Notes: I thought I would rewrite an old story. I inherited some old gaming books from a relative and thought I'd try bringing it to life with the characters and plot line. Totally non canon. I'm not going to use the old English from the Silmarillion, but use more relatable language.

The Court of Ardor: a tale of southern Middle Earth

1) The Death of Telperion and Laurelin. Years of the Two Trees

Fëatur

Deep in the dark hold of Angband, the Noldo Fëatur wept bitter tears. The hold was always full of activity in service to Melkor, the most powerful of the godlike Valar. But now Fëatur felt utterly alone. When he heard news of the death of the Two Trees in Valinor, the Undying Lands, there were cheers in Melkor's throne room, but his heart sank, and his mouth went dry.

"The beacons of the corrupt Valar are no more," a tall, slender woman cried out clearly, her voice full of joy. She raised a glass of wine and turned to the crowd, her long black hair twirling about her head and her silver gown shimmering like starlight. Her black eyes looked like pools of night as she gazed at her people. "We must prepare for the return of our lord Melkor! Everything he said has come to pass." The crowd roared out in approval.

In his mind's eye, Fëatur saw the lifeless husks of the two wonderous trees as they rained shriveled leaves and flowers upon the land and cries of horror rose from the cities of the elves. Tears streamed down his hot cheeks. As a follower of the Vala Irmo, the Master of Dreams and Visions, he had basked in the light of the trees for eons, learning in peace with his fellow Noldor. But he was approached by a Vala whose power was beyond question, a being of unearthly beauty with a voice that resonated strength. Soon, the Vala's words were all he could hear, and he forsook all other teachers.

"I would have thrown myself into a chasm of fire for you, Melkor," he said softly. "My power grew under your tutelage and I worshipped you, but this…this is too much. I renounce everything that you are. I have…I have fallen into evil." He wiped the snot from his nose with the back of his sleeve and he felt sick to his stomach.

Someone tugged his sleeve. "This is a great moment, brother," a woman said, a broad smile across her thin lips. In appearance, their faces were almost identical with identical bob cuts of their straight golden hair. Their clothing matched as well, a simple brown robe with a blue sash. Even their names were the same. Among the Noldor, they were very average in height and looks. "Our lord Melkor and his pet spider drained the Two Trees," she continued. "It must have been a sight to behold. Now only darkness shrouds all of Arda. Our foolish cousins who refused the lord must be screaming in panic now." A malicious sneer replaced the joyous smile.

Fëatur sniffed. "Yes, a joyous moment, sister," he said woodenly, no expression on his face.

"Now, they are just dead wood," the female Fëatur said as she broke into a chuckle. Then she looked at him and her blue eyes narrowed. "Tears? Are you…crying?"

"Tears of joy, sister. Tears of joy," he said, tightening his belly. It was all he could do to keep from vomiting.

"Ah, of course. You were always the emotional one of us," she said coldly, trying to dig under his skin. "No matter." Then, her face beamed a smile again. "We need to prepare for the arrival of the lord. Let us play that game that we are so good at, who is who. You'll be the lady and I'll be the man. No one can tell us apart." She stroked his cheek down to his soft chin. "With such delicate and feminine features and your high voice, you always make the better girl."

The male Fëatur snorted in disgust. This was also part of the game they would play where she would dig and dig until he fled. There had been times he wanted to strike her, but her skill in unarmed combat was fearsome. "Yes, of course, sister," he said in a monotone. It was time to let her win. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned and walked away, bumping into another woman in the crowd. She wore deep blue robes, trimmed in silver and wore her dark brown hair long and unbraided.

"Where are you going, Fëatur," she asked, her voice one of genuine concern.

He started to answer, but his voice caught in his throat. "I…I must. I'm sorry. I can't," he said and then turned away from her, continuing out of the room and down the long hall. It was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done, and his heart ached. But he couldn't face her. Not after realizing the evil that he supported. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve to live. He came to a stop, far from prying eyes or listening ears and he slammed his fist into the bare stone wall. There was a dull thud and a flash of pain shot into his fingers. Fëatur winced, but he needed to do that to not feel numb. He let out a guttural howl and then bit down on his lower lip until he tasted blood.

His breath came in ragged gasps, and he imagined the ethereal beauty of the Trees from the blessed land, the gold and silver light bathing him in bliss and contentment. "I renounce you, Melkor and all of your lies! I lied to my brothers and sisters. I told them of your goodness and your strength. I told them that you were the chosen one! I cannot live with this any longer! I am soiled with my own guilt, having furthered the cause of evil and having spread deception amongst my people!" He sank to the ground and wept pitifully. "I spoke out against those who wanted you banished from Valinor. I deceived Finwë, my own king. I gave you time to commit this atrocity!"

If only he had seen the truth. If only he had known. How could he have been such a fool? He put both of his hands around his own neck and started to squeeze, but it was a useless gesture. "There is no going back. My life should end here, encased in the foul pits of Angband," he said weakly, coughing on his own spit. His thoughts went briefly to a woman, the smell of her dark brown hair, the upturn of her nose, the melody of her voice. "I will miss you," he whispered. "I will see you in the Halls of Mandos at the breaking of the world and we will be together." He left her one final message in their secret place, an invisible rune on the dark wall in a dark corner. He knew that she would find it. If only she would realize the truth about Melkor, she could be redeemed too.

