Treachery of Men RPG

[Folwren]

As soon as Uldor had given Brodda his instructions, he turned and headed back to his place at the head of the column. He took a deep breath as his horse trotted up the line and smoothed the lines of worry from his face. A mask fell into place and only the very few that knew him well would have caught the look of some concern hidden deep in his eyes.

He pulled his horse up beside the elven ambassador and his apprentice figure. “Well, my lord Lachrandir,” he said, giving as near a genuine smile as he could, “I imagine we will be starting soon. Lord Khandr is speaking over there.” He nodded in the Borrim’s direction where Khandr and Fastarr sat upon their separate mounts, together in close dialogue. “As soon as he is done there, I imagine we will be on our way.”

He relapsed quickly into silence and settled back into his saddle. His head swiveled about again and he fixed his dark eyes again on the Borrim leader. He was growing wearisome of the waiting, and now he was even more anxious to be off.

The talk between the two Borrim came to a close. The other man, one who Uldor did not know, turned his horse about sharply, bringing the reins about the beast’s neck and turning his nose all the way about before spurring him forward. Khandr at once turned to his other side to speak with a woman who had approached.

’What on earth does that man think I am – to be kept waiting so long?’ He drew an impatient breath. ‘And what did he send that other fellow off for? Why so quickly? Uldor turned to watch Fastarr urge his horse as quickly as he could through the thick gathering of men, women, and children. Suspicion slowly grew in his mind. He was sent on an errand, and sent in quick succession to Brodda’s errand. Were they connected? What was it he told him?

[Nogrod]

As soon as Ruadan entered from the gate Fastarr threw his arms over him and yanked his staff towards him forcing Ruadan's throat between the staff and his chest. Fastarr pulled Ruadan quickly to the shadows of the gate and forced him to his knees.

"Why were you after that old chap? Tell me now and tell me quickly. I've killed men before..." Gah, an overexaggeration but maybe I'm forgiven for the circumstances... Fastarr pulled the staff firmly tighter towards him leaving Ruadan gasping for air. Ruadan's feet started kicking into the air.

"Tell me now or end your journey right here", Fastarr hissed from between his teeth while slightly loosening the grip. Tell me you fool, I don't want to kill anyone any more... there has been enough sorrow from one...

"I... I... I can't t-tell... They'll kill m-me..." Ruadan was trying to get air to his lungs.

Fastarr yanked the staff even tighter he had done the previous time. Ruadan's face started turning blue.

"What do you think I will do to you if you don't tell me? Here your death is imminent. From the hands of your lords you may still escape". Just to make his point sink in Fastarr added the pressure and then released it. Ruadan was coughing his lungs out. There was water pouring from his eyes and bubbles fell from the corners of his mouth. Ruadan drew his lungs full of air.

"They just told me to get him with whatever it would take, whatever it would cost. I needed to turn him to Brodda the chieftain who serves lord Uldor. That's all I know."

Fastarr started tightening the grip once again and Ruadan felt it.

"Honestly! I know nothing else! That's what I was told to..."

Fastarr thought for a moment releasing the grip enough for Ruadan to breathe again. Then he took the staff from around Ruadan's neck and slowly straightened himself up. Ruadan fell on all fours from exhaustion panting heavily.

Before Ruadan had chance to see it coming Fastarr had knocked him unconscious with a firm hit from his staff. After dragging Ruadan behind a few barrells and checking no one had been overseeing the incident he straightened his tunic and ran after Hugo.

There was no one behind the corner. Fastarr made the conclusion and took to his feet. To Khandr's residence then... I can't take part on the hunt without Leafeye... and I want to know something before I go back there.

Rushing finally through the gate of Khandr's quarters Fastarr found the old man standing at the steps, seemingly waiting for Hugo whose noise could be heard from the stables to the right. He was frozen under the gamling's gaze.

Finally the old man raised his eyebrows and Fastarr felt like he could breathe again.

"Master...? Well, erm... I mean what did lord Khandr mean when he said that he might not come back from the hunt today? Is it something that has to do with you? And do you know what is the right thing we should do if that evil would befall on us?"

[littlemanpoet]

The Song did not sing this man's name to him.

"I greet you. I am Thorn, some time of the Ulfings. How are you called?"

"Fastarr, Master Thorn."

Having named himself, the young warrior cocked his head expectantly, making it clear that he was still expecting an answer to his original question. Thorn glanced at the images on his staff. Yes, this young man was almost all Eagle; there was a bit of Otter about him too; decisive and quick to action but strong of feeling as well.

"One of the Eldar taught me how to listen to the Song of Arda," Thorn said calmly. "I had words from the Song for your lord: two things. First, that the Ulfing lords will betray Lord Caranthir to Morgoth Bauglir. They will turn coat in the midst of battle. Second, that this day is the last Lord Khandr will spend within the walls of Arda."

Thorn raised a hand to stop Fastarr who had frowned and opened his mouth speak quick words of anger.

"Had I not told him the second thing, he would not have taken decisive action to warn of the Ulfing betrayal. He knows in his heart that this is his last day, and has proven true to his honor by sending your fellow armsman to warn the Borrim king of my words."

The one called Hugo returned from the stables, having overheard part of Thorn's words.

"Fastarr, he knew my name before I gave it."

Lachrandir

What, wondered the Elf, was all the fuss? Did they not want to go on this hunt? It seemed that this Borrim lord was very impressionable. Some fool of a shaman had apparently spoken some rubbish that had quite won the man over to change some plans he had laid out, and whilst the Ulfing lordlings chafed impatiently, he busied himself with seemingly urgent business that had nothing to do with the rest of those gathered. It was really quite amusing, especially to see Uldor so infuriated that there was someone - besides himself of course - whom he could not control. To cover his rage, Uldor spoke mindless banter to him, eyeing the Borrim lord suspiciously.

By contrast, Ulfast's eyes seemed to constantly be moving from one subject to the next, never resting in one place for long. What was he looking for? Game ready to be killed? Lachrandir shrugged, hoping that these boorish, ugly Men might turn out to be of some real use to Caranthir's military plans.

[Folwren]

It was not long before Ruadan came back to his senses. The first thing he was aware of was a terrible ache on the side of his head where Fastarr's staff had struck him. The next thing he felt was the ground beneath him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and sat up. His head swam and a sharp pain shot down his spine.

He looked about. He was lying in an out of the way place, an alley of sorts, tucked between the outer wall and a small shed.

Ruadan swore under his breath as his lifted his hand first to his head and then his throat. “Gah,” he said, gulping slightly as he rubbed his gullet. “I didn't even see the bloke.”

It did not good to sit there and feel sorry for himself. Slowly, and in much pain, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled out into the open. He had to find his master, the cheiftan Brodda, and tell him what had passed. A sick feeling tightened his stomach and he quailed deep within himself. As little as he would admit it to any other man, he feared to make his report.

“Sir,” he said, when he had found Brodda after long search. “I was waylaid and my purpose ruined.”

[Nogrod]

"Fastarr, he knew my name before I gave it."

It was Hugo who clearly tried to make him believe in this man's speciality.

Thoughts were going to and fro in Fastarr's mind. So he is a soothsayer... but why did he have to ask for my name then? But Lord Khandr believed in him as well...And what is the right thing to do now? The right thing is to protect lord Khandr but if he is to die anyway... what then? Is there an alternative course I should take? The Ulfings will turn against Caranthir... well, we knew it even if we didn't actually know it... So that was what lord Khandr was talking to Hunta back in the field. Does the song say what a faithful retainer should do?


"Does the song say what a faithful retainer should do?" Fastarr mumbled aloud and met the calm gaze of the old man.

"I thought I'd be needed in the hunt to look after my lord and to find out whether there are some fishy things going on in the Ulfing court. Now you have undermined both of these occupations for if lord Khandr will fall anyway and it's true that the Ulfings will take the side of the dark one there is nothing I can do there."

The agonising outcome of what he said got clear to Fastarr only as he spoke his words.

What should I believe? What should I do then?

"Lord Khandr said we should pay heed to what you say. So what is it you say?"

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn watched the intense young man before him. Mere seconds passed as Fastarr, as Hugo had called him, mulled over his words. A slow smile came to Thorn's face when Fastarr had asked his question. He was loyal.

"Did your lord command you? Have you completed the tasks of his command?"

"I was commanded," Fastarr replied, "to find and protect you." He glanced at Hugo. "And to have Hugo and Grogr find a place of hiding for you."

