The Pentanath: Adventures in the Avathar
The Posthumous Writings of the Watcher of Tol Eressea
Book 6: I Medui Peth'iphant (The Last Prophecy)
Chapter 34 - I Uliuthia Ros...The Unquenchable Rain
by Sienna Dawn

Rating: NC17
Pairing: Haldir/OFC

Legal disclaimer:
Characters, places, events from JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and Silmarillion used without permission, no attempt has been made, nor will be made, to copyright these characters and no profit is being made from this work. All other non-Tolkien characters are of my own invention.

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Chapter 34 - I Uliuthia Ros...The Unquenchable Rain

Here is a mystery:

"...For it is said by the fair folk of the Vanyar, whose light remains undiminished by the marring of the world, that the line of Haleth will be rekindled in the final days for the Last Battle.  And at that time will their language be heard again, and they will arise from the dead and walk the verdant hills and vales of Valinor; for though they had perished from Arda, they will return 'ere they leave the Circles of the World forever. Woe then to those who heed not the words of this prophecy, for power will again be given to the Great Dragon of Morgoth, Ancalagon the Black, to foul the Blessed Lands until Turin and his line is restored, and then...and so will the great Elessar shine...the aged be made young..."  Excerpt taken from a fragment of the largely untranslated Parmaegleon of Daeron, found within the massive ruins of the Dannen Orodrim.

Varda-Elbereth, Queen of the Stars and beloved spouse of Manwë who is the brother of Melkor, brought the stars into being long before the creation of the Elves. Those stars she called Carnil and Luinil, Nénar and Lumbar, Alcarinquë and Elemmíre. And in the passing of time she brought them together and wrought again another great work setting them up as constellations in the sky so that all may marvel at her power, but also as a warning to Melkor, also called Morgoth, of the power of the Valar.  These were called Wilwarin, Telumendil, Soronúmë, Anarríma, and Remmirath.  But it was Menelmakar who, with his sparkling belt of stars, forebodes the Last Battle that shall be when Melkor breaks through the Door of Night to wreck his vengeance upon the Elves and the Valar; though it was the Valacirca, the sickle, which she hung in the sky as a reminder of his eventual defeat.

It was these very same stars which had guided the lone rider who presently spurred his steed ever faster toward the shinning lands of Guve Hall.  Twilight was well past and night now swiftly descended. A glittering network of crystal lights hung suspended over the rooftops of every edifice, even unto the tall trees and low bushes that surrounded the ancient house and its outer buildings.  It was the remembered enchantment of these lights, shinning like a great, priceless jewel within the pitch black nights of Tol Eressea, which had kept the elf focused on his goal.  Long had his heart desired to walk the fruitlands of this place, to lose himself in the rows of linden flowers and scented herbs, to taste the heady brew of its wines and most especially, to lie within the arms of the elleth whose eyes and lips had long bewitched him.

On and faster did the elven horse gallop, used to the slight nuances of his lord, sensing from the elf's movements upon his back that he must reach the house without delay.

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Celevon had been fidgety the entire day, quarrelsome and at times churlish with his mother and aunt.  He had eaten little and refused his mother's breast, a thing which caused Lisse some concern though she knew that soon the child would wean himself. Though neither she nor Niel had found traces of a temperature or other malady, not even a jaunt to the beaches behind Guve Hall had tempered his foul mood. By early evening, after he had taken a light supper, Lisse had decided to put him to bed earlier than usual.  Though he had resisted at first, at last the child stilled and slept.

Lisse had finally settled the slumbering Celevon inside the silken cocoon of his downy creche when the shrill sound of Niel's voice pierced the stillness of Guve Hall. Momentarily startled, Lisse pulled back and half turned toward the chamber door before returning to look down upon her son.  Her features softened into a loving smile and she gently soothed the child's hair.  But the child stirred and his eyes focused upon her face, awakened by the urgent call of the voice that he recognized all too well.  A startled expression spread across his beautiful face and a shadow of uncertainty clouded the usual tranquil pool of blue that were his eyes.

"Ai!" The child cried now awake and lifting his arms toward his mother. "Nana!" He called in a gentle child voice, "Naneth, garonin!"  Pulling the golden blanket away from his body, he began to sit up in his creche. "Nanethnin!"