Then, a flash of thought came to him. There was another way. On his knees, he raised his hands up in supplication. "Mandos!" he cried to the Vala of Judgment, "My life is forfeit!" He tore at his short golden hair, falling upon his face and thrashing on the ground like a worm. His soft features twisted in a rictus of mental anguish, his cheeks burning bright with shame. "Take my spirit and destroy it! I have betrayed all. I deserve…only…darkness," he trailed off, his voice now only a whisper. The taste of salty tears was thick in his mouth, and he collapsed on the ground, too weak with despair. Slowly, Fëatur felt light, almost weightless and knew that his spirit was passing. He knew that the hand of Eru was releasing his spirit and that his judgment was at hand. He would prostrate himself before Mandos and would be willingly cast into the void. He would not see her after all and that was justice. It saddened him, but he could accept it. Then, all was darkness for the elf.

As with all Elves, Fëatur's spirit returned to Valinor and passed into the Halls of Mandos, there to stand within the Mahanaxar; the Ring of Doom, and answer for his life. He could smell ozone and gasped at the sheer enormity of the hall. It was as if he were in the middle of eternity, no beginning and no end. The weight of his impending fate was crushing as if a mountain had fallen on him. Then, he saw Mandos, a dark figure in a black robe, his visage shrouded in shadow. The elf fell to his hands and knees and hid his face in shame. "Mandos!" he called out, his voice cracking, "I have committed crimes beyond measure. I am the foulest of the dark enemy's minions. I have no face to show you, oh Mandos! I ask that you crush my spirit and cast me into eternal darkness." Fëatur beat his fists weakly upon the marble floor while groaning in sorrow. "Please…please…destroy me."

Fëatur waited for his inevitable doom, but only silence remained. Slowly, he raised his head and looked upon the dark countenance of the Vala. All he could see under the hood were bright, steel-colored eyes and the tip of the Vala's nose. Fëatur grit his teeth, expecting his agonizing final moment, but only silence filled the hall. Mandos extended his arm, clad in the sleeve of a black robe, his hand covered in a black glove. His finger extended to point at the elf. "Fëaturo," the Vala called, using his Quenya name, "your doom lies not here," Mandos stated in voice so powerful that it shook the cold stone halls. "I have been given leave to return you and to task you. You shall earn your mercy. You shall show your words. If you are truly penitent, you will return to Middle Earth and undo what you have done."

Fëatur's ears rang with the power of Mandos' voice. At first, he could not speak, but slowly, his words returned to him. "It…it shall be done. I live and die at the mercy of the Valar. May you and Manwë, the Lord of Valinor, strike me down and cast me into darkness if I fail. Send me where you will. I freely and willingly renounce the dark lord and serve only the light of the Valar." His heart was sincere, and he meant every word.

Mandos nodded to him with a stern expression. "You will do great things before the darkness," the Vala stated plainly, the halls reverberating with his voice. Fëatur's chest tightened, and he shook in both terror and relief. His spirit wept tears as he clasped his hands together. "Though I will never forgive myself, I thank you, oh lord, I thank you!" In a moment, his spirit was filled with light, and he passed into what seemed like an eternity, a timeless place, filled with warmth. His spirit floated there for what felt like ten thousand years, but also the blink of an eye. Then a sensation of weight took hold and breath filled his lungs. With a start, he placed his hands upon his chest, feeling real flesh. He looked upon his hands, turning them back and forth to see real skin. He felt real grass upon his back as he looked up into the clear sky that was full of light. Was he really alive again? Then, he sensed a presence and gasped, turning to see a tall elf with shoulder length, golden hair. The elf reached down to him, his piercing blue eyes boring into Fëatur's soul. The elf was clad in light, leather armor with deep red and golden accents. His cloak was finely made with images of golden flames embroidered in the fabric and his cloak pins were wrought in gold leaf in the shape of fire. Everything about this elf spoke of strength from his square jaw, pointed nose and prominent cheekbones.

"I am Chrys Menelrana. We have much work to do," the elf said in a friendly voice as Feätur grasped his hand. Chrys held out a plain white robe with his other hand. "Here, you'll need this. We can't have you walking around naked, can we?"

Fëatur took a sharp breath in surprise and noticed that Chrys was a full head taller than him. "Umm, no, of course not," he said as he donned the robe, feeling the flush of embarrassment. "How did you know…How do you know-?"

Chrys smiled at him and clasped him on the shoulder. "Come. As I said, we have much work to do. Welcome to the south of Middle Earth."

Fëatur shielded his eyes from the blinding light in the sky. "What…what is that light? The Two Trees? All went dark."

"That, my friend, is the Sun, Anar."

Fëatur narrowed his eyes, completely lost. "How long have I…? I passed into the Halls of Mandos soon after the death of the Trees. How is this possible," He asked, his mind racing, and he was more than a little bit frightened.

