The seeding of Middle-earth
Chapter 2: The Black Lake (updated)
Long before they reached Lake Evendim, the elves began covering their noses. There was a foul smell in the air. The elf women sensed it first, a slight tinge of rot. Then as they drew nearer the lake, the scent became abhorrent, almost unbearable. In a forest of dead trees, where the ground was muddy and rotten, the elves refused to go further.
"I will not go another step," cried Síriel, hands beneath her breasts. "It's unbearable," agreed Ianthel, "sin thaur ceveni". Thárion and Amothor went to their kindred, trying to convice them to continue, but their words fell on deaf ears. The wizards went ahead to scout, and soon they returned. "Come," said Pallando, "this is no time to tarry." He gestured them to follow, and they rode southwest. As they came out of the forest, they saw it. "Behold," said Alatar, "the Lake of Evendim." He pointed with his staff to a large, black body of water. It looked almost like solid tar, and all around it, the ground was rotten and putrid. The elves averted their eyes, cursing their sight.
The lake still retained some of its shape, almost like that of a star. A black star. All around it there was no life to see, except insects, and it was clear now that the smell came from the lake. Alatar and Pallando then whispered to each other fiercely, and to the elves it looked like they were fighting with words. After a while, they appeared to reach some conclusion. "I believe we know now what has happened here," said Alatar solemnly. "Since Nenuial was song forth, a Water Spirit has dwelt here, the embodiment of the lake itself." Pallando pulled out a book from one of the bags on his horse. He flipped through the pages, and then showed them an image of a twirling mass of water, with hands and eyes of starlight. "This is the spirit of Nenuial," he said. "It supplied the men in the hills with fresh water all its long lived life. For a time, it was worshipped by them."
"All worship comes with a price however," said Alatar sternly. "The spirit grew arrogant." Pallando nodded and stroked his beard. "When we vanquised the Balrog," continued Alatar, "its spirit fled deep into the bowels of the earth, near the roots. There it festered like a wound, drawing upon the life of the very earth, far beyond our reach. Sooner or later, it must have noticed the spirit of the lake." The wizards whispered some more to each other before they spoke again. "It is likely that the Balrog made a deal with the water spirit," said Alatar finally, "offering it a way to draw power through worship." Pallando went back to his horse. "Could be it remembered those days fondly," said Pallando, while putting the book back, "and in its arrogance, it agreed to deal with the Balrog, and the evil spirit overpowered it, and consumed it." The wizards shook their heads in dismay. "We must attempt to cleanse it now, banish it, before the seed can be planted. I am afraid there is nothing that can be done for the Water Spirit."
A fire was kindled in the hearts of the elves then, and they all stepped down from their horses. "Take with you the water of Eä, Síril and Ianthel," said Alatar, he and Pallando leading them towards the lake. "Hold it to the light of the sun as you pray," cried Pallando. "Sing of light and pure water, as only the First Children can!"
When they came to the edge of the lake, their noses were burning with the smell. The elf women began singing, and raised the waterskin to the sky. Then it turned like glass, and the water within became visible. Like liquid crystal it shone, and all the colors in the world sprang forth, and it pierced through the rot and death of the lake like the light of the Silmarils. The elf men join in song as well, and the wizards began chanting ancient words of power.
However, the sky darkened, and soon the light died out, and the waterskin turned to normal. The weather became twilight, and the lake started bubbling. Gases rose from it like a thick fog, and it strangled the elves. Their song rapidly died out, and they collapsed on the ground, struggling to breathe. However, the wizards chanted, higher and deeper, and the words made the very earth quake with power. Then the lake erupted, black tar spewing forth, and wave of force pushed all six of them back. The fog dissipated, but the elves had fallen unconscious. A great, rumbling voice spoke then, from somewhere deep in the lake.
"Who comes to disturb my rest?" It asked, in the old corrupted form of Eldarin, once spoken by Morgoth. Alatar and Pallando rose to their feet, breathing heavily and leaving on their staffs. "I come," said Alatar, weakly at first, but then his voice found hidden strength. "I come, Alatar The Blue, Nectar of The South, and Guider of Seeds. I come to banish thee from these lands!" Pallando shouted too: "I come, Pallando The Blue, Helper of The East, and Guider of Water. Begone with you, foul spirit!" The voice turned silent for a while. Then the lake erupted again, more violent this time. "Your names and deeds are nothing!" It shouted. "The last age is ending, and so my master shall escape through the Door of Night. He shall find his soldiers strong, and the world shall be his throne!" Then the voice gave into a maniacal laugh, and the tar bubbled violently, spewing forth gases that lit on fire in the unnatural darkness that surrounded them. Suddenly, in the center of the lake, black liquid shot into the air, pulsing with dark fire, and it took the form of an mangled human, the lower body disappearing in the darkness of the lake. In the blink of an eye, great hands spewed forwards like fire from the shape, reaching for the helpless elves.
Alatar and Pallando then raised their staffs quickly, pointing them towards the black shape. They shouted in the language of the Valar, and two glittering beams of light erupted from the tips of their staffs , piercing the darkness. The beams spiralled inwards together, joining into one, and then crashed into the putried flesh of the Balrog's new body. It exploded like a volcano of white fire, and the voice screamed in agony, and its arms withered and fell to the ground before reaching the elves, reduced to harmless black puddles. While the black spirit licked its wounds, Pallando and Alatar woke the elves, and got them back on their feet.
"Hurry," said Alatar, his voice strained with effort, "we must get out of here." The elves struggled to get back on their feet. "I'm afraid this foe is beyond us," whispered Pallando, "already it is reforming its body." With every passing second, the darkness around them grew thicker. The voice began to cackle, and they saw shadowy mists twirling and stretching in the darkness. The elves did not retreat, however, and they sang their song once more. "Fools!" Cried Alatar, and turned again to face the darkness. There was no sun nor stars in the sky now, and the waterskin did not turn to glass as before. The wizards chanted along with the elves, and their staffs glowed and the light clawed away the darkness. However, that was all they accomplished. "Begone!" Screamed the voice, and the six of them were thrown back, flying about through twigs and mud, and fell unconscious.