The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As the column of smoke from the pyre of Barrold Ferny dropped farther into the distance behind them, the small party of man, woman, and two hobbits moved leisurely toward the west and the steep trails through the Misty Mountains back toward Rivendell. With Toby still not in peak form and the rest of them tired to their bones despite their lightened spirits, they traveled only a short distance each day, camping in the late afternoon and getting underway again well after sunrise the following day. Evenings around the campfire were spent merrily in storytelling and song. On more than one occasion, Benia wished for the little brass finger cymbals that remained in her pack back in the Elven refuge of Rivendell, letting her voice rise unaccompanied as she sang songs from the Southern deserts and her childhood for the first time since that unfortunate evening in the Forsaken Inn. Nonetheless, despite her joy, Benia watched her companions closely with a mixture of affection and concern as they traveled. Toby seemed to be mending well, though slowly, and Gilly’s mood seemed to improve with each step as every mile drew her that much closer to a reunion with her beloved husband and sons.

One evening, Benia found Dúlrain standing on the edge of their camp, gazing into the southern distance where his captain and the others no doubt still pursued the Ravener to whatever end, his dark brow clouded with worry and deep thought. At a touch from her hand, he smiled and rejoined the rest of them at the fire, but she could tell that his thoughts still strayed to the chase. He had agreed to relinquish the idea of revenge, but she knew that the knowledge Naiore Dannan was still at large troubled him deeply. His sense of duty was strong and, while other obligations -- and perhaps his heart -- kept him with her at the moment, she knew that he would feel the inescapable pull of duty so long as Naiore remained free to wreak her havoc upon the peoples of Middle Earth. He was still not fully recovered from the wounds he had received in the Lone Lands and the weeks since then had been demanding on both his body and his soul, but Benia was determined not to release him from her sight until he had fully regained his strength. When that time came, she knew she must let him go to pursue his duty in the service of his king, but she also knew that she would follow him as far as she could and wait for his return to her arms with the unshakable faith of her love.

Seeing her looking at him, Dúlrain reached out and touched her shoulder. She smiled. A long road lay between them and Rivendell, and the future that would take him away again. She would enjoy the moment, she decided. After all, there was no point in frittering away a happy present in worry about the future. Gilly, on the other hand, was already looking to the future, prating away happily to an interested Toby about Bywater and the Shire. She wondered if Toby would return to the Shire with Gilly and cash in on his status with the hobbit ladies as the One Who Got Away, possibly even settle down with one of them, or if he would return to Bree and his old ways. It would be interesting to find out. She was certain that Gilly would keep her informed to the best of her knowledge as to what the good Mr. Longholes was up to. Quite a friendship seemed to have taken root there. As for herself? She was happy. The future could descend upon them all, however and with whatever tidings it chose to bring along, once they reached Rivendell, but for the moment? With the exception of her finger cymbals, Benia had all that she required.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Amandur, Léspheria & Vanwe ----- Nerindel

The gentle chirping of crickets and the low crackle of the slowly dieing camp fire were all that Avanill could hear as he pulled his cloak tighter to ward off the cold bite of the night air. It was again his turn at watch, but as he peered out into the darkness he thought he saw movement, a brief shadow in the distance just to the left of their small camp. He kept completely still and peered deeper into the obscured darkness, but he could see nothing and soon dismissed it as a fox or some other creature of the wild. They were all edgy and the frustration of not sighting their goal was beginning to have its toll on them all. Shaking his head he rubbed his eyes and resumed his watch, “keep focused!” he muttered to himself remembering the cunning and guile of the elf that they hunted .

Both Amandur and Menecin appeared to be sound asleep but off course neither fully was, each accustom in his own way of the importance of keeping one eye open and one ear to the ground when out in the open hunting such a deadly foe. As he rested Amandur thoughts were of Léspheria, she had still not returned and he was beginning to worry. He did not like that she put herself at risk by taking upon herself these night time excursions, but as she had reminded him she was the only one suitable for the task. Neither he nor Avanill could hope to cover the ground that she could and Menecin with his fragile mental state could not be fully trusted, which only left Vanwe, young and inexperienced in the ways of the wild. So he had been forced to relent to her logical thinking despite the misgivings of his heart and thus far his fears had been unfounded. ‘She is smart and strong!’ he silently reminded himself assuring himself that she would be back soon and if not she would have some good reason for returning late.

While Amandur’s thoughts were of Léspheria and their current situation Menecin could not help but replay in his mind his last encounter with Naiore, his inability troubled him what if he could not act when relied upon to do so. His eyes opened slowly as he looked across to where his daughter lay, so very alike but very different they seemed, would he be able to protect her as was his want? Closing his eyes again he struggled against his doubts and searched for the strength to see his convictions through.

