33: Darkness Foreshadowed

Melkor stared down at Formenos from his vantage point along the south-western section of the hills ringing the valley, nearly opposite the valley’s entrance. He had managed to avoid detection from the various Maiar standing guard unseen by the valley’s inhabitants. The Vala, of course, knew where they were and paid them little heed. His attention was on the valley below and what lay there. His fingers ached with the need to hold those incredible jewels of light that were now hid inside the fortress, for it was indeed a fortress rather than a palace and apparently large enough to house most of the exiles at need, although it appeared that at least some of the valley’s inhabitants preferred to live outside its walls, for he could see a number of small houses spread along either side of it. He gazed at the strong walls and turrets and knew it was impregnable. Even from here he could sense the spells that lay upon its foundation and its gates.

With a single thought he shifted into his natural form, slipping effortlessly through the barrier that surrounded the valley. It was not meant to detect any of the Ainur and he supposed he could have crossed it while still in fana, but decided not to risk it. It had not been easy to evade the Maiar patrols along the southern Pelóri and he did not wish his fellow Valar to know of his return. Not yet, at any rate.

He had chosen his time well, for the Elves were resting from the labors of the day and there were none about, only two Elves who stood before the doors, apparently on guard duty. Melkor sneered at the thought. Standing before them he shifted into his fana, trying not to grimace, for he was finding it more and more difficult to shift his form with ease and there was some pain in the process that had not been present earlier. Instead, he forced himself to smile, amused at the guard’s expressions of startlement which mutated quickly into fear as they realized who stood before them.

"Go," he said in a soft voice, "and tell Fëanáro that I wish to speak with him."

Such was the force of his command that both ellyn abandoned their posts and fled into the hall, leaving the doors wide open. Melkor stood there patiently, silently rehearsing his words. Fëanáro had never held any converse with him before this nor had he taken any counsel from him as many of the other Noldor had. He had been driven by the fire of his own heart and preferred to work alone. When the Vala had attempted to offer his advice to the son of Finwë, Fëanáro had snubbed him. Melkor could never forgive the arrogant Elf for that. Still, he would feign friendship with the ellon and with cunning arguments he was sure that eventually he would be able to convince Fëanáro to hand the Silmarils to him. The very thought woke his lust and he had to school himself to remain outwardly calm.

Movement from within alerted him and he plastered a benign expression on his fair face. Fëanáro appeared and Melkor eyed him with some amusement. The ellon’s tunic was of homespun wool dyed a brownish-green and the shirt underneath was of undyed muslin. He looked anything but a prince of Eldamar, though he held himself with regal grace.

"Greetings, Finwion," Melkor exclaimed, giving the Elf a bow.

"What wouldst thou here, Vala?" Fëanáro demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Ah, Finwion!" Melkor feigned distress. "Alas that thou’st fallen into such mean estate, thou who art a prince, puissant and wise. Indeed, thou’rt the greatest of thy race, greater than all who have come before thee and all who shall follow. I grieve that thou’st suffered so needlessly."

Fëanáro raised an eyebrow. "If thou’st come to offer me thy condolences at my misfortunes, Melkor, thou’rt two years too late. Now if thou wouldst excuse me, thou dost keep me from my meat." He made to shut the doors.

Melkor had to force himself not to grit his teeth, keeping his smile in place. "Yet wait! I would fain have thy friendship, Finwion, for have I not spoken truly, and behold! Thou art banished unjustly. But if the heart of Fëanáro is yet free and bold as were his words in Tirion, then I will aid him, and bring him far from this narrow land."

"And how wilt thou accomplish this?" Fëanáro demanded with a faint sneer. "Wilt thou also bring all the Noldor who wish to accompany me from this, as thou sayest, narrow land?"

"Am I not a Vala?" Melkor retorted haughtily. "Yea, and more than those who sit in pride in Valmar. I have ever been a friend of the Noldor, most skilled and most valiant of the people of Arda, and I would fain be thy friend as well, Finwion."

He paused and stared intently at the Elf before him, hiding a smile at the fear and doubt that lurked in the ellon’s eyes. He could sense that Fëanáro still felt bitterness at his humiliation and that bitterness warred with the doubt that he had towards Melkor’s good intentions. The Vala was sure that with just a little nudge, Fëanáro would accept his aid, for he could see that he was wavering.

