11: For Beauty Is Nothing But the Beginning of Terror

Námo jerked awake, sure he had heard someone call his name, but when he opened his eyes, there was no one there, at least so he thought. His mind felt fuzzy and he could not quite grasp what was happening or why. He blinked a few times, shaking his head, trying to clear his mind. Something had happened, but what it was....

"Feeling better, Little One?"

Námo felt his entire being shrink at the sound of that silky soft voice so near to him and then Melkor was there, smiling at him, though there was no warmth to it. He tried to understand the Fallen One’s words. Better? Why would he feel better? Better as opposed to what?

The confusion must have shown on his face, for Melkor tsked disapprovingly and shook his head in mock concern. "How soon we forget," he said with a malicious grin, "and here I thought you never forgot anything."

"Wh-what have I forgotten?" Námo asked, his voice raspy and he wondered at that. His throat was sore and it hurt to swallow. His mind was clouded and he felt a sense of dread rising within him. What had he forgotten?

Melkor tsked again and held out a hand, lightly touching Námo’s forehead. "Let me help you to remember, Little One."

At first there was nothing and then an image formed in his mind, an image of himself with Melkor and one of Melkor’s Máyar, a spirit of fire, dark and consuming. The First in Ilúvatar's Thought gestured to his servant and the Máya moved towards Námo, and it was then that Námo noticed the whip of flame in the Máya’s hand. The Máya raised the whip and....

Námo started screaming as the memory bloomed full-blown in his mind and he felt his hröa retching, convulsing against the chains that held him in place against the stalagmite. With a single thought, Melkor released his bonds and in spite of Námo’s attempts to escape his embrace, he cradled the younger Ayanuz against him.

"Shhh. Now, now, Little One," Melkor whispered, his voice dark with a desire that was nameless even to him, but Námo responded to it with a shudder and fell to weeping as Melkor continued to hold him, stroking him. "Hush now," he crooned. "There’s no need for tears, my love. It’s over with and now it’s just the two of us. Shhh."

Námo continued weeping, cradled in Melkor’s arms, unable to stop and hating himself as he clutched desperately at his tormentor, sick at the thought that he could even want to seek comfort from him, yet the terror he was feeling allowed him no other choice. After a while, though, his weeping stilled. It dawned on him that he was no longer bound, though he was too weak even to think of disincarnating. Indeed, he suspected that if he even tried Melkor would simply disincarnate as well and overpower him. That thought kept him where he was, his head nestled in the crook of Melkor’s arm while the Fallen One continued to rock him gently.

"Are you ready to give me what I want?" Melkor asked, leaning down and planting a kiss on Námo’s cheek.

Námo shuddered and instinctively shied away from the kiss but he only found himself nestling deeper into Melkor’s embrace and that sickened him even more. "Wh-what do you want?" he whispered, soul-weary to the point of not caring anymore.

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"About what?" Námo asked, feeling confused.

"About the real purpose of those two star-beacons," Melkor answered.

"Star beacons? Why..."

Melkor drew back his hand and with a swift motion slapped Námo in the face, the sting of it shocking the younger Ayannuz to stunned silence.

"No, best beloved," Melkor said, and the use of Atar’s name for him on the Fallen One’s lips made Námo’s skin crawl. "I will not tolerate lies or prevarications from you. I want the truth... or I will send for Rushurithir again and this time I won’t stop him, even if you beg me to."

The threat was not idle and Námo swallowed and cringed mentally at the image Melkor’s words evoked within his mind. He had indeed begged this last time and that memory seared his fëa. He had begged for the Máya to stop and Melkor had granted his wish, but not immediately. The sense of humiliation at what Melkor had made him do before he ordered Rushurithir to stop burned within him and he wanted to be sick again.

"Now, if you tell me what the real purpose of the star-beacons are, I may eventually release you completely from these bonds." Melkor held up the chain which had held Námo against the stalagmite. "Oh, not immediately, of course." Melkor smiled down at his captive and the beauty of it caught Námo unawares. As Melkor continued to stroke him gently and give him a kiss, this time on the lips, Námo could feel the terror rising within him again.

"I will first have to make sure you are a good little Ayanuz and obedient to my will. Acairis can teach you how to obey me. She’s very good at that sort of thing, aren’t you my dear?"

Even as he spoke, Acairis appeared, giving Námo a look of scornful pity. Melkor gestured to her and she came willingly into his one-armed embrace while he continued to cradle Námo in the other. Námo watched in fascinated horror as Melkor ran his hand across Acairis’ hröa and the way the Máya responded to the Ayanuz’s touch. Yet, even as Acairis arched her back in obvious pleasure, Námo saw the look of pure hatred the Máya cast at Melkor and he wondered at that.

