The Final Battle. 3/? : The Endless Night
Who : Aredhel, Argon, Fingon, Turgon, Fingolfin
Fandom : Silmarillion
Word Count : 1132
Rating : General
Prompted by : fanfic100 prompt: 074. Dark,
grey_gazania , for choosing the icon, still that meme.
Author note : Dedicated to
ifshadowsoffend for beta-reading it and helping with the research.
In continuation of this.
Summary: In which Morgoth destroys the Sun and the Moon. This echoes to the rest of the known world, and the Noldor stir once more. Despair tainted with hope is kindled again in Aredhel’s heart, much to her shame.
When Aredhel woke from her sleep, she knew the world was wrong all over again. There was something in the air that reminded her of rotting moss, something akin to Nan Elmoth and the touches of her husband, when he managed to give her pleasure despite her own promise to herself that she would not enjoy it.
She stood at the top of the fall and recounted her dreams. They had been strange, those dreams, full of a life she would never know, could never taste. They always started in the same place, near that stream she and Tyelkormo had loved so well. She got there and he was there, waiting, dressed in simple travel clothes and weary. Sometimes, he was bloodied, sometimes he only wore the look of one who had walked too long, a too solitary road. Her reaction was always the same; she died a little at the sight of him, blood stilled in her veins and tears flowed on her face. Her body gave way and she tumbled silently to the grass, but he was always there to catch her, calling her name with an anguished voice. She shed a few more tears and reached to touch his face, and then there was a manic and dark laughter resounding in the obscurity of the woods, as he vanished into nothingness.
The truth was, she would never stop mourning for what could have been, she admitted to herself as she lifted her tormented eyes to look at the moon. The sight she thought would soothe her, instead, was a source of great alarm.
In the sky, the stars scintillated as beautifully as ever, and Earendil's vessel kept its course. She gazed at it, mournfully, hatefully even, remembering that it was for it that her beloved had died. Elbereth Gilthoniel's jewels glittered in the heavens, but there was nothing else to look at, only the stars and a few rogue clouds. The moon was nowhere to be seen, and fear, mixed with hope, roused within her soul once more.
It may have been nothing, perhaps just a sky too dark for the light of Telperions's remains to shine through, but something in the depths of her mind told her it was not. She went, then, to seek out her father and brothers.
She found them awake, standing in one of the many halls of the house of Finwë and arguing loudly.
“We must go anon,” Fingolfin replied, voice thick with anger that reminded her sharply of her uncle Feänor's.
“I understand your anger, Father,” Turgon's voice was quiet, and she noticed that he was garbed for travel already. “Elrond Peredhel awaits. Together we will seek the leaders of Men and prepare them for the Last Stand. If we march now, all will be lost, Father.”
Fingon added, arguing on his father's side. “If we delay, we will look craven. I will not let it be known that Findekàno Astaldo recoiled in the face of the Enemy.”
For a moment, the brothers stared at each other, angrily. Aredhel slipped by Argon, and sighed.
“It has been this way for the better part of the night and half the day,” Argon whispered, quietly.
“What happened, Arakàno?” She barely whispered, and fear gripped her heart. While their older siblings argued under their father's watchful and angry gaze, Argon slipped an arm around his sister's shoulder, and recounted in her ear the events of the day.
There had been a deep gash in the fabric of the void that kept Morgoth contained, and the rebel Vala had stepped back into the fabric of reality, angry and intent on mischief as he ever was. Tulkas had faced him unsuccessfully, and was lying in the halls of Manwë, under Nienna's care. Morgoth's power had been all projected in one single beam of dark light, throwing at the sun something that could only be a matter of his own making, and it had sucked the light of Laurelin's last fruit from the inside. Shortly thereafter, the same fate had befallen Telperion's last flower, and Morgoth's laughter had been heard from the depths of the hidden recesses where he was amassing his forces.