Lisse clucked her tongue.  It had taken her so long to woo him into the halls of sleep. Shaking her head, she attempted to tuck Celevon back into bed, but the child was having none of it.  Just then, Niel's voice again rang through the house but this time it was followed by the slamming of doors.  Not accustomed to such loud noise, for Guve Hall was usually quiet after midmeal, Celevon sat up in bed and unexpectedly began to cry.

Alarmed, Lisse reached in and took the child into her arms.  Celevon was an even-tempered child and the outburst was unforeseen and unexpected.  She soothed him in low whispers as he wrapped slender arms around his mother's neck, nestling his face against her cheek. His skin was cool and silken, fragrant like a gentle breeze. Without realizing it, Lisse began to gently rock to and fro, humming a low lullaby she remembered from childhood, the one she knew Celevon most favored.  She felt him relax in her arms, but her ears strained to hear more of Niel.  She had not long to wait.

Footsteps approaching from the north corridor stopped at the door to Celevon's chamber.  A soft knock and a whispered, "Lisse?" broke the silence.

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They rode for leagues uncounted and strangely neither horse nor elf seemed to diminish in strength, a thing which perplexed Haldir greatly.  How was this done, he wondered?  What great powers were at work here?

The Foinarin warriors led their steeds quietly, every so often exchanging softly-spoken words, though Haldir could make no sense of the language they spoke, yet an echo of a memory stirred within him.  Had he heard this tongue once before, long ago in Middle Earth?  He struggled to recall; it was no language of the Quendi. Was it then, he asked himself as he studied the tall elves walking ahead of him, a language of men?  But how, how would a Quendi kindred speak a tongue of the Atani? As Haldir strove to reconcile this mystery in his mind, a soft moan from Fëanel brought him back to reality.  The Foinarin half turned without breaking stride and like Haldir glanced over at Min's steed.  Fëanel made no movement, his head now resting upon Min's shoulder.

Haldir returned to his silent musings, fixing in his memory landmarks, groves, riverways, and anything else needed to mark one's way about this land.  In this manner did the time and the leagues they travelled pass without event.

The soft twilight of the land did not lessen and at length small cottages began to appear along the low horizon, dotting the landscape.  They saw no movement from these dwellings and Haldir wondered if the people of this land slumbered within.  He studied the little houses, so reminiscent of the homes of the Atani and frowned.  He turned his attention to the lead elf and spoke.  "What manner of people dwell in places of that sort?" He asked.  The lead elf did not reply.  Haldir waited a long moment, and then pressed on again.  "This is not the manner of the Quendi."  Ahead of his steed, the lead elf walked without responding or turning.  Haldir decided to let the moment pass.  Yet his heart told him that this place held more questions than all of Aman could hold in answers.

Behind them the cottages shrunk and at last disappeared beneath the horizon and in silence they turned, taking a ford close by a small rippling brook.  Haldir saw Min turn back to glance a him, a worried expression on her face.  Doubtless, Haldir realized, she too had pondered upon the same mystery.  What manner of people lived here?

As they turned toward the banks of the brook Haldir saw that a well-worn footpath emerged from the deep forest that grew alongside the stream.  Here they were bidden to stop and dismount their horses.  Alighting from his own steed, Haldir saw that Min struggled with Fëanel; his weight was simply too much for her.  Striding to her mount quickly, Haldir and two of the other elves approached her horse.  

"Ki-yôzahê ha nu-yad." One tall dark-haired elf spoke out, reaching toward Fëanel.  Understanding only his intention but not his words, Min leaned over and allowed Fëanel to taken from her.  His body limp, his features still vacant, the elves took him from atop the horse with what looked to Haldir to be a near-gentleness that seemed strange to him.  After all, he pondered as they stood the silent Fëanel upright between them, they were strangers to these elves.  Trespassers from a land beyond.  He frowned and turned to Min.  Reaching out to help her down, he noticed she seemed to evade his touch and dismounted on her own.

Dismissing the slight, Haldir turned away from Min  and saw that she approached the elves who stood alongside Fëanel and herself took him from them.  At once an argument broke out between them.

"Nay!" Called Min, "he is mine own to care for!"

But the elves spoke to her rapidly, their speech deep and at places guttural.  Haldir watched the altercation, knowing he should intervene, but desiring to hear the speech more.  By now he was half certain he had heard it before.  But where? This was not Westron nor any language he knew of Westernesse.  No speech of the Quendi that he knew of either.

Abruptly, the lead elf broke toward them, circling back on the footpath to see what the commotion was all about.  He was the tallest of all, taller indeed than Haldir himself.  