"Have you done the second part?"

"I will now! Hugo, you and Grogr are to hide this man from the Ulfing lords."

"We will do our best, Fastarr, sir."

Thorn smiled. "Now that you have fulfilled Lord Khandr's command, your first task is that which it has always been. It would be a shame if Khandr's murderer is never found out."

[Child of the 7th Age]

"I would have a word with you, my lady. Come pull off the path so we may talk where none can hear." Guiding his horse towards the cover of a wooded copse, Khandr stared directly at the young woman and shook his head, uncertain how to go forward.

For a long time there was silence till Embla finally spoke, "You are not at the head of the pack today. What has happened? It is not at all like you..."

"No," he replied in a husky whisper. "I have much on my mind. There are signs and omens that all is not well. But these do no more than confirm what I already felt in my heart. I will leave now and go back to the house. I will tell Briga to ride back to our homeland. I will ask the servants to pack our belongings and accompany her quickly on the road, that she may go and stay with our daughters and their families. For there is no safety in this town. You are welcome, Embla, to accompany her as my second wife. But if that does not suit your needs, you are also free to strike out on your own. Since you have born me no child and are a second wife, the custom of our people is such that these bonds may be dissolved.

Khandr stopped a moment, staring fixedly at the ground, as he searched for the right words, "I am afraid in my desire to forge an alliance of our households that I have done you an injustice. For your eyes flash with anger, and sometimes I see a quiet sadness. I had to say something.... I would not leave this task undone." He shook his head and shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. Then he took a chain from around his neck. It was made of gold and fashioned with many stones. He held it out to Embla. "I would not have you leave with empty hands. For times are hard and you will need some help. My wife Briga will have my lands and all my other possessions, but you will need something to get by."

"You are free then to do as you please. To come or go as you want...."

He started to retreat, but then looked back one last time. "There is one thing. If you hear or see anything strange from those at court, and especially from the woman Jord, whom I do not trust, you would be wise to speak with me or, if I am not here, then to Fastarr or one of the Elves. There is evil afoot....great evil. I do not think I will live to see the end of it. But perhaps you may yet do some small thing that will help preserve the light that is left to us. Just keep your ears open and your heart fixed to goodness." With that strange pronouncement, the weary envoy signed and quickly rode away from the hunt.

[Folwren]

Uldor sat with no attempt to hide his boredom and annoyance. He tapped the pommel of his saddle with his gloved fingers and peered about him with his lips pressed close together in a scowl. About him, the murmur of many voices rose and fell as people talked and gossiped the minutes away.

He was about to turn and make a remark to his brother sitting near him when his eye caught sight of a figure riding through the press of people. It was a mere boy, but he was looking straight at Uldor and riding in as straight a line as he could manage. The Ulfing sat up straighter, picked up the reins he had allowed to droop over his horse’s neck and waited with keen attention while the messenger drew nearer.

“My lord,” the boy said, dismounting as he drew near and bowing. “Lord Khandr has sent me to say to you that he is delayed by – by a personal matter that could not be put off. He bids that you go on ahead of him, and if he does not join you in the hunt, he will be at the festive meal he has planned.”

“Very well,” Uldor muttered, more to himself than to the boy. He hesitated not an instant to make up his mind. “We will go.” He looked at Ulfast and relayed the message in few words, and told him his decision to be off at once.

“Is it not strange, brother. . .” Ulfast began, but then trailed off and did not finish his thought.

“Eh, what?” Uldor asked, but upon receiving no immediate response, he shrugged it off. “Never mind, let’s be off before the morning is entirely wasted and all our preparation goes to naught.”

Word spread quickly through Uldor’s company of men. Girths were checked and tightened and then men remounted. Uldor took his spear in his hand again and spurred his horse forward. With a clatter of hooves and a cheering upon either side from the onlookers, the hunters were away.

[Nogrod]

I saw there wading through rivers wild
Treacherous men and murderers too,
And workers of ill with the wives of men;
There the vampire sucked the blood of the slain,
And the wolf tore men; would you know yet more?

It was Embla and something was wrong. Something really was wrong.

Embla wawered to and fro on her saddle staring straightforwards with empty eyes when Fastarr finally reached her and took the reins of her horse bringing them to a halt. Fastarr unmounted to grasp her thigh and arm to prevent her from falling.

“What is it, Embla? What is it?” there was a slight panic in Fastarr’s voice as Embla seemed to be somewhere beyond the here and now of the fields. She didn’t react.

“What was that? You saw something? You’re allright?” he shook Embla’s thigh and tried desperately to find any signs of sense in her. He shook her violently now with both hands. “Talk to me! Embla!”

Suddenly Embla came back to her senses troubled with what had just happened and confused about Fastarr holding her in his grip. She looked down at Fastarr trying to compose herself.

“Please help me down, I’m feeling quite shaky...”, she whispered taking hold of Fastarr’s shoulders still looking a bit dizzy. Then she fell forwards.

Fastarr carried her weight easily and slowly brought her down to the grass. They stood there a moment looking at each other. It felt awkwardly familiar to stand there: Fastarr’s arms were on Embla’s hips and her arms were on Fastarr’s shoulders. But even as there were so much that reminded Fastarr of their last encounter most everything had changed. Fastarr knew things had changed but Embla knew even more... and there were new tides they both were totally unaware of.

“What was that Embla? You really scared me with all those murderers, vampires and wolves... What happened to you?”

“I don’t know... I mean... I’m not even sure what I said or saw... It was terrifying”, she laid her head low and shivered with even the partial remembrance. She started shaking all over.

Fastarr grabbed her tighter into his arms and let her cry silently against his chest while he tenderly stroked her hair and back trying to sooth her as best he could. He was trying to breathe slowly and calmly to assure her that everything was all right.

But even if he managed to look and feel calm outside there was a thunder and a roar inside him. It felt to Fastarr it could explode at any moment.

There was the passion he hadn’t felt since the early and happy days of his marriage... the passion he had kind of forgotten to exist in him. And now it was there much stronger than the last time. But there was also this feeling of fragility and tenderness and a great sorrow which would keep them apart to the rest of the days. A love that would never fulfill, pure and clean from the passions of the flesh. Wasn’t that something to strive for? And wasn’t she something he should just adorn and keep at a distance in the first place? Wasn’t it not only his duty to his lord but also to her that he would treat her as a flower, a crown jewel not be be violated with rough hands or physical thoughts? Wasn’t he just thrown into this situation and he’d need to get out of it with honour.

But there was also all this talk about evil, all this talk of death and treachery... That old man had talked about it, Khandr had talked about it and now even Embla had talked about it... Were all the people going crazy? No. He felt the evil himself as well... or at least he thought he felt it... all that talk made him feel it... the Song, the fates of men, the prophecies, the vampires, the wolves... And where was Khandr he was supposed to protect or at least wittness how he met his end? Now why was he here and not beside his lord? He’d need to do the right thing... Fastarr felt her breasts under her robes against him as well as her hip pressing his groin.

“Lord Khandr set me free...”, Embla managed to mutter in the end her face still buried in his chest.

That awoke Fastarr from his thoughts. He pushed her gently a few inches away from him and waited until she lifted her eyes to meet his.

“You saw Khandr? When was that?” he asked her getting focused again.

“Just a moment ago. Why do you ask that?” Embla answered truthfully although Fastarr thought he noticed something like disappointment from her face as she heard his question.

“What else did he say? Where is he now?” Fastarr asked now more agitately.

It looked like Embla had to compose herself to answer the question. Finally she was ready.

“He talked about there being evil afoot... and that he would probably not be here to see how it all turns out... and he told me to find you if there is trouble”. Embla studied Fastarr’s expressions as she spoke and Fastarr actually felt he was in a cross-examination rather than just listening to what Khandr had said.

“Okay... I’m found now”, Fastarr said and withdrew his hands reluctantly from her hips. He was more than confused about all that was going on.

“Now tell me about the trouble and I’ll do whatever is in my powers”, Fastarr managed to say but it felt like half of the words got stuck to his throat.

[piosenniel]

At Dag’s house

‘Granny, come here won’t you,’ Káta said in a low voice, gesturing to the old woman to stand by her side. ‘And you, Jóra, just here before us.’ Fálki still stood by the wagon, a hesitant look on his face. His mother motioned him forward, placing him just behind her and Dulaan. ‘Let’s go, then, and mind that basket daughter mine.’

