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lotrchallengesTitle: The Life And Times of Rushirithir (working title: other ideas from sparx "postcards from the void", "confessions of fire")
Author: Kaylee Arafinwiel
Summary: The beginnings of the Balrog of Moria...the very beginning, that is. And the end. And the middle, of course...though the middle was longest in coming. Go figure..
Elements: barter, yellow, water.
Warning: Dark, aka not at all my usual type, which is, of course, the point of a "Think Outside The Box" challenge.
A/N: I am indebted to Fiondil, whose character Rushirithir the Umaia has been used here as the true name of the Balrog of Moria, with permission. I do not claim that this is what my atar indonyo plans to do with Rushirithir (though it makes a ton of sense for a character named "Fire-Light" in Valarin.) Melkor (albeit named "Mbelkoro", his earliest Quenya name), will figure prominently in the early story.
Manawenuz is the Valarin name of Manwe.
Ulluboz is Valarin for Ulmo.
***
*Rushirithir!* Olórin called to his elder brother in their Atar's Thought, as the young Ainur played in the water-meads of the Timeless Halls. Olórin was grateful that his brother had agreed to play hide-and-find with him, though it seemed Rushirithir was much better at hiding than Olórin was at finding...he had not found his brother, though Olórin was sure he had examined every nook and cranny of the pleasance.
*Rushirithir!* he called again, his aura flickering in distress.
Rushirithir, in fact, had thought himself away from the water-meads entirely. He was entertaining himself by staring, transfixed, at the wall of fire that marked the edge of the Halls, wondering what lay Outside. No, he knew what lay Outside.
Outside was the Void, an empty darkness. Dark and light, side by side...they were beautiful together. His baby brother did not see the beauty in darkness, Rushirithir thought, with some scorn. But then he felt a frisson of awe course through him, as he felt the regard of a higher Ainu. Much higher. He acknowledged the presence of Mbelkoro, whose dark blue aura was like and yet unlike these flames. *Eldest.*
*My son,* Mbelkoro bespoke him, rather than the usual 'little brother' he had come to expect from the Highest among the Ainur.
Rushirithir's aura flared with joy at such an endearment. *My father,* he replied, though he felt a niggling doubt. They shared the same Father, did they not? Why then would he grant even the Eldest such a name? But Mbelkoro's aura caressed him enticingly, and such doubts faded. *What wouldst thou have of me, Eldest?* Rushirithir asked.
*I wouldst have thy loyalty, my son,* Mbelkoro replied soothingly. *I have seen how thine attention is captured by the Void. Wouldst thou travel it with me?*
*Yea,* Rushirithir replied, without hesitation. *Where thou goest, I follow, my father.* He felt Mbelkoro's smile, though he did not understand the flare of emotion that followed it.
It was triumph.
***
Triumph. Rushirithir revelled in his mentor's regard, as together they travelled through the empty Void. *There is naught here, Eldest,* Rushirithir ventured to say once. He cringed, hoping he had not said the wrong thing, and was only halfway reassured by Mbelkoro's caress. The feeling had the seeming of Love, yet left a sensation he could not name staining his very fea.
*There is naught here as of yet,* Mbelkoro corrected him. *In time, there will be something. We will make it.*
*Truly?* If the young Ainu had been an Incarnate with a mouth, his jaw would have dropped. Even so, a frisson of awe, coupled with confusion, rippled through him. *We...together, my father?*
*There will be something here,* was the Eldest's only response, and the two returned to the Timeless Halls. Mbelkoro's dark blue aura darkened further when they 'heard' the crying of one of the youngest being soothed by Atar.
*That's Olorin!* Rushirithir exclaimed. He felt Mbelkoro's disapproval, and hesitated...
***
The siren call of Mbelkoro's power was more enticing than the so-called gift of his little brother. Olorin was an annoyance at best, a pest at worst, the older Maia often thought now; he had forgotten the times when he used to play quietly with his little brother hanging on to everything he said, eager to learn. He did not see that he followed Mbelkoro in the same way as Olorin had followed him, though the Eldest seemed tolerant, even fond of Rushirithir.
Olorin noticed, though, and so it was that he found himself in the company of Ulluboz in the water-meads, when Rushirithir had failed to find him yet again. The much older Ainu's aura brightened in welcome, dimming when it was clear Olorin had been upset. *What troubles ye, Little Brother?* Ulluboz queried, and a sigh rippled through Olorin's fea.
