CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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SUMMARY: King Bard presided well over the recent trial in Dale, but now let's see at how Námo, Ruler of the Dead and Lord of the Halls of Waiting fares with his new arrivals.
Elrond gathers the key players in his study to compare notes and decide how to proceed from here.
Beginning note: According to the Elf/Men conversion charts that Thranduil loaned me, Melui is 12 in Elven years, which would make her about 4 ½ years of age if she were a little human girl.
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"Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of a pure heart."
― José N. Harris, MI VIDA: A Story of Faith, Hope and Love
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Halls of Mandos, (I have no idea how they measure time there, so I'd better not try…)
Námo folded his arms across his chest as the scenes from Rivendell played through again. With an impatient huff, he left his study and went to go see find his wife. Vairë the Weaver wasn't at her loom, but sitting with Námo's sister Nienna in her private gazebo, as lovely scenery played on each wall.
"There you are, Melmenya," he bent to kiss Vairë's cheek.
"Please, sit, brother," Nienna elegant hand gestured to the lounger opposite her.
"I would love to, but at the moment I am in the midst of a dilemma and require your thoughts."
"Whose thoughts?" Nienna asked, a mischievous smile curved one side of her mouth.
"Either one of you. Both if I can get them."
You come to ask about our new arrivals," Vairë said.
"Yes. They come as a result of a situation similar to what we encountered in the recent past, but I find this to be complicated."
"Of course, Vennya," Vairë gathered her skirts and made to stand.
"What is the dilemma?" Nienna asked. "Perhaps I can help."
"I would appreciate it, sister, but I will not spoil this atmosphere by speaking of it here. We will go to my study."
"I see," Vairë said, after her husband replayed the scenes in Halls of Elrond and the Bruinen River. "This I did not foresee, which is unusual. Let me go to my loom and take a closer look at the tapestry. I will return shortly." With an elegant swirl of her crimson velvet gown, the Weaver of Time exited her husband's study.
"What do you think, nésnya?" Námo turned to his sister.
"This is similar, yes, but unlike Saeros, Lusiël is no innocent," A silver tear gathered in one of Nienna's eyes, slid down her cheeks. The small diamond that fell from her chin made a tiny clinking sound on the smooth stone floor.
"I was hoping I was wrong," Námo's face fell. "I do not want to make the same mistake again. I was but a moment away from cursing Saeros to the void, and if it hadn't been for you and Vairë's interference—"
"Worry not, hánonya méla," Nienna reached up and cupped Námo's cheek. "We have discussed this, yes? Now we know to look for such things."
Vairë entered the room with a pained look in her eyes, a long length of wool.
"What did you discover, my love?"
"It is as you feared. In some ways worse."
"The Elf Lusiël?" Námo lifted one eyebrow quizzically.
Vairë laid out a long strand of black wool on the desk. "Do you see here? At the beginning, there were many bright threads interwoven in the yarn, when there was love and beauty. All free beings are born with darkness in them, yet Lusiël's was born with a gift: the Ilúvatar had great things in mind for her." She pointed to a spot one-third away from the end which was completely black. "This," she said, "was her Moment of Choice—to choose good or to choose evil, to remain in the Light or join the Darkness."
"She chose it freely," Námo said.
"Those poor victims," Nienna sobbed. "Where are her parents?"
"In Valinor, which was why we never met them personally," Námo turned back to his wall and waved his hand. Scenes from Lusiël's family life were played out, which seemed normal. Then a dark mist hovered over her parents, withering their fëas and exhausting them.
"She wanted to be rid of them," Vairë noted.
"But she did not kill them!" Nienna pointed out.
"This is true," Námo agreed, "but it hardly makes up for the harm she caused to Elrond and his people, not to mention the murder of her own kind and the attempted murder of a child."
"What about that necklace?" Vairë raised her hand to the wall and an image of Lusiël froze. A silver chain bearing an emerald hung about her neck. "We know that came from Pallando. Did it truly belong to the Lady Celebrian, as Olórin feared? 1
"I believe so."
