Victim of the Unlight - by Alassante
Finwë’s labored breath was quieter now. His mortal wounds drained his essence from him, despite his attempts to hold to this life. He had to stop Melkor from taking the Silmarils. His sword lay nearby and he reached for it. Grasping the hilt of it, he attempted to rise. On his hands and knees, he crawled to a nearby chair and pulled himself up, ignoring the agony that racked his body.
Stumbling toward the hall, Finwë listened to the sounds in the house and knew that Melkor and Wirilomë were approaching. He pressed himself against the wall to stablize himself. Melkor would think him dead so he had little time to press his advantage of a surprise attack. Glancing down, he saw the blood flowing freely from his wounds, leaving a trail of blood back to where he was struck down.
‘I will not last the night.’ He had no time to say farewell to those he loved.
Finwë did not have time to dwell on this fact before he felt the darkness of the fallen Vala surround him long before he saw Melkor and Wirilomë. Throwing himself in their path, he swung his sword at the neck of his foe. Melkor barely blinked before he grabbed the sword and flung it away, knocking Finwë off center. Grasping the elf lord by the throat, Melkor held him off his feet and laughed.
“You think you can defeat me? I am more powerful than you could even dream.” Melkor’s voice boomed over the sound of Finwe’s heart pounding in his ears.
“Feanáro will stop you. He will rip you to shreds for what you have done. The full wrath of the Valar will aid him in this task for your destruction of the Two Trees…” Finwë gasped as Melkor’s fingers tightened on his throat.
Melkor flung the elf across the room as if he was weightless. Finwë crashed into a table before hitting the wall. Sliding into a heap of broken bones and gaping wounds, he bit his lip to avoid crying out. He would not allow Melkor see any more weakness. Looking up, he saw the Vala’s face twisted in cruel victory. Despite his best effort, he now shook in fear as he saw the true face of evil incarnate.
“You are now broken, elf, and soon you will draw your last breath. Realize that as you do, I have now claimed the greatest creations of the Noldo as my own. You are nothing, insignificant, unable to defend your home nor your honor - merely a buzzing insect in my way. I fear not Feanáro, nor the Valar, for I alone corrupted the song of Ilúvatar. And now we destroyed the Two Trees that the Valar hold most beloved, they will be licking their wounds not attempting to stop me. Feanáro is nothing but a brilliant craftsman. I am He Who Has Arisen in Might! I would strike him down as easily as I have you.” Melkor laughed again before adding. “Go now Finwë. Join your wife who chose to fade rather than look upon the son she had brought into the world. She knew even then that he would prove the ruin of the Noldo, dividing them forever to serve his own means.”
Melkor turned and without another look followed Wirilomë into the darkness. Finwë gasped for breath, agony filling every inch of his body. He could no longer move and all the fight left in him crept away in the darkness. Tears of regret stained his cheeks as he tried to will himself to let go. He watched in detached calm the puddle of blood growing below him.
The Trees were destroyed. The Silmarils stolen into the night. What was left of peace in these lands? He knew his son would fight to his dying breath to regain the Silmarils. He had failed by letting Melkor take them from this house. He had failed as the King of the Noldor. He had failed his family. His blood so carelessly flowing from his body was not strong enough to substain his life anymore.
‘Miriel, I will come to you now as I have often wanted to do before. Please forgive me for my weakness and misdeeds.’
Even as his fëa left him, called to the Halls of Mandos, Finwë’s death was just being discovered. His lifeless body was held by his oldest grandson, Maitimo, as he cried out and cursed the one who brought this death upon their house. He died ignorant of what madness his death and the loss of the Silmarils would lead the Noldo to commit. Soon he would be joined by the many Teleri slaughtered upon the swords of the House of Finwë.
Wirilomë – Quenya for Ungoliant
Maitimo – Quenya for Maedhros
Unlight – ‘A cloak of darkness she wove about them when Melkor and Ungoliant set forth; an Unlight, in which things seemed to be no more, and which eyes could not pierce, for it was void.’ Silmarillion, Chapter 8 – The Darkening of Valinor