The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

Events unfolded so fast that Vanwe was barely aware of what was happening. She had barely managed a faint smile of assurance for her cousin when her fathers broad shoulders blocked her view, she was pulled roughly forwards till both she and her mother where mere inches from the bards left shoulder. A stifled gasp escaped her lips as her father reached over his shoulder and threw the blade that landed at the rangers feet effectively halting his advance. What is his mind? she thought wildly, but her initial fears were dispelled and replaced with shock and horror as her father suddenly spun round and flew at them, obviously as stunned as she her mother clumsily tried to drag her backward attempting to avoid Menecin’s grasp. Then with a sharp jolt she felt her mother grip loosen.

“Flee now, Vanwe!” her father urged through clenched teeth as he strained to avoid Naiore’s attempts to free herself, “And don’t look back” he added. His words and actions frightened her but she did as he asked, running blindly towards Léspheria, were she fell into the elf’s waiting arms. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Léspheria instantly asked, a concerned frown arching her soft grey eyes. Vanwe did not answer as she looked back to where her mother and father were locked in terrifying battle. “This is not what I had hoped to find,” she sighed mournfully, “In truth I knew not what to expect, but not this.” A pained look reached her eyes as she wearily shook her head. “His fears drive him and will consume him if he lets them,” she whispered turning so that her tear filled eyes met her cousins.

“Do not worry so, our fears can also give us strength, you showed me this,” Lespheria counselled a gentle hand coming to rest assuredly on her left shoulder. But Vanwe merely sighed shaking her head, “I fear it is not so with him his pain is great, the madness has stifled his strength, anger and fear now guides his hand.” “He may yet survive you should not give up hope.” Lespheria urged “And then what!” Vanwe replied sharply shrugging free of her cousins consoling hand, “When guilt and grief consume him, will only death then free him?” a sullen silence ensued broken only by the sounds of battle before them.

Vanwe closed her eyes wearily contemplating the enormity of her own words, how had it come to this? What was the flaw that drove her mothers hatred of them? As her eyes slowly opened she was surprised to see her father looking at her his dark features etched with pain and sorrow, but even as her own sorrow again began to fill her heart, her eyes widened in horror behind her father her mother drew forth a dark bow and nocked an arrow firmly in place, she shifted uneasily and turned to Léspheria only to see that the elf had already again nocked her own bow and held the string taunt looking for a clear shot that could not be found. Turning back she gasped as her mothers arrow took flight, breathing only again when her father harmlessly knocked it aside. Her relief was short lived as in a fit of anger her father again turned on her mother.

“We must stop this!” she declared turning back to Léspheria and to her mild surprise the elf nodded her agreement, “What do you intend?” Vanwe thought for a moment, “They must face their fears and learn the truths hidden from them, but to do this I must get close. I do not have your gift nor my mothers, I sense a wrongness and I am able to heal.”

“You sensed fear as a wrongness?” Léspheria frowned, “Yes” Vanwe nodded, “ a discord within, that is how I sensed it in you and it is so with my father and will be the same with my mother no matter how deep she has chosen to bury it” she gestured towards her battling parents. “The ranger he is different though he does not bury his fears nor does he let them rule him, he uses them, awaking a greater strength born from the basic instincts such as survival and need.” she watched as Lespheria’s features softened and her gaze sought out the man she had fallen in love with. “Indeed we could learn a lot from men?” she sighed . “Perhaps” Vanwe replied still finding the rangers presence frightened her, perhaps it was that of all of them he was the only one who’s hands where not tied in this matter. She did not know why, but his presence unnerved her and reassured her at the same time.

“This thing, this answer my mother seeks you know it don’t you?” she asked shrugging off her doubts regarding the ranger. Léspheria looked at her for a long moment then nodded “I do, but it will not avail her it’s master, the one who planted this seed of discord is no longer, shut out beyond the mortal world by Manwe the greatest of the Valar after the final battle for the Silmarils, banished to the void without, alone with his own hatred and malice, he can never return while the Lords of the west remain enthroned.” Vanwe nodded, not fully understanding the extent of the history of her people, but sensing enough to be certain that Léspheria spoke the truth. Touched by her cousin’s trust and honesty she assumed to asked no more.

She had sensed the source of fears stirrings within Léspheria as she had helped the elf face them and she knew how to awaken it, this? she mused, is this the real power her mother seeks to understand, would this answer satisfy or would she go further. Perhaps even as far as try to dethrone these Valar these beings that Both Léspheria and her father hold in such reverence. To free fears creator for her own selfish needs, is her pride that great that she believes herself above all else? Vanwe felt almost sick at the thought as she watched her mothers dark figure counter and press her fathers attack, she frowned realising that his reactions were steadily slowing.

“The arrow” Léspheria uttered reading her thoughts. Yes, off course she mused, the one meant to subdue not kill. Her eyes searched the ground and found the dart nestled in the grasses immediately to their left. But as she moved to retrieve it Léspheria grasped her wrist and she turn to see that her father now stood with Naiore firmly in his embrace the moonlight glinting off the blade in his raised hand.

“No!” Vanwe cried already moving forward, her hand catching her fathers wrist mid-thrust, “the dart” she called back to Lespheria her eyes not moving from her fathers as the blade cut into her lower arm, “This is not the way, the pain and guilt will destroy you!” she whispered softly “A guilt that is not yours to bear, you loved her, there is no crime in that. You said yourself that the flaw was hers, she made her own choices!” her eyes softened with compassion and understanding as she broke down the walls of his defences and laid bear his fears and the truths that for so long had eluded him. “Please father, I need you!” she whispered pleadingly.