The occupants of the house could not help but hear the clip-clop of the horse, the crunch of the wheels against the graveled dirt path way leading up to their dwelling. Mem stilled the spindle against her hand, her ear cocked toward the entryway. ‘They’re at the door, Gunna. Who is it?’

Káta rapped firmly on the wood, twice, and was about to knock a third time when the door swung open, Gunna’s face changing from one of a questioning look to a smile of welcome. Jóra stepped forward, a smile on her face. ‘Here,’ she began, holding the basket toward Gunna. ‘This is for.....’ Her mother’s hands fixed firmly on the girl’s shoulders, drawing Jóra back toward her.

‘Greetings to you and your house, Gunna,’ Káta began, in a more formal manner than usual. She nodded toward the forge where Dag’s hammer rang loud in the distance. ‘There were obligations which could not be left unmet, else Grímr would have come with us today.’ She urged Jóra forward, directing her to place the basket in the doorway at Gunna’s feet. ‘Accept this gift of food from our family to yours, if you will.’ Without waiting for the other woman’s reply, she went on, motioning Fálki to stand between her and Dulaan. ‘And if you will again, my son would ask to be allowed to gift a small token of his regard for your dear sister, Mem.’

Dulaan nudged Fálki, pointing with her chin toward where the basket with jam sat, half in, half out of the entryway. He reached inside his vest, drawing forth the small square of folded material. Grasping it lightly in his fingers he unfolded it, draping it carefully over the basket’s handle. A softly woven, light blue scarf, it was.

‘This was my mother’s scarf,’ Káta explained. ‘Her mother wove it for her from their finest sheeps’ wool. She was the flower and delight of my father’s life. And he often said, when she wore it wrapped about her head, that surely some lovely being had stepped out of a Spring’s morning just for him.’

A brief breeze skirted about the little group’s feet and riffled at the edges of the offering, inviting an answer.....

[Lalaith]

So calm, so solid, so safe...Embla knew she had done the right thing, found the right person. Fastarr´s touch and presence did so much to soothe the storm in her mind. Even the warm smell of him, redolent of leather and stables, gave comfort which helped focus her own turbulent senses. What this all meant, for her and for him, she did not know or even want to think about, just yet. It was what she had said, and what she had seen in her mind´s eye, that she must make sense of, now.

"The wolves...." She sat down on the grass again, and Fastarr crouched beside her, his hand on her shoulder, heavy and reassuring. "Ulflings...." she looked at her companion with a growing comprehension that was if anything, more terrifying than her previous bewilderment. "Fastarr, I think....those wolves I saw were men... who will turn on their friends....the Ulflings will betray us all....and the vampire, too...I knew this creature, it felt familiar, and close...."
"Embla..." Fastarr sounded urgent. "Even without your visions, I knew there was evil afoot. I was hastening on my way to find my lord Khandr - danger stalks him. But nor can I find it in my heart to leave you, frightened and alone. Will you come with meback to my lord´s dwelling?"

Embla felt great relief. She knew she could depend on this man, not just for comfort but also for a plan of action. "Yes, I will come." No more words were needed. Fastarr helped her into her saddle, and they both spurred their horses towards the Borrim stronghold, as fast they could go.

[piosenniel]

The Right of First Kill


‘At last!’ Valr flicked the reins against his mount’s neck, pulling up beside his brother. He was eager to be off on this, his first great hunt. The skin on his arms twitched in anticipation, mirroring his horse’s own excitement.

‘Ssst!’ Falarr glanced quickly toward their father, then back at Valr. ‘Quiet, now. It would not do to criticize, or seem to criticize, the Lords. They do things in their own time.’ He reached a gloved hand toward Valr, clapping him on shoulder as much to ground his brother’s energy as to offer a sympathetic gesture.

Grímr motioned them up beside him. The host had remounted and as swiftly as Uldor urged his own mount ahead the others briskly followed. ‘Now remember, the Lords should blood their lances and blades first. If we see a boar, we’ll give a yell out to Uldor and drive it toward him.’

‘Just Uldor?’ Valr asked, wanting to fix this rule in his mind. His father’s words had carried a certainty about them; the accompanying look on his face emphasizing the importance of what he was saying.

This was not the first hunt Valr had been on, thought it was his first as a hunter. His part on those previous times out with his father and brothers and sometimes his father’s friends had been to scout the prey and with shouts and noisy wooden clappers to drive the game toward the hunters. ‘Tis the first step toward being a hunter,’ his brothers had told him, reciting by rote the instruction of their father. ‘Noting the habits of the animal you wish to bring down, thinking as it would think will help you first to find where it has been and where it’s gone and what it will do when found and cornered. So was I taught by my father and him his father before. And so will it be with my sons.’ They had grinned as they had spoken to him that first hunt when he was nine years old, their twinned voices sing-songing the words. ‘Enough!’ he recalled his father had chastened them. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t send the quail all higgledy-piggledy as you did, Falarr!’ Valr had taken those words to heart, both the instruction and the gentle admonition.

The hunters fanned out as the chase progressed. Valr’s eyes scanned the area they were passing through, old habits kicking in as he did so. Were this my brothers and father, he thought, his eyes fixing on a scattering of oaks with their thickets of low growing bushes beneath, then I would head that way for sure. He turned his horse toward the trees; his eyes flicked toward Falarr as he rode off, grinning widely at his brother. ‘Come on!’ Valr urged him. ‘Here’s your chance to show me you aren’t the bumbler father made you out to be.’

The two made a wide berth to the right of the trees and undergrowth, darting round to come toward them from the side farthest from the other hunters. There were acorns scattered beneath the boughs in the small clearing, some trampled in the soft dirt, some only empty shells, and overlaying all was the sharp-hoofed patternings of animal hooves criss-crossing the ground.

‘Good eyes, little brother!’ came the hushed whispering of Falarr as they neared the area. ‘Let’s see if there’s one fine hog left hiding among the leaves.’ With a gleam in his eye, Valr nodded at his brother, and giving a quick kick to his mount’s flank he urged the horse forward at a measured pace.

There was a scuffling sound in the thicket followed by an increasingly angry squeal. From beneath the cover of the shrubs a swarthy, hefty figure shot out and away from the approaching men.

‘Father!’ Valr cried, seeing Grímr approaching riding toward them. ‘Head him off!!’ Grímr rode at the charging boar, turning him more toward the other hunters.

‘My Lord! My Lords!’ Valr shouted, waving his lance wildly in the air toward Uldor and his brothers who rode apace off. ‘A boar.....a boar for your lances!!’

[Folwren]

Brodda and Ruadan rode together through the streets, searching in vain for the old man. Brodda kept up a long string of curses, bitter with his ill luck. Ruadan rode in miserable silence beside him.

“This might cost us our heads, you know, you miserable dog,” Brodda said in Ruadan’s direction. “Yours at least.”

Ruadan had nothing to reply with.

“Keep searching,” Brodda snapped abruptly. “I’m going to go back to him and feel things out before I break the news.”

Ruadan cast him a baleful look before nodding and turning his head away. Brodda reined his horse about and cantered off down the street. Once he had left the crowd of houses behind, he slowed the horse again to a swift walk and continued on his way, brooding silently over what he was going to say, what to expect, and how to deflect his lord’s displeasure.

Lost so in thought and consideration, Brodda did not spot the old man in the road ahead until he was withing twenty yards of him. His eyes lit up suddenly with recognition and an unfriendly smile twisted up the corners of his mouth.

“Holla! You, old man!” he called out, and spurred his horse forward into a canter.

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn knew how it would go. He knew that Uldor's and Ulfast's men were searching for him. He knew that he would be found and brought unceremoniously before the Ulfing lords, and he knew that he would be scorned and named traitor to his folk. It mattered not in the least to him. He did not look forward to the pain that would be inflicted upon him; he was, after all, quite human. But the Song led him, and it led him true. He would not waver, would not stray. He had learned at least that much: to waver or stray from the sooth of the Song never helped, only hindered, and to his own loss. He would walk straight to the doom awaiting him.

Such thoughts occupied him only briefly. Of greater moment was his inkling of a great winged bird or beast that appeared only as a bat. He knew that the Bauglir had many kinds of servants, and that there were fëar that chose to wear the shapes of beasts and birds of prey. Such a one had been she would had murdered Lord Khandr. Would it be so surprising that she had changed her shape and now sought more prey? He considered that he was walking toward Lord Lachrandir of the Fëanorians, and that the bat, if bat it was, flew straight toward him. Perhaps the Elf might be dead before he had a chance to deliver his message; perhaps not. Time would tell; the Song was silent on the point.