A rain of fire had descended upon Arda, alerting all to the new Dawn of Darkness. There were reports of dark forces gathering all over Arda. The Eldar were going to war - it was only a matter of time. Already, Findarato Felagund had left for the Halls of Stone in the company of Gimli son of Gloìn and Legolas Thranduilion. Turukàno and Elrond were leaving within the hour. Meanwhile, Findekàno and his father were to assemble the Eldarin host, while Finarfin and his sons were to captain along with the Teleri and Vanyarin forces. It was war.
All these dire news fell into Irissë's heart heavily. She closed her eyes and stepped between her arguing brothers, crying out their names with a heavy shout and teary eyes.
“Brothers, is this how you wish to part? Your road is long and treacherous, Turukàno, and you, Findekàno, your bravery will be tested soon enough. Will you not embrace each other in good will, ere you part?”
Turgon frowned as she spoke, Fingon looked a little sheepish, but it was Fingolfin who spoke in response.
“Ireth speaks the truth,” he said gently. “Embrace yourselves, my children, for dark times are upon us and we may part for longer than we wish.”
And so the children of Fingolfin made their peace, and Irissë embraced Turgon earnestly. In his arms, she whispered, “Brother, do you love me?” He closed his eyes and said, quietly, “I love you, Ireth. Would that we parted differently, this day.” And he kissed her cheek, but she knew that he withheld from her, and it made her heart heavier for it.
That morning, or was it that night, for she no longer could tell the reckoning of days, she watched as the men furbished their weapons and the Noldorin smiths beat blades into submission. She walked up to the Taniquetil, but the Valar were in conference, and there was no-one to listen. And so she sat upon the slope, and wept, for those she loved who were no more, for those she loved who were but soon may not be.
And in the throng of fearful emotions and the deep sense of dread that filled her as the unending night flourished, the flower of hope bloomed inside her, that perhaps the sons of Feänor would rise again. And she hated herself for it, and she hated the little tingle of glee this thought pushed in her heart, but it was there, unending and stubborn, like a wild flower of the House of Finwë.
Fandom : Silmarillion
Word Count : 1132
Rating : General
Prompted by : fanfic100 prompt: 074. Dark,
grey_gazania , for choosing the icon, still that meme.
Author note : Dedicated to
ifshadowsoffend for beta-reading it and helping with the research.
In continuation of this.
Summary: In which Morgoth destroys the Sun and the Moon. This echoes to the rest of the known world, and the Noldor stir once more. Despair tainted with hope is kindled again in Aredhel’s heart, much to her shame.
When Aredhel woke from her sleep, she knew the world was wrong all over again. There was something in the air that reminded her of rotting moss, something akin to Nan Elmoth and the touches of her husband, when he managed to give her pleasure despite her own promise to herself that she would not enjoy it.
She stood at the top of the fall and recounted her dreams. They had been strange, those dreams, full of a life she would never know, could never taste. They always started in the same place, near that stream she and Tyelkormo had loved so well. She got there and he was there, waiting, dressed in simple travel clothes and weary. Sometimes, he was bloodied, sometimes he only wore the look of one who had walked too long, a too solitary road. Her reaction was always the same; she died a little at the sight of him, blood stilled in her veins and tears flowed on her face. Her body gave way and she tumbled silently to the grass, but he was always there to catch her, calling her name with an anguished voice. She shed a few more tears and reached to touch his face, and then there was a manic and dark laughter resounding in the obscurity of the woods, as he vanished into nothingness.
The truth was, she would never stop mourning for what could have been, she admitted to herself as she lifted her tormented eyes to look at the moon. The sight she thought would soothe her, instead, was a source of great alarm.
In the sky, the stars scintillated as beautifully as ever, and Earendil's vessel kept its course. She gazed at it, mournfully, hatefully even, remembering that it was for it that her beloved had died. Elbereth Gilthoniel's jewels glittered in the heavens, but there was nothing else to look at, only the stars and a few rogue clouds. The moon was nowhere to be seen, and fear, mixed with hope, roused within her soul once more.