"The Valar raised Anar, the Sun and Isil, the Moon from the last fruit and flower of the Trees. Aulë the Smith created vessels for them and now, they are our light. But come, there is much to do. I can tell you more later," Chrys said as he gestured ahead of them.

Fëatur looked past his host to see a manor house, not unlike those in Valinor, a subtle structure, woven into the trees of the land as if elf and nature were one. It was colored in earthly hues, making it easy to mistake as part of the surrounding forest. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of evergreens. "What is this place?" he asked as they walked towards the manor.

"It is…it is a beginning," Chrys said as if musing to himself. He gestured around, showing Fëatur the valley surrounding the manor. "This is the Vale of Tumlindë. This is where we will stand against Morgoth in the south. I am told that you were deep within the enemy's council. I am told that you have repented, but my trust must be earned. I will keep an eye on you until then," he added with a hint of a wink.

Fëatur nodded. "Fair enough. I wouldn't trust myself either," he said with a sigh. "I have done much evil and I have a long way to go to earn the mercy of Mandos."

Chrys tilted his head back as if thinking. "It is good that you admit that. My experience with the followers of Morgoth has been nothing but delusion and self deceit."

Fëatur narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows. "Wait, Morgoth, you said, not Melkor? The Dark Foe of the World he is now named?"

"Yes, when Fëanor learned that his father was slain, he named Melkor as Morgoth. I was there when the Valar pleaded with Fëanor for the Silmarils to rekindle the Trees. He refused and there we learned of High King Finwë's death. I followed Fëanor into exile as a kinsman of Finrod, but I would not fight the Teleri at the docks for their ships. Seeing that was…was heartbreaking and I will not carry on this fight having slain our kin. It was soon after that Fëanor left us on the ice to pursue his vendetta. He was slain by balrogs soon after while I followed Fingolfin over the Grinding Ice."

"Fëanor slain?" Fëatur exclaimed in horror. "The greatest of us?"

Chrys shook his head and pursed his lips in obvious disagreement. "Maybe the most powerful, but not the greatest. His vanity and his arrogance was his undoing." At the doorstep to the manor, Chrys opened and held the entrance for Feätur to enter. "Come, let us dine. I want you to meet the others."

"The others?" Fëatur asked, his earlier fear beginning to dissipate. The manor held a warm ambiance and pleasant scent of jasmine filled his nostrils. Chrys ushered him into a hall made of dark wood, interwoven with the trunks of trees and flowering plants. Lamps of magical light filled the room with a wonderous glow and in the center of the hall sat a table of finely crafted wood with images of the Two Trees carved on its top. He drank in the pleasant, earthy aroma that reminded him of forests of Lórien in Valinor. As he looked around, he saw four other elves sitting around the table, dining on fruits and vegetables. His stomach rumbled at the sight of food.

Chrys nodded. "Yes, the others. May I introduce the lords of the south, Carnil Ravirë, Talan, Ralian, and Elerior…along with myself. You have been sent to us to stand against the Dark Lord, whose minions spread across all corners of Middle Earth. It is here where we will plan our war."

Carnil and Elerior tilted their heads to Fëatur with wan smiles, while Talan and Ralian sat, stone faced. Chrys pulled a cushioned chair out from the table and gestured to Fëatur. "Thank you," Feätur said and took his seat at the table. "I know that I do not deserve your trust, but I give you my appreciation anyway. I swear to you that I will earn Mandos' mercy even if it costs me my life."

Carnil, a Noldo with dark ruddy hair and sharp features, said, "We hope it doesn't come to that. We survived the Grinding Ice in the north years ago where we lost many of our brethren. I don't intend to lose any more." He tilted his head back, bringing his long, pointed chin forward.

Talan, who had barely moved since Fëatur entered the room, snorted. "You are unrealistic as always, my friend. While we are far removed from the fortress of the Dark Lord, death will come to the south. Already, the forces of the enemy sweep towards us. I, for one, would gladly sacrifice our newcomer for victory." Talan shifted his long, jet-black hair from his small face, revealing signs of a faint sneer on his thin lips. He shifted slightly in his chair, adjusting the high collar of his blue tunic.

"Enough," Chrys interjected. "There is not much time. As Talan stated, our scouts have spotted orcs past the far reaches of our lands. We are few and they are many. Ralian has the gift of sight, and he says that greater evils than orcs will befall this land soon. Ralian?"

Ralian stood and gestured to the images of the Two Trees beautifully carved onto the table. "The death of Telperion and Laurelin is just the beginning," he said as Feätur's face burned red with the thought of the Trees. "I see…brief images, patterns in nature, feelings, if you will. I can tell you that Morgoth will be birthing an abomination and all I see thereafter is darkness. And to you, my new friend Fëatur, I see a long, hard road, full of danger."

Fëatur sighed. "I would expect nothing less. Such is my fate." He reached over and took an offered plate of brightly colored fruit and leafy greens and he realized just how hungry he was. He nodded his thanks and dug in like a man who had not eaten in months.