His thought was interrupted.

“Holla! You, old man!”

A horse and rider began to canter up from behind, bearing down on him.

Thorn stopped. He turned without fear and faced the rider, still in full charge.

[Folwren]

Brodda drew his horse in, barely bringing his horse to a stop before running into the old man. Thorn did not budge, although his head turned slightly to one side to avoid being hit when Brodda's mount tossed his head in protest to the tight reins.

For a moment, Brodda sat and looked down at the man. What did Uldor want with such an old, poor, shriveled man? What good would he be for their goal? It wasn’t his business to question the actions and wishes of the lords.

"You're under arrest, by order of Lord Uldor,” he said roughly. “Will you come quietly? Or do I need to knock you over the head?”

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn heard the Song even through this man's rough words. He knew that he would be going to his death. It did not trouble him.

"I will go with you, for I have words for your lords as well as with the Elf. You are on horse and I on foot. How shall we proceed?"

At this very moment (the Song told him), the Bauglir's emissary had come upon the Elf and the two messengers who preceded him; apparently their word would be enough or it would not, and he would not speak to the Elf. This meant most likely that the Ulfings would betray the Elves but the Borrim would not. That did not mean, however, that all Thorn's work had been in vain. Khandr had died well. Fastarr and Embla (the Song sang their names) would survive in infamy but free. The Borrim would not betray their allegiance. These things would be enough, until the Valar intervened.

These thoughts passed through his mind in a moment. He looked up at the Ulfing impassively.

[piosenniel]

At Dag's House

‘Jóra!’ Káta admonished her daughter. A rumble of deep laughter broke the tension between mother and daughter; between suitor and sought. Dag patted his wife on her hand and stepped forward shaking his head, his eyes twinkled, remembering himself as a young man.

‘Come, Fálki,’ he began, stepping close to the younger man. ‘I’ll say no disrespect was taken.’ ‘Now,’ he went on, ‘let me hear you speak to Mem and let me hear her answer.’

(a little later.....)

‘So this is what it will be like when my little one is grown,’ Dag thought to himself. He stood, leaning against the wall, surveying the little party scattered about the room. Mem looked happy and somehow less childlike. Fálki, aware of Dag’s scrutiny, restrained himself from touching Mem, though his eyes found her face constantly.

The women twittered about, like a group of little birds. Gunna had made tea and from the basket Káta had brought, the sweet buns were passed round along with the jams Granny’d made.

Dag caught Gunna’s eye, motioning for her to come close. ‘This is going to work out, yes? I can’t help but feel there is something dark waiting to crush what happiness any of us might find.’ He shook his head as she whispered some reassuring words to him. ‘Never mind my gloomy thoughts. Too much time spent looking into the heart of the forge fire, I suppose.’

‘Listen,’ Dag said, speaking to the others in the room. ‘We should have a little celebration. Tomorrow. How would that be?’ Gunna nodded, happily surprised at his declaration. ‘Grímr can come, yes? And your brother, Falarr, is it? And the young boy.....’ He looked questioningly at Gunna. ‘Valr,’ she prompted him.

Plans were discussed and set for the following late afternoon, with Káta promising they would all be there. She and her family took their leave of Dag and his soon after and made their way back home.


----------------------------------------------------


Leaving the Hunt

Excited as he’d been to be at the hunt with his father and brother, that excitement had now quelled. Valr could not shake the feeling of tenseness that permeated the supposed festive gathering. He could not understand what was going on beneath the conversations and claps on the back and toothy smiles. He kept quiet, focused on his father’s reactions to those of the hunters who came up to speak. This grown up stuff was not all he’d thought it would be. At least not today, not here, it wasn’t. He was happy when his father said they were heading home.

Grímr smiled and nodded to his acquaintances as he and his sons rode toward the outskirts of the hunting group. At times he stopped altogether making small talk with someone he knew well. Once beyond the edge of hunting party, he stopped, motioning Falarr and Valr to draw up close. ‘You both did well today.’ He urged his mount to a little faster pace. ‘And I know you must have questions.’ I know I do he thought to himself. ‘Let’s get home and see what the ladies have made for our supper. We’ll speak of the hunt later.’ And within our own walls.....

His horse broke into a run with a flick of the reins. Valr and Falarr raced after him, grinning. Valr let the wind from their quick pace blow away his sense of unease. He laughed aloud, sharing his joke with his his horse. ‘He called her a “lady”!’ he cried, laughing again at the thought of his crazy little sister as a “lady”.

[Folwren]

The man’s calmness disturbed Brodda. He shifted his weight in the saddle. “You’re not going to see the elves, you presumptuous rogue,” he said sharply. “You will proceed before me, walking, and I will ride behind. We’re going to the great hall, and if you don’t know the way, I’ll tell you. Now move.”

He jerked his head in the general direction behind him and then moved his horse out of the old man’s way so that Thorn had a clear path back into the narrow streets of the village. Thorn’s steady eyes gave him a final stare and then he walked forward obediently. Brodda’s mouth tightened with anger and disdain. The more he had to do with the old man the less he liked him.

Thorn knew the way to the hall. Brodda never once had to give any sort of direction and never once did he feel as though Thorn were contemplating any movement to escape and get away. He walked like a lamb to the slaughter, Brodda commented to himself. A cruel smile twisted its way onto his face. Like the lamb, he thought, the man probably didn’t know what he was walking towards.

At the gates of the courtyard of the hall, the guards sprang to attention. “That man is under arrest,” Brodda said as he stopped. “Put him away until lord Uldor returns and calls for him.”

The guards knew precisely what Brodda meant and one of them immediately laid hands on Thorn and took him inside the gates. Brodda looked after them a moment and then nodded briefly. Without a glance at the other guard, he turned around again and once more headed towards the hunting grounds, this time without dread of meeting his master.

[Lalaith]

The ill-will emanating around the gathering was so strong you could almost touch it. Embla shrank under the weight of the stares.
"Come with me, both of you, you will sup with us."
The elf-lord was looking into her heart and her mind, she could feel it. She had always been thin-skinned, but since the sight of her people had come to her, she often felt near-naked under the eyes of others: it was, in many ways, a most unwelcome and unwanted gift.
Embla moved closer to Fastarr, for comfort, and the two of them followed Lachrandir through the trees to a nearby clearing.
The elf looked at her, expectantly. It was time to be bold, to speak or forever be silent about what lay so heavily on her.
"I know, my lord, that to you I seem a mean thing - young and foolish. Wood, even,” she blurted. “I seem that way to myself, sometimes. I do not really know what it is I fear. But my heart tells me that there is no honour, no fealty, in these Ulflings; and if I do not tell you this now, I will never sleep easy at night again.”
Emboldened by her new-found eloquence, she continued, and her thoughts seemed to become clearer as she spoke, giving form to the nameless apprehensions that gnawed at her.
"I fear too, the woman Jord. She has the Ulfling lord in thrall, and little wonder, for her words are like honey. She has cunning, she has power over the souls of men...and women.” Embla reddened, remembering how she too had almost succumbed to the wiles and promises laid out by the dark-haired stranger. Instinctively, she reached out for Fastarr’s hand.

[littlemanpoet]

Hands were laid on him and he was unceremoniously pushed into the hall.

"You heard Brodda, this is Lord Uldor's prisoner, so I'm taking personal responsibility for him, and if any of you others have any complaints on that score-" the dark-haired man cast a baleful eye around at other guards who did not look pleased "-you can take them to Lord Uldor when he gets here."

"Fancy words, Anydor," said one of the taller guards, "but it was Uldor's man who brought him and so of course he says wait for Uldor, but more likely the order came from Ulfast."

"So that's how it's going to be, is it, Clegga?" said Anydor. "Uldor's men, to me! Let's put this upstart in his place, where his upstart favorite will no doubt be before too long!"

Clegga's eyes smoldered. "Ulfast's men, to me! We all know Uldor's a treacherous rogue who forfeited his claim but won it back through foul play! To me Ulfastings!"

Quickly, the men in the room formed two companies facing each other, with hands on hilts, eyeing each other angrily, waiting for the least provocation. A handful of men had stood aside and watched the two groups of guards nervously.

"What of them?" Thorn asked of Anydor, who still held his upper arm in a vice-grip.

"Never mind, traitor!" He faced Clegga. "You see we have the greater number, so stand down, fool."

