When you have done all that you can to turn your base into a thriving hub of activity you set off for Gladesville. You are eager to see how they have been handling their new lives, and you think the time has come to put a defensive wall around the burgeoning village. Your excitement is further raised by the relative peace of your journey to your destination. Whether the creatures of the forest have learned to fear you, or you are simply lucky, your sword is not drawn even once. When you arrive at the village, you take a few minutes to observe before you reveal yourself. The former bandits are now quietly working away, cleaning and tanning hides or tending to their farms. There is no sense of joy or contentment in the air, but there is the quiet peace that accompanies mundane life. You are pleased to see these people who were once desperately robbing others to survive working on something meaningful. With a smile you emerge from the trees and walk into the village proper, calling out to ask how work progresses.
Your arrival is met with cheer. It seems that you are considered by most who live here to be a bearer of mostly good news. You do need to wait for half an hour before the daily tasks are finished, and some of the villagers are hunting. You sit on a tree stump near the centre of town and quietly think about your plan. You are here to build a wall to stand between the village and the many, many monsters that dwell within the forest. In doing so you are also going to be putting a hard limit on the space the village has to grow. You have left a fair amount of space, more than you needed really, between your 'fields' and the place where you have built the first houses so you should be able to build quite a large wall if that is what you desire.
There are two factors, beyond how much space the village will have, to consider when deciding how large the wall should be. Firstly, the wall must be built by only the people you have here in the time you have, though you could continue work into next week if necessary. Secondly, you need to have a wall that can be defended meaningfully by the people here. It had been for this reason that you had discarded an earlier idea about some kind of mobile defence. While a team of Noldor archers could make a tangle of brambles and stakes work against the dark spiders of the forest, you doubt a dozen hunters will be able to achieve the same. The spiders pose a further problem, as their ability to scale vertical surfaces challenges traditional wall making and prevents you from incorporating trees as part of the defence. You push that problem off for now, you can address it once there is an actual wall to design.
You go back and forth on the size of Glensville's wall. You want to give the village the maximum possible room to grow. A wall that would allow their numbers to increase by a factor of ten would seem the ideal solution for this. The only problem is that until the numbers come in, you have only a dozen men to defend and maintain this wall. The largest option would be borderline impossible for them to defend. So, it is with no small amount of discontent that you compromise with your ambitions and agree to a wall that will allow for maybe fifty houses and a few other buildings. That should also ensure that you do not run out of construction material.
You talk to the villagers about your plan and discern how many of them can be spared from their current tasks. Not as many as you had hoped but enough to make a beginning. You start by marking the largest extent of the wall, as well as how much clear space should be between it and the tree line. Then you and the villagers that could be spared begin clearing that area. The work goes reasonably swiftly, especially since there is relatively little in the way of shaping needed for the trunks destined to become part of the wall. At this point you turn your attention to the design of the wall itself; you had noted the challenge of the spiders in particular earlier and you intend to solve that problem
Try as you might, ideas are just not coming. Many of the designs that had been discussed before it was revealed that Morgoth and Ungweliantë had broken their alliance were designed for the armies of the Noldor. Glensville has no stores of metal to make spikes and has neither the stone nor skilled masons to create some of the more elaborate walls. Fortunately, there is no need to account for flying enemies such as dragons, you hope. That particular design challenge would be too much even for you. You toy with the idea of a lip of some description, but that would only serve to cover the spiders as they climbed.
Eventually you decide on three possible designs. You could accept that the wall is not going to be proof against anything and have it serve as a delaying tactic. That means multiple gates and a single sentry, with the plan to flee if danger approaches. You could go with the standard ditch and rampart, but fill the ditch with spikes, which will need regular maintenance. Finally, you could create fully enclose watchtowers that protrude from the walls to fire at any climbers using arrow slits. In the spirit of keeping this village a product of those who live in it, you propose each option to your assistants.