*I am losing my brother to the Eldest,* he said quietly. *Dost thou think I should tell Atar?*
*Atar knoweth all, Little Brother, but it pleaseth Him if thou cometh to Him with thy concerns,* Ulluboz replied. *I, too, will watch over thy brother for thee.*
Olorin's golden-yellow aura brightened. *I thank thee, Ulluboz.* He thought his way out of the gardens and was going to find Atar when his brother appeared before him. Honeyed reassurances from Rushirithir were enough to distract Olorin from his purpose.
*I will play with you again, Little Brother.* Rushirithir promised, *and no running away. Just do not tell Atar about my meetings with Mbelkoro. They are a secret, Little Brother. A special secret.* Glad to have his brother's regard again, Olorin promised, making the barter, though questions niggled in his mind. At least Ulluboz knew.
And so it continued in the place where Time had little to no meaning...
***
When Atar entreated them to join in His great Music, Rushirithir obeyed. But soon Mbelkoro began making a different Music, and Rushirithir remembered the Eldest's words about making something together. He cleaved to Mbelkoro's Song, reveling in the dark, discordant beauty of it, how it was different from all others. Here and there he found other Ainur joining in...but not Olorin, to his disappointment. If only Olorin could see how beautiful and wonderful it was, how much he had learnt from Mbelkoro...but Olorin did not understand.
"Why did you start to sing like that?" Olorin asked, puzzled. "The music was so beautiful, and then it got so--" he paused, looking for a word to describe the discord that Melkor had instigated.
Rushirithir looked at Olorin, and his confusion was returned. "What dost thou mean, Brother?" He forced the confusion away, and his aura flared with a fierce joy. "It was beautiful, Little Brother. Why couldst thou not join in my Lord's following? He is as a father to us."
Olorin's aura rippled momentarily with surprise. "But he ruined Atar's themes--except for the last one." The younger Ainu added, "But he's not your father. Atar is."
Clearly, Rushirithir thought, his Little Brother did not understand at all.
When the Highest among the Ainur were asked to descend into Ea, and the younger ones who best loved them to accompany the elder, Rushirithir travelled in Manawenuz's company, as Mbelkoro had gone before them, secretly and alone. Olorin was happy to have his brother back, but Ulluboz kept a watch on the brothers, fully aware of Olorin's concerns.
Even so, there came a time when Mbelkoro called Rushirithir aside, and told him his purpose...
***
Centuries later, dozing in his dark home on Ambarhini, called Arda by the Children, Rushirithir dreamt of that long-ago barter; his fea at Mbelkoro's command, in exchange for eternal fire at Rushirithir's. Mbelkoro had made it sound exciting. A Being of fire and shadow, light and dark, all-powerful and deathless. It had been exciting; curling up in a star core like a nermi waiting to be reborn from its cocoon, from a wriggling insect to beauty on wings. Did he have wings, or did he not? That he was never sure of, even now. But his beauty, his terrible beauty, he was sure of. He was the master here.
And when even the Dwarven King dared to interrupt him...Rushirithir showed who was truly master.
Durin's Bane had awoken.
And as he reveled in the joy of roasting flesh and bone, yellow flame and fountains of dark blood pouring out before him, he wondered in the very back of his mind whether he or Durin had won this game of hide-and-find. Well, that was easy. Of course he had.
***
The next time Rushirithir awoke, it was to find himself facing nine intruders. One was a Dwarf, one an Elf, three were Men, and four he had no idea about, so he dismissed them as unimportant, though one...vaguely reminded him of Mbelkoro, for some reason. But he even pushed that aside, when he truly saw the one standing there guised as an elderly Man...not a Man at all. Could it be? The Maia cried out in a voice Rushirithir knew, though he had long forgotten it.
'Over the bridge! Fly! This is a foe beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow way. Fly!'
The two who were certainly Men did not heed his commands, but stayed behind him. Rushirithir reached the bridge, trying to get a closer look at the Maia - for Maia he must be, though he leaned on a staff like an elderly Man might do. The Maia's sword flashed out of its hilt and into his hand, and Rushirithir halted, spreading the shadow about like wings - were they or weren't they? - he wanted them to be wings, but then he wasn't a bird...Rushirithir raised the whip he carried with him, cracking it down to frighten the Maia's companions away. This was his *brother*! He had found him...Olorin...
