For as long as I remember, it is my only company here, in the bowels of the earth; in this crevice of darkness.
In my prison.
Soon, the servants of the Firelord will come for me again. The shadowclan orcs. Twisted creatures; corrupted. Enslaved victims or willing minions? It matters not. There is only one truth here: pain.
I can hear the screams of the other prisoners. The echoes of their agony reach me here and I know my turn approaches. What will it be today? The pools of lava? The ironmaiden? The mocking and tossing of filth as I hang by chains upside down? The fire pits?
They are trying to break me. They are trying to get in my head, to make me despair, to make me believe I was forgotten by the Valar. I must endure. I cannot give in, lest I find myself warped and transformed into one of Igneos' monstrosities.
I must not give in... For you, Myfala.
My love.
* * * * *
I look at the ceiling of my prison. So deep down, no light could ever dream of piercing through.
How long have I been here? My thoughts feel scattered... my conscience, wrecked... I see no end to the suffering; to the emptiness.
How long...?
Sometimes I wonder if this is really happening. This vicious torture. This endless mockery. This nightmare... There are times I feel my sanity slipping away. And I hold onto it at all costs.
But why...? Why, I ask myself? Mayhaps losing my mind would offer the sweet release for which I yearn, an escape inwards and away from all this ragged fate.
No...
No!
That is what they expect of me. That I lose myself, that I forget who and what I am, that I become a husk - a hollow shell to be filled by the fire and rage of Firelord Igneos.
I cannot allow that to happen. I cannot!
I am Arthrand Mehiallo, a high elf of Arandor and a sentinel of Verilion.
I am Arthrand Mehiallo, a high elf of Arandor...
I am Arthrand Mehiallo...
And... I must... endure...
For her...
For you, Myfala.
Please, be alive. Valar above, please, let her be alive.
* * * * *
Has it been years? Centuries? Millennia? How long...? My captors tell me nothing of the outside world, nothing that goes on outside of Shadowclan Mountain. Alienated from the surface realm, I hold onto memories of the past. I embrace them with all my might.
I cannot forget, I cannot let the blessed days slip away from my memory. The touch of sunlight on my skin. The sound of the wind against the leaves of the arandorian meadows. The relentless flow of the twin rivers.
And, above all, her laughter.
Her eyes, greener than all of Wyrmwood.
Her soft lips.
Her naked silhouette under the moonlight, inviting me to join her amidst the calm waves of the southern beach...
Myfala...
How did it come this? How did I end up in this situation? It feels so distant now, so improbable...
There was a mission. There were five of us, braving the Burning Depths, seeking to destroy the Firelord once and for all.
I was leading that mission. Wasn't I...? What happened then...?
Oh, no. They are returning. The orcs.
"Iz taime fur yer hut bath again, long-ear! Hur hur!"
I close my eyes and pray. It is all I can do. Verilion, steel my resolve, grant me your shield, Eternal Sentinel.
From the ceiling of my cell, a small rock falls... I look up and see a slight crack where it once was...
* * * * *
Our mission failed. We failed.
I failed...
Yes, I remember now. She was there. Myfala was there, by my side. But we were outnumbered. No, it wasn't only that. There was something else. A betrayal...? One of ours...? No, it couldn't be. No elf would turn against another.
Unless...
Could Igneos have tainted one of ours? With his toxic ash and fumes? Maybe not even my kind is immune to temptation, to corruption. Jyn-Pal taught us that.
I remember. He turned on us, his eyes completely black, like pools of tar. Who was he...? Why can't I remember his face...? Or her face...?
To save my squad, I commanded them to escape and attempted to hold the horde on my own. My sacrifice... to save her.
"Go", I said. "Go, Myfala, my love, and live to see another day."
"I won't leave you here."
"You must. Go, now. I will find a way. We will be together again. I promise."
They ran. I stayed.
I was overwhelmed, defeated, captured and imprisoned. How long ago was this...? My mace, Caryalintë, my "crushing radiance", was stripped from me, along with all my possessions. Then the chains, the agony...
The pain.
How many times have they broken and burned my body? How many times have I recovered? My lyrandel pulses with life, healing my wounds and scars a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times. As many times as it takes to fulfill my promise.
We will be together again, Myfala.
We will.
Were I not an elf, I would most likely be dead by now. A deformed carcass. Yet, I get a sense they find satisfaction in being able to hurt me again and again and again. In seeing my gradual recovery, only to start it all over.
How long...? How long will this continue? I've grown so tired of this chasm. Enough. No longer. I can't anymore.
"You must."
A voice? Whose voice was that?