Clegga glanced at those who had not taken sides. "We of Ulfast have no quarrel with those who love Ulwarth best, but know that if Uldor becomes lord of the Ulfings, it will go ill with all those who do not favor him now. To me, Ulwarthings!"

A three way civil war right in the great hall, thought Thorn. This could undermine the Bauglir's plans if it could be used so. He wondered what would happen next.

Lachrandir

Lachrandir remembered the woman Jord, from the banquet, how Uldor had seemed ready to eat out of her hand. This young woman's words did fit the pattern. Lachrandir had not been impressed with much from the Ulfing lords until this day when their prowess of arms came clear in the hunt, and he had been ready on that basis to report to Lord Caranthir that the Ulfings would make good allies. But base treachery, like that which the woman spoke of, threatened to turn the tide away from the Fëanorians and their allies, in favor of Morgoth.

"Woman, I am convinced that you believe what you are saying. Further, it is clear to me that you are speaking to me to no advantage for yourself, at least that I can yet see. Therefore, I am given to believe you. Therefore-"

His words were interrupted by the screech of a large bird that suddenly flew into the clearing. It came hurtling at him.

[Gwathagor]

It was not a bird. It was a bat. Or it seemed at least, though it was larger than any bat they had ever seen and it was indistinct, as if it was not wholly bat, but unsure of its own being, a creature caught between natures and cloaked by shadow. The great shadow-bat soared over the trees, beating its great translucent wings of trailing gossamer, then swept down towards them with terrifying speed. Its claws were long, and made of cold iron.

As Jord (for Jord it was) had stood triumphantly over the body of Khandr in the dusty street wiping the last trickle of blood from her lips, she felt a spasm of power ripple through her body. She waited, breathing heavily. It hit her again, driving cramps through her arms and neck. She looked down towards Khandr, and then at the blood still on her fingertips. Was it possible? she thought. As the power-spasm hit her a third time, her head was thrown back instinctively and her arms flew straight out, fingers splayed wide. This time, the power did not leave her. It rose in her throat, taking possession of her being. A darkness from the blood pooling about her feet began to swirl close about her, until it had obscured her from sight completely. Then, it dissipated in the blink of an eye. Jord had changed.

She was now winged and mantled by shadow. Her fingers had grown long and cruel. Her face remained Jord's, but there was no longer any color in it, save a the blood-red of her lips, between which a row of sharp, white teeth could be seen. Her dark hair had become dull and black as soot, and it blew about her face in an unnatural, chill wind which emanated from her own person. The only light in that dark figure was the glittering of the iron claws which protruded from her hands, the glittering of her sharp white teeth, and the glittering of her eyes.

She spoke not a word as she examined her claws and her wings. Everything was just as she remembered it, if not quite as vivid. She laughed quietly to herself. The change triggered by the drinking of Khandr's blood had been painful, but now that it was made, she wondered how she had ever been content in a mortal shape. She knew that it would not last long without the taste of new blood. But she smiled, for her sudden need for blood lent itself well to her task.

"And now the elf lord," she said, and then was gone, thrown skyward by a single great sweep of her wings.

In the clearing she found him and two others. Into their midst she hurtled like the Hammer of Morgoth, landing in a crouch. A great slash of her deceptively delicate wings threw both Fastarr and Embla to the ground with tremendous force, ten feet behind her, even as she was rising to face Lachrandir. Then, quick as a wink, her cruel, clawed fingers flashed out and seized the elf lord by the neck. She lifted him from the ground with utter ease and looked into his eyes.

"Do you know me, Feanorian? I am Thuringwethil, and I have come to destroy your people."

[littlemanpoet]

So it was true. What more could be said, or done? The Ulfings would betray Lord Caranthir, and it was beyond Lachrandir's power to stop them; unless - -

Lachrandir reached for his sword and began to draw it, but before he could, he felt the monster's claws tear into his throat. He knew his life was at an end. Where was Tathren? Maybe there was a moment yet in which he could send him a thought.

Tathren! Treason!

It was all he could manage; his life was spent.

Thorn

Clegga of the Ulfastings glanced at those who had not taken sides. "We of Ulfast have no quarrel with those who love Ulwarth best, but know that if Uldor becomes lord of the Ulfings, it will go ill with all those who do not favor him now. To me, Ulwarthings!"

A three way civil war right in the great hall, thought Thorn. This could undermine the Bauglir's plans if it could be used so. He wondered what would happen next.

Anydor, the leader of the Uldoring guards spoke next. "You play a dangerous game, Clegga. Be not a fool! You will not cow us! If we have pitched battle over this lone prisoner, it will be for nought, for you know as well as I that lord Ulfang has chosen Uldor as next lord, and once he comes upon this hall and sees bodies littering the floor, he will restore his place with an iron hand, and let any who stand in his way beware for their life and limb." He turned to the Ulwarthings. "Consider well, Ulwarthings, before you commit treason. Stand down, if you are not fools."

The Ulwarthings looked one to the other and one by one sheathed their blades.

Anydor cracked a grim smile. "Now then, Clegga, choose carefully your next deed."

Clegga looked at his fellows and with a scowl said, "Now is not the time to bring to Ulfast what is rightly his." He sheathed his sword, and his fellows did likewise.

"You are not so foolish," Anydor said. "Make way to the dungeon!"

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn sat in the dungeon, waiting and thinking. It was not a thoroughly disgusting and inhospitable place, for it was not marred with filth from past prisoners. In fact, it could hardly be called a dungeon. More like a cellar in which had been placed a bench. But it was dark.

One could only sleep so much. Thorn listened for the Song but could hear little of it. They had taken his staff from him, believing it to be a means of power; it was not. Rather, it was a means of focusing his thought. So without it, listening for the Song was harder.

Still, he was not troubled overmuch. He knew that he would be brought before the Ulfing lords and questioned before he died. He would use it to greatest advantage. Till then, he waited.

[Nogrod]

It was Embla who saw first the beast coming towards them.

"The vampire! The vampire from my vision!" she shrieked an tried to grasp Fastarr from the sleeve.

Fastarr felt his blood freezing with the sight of the oncoming creature. And it approached unimaginably fast. There was no time to think. Only time to act.

Fastarr had time to take one step and to swing his staff. He hit the creature just as it passed them. It was a blow that would have stopped a racing bull. But it had no effect on Thuringwethil. On the contrary Fastarr realised he was flying through the air and hitting the ground many feet away. Embla came stumbling down on him.

What is that monster-vampire? Fastarr managed to turn his head back towards the scene only to see the beast holding the elf-lord in it's talons and blood bursting all around. Instinctively he grasped Embla to his arms letting her not to turn towards the butchering.

"What... what is it... doing?" Embla mumbled in shakingly to Fastarr's ear while holding him tight. Her whole body was trembling... like Fastarr's.

Fastarr rolled himself to his knees and started dragging Embla away from the terrible sight. "Hurry now, he's dead and we can't do anything... Hurry now, let me help you..." Fastarr rose to his feet panting and pulled Embla up from the ground. He glanced quickly back to the ugly scene. Thuringwetil was stil holding the now lifeless elf in her talons.

"Run Embla, run!" he shouted and pushed her away from the beast just to see the Ulfing lords following the carnage on the slow hill just opposite of them. They looked like there was a spell on them as they stood there steady and expressionless, like time had stopped their bodies and faces... and even their souls into that posture.

"Noo!" Fastarr managed to grasp Embla back from the shoulder as she was starting to make a run towards the Ulfings. "Not there, not there!" He pulled her towards him to shelter her. Where are our horses? Where's that other elf? Where's my staff?

There was no going back or forward and the spell of the moment in the middle would be soon broken.

[Folwren]

Uldor did not see what took place in the clearing. None of the Ulfings did. The servants were yet busy about the boar, others were holding the horses. The three brothers sat mounted on their horses, forming a triangle with their backs to each other.

Uldor was consumed with impatience. Discontent, treason, and fear of treason in return never let him sit still for long without doubts creeping into his mind. Now he sat in restrained silence thinking about what the two, frantic Borrim might possibly have to say to Lachrandir in private.

“I should not have let them go,” he muttered. “Whatever they have to say to him should be for my ears as well.” His hand shifted and then clenched on his knee. His horse moved uneasily beneath him, and then suddenly lifted his head and gave a shrill neigh.

“Quiet, you beast!” Uldor exclaimed angrily. The horse’s noise subsided into an uneasy rumble in his throat, but his ears and head were still up.