Olorin stayed his ground. 'You cannot pass.' He was uncowed by the legion of orcs at Rushirithir's back, and continued to speak into the dead silence of the chamber. 'I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.' But the dark fire had always worked for him, as Mbelkoro had promised so long ago. Now, though...now it was fading. Had his brother cast some sort of spell? Rushirithir's fea quailed within him, and he stood straighter, stepping onto the bridge as the Shadow grew around him. Olorin seemed so small in the dimming light...small as a newly-Emerged Ainu, and Rushirithir was struck by the sudden memories. He pushed them away, red sword of fire leaping out in answer before Rushirithir even thought what he was doing.
His brother's sword came to meet it, and shattered Rushirithir's blade, throwing him off-balance. Olorin swayed, stepped back, and faced Rushirithir as steadily as before.
'You cannot pass!'
Rushirithir was reminded of his brother trying to prove he was big and strong though he was the younger. Well, he had certainly beaten Rushirithir's sword. But he still had the whip...and he would teach his belligerent Little Brother a lesson! Leaping forward, Rushirithir flashed the whip, only to find two new opponents. He had forgotten about the Men!
'He cannot stand alone! Elendil! I am with you, Gandalf!' cried the taller of the two. Gandalf? Ah, that must be Olorin's new name.
'Gondor!' cried the other Man, and Rushirithir wheeled to face them. It was a mistake. Olorin...Gandalf...smote his staff upon the bridge, breaking it and releasing a sheet of white flame.
The Secret Fire! The Flame Imperishable. Rushirithir trembled as the Bridge broke at his feet. He tumbled forward, but in a last desperate move for victory, Rushirithir lashed his whip about his brother's knees, pulling Olorin with him. He could hear Olorin's desperate cry, 'Fly, you fools!' and then they fell together...
***
He did not know how long it had been before they landed at the bottom, in a pool of water. His flames were extinguished as the two brothers grappled, broken and bleeding, each wanting to best the other. Damp and cold, Rushirithir pulled Olorin from the pool; he could feel Ulmo's eyes on them there, and he did not want the Vala to be carrying news to their masters. Shaking the water off, he began to climb wearily, hoping the heights would give him advantage, with his brother following after...
***
They reached the peak of Zirik-zagil, climbing and fighting all the way, though after how long, Rushirithir could not say. Weakened even further, the brothers fought to the last.
His last thought, as Olorin threw him from the precipice, before he broke on the ground and his flame-fed fea was swept up by the Source of their existence, was that he was glad Olorin had won just this once...
...Meanwhile, beyond exhausted, trembling, dying, Gandalf was terribly thirsty, but he would gladly trade the world's worth of water to hear his brother's voice, just once more, reminding him not to peek while Rushirithir hid. *Atar,* he thought, just before his fea slipped from his hroa, and in the Timeless Halls, Iluvatar heard, and acknowledged the plea in the words...
***
Rushirithir stirred, his fea lanced with pain. How was he feeling pain, when he wasn't Incarnate? Why wasn't he Incarnate?
*Because thou'rt home again, My son,* came a familiar Voice, and Rushirithir thought he must be hearing things.
*A-atar?* He felt as though he were a barely Emerged Ainu again, caught at some mischief.
*I am here, best beloved. I have never left thee, even when it was thy choice to turn from Me,* his Atar replied, and Rushirithir shuddered.
*B-but Atar, I cannot be Thy best beloved,* he said miserably.
*Oh? Why not, Rushirithir, My son?* Atar replied equably, and Rushirithir's aura, weak with pain already, darkened further with shame. *I was b-bad. S-so bad, Atar. I was...I did...I...*
*Thy brother hath forgiven thee, Rushirithir,* Atar replied. Rushirithir would have blinked, if he could. He evoked a feeling of surprise and shock, even so. *He hath? B-but, Atar, I am not worthy to be forgiven, I...*
*Art thou thine own Judge, best beloved?* Atar interrupted, and Rushirithir cringed.
*Thou hath committed murder, My son. Thou hath served My fallen son Mbelkoro, willingly and knowingly committing deeds which were unlawful and against the nature I gave thee,* Atar said, and Rushirithir trembled. His Atar paused. *Dost thou know why thou'rt still My best beloved, even so?*
*N-no...sorry, Atar, I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry...* Rushirithir wept, and Atar smiled on him. *Because, like thy brethren and like the Children I created to dwell within Arda, thou hast free will, Rushirithir. Olorin has asked for thy pardon, which I will give thee. Welcome home, My son.*
The End
T.A. 3019,
January 15, fall of Gandalf in Moria.
January 23, Gandalf pursues Rushirithir to the peak of Zirik-zagil.
