Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"Peace over anger. Honor over hate. Strength over fear."-The Jedi Code

Chapter 8: Danny and Turin

Danny's sneakers squeaked on the freshly-mopped tile floor as he rushed to beat the tardy bell, and the hallway in which he trod smelled of stale bubble gum, chlorine disinfectant, and the pungent scent of packed humanity. Tucker and Sam were close behind as the young hero waded into the herd of stampeding alumni, but even the reassuring presence of his friends did little to banish the distinctly hostile and suspicious atmosphere that seemed to have invaded Casper High. The glances with which Danny's peers now regarded him were considerably more unnerving than they had been before, as if the entire school had been tainted by the Society of Light's bigoted doctrine, and the young hero suppressed a shudder as his fellow men looked upon him with a mixture of suspicion, wariness, and even open contempt.

The Society was clearly having an impact within the walls of Casper High School. More than a few of its student body had apparently been seduced by its hateful preaching, and this worked to create an aura of uncontained menace that pervaded every classroom while catching Danny totally off-guard. Though he had anticipated that at least some of the other kids would fall for the lies of the Society, he had not expected…this. Even as he made his way to Lancer's classroom the students gave Danny a wide berth, as if they were ashamed to be seen associating with or going anywhere near him.

From the lengths to which his peers went to avoid the young hero, one would think that Danny had contracted some strain of virulently contagious and deadly disease, rather than being in possession of an extraordinary gift. Their faces stony, their eyes front, and their footsteps quick, the hallway emptied like water in a sieve only moments after Danny had made his reluctant re-appearance.

"You'd find more welcome in a freaking cemetery," Sam muttered under her breath. "Jerks…"

"The only way the Society would be in a cemetery is if I'm the one being put in it," Danny grinned bitterly.

"I think I can help with that," the sneering voice of Dash Baxter caused Danny's hackles to rise in irritation as he turned to face his long-time tormentor. The triumphant, vindictive smile on the football star's arrogant features made Danny's palms itch to blast his teeth right out of his mouth, and as he struggled with the urge to melt Dash's face, his mind flashed back to a passage he'd read in The Children of Hurin. The paragraph detailed a confrontation between Turin, the protagonist, and a hostile Elf named Saeros.

Saeros was proud, dealing arrogantly with those whom he deemed of lesser state and worth than himself. Therefore he looked askance at Turin and all that he did, saying what ill he could of it, and if he met with Turin alone, he spoke haughtily to him and showed plain his contempt. And Turin grew weary of him, though for long he returned ill words with silence…

"Can I reschedule this or something?" Danny asked, trying not to let his exasperation show. "I'm gonna be late for class-"

WHAM!

The breath was driven from the ghost boy's lungs as Dash suddenly and quite without warning grabbed the collar of his shirt and slammed him into a nearby locker. Danny gasped, winded and stunned, and he only just managed to catch the jock's fist as it lunged toward his face. White with shock and pale with fury, a lesser, more vindictive part of Danny Fenton reveled in Dash's shocked expression before his grip on the football star's hand began to tighten. The fragile wrist and finger bones threatened to snap like kindling as Danny's enhanced strength slowly forced Dash down on one knee, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked down upon his enemy.

And Saeros one day waylaid Turin as he set off early from Doriath, and Turin had gone only a little way when Saeros ran out upon him with drawn sword. But Turin, trained in the wild to wariness, had grown as agile and wise in war as any Elf. And with haste did Turin draw swiftly his blade Gurthang, the sword of black steel, and turn upon his foe. With a mighty swing he clove Saeros' shield, and wounding his sword-arm he had him at his mercy.

"I don't want to fight you," Danny said calmly.

"Too bad," Dash smiled through tears of agony. "'Cuz it's open season on you¸ Fen-toast. You think I'd be stupid enough to try whalin' on you in broad daylight if I wasn't sure I could get away with it? The Society's already bought several members of the faculty, including the principal, so now me an' my pals can do whatever we like as long as we do it to you."

"Lancer won't allow it."

"Lancer's on his way out, just you wait," Dash grinned sadistically. "Soon enough, there won't be anyone here who'll stick up for you, and then we'll see some fun!"

With a quick jerk, Dash only just managed to free himself from Danny's grasp, and he sullenly nursed his throbbing hand as he disappeared around the corner. "See you in gym class, Fenton; I'll give you so many mat burns that you'll need skin grafts! Hahahahaha!"

Sam laid a hand comfortingly on Danny's shoulder. "Don't listen to him," she murmured. "He's bluffing."

"I hope so," Tucker's face was worried.

