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The orcs have returned. I can hear them just outside, squabbling and arguing and goading each other into facing me. To rouse me to battle as if I were thralls like them. I did not need them to tell me there were invaders in the mountain. The thing outside the western door was thrashing and squealing in rage, its echoes ringing through the stone for all to hear. Some few must have survived, for I hear their quiet steps and hushed voices when the orcs manage to still theirs. They are crawling through cracks and passages, down stairs and across the empty galleries seeking I know not what. Not me, that is certain. Why should I seek them, then?

I only sought refuge and darkness when I came here, ages ago. I found both, and waited in a deep place for the storm of the Great Powers to pass. My Master had been defeated. His armies crushed and scattered. His great fortress in the cold north broken open. All his might and schemes and efforts come to nothing at last. I fled before I, too, was shackled and banished to the Void with him. Or more likely destroyed, like my brothers and sisters. Perhaps banishment and destruction are the same fate. I was not interested in finding out.

I found something else, down in the unseen depths. I do not know what to call it. It was not peace. It was not silence, since the shifting rock and the trickling water still spoke. I ignored their murmurs at first, as I was still vigilant for the sounds of the Great Powers who might yet be searching for me. I listened for the horn of the hunter Orome, or the screeching cries of the Manwe's eagles, alerting the rest of their host that I had been found. But they never came. I carved myself a new stronghold close to the heart of the Earth, let my fires fade to dull embers and rested there in the darkness.

It was then, free from the endless war and service to my Master, that I began to listen. The water had traveled far to seep into the depths I had burrowed to, but all waters are connected to Ulmo's oceans. And in them, as always, was the echo of the Music. I had given it little thought or heed while in Melkor's service, for the battles we led were clamorous and his moods and plans were unpredictable. But now that there was no other sound, no other thought to distract me, I listened. Even the stone held an echo-- a deep, slow undertone that I had never before noticed. I began to remember.

I had been a voice in that Music, in the beginning before this world was. The One, the Maker had gathered us all together and given us His theme and then we sang. The Music itself is impossible to recall in its fullness, but I can never forget how it felt to be part of that chorus. To be part of the power that made this world. Some manifestation of my own voice is still woven into these rocks. Melkor turned the music to chaos, though, changing the theme, introducing his own raucous melody. That was my Master's nature. Always hungry for change and glory for himself. But it thrilled my heart to hear his new theme contending with the Maker's! The first Music had been serene and crystalline. It needed my Master's spirit and tumult to temper it, make it stronger. The Maker knew this. He said as much when the Music ceased. But I do not think Melkor understood.

He was great, greater than any other save the Maker himself. But he was filled with pride and fear and recklessness. I knew this. We all knew this. Why did we follow him? I asked myself this many times, down in my dark redoubt. I cannot speak for my brothers and sisters. But I heard something in his voice. Something free and wild like flame. The Great Powers like Manwe would have been content to sit and rule over an unchanging, unending world. Like a single chord, played forever. I remembered the Maker's words, back at the beginning. The world would not last forever, and that there would be a more glorious Music when it was done. I wished to hear it. I wished to sing again in that great chorus. Perhaps we would all be there, even those who were banished or slain. I resolved to wait for the end then, sealed off in my quiet tomb.

I do not know how long I lay there listening to the echoes of the Music. Ages upon ages, perhaps. But time returned to me when I heard the scratching, tinkering sounds of Aule's children burrowing far above me. Delving their mansions and claiming the treasures of the earth. I tried to ignore them, tried to focus instead on the Music, but the endless sound of metal rending stone multiplied, creeping ever closer. My irritation grew to annoyance, then gradually to rage, like a forge growing hot with fuel and air. When they broke through to my chambers I was ready. They were not.

I slew them by the thousands, blackening the walls of their mansions with my burning anger. The echoes of my song of blood and fury rang in my ears as my whip snapped and pulled them in to meet my smoldering claws. It was different than the battles of old. I was alone now, and owed fealty to no Lord. I did not desire their little kingdom, or their precious jewels or gold. I pursued them only to regain the solitude I had become accustomed to. When I had slain them or driven them from their halls, I returned to my own deep place, to the seeping water and softly thrumming earth.

It did not last. Soon the empty mansions attracted new guests. Orcs, this time. The Great Powers had overlooked more than just me in their hasty victory, it seemed. The orcs were just as bad as the dwarves had been. I slew them too when they came too close, but they returned quickly, time and again. They feared me, much more than the dwarves had. But they feared another even worse.

Sauron. Melkor's favorite apprentice. Somehow he had escaped the Wrath of the Great Powers. Perhaps he found a dark place to take shelter, like I had. Or perhaps he promised atonement and begged forgiveness. That would not surprise me. He was always equal parts cunning and craven. In ages past he thought himself our better, and we laughed at him then. "You may have the greater share of strength, Sauron," we would say to him, "But you are only one." We would remind him just who it was who had slain the great elf hero Feanor. And also who had been bested by a dog. Once he knew what I was, he had sent his orcs to treat with me. Maybe he thought I would join him in regaining the Master's dominion, or whatever his ends were. I did not care. I was not interested in his war, or in serving him. Or anyone else ever again. I did not answer. His emissaries never returned to him either. That was answer enough. Perhaps the Great Powers would return to end his designs as they had Melkor's. If they did, I wanted no part of it.

