Characters: Vanyar of Valinor: King Ingwe and his son Ingwion, the poet Elemmire
Warnings: fear of the dark
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s—just tuning into his preoccupation with light
A/N: After Melkor’s attack on the Trees. Double drabble.
Sparks from Nahar’s hooves flew up, slicing through dense black fog. Ingwion followed them with his eyes. The proud, the high-hearted, the brave among the Vanyar had clung together like frightened children as the darkness fell on them, all their senses numbed by the sudden attack, except that of touch. Now Ingwion sighed and, easing his death grip on his father’s hand, felt him stir.
‘Light!’ said Ingwe.
‘Light!’ Ingwion took up his call and heard it repeated by one voice after another.
‘Light!’ cried the Vanyar. And all along the streets of Valmar went that cry: ‘Light! More light!’
Elemmire stumbled about his house, fumbling for his tinderbox, for left-over candles that had only ever served as decoration. One by one he lit them, filling candleholders and chandeliers, sticking lit candle-stumps in saucers, until there were small flickering flames all around, on every windowsill, warding off the encroaching dark.
Blessed momentary relief—but another, terrible thought struck him: Who knew how long this unnatural dark might last? He was wasting candles!
It was the hardest thing he had ever done. One by one he killed all those little flames again, except one—that he cupped reverently in trembling hands