“It is too late for him my daughter the madness has taken him, he would kill us both. See now how he does not release the very blade that draws your blood! If you really love him you will end his suffering now and quickly.” But even as her mothers words cut into her thoughts her fathers pain turned to a tired weariness that etching his battle worn face. Finally aware of the blood trickling down his daughters arm and in a mix of shock and dismay he released his grip and the blade fell harmlessly to the ground. He Lowered his head partly in shame and partly due to the subduing effects of the potion mixing with his blood. Vanwe let go his wrist and brought up her hand to gentle raise his head, “I will need your strength for a little longer, do you think you can give it” she whispered softly gazing into his glazed eyes, he nodded and brought his other hand about Naoire’s waist holding her fast.

“You foolish ungrateful child, I give you life, made you strong by letting you experience and see the terrifying realities of this world. Yes I could have raised you myself, but you would not have survived !something darker would have used you as a weakness against me or made you their plaything if you proved weak, I saved you from that and this is how you would repay me!” Naiore issued through clenched teeth as she again struggling to break free of the bards embrace.

Vanwe‘s steady gaze shifted then to her mothers and she smiled gently “and for that life I am forever grateful,” she answered truthfully.

“I once feared and hated those forced by you to be my keepers, but now I realise that their actions were a mere result of their own fears and superstitions, a lack of understanding that I can now forgive. For what comparison did they have to show then any different, the only elf they had ever know was the great Naiore Dannan, Revennor of Mordor right hand to the devil himself!” sighed Vanwe heavily the truth of her own words sending a cold chill down her spin.

“I never wanted to believe the rumours, even though they hunted me relentlessly, Umbar, Gondor, Rohan they all had their stories each more terrifying than the last, but I had to believe that it was not true, I had to have hope! But they were all true or at least versions of the truth! I had hoped to find a family I thought I had lost, but instead I found myself. ” A small tear escaped her eyes as she smiled sympathetically.

“You accuse Léspheria of vengeance yet the thought is ever in your mind, you say you are more sinned against than sinner yet your own trail says otherwise, you make bargains with my father that you never intend to keep and this…” she said holding her left hand out so that Léspheria could place the dart in her open palm, her long fingers curling around the shaft she brought it before her mothers face, “this was never intended to kill, though the young merchants fears may have caused him to wish it!”

“No, my father is not dieing,” she whispered seeing her mothers anger mixed with a fleeing look of disappointment, “I am surprised you do not recognise it’s effect’s they are similar to a draught you once had me drink!” then with a quick flick of her wrist she scratched her mothers flesh with the tip, “I’m sorry” she whispered, but your sins are many and you must see the truth!”

Tossing the dart harmlessly aside and sensing both Léspheria and Amandur protectively at her left and right she tore away her mothers armour and placed her left hand on her mothers chest. Instantly she felt her mother throw up protective walls of defence in her mind, but it mattered not for Léspheria had shown her that there fears steamed much deeper and that’s what she searched for. Not finding what she was looking for she closed her eyes concentrating harder looking for the wrongness she had sensed in the others, but she could not find it, It has to be here! she thought pushing deeper within her mothers dark soul.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she staggered backwards her hand pulling away as if it had just been burnt, “No, that can not be!” she whispered her eyes widening as she stared unbelievably into her mothers grey eyes. “without fear, there can be no regret… no compassion…no true love,” she whispered to herself, tears now flowed freely from her eyes. “I am sorry, I hoped to help you but I can not, no one can.” she sighed, then turning to the Ranger she nodded “If apprehending Naiore Dannan is your charge then so be it, though I warn you she is without fear and nothing can be done in this world to fix that wrong.”

Then turning back she saw a strange gleeful look in her mothers eyes like she was close to finding the answers she sought, but pity filled Vanwe for she knew that her mother no matter what she believed would never truly understand the fear she lacked. “It is not a gift to be without fear,” she whispered her hand coming up to touch her mother’s bare cheek, “but a curse! You will never fully know or understand the beauty of life, the strengths bestowed on us in life for life.” with a final sigh of pity her hand slipped slowly away and she turn with a heavy heart and walk away to allow Amandur to take his charge.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore felt a sharp flush of anger as Menecin's grip tightened around her. Her armor now hung open on one side where he had cut the bindings, leaving her vulnerable to attack as she never had been before. Fury threatened to overpower her reason as now Vanwe thrust a hand into her clothing to lay it over Naiore’s heart, daring to make the attempt to read her emotions and, to Naiore’s mind, manhandling her like a common criminal. How dare they take such liberties! Daughter or no daughter, former lover or not, the two of them touched her as no one had ever dared to touch her before. She fought off a rush of murderous fury, knowing that she must think clearly now in order to free herself else all would be lost, but her pride reared up inside of her, all sulfur and brimstone, like a cornered dragon.

Pity! The stupid lot of them. Who were they to pity her? Had they no idea who they had before them? Naiore was the Ravener of Mordor. She had led fell armies and sat at the right hand of the Dark Lord himself. She had seen things, nay, perpetrated the very acts that haunted these petty creatures’ worst nightmares. And they had the audacity to pity her, to lecture her on the value of fear, whose only real value was as the answer to a philosophical, forever enigmatic riddle, which had eluded her for years. Fear had never been anything more than the root cause of their failure. Naiore narrowed her eyes and looked sharply from Léspheria to Vanwe and back again. That was why it had fascinated her so over the years, and now, her captors sought to gain strength from it. Such irony! And the irony would be even thicker as again they failed, captives of their fear.