January 25. Gandalf kills Rushirithir, dies in the process
Author: Kaylee Arafinwiel
Summary: The beginnings of the Balrog of Moria...the very beginning, that is. And the end. And the middle, of course...though the middle was longest in coming. Go figure..
Elements: barter, yellow, water.
Warning: Dark, aka not at all my usual type, which is, of course, the point of a "Think Outside The Box" challenge.
A/N: I am indebted to Fiondil, whose character Rushirithir the Umaia has been used here as the true name of the Balrog of Moria, with permission. I do not claim that this is what my atar indonyo plans to do with Rushirithir (though it makes a ton of sense for a character named "Fire-Light" in Valarin.) Melkor (albeit named "Mbelkoro", his earliest Quenya name), will figure prominently in the early story.
Manawenuz is the Valarin name of Manwe.
Ulluboz is Valarin for Ulmo.
***
*Rushirithir!* Olórin called to his elder brother in their Atar's Thought, as the young Ainur played in the water-meads of the Timeless Halls. Olórin was grateful that his brother had agreed to play hide-and-find with him, though it seemed Rushirithir was much better at hiding than Olórin was at finding...he had not found his brother, though Olórin was sure he had examined every nook and cranny of the pleasance.
*Rushirithir!* he called again, his aura flickering in distress.
Rushirithir, in fact, had thought himself away from the water-meads entirely. He was entertaining himself by staring, transfixed, at the wall of fire that marked the edge of the Halls, wondering what lay Outside. No, he knew what lay Outside.
Outside was the Void, an empty darkness. Dark and light, side by side...they were beautiful together. His baby brother did not see the beauty in darkness, Rushirithir thought, with some scorn. But then he felt a frisson of awe course through him, as he felt the regard of a higher Ainu. Much higher. He acknowledged the presence of Mbelkoro, whose dark blue aura was like and yet unlike these flames. *Eldest.*
*My son,* Mbelkoro bespoke him, rather than the usual 'little brother' he had come to expect from the Highest among the Ainur.
Rushirithir's aura flared with joy at such an endearment. *My father,* he replied, though he felt a niggling doubt. They shared the same Father, did they not? Why then would he grant even the Eldest such a name? But Mbelkoro's aura caressed him enticingly, and such doubts faded. *What wouldst thou have of me, Eldest?* Rushirithir asked.
*I wouldst have thy loyalty, my son,* Mbelkoro replied soothingly. *I have seen how thine attention is captured by the Void. Wouldst thou travel it with me?*
*Yea,* Rushirithir replied, without hesitation. *Where thou goest, I follow, my father.* He felt Mbelkoro's smile, though he did not understand the flare of emotion that followed it.
It was triumph.
***
Triumph. Rushirithir revelled in his mentor's regard, as together they travelled through the empty Void. *There is naught here, Eldest,* Rushirithir ventured to say once. He cringed, hoping he had not said the wrong thing, and was only halfway reassured by Mbelkoro's caress. The feeling had the seeming of Love, yet left a sensation he could not name staining his very fea.
*There is naught here as of yet,* Mbelkoro corrected him. *In time, there will be something. We will make it.*
*Truly?* If the young Ainu had been an Incarnate with a mouth, his jaw would have dropped. Even so, a frisson of awe, coupled with confusion, rippled through him. *We...together, my father?*
*There will be something here,* was the Eldest's only response, and the two returned to the Timeless Halls. Mbelkoro's dark blue aura darkened further when they 'heard' the crying of one of the youngest being soothed by Atar.
*That's Olorin!* Rushirithir exclaimed. He felt Mbelkoro's disapproval, and hesitated...
***
The siren call of Mbelkoro's power was more enticing than the so-called gift of his little brother. Olorin was an annoyance at best, a pest at worst, the older Maia often thought now; he had forgotten the times when he used to play quietly with his little brother hanging on to everything he said, eager to learn. He did not see that he followed Mbelkoro in the same way as Olorin had followed him, though the Eldest seemed tolerant, even fond of Rushirithir.
Olorin noticed, though, and so it was that he found himself in the company of Ulluboz in the water-meads, when Rushirithir had failed to find him yet again. The much older Ainu's aura brightened in welcome, dimming when it was clear Olorin had been upset. *What troubles ye, Little Brother?* Ulluboz queried, and a sigh rippled through Olorin's fea.