At that moment, the shouts of a man reached the Ulfings’ ears. All the heads of both man and horse turned and looked in the direction the elves had gone. Tathren, who had remained behind, suddenly leaped back upon his horse and urged it into the trees, disappearing from sight almost at once.

“Ulfast!” Uldor called out behind him and spurred his horse forward without waiting to see if his brother would follow. He trotted through the trees and came to the clearing. He stopped his horse abruptly and his mouth opened at the sight before him.

Tathren knelt above the still and bloody figure of Lachrandir. The Borrim were nowhere in sight, and the killer, whoever it had been, was gone also

Udlor dismounted and hurried over. “What has happened? How was he killed?”

Tathren did not reply immediately. His throat worked momentarily as he tried to swallow. “I don’t know,” he finally got out. “But Lachrandir knew there was treason. He told me.”

[Gwathagor]

At the sound of the hoofbeats, Jord had fled the bloody meadow on pale shadow-wings, leaving no trace of her presence save the slaughtered corpse of Lachrandir. High she flew now, high above the clouds and human sight, as silent as death, back to the village. It was well begun now, well set in motion. As far as she knew, Lachrandir's had been the sole remaining voice which could turn Uldor's ear from her own counsel. With he and Khandr dead, the path to Uldor seemed clear. With a few deft twists and squeezes, she would soon have him doing her will - it did not matter whether he knew it or not.

The murders would serve a double purpose. Not only had they eliminated the chief obstacles to her goal, but they could now be used to foster further contention, distrust, and infighting among these dirty humans.

Jord dropped straight down out of the sky with the speed of a thunderbolt, and landed with perfect grace on the high roof of the Great Hall - all without making a sound. It was the work of a moment for her to slip over the edge of the roof and through the window into her chamber. Almost immediately, sharp pains began to wrack her body as her god-like bat-form diminished and dwindled, losing its claws and wings and fear-inspiring presence. She cringed, and not just from the pain; she had remembered how much she enjoyed being a vampire.

As soon as she had crossed back over into that wretched human-form, she would put on a new dress.

The one she was wearing was dirty.

[Lalaith]

Embla’s natural impulse was to succumb to hysterical panic – to sink to her knees and bury her face in the ground to get away from all the horror. But as she fell, there was something that forced her to stay in focus. It came – a vision, a fissure of clarity - trying to fight its way to the surface of her consciousness. “Fastarr...” at first she was whispering his name, then it turned into a hoarse, desperate scream, and she clutched feverishly at his tunic. “Khandr is dead. I can see him. They have killed him too. Oh Fastarr, please, let us run....” She kept talking, babbling insanely, hoping that somehow, the words would build a wall between them and the deadly threat hovering over them.
Fastarr looked at her blindly, as if he did not understand. He simply pulled her to her feet, stared at her, and because of the growing bond between them she instantly understood that it was time for action not words. Together, hand in hand, they ran frantically deeper into the forest. The horses they so desperately sought were gone - driven by their natural beast-like instincts to flee from the terror of Morgoth. Now the couple were alone amid the darkness of the trees, and danger was close behind them.

[littlemanpoet]

Uldor glanced at Ulfast with almost hidden disdain and gruffly said that the prisoner could wait. The brothers, including Ulwarth, went off to their private chambers; Ulfast could tell that his way was being shadowed by Jord's gleaming eyes.

He got to his room and left the door open, and began working at the cords that tied his tunic tight upon him. It was not long before he heard the whisper of a presence just beyond the door, a hint of a breeze that told him she was there. He kept his back to the door.

"Well, Jord? Aren't you going to come in?"

[Mithalwen]

The griefstricken experience time in two ways and so it was for Tathren. His world had changed so utterly with his masters death though time had not quite
halted but each moment seemed to expand to accommodate his bewilderment and sorrow. Yet he knew that externally things were as they always had been. The part of him that recognised this was suprised when the wain arrived and realised that the hunt had brought them back close to the Ulfing settlement.

He was loathe to let Ulfast's servants handle his master's body but the wain driver was clearly anxious not to linger in a place where the elf lord had come by a violent and mysterious death and it was a matter of moments before the short cortege left the scene, leaving no trace save blood and that would disappear with the next rain. Were he not for the presence of Lachrandir's body borne before him on the wain, it would seem quite unreal. That and the fact that his master's horse walked riderless beside his own, limiting its stride to match the solemn pace of the draught horses. Tathren remembered how he had struggled to keep up on their journey here and felt the tears rise again. He fought to master them.

This is real, he thought and his heart quailed knowing that he must surely answer for that the decisions he made now before Caranthir himself. Fear speeded the passage of time and all too soon were they passing under the gateway to the settlement. Tathren steeled his courage and gave orders, feigning the manner of his late lord and letting seeming arrogance mask his insecurity.

Lachrandir's body was borne into the great hall and was covered with the standard of Caranthir, that his page had commanded be taken down. Where were the Ulfing lords? Did they not honour the dead? Unable to anticipate what might follow Tathren took refuge in indignation.

[Gwathagor]

Behind Ulfast, Jord emerged from a shadowy corner of the room and walked forward until she stood between him and the door. His back was still turned to her when she spoke. Her voice was soft and persuasive, but penetrating nonetheless, as if she was speaking straight to Ulfast’s soul.

“Time is precious, Ulfast. The day appointed nears. Why did you delay?”

“My brother--,” began Ulfast.

“Are you a serf or a bondservant that you take orders from your brother, Ulfast?”

“I am a prince of the Ulfings!” Uldor turned to face Jord. “Do not mock me. Do take my favor for granted.”

Jord laughed lightly, but drove her next words, edged with ice, straight through Ulfast’s heart. As he listened, he hung his head.

“There can be only one Prince of the Ulfings, Ulfast. One of you must lead and the other must follow. Who would you serve: Uldor or Morgoth?”

Ulfast looked up at Jord slowly. “You know, Lady.”

“Do I? Only the strong may serve near Lord Morgoth, because only the strong can fulfill his wishes. In serving Uldor, you would serve Morgoth at a safe distance, but the price of that distance is glory. You would ever live in the shadow of your brother.”

Jord paused, letting her words sink in, then changed the subject. She took a few slow steps to the left, letting her long grey gown swirl a bit about her feet. It amused her.

“What do you know of these murders, Ulfast?” She grimaced inwardly, realizing that Ulfast may not yet have known that both Khandr AND Lachrandir were dead. “There have been rumors circling through the hall all day. Or perhaps I should ask Uldor?”

She could not resist the jab, and glanced sideways at Ulfast in anticipation of his reaction, which, she knew, would be priceless.

[littlemanpoet]

“What do you know of these murders, Ulfast?” asked Jord. Murders? thought Ulfast. More than one? Ulfast had only known of the murder of Lachrandir. Was there another he should know about? Had he missed something? Jord continued. “There have been rumors circling through the hall all day." [/i]All day? How could that be? Lachrandir had been murdered perhaps two hours ago. Is she playing cat and mouse with me?[/i] "Or perhaps I should ask Uldor?” She glanced sideways at Ulfast in that way she had, the gleam in the eye, the playful smile on her lips; the play of a predator with its prey. She was trying to provoke him!

"He knows no more than I! We have been hunting side by side all day." His own voice sounded harsh in his ears compared with her purring words. "As to the murder of Lachrandir, it must have been the filty Borrim pair, maybe trying to ruin the pledge between Lord Caranthir and the Ulfings." He still know nothing of a second murder and did not care to admit it. "So tell me what you know of these murders, and what folk are saying."

She spoke of the Borrim lord's death, reported by guards in the hall. He knew that the Borrim would have word back to their folk, and there would be no alliance between Borrim and Ulfing.

"Just as well," Ulfast said, "it means more glory for the Ulfings.

"And as for my brother, you say that I stand in his shadow. It is the way of the Ulfings. He is the elder, and so has right of birth. The only way for me to take his place is for him to die. Am I to murder him? Those who love him would want vengeance on me. Nay, if Morgoth wants me to lead, then Morgoth must see to it that Uldor is removed. Unless you know of another way?"

It was not the most subtle speech, but it would have to do, to give him some kind of advantage. And perhaps Jord knew of a way. This was his chance to learn of it. He watched her carefully to see what he could read in her expression. What would she say?

[Folwren]

Uldor had scarcely gotten his cloak and gloves off, before Brodda came to his chambers. Uldor bid him enter and allowed him to speak while he changed and washed.

“I guess you know that the old man is here, locked up,” Brodda began.