“It is not a gift to be without fear,” whispered Vanwe. “But a curse! You will never fully know or understand the beauty of life, the strengths bestowed on us in life for life.” As Vanwe withdrew her hand and began to walk away, Naiore let out a mocking laugh.

“Since when have you become such a sage, daughter, that you think you may explain the complexities of knowledge or understanding to me?” she hissed. “You are like a mortal child and see things with a mortal child’s eyes. Yes, I saw to it that you were raised in darkness, but does not the memory of the dark make the sun shine so much brighter for you now? One must love both," she added, turning her fair eyes toward Léspheria. "And not be restrained from examining both by such a thing as fear.”

“And you!” Naiore now addressed Léspheria directly. “Have you seen the enemy? Does she trill her cold fingers down your spine even now as we speak? You know then that I am not the enemy. She is someone you carry with you in your heart. You cannot destroy her by striking me down, nor can you bring back your mother, whose doom you persist in laying at my feet. I see you have put aside your bow. That is good. Vengeance is dangerous game to play at, and you, my dear, haven’t the stomach for it.”

Her eyes still on her kinswoman, Naiore twisted gently under Menecin’s hold, testing his grip. He was weakening, his mind growing foggy under the influence of the drugged dart, his muscles less purposeful. She knew it would not take much to slip away from him, but she waited to make her move. With the ranger standing so close by and edging ever nearer, she knew she would not have much time and must make every second count if she had any hope of escape. She cast her eyes around for a weapon and a way out. Yes, yes, she could see both. Her own sword lay at her feet only slightly to her right, and, just a few paces beyond stood a riderless horse, perhaps Menecin's, the reins looped loosely over the saddle. The animal had wandered up at some point on its own. If she made a clean break from Menecin’s grasp, she could reach the beast and make her getaway. The serene smile returned to her face.

“Come closer, my kinswoman,” she said softly to Léspheria, a new idea having entered her mind. She would create a diversion. The few seconds she would gain while her remaining captors coped with their shock would be enough. Her beautiful eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Come closer that we may speak to one another as kin,” she continued. “Tell your ranger to stand down. We have much to talk about that would lie far beyond his understanding.”

Obediently, perhaps confident in her own righteousness, Léspheria moved in closer, her bow held low at her side. Her other hand raised in a mute signal to Amandur to keep his distance. Naiore’s smile widened as the ranger ceased his slow advance. It was the opportunity she had been counting upon. Catlike, Naiore sprang into motion. With a graceful turn of her slender body, she slipped from Menecin’s grasp, pushing him away from her with one hand, while the other hand reached out for the sword at her feet. His reactions clouded from the effects of the drugged dart, Menecin staggered and fell to the grassy forest floor, his dagger dropping from his hand as he fought in vain to right himself. Naiore closed her fingers around the hilt of her sword. With a chilling fluidity of motion, she raised the weapon and swung it toward Léspheria’s unsuspecting and unprotected throat.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur had not been idle in his slow advance, his keen warrior instincts cautioning him to be wary of this most cunning of foes. So while the women parleyed words he listened to those instincts and watched intently the bard and his enchantingly dangerous prisoner. So it was that he noted the beads of sweat rolling down the bards face as he doggedly tried to blinked away the effects of the drug stealing at his strength and clarity. It was too that he caught the slight twisting of Naiore as she also came to realise the bards weakening hold. She was biding her time! He knew, waiting like most accomplished warrior’s for the most opportune moment, then she would make her move.

In that very instant he could not help but admire her skill and cunning, in some other life she may have made a very valuable ally, but as it was she was the enemy and he did not forget this as he stole about the elf’s reach. Her sword lay glittering in the starlight close to her feet and in easy reach, she would make for it when the chance arose. Menecin’s horse also stood nearby fully accessible and ready for a quick and easy get away, if needed or intended.

It was then when Naiore with false civility bade her cousin come close that Amandur knew the time had come. He tested the grip of his sword in his right hand drawing his dagger with his left as he continued his advance, only to be halted by the raised hand of Léspheria. He stopped but only to allow Naiore to relax in her believe that her design was assured! Her Arrogance would be her mistake! He thought coolly.

So it was as Naiore graciously slipped from the bards grasp and the others hesitated in the resultant confusion Amandur moved, with a swiftness that belied his size he cutting in front of Léspheria forcing her back as he positioned himself, sword raised ready to receive the Ravenor blow.

Sharp and heavy it came crashing off his blade with an almost deafening ring, surprised to find metal and not the soft flesh of her cousin’s throat, as she had planned Naiore hesitated. Amandur knew he had but only and instant and he acted pushing down forcing her weapon to the ground, but he did not stop there he could not let her regain her composer, so pulling back quickly he smashed his elbow into her pretty face sending her stumbling back, then without so much as a pause he lunged with his left hand and it was done!

He watched detached as Naiore, blood still flowing freely from her nose looked down in stunned disbelief at the black hilt of the dagger protruding from her left breast, ‘how can this be? I the Ravenor of Mordor defeated by…this…this….mere Mortal….’ she looked up at him her eye’s glittering one last time with a malevolent hatred and anger and as she fell slowly into death she raised her hand and with the last of her strength she struck out at the ranger, a glancing blow that caught his sword arm cutting it to the bone.

Dropping his sword and grasping at his wound Amandur fell to his knees leaning over the lifeless corpse of the elf once believed to be one of the last great threats to Middle earth!