The orcs grow bolder now. The dare to enter the chamber I rest in. I stir, lift my head. The embers of my eyes grow hot, but I wait. There is one orc clad in black, with an uncommon amount of confidence for one of his simpering kind. He strides before his lessers and bows his head, hands empty and spread wide.

"Great Balrog," he says in a degenerate form of the tongue of Angband. I remain still, my eyes on him, waiting.

"Elf spies have entered your halls. Lord Sauron commands they must not escape alive. They carry a treasure that belongs to him."

Again I say nothing. I am not concerned with Sauron's treasures or commands. Let his servants deal with them.

The orc captain continues, "There is one with them. A wizard with a sword of power. We beg your aid, great Balrog."

I do not know what a wizard is. An elf, I suspect. I have no love for elves. An elf killed my brother. Not this elf, probably. But I can still feel the anger in me rise. My heat grows with it, and the orc captain raises his head. On his face is a crooked fanged smile. He backs out of the chamber as I rise to my feet. The call to battle is a song I still know well.

Drums echo in the halls and galleries. The orcs are chasing their quarry, herding them towards an ambush. I follow the horde, my steps crashing on the stone with the same rhythm as their drums. Doom-boom. Doom-boom. I can sense their bloodlust, but also their fear. The spies have already slain some of their number.

A door closes far ahead. They seek to block the way. Doors do not hinder me. The orcs give way to both sides as I stride through, and my heat singes them as I pass. I touch the door with my hand, but it resists. Resists! I am stunned for a moment. I push harder. The spot where I touch the carved stone begins to glow a dull red. This is no dwarven enchantment. I can feel the will of the one behind it. I realize this is no elf. I can feel him now, contending with me. He has power. More than he is allowing himself to show. I know him. Not his name, not the shape he wears, but yet I know him. He was another voice in the Music. Another like me. Not one of the Master's servants, though. He must serve the Great Powers. They must be preparing war on Sauron, like they did with Melkor.

I recoil from the door for a moment. Has he sensed me, as I did him? Have I revealed myself to an agent of Manwe? I cannot let him leave. I will not be hunted down and destroyed after all this time!

I press my hands to the door and push with strength I have not called on in ages. The wizard's spell is broken, along with the door. I force my way through the opening and give chase. My whip ignites as my form begins to smoke, my own flames lighting the passage before me.

I catch up to them as they are crossing a thin ribbon of stone that spans a great chasm. The spies have almost all crossed, and stand on the other side, their mouths agape, faces filled with the familiar terror before my striding form. There is an elf among them, but he is not the one I seek. The wizard-- my cousin, remains on the bridge. He is afraid, but not like the others. He knows what I am, and yet stands to oppose me.

I advance, igniting my blade to join my whip. The shape he wears is small, frail. It is a lie. I know what hides beneath. Why does he conceal what he is? He raises his own sword, blinding white like a star in the dark cavern. I raise my fiery blade.

He challenges me. "You cannot pass," he says. The cavern goes still except for my heated breath. "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."

Glad would I be to go back to the shadows. Back to my sanctuary deep in the earth. But now I cannot. I was goaded into the open and now I must keep him from leaving this place. I advance, raising my sword. My blow is parried, hard enough to shatter my molten blade. I shake my head, again surprised. I ready my whip. He challenges me again. Tells me I cannot pass. He thinks I mean to slay his companions.

I shout to him, "You will not betray me!" as I leap onto the bridge but my voice is ruined-- unused for so long that the only sound I can make is a deep crackling roar. His companions rush to his aid. Before they can reach him, he raises his staff and brings it down onto the narrow bridge. It explodes in a flash of blinding light and I feel the stone crack and collapse under my feet. The fool has broken the bridge both he and I stand upon! I fall backwards into darkness. I can still see him, though, lit by his glaring sword as he clings to the jagged remains of the span. I lash out with my whip and by some stroke of good fortune it finds its mark, twining round his leg and pulling him down with me.

We fall, and I pull him in close. Close enough to burn his robes and singe his beard. He fights back, hewing at me with his magic blade. Struggling together, we tumble into the abyss. This one is deeper than most, with walls as smooth as polished blades. I lose track of how long we fall. Perhaps there is no bottom. Perhaps we will fall together until we are both cast out into the Void, still locked in battle.

The still water we plunge into is an icy shock to me, and I imagine to him as well. My flames are doused, my whip snuffed. I swallow too much of the thick black water. While I try to surface, he attacks. I break the surface, roaring, but the only sound that comes from my maw is a viscous bubbling. I have never been in such deep water, and I do not know how to move. But I must. I must get away from him before he destroys me. I thrash and froth the waters, and try to flee.