Danny's chest rose and fell with a great sigh, and he slumped slightly whilst Lancer's dominion hove into view. It seemed as though the weight of the world had been suddenly placed upon him, and the strain was etched into Danny's face as though it were chiseled in stone.

Such a burden would have undoubtedly been great, but it actually would have been preferable to the dilemma that he now faced.

The classroom door swung open with a drawn-out, eerie creak, and Danny took a moment to turn to his friends before they followed him inside. "You and me both."

Though the small room that was Lancer's had until that moment been alive with the buzzing drone of blended conversation as the students waited for the tardy bell to sound, Danny's entrance into the midst of his fellow pupils caused the talk to abruptly cease. Silence, instantaneous and unnerving, made Danny's skin break out in goosebumps, and the hostile gazes of those around him seemed to grow even more judgmental when supplemented with the Society's vitriolic prejudice. Dozens of unblinking eyes pierced Danny like a volley of barbed arrows, and he struggled not to show his discomfort as he claimed his usual desk in the back row.

Mr. Lancer, instantly recognizable with his balding head and slightly protruding stomach, seemed not to notice the unnerving change as he marked attendance on a battered clipboard. The venerable teacher hummed a soft tune under his breath as his pencil scurried across the paper, and, that done, turned languidly to face the sea of disinterested and already-dozing teenagers.

Danny could not have slept even if he'd wanted to. He was partially convinced that someone would try to accost him whilst he dozed.

"Doubtless you all remember our lesson covering Christopher Tolkein's The Children of Hurin last time," Lancer began. "I believe we left off in our reading on page-Yes, Mr. Fenton?"

Danny fought the urge to cringe as those seated about him turned to stare, as if affronted by the fact that he had asked to speak, and he took a moment to curse Vlad's memory yet again.

But, as Vlad's hateful features flashed through Danny's brain, he found himself making some sort of comparison between his deceased nemesis and the Dark Lord-Danny could not recall his name- that was featured in the reading Lancer had given. With this in mind, the young hero found himself giving voice to a question that now nagged at him with irritating consistency.

"Um…I was kinda wondering…"

"Go on," Lancer's tone turned just a little bit more gentle as he encouraged his student to continue.

"You said that the bad guy in this book was different from the one in the trilogy, right?"

"Ah, yes, Morgoth," Lancer nodded, clarifying Danny's query. "The first and mightiest Dark Lord."

"Right," Danny nodded. "And I was, uh, just curious-I mean, it might be a bit off-topic—you made it sound, when you talked about him, that he wasn't always like that. Evil, I mean."

"An excellent inference," Lancer smiled. "And you're right. 'Morgoth' was not his name in the beginning; he was once Melkor, He-Who-Arises-In-Might, and the greatest of the Valar at the creation of the world. It was originally the Elves who called him Morgoth, or Black Enemy of the World, and by that name he was known forever after. He had part in the powers and knowledge of all the other Valar, but for Melkor, it was not enough. He turned his strength to evil purposes, squandered his strength in violence and tyranny. You see, Melkor coveted Middle-Earth and all that was in it, as well as lordship over the other Valar, for himself, but when he could not achieve his desires he fell from grace, with wrath and fire, into the depths of evil. Melkor perverted and corrupted all that the other Valar created, and so great was his malice that the entire world and all that was once pure became tainted with his evil. Morgoth worked endlessly to undo and thwart their designs; in mockery of life he bred the first Orcs and Trolls, and it by his black arts that fell beings like Balrogs first came into being. Even the fearsome Dragons, such as Smaug from The Hobbit, were created in the Elder Days to serve Morgoth's will.

Eventually, however, the wrath of the Valar grew so great that Morgoth was utterly defeated. His armies were almost entirely slaughtered, the Balrogs and Dragons practically exterminated, and his great fortress of Angband reduced to rubble. The few survivors of Morgoth's once-mighty host were forced to flee, Sauron among them, and with fear in their hearts they hid themselves in the deep places of Middle-Earth. Morgoth himself was brought before the Valar and cast out from the world to be trapped in the Outer Void, and legend says that he will remain there until the Dagor Dagorllach, or End of Days. At that time, he will escape from his prison and the last battle between good and evil will be fought, but it will not be of the Valar's will that Morgoth will meet his end. Rather, it will be at the hand of the spirit of Turin, upon the point of Gurthang, that Morgoth will finally be vanquished; when that happens, all the evil that he wrought upon the land will be undone, and the world shall be made anew."

Danny felt his skin crawl at the mention of Turin slaying Morgoth, and it was not lost upon him how eerily similar Morgoth's inevitable fate was to that of Vlad Plasmius. "R-Right," he said, trying not to keep his voice from shaking. "Thanks."