"Here is a strong place," he said, gesturing at the edifice before him, "and well guarded; but think not that the Silmarils will lie safe in any treasury within the realm of the Valar!"

Almost as soon as the words were spoken, Melkor silently cursed himself. Something in the Elf’s eyes warned him that his words had touched too deep and had awakened a fire more fierce than he designed. He could sense Fëanáro piercing the cloaks of his mind, perceiving his lust for the Silmarils, a lust he had held within him since the day he had beheld them. The fear and doubt in Fëanáro’s expression transmuted into hatred and such was the fire in his eyes that it made Melkor take an involuntary step back.

"Get thee gone from my gate, thou jail-crow of Mandos!" Fëanáro shouted and before Melkor could respond, the ellon slammed the door in his face.

Melkor stood there in disbelief for a moment and then shame swept through him. He was the mightiest of all the dwellers in Eä, yet this upstart Elf dared to treat him as a beggar at the gate!? He wanted nothing more than to tear Formenos apart and listen to that arrogant Elf scream and beg for mercy, but he had overstayed his welcome. Even now, he sensed the Maiar guarding the valley coming for him. He shifted his form once again and thought himself away. No doubt Manwë, once he learned of his presence, would order a chase. Well, he would give them one and it would be amusing to see how predictably incompetent his brother and the other Valar would prove to be.

****

Fëanáro turned around to find his atar standing in the shadows, a look of concern and fear on his face. "You heard," he said, making it a statement rather than a question.

Finwë nodded. "The Valar must be told."

Fëanáro shrugged. "What is that to me, Atar? Let the Valar look to themselves. I will not aid them in this."

Finwë shook his head. "Thou speakest foolishness, yonya," he admonished his first-born. "Melkor is dangerous to all of us, Eldar and Valar alike. My heart warns me that we have not seen the last of him and at our next meeting things may well go ill for us. The Valar must be told."

"Then tell them yourself, Atar," Fëanáro snarled, gesturing in a contemptuous manner to the south. "Run all the way to Valmar if you wish." With that he brushed by Finwë and stalked down the hall, full of fury.

Finwë sighed and let him go. He was about to follow when there was a pounding on the door. Opening it, he found himself face-to-face with Ramandor and Manveru, both Maiar looking grim. "He was here," he told them. "Melkor. He was here. The Valar...."

"We will tell them, Finwë of the Noldor," Ramandor said, giving the king a short bow and then the two Maiar were gone. Finwë sighed and closed the door, leaning against it, his body trembling, though he was not sure why. He took in a deep centering breath to steady himself before going to join the others at the table, wondering where all this would lead in the end.

****

In the Máhanaxar the Valar sat discussing the deepening shadows that seemed to have darkened the spirits of many among the Eldar. Any Elf who happened by would have seen only a play of multi-colored lights veiling the thrones, but no Elf would have gotten close enough to notice, for he would have been gently steered away by one of the unclad Maiar guarding their masters’ privacy.

"Allowing trade with Formenos has eased some of the tensions among the Vanyar and Noldor," Aulë was saying, "but it by no means has eased all of them."

"Still, it is a start," Oromë suggested, "and hopefully in time resentment will fade and the Children will know peace within themselves once again."

"One can only hope," Manwë said.

"Is there aught else that we can do to help bring healing to the Children?" Yavanna asked. "It grieves me...."

Manwë held up his hand and Yavanna went silent. "Let them come," Manwë said and instantly two Maiar appeared before them, giving the Elder King their obeisance. "What is it, my children?" Manwë asked solicitously, noticing their troubled expressions. "What has upset you so?"

It was Manveru who spoke. "Melkor came to Formenos and spoke to Fëanáro," he said baldly.

"Though it appears that he got little joy in the conversation, for Finwion slammed the doors of Formenos in his face," Ramandor added with grim humor and several eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Tulkas gave a growl of disgust as he and Oromë stood. "We’ll go find him," he said but before either could think themselves away, another Maia appeared, looking grim.