He has a light still, either that blade or by some other means. It reveals a black, oily endless cavern, the final resting place of all the waters I had listened to over the ages. I slowly move away from his beacon, looking for more solid ground. He follows. I close my eyes, for the light and shifting shadows only confuse them. I listen instead. Turn myself towards to where the dripping water sounds shallower. As soon as my feet find the mud of the shore, before I have fully emerged from the water, I turn.

He is ready, and once again we battle, wrestling and throwing each other in the shallows. I pin him under the surface with my greater weight, but he throws me off with words of power. I have words of my own, and I speak them, vomiting the gobs of sodden ash from my throat. He is thrown against the cavern wall this time, groaning in pain and exhaustion. His light dims. I could leave him here. The world might end before he found his way to the surface again. I turn, cloaking myself in shadow. But he will not concede. I feel him strike me once more, his blade like an icicle through my back.

I roar, "Stop!" and this time my voice is clear enough for him to understand.

"Your time is past, spirit of flame! You will join your Master beyond the walls of night."

"No!" I croak. Then more quietly, "No. No, I meant to wait until the end. Leave me here. Go!"

"I come to free the children of Eru from Sauron's tyranny, and you will not aid him!" He twists the blade in my back, and I fall onto my knees.

Coughing, I gasp, "Good fortune, then, cousin..." He pauses, not understanding. I continue, "I am not thrall to Sauron."

He pulls the sword from my back. "Morgoth and his servants knew only lies."

I roll over, in time to see him raising his sword for what might be my end. A sword, even a magic one, would not harm me, but in his hands I have no doubt that it will. The wound in my back screams in frozen agony. "Hold, cousin!" I plead. And he does, to my surprise.

"Do you beg forgiveness, then? Do you vow to undo the evil you have caused?" he sneers.

"No," I say. "I am what I am."

"Then why should I not rid this world of your scourge?"

My eyes flash in anger, "I saved this world, once! Did you know that?"

He does not answer. I sit up, and he backs away, his sword still ready.

I ask, "Do you remember when my Master stole Feanor's great jewels?"

"That crime gave birth to all others, from then until now."

"He had enlisted the help of a shadow even blacker than he."

"Ungoliant," said the wizard.

"Yes. And she grew blacker and stronger with each gem and treasure he fed her, until all he had left were the three great Silmarils. And she set upon him, meaning to have them too. And she would have, had it not been for me and my kin. We forced her back, drove her away and saved him."

"And the world?" he sneers again.

"If she had eaten those jewels, could any power in the world have stopped her? She would have devoured it whole."

"And for this, you should be spared?"

"We are kin. We are Ainur! We sang together before time began. I only wish to sing again, at the end."

"I cannot pardon you," he says, and there is regret in his voice. "You are what you are. I cannot leave an ember glowing to start the blaze anew."

I get to my feet. He readies his sword. I muster what strength I can. Steam and smoke billow from my form as the water boils off my skin. It shrouds me as I turn to run. My size gives me speed. Whatever led him to clothe himself in that small form, now it enables me to gain distance. I follow the wall of the cavern, looking for a way out as my feet splash and steam in the shallow water. I do not look back.

I come upon a stair. Dwarf-made, leading from the water up into a dark tunnel. I do not question or pause, but begin to climb, taking as many of the steps as I can at once. He still follows. Closer, now, as I must crawl at times in the narrow shaft. The stair winds round and round, ever upwards. For as long as we fell, the climb takes many times longer. I lose all sense of time and direction. There are only the endless steps, and the sound of my pursuer, only a bend or two behind me.

I hear the winds before I see the light above. The stair has an end. I pause before I reach the uttermost top. There is a window there, and the light that sears my eyes is the sun, shepherded across the sky by Arien, my lost sister. She who spurned Melkor. I have not seen her in so long. I know I cannot look upon her now, lest I be blinded. Shielding my eyes, I emerge from the shaft to find myself on a high mountain peak, above the clouds. The cold winds tear my breath from me. Manwe's winds feel like chains seeking to bind me. I am exposed to the limitless skies and I stand dazed as the wizard reaches the top.

There is nowhere left to go now. I must face him, here, in this high lonely place. No words are spoken, none could be heard if they were. I have lost my whip, so I set upon him with my claws and fire and my desperate fury. He answers with sword and lightning. There are none to witness our struggle save Arien. Would she know me, I wonder?

I know I cannot best the wizard. I am weakened. I am alone. I am the last of my kind. Still I fight. I am what I am. I ruin his form, break it and rip it apart so that he must find another. But before he collapses he casts me off the peak. My own terrible guise, the one I have worn since we came to this world, is torn open as it sunders the mountainside. Molten blood stains the gleaming snow and I look up, unable to turn my head if I wished to. Arien is there, burning bright. Burning my eyes and my skin. I cannot speak, but I think, "Hello, sister. I hope to sing with you again."

Then the Void takes me.