Vanwe unlike the others was the only one in their group truly asleep exhausted not only from the long journey but also from the twists and turns her life was taking, all her illusions of her mother were truly shattered and the sordid truth of her mothers life lay bare before her. But Vanwe saw not the horrid monster the others saw but a tormented tortured soul corrupted by the need for knowledge, that nothing else mattered and for this reason Vanwe could not find it in her heart to hate her mother for her abandonment. Instead she pitied her, she had let her life slip away, in fact shunning it in search of something she could not hope to understand! Vanwe’s eyes suddenly snapped opened, was that it….. Did her mother lack fear… was that her flaw and why she pursued the answer to where fear dwelled so relentlessly???? Letting her eyes flutter closed again she pondered this and looked within herself for some answers.

Léspheria sensed the uneasiness of the others as she hurriedly skirted the left edge of the camp, Avanill started at her sudden appearance jumping to his feet, but before he could speak she stopped him placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Her eyes still narrowing slightly as she addressed him still unsure of the young merchants true intentions.

“Your poison it is ready?” she asked. The young merchant nodded pulling out a small dark bottle. “good! It is time to go!” she said quickly stepping passed him to wake the others, but both Amandur and Menecin were up before she reached them and waking Vanwe.

“We must hurry! Naiore has cut loose her companions and now heads south on a newly acquired mount, if we leave now we may be able to head her off at the river!” she quickly informed them as she snatched up her gear and kicked out the fire.

“You have sighted her?” Menecin asked as he helped his daughter to fasten her gear to the saddle of her mount.

“No,” Léspheria answered shaking her head, “the trail diverges, two sets of prints heading east on foot and a set of hoof prints heading south, but you will be glad to know I did find Dúlrain and his companions, they head east in hopes of freeing Miss Nightshade.” she told them turning to specifically address Amandur.

“Indeed that is good news!” Vanwe exclaimed as she climbed into her saddle. “I should not like to think of any woman in the hands of that vile thug!” she shivered visibly remembering the uncomfortable way in which the villain would leer at her.

As they rode out from camp Léspheria relayed to them what she had found and what she had discovered from Dúlrain assuring Amandur that the young ranger was in good health albeit filled with deep concern for the southern lady which was more than understandable. Amadur then kick his horses into a fast gallop and the others followed the final chase was on, if Naiore crossed the river and made it into the southlands then they would likely loose her… it had to finish here!

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

It was not long before one by one they congregated at the point where Dúlrain chose to leave the shelter of the wooded foothills; together with his halfling companions pursuing the eastward course toward the river Anduin. Léspheria had already slid off her horse as the others drew up, and calling for a brief halt she left to quickly survey the area. Only Amandur rode ahead.

Remaining seated on their mounts waiting, Menecin glanced at Vanwe. His daughter’s eyes were closed, and as the morning sun caught her stray gossamer hair, she struck him as luminous. Like the swan of Belfalas at daybreak. Like her mother. As the poignant remembrance rose to his consciousness, Menecin pushed it aside. His daughter was worn and tired, vulnerable. Looking past her, he pondered what Avanill vulnerabilities might be, as the man dubiously scanned the trees about them as if even now Naiore were at hand. It was right that the young man should be watchful. They should all be watchful, yet keep at arm’s length that precipice of pain and fear where he knew Naiore stood poised waiting for them. Consciously the bard again drove back his inner discord. And as he became distant, removed from its pull, his bearing took on a noticeably colder mien.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Avanill looked to Menecin, and catching his steady stare, the merchant let his eyes drift to the horse that bore Vanwe. The animal shook its mane impatiently, halter creaking as it arched its neck earthward. The young elf’s eyes fluttered open, and she flashed a faint smile to find the two posted solemnly on either side of her. Menecin pulled a small flacon from his saddle and offered it to her, quickly withdrawing his hand as she took it. It was as his daughter raised this bottle to her lips that Amandur returned, and the young merchant spurred his horse forward to meet him. “What has Léspheria found?” the ranger asked as Avanill approached. “Is there any sign of the others?”

“She has not said,” the young merchant replied looking around for his fellow traveler.

A soft voice was heard though she could not be seen. “There is no sign that Dúlrain or the others have returned to this place,” Léspheria announced as she appeared, emerging from the brush. “And a smudge of grey smoke rises above the Vale of the Anduin where their trail leads.” Turning to face Avanill, she added, “It is a good sign. I believe Barrold Ferny to have fallen at the hand of our friends. For though I can not see anyone near the pyre, Barrold has not the respect for life or the for the living to allow such niceties, and if any other had been slain the smoldering fire would still be tended.”

The merchant nodded, “And Naiore?” he said looking to Amandur. “What of the Ravenor?”

“Naiore has lost no time here,” Amandur said. “She has not confidence in her allies, be they orcs or men, but guesses rightly that she is still pursued. To be sure, we five together would be unwelcome guests in her camp,” he said gravely. “All the more reason to press on, she was here but a few short hours ago.”

