark Lord's mounting ire.

What has made you so merry all of a sudden? Morgoth growled at him.

Tilion smirked right into his opponent's face as he replied airily, "Lord Tulkas is standing just behind you."

Morgoth's neck cricked loudly as he swiveled his head to look over his shoulder, left and right. He turned back to face Tilion, now smirking broadly himself. You are a liar! There is no-one there!

"Ahh. Unfortunately for you, my most favorite adversary, he was telling the truth," a low voice chuckled, cheerily and ominously, into the ex-Vala's ear. "I am right here."

Morgoth didn't even have time to blanch. There was a brief blur of gold out of the corner of his eye, and the ex-Vala found himself staring into a pair of gleaming hazel eyes above a grinning mouth. Tulkas laughed aloud, and the Dark Lord cringed visibly and snarled like an angered wolf, his own eyes blazing with a hot, raw hatred.

Arien did not move, having barely the energy with which to flee. Tilion held his bow still as Tulkas came to stand beside him, and never let his gaze so much as momentarily flick away from the face of the Maia he loved. A single thought fled his mind and flashed into Arien's, even as the silver-clad figure's fingers tensed on his bowstring: No matter what happens, I love you, and I always will.

Was that a nod she gave him? Her voice whispered in faint, but fearless compliance. Do what you must.

Tilion inclined his own head slightly in reply, drawing his arm back so that his right hand barely brushed his ear. The bowstring creaked in anticipation, yearning to snap back and let go of the arrow it held. But Morgoth still held Arien in front of him, and he still glared loathingly at Tilion and Tulkas.

The silver-clothed Maia was on the verge of finally releasing his arrow when the Wrestler cautiously placed a hand on his shoulder, murmuring into his mind, Leave him be. I will deal with this traitor. You must get Arien away from here. He spoke icily and out loud to the Dark Lord. "Let her go. I wish to fight with you alone."

Morgoth only paused for a moment; then he flung Arien cruelly away from him. Still frail and unsteady, she stumbled and fell forward. Tulkas caught her gently, and Tilion led her away from the pair who now intended to combat one-on-one. Seeing that Morgoth would soon be extremely well dealt with, the hunter-Maia obediently aimed his arrows toward other, much smaller enemies. Clouds of cinders floated up all around his silver-shod feet.

Tulkas cracked his knuckles, with a sound like ten mighty oaks being felled at once in an almost silent forest, and shrugged off the loose-fitting, ivory tunic he wore. He flung the garment casually aside, and it vanished in midair. He stood stripped to the waist, with his formidable muscles exposed to the world, and his wide, lighthearted grin never wavering. He held Morgoth tightly by the forearms, and the Dark Lord did the same to his nemesis, digging his nails deep into the Wrestler's skin. And far below, everyone else on the great battlefield actually stopped and watched them, waiting for the wrestling match to begin.

Tulkas balanced easily on his toes, while Morgoth's feet were planted flat on the ground. The Wrestler was totally in his element; fighting was his one passion in life. And fighting with Morgoth was a considerable benefit. The Dark Lord himself, however, was secretly terrified. Or, perhaps, not so secretly – Tulkas laughed again when he felt his adversary's body trembling beneath his strong fingers.

"I still have the same effect upon you as ever, I see," he commented lightly. "Here I have you, Morgoth, quaking down to your boots – I have not lost my touch."

Morgoth matched a scowl for the Vala's grin. Tonight is the night that you will always remember as the night you fell at my feet, and pleaded with me for your demise to be swift and painless!

"I think not," Tulkas countered him calmly. "Why should we part with the old ways after all this time? Tradition is, after all, something to be cherished." He moved like lightning as he spoke, twisting both of Morgoth's arms painfully behind his back, and winked quite cheerily. "Just like the Elder Days, is it not?"

Indeed, the ex-Vala replied derisively. He abruptly bent double, in the hopes of throwing his rival over his head and to the ground. He half-succeeded: Tulkas was thrown through the air, but he had not immediately released his hold on the Dark Lord's arms. There was an almighty SNAP, and Morgoth bellowed in pain. His right arm now hung limply down at his side, useless, broken between the elbow and the shoulder.

Tulkas landed surprisingly lightly and catlike on his feet, never letting his grin slip. "Well now, what a pity."

Morgoth made a strangled sound deep down in his throat, fairly akin to a lion suppressing a roar, and lunged at the Wrestler. Tulkas was ready; he grabbed his enemy's broken arm at the same time as he pitched his whole weight sideways. He fell, with Morgoth beneath him, as elves, men and others scrabbled urgently to get out of harm's way. The two rivals rolled and thrashed about, with Morgoth at a considerable disadvantage. But he made up for his ruined arm by using his teeth, several of which were broken, chipped or cracked.