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

Lespheria

“One must love both”

Lespheria shivered as a chilling tingle ran down the length of her spine, The thought of embracing the darkness with the light…the discord with the harmony seemed totally abhorrent to her and again her fears washed over her , Vanwe had opened her to them and shown her truth….but what if…no she would not entertain such thoughts, the choice was always hers.

“And not be restrained from examining both by such a thing as fear.”

She looked up then to find Naiore eyeing her intently, those deep emerald pools filled with unbridled loathing and contempt . did she know... did she sense…Then as if in answer to those unspoken questions Naiore addressed her directly.

“Have you seen the enemy? Does she trill her cold fingers down your spine even now as we speak?” Lespheria resisted the urge to shiver as another cold chill took her, hoping that none of the effort showed on her face, but the sudden light and subtly curve of the other woman’s mouth said that it had.

“You know that I am not the enemy.” 'Not true!' She thought bitterly, 'The choice was always hers!'

“She is someone you carry in your heart. You cannot control her by striking me down, nor can you bring back your mother, whose doom you persist in laying at my feet.” Lespheria knew this but hearing it from Naiore irked at her soul , if it was the elf’s intent to anger her it was working. Naiore still could not see, yes it was true it could not be control, not completely but neither could it control, yes it could coheres, tempt or even deceive, but never control the choice inevitably was always yours, a remedy to the greatest of sins, she thought grimly.

“I see you have put aside your bow. That is good. Vengeance is a dangerous game to play at, and you, my dear, haven’t the stomach for it.” If Naiore’s words before had irked her these now infuriated her… Haven’t the stomach…does she think I am afraid…. Does she think I would not….her knuckles whitened as she gripped the bow tightly, but still she did not raise it. No, she would not be goaded so.

There were still things Naiore could tell her, things she would know that no others would…things….. Naiore’s sudden smile distracted her from her thoughts, unsettled her casting suspicion as Naiore bade her come closer. She hesitated a moment. Apart from Amandur Naiore was the last to speak with her mother alive, what was it that Valaindon knew, what was it that Naiore so ardently wanted that she did not let the woman die no matter how close to death she took her, what other secrets had they shared?

“Come closer that we may speak to one another as kin,”

She considered Naiore a moment longer. The woman was dangerous and not to be trusted she knew, but the lure was enough. Besides Menecin held her and Amandur was close by, Naiore was not going anywhere, what harm would there be in just speaking to her, perhaps she would even learn something useful.

“Tell your ranger to stand down. We have much to talk about that would lie far beyond his understanding.”

She had barely noticed Amandur’s slow advance , but curiosity now had her in its throws and moving closer, she raise a hand in muted signal to the ranger, glancing only briefly to see that he had stopped. A mistake, and in that instance she realised it, sensing too late the other elf’s satisfaction. Naiore’s hands were round the hilt of the fallen sword before even she thought to react. Too close for her bow to be any use she let it fall and reached for her sword, but before she could even curl her long fingers around the hilt she felt the wind knocked out of her and she fell to the ground.

Unsure of what had just happened she scrambled backwards, struggling to her feet and ignoring the fresh bruising to her ribs, she reached for her sword pulling it free. Looking up in time only to see Amandur plunge his left hand towards Naiore’s chest.

Her eyes widened as the ranger stepped back a pace and she could see the black hilt of the dagger protruding from Naiore’s breast. she watched detached as the stunned elf stared down at it disbelievingly and sensed the roiling anger and hatred as her eyes rose to take in the one who had defeated her. Even as Naiore mustered the last of her strength to strike out at the Ranger, Lespheria gasped Naiore’s blade cut deep into Amandur’s right shoulder and as they both fell she was certain that through her tears she saw Naiore look at her with that ever present serene smile curving her blood covered lips as she finally fell into death. She shivered and for a second she merely stood there in stunned silence. It was finally over, the bonds that tied them to Naiore were finally severed.

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Vanwe

After she had overcome the initial confusion of her mothers distraction Vanwe had gone to her father. He was still struggling to get his feet when she knelt beside him. “Father are you hurt?” she whispered anxiously, laying a restraining hand on his shoulder.

His shoulders slumped in defeated resignation as he shook his head, “I’m sorry my child I could not hold her….I tried…you should have…” but he did not finish that thought and instead sighed deeply. Then looking up at Vanwe he smiled, not the thin and weary smile she had seen in the past but the warm and loving sort that most fathers bestowed on their precious daughters from time to time, filled with pride and warmth. “Oh My Daughter if we are to die this day know that I am ever glad that our paths have crossed and proud as any father to know that without any other help but your own you have grown into a kind and virtuous woman.”

“Now hush,” Vanwe frowned “That is the drug talking, we are not done for yet and if you hold still a bit I can….” but she did not get a chance to finish as her father suddenly let out a stunned gasp, his eyes widened as he stared at something behind her. She turned slowly half expecting to find Naiore right on top of them but what she saw suddenly turned her blood cold and drained the colour from her cheeks.

It was her mother, but not so close, yet dark against the shadow of the first line of silver peeking out over the eastern horizon. The hilt of a Dagger sticking out from her chest as she fell forwards. Vanwe turned away then burying her face in her fathers chest as hot wet tears ran down her pale cheeks, she had know in her heart that there had been no hope for her mother and had resolved not to cry when the time came, but the grief and pain was too real and as her father wrapped his arms around her consolingly she wept openly and freely, for he at least would understand her loss, if others did not.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

All was quiet, as Menecin stared blankly at the utter stillness of Naiore. The light breeze, which had risen with the approach of dawn, descended from the mountains riffling the dead elf’s ragged hair with gentle playfulness, adding to the emptiness that gaped inside the bard’s chest. He harbored no doubts then, knowing from that very emptiness that she was no more among them.