"He sent the falcon to give it to the Lord of the Eagles; why could they not destroy it, as they did with Saeros's ring?"
"That is one of the reasons why I am unsure as to what to do with Lusiël," Námo said. "We need to closely examine her life." Námo stepped back, waved both arms, murmured a spell.
The picture blurred into waves to reveal a young Elleth, unhappy and wandering in the woods north of Imladris at the foot of the Misty Mountains.
"She burns with an unnatural desire for her first cousin," Nienna whispered.
"Yet it is not a sexual love." Vairë said. "She wants the power to…possess her, to control her," She turned to her husband. "We have seen this kind of behavior before. Do you remember?"
"Eöl, the Dark Elf," Námo's lips pursed into a thin line.
"He is not willing to face the shame of his actions," Nienna sighed. "I have tried to counsel him, but he will not listen."
"He may yet, sister," Vienna patted her hand. "Soon, many of our residents will have a chance to redeem themselves."
"Speak not of that," Námo's warned. "Not until the Ilúvatar gives us leave."
"My apologies," Vairë bowed her head. "Now, with regard to Lusiël, may we see how she acquired the necklace?"
The wall blurred again to reveal the dark-haired Elleth, now older, once again in the forest, using the magic the Ilúvatar had given her to set small fires at the base of trees, causing them to cry out in pain. She pointed her finger upward and a bird fell to the ground, dead. Animals scurried away in terror. With a satisfied smile, she turned for home, waving her hand in front of her face, masking the truth of her power.
"That is why Elrond could not see," Nienna cried out in dismay. "Instead of using her powers to bring joy, she brought sorrow."
"She chose freely, before she received that necklace," Námo shook his head. "Look."
Pallando, in his true form approached and spoke with Lusiël, tempting her. She shook her head eagerly, then answered the Blue Wizard's questions, then curtsied and ran back to the city with an eager smile. The next scene involved the Lady Celebrian riding with her escort to the foot of the Redhorn Pass, where the party was attacked by a band of Orcs lying in wait. The guards were killed, the handmaidens scattered, while four Orcs rolled Celebrian into a rug and carried her off. Lusiël arms were grabbed, and she was dragged into the woods, but as soon as they were out of sight of the rest of the party, Pallando appeared, ordering her to be set free. Lusiël waved her hands angrily and the Orcs fell to the ground with unseeing eyes.
"She helped the Blue Wizard arrange the attack," Vairë's eyes blazed.
"I am afraid so," Námo agreed.
Pallando held out his hand with a smile, and the emerald pendant swung from its silver chain. Lusiël eagerly grabbed it and put it around her neck, tucking it under the bodice of her dress.
"That was the moment she lost all hope of redemption," Námo said then he stepped closer to the wall and narrowed his eyes. "That necklace did not belong to the Lady Celebrian. Pallando had it with him before the attack."
"Who made it? And where is the original?"
Námo examined the picture a few more minutes. "Probably taken by the Orcs, but it holds no power. This one was made by Sauron himself for Lusiël, to enhance her powers to a degree far above what the Father of All intended That trinket would share this power equally."
"So that, if she was killed, someone else could have picked it up and become just as dangerous as Lusiël was, perhaps more."
"Where is this necklace now?"
"Let us see," Námo twisted his hand and carefully waved his fingers.
Mithrandir was astride Lord Gwaihir who landed in a small clearing. The Wizard jumped off and ran into the thicket waving at the shrubbery to part and allow him to pass unimpeded. In the distance was the sound of hammering and the twin sons of Elrond bickering.
"Tir-Limbë!" he cried to the falcon hovering above him. "Get them away from that body! Do not let them touch it! Hurry!"
"Can you imagine if the sons of Elrond had taken that pendant back to Imladris and put it in their father's hands?" Vairë gasped. "The Peredhel would have become even more powerful than Galadriel and Pallando combined. And no force on Middle Earth could have stopped him!"