"My lord," Olórin said with a bow, "Melkor has fled down the Calacirya. I was in Tirion when he passed in wrath. Many of the Elves saw him as well. I fear there is much panic in the city and Prince Ñolofinwë is hard-pressed to calm the people."

"Wither does he go?" Námo asked, frowning.

"North, my lord," came the answer as yet another Maia appeared. Salmar, Ulmo’s chief Maia, bowed to his lord. "Olwë and many of the Teleri saw him as a shadow passing over their fair city heading towards Araman," he reported. "The king summoned Ossë with the news and he relayed it to me."

"He means to return to Utumno then," Ulmo surmised, stroking his sea-green beard.

"Or more likely Angamando," Irmo corrected. "Remember, we never did find Aulendil’s bolt-hole."

Manwë nodded. "Oromë, Tulkas, go after him and bring him back."

The two Valar disappeared and Manwë thanked the Maiar for their timely reports, dismissing Manveru, Ramandor and Salmar back to their duties, but asking Olórin to remain.

"How panicked are the Children in Tirion?" he asked.

"Panicky enough, my lord, and angry," the Maia answered. "Many of them headed for the palace demanding answers of Ñolofinwë, as if he were responsible for Melkor’s sudden appearance." He gave them a sardonic smile and there was much shaking of heads among the Valar. "I summoned all the Maiar in the vicinity of the city to see that no one did anything... um... rash."

"Good," Manwë said. "Go and return to Tirion and walk among the Noldor. Lighten their fëar with fair visions. Help them awake from despair and put away the imaginations of darkness with promptings of wisdom."

Olórin bowed. "It will be as you say, lord," and then he was gone.

"How did Melkor evade the southern patrols?" Námo asked in the silence that followed Olórin’s departure. His tone was one of frustration and worry.

"We’ll have to wait and ask him," Manwë said mildly and Námo snorted in disgust.

They did not have to wait long. Oromë and Tulkas appeared, both with expressions of deep frustration. "We went almost to the Ice," Oromë reported, "but could find no trace or rumor of him."

"He is a Vala, after all," Námo pointed out, "and unfortunately the mightiest in power. He most likely went completely dark so that even on the electro-magnetic level we would not be able to detect him. Certainly none of the Maiar would have."

The other Valar all nodded. "Which may explain how he bypassed the southern watch," Aulë said with a grimace.

"Regardless," Manwë said with a sigh, "we must ensure that he does not trouble us again. Eönwë." At once the Maia was standing before the Elder King, giving him his obeisance. "It seems our Fallen Brother has fled to the Outer Lands. Double the watch to the north," he ordered, little knowing that it was a futile gesture.

Eönwë bowed and left. For a time silence reigned in the Máhanaxar and then Varda spoke. "Let us hope this is the last we will see of him."

But Námo shook his head. "My heart warns me otherwise."

"Yet, for now," Manwë said, "he is gone and perhaps the shadows that have plagued us will be lifted and the Light of the Trees will shine forth more brightly than before."

The others all nodded, all save Námo, whose expression remained doubtful. Vairë reached over and put a hand on his arm. He gave her an enquiring look. "It will be well, beloved," she said softly. "He can no longer hurt us."

He smiled sadly at her and shook his head. "It is not for us that I fear, my love, but for the Children. A doom approaches, one that I cannot see clearly, and the Children are at the heart of it, as is Melkor."

The others gave him troubled looks and when Manwë asked him to explain, he sighed. "I cannot. Ask me no further questions, my brother, for I will not answer them. Yet, this much I will say: Melkor has sown his seeds of darkness, finding fertile soil among many of the Noldor. It is for us to uproot those seeds as best we may. If we do not...." He left the rest unsaid, for the implications were clear to them all.

Manwë nodded. "Then let us seek to heal the evils that have been sown, especially among the Noldor. Let us sow our own seeds of light and peace and may Atar bless our endeavors."

"Let us even so," the others declared and they resumed their discussion of what to do to bring healing among the Children but Námo remained silent throughout the rest of their council and that silence and its implication was not lost on any of the others.

****

Note: Much of this chapter is based on Chapter 7 of the Silmarillion, though greatly expanded.

~ End of Part One ~