It may have been nothing, perhaps just a sky too dark for the light of Telperions's remains to shine through, but something in the depths of her mind told her it was not. She went, then, to seek out her father and brothers.
She found them awake, standing in one of the many halls of the house of Finwë and arguing loudly.
“We must go anon,” Fingolfin replied, voice thick with anger that reminded her sharply of her uncle Feänor's.
“I understand your anger, Father,” Turgon's voice was quiet, and she noticed that he was garbed for travel already. “Elrond Peredhel awaits. Together we will seek the leaders of Men and prepare them for the Last Stand. If we march now, all will be lost, Father.”
Fingon added, arguing on his father's side. “If we delay, we will look craven. I will not let it be known that Findekàno Astaldo recoiled in the face of the Enemy.”
For a moment, the brothers stared at each other, angrily. Aredhel slipped by Argon, and sighed.
“It has been this way for the better part of the night and half the day,” Argon whispered, quietly.
“What happened, Arakàno?” She barely whispered, and fear gripped her heart. While their older siblings argued under their father's watchful and angry gaze, Argon slipped an arm around his sister's shoulder, and recounted in her ear the events of the day.
There had been a deep gash in the fabric of the void that kept Morgoth contained, and the rebel Vala had stepped back into the fabric of reality, angry and intent on mischief as he ever was. Tulkas had faced him unsuccessfully, and was lying in the halls of Manwë, under Nienna's care. Morgoth's power had been all projected in one single beam of dark light, throwing at the sun something that could only be a matter of his own making, and it had sucked the light of Laurelin's last fruit from the inside. Shortly thereafter, the same fate had befallen Telperion's last flower, and Morgoth's laughter had been heard from the depths of the hidden recesses where he was amassing his forces.
A rain of fire had descended upon Arda, alerting all to the new Dawn of Darkness. There were reports of dark forces gathering all over Arda. The Eldar were going to war - it was only a matter of time. Already, Findarato Felagund had left for the Halls of Stone in the company of Gimli son of Gloìn and Legolas Thranduilion. Turukàno and Elrond were leaving within the hour. Meanwhile, Findekàno and his father were to assemble the Eldarin host, while Finarfin and his sons were to captain along with the Teleri and Vanyarin forces. It was war.
All these dire news fell into Irissë's heart heavily. She closed her eyes and stepped between her arguing brothers, crying out their names with a heavy shout and teary eyes.
“Brothers, is this how you wish to part? Your road is long and treacherous, Turukàno, and you, Findekàno, your bravery will be tested soon enough. Will you not embrace each other in good will, ere you part?”
Turgon frowned as she spoke, Fingon looked a little sheepish, but it was Fingolfin who spoke in response.
“Ireth speaks the truth,” he said gently. “Embrace yourselves, my children, for dark times are upon us and we may part for longer than we wish.”
And so the children of Fingolfin made their peace, and Irissë embraced Turgon earnestly. In his arms, she whispered, “Brother, do you love me?” He closed his eyes and said, quietly, “I love you, Ireth. Would that we parted differently, this day.” And he kissed her cheek, but she knew that he withheld from her, and it made her heart heavier for it.
That morning, or was it that night, for she no longer could tell the reckoning of days, she watched as the men furbished their weapons and the Noldorin smiths beat blades into submission. She walked up to the Taniquetil, but the Valar were in conference, and there was no-one to listen. And so she sat upon the slope, and wept, for those she loved who were no more, for those she loved who were but soon may not be.
And in the throng of fearful emotions and the deep sense of dread that filled her as the unending night flourished, the flower of hope bloomed inside her, that perhaps the sons of Feänor would rise again. And she hated herself for it, and she hated the little tingle of glee this thought pushed in her heart, but it was there, unending and stubborn, like a wild flower of the House of Finwë.