"Because of the Ring he bears? The one called Nenya?"
"Yes," Námo closed his eyes. "Praise the Grey Wizard for arriving on time, or all our hopes would have been lost!"
Nienna's hands flew to her mouth with a strangled cry. Vairë put her arm around the Vala's shoulders and helped her to sit. "Be well, dear sister. These things did not happen, praise our Father, and we mustn't grieve losses that never came to pass, yes?" She turned a worried gaze to her husband.
The bird rushed ahead, fluttering his wings at the Elves until they backed way in puzzlement. Mithrandir, still running, held out his raised his staff, muttered some words and the empty shell that was once Lusiël, was surrounded by a blinding flash. 2
With a wave of his staff and a command, the falcon swooped down, grabbed the necklace in his teeth and flew out of the woods to where the Lord of the Eagles was waiting. Gwaihir clasped it in his claws and took flight, across the land, across the Sundering Sea to the very top of Mount Taniquetil, to the Halls of Manwë. 3 He landed in the Courtyard and with a reverent bow, laid the small item on the stones. The King of the Valar himself came forth and with a prayer, he raised his foot and stomped on it, smashing it into dust. A swirling wind carried the particles in every conceivable direction, and its evil magic was no more.
"We can be thankful for that, at least," Nienna's shoulders lifted and fell with relief.
"I fear we will see more of this," Námo's brow furrowed. "It will not stop until the servant of the Dark One is banished forever." He turned to face his wife and sister. "No one must know of this. Sauron does not know we have discovered these trinkets and their uses, and we must keep it that way."
"Why?" Nienna rose from her chair.
"Because now we have an advantage. Should he find out that we know, he will use different tactics."
"This is true," Vairë clasped her hands together. "Has Lusiël's fëa been stripped of all her powers?"
"As much as I was able. The rest must be done by another, before I pass my Judgement."
"You have decided, then?" Nienna's face was stricken.
"I am afraid I have, Nésnya." Námo gently wiped a tear from her face. "But you must save your energies for those who need you. If it helps, know that I grieve this, as well, but such is the way of things until the Dagor Dagorath." 4
888
Naeven had been sitting and praying in This small, windowless room ever since he arrived, but where was he?
If he no longer possessed a corporal body, how could his mouth be dry like it was full of sand? How could his heart beat so hard it bruised in the inside of his ribcage? Yet he did feel pain as his chest and stomach caved into itself.
His last living memory of life was Lusiël, his Lusiël, looking at him with eyes that seared into his soul, then he was standing in a vast grey desert, with nothing to light his way but the stars above.
Then a tall doorway appeared, opened only enough to admit him into black halls and the golden glow of hundreds of lamps that reflected off smooth, mirrored stone.
He had been led to this room and told to wait.
The door to his cell didn't open; it evaporated. A servant, who looked much too ethereal to be a true Elf, approached. She was beautiful, dressed in dark robes with silver threads, her feet sandaled in gems, came forth and said. "It is time, child."
Naeven rose and was met by two guards with grim faces who walked beside him as the servant led the way. He was taken to a vast hall whose size and power rendered him not only speechless, but helpless as an insect, ready to be trampled upon. At the far end were wide steps leading up to a tall dais that bore three thrones, the one in the middle was carved in obsidian.
"You will stay here." She said, and left him standing.
Horns sounded, announcing the entrance of three ancient, statuesque beings: Námo, Lord of the Halls of Mandos, Vairë the Weaver, and Nienna, Lady of Pit and Mourning. All bore stars on their brow, their grey eyes enormous and all-seeing, with features beautiful beyond description, yet terrible in their wrath, should one incur it. As they took their seats, the Lord of Mandos opened his mouth to speak.
"Naeven, son of Novon, you will come forth."