But the stillness of the living was a fleeting thing, for as they each realized that this threat had been turned aside not only from them, but all they held dear, they quickly came to life again. Léspheria hurried to Amandur, as he knelt beside the elf’s body, and Vanwe, Vanwe turned and clung to her father, her thickly falling tears, a balm to his sorrow, effectively washing away his sense of isolation. He wrapped his arms about her, for truly she needed him.

Grateful he was to his daughter for this, yet not only this. For when he had stood with Naiore, grappling with his own heart as much as with the Ravenor, Vanwe had brought a measure of light and order to his darkened mind. He had realized that his place was neither that of Naiore’s intercessor nor executioner, as long as his heart was governed by guilt. No more then did Menecin seek Naiore’s life, but obediently he had held the Ravennor as fast as his unruly muscles would permit. And when Vanwe’s influence had so steadied him, his daughter did not leave him undefended. Despite Naiore’s claim that Menecin intended to kill them both, Vanwe had returned his dagger without fear, though her arm ran scarlet from it. Soon after that Menecin had felt Naiore’s body stiffen in her pride, as Vanwe sought for her own particular understanding of her mother, finding only dismay.

But now Naiore was dead, and in the security of his sheltering arms, Vanwe released a sadness of heart that pulled at Menecin, so that he could think of little else. After a moment he lifted his grieving daughter’s chin, speaking softly to her. “Don’t let her cast an enduring shadow across your life, my daughter. It is a cleansing wind comes from the west, and the morning speaks to me of a new beginning. Do you not see it?” Vanwe raised head at this, and her father with a trembling thumb, wiped the tears from her cheek. “The past must recede with her.”

“A beginning?” Vanwe asked cautiously, renewed apprehension creasing her brow. “But where will that new beginning take you?”

Her father looked toward the mountains as though he would look through them. “I will no longer follow her. It is clear that my place is with you now, on this side of the Sundering Seas.” Turning to her, his eyes where full of concern. “But you and I, we must find the strength to let our regret be your mother’s traveling companion. We must unravel these ties we are bound with, for they will cripple us if we hold them too tightly, thinking always of what should have been.” Menecin tried once more to pull his feet under him in order to stand. A frown a disappointment visited his face. “But see now, apparently it is too late for me,” he announced with a weak laugh. “Your father has become lame, and a burden for the healers!”

“No, no,” Vanwe said quickly, wiping the dampness from her face as she stood. “You mustn't think that! It is only the drug.” Placing her hand under her father’s arm, she explained as she assisted him, “Here I will help you, but do not move too suddenly. If Avanill's mixture is anything like the one whose effects I know, you must move slowly and without hurry if your legs are to obey you. After a few attempts, and under Vanwe’s direction, Menecin rose unsteadily to his feet. Greatly relieved, though his head swam from the effort, the bard smiled again at his daughter, admitting that Avanill had done his work well, and rueing the fact that he had not lived to see it or undo it.

Vanwe’s eyes drifted to where she knew the merchant’s body lay in the shadows, and Menecin seeing her, placed his hands on her shoulders “Oh my daughter, all my life has been spent looking for glimmers of light in the midst of darkness and composing verse telling of them. Such things I viewed as proof of the sovereignty of the father of us all, for they shone bright against this backdrop of dissonance. But never have I found such a jewel as you. Of those traits lacking in the Lady Dannan, you have been given a double portion, and you are all the proof I require. Your mother named you Vanwe, but Mírëasëa shall be your father name, for your kindness is to be treasured, always.

“Come, help me to your mother side, that I might bid her farewell.”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

As the sun’s disk rose out of the east and the shadows of the night fled, the morning light found Léspheria and Vanwe at Amandur’s side, tending to the grievous wound that had been Naiore’s parting blow to the man. And while in concert the two elves labored to heal the ranger’s sword arm, Menecin did not trouble them, but rather he moved about, working to master his peculiar condition, as he slowly prepared the bodies of Naiore and the merchant as best he could.

Her face washed, Naiore’s ageless form looked pale and vacant despite the rich raiment and stern expression she wore. And her familiar black leather armor, no more to inspire dread, now hung securely fastened to the same horse that had borne their owner across the skirts of the mountains. These stained tokens of Naiore’s defeat the elf would have accompany them on their return.

A stone throw away lay Avanill, his face hidden beneath a dark shroud. For the bard had removed the ranger’s mantle from the corpse, choosing rather the young man’s cloak of darkest blue, to wrap tightly about him. Naiore’s one time hireling had fallen far from the green hills of his home in Pinnath Gelin, but further yet in spirit was he from the ill-fated day in Bree when he joined the Ravenor, unwittingly sealing his doom.

With Amandur’s cloak draped over one arm, Menecin finished gathering the weapons strewn about, bringing the last of them to the greensward where the ranger sat with his two caregivers. Removing the cloak, he placed it beside the man, laying the dagger that proved fatal to Naiore there also. But seeing it, Amandur caught the bard’s arm, for now that the crisis had passed he would know what was in the elf’s heart.

Perceiving Amandur’s concern, a gentle smile rose to the bard’s lips as he assured the ranger that he held no ill will toward him, but only gratitude, and he craved only forgiveness for his own actions. Indeed, the Lady Dannan had brought about her own death, by forcing the ranger to act quickly, so that Léspheria might remain unsullied. Menecin in truth believed that Naiore’s final stroke had been aimed at Léspheria’s heart as much as at the ranger. And with that thought, his eyes met those of Naiore’s kinswoman and he expressed his earnest hope that the Lady Dannan had not been successful in this. Léspheria let her eyes fall toward the ranger in quiet contemplation, before she answered. The Ravennor had no triumph to claim in her, she declared, looking back to the Bard who smiled broadly at her words.