Melkor, though, did not see, his attention fully on the Ayanuz nestled in his other arm. "Yes, Acairis will teach you how to obey me and I promise you, you will want to obey me. The consequences otherwise will not be pleasant for you. Remember Rushurithir and what I forced you to do before I ordered him to stop... playing." Melkor smiled again and now there was nothing beautiful about it.

Námo found himself whimpering and cringed at the memory of just what it was Melkor had made him do before relenting and ordering the fiery Máya to stop.

"I will leave you to think about what I’ve said, Little One," Melkor said, releasing Acairis from his ministrations as he lifted Námo up and brought him back to the stalagmite, "but not for long. When I return, I want answers. For now, it’s time to put you back in your chains..."

Námo started struggling. "No! No, please... don’t... please...." He started weeping again, unable to stop the terror from overwhelming him at the thought of being chained again.

Yet, even as Melkor took hold of one end of the chain to attach it to Námo’s wrist, a most remarkable thing occurred.

At first, Námo, in his terror could not fathom what was happening, then he heard Acairis cry out and Melkor utter a curse as a cloud of color swept into the cavern. Melkor dropped the chain and began swatting the air as hundreds and hundreds of the winged beauties that had so enchanted Námo earlier flew all around Melkor and Acairis. Then, in the midst of the nermir several beings appeared.

Námo had a confused view of Manwë, Irmo and Oromë suddenly standing there. Manwë advanced upon Melkor while Oromë and Irmo kept Acairis at bay. Suddenly other Máyar holding swords of light appeared even as Melkor screamed in frustration and in a single thought disincarnated before Manwë could take him. Acairis gave a hiss of hatred and followed her master, leaving the cavern to Manwë and his people.

Irmo turned towards Námo, shocked at what he saw. "What did he do to you, my brother?" he cried as he reached out to give Námo comfort.

Námo, however, was not listening. In the confusion of his mind he knew only one thing: he was free, the manacles no longer binding him to his hröa. All that mattered now was that he escape while he could and hide where Melkor would never find him, ever. The nermir floated around him and their beauty brought him to a different state of terror which the Children would one day describe as ‘awe’. It swept all reason from his mind. With a single thought, uncaring that his family had come to his rescue, he shifted form, not into a disincarnated state, but rather to become one of the nermir now streaking out of the cavern. The rescuers watched in disbelief as the object of their rescue disappeared, becoming a creature of velvet black wings with grey and purple streaks.

"Námo, come back!" Irmo screamed as his brother disappeared with the rest of the ethereal creatures they had used as a distraction in their attempt to free the captive Ayanuz.

****

Námo flew with the other nermir, reveling in freedom as he had never experienced it. He flew with no thought of ever returning to his natural state. He was safe now, hidden in the Song that had embodied itself in wings, and he joined in the ecstasy of their dance across meads and dells as sunlight warmed his wings and his fëa. It mattered not where they went, so long as it was away... away from terror, away from pain... away from... from everything.

Yes, that was it... he needed to get away from everything. Go where Melkor could not find him. He cast his mind across the heavens in search of a haven from all that he had experienced. Atar had abandoned him. Even now, freed from his bonds, both physical and psychical, he could not hear his Atar, though admittedly he did not call out to him. Shame and fear and loathing flooded his being and he did not want his Atar to see him in this state. Best to hide, hide from everything and everyone. Maybe one day he would heal enough to come out of hiding, though he did not think it would be any time soon.

He paused in his flight as he sought for a haven. His fëa yearned for a place of peace and calm, a balm to his soul. His thoughts suddenly lighted upon an image of the water-meads of the Timeless Halls and even in his current incarnated form he wept at the loss of all he had once had.

"O Atar, help me!" he cried silently, not even aware he was reaching out to the only one who could truly give him the comfort and solace he craved. He slowly dissolved his incarnate form, leaving the nermir to wing their silent way across a flower-strewn meadow. Then, he heard a Voice deep within him, echoing through the halls of Eä like thunder on a cloudless day.

*Come!* It commanded.

Darkness, aware and fecund, opened before him and he quailed at the sight.

*Come!* the Voice repeated.

This time, without hesitation, he obeyed. In an act of blind estel he flung his fëa into the waiting Abyss and was lost to all knowledge of his whereabouts by those still searching for him.

****

Rushurithir: (Valarin) Fire-light.

Note: The title of this chapter comes from the first part of Rainer Maria Rilke’s poem Duino Elegies: The First Elegy:

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels’
hierarchies? and even if one of them pressed me
suddenly against his heart: I would be consumed
in that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing
but the beginning of terror, which we still are just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains
to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying.