Return from the Void ~Míriel

Chapter 8 ~The Dark Deeds of Night

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“And this is the judgment, that the light is come into the world, and men loved the darkness rather than the light; for their deeds were evil.”

                                                            John 3:19

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            It was the darkest hour of the night.  Few citizens of Minas Tirith dared walk the streets at this hour, and let alone in the unnatural darkness that had swept the city.  Strange also was the fact that the darkness hovered only above the city of Minas Tirith; if one was to go far out onto the Pellenor the stars would be all alight.  Even the guards of the Citadel were frightened of the night, for as much as they tried to deny it; the people of Minas Tirith were superstitious. 

            “An ill omen,” they said; locking fast their doors.

            The older Gondorians recalled with fear the days of darkness during the War of the Ring.  “No good can come of it,” they said.

            A message had been issued from the King, saying to the people not to worry, the dark cloud would soon pass; it was merely the weather.  The people of Minas Tirith found this hard to accept.  So did their king.

            Aragorn rubbed his temples as he stared out of his bedroom window.  The darkness, plus the added stress of missing his son, had given him a lovely migraine.

            “Estel?”

            Aragorn nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Arwen whisper in his ear. 

            Humor was in her voice as she asked, “Did I frighten you?”

            Aragorn was in no mood for humor.  “Yes.  Could you not be nosier?” he said gruffly.

            “What would you have me do?  Shuffle?”

            Aragorn could not help but smile.  “That would be most welcome.”

            Arwen smiled at her husband for a moment before her eyes followed his gaze into the night.  “You told the people that it was weather?”

            “Yes.  And to some degree, it is.”

            “And to what degree is that?”

            “Those,” Aragorn said, pointing out the window; “Are clouds.”

            “Yes, they are.” Arwen said dryly.

            They were silent for a moment. 

            “Estel, I fear that this is beyond us.”

            “Then what would you have me do?”

            “Darkness like this once covered all of Arda.” Arwen said softly, her words in a sing-song rhythm.  “Darkness wrought by Morgoth.  Then Varda, wishing not for the Children of Eru to walk in darkness, made for us the stars.

            “But, in dark places of the earth, there lurked still that darkness that had once covered the earth.  Unnatural darkness.  The darkness of the Vala Melkor, called Morgoth by the Eldar*.”

            Aragorn turned to his wife.  “You think then, that this darkness is from Morgoth.” It was not a question.

            Arwen shook her head.  “Morgoth was before my time.  There are few who now walk Middle-earth that would know and remember the darkness of Morgoth.”

            “Save one.  Celeborn.”  Aragorn knew at last what his wife had been explaining.

            “Yes.” Arwen crossed the expansive bedroom to the small writing desk in the corner.  Seating herself in its accompanying chair, she reached into one of the drawers and removed from it a piece of parchment and a quill pen.  Aragorn turned back to gaze into the darkness, satisfied that his wife would now take care of everything.

            Arwen dipped her pen into the inkwell and began to write.

*~                                                                    *~                                                        *~

            My dearest Grandfather,

            Unspeakable evil has encompassed the city of Minas Tirith.  The only possible explanation is that somehow, beyond all knowledge, the nameless one has arisen again.

            But I know naught of these things, and neither does Estel.  Please come with all haste to our city, as we are in great need of your wisdom.

May Eru protect you.

Arwen

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            Her letter complete, she sealed it up and addressed it to Imladris.  She would have Aragorn call for a messenger in a moment.

            A sudden thought came to her mind.  She glanced at Aragorn, then back at the writing desk.

            “Nay Aragorn, there is another that would remember the darkness of Morgoth.”

With some hesitation, she took another piece of parchment from the drawer.  She brushed the feathery end of the pen against her lips as she mused over her words.  Once again she began to write.

*~                                                                    *~                                                        *~

            Dear King Tharanduil...

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            “Over here!  No, here!  Ouch!”

            Melkor grimaced as Sauron stomped on his little toe.  Curse these mortals and their pain!

            “Milord,” Sauron whispered; “I think that our plan may have backfired.”

            “How is that?” Melkor growled.

            “They have posted more guards because of the darkness.”

            “Yes, Sauron, they have.  And yet you doubt that we, Vala and Maia, will be seen by mortal men?”

            “Frightened mortal men milord.  And might I remind you that we now are—”

            “—Vala and Maia in mortal form.” Melkor finished, ignoring Sauron’s sigh.  “Sauron, when a door is closed, what must one do?”

            Sauron sighed again, this time more loudly.  “Open a window.  But I hardly see...oh.  Oh no, you could not possibly mean...”

            “Yes.”

            “Save us all.” Sauron whispered.

            Melkor loftily ignored Sauron and stepped out from behind the bush.  Glancing furtively from side to side, he ran forward to the next pillar and hid behind that one.  Glancing about again, he ran ahead and hid behind the next one.  Behind him, Sauron did the same, although without the furtive glances and the unnecessary but intriguing process of throwing oneself onto the ground, crawling forward using only one’s arms until the next pillar was reached, at which point one would then somersault into a standing position.

            Ten pillars, eight somersaults, and one smacked forehead later, they had managed to circle around to the back of the palace, and were now attempting to gaze up at the palace; however, something was hindering their plans...

            “Melkor,” Sauron whispered in frustration.