"Bâ, nimrî!" He called out, his stride long and sure.  In a moment he stood before Min, and Haldir, not liking his tone, slowly came to stand between him and Min.  

The tall elf shifted his gaze from Min to Haldir.  "Lâ nê-sâphdim ki!" His eyes were bright, his stride confident.  He did not back down though he well understood Haldir's slight defensive posture.  "They do not speak the ancient tongue of the Quendi." He added suddenly in Sindarin.

"But you speak it!" Min said, her tone accusatory. "Where are you taking us?" She walked back to Fëanel and slapped away the hands of the elves who stood holding him.  Frowning but saying nothing, they stepped away.  "For hours you have led us upon this land." She turned and looked at the lead elf.  "Who are you?  How is that you live here, so close to the Cala-tintallë?!"  There it was, she thought.  It was said.  Did they know of the great tree?  And if they did, why did they shun its light and instead live in this great dark?  She did not trust them, and she cursed herself for not having minded her speech.  She turned and looked at Haldir, who stood with arms crossed, seeming content to listen and say nothing.

"Haldir!" Min called out in frustration.  "Say you nothing?"

The lead elf looked at Haldir but instead answered Min.  "I am called Bêlbor," here he faltered as if looking for the correct word, he turned to his companions and exchanged quick words.  Again he turned to Min, but it seemed he was speaking more toward Haldir who was now studying the tall elf intently.  "We are the Foinar of the Cuiviënor. We do not know of this thing of which you ask, Cala-tintallë." His eyes remained passive, his voice neutral.  He looked from Min, to Feanel, to Haldir and then back to Min. "You have come uninvited to my people's lands and now come to demand from us?"  His face suddenly twisted into an angry frown.  One that Haldir did not like.  "You are to go to my people's lands, and so there you will learn what it is you seek and ask thereof." His use of Sindarin was quickly improving, Haldir noticed.  Bêlbor saw that Haldir studied him closely, briefly locked eyes with the blonde elf and then turned, issuing orders in his own speech.

Min moved to say something again, but Haldir raised his hand and silenced her. "Best to do as they say." He added in Quenya.  Min frowned but nodded.

They began their march, following the footpath while two elves lagged behind the rest, leading the horses.  Why they had asked them to dismount was yet another mystery to Haldir for room aplenty there was for the horses and their riders.

Haldir followed behind the lead elf, Bêlbor, watching the strong, broad expanse of his back, the long legs clad in a dark leathering material, a billowing dark cape which shimmered in places and reminded him of the silver cloaks used by the people of Lothlorien.  The hair was dark and very long, longer than his own, reaching well past the knees.  It was worn loose in the back and braided at the top and the sides.  A most un-quendi manner of headdress. Yet vaguely familiar.  Like their speech, Haldir thought to himself.  Everything about these people were vaguely familiar to him. He decided to gently probe.

"Your name, Bêlbor," Haldir began mildly, "my people have similar names."  

Bêlbor continued to walk ahead of him, parting a branch that blocked his way, but answered not.

Again, Haldir probed. "The elleth loves the ellon, she will not allow anyone to care for him save by her leave.  We take him to be healed of the darkness to which he has succumbed, for he is far from the world."

Something about his words struck a chord in Bêlbor, for the tall elf turned, stopped and scowled at Haldir.  Behind Haldir, the rest of the group also halted.  

"There is a great falsehood within you, mellon," Bêlbor said, his tone near sarcastic.  "We can see it as clear as a swallow that crosses the sea by moonlight." The elf's eyes flashed in anger. "Do not trifle with us." At that he turned away from Haldir, and began to walk again, his stride swift.

At any other time Haldir would have taken offense at being branded a liar, but something about these elves, so different and yet so familiar, stayed his tongue and he made no response.

Soon he would have the puzzle complete.  Then and only then would he act.  For now he had not yet decided if the Foinarim were friend or foe.

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Beyond the dark lands of the Avathar, upon Guve Hall, another tempest was soon to be let loose.

Cradling Celevon in her arms, Lisse turned to the chamber door and opened it wide.  Niel's face was pale, her eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. Alarmed, Lisse stepped out into the hallway.  At the sight of his beloved aunt's face, Celevon too hushed, and his weeping turned to loud sniffles and hiccups.  Lisse rocked him gently while she studied Niel.

"Aunt!" Lisse had not used the formal title in so long its usage even startled her. "What is amiss? Ill news from Kortirion?!" She asked breathlessly, dreading the answer.

With a sinking heart she saw Niel nod. Lisse's eyes widened. "Not of..." But she was not able to finish for Niel interrupted her.

"Nay, not your husband," The unshed tears now coursed freely down her face, "Least I do not think there is news of Haldir.." Her voice trailed away and she turned back as if she would walk away.  Lisse reached out and touched her shoulder.

"Then what ails you?"  Lisse asked worriedly, a small frown creasing her forehead. Celevon sniffled loudly.

Turning back she gazed into Lisse's face, "Tis Orophin."

Uncomprehending at first, Lisse frowned, "Tis Orophin??" She repeated. But then with a greater understanding she spoke, "Orophin? He is come?" Her voice rose uncharacteristically.

Niel breathed a low, "Aye, 'tis."

Lisse felt the color drain from her face and suddenly the air seemed thick as if she could not draw a clear gulpful to clear her lungs.  "What mean you? Orophin is here?" She answered her own question before Niel could.  "Then what do you here; why do you not greet your husband?"

Niel shook her head, running a hand over her face. "I know not.  When I saw it was he who rode to Guve my only thought was of you."  Her eyes bore meaningfully into Lisse's face.

Understanding, Lisse's eyes flickered once, but only once, "Then you shall meet your husband with dignity and we shall hear out what import he brings of mine own." She smiled at Niel, "Go now, Niel and I shall follow. Greet and attend your husband."

Niel sighed and hugged her arms to herself. "Dear Varda," She said quietly.  "give us the strength."

Silently, Lisse agreed, though her heart told her the saddest news would be kept for last; kept for her.

Kissing Celevon abruptly, she tightened her hold on her son and hurried off after Niel, quickly disappearing down the long corridor.

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The tempting aromas of dinner wafted along the Great Hall and many of the guests were already strolling into the house from the gardens or descending from their upstairs chambers.  The delicate ringing of silver bells signalling the evening meal chimed thoughout the house.

Lisse and Niel used the servants' back stairs and so were not observed by Guve's guests.  Rushing out into the night via a side door, they briskly walked around the back of the house, toward the sounds of rapid hoofbeats.

Several feet away they saw Gilnoril who was still rooted to the same spot, observing the lone rider as he approached Guve.  Hearing the footsteps of the women, he turned to look at them once and then turned his attention back to the rider.  The steed was surefooted and fleet, and at times Gilnoril was not certain if the horse's hooves slid off the ground and flew upon the very air, for so quickly did he speed toward the homely house.

Lisse trained her eyes on the rider and knew then Niel was right.  It was Orophin.  Indeed.  But he seemed different, lighter, as if a shadow of his former self.  Even at this distance that much could be seen.

"He has suffered," Niel said quietly, echoing Lisse's own thoughts.

"So, she sees it also", Niel told herself.

At last the steed reached the grounds of the house itself, and slowed down to a trot and then a canter.  Its rider guided the steed around the front of the House, past the herb garden and toward the barn where he remembered the stables would be. The three elves stood silently waiting.  No alarm or call had been raised for this arrival, for to all it seemed as if none was necessary nor would be welcome.

Orophin guided his horse toward the barn, looking always at Niel, seeing the shock upon her face, but also seeing her yearning and joy, though she kept her emotions well-banked.  His own heart thumped in his chest; for too long had he been sundered from his beloved wife; how had Arwen and Aragorn borne the lonely years of their separation?  How had Lisse and Haldir also?

The horse cantered to a stop, snorted once and allowed Orophin to dismount and remove the leather saddle upon his back before trotting off to the water trough.

Turning to the trio, Orophin stood, saddle in hand, his face expectant and his eyes locked upon Niel's face. He saw no one but her, recognized no other presence but hers.  They looked upon each other, trying to read each other's eyes for either acceptance or rejection, but all they saw in each other's gaze was longing.  A deep yearning, a grieving for their sundering and now a careful rejoicing at their reunion.  No one spoke. No one moved. The silence between them was deafening, and the only sounds about them was the horse's lapping of the water and the chiming of the dinner bells. The distant rush of the ocean behind the house was soft and muted.  A scented breeze suddently came up and played with the leaves of the trees about Guve, their branches rustling and jostling gently, their whispered lullabies filling the night. It was a heavy moment, a thunderous moment.

