Son of Fëanor

-Morgoth and Ungoliant-

No one saw their escape. The shadow that enveloped the world after the loss of Telperion and Laurelin provided them with a safe path, hiding them within its mantle. Through the dense mist and nameless darkness, their steps carried them to Helcaraxë.

Before them, the vast immensity of Valinor unfolded like a fallen kingdom, a trail of solitude stretching from the foothills of the mountains to the newly extinguished splendor of the great sea. Their eyes, deep as the night, knew neither fear nor doubt; the dense darkness was no obstacle, for their gaze possessed the gift, one where no shadow could obscure their vision.

This was what allowed them to behold the mountains rising like natural walls, to feel the biting cold of the inhospitable, frozen land. Each step they took left an imprint on the frost, a trace that carried the risk of being tracked and pursued.

Morgoth, with the resolve born of years of solitude, pressed forward swiftly. Beside him, ever-present, loomed the great and dreadful Ungoliant, her presence inseparable from his since the fall of the Trees.

Yet her company brought no solace. Morgoth could not draw a single breath in peace, for the spider's gleaming eyes reflected an insatiable hunger, a greed that surpassed even his expectations. Every movement of the creature was a reminder of the dark pact they had made.

The thick fog did not hinder their march; only the piercing whistle of the wind echoed around them. Ungoliant and Morgoth remained silent throughout their journey, until, in the distance, the treacherous strait of Helcaraxë came into view.

"The passage of a frozen sea," he murmured, his voice laden with power, reverberating through the mountains and making them tremble before such immense might.

Helcaraxë was a passage of frozen seas and drifting icebergs that connected the edges of Valinor with the vast expanse of Middle-earth. In that age, Valinor was not an isolated island, for this frozen strait still linked it to the rest of the world.

There, upon the frozen sea, the steps of Morgoth and Ungoliant made the ice crack beneath them. In silence, they crossed it, save for the occasional soft murmurs of "Hunger" that escaped Ungoliant's maw.

The desolate stretch of the Outer Lands, where shadow and cold entwined in an ancient dance, offered no shelter, no respite. Yet Morgoth did not falter, his mind aflame with the hope of finding refuge in chaos, one he had envisioned since his years of captivity, one already familiar to him. Even if it meant that creature would follow him there.

Thus, after a long journey northward, where the land grew even more barren and frigid, they finally glimpsed a distant ruin on the horizon.

Angband.

In times of glory, it had been his refuge, a stronghold of Balrogs and the seat of his faithful lieutenant, Sauron, who had once hidden there but abandoned him when he lost the War of the Powers.

Now, its walls lay broken, worn by the relentless passage of time. Yet they still bore an air of imposing grandeur, whispering of ancient battles and conquests.

As they neared the bleak silhouette of Angband, Ungoliant ceased to be a silent follower. The shadow halted abruptly; the air itself seemed to still, as if life feared drawing the attention of such a monstrous being.

With a slow turn, Ungoliant loomed over Morgoth.

"Dark one, I have fulfilled your request. I have walked this path beside you and waited patiently. The light of those trees was exquisite, yet my hunger remains unsated," she spoke, her voice a twisted echo of malice and greed.

"What more do you want?" Morgoth asked, his powerful voice no lesser than Ungoliant's, his cold, dark eyes locked onto her gleaming ones, where only insatiable greed and hunger burned like the forge's fire.

"Will your hunger never be sated until you devour the world? Let me tell you, I will not allow it. These lands, this world, shall be mine. I will rule them. I cannot grant you everything you see, merely to be swallowed by that gaping maw of yours."

His words rang out, the silent wind the only witness to this clash of dark wills.

Yet Ungoliant was unfazed by Morgoth's defiance. Tilting her head with a calmness that belied her ravenous hunger, she spoke.

"I do not desire the entire world, nor do I seek to devour what is not yet mine. My demand is simple," she said, as thick drool dripped from her enormous jaws. "That treasure you took from Formenos, more than a hundred gems I saw you steal, so radiant, so beautiful! Those are my rightful reward. And as you promised… you shall offer them to me with both hands."

Morgoth, aware of this, slowly withdrew a dark cloak that concealed the vast trove of gems he carried. Each stone, crafted by the Noldor and steeped in history, took on a tragic hue, for its brilliance was now doomed to oblivion. With a hesitant gesture, Morgoth extended his left hand, and with every gem that fell from his fingers into Ungoliant's maw, a painful crunch echoed in the silence.

Ungoliant, relentless and without remorse, devoured the stones one by one. It was not merely an act of greed but the consummation of an unavoidable debt, a ritual of power in which beauty was extinguished and consumed, forever lost within the great stomach of the spider.

Her enormous black legs moved with an almost hypnotic precision as she swallowed each gem, their radiance fading completely. And so it went on for a long while. Once she had devoured the last stone, Ungoliant's presence became even more imposing. Her form, already vast and amorphous since consuming the light of the Trees, seemed to expand even further, so much so that Morgoth himself felt small beside her. And still, her hunger remained unsatisfied. Her deep-set eyes gleamed with insatiable greed.

"With one hand, you have given me what you owed," she said, her distorted voice now sounding even more commanding. "But you have only half fulfilled your promise. Scraps will not suffice when you have pledged a feast."

At these words, the tension in the air became palpable. The two dark beings locked eyes for what seemed an eternity. In that instant, time itself appeared to stand still.

Morgoth clutched behind his back a crystal casket containing the three Silmarils. And Ungoliant knew it.

"Give me those three jewels with your other hand."

----

-Alqualondë-

Alqualondë, the city of the Teleri, rose like a radiant jewel upon the western shores of Aman, where the waters of the great bay of Eldamar kissed the Undying Lands. Built upon the curved edge of the sea, its splendor rivaled the stars, for its walls shone with brilliance, and in its white marble streets, the Teleri sang in honor of the lost light of the Trees.

But that moment would soon be overshadowed by the inevitable. In the distance, torches flickered like serpents in motion, rising high into the night. Nine figures led the elven hosts of the Noldor.

"Look there," said Fëanor. "Beautiful ships, used only for fishing, how ridiculous!"

Turning swiftly, he cast his gaze upon those who followed him, his fiery spirit warming the cold night air. They had advanced in the heat of the moment, and Fëanor was fully aware of it, his urgency reflected in his quick stride.

'If they refuse to give us their ships... then this will be the first time kinslaying shall stain our hands,' he thought as he stepped through the gates of Alqualondë.

***

Advance chapters in "[email protected]/Mrnevercry"