Beneath Starlit Skies

2

A primal fear floods his very being; a terror which coils around him like a serpent that squeezes the breath from him, choking his writhing fëa.

He is going to die.

A whimper escapes him amidst the snarls and snapping of the great wolfhound of Valinor. And were he elsewhere he would take the time to hate such a sign of weakness, take the time to despise himself even more for revealing such a shameful display of vulnerability, and would quash it ruthlessly.

Alas, he is here in the form of a dark beast, wrestling beneath Huan of the Great Wolves of Valinor.

And he is losing.

He cannot die. He is one of the immortal Ainur, the ëalar who cannot be destroyed or withered away. He is a Maia.

But he knows fear.

(The fear of death, of pain... and of doom.)

The iron maw of the great wolfhound tears into the flesh of his fana and he cries out in anguish and terror. It takes him roughly by the throat, pining him down so that he cannot do else but watch his doom come, flashing before his molten eyes.

He is going to die.

He is going to be destroyed.

Fear clouds his mind of all logic.

Whatever cunning he holds abandons him leaving him with only witless desperation. Pure, primal instincts hold control over him and he twists, struggling.

He tries to flee, he tries anything—he shifts forms, twisting so that he might escape, biting and snarling with all his ferocious might but it is futile; he cannot escape the iron grip of the Valar's wolfhound.

Huan dominates over his wolvish form and every other, and he lies brokenly at his mercy.

Tinuviel steps towards him as Huan snarls at him with warning and he dares not move. He lies still, petrified, as the elven maiden seems to tower over him, staring down at him with beautiful and cold eyes, though they are without cruelty.

They are stern and full of disgust for what he is and something like pity for what he once was.

(Once, he was called admirable, though those days have long since passed.)

"Thou should be stripped of his raiment of flesh, and his ghost be sent quaking back to Morgoth." She says to him in a way that sounds more matter-of-factly than mocking. But his fear and pride twist her words into jeers and he can hear nothing compassionate in them.

Huan growls into his bleeding throat.

Fear stops him from responding with scornful words.

"There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower."

There is a glint of pure malicious loathing and fear burning in his golden eyes.

"Take it..." he tries to spit out with as much venom as he can muster but it comes out feebly like a dying croak.

Luthien regards him silently, sternly, as though trying to read any deception in his eyes. She finds none and with a single nod, Huan releases him. Immediately, he shifts into a creature of the night and flies, stumbling into shadow.

He flees blindly, like a fool running in the dark, seeing nothing save for the red of his own blood and feeling only the searing pain of his wounds.

A trail of blood follows him as he vanishes into the pine trees of Taur-nu-Fuin.

He is not pursued.