But it was Gilnoril who finally broke the spell that bound them and he stepped forward. "Orophin!" His handsome face broke into a happy smile and he extended his arm in greeting.

Tearing his eyes away from Niel, Orophin's gaze shifted to the younger elf and he grasped Gilnoril's arm in a return greeting.

"Gilnoril!" Orophin called out, relaxing somewhat, placing the saddle on the ground before him. He clasped the forearm of the younger elf and slapped his back in happy camaraderie.  "Eyes that see thee and greet thee in true friendship!" His musical voice filled the night. Still his eyes strayed to Niel.

Somewhat embarrassed, Gilnoril retrieved the saddle from the ground, drawing a smile of thanks from Orophin. Turning toward the stables Gilnoril disappeared inside its darkness.

It was then that Lisse spoke, taking a slight step forward from behind Niel, craddling Celevon in her arms.

Orophin had not trained his eyes upon Lisse, for his only thought at the moment of his arrival was to take Niel in his arms and feel her body and her breath upon him; to rain her face with kisses; to plunder her mouth and draw the sweet nectar of her lips.  No other thought had entered his mind then and so when Lisse made the slight movement outside of his vision, his shock at seeing the child in Lisse's arms was great indeed!

"Orophin." Lisse said softly, nudging her aunt slightly as she walked around from behind her. "Your arrival was so unexpected we had no time to properly greet you." She hoped her meaning would not be lost upon Niel, who stood, rooted to her spot, looking upon the handsome face of her husband without movement or speech.

Orophin gave Lisse a small smile and then his eyes lit upon the child. "When?" He looked upon Celevon but made no move toward him or Lisse.

The baby stared upon the face of the stranger, his weeping and discomfort long forgotten.  Limpid blue eyes roamed Orophin's form and then, losing interest, he turned around in his mother's arms, turning to look toward the stables where Gilnoril had gone.

"Celevon was born not long after Haldir left, nigh two years past." At the sound of his name, Celevon turned and stared at the stranger again.  This time his inspection of Orophin was well focused and with intent.  Without having the benefit of understanding their words yet, he sensed in the tones of the adults that something momentuous had just happened.  He blinked and placed his golden head upon his mother's shoulder, never once taking his eyes off the stranger before them.

Orophin smiled, "Celevon indeed," He looked upon the child with a great gentleness and a growing affection. He looked upon Lisse's face, a face so lovely, he though just then, and so cold. Taking a deep breath he spoke, "So it seems I am an uncle." He saw Lisse made no response.  Here was anger, he realized.  Anger, disappointment, resentment.  Was it merited, he pondered, as he looked down upon the child.  Looking back into Lisse's eyes he had no answers. But he knew she expected something from him.  What could he tell her that she did not already know? That he may never come back to her?  That the Avathar had swallowed him whole?  That no one save the Valar knew of his whereabouts and even they remained silent?

Correctly reading his thoughts, Lisse made a sound of disgust and turned from Orophin, walking away, toward the house, Celevon sitting straight in his mother's arms, his eyes never once leaving Orophin's face until Lisse turned around to the back of the house and disappeared from view.

He had long ceased looking at Lisse's retreating form and had instead alighted his gaze upon his wife's countenance.  She looked upon him, and he upon her.  After a moment Niel took a step toward Orophin, her eyes misting, though she cried not.

"You must be hungry." Her voice was low, husky; the same voice that haunted his dreams. She looked down at him.  His tunic ill-fitted him.  "You have grown thinner." Her hand reached out of itself.

Grasping her hand in his, their contact electrified them.  Suddenly he could not resist her any longer, and he pulled her toward him so that she stumbled into the circle of his arms.  At once Niel responded, embracing Orophin, lifting her arms about his neck, nuzzling the warm skin below his jaw, murmuring something he could not understand.  He held her and smiled.

"Yes, meleth nin, I have grown thinner, but that matters not." His voice was soft, intimate, the words meant only for her ears. He pushed her away from his body just a little so that he could look down into her eyes.  "Upon the Valar, my sweet, I have counted the days unnumbered 'til I could hold you." He brought her into the circle of his arms again.  "I love you, Niel." His eyes closed, his heart thundered in his chest.  He wanted to remain with her for always.  Yet.... But he would not dwell upon that now.