He then moved to Vanwe’s side as she busied herself binding Amandur’s arm. Crouching beside the elf maid, he removed from the crook of his arm the two finely wrought Noldorian swords that had been her mother’s, presenting her with them. Beautifully they shone, gleaming and bright in the clear morning air. And seeing them, the Ravennor’s daughter quickly shook her head, refusing to take possession of them. And without a glance to her father’s face, for fear that she might offend, she returned to her work. But rather the bard seemed pleased that his daughter had declined to keep the swords for her own, and he caressed her shoulder reassuringly before rising to deposit them carefully alongside Naiore’s armor.

Avanill’s body they buried that morning, as was befitting his change of heart, but Naiore’s they burned. Menecin wouldn't move from beside her pyre until it had burned low and he had taken all that remained pouring it into the Gladden where it dispersed, swirling in the murky, slow moving current while he watched in silence.

It was midday before they left that place, hoping to gain a few miles before making camp at the foot of the mountains. But their hearts were less burdened now, all the fragile screens of defense that had been vital when seeking out the Ravennor, were now drawn aside. And the chill heaviness covering the small company had swiftly disappeared, so that they rode easily until nightfall, when they deemed the horses would need to rest. And so it went along their way, all were eager to return to Imladris, and they stopped only briefly when they must.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

It was as Gilly stood beside the ancient wall of the garden, picking those soothingly fragrant blossoms that Toby’s caretakers had suggested she gather for his bedside, that she saw an elf breeze past her. Indeed she would not even have known this much had she not paused to sniff the sweet smelling flower in her hand, so quiet and quick was his passing. But as it was, she saw the scout’s return quite clearly, hurriedly winding his way through the garden to the chamber where earlier in the day, Elladan and Elrohir had summoned Benia and Dúlrain, and where the four still sat immersed in somber discussions. Only the swaying branches continued to betray the fleeting presence, hinting at the hurried atmosphere that enveloped the valley.

Indeed, they all had become aware of that atmosphere even as they had neared the elven refuge the previous evening. For while they were descending through the high mountains, an elf had appeared out of the swirling mist, to join them on their way. Dúlrain had seemed relieved as he spoke at length with the newcomer in an elven tongue, while together they threaded their way down the steep pass. Toby was still very weak, and when they where forced to rest, for the hobbit could go no longer, the elf had run on ahead of them, quickly bringing their tidings to the lords of Imladris.

Gilly learned afterward, that when Dúlrain’s horse, bearing the bodies of the two fallen rangers, had appeared on their borders, Elrond’s sons had straightaway resolved to send aid to the remaining company that still pursued the Ravennor. But they would not leave Imladris unguarded. It was just two days ago that Fintár had returned with his forces after both rangers and elves had run the remnant of orcs out of the valley. Up the River Bruinen they had driven them and deep into the northern mountains close upon the Mitheithel. After only a day’s rest, a core group were now preparing themselves to move south with Elladan riding at their head.

But when the report reached them that the four companions drew near the sheltering valley, the brothers delayed their plans, eager to take into account what they could learn from the travelers. They seemed particularly interested in the remains of the mithril book. And as the healers had told Gilly and Toby this morning, the lights in the great library had burned all through the night, as the brothers searched through tome and scroll for mention of the book.

Beyond that, Gilly knew nothing. Dúlrain and Benia had been called away long before the hobbit had managed to roll out from under her soft coverlet and pad down the corridor, contenting herself to check on Toby. But finding him sitting propped up on an ample supply of pillows, eating his breakfast; she found Master Longholes the very picture of leisure, so much better he looked. Stationing herself at his bedside all the same, she passed the morning filling him in on what he’d need to know if he were to settle in Bywater - including a number of lengthy and humorous asides - and straightening his bedclothes when they needed it. At length Celebnariel suggested that the patient should try to sleep. Even then, Gilly remained, saying that she would not peep until he woke again. But Toby, acknowledging her good intentions remained skeptical, and laughingly he confided to the elves that he could not sleep peacefully with Mrs. Banks perched like a hawk ready to swoop down and attack any rumple in the blankets that he cared to make. And so the healers quickly devised a plan to send her on her present mission to the garden. Mind, it was not an entirely useless errand. She was told that the flowers did have some sort of special property, and she enjoyed the beautiful surroundings even though she found herself reluctant to stray to their further reaches, as Miss Benia had done.

And so, having been encouraged not to hurry, though she knew the valley to be all a-bustle around her, she thought about her return home as she picked the blossoms, and she thought too, with a twinge of trepidation, about Mother Banks. She could only imagine what her mother-in-law would find to say upon her return. But Gilly realized in her heart, that if she could fight an orc she could very well contend with a shrew. And that shrew, though her words often stung, was not the least bit evil. Gilly had seen what real evil did.

She had to admit that full grown as she was; she had still learned a lesson or two in the last few weeks, and not altogether painlessly. True she and Miss Benia seemed no worse off than on the day of their reunion at the Forsaken Inn, and fully thankful she was that both of them were all in one piece, but Mr. Kaldir…. What a hard lesson. It was just days ago she had upbraided him here in this place. And it seemed a lifetime since she had viewed him as evil personified, just reeking of sinister malice as he sat there at the bottom of the staircase, with his ropes and threatening aspect, waiting for poor Miss Benia to show her face. But she knew now, that the man had not been evil. He was the result of evil. And it had hung about him as thick as smoke, so that he seemed seeped in it. Dangerous he had been, to be sure, but not evil. Gilly shook her head sadly as she dropped the flower in the basket she held in the crook of her arm. She would miss him tremendously.