When the votes are all counted it is clear that the idea of watchtowers is popular with everyone. Though it will take far longer than the simple wall or even the spiked ditch no one wants spiders climbing their walls and attacking their people. You cannot blame them, the image of Ungweliantësen storming the fortresses of the Noldor had been a consistent nightmare of yours when you first landed in Arda. Some people would like to include a rampart with the watchtowers but concerns about additional time and the danger to the foundations of the towers have those proposals rejected. You do make note of the possibility of adding a spiked ditch in future, but that is a proposal for another day.
Work is hard, hauling logs into position and burying them into the ground. You also use vines to bind each log to the other up near the top. Most people had envisioned a circular wall, but you ended up making one to be square both for ease of construction and to provide overlapping fields of fire on the walls. You end up creating a walkway quite by accident, you needed a scaffold to reach the top and once you had realised that this was forming an impromptu walkway at the top of the wall you decided to fasten it more firmly. You complete the first section of the wall in the first two days of work, most people wanted to build the wall first and then add the towers, but you explained to them that would make the towers both difficult to make and hard to use.
On your advice the last two days are spent on making the watchtowers at either end of the wall you have built. There is some debate over whether it is worth making the towers out of plank rather than logs. It is an argument decided by the ease of use for logs and the increased thickness they grant. The construction is only interrupted by a wild Sylvan once. You fight it off without too much trouble, which causes one of the builders to comment,
"I am SO glad we didn't fight you."
You assume this was meant to be complimentary, but you never felt they had any choice in the matter, so it falls flat.
When work is done for the week, you remain at the village long enough to share dinner with them. You have been doing so for the last four days, partly to give your new staff time to adjust without you. The child, for example, had described you as 'a terrifying vision of what a lord should be' which was rather eloquent and perceptive of him. To your surprise, following your discussion of your almost argument with Merrill, you get more than a few comments from the villagers about 'avoiding the wife until she calms down' which confuses you since Merrill is not your wife, you are still unmarried. The joke is never explained to you, which is deeply frustrating to you.
You had returned to Endataurëo, tired from the construction efforts at Gladesville. You are cooking for you and Merrill, well you are warming up your rations, since it is late and the staff are in bed. Even the arts of the Eldar struggle to make long lasting travel rations more than bearable. Still it is food and you and Merrill are both hungry and looking forward to them. You had just turned to hand her a plate when you find yourself staring at a green sky. You yourself are once more in your glowing, unseen form and the Beyond around you has shifted radically. Sharp spikes of blackest stone pierce through the stone floor, thrusting into the sky. Pools of misty green liquid lie here and there and before you the ground slopes ever upwards, a mountain whose top is obscured by green mists. It cast your mind back to a gruesome parody of Ilmarin. The Beyond shifts around you as Merrill steps out of the fog.
"What happened, you just froze suddenly. Are we under attack? Where are we?" She asks, looking around and noticing the changed landscape.
You are about to respond when your ears catch something, soft and just on the very edge of your hearing. You gesture for silence, straining your ears to try and hear what it is. Slowly it grow louder, and you recognise it, it is you own voice and the words it is saying are words you know well. Words you often wish you could forget.
Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean
"Did you say something?" Merrill asks, turning to look at you.
You shake your head. "No, we should find out what is going on and get out of here as soon as possible."
Merrill nods, looking around at the black stone that forms a sharp cage around the area you stand in. "Any ideas about where we should go."
You gesture to the mountain, and the row of spikes forming a pseudo path. "I would guess in that direction, since it is the only one we have available."
Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maiar or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth
Your journey is slow, the incline is steep and covered by loose stones and the green fog makes it hard to see. You remain silent, trying to ignore the oath repeating again and again.
"What is this?" Merrill's curiosity cannot be killed even by impossibly dangerous circumstances apparently. "What is this that keeps repeating. Is it a poem? Is it supposed to be a memory of yours?"
You shake your head. "No. It would be in Quenya if it were my memory, and it would not be my voice that said it."
"You haven't told me what it is." Merrill observes.
"No. I have not." You reply curtly.