“Yes.” He splashed the water over his blood stained hands. “Is that all?”

“No, my lord. I have just learned that Khandr, the Borrim leader, has been murdered.”

“By whom?” Brodda shrugged, but Uldor’s back was to him. “Well?” Udlor snapped.

“I don’t know. No one does.”

Of all the most annoying things to happen, besides Lachrandir being killed, this had to be the worst. Why couldn’t someone murder Ulfast or Ulwarth? Get rid of some competition, instead of killing off his potential allies.

“I am dressed and ready. Go and tell my tardy brother that I am waiting for him. We have work to do, and he can’t tarry all day with that beautiful woman. Oh, yes. Let him know that I know. Traitor,” he muttered. “Both of them.”

[Gwathagor]

Jord grew weary of this stupid man. His weak attempt to parry and riposte could not conceal the ambition which gnawed at his soul, held back only by his numbing cowardice.

"I cannot show you your way, Ulfast," she snapped. "If you are worthy, you must make it yourself. You must prove to Lord Morgoth that you are worthy, worthy to be..." She paused.

Ulfast could not help fixing his gaze on Jord, awaiting her next words. In all other aspect he appeared cavalier, but his glance and his tone betrayed the anticipation and interest that he felt.

"Yes? To be what?"

Jord smiled. The harshness of a moment before vanished.

"Whatever you choose, Prince of the Ulfings. To his faithful servants Lord Morgoth will give thrones of victory, over elves and men alike. They are there for the taking, if you will only stretch out your hand of might, of courage...and take them. Such men are not deterred by circumstances, or by other men."

From seemingly nowhere, Jord produced a long, narrow dagger, cold and deadly, and set it silently on a small wooden table which stood just within the door.

"I will return for this tomorrow at sunset. If it is not here - then so be it. There have been so many murders recently." And with that, she looked straight and deep into Ulfast's eyes, goading him on to a decision.

He spoke not a word.

Perhaps she had overdone it. She was not even sure if Ulfast could comprehend all that she said, but she had said it as plain as she could without revealing her entire hand. Morgoth could care less who ruled the Ulfings - Ulfast would do, and so would Uldor - as long as they could obey orders. His one requirement was this: he needed all of the Ulfings, he needed them united. This gave Ulfast three choices: kill Uldor, die, or follow - and live with his cowardice. Jord personally rather hoped he would choose to kill his brother, as Uldor had yet to match his younger brother's willingness to pay homage to Lord Morgoth. Perhaps if he could be made to see the benefits...

"Very well, Ulfast. I'll go and see your older brother. He must tell me about the hunt, for I hear he killed a boar. He must be a very fine hunter. A very accomplished prince indeed."

Jord turned, and with a rustle and a swirl of long skirts disappeared through the rough wooden doorway and down the hall.

[littlemanpoet]

Ulfast watched her leave. So his task was clear. She meant for him to murder Uldor, and so follow her in deeds of murder; she had killed Lachrandir and Khandr. He would be a fool who missed that.

When she had disappeared from view, he stared at the dagger on the little table. He would have preferred a sword to kill his brother, but a dagger would do.

He heard muffled voices down the hall. It was Brodda, Uldor's dog, saying that Uldor wanted both Jord and Ulfast in the main hall. Giving orders again.

Not wanting Brodda to see the dagger, he hastened out of the room, closing his door, and walked straight up to Brodda.

"Lord Uldor-" Brodda started, but Ulfast shouldered by him.

"Give me no orders, wretch."

He came to the main hall. There was Jord, steppng next to Uldor like a cat trying to leave its territorial scent; the message was clear: 'you are mine'.

Ulfast spoke before Uldor could. "There are murderers loose! They must be found and justice done! Witnesses must be questioned. 'Tis time to set aside pleasures, brother, and go question our prisoner."

Without waiting for a retort, he headed off toward the dungeon, such as it was, careless of whether he was followed. Down he went, hearing quick footsteps behind him. Torches lit the way. He came to the prisoner's door, outside of which stood a guard.

"Open the door," Ulfast commanded. "I will speak to the prisoner."

More feet could be heard trundling down the stairs. Ulfast did not look back. Let him come after. He was determined to be first, and to ask the first question. The door opened, Ulfast entered the cell. The prisoner, who had been slouched over, sat up straight. Two guards came in and stood one on each side of the prisoner, whose face could not be seen clearly for the darkness.

"Who are you?" Ulfast demanded. "Bring me a torch!" he yelled up the stairs.

"I am Thorn of the Ulfings."

"You have not been among the Ulfings for years. Why did you come back now?"

Ulfast could hear and feel the presence of Uldor come in behind him, and the swish of Jord's gown announced her presence next.

"To warn Khandr that you will betray Lord Caranthir to Morgoth."

Ulfast sucked in breath. How did this man know? "Where did you hear such lies?"

"No man, no woman told me. I listen to the Song."

"You lie. Who told you?"

"The Song told me."

"What did you say to Khandr of the Borrim before he was killed?"

"That you would betray Lord Caranthir to Morgoth. And that he would die today."

"So you threatened him."

"No, I warned him."

"Do you mean to say that you warned him that someone else was going to kill him?"

"Yes."

"And who is this supposed killer?" Ulfast's heart deadened within him, for he knew that Jord had done the deed, and he suddenly realized that this Thorn, also knew.

"The one called Jord, who stands next to Lord Uldor is his killer. And she also killed the Elf Lord, Lachrandir."

One of the guards cuffed the prisoner across the face with the heel of his sword.

Torches were brought and handed to Ulfast and his brother. Ulfast raised it. In the light he saw for the first time the prisoner's face. There was no fear, just a cut lip. He stared steadily back at Ulfast, and it was unnerving.

"How dare you level such baseless accusations!" Ulfast stated, his words ringing hollow in his ears.

"Step aside brother mine," Uldor said at last, "now that you've run yourself aground letting this old fool trip you up so easily."

"He has done no such thing," Ulfast grated, knowing immediately that his clumsy denial could only mean the opposite of his words. Suddenly his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he wanted nothing so much as to end his brother's life. He glanced at Jord who met his eyes briefly. All he saw there was ravenous hunger.

Uldor spoke.

[littlemanpoet]

Uldor spoke.

His voice was quiet and cold. “What good has your song done for you, old man? If it is of use to you, why did you bother to tell Khandr anything if you knew he was going to die before he could do anything with it? Why not better have spent your time telling the elven ambassador? You failed.”

Thorn looked at Uldor with steady eyes. Here was the oldest brother, the one with the greatest ambition, the greatest power and presence. Ulfast paled by comparison to the evil, hunger, and cleverness in this one. This one chose scorn and mockery. He listened to the Song even as Uldor spoke, and as he considered his reply. It gave him his words now. He was content.

"You speak and judge, lord Uldor, as if you know the whole of my purpose. But you do not. I have done all that has been required of me, save one. It is this. Rid yourself of this buzzard of Morgoth that bears the face and form of a fetching lady. Do not put your hope in Morgoth Bauglir, for he will betray and destroy you. Be true to your vow to aid Lord Caranthir. Your aid may turn the tide for the Free Peoples. Your betrayal will lay waste all the land. Choose carefully, for your doom hangs on a thread, lord Uldor."

Uldor was at first inclined to be angry and to end this miserable interview, but he suddenly pause. This could be valuable to him. If Thorn knew the future because of the Song, perhaps Uldor could find out exactly what he should do to gain his desired end.

"What doom?" the Ulfing asked.

Jord stiffened. Buzzard of Morgoth indeed! If the old lunatic seeks to save his life, he does it ill. And yet, for all her scorn, she knew that Thorn had the power of truth on his side - which, for all its weaknesses, had an unpleasant manner of being persuasive at the most surprising and disruptive times. Unbidden, Thorn began to take form in her mind as a meek, yet strangely confident and masterful nemesis, in control despite his prison bars. She fought down a sudden surge panic. He is old, mad, and weak. Play your turn carefully, and he can pose no threat. She wished to appear unconcerned with the accusations leveled against her, and protest was all too often construed as a sign of guilt; so she kept her silence, and waited.

Thorn could tell that his words had made the servant of Morgoth bridle. He sensed her fear. Well she should; not because he was a threat, for he was just a servant of the Song. No, she should fear the truth, and the One to whom the Song pointed. But Uldor had asked a simple question. Thorn knew what he sought; the Ulfing lord would have to work harder than that.