Verilion...?
The crack on the ceiling widens. Rocks and dirt fall. No orc seems to take notice.
* * * * *
My torturers have changed over time. I've seen these pitiful creatures, young and ambitious at first, then aging, decrepit and hollow, nothing left of them, only fire and rage and madness. They come and go. How many have I outlived now...? My only notion of time, and even that is slipping from me.
The pain is the only truth that remains. Everything else washes away. Losing color, emotion... Losing drive.
No... No! I must resist. I must endure. For her. I made a promise.
I am Arthrand Mehiallo, a high elf of Arandor and a sentinel of Verilion.
So long as my lyrandel remains intact, the Valar course through me. I can take pain. My body may be flesh, but my will is ithilmar. I will survive this, my love.
We will be together again.
Drips begins to fall from the crack in the ceiling. It looks deep enough that I can't see in it. Is that you, Verilion? Is that you seeking your sentry?
* * * * *
My torturers return. No tools in their hands. No mockery, no stab at what's left of my pride. Something is off. What has changed?
"Da Lord wants ye, long-ear. Hur hur. Ye speaku ta da Lord. Ye nub sarvive dis. Hur hur."
What? Igneos wants to see me? What is going on?
They take me and drag me across the filth and ashes of the Depths. By now, I am used to the heat. How could I not, after being burned alive countless times?
They bring me before a boulder and force me on my knees. I can feel the heat emanating from it, so intense the rock emits a bright orange light. It burns. I can hear the orcs chanting behind me, in a dark language I cannot comprehend.
Then I see him. For the first time, I lay eyes on you, my nemesis.
Firelord Igneos.
Like a moving pyre, the demonic elemental climbs out of the lava pools and sits on the burning boulder - his throne. He has no eyes, only flame, but somehow I feel watched. I cannot believe it. I am so close, yet so powerless.
And the first thing he says... is this: "Would you like to know what were Myfala's last words?"
What...? No... That is impossible! My sacrifice! She escaped! I look at him, enraged. It is a lie. It has to be.
But... How could he know her name...?
"Keep this one's head down. He is defiant and his gaze sickens me", he commands the orcs, who force my head down. "Yes... Better. Your little affection told me a lot about you. Would you like to know how long it took for her to forsake your love? I will let you know it was not long at all."
"YOU LIE!", I scream. "You're trying to deceive me, to get in my head! She escaped! She lives!"
"I am afraid neither her or the others ever got to the exit. As you can see, we are legion. They are all dead now. Including your betrayer", he continues. "But you are very right. I do want to get in your head. I figured we cannot break you from the outside. Somehow, you remain unbroken and unbound. I realized, after all these centuries, that we would have to break the inside first."
"Stop! You lie! Deceiver!"
I feel something pierce through my chest. I look down and there is nothing, and yet, the pain is there. Acute. Poignant. A dreadful arrow made of ice and grief.
"Who would have thought that, this whole time, all it took was telling you the truth?", Igneos asks. "They are all dead, elf. But you remain. That is why I want you. Such resilience... So relentless... You will make a fine soldier in my army."
"Monster! I hate you! I hate all of you!"
And the flaming face that isn't a face opens a smile that isn't a smile.
"Yes. Hate. Finally. Orcs, take this one to the fire pits. He is ready."
* * * * *
Pain...
Agony...
Everything hurts...
My scars... Why are they not healing...? And this pain in my chest... Is my lyrandel...?
All is lost... I am lost... She...
Myfala is dead.
My sacrifice was in vain.
In the end, the Firelord will win. He already won. I am broken. A husk... A deformed husk... And I can already feel the raging fires within me.
A rock falls on my head, quickly followed by dust. I look up... and I can barely believe what I see.
Sunlight.
It invades and conquers my cell from the crack in the ceiling, so bright and imposing it blinds me.
"I found you, my sentinel", a voice whispers in my ear.
I hear the clank of my chains falling on the ground. After what seemed like an eternity, my ankles and wrists... free.
"You are not alone. I am with you. But they have seen my light. Get ready, they are coming", the voice continues.
"What? World Guardian? Please, help me save her. If she is here somewhere, I need to rescue her!"
"She is not here, sentinel. Not anymore. You will get a chance to avenge her, but the day of retribution is not today. First, you must survive. Your vigil here is over. When you leave, a new vigil begins. Now prepare. They are here."
I hear the latches being removed. The sturdy metal door swings open. Three orcs, all armed. The light blinds them as well, pushes them back. And I can barely believe what I see: one of them wields Caryalintë. It cannot be a mere coincidence.
"Now."