So close, Menecin thought as he looked at his companions. “Friends," he entreated. "I ask that you cling not to hope, for it will betray you to her. But meet her instead armed with a hardened heart. I pray you, still your minds so that she might see naught but her own refection, having no hold over you.”

A shadow fell over Vanwe’s face at her father’s words. “Would you have us all become so callous?”

“There is no other way. Does an arrow consider mercy as it speeds on its errand? No, its course is set for good or ill long before it finds its mark, and so it must be for us.” With this Vanwe became silent, and Menecin’s resolve wavered as he saw through her eyes. He had so many times hunted Naiore in hope, but he now knew in the end what horror it was that might come to pass.

Sensing the tension, Avanill tugged at the reins of his mount heading for the trail that lead away south along the skirts of the mountains. “I know that I’d give quite a sum to have a bow and quiver now! For settling this at such a range seems preferable,” he quipped over his shoulder. “Better to shoot arrows than be one. But I will do as I’m told, for now at least. And take note, we will see this though together or not at all.”

Amandur turned his horse to follow the merchant. “When Naiore Dannan is safely held in Minas Tirith awaiting the king’s judgment, the peoples North and South will rest knowing that a shadow of Mordor no longer passes among them. Though we all have our own reasons for being here Vanwe, what we do ultimately is for those people. Let us not fail them!”

Pausing a moment, Léspheria waited so that her kinswoman might ride beside her, but the young elf was lost in thought, and her father still spoke to her seeing her distress.

“I took a vow to both love and honor your mother before we were betrothed, Vanwe,” Menecin said to his daughter. “I have not forgotten it. It is because of love and honor that I would stop her now.” But he saw a glimmer of sadness in her sapphire eyes as she raised her face to meet his, and he knew that she saw past this veil of words.

“I know you try to do what you think is right,” she said softly before leaving him to join Léspheria.

Trailing behind as the group spurred their horses to thunder though the wooded foothills, regret found Menecin once more. And it was rueful to him that he had not succeeded in bringing Naiore before her kin while they were yet plentiful in Middle-Earth. Now she would face trial by men, and they would not remember what she had once had been. Short lived and stern, she would be judged solely by her crimes.

As they traveled, so the sun also crossed the field of pale blue above them. Too soon it seemed the afternoon had grown old. And approaching a clearing in the trees that afforded a wide vista, they chose to halt, their horses now sweating and spent.

With the height of the mountains rising sheer to their right and the flatlands leading off to the rain swollen Anduin on their left, there they saw spread before them a broad fen. Here the swiftly flowing Gladden left the mountains, slowing and widening before it met the Great River.

“Sîr Ninglor,” Menecin said solemnly. “Gladden Fields. Perhaps our last chance to capture Naiore before she crosses the Anduin, slipping from our grasp among the boughs of the Greenwood.” But not wishing to be seen by her he led his mount away from the edge to find Amandur and Vanwe had gathered at Léspheria’s side. The elf was poised on her horse, looking blankly in front of her, deathly still.

Menecin heard Avanill take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “And so it begins,” the young man said. “I’ve seen this stricken expression before now.”

Dropping his reins Menecin passed by him, going instead to Amandur. “We can not stay here,” he said firmly. “She knows now were we are. We must go at once.”

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore had pushed the sleek little farm horse hard on the ride south and now, as the waters of the Gladden River rushed through the darkness beside them, she slowed her pace, allowing the animal a slight respite from the headlong flight. Reining the mare to a halt, Naiore suddenly dismounted, a slight frown creasing her fair brow. She turned, looking toward the north and, for the perhaps thousandth time, cast her mind back in the direction of her pursuers. They were close now, so close that she could distinguish each individual consciousness from the next. There were only five of them who dared pursue her so closely, five very familiar minds, five well- known souls.

“Like the fingers of a hand,” whispered Naiore, looking down at her own gloved hand. “Shall I let that hand pursue me and collect me like a canary from a cage?” A smile touched her lips. “Or shall I sever the fingers from the body, one by one? Shall I be like the scorpion and sting them unto to death even as they reach for me?”

She reached out and stroked the side of the brown horse with one hand as the other touched the Noldorian dagger sheathed at her waist.

“Yes,” she whispered. “One by one, they shall fall.”

Naiore turned and took her pack from the back of the horse and with slap to the animal’s flank sent the horse trotting onward along the river bank. Careful to leave no footprints of her own, Naiore turned and moved back in the direction from whence she had come. Finding a hollow beneath a bush, she knelt and concealed her pack, taking from it only her bow and a handful of gray arrows. Her two curved swords already hung ready at her sides, but her fingertips lingered over the fletchings of the fine elven arrows. She would use no orcish arrows for this errand. Her prey must know who it was that sought to destroy them. Let their fear grow...