*I am losing my brother to the Eldest,* he said quietly. *Dost thou think I should tell Atar?*
*Atar knoweth all, Little Brother, but it pleaseth Him if thou cometh to Him with thy concerns,* Ulluboz replied. *I, too, will watch over thy brother for thee.*
Olorin's golden-yellow aura brightened. *I thank thee, Ulluboz.* He thought his way out of the gardens and was going to find Atar when his brother appeared before him. Honeyed reassurances from Rushirithir were enough to distract Olorin from his purpose.
*I will play with you again, Little Brother.* Rushirithir promised, *and no running away. Just do not tell Atar about my meetings with Mbelkoro. They are a secret, Little Brother. A special secret.* Glad to have his brother's regard again, Olorin promised, making the barter, though questions niggled in his mind. At least Ulluboz knew.
And so it continued in the place where Time had little to no meaning...
***
When Atar entreated them to join in His great Music, Rushirithir obeyed. But soon Mbelkoro began making a different Music, and Rushirithir remembered the Eldest's words about making something together. He cleaved to Mbelkoro's Song, reveling in the dark, discordant beauty of it, how it was different from all others. Here and there he found other Ainur joining in...but not Olorin, to his disappointment. If only Olorin could see how beautiful and wonderful it was, how much he had learnt from Mbelkoro...but Olorin did not understand.
"Why did you start to sing like that?" Olorin asked, puzzled. "The music was so beautiful, and then it got so--" he paused, looking for a word to describe the discord that Melkor had instigated.
Rushirithir looked at Olorin, and his confusion was returned. "What dost thou mean, Brother?" He forced the confusion away, and his aura flared with a fierce joy. "It was beautiful, Little Brother. Why couldst thou not join in my Lord's following? He is as a father to us."
Olorin's aura rippled momentarily with surprise. "But he ruined Atar's themes--except for the last one." The younger Ainu added, "But he's not your father. Atar is."
Clearly, Rushirithir thought, his Little Brother did not understand at all.
When the Highest among the Ainur were asked to descend into Ea, and the younger ones who best loved them to accompany the elder, Rushirithir travelled in Manawenuz's company, as Mbelkoro had gone before them, secretly and alone. Olorin was happy to have his brother back, but Ulluboz kept a watch on the brothers, fully aware of Olorin's concerns.
Even so, there came a time when Mbelkoro called Rushirithir aside, and told him his purpose...
***
Centuries later, dozing in his dark home on Ambarhini, called Arda by the Children, Rushirithir dreamt of that long-ago barter; his fea at Mbelkoro's command, in exchange for eternal fire at Rushirithir's. Mbelkoro had made it sound exciting. A Being of fire and shadow, light and dark, all-powerful and deathless. It had been exciting; curling up in a star core like a nermi waiting to be reborn from its cocoon, from a wriggling insect to beauty on wings. Did he have wings, or did he not? That he was never sure of, even now. But his beauty, his terrible beauty, he was sure of. He was the master here.
And when even the Dwarven King dared to interrupt him...Rushirithir showed who was truly master.
Durin's Bane had awoken.
And as he reveled in the joy of roasting flesh and bone, yellow flame and fountains of dark blood pouring out before him, he wondered in the very back of his mind whether he or Durin had won this game of hide-and-find. Well, that was easy. Of course he had.
***
The next time Rushirithir awoke, it was to find himself facing nine intruders. One was a Dwarf, one an Elf, three were Men, and four he had no idea about, so he dismissed them as unimportant, though one...vaguely reminded him of Mbelkoro, for some reason. But he even pushed that aside, when he truly saw the one standing there guised as an elderly Man...not a Man at all. Could it be? The Maia cried out in a voice Rushirithir knew, though he had long forgotten it.
'Over the bridge! Fly! This is a foe beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow way. Fly!'
The two who were certainly Men did not heed his commands, but stayed behind him. Rushirithir reached the bridge, trying to get a closer look at the Maia - for Maia he must be, though he leaned on a staff like an elderly Man might do. The Maia's sword flashed out of its hilt and into his hand, and Rushirithir halted, spreading the shadow about like wings - were they or weren't they? - he wanted them to be wings, but then he wasn't a bird...Rushirithir raised the whip he carried with him, cracking it down to frighten the Maia's companions away. This was his *brother*! He had found him...Olorin...