The guards helped him to stand and supported him as he approached the first landing, where a chair materialized for him to sit, which he would not use. Instead, he fell to his knees again. "I am at your disposal, My Lord. I do not deserve such comforts after the unforgivable things I have done. I know my fate. Please, all I ask is that you sentence me to the Nothing without delay, so that I may repent until the end of time."
The goddess on the right began to silently weep, and small jewels fell into her lap. She looked upon him with such compassion, such pity that it eased the pain in his middle and replaced it with peace and perspective. Yes. He would gladly pay for his sins.
"You wish to be sentenced to the Fate of Morgoth?" Námo asked him.
"Yes, and gladly so. I love my family. I wanted to be Vanguard to protect them and all of our people from," his voice cracked, "from the very fate that I inflicted upon Narseg and his wife." He was really crying now. "They were my friends. They were good Elves and they were my friends, and I killed them. I did not want to; I swear I did not, but I did and now…" He had to stop and catch his breath.
The three Valar sat in silence and waited for him to compose himself. When he could speak again, he said, "I have scourged my family's reputation and my father's good name. Forever will they be known as the family of the Kinslayer. Please!" he begged the Lord and Ladies, "let my punishment be so severe that their faith will be restored to them. Not their faith in me, because I do not deserve it, but do not let them be the victims of my evil deeds! Please!"
"You will take a seat," Námo commanded, and with a small nod to the guards, they grabbed Naeven and took him to the chair. Once he was settled, Námo glanced to his left and waved his hand. The Lady of Mourning rose from her throne, went to him and offered her hand. He grasped it and kissed it several times, wanted to hang on to this last vestige of kindness before the Black consumed him.
"Son of Novon," Lord Námo spoke. "I have questions, and you will answer."
"Yes, My Lord."
"We have seen your actions in the forest of the Tower Hills. You did indeed murder Narseg and Meássë, and I am glad you freely admitted that crime. But can you tell me why you did it?"
"I just…had to. It was something that needed be done."
"What happened?"
"I followed their party at a distance. My uniform convinced the watchers along the road that I was with Lord Gildor's party, though I am not sure why they did not stop to question me. I wondered about it at the time, but I had to keep going."
"I believe we have discovered the reason for that."
"Can you tell me what it is?"
The Vala sat forward in his seat, eyes boring into Naeven's as if he already knew the truth of whatever he wanted to know, though Naeven knew not the questions. "Think carefully, son of Novon: Did you truly wish to murder your friends?"
"I… All I remember was that I had to. I do not know why, nor was I able to think about it. I just… did."
Silence reigned in the Hall for several minutes. A small thought was growing in Naeven's mind and fëa: a truth, or at least the beginning of a truth. A truth so terrible he physically shook his head to fend off the pain of it. His hand, still clasped in Nienna's was squeezed again, but he didn't dare look into her eyes, lest this kernel of understanding become real, lest the pain of it become too great.
"Now tell me," Lord Námo's voice gentled a bit. "You are acquainted with the Lady Lusiël of Rivendell?"
"I am," he blinked rapidly in surprise. "I loved her." And to his own surprise, he added, "I think."
"You are no longer sure?" Lady Vairë's head tilted slightly. "How do you feel about her, at this precise moment, child?"
"I…" he lowered his gaze and searched his feelings. "I do not know. I should know. I had spoken to my parents of marriage to her."
"You no longer think of her as your bond-mate?"
"I… am not sure. Is it because I am here, and she is still alive?" This time he dared a look into Lord Námo's eyes. "I suppose that is a kindness, though I do not deserve it."
"Why would you think Lusiël lives still?"
Naeven's brows scrunched together. "I assumed."
"That is a fair answer. Do you love her?"
"I…"
"It is the simplest of questions, child. You either do or you don't. Search your heart; what is there?"
"I want to tell you," Naeven swallowed hard. "Forgive me but I have no answer, My Lord."
"Why is that, do you think?"
Naeven opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to him. He could only shake his head and lift his shoulders in a shrug.
"Nésnya," Lord Námo lifted his hand and gestured to Nienna. "I think this would be better coming from you."