Flitting like a shadow across the moonlit ground, Naiore moved purposefully in the direction of her pursuers, throwing her mind ahead of her as she ran. Finding Léspheria’s consciousness in the misty distance, Naiore formulated an idea and sent it onward into the mind of the dark-haired elf-lady who dared to follow her.

Yes, purred the voice of Naiore into Léspheria’s waiting ears. Come, little cousin, if you dare. Come and find me. We have much to talk about, if you’ve the stomach for it.

There was a hesitation and a slight ripple in the other woman’s consciousness before the accustomed wall fell into place, blocking Naiore’s melodious voice. Nonetheless, Naiore smiled, knowing that she had gotten through to her pursuer. Come, she continued to beckon enticingly. Come, cousin, come and find me. I’ll wait for you and your friends by the river, where the One Ring was lost and found again. Shall I do that? Don’t forget to bring your fear...

Naiore continued on her northward course, and, as her sense of her pursuers grew stronger, she pulled back the tendrils of her mind to listen for the sounds of their actual presence. Before too long, her sharp elven ears were greeted by the sound of approaching horses and the soft murmur of voices. Moving with a feline grace, Naiore pulled herself high into the branches of an ancient oak and fitted an arrow to her bow.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Watching the members of this small group as they descended from the sheltering foothills into the Gladden River’s valley, Menecin shared in Avanill’s growing desire to keep at a distance from Naiore if at all possible, and deeming the risk too great the tall elf that had once proudly fought in Gil-galad’s forces now counseled both Amandur and Léspheria to abandon this plan that Léspheria had proposed. All where of single mind, desiring to cut off any attempt Naiore might make to reach the Anduin by surrounding her and pushing back toward the mountains if need be, until they could subdue her. But Léspheria knew that Naiore would not be easily ensnared and intended to tempt the Ravenor of Mordor in the hope that through this they might gain an advantage over her. Menecin’s eyes hardened with sudden recognition. Léspheria knew she held the unique pull that could challenge the Lady Dannan.

Both Amandur and Menecin protested but speaking as if from a distance, Léspheria admonished them in a gentle but strained voice. Indeed the Ravennor already knew of her close proximity, and had spoken to her seemingly set on leading them to her, but more of it she would not say. Now was not the time to take any move that told of fear or weakness. They must strike swiftly, or risk falling victim to persistent forays into their awareness. But above all Naiore must not be allowed to cross the river.

Not satisfied with this answer, Menecin looked to Amandur, that he might help prevail upon Lady Léspheria. With his military skill, he too would no doubt recognize the necessity of choosing ground more suitable than this. They must not be pressed to act prematurely. But the ranger did not offer up any assistance or explanation. And as the gaze of the Dúnadan met his, Menecin could see in his face that he was deeply concerned. Menecin quickly reined in his dun horse to drop back where Vanwe and Avanill followed. Seeing that the bard did not pursue his point any further, and had fallen in line with the others, Amandur’s saddle creaked as he turned round and continued on soberly. With his horse close by Léspheria’s and a set expression, he resumed his careful study not only of the path before them, but also the fleeting waves that had begun to wash over the Ravennor’s kinswoman.

Once behind them, Menecin did not allow himself to think long on how Léspheria‘s determination provoked sharp memories of her mother in this. He was the only one perhaps, to see this echo of Valaindon, and who truly understood - the only one beside Naiore. Slipping the bow from off his shoulder, he handed it to Avanill, resolving that they should not fail to protect her as he had once failed her mother. “If I am not mistaken, Avanill you have both motive and means to put these arrows to better use than I, for though I might wish it, I may prove unable to hunt the Lady Dannan in such a manner.” But Avanill hesitated to take hold of the weapon, asking if Menecin intended then to walk the marshland unarmed. Reaching over his shoulders the elf withdrew two daggers with long and bitter blades, saying that he chose to rely on these old and well known companions for his defense, but asked that in exchange for the bow the merchant might watch over Vanwe, shielding her from Naiore’s sight for as long as might be. Truly, as much as he wished to be at Vanwe’s side to protect her, he wished also be free to draw Naiore’s attention away from either his daughter or Léspheria if the plan were to sour.

Eyeing the fine bow, Avanill reluctantly admitted that perhaps Vanwe would not feel safe in his company. “For I do not know who would rest the better if I hung from a gibbet, your daughter or her mother!” But Vanwe, after silently searching her father’s face told him that she would go with Avanill, if he now wished it. And as the elf gravely nodded, a smile flickered across the young man’s face, and he eagerly snatched the bow and quiver from Menecin’s hand.