            “Yes?”

            “How in Arda do you propose we climb into a window when we can barely see three feet ahead of us?!”

            Melkor sniffed.  “Correction.  You can barely see three feet in front of you.  I, however, can see four feet.”

            “Four feet.”

            “Think four hundreds, Sauron.  Might I remind you that this is my darkness, not yours?”

            Sauron’s silence spoke volumes.

            Melkor reached into his pack and pulled several items out.  “Let’s see here, a bit of rope, a grapple, and a handkerchief to gag the little brat.  Perfect.”

            In the odd stillness of the night, every sound carried; thus it was imperative that they be as silent as possible, lest they be heard by any guards that might be stumbling by them.

            After attaching the grappling hook to the rope, Melkor checked to ensure that no guards were near; then with a mighty swing he threw the grappling hook up into the air. 

            Thunk

            “Curses!”

            “My apologies, Sauron.  Perhaps it would be better if you stood over there.” Melkor suggested.  Sauron complied.

            Melkor tried again. 

            Up went the hook as it rose high into the air.

            Down fell the hook as it plummeted toward the ground.

            Down to the ground went Melkor and Sauron as they covered their heads, cringing as they waited for the blow.

            But the blow never came.

            Standing, Melkor squinted up into the darkness.  Sure enough, the hook had caught in an open window.  “Come Sauron!  We climb!”

            And climb they did.  Up and up they went, high into the air.  At least an hour later, hands blistered and heads aching, they had made it to the second story window.

            Melkor arrived first; throwing a leg over the windowsill and disappearing into the room.  Sauron quickly followed.

            They were in what looked like a nursery.  There was a tiny bed in one corner of the room, handmade toys on the floor, and several strange things that Melkor had never seen.

            “I would bet my golden earring that this is the room of Gondor’s prince.” Sauron whispered.

            “What makes you so certain?”

            “The furnishings, for one.  Fit for a young prince.  The lovely toys (dwarf-make, I believe), the clothes, and not to mention the scroll on the wall.”

            Sauron pointed to a scroll bearing the date of birth and title of the prince of Gondor.  Beside it, there was a lovely painting of the king and queen of Gondor holding their son; illuminated only by the single candle in the middle of the room.

            Melkor could not be certain, but he was always sure that he heard a distinct growl from Sauron at the sight of Isildur’s heir.

            “Come Sauron, there lies our quarry.”

            Sauron turned, and saw that in the tiny bed was a tiny lump.  “The Prince!” he cried in a whisper.

            Melkor reached into his pack and pulled out the handkerchief.  Tiptoeing over to the bed, he was just about to pull back the covers when the candle flickered and went out.

This would not have been a problem, had Sauron’s cursing not awoken the being in the bed.

            “Meowrrr!  Hissss!”

            Cats distinctly dislike evil dark lords attempting to gag them with handkerchiefs, except of course, when the handkerchiefs are filled with fish.  This one was not.

            “Aurgh!”

            Dark lords distinctly dislike cats using their arms as chew toys and their faces as scratching posts.

            “Meowrr!”

            “Aurgh!”

            “MEOWRrr!”

            “AURGH!”

            “MEEEOOOWWRRR!!”

            “AAUURRGGHH!”

            “What’s going on here?” came a booming voice.

            The room was suddenly lit by three Guard’s of the Citadel lanterns.  Melkor froze.  Sauron was nowhere to be seen.

            “Who are you?” said the tallest one.

            “Er...the man in charge of, er, making sure all the palaces’ ferocious beasts are well fed?” Melkor said weakly.

            The youngest guards laughed.  “Ferocious beasts?   Puff-puff wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you Puff-puff?”

            Puff-puff gracefully leapt to the guard’s arms and began to purr innocently. 

            “I am disinclined to believe that you are in charge of animal feeding.” the tall guard said sternly.  “This being so, I am obligated to have you as a guest in our chambers until the king can hear your case.”

            Melkor tried to ignore the blood running down his face and arms.  “I wouldn’t want to impose up on you and your family, good sir, but thank you kindly for the offer.”

            “No, no imposition at all.  Our dungeons are actually rather empty right now.”

            “Dungeons?” Melkor croaked.  He had thrown many a good prisoner into his dungeons, and while he had enjoyed hearing and inflicting pain upon those prisoners, he had never dreamed that he...oh, dear, it was too horrible to think about.

            “Yes, there’s only one other prisoner in there at the moment.  Tried to kiss the queen he did.  Now spends his nights howling at the moon.”  The guard could not help but grin at the terror on Melkor’s face.

            Neither could Puff-puff.

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*This entire paragraph covers your basic Silmarillion knowledge.  Melkor was called Morgoth.  Varda is one of the Valar (singular—Vala), the same kind as Melkor.  Elves=Firstborn Children of Eru=Eldar. 

Author’s notes:  Yes, we shall see the Lord Celeborn, as well as King Thranduil.  No, sorry, no word yet if Legolas shall appear (he’s a bit busy doing other stories, as you can well imagine.)

Apologies for the lack of Eldarion in this chapter, he’ll be in the next, I promise!

Also in the next chapter, Stories from Gondor’s Stables.

Yes, and the name “Puff-puff” came from an episode of the show Leave it to Beaver.  The name just somehow...fit.    

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