This is a concept that's been rattling in my head for a few days now. This is part one of a part two. This part is pretty tame as it's the begining of the fight - I'm not sure how bad part two will be so this is designed to be a stand-alone chapter if need be. This story takes place after the time of men has begun to come to an end but before Melkor has been released from the void.
Here it is! (I will do a second spell-check tomorrow...I'm just too tired now.)
A dark shadow flitted across the stars.
Even Valinor suffered the cold darkness of night now, the maia thought absently as he moved within the shifting shadows, molding his form to the covering dark and tempering the fire of his spirit so that by it's glow he would not be betrayed.
The soft rustle of the deep forest whispered warnings overhead and Mairon knew he had to hurry. For in Aman where even the stones were hallowed he could expect no ally to hide him once his trespass had been noticed. Through the hostile woods he crept, where the shrill cries of startled birds broke the silence with his approach and the wild things watched with glowing eyes from a wary distance; sensing the sheer malevolence, the wrongness of the thing that now walked among them.
Mairon cared not for the dim thoughts of Yavanna's beasts and set himself into an easy trot towards the objective.
Monolithic against the darkened stones of the sacred mountain a city gleamed silver and gold at the end of the long plain. Valmars bells were as silent as the evening now, though in the light of day they rang with a joyous, holy sound that was a screeching assault on the ears of one who had for so long hearkened rapturously to the clamor of industry and the brutality of subjugation. Mairon grimaced, noting he thought the crack of the whip a far more pleasing sound than the chorus of the Vanyar singing praises to a distant King who 'cared' for the children that obeyed him so blindly.
As he approached the massive white walls of the city they loomed ever higher above him and the first prickles of an almost magnetic resistance revealed themselves.
There would be no delving beneath those foundations, nor vaulting over their ramparts - both above and below were warded. But who in paradise locks the front door?
Mairon made for the wide gate but paused at the far end of a wide bridge, crouching like a robber in the heather as his flame-ringed eyes scanned the horizon.
As far as he could see in either direction the white walls stretched like a gleaming cliff beneath the pale of Isil's rays. Glittering like a silver serpent a great river wound its way along the wall, moving more or less in a path that followed the barrier. From it issued a loud rushing noise that would cover the sound of his footfall. Of that Mairon was sure; though he was loathe to cross any holy waters of the Valar.
The stones and plants already were wearing on his very spirit, searing into his blighted flesh where he touched them with unprotected skin.
Crouched as he was in tall brush the maia was extraordinarily careful to not touch a single thing he did not have to. A momentary graze did little, but with prolonged contact the spot would begin to burn with a heat even he had no will to endure - the heat of the sacred battling the profane.
At that thought he grimaced.
I threw in my lot eons ago. I will not turn aside in the last moments.
Then a nearly feral grin crossed Mairons face as he drunk in the realization of what they were about to do.
He had not been in Valinor when the sun and moon were made, and word of their crafting no elf would ever reveal. This was in part because they were made entirely without the aid of the Children of Ilúvater and were the result of an unprecedented joint effort among the Ainur of Aman.
But Mairon had had many, many long years to listen with open ears to the idle chatter of men. And they had spoken of a bridge, rainbow in hue that connected Gods and Men.
Of course he'd thought it a fairy-tale of the sort the Edain were unusually fond of making; a tendency he himself had long noted and exploited ever so thoroughly for his own ends.
But then he'd seen it's glimmer through the faintest light of dawn.
It had only taken a catastrophe or two a few 'coincidental' mishaps for the gods to send a spy.
Long had Aman been removed from the world, for centuries the work of Ilúvater's hand had been secure in this truth - that none, save those who take the 'straight way' may pass into the bliss of Valinor.
But where there's a will, there's a way. And it was not in Mairons will that he wither away in the land of men as some forgotten spirit of malice who could only scare a weak race from the shadows while complacent Gods - his kin - satisfied themselves, reveling gluttonously in the praise of their precious 'beautiful' toys.
So when Eonwë had so faithfully used the rainbow bridge - thin as a strand of hair - to examine what was left of the Edain Mairon had slipped upon it and taken that high road the entire way to Valinor.
It was a close call, for he thought sure Oromë would see him before he could leap into the shadows of the mountains, but he and all the other Valar were looking with tear-filled eyes to the East, he had to fight a triumphant laugh at Nienna's wailing lament for the Edain that they had abandoned.
But now the second phase of his masters plan had to be successfully carried out, and as Mairon stared up at the massive gate before him, separated only by that unnervingly wide open bridge, he steeled himself for the task ahead.
Get in. Get the tethers for the ships. That's all I have to do.
The plan was crazy, he knew it. But it was all they had left.
He waited.
When an hour had passed without incident, without the shuffling of a guards feet or the peering of eyes back into the darkness Mairon relaxed. The Valar were still indulgent in their safety if they thought it wise to set no guard on their own capital city.
It will make this victory all the sweeter, they really don't learn form their mistakes!
It was time.
Mairon slipped from the bushes and trod with quick and quiet booted feet up to the massive gate the stood with doors thrown invitingly wide. They were wrought of a gleaming metal that shone like a nebulae in the night, precious stones glittering in pale moonlight and mithril brought in from Middle Earth glowing with strange light.
Now this nagged at Mairons mind as he sped toward the gate, making haste his priority. The longer he was in the open the greater the chance someone would see him. But the thought flitted through his mind as he leapt past those glowing signs that he had seen them once before.
Moon runes...