Stopping his horse, Avanill briefly examined the elven arrows, and choosing carefully those with broadest heads, he placed their shafts between the fingers of his fist. Dousing their points with thin liquid from a vial among his belongings, he held them thus splayed in one hand to dry as he caught up with Menecin and his daughter. Several more times along the way Menecin noted Vanwe watching intently as Avanill repeated this procedure. But it was not until they neared the river, Amandur silently giving them a sign to spread out as he and Léspheria drifted off the path to the right, that the merchant at last returned the arrows to the quiver at his back, with tangible satisfaction.

Menecin guided his horse downstream toward the tall reeds and clumps of yellow gladden flowers, not hearing what it was that Vanwe whispered so quietly to Avanill. But had he heard the man’s answers, it would quickly have been clear she pleaded with him. “I must defend myself," the young man said. "And I can’t let her walk out of here either. I’ll not live my life looking over my shoulder; for she knows where it is I come from. What poison? I must only nick her flesh…no, that was a crude concoction she chose, and this one I’ve brewed is excellent. Tallas earned all the respect credited him for herb lore, his stores and knowledge of that was faultless.” The shadow on Vanwe’s face deepened as she recalled Avanill’s hand in the old man’s murder, and the merchant looked away to find that Menecin could no longer be seen. “Ah, I know now your father is mad after all, sending you with me,” he said sighed. “But what a stroke of luck, it could be quite useful to have you along, and we could help each other out if things go wrong. That is, if you yourself choose to stay with me.”

Meanwhile Menecin, his keen eyes scanning the way before him, quickened the pace of his mount, riding further away from Vanwe. The soft ground by the river had betrayed a lone horse passing downstream in the gloom, and without seeking aid or counsel, the elf pursued it with dagger drawn.

[Nerindel]

Lespheria

Lespheria sat erect and alert upon her white mare, the noble baring of her birth apparent, but within her mind she could sense the first stirrings of the beast within, a discord in the song of the world that once before she had been forced to banish to the depths of her heart soul and mind, she alone now in this world knew where it dwelt and what it craved! But she would not give into its hunger. No it would remain buried in her determination and strength of will, but in all Irony it was most likely the only bait she knew Naiore could not resist and the one thing that in the revennors control could completely destroy them all!

‘Come, little cousin, if you dare’ Naiore’s alluring taunt echoed again and again in Lespheria’s mind as she let her sharp elven eyes searched out her quarry and her acute elven ears listened for even the slightest murmur of her cousins presence. However nothing stirred, but the chirping of crickets and the whisper of the night winds through the tall grass and leaves in the tree tops, something suddenly felt strangely wrong. Signalling to Amandur she slowed her mount to a gentle stop. “something is not right!” she whispered as the ranger reached her side, he nodded but said nothing as he waiting for her to explain. Slowly and cautiously she opened one of several doors in her mind and pressed outwards searching out the Revennor.

“Ah there you are!” she whispered in Naiore’s mind. “ I have come, not only do I dare cousin but I defy you and will always be here to stand between you and what you seek!” she pressed defiantly and with strength of conviction that challenged Naiore.

Naiore’s humourless laughter filled her mind in response, “you foolish child, you are strong but not nearly strong enough hardly worth the effor…” There was a sudden pause in the revennors retort as a ripple of something hidden washed over Lespheria’s mind, something she was quick to guard against and as another wall went up Naiore’s interest grew, “what do you hide little cousin? what is it you do not wish me to see?” she pondered to herself . “ Your mother” She purred to Lespheria‘s waiting mind, “ now she was a challenge… a pity I did not get to finish what I started with her!”

Lespheria grinned the first bait had been taken, “Yes she was strong, Strong enough to beat the great revennor of Mordor! she kept her greatest secret from you, you are the one who failed Naiore and she is not your only failure now is she ….” sensing an irritated ripple of anger wash over the usually well controlled mind of the Revennor she went on, “ they all seem to get away, don’t they? Kaldir, Menecin, Vanwe and still you have not the answers you seek!”


“You presume to think you know me cousin , I may have been too hasty with the Ranger, but whoever said I was finished with the rest!” Naiore seethed and as the words echoed in Lespheria’s mind another thought of intent slipped through.

“Nooo!” she cried out urgently as the Naiore’s intent gave fuel to the beast that now thrashed violently at the walls of it’s prison longing to at last be let loose. Cracks began to appear in walls of her defence as she struggled to contain and overpower the fear Naiore’s intent had awoken. “Avanill! Vanwe!” she cried as she kicked her mare sharply and turned in the direction of the merchant and his charge. Her face flushed with anger at Naiores deception, she bent low over her mare urging the creature on while the fear within her continued thrashed violently against the walls of its prison. Naiore’s Laughter echoed in her mind “ You can’t save them Cousin ! It will be you who fails Just like your mother failed!”