The climb continues in silence.
Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not doom itself shall defend him from Fëanáro or Fëanáro's kin
After what feels like hours of climbing you come to a plateau. The mist lifts somewhat and resting against a stone column is a mirror of bronze. You walk past the mirror to see that the path continues upwards. You hear a gasp behind you, and you turn to see Merrill staring into the mirror. You run to her side, trying to see what she sees. In the mirror you see your reflection, or what you think is your reflection. Then you see the drawn sword spattered with red blood, the wild look in your eyes the bodies of Findekáno and Nerdanel at your feet, the Silmaril raised in your hand as though in admiration.
"Come, Merrill. Let us leave such dread apparitions in the dust where they belong." You pull her along as you walk away.
"I saw… I'm not a blood mage I swear…" Merrill's voice is tinged with fear.
"It was a phantom, only as real as you make it. Onwards." You tell her firmly.
Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear we all death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
You climb yet higher, rising through the mists to come to where the home of Manwë would be on the true Ilmarin. Instead, you find the central tower of dread Angaband. The peak of Thrangodrim thrusts above it, a skeletal hand hanging in a chain from it. There in the courtyard stands Findekáno. You desire nothing in your heart more than to rush to embrace him, to hold him close and beg his forgiveness. You have suspicions about what may be happening though, so you hesitate.
You call out, trying for a humorous tone and unsure if you succeed "Astaldo! Well met. If you had wanted to meet me such theatrics were unnecessary."
"You let me die Russandol." 'Findekáno' says, his face twisted with fury. "You slew me for your precious gems and then you had the gall to simply give up…"
"ENOUGH!" You roar. "Cease wearing that form now or face the wrath of Maedhros!"
The being leans back a moment, then after a moment's consideration speaks. "What gave me away? I was so sure I had him right."
You snarl and draw your sword.
"Oh? So eager to meet your death. Very well I will oblige you." The creature taunts.
Then it begins to grow. And grow. Until, from a height that brushes the clouds, the once fair face of the enemy of the world leers down at you. Grond clutched in his right hand and his great shield, black as night, in his left.
"Morgoth." You say, unsure if it is with hate or fear. Most likely it is both.
Woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting darkness doom us if our deed faileth…
Your sword flies from its scabbard, and you almost rush straight at your long hated foe without thinking. If Merrill's cry of fear had not caused you to glance away, expecting an ambush, you might have shared your uncle's fate. Now that you are thinking rather than reacting you realise you have an advantage that the dark lord has not accounted for. He is likely assuming that the Unseen of this world is the same as that of Arda, while you know for a fact that it is not. If you can use your ability to press your view of reality into the potentiality of this realm you can remove many of his natural advantages. You grin savagely as you extend your will into the surroundings.
As you expected there is significant resistance. Your foe is extending their own will, and his natural talent seems to be serving him well in opposing you. If you had any time to do so, you would curse him for being naturally good at everything. As it is you steel your will and focus on the skill that has always enabled the Noldor to fight the titans in Morgoth's service on even ground. Beneath your feet the mountain side roils and writhes as your wills clash, each striving to dictate what it is that surrounds you
Slowly, agonisingly slowly, you gain ground. The first thing to waver is the great dark spikes that have caged you in since you first arrived here. The will of your opponent surges forward to secure them, certain that you will attempt to flee once they are gone. You have no intention of fleeing, once they have focused there you move your attention elsewhere. Beneath his feet flowers and grass begins to bloom spreading quickly up the mountain. Now that he is forced to divide his attention you can undo the spikes, and from there your advantage continues to mount.
You come to the final piece of potentiality, and here your foe fights almost desperately. Their will resist you to the last, but you come to a revelation as you press in for a direct contest. Your will is superior, more focused and less yielding. This is the last stumbling block on your path to total domination of your surroundings, but it is only a stumble not a defeat. The green fog clears and you go from a twisted parody of Ilmarin to the hill of Himring in the spring. Blue sky above and green grass festooned with flowers. Your fortress takes the place of Angband, bright red banners flying proudly.