Olorin stayed his ground. 'You cannot pass.' He was uncowed by the legion of orcs at Rushirithir's back, and continued to speak into the dead silence of the chamber. 'I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.' But the dark fire had always worked for him, as Mbelkoro had promised so long ago. Now, though...now it was fading. Had his brother cast some sort of spell? Rushirithir's fea quailed within him, and he stood straighter, stepping onto the bridge as the Shadow grew around him. Olorin seemed so small in the dimming light...small as a newly-Emerged Ainu, and Rushirithir was struck by the sudden memories. He pushed them away, red sword of fire leaping out in answer before Rushirithir even thought what he was doing.
His brother's sword came to meet it, and shattered Rushirithir's blade, throwing him off-balance. Olorin swayed, stepped back, and faced Rushirithir as steadily as before.
'You cannot pass!'
Rushirithir was reminded of his brother trying to prove he was big and strong though he was the younger. Well, he had certainly beaten Rushirithir's sword. But he still had the whip...and he would teach his belligerent Little Brother a lesson! Leaping forward, Rushirithir flashed the whip, only to find two new opponents. He had forgotten about the Men!
'He cannot stand alone! Elendil! I am with you, Gandalf!' cried the taller of the two. Gandalf? Ah, that must be Olorin's new name.
'Gondor!' cried the other Man, and Rushirithir wheeled to face them. It was a mistake. Olorin...Gandalf...smote his staff upon the bridge, breaking it and releasing a sheet of white flame.
The Secret Fire! The Flame Imperishable. Rushirithir trembled as the Bridge broke at his feet. He tumbled forward, but in a last desperate move for victory, Rushirithir lashed his whip about his brother's knees, pulling Olorin with him. He could hear Olorin's desperate cry, 'Fly, you fools!' and then they fell together...
***
He did not know how long it had been before they landed at the bottom, in a pool of water. His flames were extinguished as the two brothers grappled, broken and bleeding, each wanting to best the other. Damp and cold, Rushirithir pulled Olorin from the pool; he could feel Ulmo's eyes on them there, and he did not want the Vala to be carrying news to their masters. Shaking the water off, he began to climb wearily, hoping the heights would give him advantage, with his brother following after...
***
They reached the peak of Zirik-zagil, climbing and fighting all the way, though after how long, Rushirithir could not say. Weakened even further, the brothers fought to the last.
His last thought, as Olorin threw him from the precipice, before he broke on the ground and his flame-fed fea was swept up by the Source of their existence, was that he was glad Olorin had won just this once...
...Meanwhile, beyond exhausted, trembling, dying, Gandalf was terribly thirsty, but he would gladly trade the world's worth of water to hear his brother's voice, just once more, reminding him not to peek while Rushirithir hid. *Atar,* he thought, just before his fea slipped from his hroa, and in the Timeless Halls, Iluvatar heard, and acknowledged the plea in the words...
***
Rushirithir stirred, his fea lanced with pain. How was he feeling pain, when he wasn't Incarnate? Why wasn't he Incarnate?
*Because thou'rt home again, My son,* came a familiar Voice, and Rushirithir thought he must be hearing things.
*A-atar?* He felt as though he were a barely Emerged Ainu again, caught at some mischief.
*I am here, best beloved. I have never left thee, even when it was thy choice to turn from Me,* his Atar replied, and Rushirithir shuddered.
*B-but Atar, I cannot be Thy best beloved,* he said miserably.
*Oh? Why not, Rushirithir, My son?* Atar replied equably, and Rushirithir's aura, weak with pain already, darkened further with shame. *I was b-bad. S-so bad, Atar. I was...I did...I...*
*Thy brother hath forgiven thee, Rushirithir,* Atar replied. Rushirithir would have blinked, if he could. He evoked a feeling of surprise and shock, even so. *He hath? B-but, Atar, I am not worthy to be forgiven, I...*
*Art thou thine own Judge, best beloved?* Atar interrupted, and Rushirithir cringed.
*Thou hath committed murder, My son. Thou hath served My fallen son Mbelkoro, willingly and knowingly committing deeds which were unlawful and against the nature I gave thee,* Atar said, and Rushirithir trembled. His Atar paused. *Dost thou know why thou'rt still My best beloved, even so?*
*N-no...sorry, Atar, I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry...* Rushirithir wept, and Atar smiled on him. *Because, like thy brethren and like the Children I created to dwell within Arda, thou hast free will, Rushirithir. Olorin has asked for thy pardon, which I will give thee. Welcome home, My son.*
The End
T.A. 3019,
January 15, fall of Gandalf in Moria.
January 23, Gandalf pursues Rushirithir to the peak of Zirik-zagil.
January 25. Gandalf kills Rushirithir, dies in the process