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

A cold smile of satisfaction touched Naiore's fair lips as she felt the tremor of a familiar emotion flicker across Léspheria's consciousness before another wall fell into place, hiding her cousin’s fear. Fear. Yes, Naiore had sensed its presence even as Léspheria fought to conceal it. She was afraid. Fear in one of the Eldar sounded to many like discord in the Music of the Ainur, a false chord, strident and misplaced amongst the deep strata of overlapping harmonies, but to Naiore it carried an echo of beauty. From whence did those notes spring? Withdrawing her mind from that of her cousin, Naiore’s beautiful smile faded as the question that had haunted her for nearly the whole of her long existence, rose again in her thoughts. Where does fear spawn? Someday, the answer to that question would lie within her grasp. Perhaps soon.

Hearing the distant voices of her pursuers growing ever closer, Naiore turned her attention to matters of more immediate concern. She would come back to Léspheria later, when the time was right. But now, two of her own erstwhile traveling companions approached the very tree in which Naiore had concealed herself. She removed the gray arrow from her bowstring, and slid silently down from her vantage point in the tree to a place of concealment on the ground.

“...help each other out if things go wrong,” said Avanill softly to Vanwe, as the two of them rode slowly along the wooded path. “That is, if you yourself choose to stay with me.”

Naiore’s gaze flicked coolly over the two, assessing their weapons, their state of readiness. She saw instantly that while the young merchant was armed with both bow and sword, he foolishly carried neither at the ready. The bow was carried loosely in his hand, with no arrow nocked to the string. Vanwe wore only a small knife tucked safely into her belt. It took but an instant for Naiore to cast her mind outward, to determine that the others were far enough distant not to present a threat to her. Menecin, the closest one to her location, was moving away, in the direction of the river, following the trail left by her abandoned horse. These two were alone. As Vanwe murmured her response to Avanill, the merchant suddenly dismounted and walked to the base of the tree in which Naiore had so recently been hiding. He gazed upward. Vanwe grew suddenly stiff and silent as Naiore’s voice pierced her consciousness. Be very still, my daughter, my dear, purred Naiore. And no harm shall come to you. Say not a word and no harm shall come to you...

Unaware, Avanill turned toward Vanwe. “As we rode up, I thought...” his voice trailed off as he caught sight of the stricken expression on the young elf’s face. “What is it?” he asked, reaching over his shoulder for an arrow to put to the bow in his hand. He stopped in mid-motion as Naiore stepped out from her place of concealment, her bow now slung and one of her curved swords ready in her hand. She watched as he blanched at the sight of her, the blood draining tellingly from his face. He regained his composure quickly, but the damage had already been done. Naiore could feel his fear rise. His arm still raised over his shoulder, he twisted the nock of one arrow thoughtfully between his fingertips then slowly, very slowly, drew it from the quiver. His dark blue eyes met hers in a plucky attempt at fearlessness.

“My lady!” he exclaimed. “You gave a me fierce start. I didn’t expect to find you here.” He nodded toward Vanwe. “See what I have brought you? I got her back. The others suspect nothing.”

Vanwe’s blue eyes widened in surprise at the young merchant’s treacherous words. Her mouth dropped open to cry out, to object, to accuse, but no sound escaped other than a soft, wordless moan, like the coo of a dove.

Naiore smiled. “For me? How kind.” Still holding her curved sword at the ready, she stepped between Avanill and his horse, effectively separating him from a chance at flight. To Vanwe, she said, “Dismount, my dear. It is so good that my loyal friend, Avanill, has seen fit to re-unite us.” As Vanwe silently slid from her saddle, Naiore turned once again to Avanill. “You are loyal are you not?” she asked smoothly. “Or is it something else you have brought for me? Tell me. Tell me everything.” She stepped nearer.

Nervously, the young man licked his lips. As his eyes flicked to the arrow in his hand and back to Naiore, the Ravenner suddenly knew all. His words meant nothing. The arrow was what he had brought for her. A sudden flare of anger rose in her breast as the full extent of this young man’s hubris became clear. He meant to lie to her, to deceive her as he might some poor, backcountry farmer. Then he meant to kill her, not openly in battle, but by deceit and treachery, by mere sleight of hand and the use of a poisoned arrow. Naiore would simply not allow it. This no one, this pretender, would not be the one to destroy the dire Ravenner of Mordor. Subduing her sense of outrage, Naiore also felt a spark of excitement as she studied the young man’s handsome face. It would be a pleasure to kill him, to bathe in his fear as the realization struck him that he had failed.

Avanill smiled. His expression was ingratiating and confident. “I had planned to break from the others as soon as I could separate Vanwe from the group. Now that I have her, it is fortunate that you have found us. It had been troubling me as to how I would be able to find you, that I might deliver your daughter into your hands once more.”

“Troubling, indeed,” said Naiore mildly. Her eyes lit on the bow he still held loosely at his side. “I know that weapon,” she said. Abruptly, she held out the gloved hand that did not hold her sword. “May I see it?”