You stare at the enormous creature before you. With strange spiderlike limbs and a many faceted mouth, it looks nothing like any being you have ever seen before. You look at its countless eyes and notice their inhuman construction. Your eyes are not the part of you that reveals the most, now that the green fog has passed your senses stretch out to cover the creature and reveal the truth.
"You are not Morgoth." You growl. "Demon."
Your senses report the same sense of deep perversion, the twisting of something natural into something sickening that accompanied the demon of desire.
Behind you Merrill gasps. "A fear demon, I've heard stories but I never thought I'd see one. You know that many people think they're a narrow subset of pride demons while others…"
You cut through her nervous babbling with a sharp command. "Flame weapon. Now."
Bright fire blooms along your blade, but your focus is only on the creature before you. You cannot meaningfully kill it, but you intend to make it wish it were dead. Your charge and first swing meet nothing. The lack of your physical body is throwing you off, if you were not so focused on the fight you might wonder why you even have a sword. You are too busy using what is probably a manifestation of the 'magic' of your skill with a sword to fend off the attacks of the creature before you. You are vaguely aware of spells catching the beast and driving it back enough for you to reach its main body, but you can only see your foe.
Your rage fuels your blows and you land a strike that hurts the beast. Then another, and another. You strike again and again, ignoring it when it screams for mercy in the voice of everyone you have ever cared for. It would have died long ago had this battle taken place in the real world. Here though it can only suffer. You are not sure when it stops trying to defeat you and starts trying to flee, your vision is tinted red, and you can only hear the pounding of your own heart. When it does manage to escape it comes as a shock and you swing at empty air.
You stand there with your chest heaving staring at the green puddle the demon had sunk into. You had been on the verge of chasing it when Merrill places a hand on your arm.
"Now that it's driven off, maybe we could have dinner now." She says timidly.
You turn to face her and realise that she is trembling. Her knuckles are white on her staff, and she clearly fears you will lash out in rage at her. It is enough for you to realise you need to calm down. You nod, not trusting your voice, and struggle to get your rage under control.
While you are eating, your temper slowly dying down to its usual low simmer, Merrill speaks cautiously to you.
"What was that he transformed into? I know you were fighting someone named Morgoth but were they really that tall? And what is that phrase that you didn't want to talk about? Why were you so angry, I've never seen you like that.
You meet Merrill's eyes and with a sigh you begin to relate the full story to her.
You wish you had some wine at hand to drink, at this point you would even take beer in sufficient quantities. At the very least you are up late enough that your staff is in bed, you do not want to have this conversation with strangers evesdropping. You throw back the last of the water you were drinking and then look Merrill in the eyes.
"If I am going to tell you this story, you are not going to speak. No questions, no interruptions, no accusations, nothing. When I have finished you may ask questions to your hearts content. Am I understood?" You say, tone unyielding.
Merrill swallows nervously and nods rapidly. You lean back in your chair and cast your eyes to the roof.
"I suppose I should begin with the Silmarils." You begin. "Actually, no they are not important to the story. I should probably explain my father. Ah no, I suppose that is not relevant either."
For the first time in your life, you are unsure what to say. Where do you begin? What does she need to know in order to comprehend the magnitude of the oath and what you did for it? Merrill looks like she wants to say something but keeps her word by staying silent.
"What you heard was called the oath of Fëanor." You eventually settle on. "The name is somewhat misleading; it was sworn by all of us. You see the Silmarils, which my father made, were stolen by Morgoth. He is the enemy of the world I told you we fought against. We left our homeland, Valinor, Eldamar or Aman, whatever you want to call it chasing him. We left despite being forbidden to go by the Valar, the spirits who ruled our homeland. The, I do not know the common, fallion roquen. Teleri, the quendi who lived by the sea they barred our path. I do not know who started it but we drew steel, our blades were stained red one and all. That was the first, uh Killing of Family?, Nossë Nahtëar. It is different from humans, humans kill each other all the time but Quendi do not. It is a grievous sin to kill another Quende, worse still to do it in Aman where no blood is supposed to be shed. I am drifting off topic, but the important thing is that my father died on our first day in Arda. With his dying breath he made me, made us all, promise not to forget our oaths."
