Before the Sun and the Moon existed, Arda shone under the gleam of the Two Trees of Valinor: Telperion and Laurelin, the most beautiful of Yavanna's creations.
The first Elves gazed upon the exquisite peace that light radiated. They lived alongside the Valar in harmony, a united people whose songs intertwined with Manwë's winds.
But not all shared that joy. Melkor, the first Dark Lord, had completed his sentence, and far from repenting, his grudge had grown. In silence, he plotted the ruin of the Sacred Trees and the world's darkness.
His plan began with an audience before the Valar.
Atop Taniquetil, the Valar and the Elven leaders gathered. The walls of the great hall shone as if the stars themselves were trapped within. The light of the Trees, filtered through tall wooden windows, cast golden and silver gleams onto the marble floor.
In the center of that splendor, upon a white platform, stood Manwë's throne, majestic and imposing. Beside it, the thrones of his siblings symbolized the unity of the Valar.
"You have requested an audience, Melkor," Manwë said with a solemn voice. "What do you seek?"
"Redemption and freedom," Melkor replied, his chains clanking with the echo of his past defeat. His gaze swept the assembly, stopping at a youthful figure beside Finwë.
"I desire a place among you, no matter how humble. I wish to serve the world."
His voice, which had once made the bravest hearts tremble, was now only a faded echo.
Manwë, kind and compassionate, granted him forgiveness. He believed his brother could redeem himself, and that together they would fulfill Eru's will in the guardianship of Arda.
Finally free, Melkor changed his form. His dark figure shrank to take the appearance of an Elf: beautiful and false, made for deceit.
For a time, he appeared kind and humble. He visited the Elven cities, praised their works, and sowed promises of greatness. In every word he hid a poison, and in every smile, a shadow.
He waited. And waited.
When the moment was right, he began his true work: dividing them, corrupting them from within.
It was then that he saw him.
A soul so pure it eclipsed even the light of the Trees. So radiant that not even Varda's work could compare to its brilliance.
"Ilarion…" Melkor whispered.
His eyes, dark and penetrating, did not leave the youth. That child was loved by all, even by the Valar. And for that, Melkor hated him.
He had sworn to extinguish everything that threatened his darkness. But he couldn't kill him, not in Valinor. So he devised something worse: he wouldn't destroy him, he would corrupt him.
He began to approach him. He taught him the art of strategy, diplomacy, and governance. He poured words of flattery, enveloped him in compliments and poisoned advice.
They said that one day Ilarion would rule the Elves. And Melkor, in his pride, wanted to mold him as his instrument, just as he had once done with Sauron.
But he failed.
Ilarion remained unmoved by his whispers. His light did not dim, because Eru had willed it so. His soul did not come from Arda: it had crossed the boundaries of the world, purified of all evil.
Melkor did not know this. And that was his mistake.
In trying to corrupt him, he only managed to strengthen him, feeding the mind of who would be his future enemy.
"If I cannot take the son…" he muttered with resentment, "I will take the father."
Thus, he turned his gaze toward Fëanor.
He became his shadow, his voice in the darkness. Day after day he whispered that the Valar coveted his Silmarils, that Fingolfin longed for his throne. Like a snake, he coiled around his mind, poisoning the hearts of the Noldor with fear and distrust.
The poison germinated.
Where once pride and joy reigned, now there was suspicion. The Noldor began to forge weapons in secret, fearing to lose what they considered theirs.
When Fëanor, blinded by paranoia, confronted Fingolfin with steel in hand, the Valar intervened. As punishment, they exiled him to Formenos for twelve years, hoping that solitude would calm his spirit.
But it was too late. Hatred had taken root.
His wife, Nerdanel, finally turned away from him.
"I can no longer follow you, Fëanor," she said with a trembling but firm voice. "I have endured your shadows and celebrated your triumphs, but this I cannot do. Your anger has clouded your judgment."
"You… abandon me?" he asked, incredulous.
"I do not abandon you," she replied. "But I cannot walk that path any longer."
Her tears were drowned out by the gaze of her sons, some sad, others full of rage.
"Follow your destiny," she whispered as she left. "But do not let hatred guide their hearts."
Fëanor remained motionless. His clenched fists revealed the pain his pride concealed. He felt only compassion, the same he once felt when his mother died. He walked away in silence, leaving behind the woman who had loved him the most.
It was then that his father, Finwë, stood before the Valar.
"If my son is exiled, I will follow him. I will share his banishment!"
And so, they departed for Formenos.
Eight sons and a father.
And with them, the heart of the Valar darkened, for although Ilarion had not been exiled, he followed out of love and duty.
Time passed.
Melkor disappeared, and the Valar swore that if they ever captured him, they would lock him in eternal darkness.
Years later, Manwë, wishing to heal the wounds of the Noldor, organized a great feast. He hoped that joy would restore trust among his people.
But fate was cruel.
Because that very night, under the shadow of the Sacred Trees, Melkor and his terrible ally Ungoliant crept among the roots.
"Thanks to you," Melkor whispered with a chilling voice, "these lights will soon be only a memory."
Ungoliant replied with a guttural hiss. And when her fangs pierced the trunks, the light of the world went out.
On the summit of Taniquetil, the Valar felt the horror.
Yavanna let out a cry that split the skies. She took Ilarion in her trembling arms, while her most precious creation died before her eyes.
Tulkas and Oromë ran toward the Trees, but a living darkness rose before them: thick, suffocating, impossible to penetrate.
The Elves wept. The Maiar fell silent. The Valar bowed down in stillness.
The world was covered with a veil of mourning.
Then, Ilarion's light shone forth.
His warm soul dissipated Yavanna's pain. She, in gratitude, released him. The young Elf, confused by the events that surpassed his knowledge of time, barely began to grasp the magnitude of what had occurred.
Following Yavanna's counsel, Manwë asked Fëanor to surrender the Silmarils to restore life to the Trees.
Fëanor hesitated. His pride commanded him to refuse, but looking at his youngest son, he saw the purity he had lost reflected. For an instant, he considered agreeing...
Then a messenger arrived from Formenos.
His trembling voice broke the silence:
"Finwë is dead. Melkor has stolen the Silmarils."
Fëanor's cry of grief shook the heavens.
"From this day, the monster they call brother shall be known as Morgoth, the Dark Enemy of the World!"
Without another word, he departed with his sons and brothers toward Tirion, where Finwë's body was taken. Lamentations filled the city, but in Fëanor's heart there was no weeping, only fury.
Before his people, he delivered a speech that ignited the flame of rebellion. He accused the Valar of inaction and proclaimed that the Noldor must pursue Morgoth and claim their freedom in the lands of the East.
Then he raised his sword and swore, with a voice like fire:
"I solemnly swear before the Valar, that our doom shall be everlasting if we do not relentlessly pursue, with hatred and vengeance, every creature who retains, takes, or steals one of the Silmarils that I have forged!"
His sons repeated the oath.
All of them… except one.
Ilarion remained silent, his brow furrowed, doubt burning in his eyes.
He knew he must follow his family to protect them from their own madness, but his heart urged him to stay.
And so, before departing, he turned one last time toward Taniquetil, to say farewell to those who had loved and guided him.
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I am re-uploading the chapters. There was an error that prevented me from uploading more chapters, so I took the opportunity to correct some points of view and make them clearer.