Deep, deep, in the deepest depths where the darkness became a thickening shroud that engulfed all light lay one of the greatest monumental feats of any being. Yet it was known to few and less even obtained the ability to feast their eyes upon it.
In the abyssal nihility, somewhere, somehow, brilliant phosphorescence illuminated a majesty of architecture. One of Arda's hidden wonders. The realm of Ulmo. Ekkaia.
A city built of material that not even the Eldar could comprehend stretched throughout the chasms of the deep, set upon volcanic fissures, curving against seafloor spreads and craterous caverns that penetrated deep into the fiber of Ambar. Billions of strange creatures inhabited this titanic settlement from translucent jellyfish to gargantuan squids; pods of dolphins, schools of fish, shoals of sharks and gams of whales littered the streets of Ekkaia; octopi squirmed over trillions of barnacles older than the Third Age itself clung to the side of bygone wreckages. This was a place as old as time. Untouched by the ilks of the Enemy and free of any burden. Its sole lord lay deep within the depths, brooding in his humble, quiet abode, hundreds of thousands of feet beneath the sea.
Ulmo was draped into the darkness of the world. His essence connected to Arda and Ambar more than any other. He felt every movement. Heard every whisper. Smelt even the faintest musks. In the deep darkness of Ekkaia, he was alone. Yet he felt it all. Before he would often sob. Then as time passed, it became tearing, and eventually solemn mourning until there was nothing to grieve for. Yet now. Now in his old age, did he once more shed a tear as the pain, but more importantly, the realization of his errors hit him. His brother was no longer of Ea. He had felt his departure in the fibers of his own being. It was the first time this had occurred in the history of Ulmo's existence. Tulkas was dead.
After many days spent in the solitary reclusion, Ulmo began to rise from the depths, new passion burned within him. The tear had been shed. The deed was done. Now to correct it.
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Birds chirped beneath the flowery trees that adorned the Gardens of Lothlorien. The breeze was light and harmonious as it picked up the tantalizing whispers of clarinets and harps from the nearby temples. Underneath a thin birch lay a pond. Two whiskered fish lazily swam about while a figure dressed in silver linens hunkered over them. His hair was raven black and glided lightly as he swept a hand through the pool, lucid movements barely registered by the fish.
Mineltar stared into the water and contemplated it all. The reports, Tulkas death, Sauron's return, Eonwe the traitor, and those were but the beginning. Where did it all end? Would it end? How would it end?
He sighed lightly and brushed a finger across his forehead. A slick of sweat collected across his index and he flicked it into the pool. The fish remained undisturbed. What was his role in this? The answer came to him almost providentially.
"Mineltar. You have been summoned."
Another sigh. Mineltar stood and followed the voice to his next inevitable objective.
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Far across the world, Miriel groaned and rose. Dawn had awoken her and she glimpsed the rising Sun through her tent. She gazed up at the sky and murmured something as her stomach lurched followed by an agonizing headache. Slowly she came to and stared out into the east, the memory of home at hand.
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Dimitri's mouth was dry when he awoke. The first thing he felt was the cold. It enveloped his entire body. He was shivering. Whatever he lay upon was freezing and he could barely feel his fingers let alone move them. He found himself bound, his feet were shackled individually and his arms were chained. His back ached and his eyes were blinded by a black cloth. Memories of the slaver ship returned to him and he could almost picture the Whipper smiling cruelfully. Where was he? Was he awake? What had happened?
His memory was a blur but slowly it came back to him. He remembered the island, the Whipper's death, Celeste, the Dwarf, Morgoth, Rivendell, his parents, meeting the King of Gondor, the ride to Mordor, Morgoth and his minions, the Champion Tulkas in all his glory, Eonwe and Turin Turambar, and finally the horrifying realization that he had kept at bay, ignored and eventually completely disregarded. He remembered it clearly. Tulkas' death. Sauron stabbing him through, the Vala's screams, and his huge form collapsing into the dirt in the Land of Shadows.
Dimitri's thoughts were interrupted by something stirring ahead. There was a loud crash. A grunt. Then a heavy voice.
"Awake are we?"