"What do you mean?" Naeven asked, his gaze moving from the Valar on the dais to the Vala beside him. "I do not understand."
"Oh, my dear," Nienna knelt by his chair and caressed his cheek. "You did not murder Narseg and Meássë of your own free will. You were forced to do it."
Naeven's eyes bulged, and his mouth dropped. He shook his head slowly from side-to-side. "No," he whispered, his voice thin with shock. "I killed them. I despise my existence for it, but it was me, and I will pay—"
"Naeven," the beautiful Vala's eyes sparkled, and jewels fell once again. "You were bewitched. You were forced to do those terrible things, and for that I grieve, for you are a good and brave Ellon who did nothing but want a life of honor."
"W… Who?" he mouthed; his throat closed so tight no sound could escape.
Another tear fell, as Nienna lifted her other hand and held his face. "You know who did these terrible things. You do not have to say her name aloud, but you must face this truth in your heart, my dearest one."
The pain. The pain of the reality sliced into him like a dull sword, like a baker cutting a loaf of bread. To ribbons. To whole cloth that was once so white and strong it seemed nothing could tear it, yet here it was, now in dirty, shredded rags that smelled of death, of decay. And it was no longer good for anything but to be thrown away or burned. That was what Naeven was now. Nothing but trash, disposed of and forgotten.
And he'd not chosen any of it. He was Vanguard, yet his life, every dream he'd cherished and worked for had been stolen from him.
Naeven made a sound, starting low in his belly, increasing in volume until his shriek of torment filled the air and bounced off the Halls of Waiting, down its vast corridors until nearly every head turned, their hearts heavy with sympathy.
Nienna rubbed his back and tucked Naeven's head under her chin as she let him cry it out, shedding tears to match his own.
"My Lord?"
An Elven voice, with a Northern accent, reached Naeven's ears.5 He lifted his head from Nienna's breast and wiped his eyes.
"It was not I who summoned you, Saeros," Námo said, his mouth curving up slightly. "I believe that was my sister."
The Elf entered the Throne Room from the door behind the tall dais. He was clearly a Silvan; tall with deep red hair and clothed in a simple green gown with jewels on the collar. To Naeven's great surprise, the Elf bowed before the thrones and smiled. "You wished to see me, My Lady?"
"I do not understand," Naeven struggled to get his breathing under control.
"You will in a minute. First I must pronounce your fate." Námo threw his shoulders back and deepened his voice. "Naeven, son of Novon, child of Rivendell—"
"That's what they call it in the Common Tongue, dearest," Vairë corrected him. "The Elves call it Imladris. You always forget."
"My apologies," the Lord of the Dead replied. "Perhaps you might want to remind me in private? It is unseemly for a Vala to be reprimanded thus."
Vairë rolled her eyes. Saeros smothered a smile. The guards cleared their throats. The servant of Nienna giggled before she could stop herself.
"They do this all the time," Nienna whispered to him.
"May I continue, please?" Námo asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Naeven, son of Novon, we have searched your life and your soul and decree that you are an honorable Elf. Had you had any sort of choice, you would never have undertaken the tasks forced upon you. Therefore, all punishment will be given to the person responsible for these evil and destructive deeds. All punishment, save one, I am afraid, for not even I can break the laws of Eru Ilúvatar the Father of All.
"Whether or not you willed it, Narseg and Meássë died at your hand, and for that reason, the White Shores of Aman will forever be closed to you. However, because you were not responsible, I offer you a comfortable existence in my Halls."
"I… will not be cast out into the…?"
"You will not," he said. "I am glad the Lady Nienna thought to have Saeros come, for he, too, was captured by the same wickedness and all that he might have been was stolen from him."
Naeven's eyes whipped up to meet Saeros's green ones. "Is this true?"
"It is," Saeros held up one of his arms, and there was a hand missing. "My hand bore a ring that was given me as a child. Yet I do not miss it; and for the first time since I can remember, I know what it is to have love in my heart. I am happy, Mellon nîn. I would choose no other existence."