"I'm always happy to expound on the lesson," Lancer grinned. "By the way, Danny, do you by chance have your extra-credit assignment completed?"

"Yeah."

"Excellent. See me after class and you can hand it in to me then," Lancer concluded. "Now, assuming you all had the foresight to bring your reading material to class, we shall now turn to page one hundred and thirty-seven…"

Danny felt himself relax ever so slightly. Lancer, it seemed, was immune to the hate of the Society, and for that the young hero was enormously grateful. The fact that his teacher went to such lengths to help him gave Danny some small measure of comfort, and in spite of it all his face split into the tiniest of smiles. If Lancer still believed in him, perhaps others would, too.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still hope…

Epilogue

Washington, D.C.

The beady, quick, and squinty eyes of the rat-like Andrew Skryme narrowed into evil little slits as he reclined at his desk, and his rumpled, unkempt clothes, stained and frayed, were evidence not only of his countless late shifts but also of the reckless fervor with which Skryme had thrown himself into conducting his private vendetta with Danny Fenton.

The Society of Light had been a stroke of the ex-major's malevolent genius. With a mere click of a mouse, Danny's self-sworn foe had absconded with thousands of dollars to fund the group's formation. A few phone calls, made anonymously, had been enough to persuade several fanatical religious groups to pledge fealty to his "holy" cause, and through these rabid reverends Skryme had brought the Society into being. Slowly at first, then with ever-greater numbers, those citizens who had been deceived by Skryme's lies had rallied to the Society's call to arms. Every venue through which Skryme could spread his hate had been utilized following the creation of his pet Society; the ex-major had already purchased slots for TV infomercials, placed "Enlightening" ads in America's most prestigious magazines and newspapers, and rented roadside billboards along all the nation's major thoroughfares.

Skyrme, of course, did not share his followers' zeal for their "mission." The Society and those in it were, to his mind, nothing more than tools that he would use to further his own nefarious ends. Whether the Society succeeded or failed was of little consequence; the point was to do as much damage to Danny Fenton's reputation as humanly possible. The Society would serve its purpose no matter what the eventual outcome would be, and when it had outlived its usefulness Skryme would simply abandon it. He was not given to sentimentality even on his best of days.

No matter who won, Skryme vowed silently, Danny Fenton was bound to lose.

The clunky phone at the villain's desk gave a piercing shriek as someone dialed on the other end, and Skryme cleared his throat for a moment before holding the receiver to his ear.

"What news of the Light?" he said, altering his normally nasal and high-pitched tone so as to appear gentle and almost fatherly.

"Many at the Dark One's school have embraced Enlightenment," a voice on the other end replied. "Already, our foothold in Amity has begun to grow stronger."

"Do not let overconfidence blind you," Skryme replied softly. "The boy is still very dangerous, as are the traitors to humanity that call themselves his friends. Do not cease your campaign now; keep spreading the Word and expose the ghost child for what he truly is, and we shall soon have peace. The assault on the boy's domicile was brilliantly done, by the way."

"We may have a problem concerning the first strike of our holy crusade," the caller admitted. "The one called Brody has begun sniffing around. He and his superiors seem to think the boy is worth protecting; I fear the attack may be traced back to us."

"Then you must silence him. Permanently."

"But, sir, is that really-"

"When the world is in peril, certain sacrifices must be made to ensure the greater good," Skryme said, his voice growing stern. "Brody's life is meaningless compared to the fate of the entire human race. Keep him under surveillance, observe his comings and goings, and when you think he is at his most vulnerable…do what must be done."

"I understand, sir," the second man said dutifully. "We will take appropriate precautions so that Brody's…accident…does not hinder us."

"See that you do," Skryme nodded, hanging up the phone. "Long live the Light!"

The device clicked softly back onto its receiver, and Skryme's belly shook with mirth whilst he marveled at just how easy to manipulate these people were.

"Hahahahaha! Fools!"

A/N: OMG NOOO! Not Brody! Skryme's gone too far this time! But will he succeed in putting Brody in his grave? Will Danny overcome the odds? And will the Society ever be stopped? Find out in coming installments! And (by now you probably saw this coming! XD) as always, PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have ANY ideas, suggestions, comments or questions, LET ME KNOW!

And yes, I know this chappie's a little short, but I wanted to elaborate more on the similarities between Danny and Turin; I felt that I'd neglected that part for a little while, and it seemed like that would be an interesting concept to explore further. ^^ I'll try to make the next chapter longer, so no worries, 'kay?

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque