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Do you know the darkness in the hour just before the dawn? When all shadows disappear because there is no light to fall from the sky, no light to show you the right path?
In Dor Daedeloth this hour seems to last forever.
And if you are one of those who used to live in light. this darkness feels so unnatural, so strange. You can only stare at this grim land and think of how long it is under the Shadow. Will the spring ever return here? Will flowers bloom again?
You can walk away from the camp, but there is nothing to admire, nothing to awake happiness, hope, joy. Only ashes. And howling wind, like the voice of Manwë crying over the pitiful fate of this land.
You don't want to go, don't want to go there alone. The option of being attacked by servants of the Enemy is nothing compared to the endless pain and sorrow of this desolate land. But you must go forth, you must leave the silent safety of the camp, the feeling that there are your friends, who can come to help you or simply talk to you. Now you are not thinking about your duties as the leader of Vanyarin hosts. You don't remember about the council with High King Arafinwë and Herald Eonwë, Nelyafinwë, Kanafinwë and others… There is only the need, something that pushes you away from the circle of lights, deep into the shadows, into the darkness.
And there are corpses - all over the fields of dust. There was a battle, not so long ago, when the sun was above. The battlefield will be cleaned soon. The Maiar of Aulë, who came with Herald Eonwë will sing tommorow at the morning, and the earth will cover this horrible view. The bodies of all followers of the Light will be moved to rest on the hill, where a new forest will grow. You are walking through the field, empty eyes following you, broken pieces of armour or some parts of bodies are trying to stop you.
But you are not stopping.
And soon there is light before you, dim and red, like fresh blood. And there are mountains hovering above you - grim, dark, merciless mountains. Three volcanic peeks are bleeding with lava flowing lazily down the mountainside.
And you are there, alone, shivering under the cold wind, defenceless; your light hair is shining like a falling star. And you know there are countless eyes looking at you, a lonely Vanya, here, on the treshold of Angband.
And when the gate will open you know who will come out.