You stand up and fetch yourself more water, partly to quench your parched throat but mostly to give you time to rally your thoughts. When you return to your seat you realise that Merrill has been watching you as you walked the entire time.
You continue, "I have killed Quendi three times in my life. The first was one we all took part in, but the other two were done by the sons of Fëanor, for our oath. You see, Tinúviel stole a Silmaril from Morgoth, she gave it to her father to marry Beren I think. I might be wrong about the details but the important part is that Thingol had it. He tried to put it in his crown, but the dwarves he hired… I am off topic. I thought that our hour had come, so I assembled everyone I could into the Union of Maedhros. We were going to draw Morgoth out and end him once and for all. We would collect the Silmarils from his corpse and then, I do not know what we would have done. Perhaps if we had still had the fortress of Himring Thingol's heir would have given us the third, perhaps nothing would have changed. It does not matter in the end. We were betrayed, Findekáno died, I failed."
You fall silent as grief stabs at your heart, as keen now as it had been on that long past battlefield. Merrill goes to speak several times as the silence drags on but her promise keeps her from doing so.
It feels like an age before you speak again. "We had nothing, no home and maybe ten thousand warriors between the seven of us. Morgoth had hundreds of thousands, if not millions of orcs. That is not even to discuss the men, trolls, dragons or balrogs. We could not take Angband with what we had, then Gondolin fell as well. With its fall we had no one that would aid us. Then we got the news, Thingol had died and Melian had left. The Silmaril was still there. I wanted to fulfil my oath, at least in part, so I… so we…"
You pause for the longest minute of your life, throat working, trying to say the words aloud. When you finally do, the words come in a rush. "We attacked them. It was a slaughter. We were all hardened veterans of the siege of Angband, most of Doriath's defenders were part time militia those who were true warriors numbered maybe three thousand. We killed so many, took everything of value. Dior died defending the treasury, I think Pityo killed him but he had so many wounds at that point. He took Turko down with him, and that made his men furious. His sons… I looked for them when I found out but…"
Another pause, but if you stop now, you will never finish. "His daughter got away with the Silmaril. So we asked for it again. When we were refused there was no reason to hold back, we had already damned ourselves for it. This time, we only let a few escape, Elwing and her sons. Well technically her sons were our hostages, Kano wanted to adopt them, but I always knew we might be able to trade them. It is probably why they always liked him better. We never retrieved the Silmarils. The one time we tried to steal the last two after Morgoths defeat their defences burned us. The last I saw the one I had…" You hesitate, not wanting to mention your own end. "It fell into a chasm. That is what you saw and heard, Morgoth the monster I could never kill, the oath that made me a monster and the friend my plan killed. You may now ask your questions."
You slump back in your seat, looking at Merrill as she process what you have revealed about yourself. The silence stretches on, you idly note that it feels much like waiting for judgement from Eönwë but you are too emotionally exhausted to care.
Eventually Merrill asks "Is that what you were like. The anger I mean. When you… you know."
You shake your head, smiling bitterly. "The anger has always been with me; it is the only part of my inheritance I have been allowed to keep. During my, let us call them misdeeds, I was as a statue, cold and unfeeling."
Merrill looks at you with concerned eyes. "Are you alright? You've gone through so much. Can I do anything?"
Your smile becomes gentler, edging towards wry rather than bitter. "I will survive. All that was done was done by me and no other, I will face the consequences. There is nothing, that you care enough to try means more to me than you can understand."
Merrill is undeterred by your words and ends up bustling around the kitchen making some kind of sweet hot drink that 'always helps her feel better when things have gone wrong'. It makes you smile to see her so unchanged by what you have revealed.