[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Even as he watched his companions turn against, him, he stood nonchalantly, with both flair and confidence, and until the end, he could not be certain, but he seemed that way.

How he had lived so long in a village of such turmoil he had no idea, but he had prepared for the worst. He would never let them kill him. His death would be his own.

And even as he spoke lightly with the men, and freshly with the women, he often fingered the vial in his pocket, and he knew, as he had always known, it would come to this.

And so when it was a certainty, he did not shiver. He showed no fear, for he was not afraid. He bowed to the man, and spoke.

"Thou art a fool. It needn't have ended thusly, but it has. And you may believe that you have ended me... but you have not." And from his cloak he drew the vial, and the woman's eyes grew, and the man cried out, and he swallowed its contents and threw the vial to the ground, and it shattered, perfectly, beautifully, and he swallowed again, and his throat burned fire within him, and he was hot.

And from the shadows stepped forth a figure, and he bowed, weakening, and winked, still roguishly. In the dark of the night, many nights ago, he had made only one request to the moon, and as he spoke, his voice had been carried across miles. One wish, only one, and one so simple. And she had heard, and she had spoken back, and he had heard, and he had wondered, and now he knew. The man and woman watched in horror as the Dark Lady walked now amongst them, for while they had been strong, she had been weak, relying on moonlight and minions, and she had ne'er left her Tower. But at the end, and the final goodnight, as the sun set upon them, and shadows lengthened, and poison coursed, and all was done, she came to them, and in the breeze, her cloak shivered, and in the moonlight, her hair was lightless, and in her eyes, they saw death.

And the woman asked her what it had been she had said, for she had heard a voice on the wind saying she had Seen something, though Seer she had never been. And the Dark Lady whispered, and her voice was that of jewels and ice, and frozen firelight: "You shall see. Do not doubt that you shall see."

And the man looked between his companions, and saw the woman, her eyes questioning, nearly certain she knew, and he saw the other man, beginning, it seemed, to die, and he saw the Dark Lady, and he was unsure, and he asked her only one question: "Is this the end?"

And she said yes.

And she stepped toward the dying man, and cupped a cool white hand along his jaw, and she looked into his eyes, and he saw nothing, and he smiled.

And he choked, and clutched at his stomach, now burning, and he was in agony, though he barely showed it, and he sank to his knees, and she followed, kneeling with him, and gently, softly, almost kindly, she granted him his only request. As she stood again, and stepped away, he whispered, and the man and woman barely heard, "O true apothecary, thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die."

And the woman asked, "What now, Lady of the Night?"

And she replied, "Now it ends. You have danced my dance, and you have danced it prettily, but you must have known..."

The woman bowed her head in acquiescence. She had known, though she had hoped otherwise.

"Who?" she asked.

The Dark Lady allowed her cloak to fall, and beneath it she wore a black gown, corsetted in ebony, laced with silver silk, and she carried silver blades. And in a second, a mere second, the blades whistled in the night, and two lives ended, and as the Dark Lady watched her own blood pool around her, she answered the woman, and looked up at the man, the only villager left standing, though he stood in shock. "You."