Niel tried to speak, but she feared her voice would fail her, so deep was her happiness.  She felt her cheeks grow wet and realized the tears finally fell free.  She kissed his chest, the scent of him intoxicating her, his arms strong, his essence pure and good. She could feel the thumping of his heart and she took one of his hands and brought it to her own chest so that he could feel the furious beating of her own heart.

Orophin felt the swell of her bosom against the palm of his hand as she placed it upon her chest.  Her heart pounded out a furious rhythmn and he gave her a happy smile. "Here?"

Understanding, Niel frowned slightly and then smiled back, "I thought you had grown weak." The tears in her eyes began to lessen.  He had not changed.  Dear sweet Elbereth, she called out in her heart, thank you! He had not changed!

Orophin cocked his head to one side, his long hair cascading past his shoulders and touching upon his left arm. "I have grown thinner," he corrected her, emphasizing the word thinner, "but not weaker." His gaze held her and he lifted a finger to caress the full swell of her bottom lip.

His touch made her shiver, and she leaned closer into his body.  Suddenly she did not care who saw them, even if he took her then and there, "Kiss me, Orophin." She murmured, deeply looking into his eyes, her longing echoing his own.

Silently he lowered his mouth, his lips lightly touching hers once, twice, a third time, lips parting slightly, moist, inviting lips that breathed warmth and desire.  He planted another light kiss upon her mouth and then his emotions overwhelmed him and he was undone.  With a low moan, Orophin took Niel's mouth, deepening the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth once and again, in imitation of the ancient ritual, telling her with his kisses how he would love her later...later...right now his one thought was concentrated upon his wife, all other things could wait.  For indeed perhaps the waiting would soon be over.  He closed his thoughts and lost himself in the sweet honey of Niel's love.

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He watched, poised at the rift within the Door.  Diligently he had worked to widen the rift, create a greater fissure, so that when the door was opened and pressure applied to it, it would splinter from without.  It had taken him aeons of time, so long that worlds and stars had been born and died while he plied his essence to the rift, widening it, and then sealing it with a spell he had devised with the last ounce of magic his spirit possessed.  Everything counted on this one application of his being.  If he failed then he was doomed forever.

He waited, his work done. This time he would be prepared; he would know when to act.  He had only moments, precious seconds, before the light of Arien the Sun followed the Vingilot through the Door, turning night into day.  It was then, during that moment of twilight, when his essence was strong and his will powerful, that he would act.

He waited, impatiently, a thing he knew no Vala should boast of, but he did not care. Soon he would be  free and he would seek his vengance and would Valinor and all of Aman be vassal to him.

He had not long to wait. Then he saw it, not with physical eyes, for he had none, not yet, but with his spirit.  The violet haze of dawn, the light which the Simalril that Earendil wore heralded the arrival of the Maia, Arien, who sailed aloft as a golden flame that was the Sun of Aman.  He had to act quickly and wrest the Silmaril from Earendil before Arien arrived...he had only seconds.

Softly the light turned the darkness into a gentle lavender.  Then the door began to churn, turn, revolve and it seemed as if the stars of the universe were for a moment turned inside out, upside down, as the darkness which was a door itself recoiled, turning to open and let in the light of day.  It was at this very moment when Earendil always sailed through first upon his ship, the Vingilot, his brow bearing the great Silmaril, called Elessar.   

Melkor waited, impatient, watching, and finally the time was come.  He glided from behind the door as it began to open, to turn, and his spirit gave it one momentuous lunge.  At the same time Earendil had already begun his entry through the door.  A sudden explosion rocked the opening, momentarily blanketing everything in darkness, blinding Earendil, turning the Vingilot upon a different course, a course toward the night skies of another world.  Melkor lunged past the fissure, into the open creation of the universe.  He espied Earendil upon the Vingilot and saw that the ship was tumbling off its course.  Taking advantage of the confusion in Earendil's mind, Melkor threw himself over the ship and lunged at Earendil himself, tearing the Silmaril away from his brow, letting it fall away, deep into the recesses of the world.  Unable to wrest if for himself because he had no physical form, Melkor watched the stone fall, tumbling within the darkness and he sent forth his will to intercept rock and bird, storm and cloud, river and stream, so that it fell close to where his servant slumbered still.  Soon would the old elf, Eadendir, awaken and Melkor would have him take the stone.