Avanill hesitated, then handed over the Bard’s heavy bow. His other hand tightened around the haft of the arrow.

“A beautiful thing,” said Naiore softly, as her graceful fingers closed around the carved wood. “And so deadly in the right hands.”

“I would think that is part of its beauty,” said Avanill suavely. His voice still sounded calm and pleasantly ingratiating, but Naiore could feel the current of tension and fear that rushed like a rain-swollen river beneath his cool exterior. Her sharp eyes caught the ghost of a tremor in his hands, as he suddenly proffered the arrow. “See... see even the artistry of the arrow maker. The arrow, too is a thing of beauty.”

Artless, thought Naiore. His effort to get near her with the point of the arrow was clumsy and sadly transparent. She smiled and put aside the Bard’s beautiful bow, so similar in design to her own, leaning it against a nearby tree trunk. Then, she sheathed her sword.

“The arrow is indeed a thing of beauty,” said Naiore. “Even more so when it is in flight.” She reached out to take the arrow. As her hand moved toward the shaft, Avanill suddenly lunged forward, flicking the point toward her face with a viper’s quickness. Expecting the move, Naiore fell to a crouch, the arrow’s point missing her by a safe margin. As she dropped, she struck out with one of her legs, sweeping the young man’s unsuspecting feet from under him. He landed in a heap on the forest floor. Naiore sprang and, before he knew what had happened, she had him pinned with her knee on his chest, one hand holding her Noldorin dagger to his throat. With surprising strength, her other hand forced Avanill’s arm and the hand that held the arrow to the ground. Behind her, Vanwe released a sharp cry of horror and surprise.

“Quiet!” snapped Naiore, her clear eyes never leaving Avanill’s terrified face. Instantly Vanwe fell silent, but Naiore knew she had to dispatch the merchant quickly. Sadly, there would be no time to explore the depths of his fear. Watching Vanwe from the corner of her eyes, Naiore saw the young elf hovering just beyond the Ravenner’s left shoulder, trapped in hesitation between flight and coming to her companion’s aid. Suddenly, Vanwe came to a decision.

“No!” she cried and sprang forward. Forgetting the knife in her belt, she picked up the heavy elven bow that belonged to her father and, wielding it with both hands like a club, swung it wildly at her mother’s head. Deftly, Naiore ducked the blow and with a face serene as that of a marble statue, plunged her dagger home. The blade entered Avanill’s throat just above his Adam’s apple and cut upwards toward the place where his spine joined his skull. As a warm gush of crimson spurted out to stain Naiore’s inky leathers anew with blood, Avanill’s body shuddered once and was still, his face frozen in a mask of horror and disbelief. The hand holding the poisoned arrow fell impotently open.

Vanwe struggled to regain her balance, having been thrown off by the momentum of her swing. Snatching the poisoned arrow from Avanill’s dead hand, Naiore rose to face her daughter. Knowing that she could not defeat Naiore hand to hand and that her companion could no longer help her, Vanwe lowered the bow and fell back a step toward her horse. Still holding her blood-stained dagger at the ready, Naiore added Avanill’s arrow to the quiver on her back, knowing that she could identify it by the touch, the fletchings being oddly notched and different from her own. Smiling again, but with eyes as cold as starlight, Naiore moved toward her retreating daughter.

********************************

Hilde Bracegirdle's Post - Menecin


The elf reined in his horse. The sound of something stirring at the water's edge had reached his ears, now still as the mountains behind him he listened, a darker silhouette in the night. And though the breeze bore with it no additional warning, chariness prevented Menecin from moving further along the river. Dagger in hand he slid from his mount, drawn to the water's edge.

There under the clear sky, he came across a sleek mare that had dared slake its thirst by a dark pool and was unable to free itself. Though neither tethered nor tied, Naiore's weary mount was held fast, its tangled reins dripping with stagnant water. The discarded creature bowed its head, sadly watching the slow moving Gladden with resignation.

Nowhere could Menecin see Naiore, or the least sign of her passing. Had she then chosen to wait and watch hidden among the reeds? Or perhaps enshrouded by the night, she still continued this hurried journey? And as he searched the terrain for her, his eyes fell upon the dimly glinting Anduin, flowing ever south in the distance, and with sadness he recalled Lórinand of old, like a reflection of light from the west, a jewel concealed beside the Great River. But beyond that once fair realm, he knew lay dusty Dagorlad; bordered by the treacherous marshes where so many of Lord Gil-galad's forces had become lost. And others, returning, whispered tales of a beautiful elf maid who had ridden at the forefront, captain of a host of Mordor. Naiore's appearance had inspired fear, as The Dark Lord sought to drive a wedge of mistrust deep into the alliance. Would she then seek to retreat behind the stonewalls of Ered Lithui as had her master, awaiting a siege, or plan reprisal as she roamed blighted Gorgoroth, remembering?