All through the morning the hobbit had allowed herself to revel in a measure of gladness until now, thinking only of Benia and Dúlrain’s happiness and knowing that even if Naiore hadn’t been caught, she at least was rapidly heading far away. But remembering her friend, it dawned on her that that was just when Kaldir had been so mistreated. Naiore and Kaldir both had been so very far away, and life in these parts had for a short time gone on as if nothing was wrong. And yet things were terribly wrong, and eventually everything had ended up at her own back gate, so to speak. No wonder Dúlrain had been pleased when he heard that the elves were intending to send help. He understood better than anyone, they could not afford to leave things as they were once again.

But what had changed their minds? She looked back toward the gracefully arching buildings that nestled in the valley. Back when she had first found out that Léspheria, Vanwe and Menecin rode with Amandur; Gilly had considered it curious that the wise leaders of Imladris had chosen to send as their representatives, only two maids and an odd gentleman, who she gathered was touched in the head. But when she had pressed Dúlrain about this, trying to understand why they had not sent even one of their many men-at-arms, he had simply said that the elves had their own reasons that ran deeply into their past. Those that had chosen to pursue Naiore had done so of their own volition. And since the ranger had accepted it easily, so then had the hobbit. But now she wondered, had the elves also learned something new, just as she had?

And as she puzzled over what this could be, Gilly saw a familiar figure hurry down the same flight of steps the scout had ascended not ten minutes before. It was Miss Benia, and she was rushing toward the garden. Gilly put down her basket and waved her arm over her head so that Miss Benia could locate her among the abundant greenery, all the while fearing some bad news had arrived. And the closer the southern woman came; the more the hobbit convinced herself that this was the case, for her friend seemed quite anxious to reach her, as she whisked gracefully past stately stones and around the ancient bushes.

“The others are returning, Gilly!” Benia called out as soon as she was within earshot. “A watchmen has spied them descending the mountain.”

“What others?” Gilly asked, though she had already guessed who it was that Benia referred to. “Amandur and those others?” she questioned. And seeing her friend’s nod, she turned an incredulous face toward the craggy peaks behind them. “Returning here? But weren’t they to go straight to Minas Tirith?” she continued, her burgeoning multitude of questions spilling out unchecked. “I reckon that the watchman could be wrong, don’t you? And where is Mr. Dúlrain?” She added suddenly ill at ease in the garden, as she wondered if the approaching travelers were chasing someone, or perhaps where being chased themselves. Gently taking hold of Benia’s arm, the hobbit tried to guide her, slowly edging her back toward the security of the buildings.

“No Gilly, the watchman has made no mistake. It is Amandur and Léspheria and two of the three that had set out with them,” Benia replied. Moving easily forward, she picked up the basket that lay on the moss, and attempted to return it to the hobbit who was looking longingly far across the garden to the stairway and the door. “Don’t worry he will not be long,” Benia assured her. “The lords Elladan and Elrohir, are only now speaking to him of the books whose covers he carried here. And of them they said they know precious little. But they have promised to join us shortly, so that they might also greet their guests when they arrive.” And just as she spoke, a group of elves emerged from the rambling house, to stride past them with their fine long bows slung over their shoulders, and Gilly relaxed just a bit.

“Even so, Miss Benia, I’d don’t like the idea much of your being out this far in the garden. We’ve been in this place before, and I hope that I’ve learned a thing or two since then. One of them is that gardens aren’t no place for Miss Benia Nightshade to tarry about in! No not at all, not as long as that Naiore person is out and about! It ain’t safe, no matter how keen eyed those elves are.”

Benia smiled at the staunch little matron before her. “If it will make you feel better, I would be only too happy wait for Dúlrain, before venturing any further.”

“Ah, that does my heart good to hear, in so many respects!” Gilly replied. “But if we were to wait a just bit further back, that would so very much better.” Then taking up Benia’s arm once again, she sought to guide her out of the garden altogether.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As Benia let Gilly lead her back inside to a quiet corner where they could await the arrival of Amandur's party in safety, she knew that her friend remained haunted by the events that had been set into motion mere days earlier in that very garden. Benia was haunted by them too, knowing full well that her own naive carelessness in that garden had led to the deaths of two, possibly more now, good men. In fact, she was happy to escape the beauty of the garden, although not for the same reasons as her friend. While Gilly was concerned for their safety, for Benia, the place simply harbored too many ghosts, chief among them a tall man with pale blue eyes and a shattered face.

shattered soul

Upon returning to Imladris with Gilly, Toby Longholes, and Dúlrain, Benia had discovered that the Elves had been quick about laying the two Rangers to rest in the halls below the foundations of the Last Homely House, entombing them alongside their own battle-slain kin. As those tragically touched by an evil of Elven making, the Elven folk had claimed both Kaldir and Rauthain as their own and provided for them in death. On the eve of the first day, Benia had slipped away to visit Kaldir’s grave.

