As soon as we open the first door, Failwen’s fright becomes clear. At the very beginning of the passage are torture chambers, further on – cells. How can any living creature deliberately cause such suffering to others? What mind is capable of contriving such atrocities, what hands of accomplishing them? Whips and blades. Broken bones. Fire. My own hands shake as I reach to open doors after doors, guessing with faltering heart what terror awaits on the other side.

Doors after doors. Prisoner after prisoner. In the dark, narrow cages we find but few alive. We carry out them all, also those whose faces are stilled by death, either contorted in pain or frozen in relief that the torment at last has ended. Some die in our arms. And some… some…

I stagger out of a cell, squeeze shut my eyes and lean against the wall. Dagger falls on the stones with a loud clang from my trembling hand. No more. I cannot do this any longer. Darkness and horror have conquered me. Artanar catches me ere I sink on the floor.

“It is almost over, Aranya,” he says quietly. “Almost over.”

“No.” I shake my head; my voice is no more than a strangled whisper. “No, it is not.”

It is not over. It will never be. All light has faded in the gloom, all hope is crushed under the impregnable stone. There is no more life. Only death.

Artanar tightens his hold on me. “Aranya, listen to me!” I shake my head. How does he not see – it has all been in vain? His voice reaches me as if from a great distance. “Arafinwë, return! By the light Varda Elentári set in heavens – return! Arafinwë!”

His words break the spell of terror. I draw a sudden, deep breath as one emerging from deep water and force my eyes open. Artanar’s frightened face looks foggy and distorted in the flickering torchlight. I blink a few times. My vision clears.

“I am here, Artanar. I am well.”

He sighs in relief, then considers me closely. “No, you are not well. You should get out of here at once.”

“No.” I shake my head. Who would abandon duty thus? Besides, only me and my herald are left here now; all others are gone. “How many doors left, Artanar?”

“One,” he replies. “Only one.”

Scraping together the last remnants of courage and determination, I turn towards the door of the last prison cell. “Let us go. Let us finish this.”

It swings open. Artanar holds aloft the torch. At first, my heart sinks at the sight of the motionless figure on the floor. But then the Noldorin prisoner stirs.

“No. I will work for your foul master no longer.” His voice is faint and rasping. How long must one scream in pain for it to become like this? “No,” he repeats. “Burn me alive if you will.”

They have tortured him with fire. Bleeding blisters cover his arms and chest and the soles of his feet; in some places the skin is charred and black. I kneel beside him, hardly able to keep my voice steady.

“It is over. You are free.”

“Free?” He regards me with veiled, confused eyes. “Death is the only freedom here. Can you give it to me?” His look suddenly grows sharp, hope flickers. “Can you?”

I squeeze shut my eyes for a moment, to banish tears and those other images. “There is freedom in earnest, not that of death. Morgoth’s reign has ended. The Valar have defeated him.”

A strange expression dawns in prisoner’s eyes. “The Valar…” he whispers bitterly. “So now they come. When Beleriand is long overrun, when the Firstborn and Secondborn Children of Ilúvatar have toiled in slavery for centuries… Now they come.” He closes his eyes.

I keep silent. I have no reply to that.

I lift him up in my arms feeling little weight, so worn out he is. Artanar goes in front with the torch, and I follow, bearing this last prisoner along the winding passages, towards the gate, towards freedom. It is a long way, and each step causes him agony. He draws breath sharply through clenched teeth, but soon his consciousness loses the battle against pain and his body, trembling and rigid before, goes limp.

At length, there is the last hallway. We pass the gate and step outside on the plain. It is night. Low clouds trail across the sky reflecting a red glow. Low rumbling echoes in the hills, the ground under our feet trembles, and we barely retain balance. The rumble and tremor persist, lessening only when we have put several miles between us and the dark fortress.

My burden – light as it seemed in the beginning – is getting heavier. My muscles burn. My arms start to tremble. I stumble. My sight blurs; red and white streaks dance before my eyes. My feet feel leaden, and each step is a struggle. At length I slowly sink down on the stony ground, staring numbly at the lights flickering in the distance. The camp is too far for me to reach it.  I have not the strength.

Artanar casts a quick glance at us. “I shall get help, Aranya. Stay here. I will be back swiftly.”

He hastens away. I remain sitting, still holding the motionless body of the one we have freed. Another tremor shakes the ground and thunder cracks loudly. I turn my head. Shafts of lightning flicker above the fortress of the Enemy, and the black walls shake and shatter, falling to pieces in a cloud of dust. Wind rises; a fresh, sudden breeze dries my tears, tears I was not even aware of. The wind drives back the clouds, and they gather over Angamando, but above us the sky clears revealing the glitter of countless stars, a sight I do not recall seeing for forty years. Full Moon rides high overhead, shimmering in the pools of rain and drawing sharp shadows of scattered rocks.

The cool night air awakens the Noldo. With a painful gasp he stirs in my arms and looks up at the sky. Isil is right above us. It casts a silvery sheen upon his haggard face, and his eyes shine large and bright, and full of wonder. His lips tremble.

“Moonlight,” he whispers. “Moonlight is still there. And the stars.”

Then he speaks no more but watches the sky in silence, and tears roll slowly over his sunken cheeks.

“Yes,” I answer quietly. “All Light is still there. Yes.”

And then I too say no more but sit still with him until Artanar returns with the healers, and they carry the Noldo away. Suddenly my arms are empty, and my heart feels empty too; my whole being is empty, drained of all strength and hope. Overwhelmed by this emptiness, I sink to the ground. The world goes dark.