The horse blew in excited greeting as the elf waded into the water to free it. Quickly sheathing his knife, he deftly unwound the strips of sodden leather, speaking in low tones to the creature as he listened for the least crackling among the weeds. All was deceptively peaceful. If Naiore had fled, crossing the water, she would not long be idle. And in his heart Menecin with dread knew she would not flee. Not without ensuring that they would no longer pursue her. She would cripple them if she could, and they had played into her hands. "Vanwe," he whispered. How blind he had been, following this false trail away from her!

With great noise and haste Menecin led the mare to where his own horse waited. And still grasping its lead, he swung into the saddle pulling the dun's nose back in the direction he had come. Naiore's mare might be required to bear her yet a little while longer. Gripping its reins in his left hand, he kicked his mount sharply and set off, threading his way rapidly though the fen.

When the moon had climbed high and Menecin had almost reached the spot where he thought to leave the water's edge, he heard a cry far upstream. Brief and troubled, it was Léspheria he recognized, calling out to Vanwe and Avanill. But where then was Amandur? Immediately Menecin let go the spare horse, sending it galloping forward along a deer's path that led away from the bank, while he followed a short distance behind. But he had only gone a few yards when a clear whistling bird called out, as though disturbed. It was a signal such as he had heard before in Ithilien, a warning from Amandur. And he knew then the danger was not to be found with them, but with the others.

His heart became stone as he veered off the path, and his horse's hooves churned the earth, galloping with all speed over the soft ground at the river's edge. Menecin did not slow, not until he heard to his right, his daughter's voice and Naiore rebuking her. Only then did he allow the beast to rest as he suddenly stopped, closing the last stretch on foot.

Silently approaching with weapon readied, he saw Naiore standing with her back to him, effortlessly slipping an arrow into the slender quiver poised between her shoulders. It was the heavier arrow Avanill had prepared, his own arrow that she placed beside her own, so finely fletched. And at her foot lay the merchant, unblinking and unseeing. Menecin was staring down at the young man with regret, when he felt a familiar intrusive presence slip like a shade through his mind, searching. Even as Naiore stepped over the body to stop in front of her daughter, Menecin felt he had been expected. The bard looked up to see Vanwe's surreptitious glance, her eyes quickly darting to her mother at the sight of the gleaming blade in his hand.

Barely distinguishable from his own at first, a persistent thought broke through catching hold of his reluctance, So this is love, Menecin? What is it that you have come to do? But Menecin stilling his mind, stood mutely behind the Ravennor, looking slowly from the bloodied dagger held firmly in Naiore's hand to his daughter who stood just an arm's length before her, a mirrored image of Naiore in her youth. What stays your hand? the Ravennor taunted him in silence. Is this ignominious ending, not to your taste? You know it is in your power, Menecin, to choose another, but do you have the strength? You can avert this bloodshed, if you so wish. The coils tightened for a moment, stirring old and pleasant memories before vanishing altogether as Naiore quickly slipped her free arm around Vanwe, walking her away from Avanill's body to more sheltered ground. Then gently spinning her around, side by side they both faced Menecin. "There is a strong resemblance, is there not?" she asked smoothly.

A grim smile rose to the bard's lips, as he followed them. "Sadly there is little resemblance, Naiore. For you have ripened to cruelty having had every advantage, and she, though born to cruelty has grown to possess great strength of heart and a noble spirit." He shook his head, a piercing glance still fixed on Naiore, "But such traits are of no account to you, though I would that it was otherwise."

"You too have strength of heart, Menecin. But did you not at first show me this path I have set my foot on? And now there is so very little time left to prove yourself. Your fledgling family will soon be scattered once more, beyond all reconciliation. Yet perhaps not all is irretrievable, there remain a few moments still. You must choose quickly."

Then Vanwe spoke softly, seeing her father's quandary. "Father, Amandur is a honorable man, he does not seek my mother's death."

Menecin addressed her earnestly, "Yes, he is a good man. But I cannot speak of the others she would encounter, even were the King and Queen themselves to moderate their judgment. And your mother prefers her own methods of defense. I see no good thing would come of the path." Then hearing the dull pounding of horses approaching he turned quickly to Naiore, "I will go with you, if you so wish."

With a smile, the Ravennor nodded directing Vanwe to recover Menecin's bow and arrows. But the elf stopped his daughter, announcing in a commanding voice, "No Naiore, we will go into the east alone and unarmed. Vanwe has served her purpose for you."

With the horses almost upon them, the Ravennor's smile broadened, and grabbing Vanwe she placed the red smeared dagger against her fair throat. "No, Menecin, she has one last function to perform, and you, one last chance to save her. Kill the ranger, Menecin. Kill Amandur and I will go with you as you said, alone and unarmed."