"But would you not miss the chance to be in Valinor?"
"In this I am fortunate, for my parents, out of love for me, chose also to stay here. Whatever joy I might have found there, is nothing if I could not be with them." Saeros rested his hand on Naeven's shoulder.
"I will never see mine," tears stung Naeven's eyes. "I am alone."
"Not alone," the red-haired Elf said softly. "Let us be your family now."
Now Naeven's, tears were from relief. Nienna, of course, joined in and, this time, the jewels that fell from her eyes were all the colors of the rainbow. Once again, the dark-haired servant gathered them up and carefully placed them in the velvet, draw-stringed bag.
Saeros gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "May I take him to his rooms to get settled, My Lord?"
"Not just yet. There is One he must face, so that any small doubts that linger in this Ellon's heart can be destroyed. For none can truly be light until they have faced the darkness and walked through it. Nienna, Saeros, I ask that you remain with your new friend, while we see to this regretful business."
The Vala and the red-haired Elf bowed their heads and they all waited.
A few moments later, the giant doors opened and an entire company of the Soldiers of Mandos entered, with a petite, raven-haired Elleth amidst them, bound in chains.
"Lusiël," Naeven gasped. Without realizing it, he leaned forward to stand, but the firm hands on each shoulder kept him down.
Once again, Nienna took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "This will be difficult," she whispered softly, "but do not be afraid. Now that you are free, this is your chance to show her the Vanguard you are, yes?"
Naeven licked his lips and nodded.
"Bring her before my Throne," the Lord of the Dead's voice boomed and vibrated through everyone present. The Vala was no longer benevolent; his beauty was terrifying and even Saeros's hand on his shoulder trembled.
Lusiël's gaze fell, eyes wide with bewilderment and humility. Her eyes quickly darted in Naeven's direction, and he felt an old familiar pull as if she had tugged on an invisible string.
"Help me," she pleaded quietly. "I do not know why they are treating me this way. Tell them, Meleth nîn; tell them how much I love you!" She moved her head and met his eyes fully, and his mind became cloudy with a beautiful green mist and for a moment, he thought the meaning of his very existence, his entire life, was made for her, to give her everything her heart desired. And she wanted—she desired-to be free of those chains, so they could live as she had always promised.
All he had to do was open his mouth and speak. To tell Námo that he was wrong, that Lusiël loved him and together they would keep all their loved ones from harm. His parent's farm would always prosper, his Lord and his home need never fear the coming War.
They would be together; they would marry and his fëa and hers would join and become something so miraculous, surely even the Valar would see it and understand.
Naeven rose from his chair. Saeros tried to stop him, but Nienna grabbed his wrist. "No," she murmured. "He must do this alone, or she will always haunt him."
But Naeven didn't hear that.
All he heard was his own heart, thrumming in his chest, the blood pounding in his ears. Lusiel held his gaze, the glow in her eyes growing brighter with every step he took until he was before her. The guards stepped out of his way.
It was right there. All he'd been striving for. She was so beautiful, so powerful, that she could be anything, and because he would be with her, he would be everything.
All he had to do was open his mouth—
Then an image, a small, split-second memory came to him. Barely a moment, really. But it the most important moment, because it was his last living memory of his life in Middle Earth.
Of him at the North Gates of Imladris, with Aldon. Of Lusiël on the steed he had readied to help her escape. Of her riding through the streets at top speed and with a wave of her hand, the North Gates opened. Aldon had no time to react, but he had opened his mouth to protest. Lusiël shouted out a curse and his colleague fell to the ground. Then she turned to him with a smile.
But a child was with her, and that Naeven did not expect. The child of Narseg and Meássë, whose parents he had killed for the Elleth he loved. This child was an orphan because of him, and though Lusiël's smile was wide, Meássë's child pleaded to him with eyes full of fear.