Still blind from Melkor's shadow, Earendil could not steer the Vingilot. He knew the Silmaril had been taken and in his frenzy he attempted to steer the sky ship but only succeeded in going round in wide circles.  He cried out to the mighty Valar, to Arien who would soon follow, but in the shadow, the screeching of Melkor's essence drowned out all else.

Soon Melkor saw the golden flame that was Arien coming closer, the flame that was the Sun to the people of Valinor.  It grew and widened but it did not weaken or taint Melkor for he was free to withdraw into the darkest stars and there wait until he could steer the Vingilot into the Sun.  

Steadfastly she came, the golden Maia called Arien, beloved of Eönwë, son of Manwë. And when he could stand it no more, Melkor left the cold dark of the stars and lunged toward Vingilot.  He was dimly aware of Earendil's shouted warning, but it came too late...the sky ship of Earendil crashed into the lovely flame that was Arien, dimming her light, silencing the golden flame of her Song.

And below them, in the vast world that was called Aman, the light of the sun faltered and was suddenly put out.

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Key:

The Problem of Ros/The People of Middle Earth - (Ref: Silmarillion.)  The Folk of Haleth are of the race of Men, the Edain. Their was called king was Haldad.  Haleth was the daughter of Haldad, sister to Haldar.  They were a peaceful people who lived an idyllic existance until a marauding band of Orcs attacked their settlements.  Suffering terribly, they regrouped and attacked the Orcs, but during the battle Haldad and Haldar were slain.  This left Haleth in charge of her people.  Haleth held on through more Orc attacks until Caranthir and his army appeared and drove the Orcs to their deaths.  (Caranthir was the fourth son of Feanor, the maker of the silmarils.)Long after this, Haleth became known for her ability to prophecy.  In one of her direst and more mysterious prophecies she states that at the End of the World, Melkor shall escape the Void through the Door of Night, destroy the Sun and the Moon and then shall the people of Haleth and their speech return to the world; Turin would be released from the Halls of Mandos to stand beside Eonwe (the herald, and some believe the son of, Manwe) and battle the minions of Melkor, who along with the resurrected Sauron, would attempt to destroy all of creation.

Source for the names of the Stars and Constellations: Silmarillion: and the Fellowship of the Rings.

*Wilvarin (aka Butterfly) - Cassiopeia (Silm)

*Telumendil - Friend of the Dome of the Sky (Unknown which constellation this refers to)

*Soronúmë - Aquila (The Eagle)(Silm)

*Anarríma - Sun edge or Sun border - Could be a side of the Ecliptic, which is part of the Sun's journey across the sky.

*Menelmakar (Quenya) - Orion (Orion's belt is a clear marker for this group of stars as we are told Menelmakar wears a shining belt). In the Fellowship of the Rings Menelmakar is also called Menelvagor (Sindarin), as well as referred to as the Swordsman of the Sky. (Silm and FoTR)

*Remmirath - The Netted Stars (The Pleiades)(Silm)

*Valacirca - the Big Dipper (Silm)

*Parmaegleon of Daeron. (Book of Light) - Author's creation

*Stone of Elessar - A great green jewel believed created in the elven city of Gondolin in the First Age.  Elessar had the light of the sun trapped within it and it was rumored to possess healing power.  When looked through it the aged and infirm appeared young and hale.  Brought to the Blessed Realms by Earendil.  Some believe this was the same jewel that Galadriel gave to Aragorn and that it had been brought back to Middle Earth by her, though many hotly discredit this claim and propose instead that Aragon's Elessar was altogether another and weaker jewel.  The debate still rages!

*Dannen Orodrim - Fallen mountain-range; author's creation

*Quendi - plural for elves

*Atani - Men

*Ki-yôzahê ha nu-yad - "Give him to me." (Adunaic)

*Ba, Nimri! - Don't, Woman!" (Adunaic)

*Lâ nê-sâphdim ki - They don't understand (Adunaic)

*Earendil = identified as the planet Venus; in our story we are following book cannon: Earendil is Elrond's father, spouse of Elwing (The Lady of the Gulls) and also is the planet Venus, the morning star.

*Arien - A Maia who comes each day as a golden flame and is called the Sun.

*Eönwë - Herald and believed son of Manwe; the greatest and most powerful of the Maiar.  He commands the forces of the Valar.

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Disclaimer: All familiar characters are owned by JRR Tolkien and are used without permission. No monies are being made from this work.
Painting is taken from John William Waterhouse's "Miranda", 1875.

Graphics copyrighted Cari Buziak