The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[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."

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur’s rich hazel eyes, hardened by the passage of time and the evils he had been unfortunate to witness peered through the strands of loose dark hair that stubbornly blew across his rugged features, quietly scanning the surrounding night as he waited for the ladies explanation as to their sudden halt. After a moments silence he turned back to regard her, a pained look reached his eyes as he looked upon the blank expressionless features of the elven lady, a trance like state he had witnessed many times on their adventures together. While he knew that in this manner she could searched out their elusive quarry, he worried, it often troubled him greatly how much on this journey she had struggled to control the emotions that made her who she was and if Naiore; as was said indeed share Lespheria’s gift what harm might the elf witch inflict upon this noble women he would so willingly protect with his own life. But against such an enemy all his strength and wisdom might yet prove useless, a sudden feeling of helplessness washed over him as in his heart he knew he may not be able to save her from the true might of Naiore’s malice. For once in his life he would have to have faith in another, he had to believe that the strong ,determined, Just elf he knew and loved could defeat this evil in her own way.

“…But not alone” he murmured, not with piercing arrows nor tempered steel could he help but with trust and faith, love and friendship would her armour be and he would not desert nor betray her no matter what manner of witch craft Naiore decided to inflict upon them. Reaching out he gently squeeze her gloved hand in his, but started as she suddenly cried out.

As she turn to look at him he was surprised to see the briefest glimmer of fear in her eyes, a look he would never forget, Dark and foreboding like a shadow of evil fogging the gentleness of her heart. But as quickly as it had appeared it was gone, almost as though it had never been.

“Avanill! Vanwe!” she cried urgently her hand slipping from his as she kick her white mare to a gallop, quickly gathering his wits he turned briefly to whistle a signal to Menecin only to hear the thunder of hooves denoting that Léspheria’s fearful cries had already alerted the elven warrior, then he too kick his horse to follow.

It was evident by Lespheria’s haste that she felt the elf maiden and her companion were in danger, he watched as Lespheria abruptly reigned her mount leaping agilely from the saddle to the ground drawing forth the great bow she carried, fashioned from the wood of the great Mallorn trees of Lorien, the intricate gold leaf inlay glistening eerily in the moonlight. Seeing her falter as she reached into her quaver he rushed to her side. “No! I will be ok!” she protested, The pain etched on her gentle features changing almost instantly to a look of defiant determination.

She grasped an arrow and knocked it securely in place, then pulling herself tall she quietly cautioned that Naiore was near. With a slight nod of her head she signalled him to break off to the right to cover her advance, leaving the horses to gaze were they stood. His sword now firmly in his hands Amandur moved off easily matching the elven ladies pace listening for any hidden dangers that may lay ahead.

After barely a few feet she stopped drawing back the string of her bow so the feathers of the arrow gently brushed her cheek, at first Amandur could not see the ladies intent but as he stepped closer he saw the reasoning behind her haste. He blinked twice to be sure he was not seeing double. Two elven women almost double in likeness stood beneath the arching boughs of two great oaks, only the inky dark armour of Revennor of Mordor distinguishing them apart.

But unlike a mother holding her child protectively close Naiore held Vanwe to her with the cold steel of death. A dagger glinted dangerously close to the young elves throat, he knew that neither he nor Lespheria could never reach her in time if Naiore really intended to carry out this threat. Keeping his sword raised he glanced to his elven companion to see what she intended, but her bow arm remained locked and her silvery grey eyes set intently on Naiore. He followed her gaze to see that both elves stood firm like two old warriors locked in unseen battle, neither flitching. His gaze then fell sorrowfully on young Vanwe an innocent caught up in this age old battle; a participant simply by birth. Tears filled those bloodshot sapphire eye as she meet his gaze but not from fear, the look was one of pity and sorrow and as her eyes slowly shifted he followed to see a dark form lying only a few feet to his right. Suddenly remembering the young merchant he cautiously moved off to examine what he had already guessed he would find, Cautious all the time never to drop his guard or the turn his back on this most dangerous enemy.