"Now, this is familiar," Tulkas chuckled idly as he grappled with his foe. "Does this not remind you of the skirmish we had in Elrond's dreams? You broke all seventeen of those teeth on me, Námo very nearly tore out your left eye, and Irmo struck you in the shoulder just as you were fleeing…"

Ah, yes, Morgoth sneered, though rather thickly, due to a swollen lower lip. How could I have forgotten it? Aaauurgh! He roared again, as pain lanced like a white-hot firebrand through his broken arm, which Tulkas had seized again and wrenched powerfully to one side. The Dark Lord's body was twisted bizarrely, his face contorted in agony and rage.

Tulkas had clambered to his feet, and now stood above his foe, who was pulling in great, sucking breaths through clenched teeth as he strove vainly to rise. The Wrestler's overly-casual smile was still quite firmly in place. "Have you had enough yet?"

I have scarcely begun! Morgoth snarled in answer. This time, Golden-hair, I will be the one who claims victory!

The Dark Lord rolled over as he tried to rise, so that he was balanced on his toes and the tips of the fingers of his left hand. Then slowly, steadily, he began to change shape. Black hair bristled all over his body; his face elongated into a great, blunt muzzle; his tapered ears moved from the sides of his head to the top. His hands and feet became like immense paws, with great, glittering claws over twelve inches long. He resembled something that was part dark Vala, part bear and part wolf. Only his eyes had not changed – they were as huge, as scarlet, as loathing and evil as ever they would be.

Tulkas merely laughed and retaliated in a similar method. He crouched down to his hands and feet as golden hair spread from his face to cover his whole body; his nose and mouth lengthened as well, and two wide, pronged antlers rose like bare, sharpened tree branches from the top of his great head. His fingers and toes fused together and hardened, turning into four cloven hoofs; and a white tail grew just above his rump. Soon a splendid, golden stag with hazel eyes stood facing his adversary, a smile on his lips and keenness for battle in his heart.

Morgoth gave an echoing, bull-like bellow and lumbered forward. Tulkas leapt agilely to the side, swiftly goring the Dark Lord with his mighty antlers as he did so. Ashes sprayed from the deep gashes in Morgoth's side. The great stag cantered smoothly around his foe, and the wolf-like thing strained muscles and sinews as he twisted his body around, raking at the air with his claws.

Amid the many observers, Mandos stared gravely, silently at the unfolding spectacle. His eyes glinted like icy, impassive steel as they focused on both Tulkas and Morgoth in turn, and he gave a single bleak nod as a thought slid out of his mind as easily as a ghost.

Doom, he sent. Destiny, defeat, death. Yours is swiftly coming, Melkor Morgoth. Long have I foreseen it.

The Dark Lord froze, his head swiveling about to stare at the Lord of the Dead. Mandos' eyes neither moved nor blinked. They only looked, and they looked on dreadfully calmly as Morgoth resumed his fight with his lifelong enemy.

The Dark Lord and the Wrestler writhed and tumbled, a golden body gleaming against a black one; fangs and claws clacked upon antlers and hoofs. At some point, Morgoth gave a roar of wrath and reeled back, his great, hideous head turning this way and that way as cinders poured from an empty eye socket. Half-blinded, he took a mighty swipe at Tulkas with his left hand (which was much more akin to a giant paw), but the Vala ducked out of the way, deeply gouging his enemy's side with his antlers.

Morgoth's voice reached Tulkas' ears like an avalanche of loathing and fury. I will crush you like an insect!

"I would dearly love to see you try that," the Wrestler chuckled. "I always enjoy laughing at your failures."

Morgoth bellowed yet again, clenching his paw-hand into a tight fist and sending it down in swift descent toward Tulkas' head. The Vala reared up onto his hind legs, tossing back his noble head, and the great fist slammed into the earth, just where his head would have been moments before. Tulkas, as he had earlier claimed, laughed willingly out loud at his foe's failure to pulverize him.

Quicker than the eye could follow, he reverted to his Valarin form, and grabbed two large fistfuls of Morgoth's shaggy black hair. He jumped up onto his enemy's back; the surplus weight on his body caused the ex-Vala's limbs to buckle beneath him. He reared up like a wild stallion, but the Wrestler hung on with his whole strength and will. Still grinning, he spoke right into Morgoth's ear: "Who is crushing whom?"

Morgoth suddenly rolled over onto his back, pinning Tulkas under him – or so he hoped. From his current position, lying flat on his back, the Vala lifted his adversary straight up into the air, balancing the Dark Lord upon his palms and the soles of his feet. With hardly an effort, it seemed, Tulkas flung Morgoth bodily off of him. The ex-Vala hit the ground with a deafening THUD, and his mammoth form shuddered visibly.

Tulkas fairly strolled forward, halting beside the huddled body of his nemesis. He was no longer smiling, and his voice, when he spoke, was foreign to his normal personality – no longer cheery and laughing, it now held a faint shade of what could have been remorse. "I am truly sorry, Morgoth."

You pity me? the Dark Lord growled, one livid scarlet eye rolling backward to stare at him. You feel regret for what you have done?

"I said that I was sorry," the Wrestler answered softly. "And I am…"

His grin flashed back into place as he finished the sentence: "I am sorry that I am not the one to finish you off, once and for all!"