"Your doom. If you betray the Eldar to Morgoth your name will live on in infamy, and the Ulfings will be wiped from the face of the earth by flood and fire. Should you be true to Lord Caranthir, you will reap what one may expect from the fields he sows in."

"Lord Caranthir battles against the most powerful being in the world. The fields he sows in seem to be promising only of defeat. I do not see victory possible, and to stand against Morgoth would be worse doom to me than to have my name live on in infamy." He stared down at the old man, and a slow smile played over his face. "Besides, you don't know what I have been promised."

Thorn found it amusing that this ambitious lordling of men what stoop to bandying an argument with a poor prisoner such as himself; but this betrayed the latent fear in Uldor, for all his grand words. Thorn's mouth spread in a slow smile.

"What matters it to a poor prisoner likely to see his death this day, what lies Morgoth Bauglir has told you? Whether he gives you a silmaril to wear, Dorthonion to lord over, be sure that you will be in his thrall and never know freedom again. Is betrayal worth such a price? Only a fool would pay it, and such I name you."

Uldor snarled and his left hand lashed out and caught the collar of Thorn’s tunic. He shook the old man furiously. “Fool! Fool! You’ll meet death - you’ll know him intimately by tomorrow! Lies - lies and treachery!” He threw him backwards at the guard who had been standing quietly beside the prisoner. “Take him - and use what slowest means you can to kill this worm - this - this” he couldn’t find an appropriate word for one who defiled Morgoth’s name with baseless accusations.

Or were they baseless? Before even Thorn’s punishment had begun, Uldor was already being tortured. Doubt and fear and hatred tormented him. He turned around, sent one, long look of hate towards Jord and Ulfast, and then stormed from the cell.

[Gwathagor]

Jord smiled. She smiled at Thorn, for he was a doomed man and nothing could stop her now. She smiled at herself, for she had beaten him without lifting a finger. She smiled at the departing Uldor, for it was through Uldor's fatal pride that Thorn had been beaten. She smiled at Ulfast for no reason at all. And she smiled because she saw that perhaps Uldor would do after all, if only because his arrogance blinded him to the truth when he heard it, and drove him to do wrong when instructed with the right. His hate, and his pride would be useful tools could they be corralled and directed. On the other hand, they could very well make him dangerous, a maverick thrall.

She spoke to Ulfast. "Your brother seems to be in a bad temper. Perhaps you should go and comfort him."

One way or the other, time was running out for Jord. She was working hard, but Morgoth needed the Ulfings soon - sooner, perhaps, than she could manage, she feared, given her rate of progress with Uldor. She needed him for Morgoth, or she needed him dead.

[littlemanpoet]

"Your brother seems to be in a bad temper," Jord said to Ulfast, a haughty and bating look on her face. "Perhaps you should go and comfort him."

"He needs no comfort from me," Ulfast grated, but took her cue and left the cellar.

Thorn was ready to die, but he had no intention of dying under the torturer's tools. He found it almost unbelievable that his warders had not chained him in any way. His hands were free, and so were his feet. One more thing he could do for the cause of the Free Peoples. Even though it was not likely to succeed, it might keep his death from being prolonged.

He had sat on the bench as Uldor had walked out, and as Jord had spoken her cunning words to Ulfast. Did she expect to be the one to exact his torture? There were two guards with Jord yet, and that was just how he wanted it.

Thorn leaped off the bench at Jord. With the advantage of surprise, he grabbed her neck in both hands and began to squeeze with all his might, his thumbs at her wind pipe. He did not expect to survive this, but he was determined to die fighting. They would have to kill him to get his hands off her throat.

[Gwathagor]

Before she knew what was happening, Jord was being strangled. She felt little more than a calm sense of surprise, at first. She was not used to being strangled, so this was an entirely new human sensation for her. It intrigued her and, still under the influence of the surprise and the novelty of the thing, she considered it with a detached sense of interest. The mortal body was strange, subject to sensations and weaknesses which in her previous exalted form, she could never have imagined. Distracted by these thoughts, she grappled silently on the floor with her attacker. The guards down the hall did not notice.

Then the stranglehold began to take effect and the fight began in earnest. As the blood began to pound in Jord's head and her lungs began to burn, she found herself in the grip of an implacable terror, something wholly new and wholly human: weakness. She had never felt it like this before, she had never felt so powerless, so claustrophobic, so afraid.

Jord began to panic as she tried to push her attacker away, without success. She thrashed wildly, back and forth, trying to shake him free, trying to call upon her reserves of power. They would not answer. She was alone in her mortality, and it frightened her more than anything she had ever experienced.

Now her mind was fading. She could feel, vaguely, her senses becoming dull and distant and she knew instinctively that they would soon fail altogether. In a last furious effort, she seized one of the sinewy hands which were clamped about her neck and pried it from her neck for a fraction of a second.

It was enough. In that split second, Jord screamed, and as quickly as it had begun, the fight was over. Startled, the guards rushed down the hall, seized Thorn, threw him against the bars of his prison cell, and began battering him with the hafts of their heavy spears. Jord staggered to her feet, holding her bruised throat with one hand, and leaning against the wall with the other. Her breath came in great, excruciating gasps. She spat out two words, hoarse and malevolent.

"Kill him!"

Caught up in the general violence of the situation, the guards did not question her orders, though they bore no true authority.

[littlemanpoet]

"Kill him!"

As if there wills were not their own, the two guards drew back with their spears and pierced him twice, one low and upward, one high and straight. Suddenly the vacuum of his lungs was gashed and he could not get enough breath. And his heart was breached. The pain thudded like a ton weight on his chest. He fell to his knees, his cell going black. He began to go numb. He felt the two points pull from his body like distant pricks that scarcely mattered.

Everything went dark. He could not feel, could not breathe, could not taste or smell; he could only hear.

He heard curses on the lips of the fiend of Morgoth. He heard the fleeing footfalls of the two guards. He heard the Song again, at first only faintly. Slowly the sound grew in beauty and in might until it filled all his world. Suddenly light returned, and there were two Trees tall and strong under a bright sunrise, and glad birds sang the Song as if this dawn outmatched all that had come before.

Briefly he looked back and down and saw a small form in a small earthen cell, alone, wounded to the quick, a wrathful fiend full of fear and doubt fleeing from it, seeking vengeance wherever it could while its misbegotten life lasted; and there were two lords with his blood on their hands, each seeking the death of the other; and there was a young Elf sorrowing, preparing to return to his liege.

Much had yet to go well and ill, but his part of the tale had come to its end. He walked toward to the two Trees, singing.

[littlemanpoet]

He saw Uldor walking to his room. Ulfast went swiftly to his own and closed the door shut behind him. He did not want someone spying on him, including Jord. He looked to the table where the dagger lay. He picked it up and fingered its delicately carved handle. The fingered the edge; it was sharp. He slipped it inside his jerkin and left his room, determined to thrust the dagger in Uldor's breast.

He strode out into the main hall. How to go about it? What should be done? He paused, uncertain, to see Jord coming from the dungeon, rubbing her throat. She looked pale, as if something had happened that had put her out of her humor.

"Did that clown say something to you to make you frown so?"

She stopped and stared at him. "He tried to strangle me." Her voice sounded tight and forced.

Ulfast was immediately enraged and started toward the dungeon.

"Leave off, he is dead. The guards pulled him off me and killed him."

"Ah," he said, relaxing, "so much for torture."

She scowled and brushed by him. But her words had given him an idea. He sent a guard to Uldor to report that there had been no torture, that the prisoner was dead. It was not long before Uldor came out, scowling.

"What is this I hear? How did the prisoner die so quickly? Was there no torture?"

"I have not been told," Ulfast lied. "The guards are still below with the prisoner. Perhaps they should be questioned."

"No doubt you put them up to it," Uldor growled at him as he started for the dungeon. Ulfast followed, fingering his hidden dagger. As Uldor came to the final step, Ulfast drew the dagger and raised it. Suddenly he felt a hot streak of pain in his own chest. His weakening hand could no longer hold the dagger, and it dropped from his hand. Who? Ulfast looked behind him to see Broddha's satisfied but grim smile.

"Lord, your brother was about to murder you," said Broddha "I have taken his life instead." He pulled the blade from Ulfast's back, cutting on the way out. Ulfast gasped with the second pain, worse than the first, and his blood ebbed from him. His eyes widened in horror. He was dying! His knees buckled and he fell to the floor in a heap. He could not breathe. All went black and he knew no more.