Holding his sword firmly in his right hand he slowly crouched down beside the body of the young merchant searching for a pulse with his free hand, but as he had assumed none was to be found. The young man was already dead and even he who had had misgivings about the young man and his part in Tallas’s death felt sorrow. As he glanced down to see the fear etched into the wide lifeless pools of the young merchants eyes disgust and anger filled his heart, this elf fought and killed with no honour or regard for life. Hate and vengeance her allies feeding off her enemies fears and using them against them. well she will find no fear here! he muttered silently behind clenched teeth. Unclasping his cloak he laid it over Avanill’s broken body muttering a quick prayer. Filled with new resolve and determination that this elf should be brought to justice he rose quickly turning in the direction of the revennor and her hostage his sword raised and his eyes locked with hard determination. He had barely taken two steps when he found Menecin blocking his path, his eyes quickly shifted between the bards sapphire eyes and the half raised weapon in the elf's hands. What madness is this? he thought has the bard finally lost all reason or is this more of Naiore's doing?

"Move aside Menecin, The time has come for this elf to surrender and face the consequences of her actions!" Amandur commanded his words leaving no room for debate, but the Bard remained his eyes level and his sword in readiness.

"Look Bard I have no quarrel with you but if you do not step aside you will leave me no choice!" he added, frustration and impatience now tracing his voice as he stepped back to raise his own sword. But still the bard remained fixed as though rooted to the spot his eyes betraying no emotion.

"On the kings honour I mean you nor your family any harm but Naiore must face judgement surely you must know this?" he questioned changing tact and pressing the elf hoping to reach what if any good judgement or reasoning that yet remained.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

“You must decide Menecin,” Naiore hissed softly behind him. “See, with his own mouth the Dúnadan says he does not wish you harm, yet his sword is raised.” And though her speech was calm, Menecin was much grieved at heart at the condition she had set before him, for he counted Amandur a friend. But he had taken an oath and could not endure to see Naiore consigned to a cave deep under Mindolluin for the ages to come, abandoning her to derision under the shadow of the Citadel. And his oath and his pain she would use against him. Must he then choose the death of Amandur or that of his daughter?

“Surely friendship is a lesser bond,” the Bard whispered to himself, his ire rising as Léspheria began to engage Naiore. The chance of extricating the Ravenor from this net without cost to his friends, grew more remote as each moment past. But focusing again on the weather beaten ranger before him, he saw that Amandur had indeed brandished his sword, and a cold fire kindled in the elf’s eyes as he steeled himself. “Both the Lady Dannan and I know what judgment awaits her in Minas Tirith,” he said with a chilling restraint. “Too heavily would it lie on one of our kindred.” He paused renewing the grip on his own weapon. “I will not let you pass, while there is yet another way,” he declared stepping toward the ranger.

Menecin noticed the man’s muscle’s tighten as Amandur studied him closely through narrowed eyes. “What course are you considering Bard?” he asked with caution now tempering his speech.

“No doubt, you question my faculties…. I assure you that I am in my right senses, quite painfully so. But what is it am I considering?” the elf mused. “Truly it would be madness!” Lowering his weapon he looked steadily at the ranger as if he would read his thoughts. “What of exile?” he questioned. “A new life…or perhaps death if it should find her upon the way. There are too few of us to make the trip safely to Gondor, but without your hindrance, I would see Naiore passed the wilds of Rhûn, and mete out my own justice. For what fragile hope I have found in Vanwe stands ready to be extinguished by Naiore’s own hand. And how does one live without hope? Let my daughter not know what becomes of her mother. Better that she say she has known no parents.”

“Though you are an elf, I believe that your death would not be long upon that road, and the lady would return unchanged and unscathed” the ranger said frowning. He looked past the bard to where Naiore stood with Vanwe still caught up by her deadly embrace. “I can not permit it!” he said shaking his head as if to dispel this nightmare. And the ranger’s whisper was harsh to the elf’s ears. Amandur’s gaze soon returned to Menecin. “But if you would find comfort in exile, return with us. Once pronounced, if the wisdom of men displeases you, could we not petition the King that you might be allowed to seek the Undying Lands, and be granted it? Then prevail upon Manwë and your kindred for their mercy and judgment if you so wish, pledging only that the Lady Dannan will not return to Middle-earth. Surely there would be both justice and wisdom in this. For King Elesser would not relish such a captive to become the inheritance of his house, and perhaps the Lady Dannan will find greater understanding among her own people. But we must act now, Menecin!”

“No, I can not do as you desire, and neither can I carry out Naiore’s wish, but I must find my own way. For I will not willingly bring such discord to The Blessed Realm by delivering such a one, even in chains, to the feet of those I hold dear. The peace of Aman was too dearly bought.”

But as a crushing hopelessness began to press down upon Menecin, so that with growing effort and strength of will he fought the darkness in his mind, Amandur drew still closer facing Naiore, even as the tall elf's own back was turned to her. And Menecin did not hinder him, but raised his eyes to see Léspheria, and despair took him.