His foot touched the polished granite stone of the inner court and loud clanging of bells rang out through the city - their competing rings echoed with force magnified by the close set stone walls. Mairon clutched at his head, the sudden pain nearly unbearable and his forward flight was suddenly checked as he hunched in agony.
Headlong retreat was his only option now.
But no sooner had he turned than the massive doors, now glowing with a bright red light that lit the court with a diabolic glow. Through the gate great arc's of electricity shot forth, threading their white-violet branches through every wire tracing, dancing among the filigree, caressing the curves of the carven stone with their crackling energy.
Then the gate began to move.
Behind the door were massive gears and wheels, now all turning ferociously amid the clamour of the bells as the gates swung closed and an innumerable number of locks and bolts, hinges and clasps clacked and clattered shut.
Mairon stared at the gate in horror, knowing full well now his folly.
What a clever little trap.
He was breathing a little too heavily, felt a little too warm. How long had it been, Mairon wondered absently, since he had felt anything even resembling fear? And now as he stood staring at the gates back he could see it clear as day, the makers marks on the door proclaiming to all and sundry just who had wrought this monstrosity of hallowed stone and metal.
"The way is shut."
Mairon felt the sweat bead on his brow and trace it's way down his neck. The footfall behind him was now echoing loudly in his pained ears. The last hollow echoes of the great bronze bells of Valmar still reverberated with warning hums but the notes were quickly being occulted by the crackling of electricity that still sparked and surged through the gate, dancing among the steel-spiked wall like a fence of light that raced from one horizon to another.
He had seen enough to know what awaited now, yet his heart flared with anger and bitterness at the thought.
"Heh. To think it's come back to this. A bit too dramatic for your tastes I should think - maybe your grandfather finally rubbed off on you. I suppose then that this little device is your work? A mechanical door in the home of the Gods...I didn't think it was their style. Must be your idea then."
Turning, Mairon levied a grim smile at the warden on the stair, flipping golden-red hair from his shoulder as the elf approached.
The armor clad Ñoldor advanced, his steps slow, methodical. There was no hurry, no apprehension. And Mairon looked into those deep dark eyes and a flicker of displeasure crossed his face, for a moment covering his confident smirk.
Those eyes...this cannot be the same elf...
Amid the glory of Ost-in-Edhil Celebrimbor had been as emotive as any of his Finwean kin; something that had often rankled his betrayer. The elf had been quick to laugh, quick to anger, quick to forgive. The only think Mairon had liked about his mercurial moods was the ease with which the elf-lord could be brought to tears. But that elf and this one were like bright day and darkest night.
The gate-warden intoned, his voice melodious but empty. Like a song whose key notes had been cut out and discarded.
"It was made by those who are dead. And the dead keep it."
Dead...dead is right.
Mairon focused in on those eyes, the eyes he suddenly wanted to tear himself away from. But the elf seemed not to notice his wild gaze; he didn't seem to really notice much at all for that matter.
Then he stopped at the top of the alabaster stair, looking down with a strange passivity on the intruder before him. His silver armor shone in the light of the moon with an inner light etched in swirling patterns and letters that traced nearly every inch of the polished mithril. Long gauntlets ran up both arms, the heavy armor sleeves stopping at last at his shoulders. Upon his brow a circlet of mithril gleamed pale upon the dark strands of his hair.
But that was hardly Mairons chief concern. His attention was held on the item that the elf grasped with both steel-gloved hands, the metal shaft meticulously traced with spells of binding, spells of wind and of storm. Sharp and glinting with cruel promise the spears tip fluted to a sudden narrow point but the far end held three great plumes of a golden-brown that even in the poor light Mairon recognized as a gift from an emissary of his former King.
It was a weapon fit for a god, a weapon fit to kill one. The one thing that the King of the Valar had left behind during the siege of Utumno - unable to bring himself to even think of killing his brother.
Arwazna - the Arrow of Manwë
Now being wielded as a spear by the last scion of Fëanáro.
Tyelpërinquar stood as if carven from the same rock as his gate for a moment. Yet while he appeared passive, emotionless even, the raw energy that began to hum and snap in the night air spoke of the storm building within. Lighting sparked forth from the bladed edge of the spear, the thunderous crack echoing in the great courtyard as it crackled in the air. The electricity traced it's way across armor and into the surrounding earth as if whatever tempestuous thoughts raced in Celebrimbors mind had forced their way into the waking world.
Mairon laughed a bitter, fearful laugh wreathed in all the scorn and hatred he could muster. "Tyelpë...you've made your way forth from Mandos well enough. But isn't this a little too much? We've played this scene before and in case you've forgotten; it didn't end well for you."
Celebrimbor showed nothing. No fear, no hate, no rage, no pity. Yet into his eyes crept some strange emotion that revolted Mairon to see it and his vindictive playfulness switched rapidly to unconcealed malice as he glared back.
"You'd best step aside. Though I would be lying if I said I didn't relish the chance to kill you again. It's been too long since I've felt such...pleasure."
The storm crescendoed in rage.
Lighting ricocheted from the high columns at the top of the stairs leading up the long way to Taniquetils peak. It roared to life with the fury of a thunderstorm and cracked the air with its warning in a thousand sparking whips. And yet amid it all Celebrimbor was a vision of cold, unfeeling calm.
Mairon growled and his eyes blazed with wrathful fire as he bared his teeth. "Impudent wretch-"
Now at last Celebrimbor moved; the point of his spear swiveling to threaten the intruder upon Valinors peace.
"The way is shut." Celebrimbor answered simply as he raised his weapon, his fighting stance leaving not a trace of opening, no hint of weakness. And his voice echoed even amid the pealing of thunder with the finality of fate itself.
"Now you will die."