Fear for her life. And that was not right. Neither was the green mist that filled his last living thought.
"Naeven?" Lusiël sobbed. "Tell them it is not true! Please!"
He did open his mouth, then.
But it was not to say Yes.
"No," he spat, his lips curling in contempt. "Never again."
He held Lusiël's gaze, summoning all his will. The love in her eyes was replaced with anger, and for a time, she tried to conquer him through force, but he stood alone before her and thought of the friends she had made him betray, the Lord he had disappointed, and the family—Ai, Naergon! His mother and father, who had been so proud of him…
Red-hot rage surged within him, and for a time it threatened to burn him inside out. But Naeven held fast to the values he'd been taught with loving firmness. And gradually that faded away to…nothing. No love, no hate; nothing… She was nothing to him. And the space she had once occupied in his mind was now full of truth, a complete understanding of what had been done. He would struggle to accept this, he knew. But Naeven would do it. Because he was, and would always be, Vanguard.
…and he was truly free of her.
"I pity you, Lusiël. You brought your doom upon yourself, and where you are going, none can save you," he straightened his spine and threw his shoulders back, full of new-found freedom. "After this day, I will not waste another thought on you."
This time, all pretenses fell from Lusiël's countenance, and she screamed in outrage. Námo and Vairë descended their thrones as she called them filthy names until all three Valar stood behind Naeven. With a casual wave, Námo silenced her forever. Lusiël's eyes dulled into a muddy grey, and her lips faded to match her colorless cheeks. She feebly struggled against her guards, mouth opening and closing, until at last she realized her predicament.
"You were given a rare gift, Lusiël, daughter of Lucian. Of your own free will did you offer it to the Dark Lord for his purposes. Of your own free will did you cause the capture and torture of the Lady Celebrain, granddaughter of the High King of the Noldor. Of your own free will did you ensnare your people and cause the unnatural deaths of four of your kin, including your own cousin!"
A strong, ominous wind lifted Naeven's hair. Námo eyes blazed lightning, and his voice, that only a moments ago was bickering fondly with his wife and sister, was now unrecognizable.
"I hereby banish thee." The words bounce against the obsidian walls. "I banish thee from all that is good in Arda. 6 I banish thee from all that is good in Eä. 7 I banish thee into the Void, to the end of all days. 8 There you will be with the gods you worship and learn for yourself how little they know of mercy."
The golden lamps trembled, the shiny pillars threated to fall over and send the ceiling crashing down upon them. The ground shook with a force that nearly knocked Naeven and Saeros off their feet. Nienna grabbed onto him, while Vairë took hold of Saeros and they held on tight.
"LET THE VOID TAKE YOU! BEGONE!"
Lusiël slowly faded before him, her eyes wide with terror, her mouth open in a silent scream.
And all was quiet again, as if it had never happened. Lusiël's chains and shackles fell to the floor with a racket that seemed obscene.
"Elo…" Naeven murmured.
"Iston," Saeros agreed.
To Naeven's great surprise, Námo turned to face them, shook out his robes and gave them a smile. "Are you not glad I am on your side?"
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Ai, Naergon! – Oh, what sorrow
Elo… - Wow…
Hánonya méla – (Q.) my dear brother
Iston – I know
Melmenya – (Q.) My love
Naw! – It is so!
Nésnya – (Q.) My sister
Tir-Limbë – (Q.) "Swift-guard." Lagrôval's true name.
Vennya – (Q.) My husband
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NOTES:
1 Olórin – Gandalf/Mithrandir's name as a Maia
2 SCOM, Ch. 17: /works/26090521/chapters/79447126
3 /wiki/Taniquetil
4 The Final Battle, where Morgoth will be defeated by Túrin Turambar: /wiki/Final_Battle
5 SCOM, Ch. 23: /works/20519588/chapters/53774125
6 The World; /wiki/World
7 The Universe; /wiki/Ea
8 The Void is beyond Time and Space, where Morgoth is bound. /wiki/Void
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