It was in a cool and quiet place, at the end of a short hallway, unmarked other than by a simple, yet stately white marble slab that bore no inscription other than his name, Westernesse, and the dates that bound his life at either end like parentheses. What else was left to be said? How could all the pain, the strength, and the horror that had been Kaldir in life ever be distilled into a line or two of doggerel etched upon a tombstone? She knew that to the Elven Bards who would compose the song cycles that told the Saga of Naiore, Kaldir would be little more than an aside, his part in her story, ultimately, a small one. The affairs of Elves were of a different fabric and, to them, a man’s life bore little significance, like the mere shadow of a cloud, passing windborne over the face of the sun. To Benia, however, it was different.

She stood there for a long time, tracing her fingers over the freshly carved letters of his name. She would not forget. Finally, she reached into her pocket and closed her fist around the spangled chain that she had worn for so long across her cheek, that Naiore had ripped from its place and left for a clue that would lead Kaldir to his death. Dúlrain had returned it to her as they had traveled across country, and it still bore traces of Kaldir’s blood. Taking it from her pocket, she smoothed it out and laid it across the narrow ledge that ran below the tomb’s inscription, hoping to leave it for him as a token that she would never forget him. She would write a song for him, too, if the Elven bards would not, and she would sing it at dusk on evenings when the air was clear and the breeze blew in the direction of Imladris. Perhaps then he would hear it and know that she had not forgotten.

Now, sitting with Gilly, she waited anxiously for the return of the other travelers, hoping that they brought with them tidings of Naiore’s demise. The notion that Elven Witch still lived and that her pursuers returned home in defeat sat ill with her. Unconsciously, she reached over and squeezed Gilly’s hand. If Naiore still lived, then Dúlrain would undoubtedly rejoin his captain for the continuance of the hunt. He and Benia would marry as planned, yes, but any hopes for a cottage in the Ranger kingdom of Arthedain would be delayed, as would any hope of starting a family. Although in the field following the death of Barrold Ferny, she had counseled Dúlrain rather passionately against the pursuit of revenge, she had since come around to the decision that should Dúlrain follow his duty and go off again in the pursuit of the Witch, she would go, too. Left to her own devices and with the help of her tribal kinsmen, scattered and hunted though they were, there was surely something she could do to help. What she sought, however, would not be revenge but expiation for her own tragic blunders. It would be a hard sell to Dúlrain, who harbored the expectation that she would sit in Imladris or elsewhere and await his return, but she had not entirely made up her mind whether even to tell him of her plans. After all, he could scarcely forbid what he did not know about.

As though reading her mind, or perhaps merely responding to the pressure of Benia’s hand, Gilly gave her a studied look. “What will you do?” asked the hobbit lady quietly.

“If she has escaped?”

Gilly nodded.

Benia shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I suppose it depends on what happens next. I would like to travel with you as far as the edge of The Shire to see that you are delivered home safely to your husband and boys, for I imagine you will be heading home, regardless. I should very much like to apologize to your loved ones for dragging you away on this misadventure and to tell them what a heroine you are.” Benia gave her friend a gentle smile. “For I know you well enough to know that, left to your own telling, you would play down your role to that of a mere piece of baggage with passable cooking skills.”

“Oh, no!” protested Gilly, laughing. “I shall be the very image of old Bullroarer Took! Riding about on great, snorting horses and slaying orcs left and right with naught but a frying pan and a paring knife!”

Benia laughed as well. “Tease if you must, Gilly, but you are a heroine and an exceptionally brave hobbit.”

“No,” rejoined Gilly. “A very average hobbit, I’m afraid, who was terrified nearly every step of the way. I wrack my brains and can scarcely come up with a single moment when I didn’t believe that the next moment might be my last.”

“Nonetheless,” Benia reminded her. “I shall never forget the way you followed Kaldir into that grove of trees, not knowing who or what awaited in their shadows, just as the orcs were closing in and we were making that last desperate dash for the stair. It was surely one of the most selfless acts of bravery as I have ever seen.”

“Well,” grumbled Gilly. “I couldn’t very well let him go in there all alone.”

“Of course not.” Benia was just opening her mouth to remind Gilly of yet another stalwart act of courage when she was stopped by the arrival of Dúlrain, who had jogged up from the direction of Elrohir and Elladan’s counsel chambers.

“So they have returned!” he said slightly out of breath, but pausing long enough to give his beloved an affectionate kiss on the cheek. When the women had both acknowledged it was true, he nodded and moved decisively in the direction of the door. “We should go forth to meet them.”

“We should indeed,” answered Benia, rising. She was an eager as anyone to know the fate of the Ravener, since so many of her future plans depended on the success -- or the lack thereof -- of the returning party’s grim mission. She looked questioningly toward Gilly, who shook her head.

“No,” the hobbit said softly and picked up the basket of flowers she had gathered in the garden. “I really should be getting these blossoms back to the healers before they are completely wilted and useless. I’m sure the healers are already beginning to wonder what has become of me as it is. Besides, Toby may be awake again by now and need something. My guess is that I’ll find out more sooner than later, anyway, what has become of that awful Elf.”

Once Benia had re-assured her friend that she would seek her out and tell her all tidings as soon as they were known, the two took leave of one another, Gilly scurrying off in the direction of the Halls of Healing, while Benia followed Dúlrain outside. By the time they arrived at the top of the stair, the travelers had already gained the lower end and were slowly ascending. Benia stayed back with a party of Elves who had assembled at the top as a welcoming party while Dúlrain bounded down the stairs to greet his weary captain. Reading the facial expressions of the returning party, Benia found it difficult to determine at first whether the mission had been a success or a failure, but, as they grew closer she saw that, while weary and emotionally drained, they carried about them an aura of calmness and peace that told her all that she needed to know. The deed was done. A flood of relief swept through Benia’s slender frame. It was over.