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A lone figure trekked across the muddy plains. A brown scarf wrapped around her head like a turban and sank down into a set of dusty baggy overalls which covered her from neck to toe. Her beaten dirty boots sunk into the muddy earth with each step she took. The bog stretched on for days and it had been weeks since she entered it. Food and water had run dry a day ago and she was forced to eat off the land. It made no difference. There was a single goal ahead of her. Whatever nourishment she neglected could be gained later. All that mattered was Miriel and reaching her. Wherever she was. Far. But not for long. The wind whipped at her clothes as the mist thickened and her thoughts took her back through time.
---
"Aranel?"
She opened her eyes. Tears covered her cheeks and she hid her face from him as he came closer, curling into the fetal position in her cell.
"What's wrong?"
"Leave," She managed to murmur as he came closer. "I'll kill you." Her voice croaked. She was ugly when she cried. Ugly when she did not. Truly ugly. Miriel was a beauty and Laurel even more so. They had their gifts and she...she had nothing. Except pain.
"Aranel. I'm not leaving." The young man came over to her, slowly sat and crossed his legs.
"I said I'll kill you, Tytus."
"You won't hurt me." He stated calmly and took her hand gently. She resisted but gave way. Slowly he curled his within hers and their fingers entwined. "Is it...?" He asked.
"Yes." She replied after wiping away her tears as best she could have and made herself presentable. "He hates me. I'm not good enough-"
"Shh." Tytus raised a finger, "The Master hears things. And he doesn't hate you. Just because you don't have-"
"Miriel is like you. She's special." She almost spat the word, "And Laurelos, she's his favourite. He disregards me. He doesn't even speak to me unless I speak first. I'm afraid he'll throw me away. I'm powerless. I'm nothing."
"Aranel." Tytus spoke softly. His fingers gripped hers tightly as he began, "You do not need power. You're perfect without it. This power..." he paused, "Look at what it has done to Joplin. To the others. It has changed us. Maybe not all of us. But its effect is not desirable. Sauron will not abandon you. You're too valuable to Miriel and Laurelos," he paused again, "And I."
Her heart melted and her frustration, anger, pain, hate, envy and guilt transfigured into something else, something stronger as he stared into her eyes. Aranel kissed him. It was soft, the simplest little peck but it led to so much more.
---
Aranel remembered it all as she continued her trek. The love they had; their ilicit affair; the pregnancy and, she winced, the pain that came with it. She had failed to bear Tytus a child. And after that. After that feeling of worthlessness, of dread, of despair, of uselessness returned....she had supposedly blanked out. Detached from reality and the next thing she knew, her sister Laurelos was dead. Her head had been bashed in with a rock, apparently by Aranel's doing. The same rock Laurelos used to lift with her mind. Aranel was a kinslayer.
Yet she recounted no memory of the incident. Or so she had claimed. Slowly the memory returned. She had bashed her youngest sister's head in with their rock whilst she was distracted. It was swift and unclean. Driven by a zealous hunger, by envy, by her own ambitions, she had slain her sister. But why? What did it mean to her? Nothing back then. All she felt was an animalistic instinct to do so. Only now did she fully comprehend that desire. The desire for power.
Nevertheless, they began to abandon her. But Miriel remained dear and even Tytus, even after she lost the baby. His love for her was powerful but not powerful enough to last. After Laurel's death, it was during one of their deployments, when the Giants were taken out to be used for war, that she felt that craving once more. It came to her at full force. She found herself capable of escape, her mind opened her cell much like Laurelos once could. She did not understand it and did not need to. All she needed was more. More power.
And she found it in the others who resided within that deep dungeon. It was only after the thirteenth victim when Lungorthin, the Balrog found and detained her. Master only then realized that she was not useless. No. She was special. More special than Miriel, than Tytus, than even Laurelos herself. She was the most special.
Yet this realization brought ignominious shame to her. Miriel abandoned her. The others did not even see her off when she was taken and put into the deep sleep. Not even Tytus. The man she loved, the man she had given herself to. He could not stand the sight of her. She was a murderer. A kinslayer.
Yet, all of this would change. When she finds her sister and Tytus. She can finally explain to them. And perhaps, not all shall be lost. But first to locate them. From the knowledge bestowed upon her by Master, they were a couple thousand leagues north. Just a few more months of travel and she'd see them. She had slept for an eternity. A few months was nothing.
The Hunt Continued.
((Time-Skip Part 3 - Complete))