I feel a sudden surge of vigor, empowered by his zeal. I hold the hilt of the mace and kick the orc back, before their eyes get accostumed to the brightness. Caryalintë is mine again. The other two orcs strike at me, but their attacks are repelled as if by divine intervention. Verilion is with me. His shield protects me.
I have to live. I have to survive.
I run past them. I run past the horde. Through gravel, rock, ember and fire. I run. Striking at anything in my path, I run. The ceiling of the cave cracks on the path ahead of me, beams of light piercing through as if to guide me in the hellish maze.
They take me to an opening on the mountain side. A cliff. My window to freedom. My redemption.
I don't hesitate.
I jump.
* * * * *
A whole year has passed and yet, the scars are still here. To remind me of my failure. To remind me of my shame. My hair grew back, though white and without any luster; a mere vestige of any trace of the natural elven beauty.
That pain never left my chest. All the torture the Shadowclan inflicted upon me, and it was the notion I would continue to live on for all of eternity without her; that was the blow to finally damage my lyrandel.
And because it is damaged, my scars do not heal. It has to be minimally functional, otherwise I wouldn't be here now. It pulses ever so slightly, faintly, slowly, just enough to keep me going, to sustain my connection with the Valar and conserve my immortality. But not enough to restore my grace. Instead, I am forced to live this life - this eternal life - as a monster. A deformed monstrosity forged in the fire pits of the Burning Depths.
What will it take to fully restore my lyrandel? Revenge, perhaps. I have faith Verilion will show me the way again.
I have been living in Ameresh, with a local blacksmith named Curtis, a human. He was the one who found me after my leap. He was mining when I rolled down the mountain side. Nearly hit him, he claimed.
"Only a miracle explains how you survived in that condition", he says.
He said I slept for four consecutive days. He took care of my wounds; washed and cleaned them, changed the bandages. And after I woke up, he let me stay. I owe him a lot. Especially for not asking too many questions. I suppose it is a trait of the townsfolk in this village. All kinds of people pass by Ameresh; one learns to respect discretion.
Gradually, my mind returned to me and I recovered my senses fully, my wits, my memories. But something was amiss. I couldn't quite tell what, but I felt the gap, like a scar on the soul.
As payment for my stay, I taught Curtis how to make ithilmar, a technique mastered by the elves. And assisted him however I could; by the forge or protection while he mined. In such occasions, I felt the longing; the pull to Arandor. But I could not bear to return, not like this; with my pride shattered. I am a high elf, after all.
Still, I would have to return, sooner or later. Curtis is a generous man; the closest I ever got to a human. But protecting him isn't my calling as a sentinel of Verilion. Am I even a sentinel still? It has been such a long time...
Truth be told, I didn't want to return like this; a monster. Just to think about the looks upon me, their disdain, their disgust... Hmm, maybe it wouldn't be so; maybe a spark, an ember from Igneos' flame remained in me, still burning and instilling me with this pointless vainglory, this arrogance, this vanity. Perhaps facing this is the first step towards my healing. I have to return.
An idea occurred to me. With Curtis' help, I designed an ornate plate mail, a full set, that covered every part of me, nothing exposed; all from ithilmar. I forged the mask myself: a male elven face integrated with the helmet, hiding my deformity and disgrace. A detail of the mask drew Curtis' interest.
"Why closed eyelids?"
"Because that is how I feel, Curtis. In a neverending slumber. A dream... No, a nightmare from which I never wake up. So be it then. The sleep is no excuse. The vigil must continue, awake or no. Until I am ready to open these eyes again, I shall be the sleeping sentinel. If nothing else, at the very least it should trick my enemies into thinking I cannot see them. For now, I care not to show my face. Or what's left of it."
He helped me put it on. And, upon my request, welded a ring to the gauntlet. A ring with your name on it, Myfala, my love.
There was no good-bye between Curtis and I. Ameresh was but a stride away. I could visit him whenever I wanted. He still had a good 50 years or so ahead of him, with any luck. And I would make sure he bore no necessity in that time.
Shadowclan mountain looms to the west. As I depart and take to the road, I don't look back. In my mind, I decide what I want to do.
First, I'll build a shrine to Verilion. The Vala saved me and I would pay my respects. A step towards redemption; towards restoration.
And, secondly, once that is taken care of, I'll renew my vows to Arandor - a new start. I'll seek the Order of the Eternal Sentinel and pledge to once again be the shield guarding Arandor, upholding the balance and protecting the Material Plane from threats from the Beyond.
This path will inevitably lead me to Igneos. And maybe then the pain will end.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKuT-OdLRd0
