Code Red by Scribe of Mirrormere  

Code Red

A Grey Matter 

With speed like lightning flew the arrow, evoking a groan from the walker upon impact, but Aredhel did not stop to make certain her shot had gone through the skull. She spun around and jabbed her dagger through the eye socket of another, and with one heavy boot she kicked off the third approaching her, spinning out of its way and raining down on it the thick heel of her boot till its skull cracked, blood and brains spilling all over the grey ground.

From the distance she saw more of the accursed creatures sluggishly making their way toward her, drawn by the noise. She grabbed her dagger and yanked out the arrow, then dashed deeper into the forest. She located her horse Nimanor, and after hopping on, she cried out for her to make haste just as the growls of more of the accursed undead were heard.

She pushed Nimanor to go faster. Just as she began to believe she was well away from the danger, suddenly a walker appeared from the bushes; Nimanor neighed loudly as she reared up, sending Aredhel crashing to the ground.

Fighting the sharp pain shooting up her arm, she rolled away from Nimanor lest her hooves came crashing down on her. Spitting out dirt, she scrambled to her feet in time to witness that Nimanor was far out of reach, galloping down an untrodden path in a frenzy.

“Foolish steed!” Aredhel cried before beheading an approaching walker just in time. Blood gushed from its aorta, splattering her white dress. She kicked it off hard enough to topple the other walker behind it. One slash later, and another walker went down, its skull pierced with her dagger.

The blood soaking her dress was starting to weigh her down, and without a moment’s hesitation she tore off the front of her skirt. More were approaching her at every angle, but she had little arrows left, and half were virtually unusable at this point.

Taking one look at the nearest tree, she decided this would be her only chance. As she climbed up she could hear the walkers' growls as they sought to grab her dress. She yanked away strips of hem they could reach while struggling not to fall.

A pressure which had been slowly building in her bladder was reaching its peak, and Aredhel had to draw in a deep breath and press her thighs together to steady herself.

This is perhaps not the best time to be in need to relieve myself, unless if I can get a good aim at these bastards from a high branch, Aredhel thought, and she chuckled at the mental image for but a moment, for the act threatened to make her lose control.

The tree was so tall that she was certain she could reach the very top and be safe from the snarling monsters beneath her. She could stay up there the night or perhaps climb from one tree to the next to locate that dratted Nimanor.

Just as she was feeling optimistic about her prospects, her foot missed a spot, slipped, and down she went.

"No!" she cried, knowing how very well one small mistake would be enough to cost one's life. She had seen it with her own eyes before, countless of times.

She sealed her eyes shut the very minute she hit the ground. By some miracle she did not wet herself, but she had no time to be grateful for that. The walkers behind her growled and sneered, jaws snapping at her heels, but she could not back down now. She scrambled back up and kicked away at one before the rippling pain shot through her, tearing out a sharp curse that rang throughout the forest. One ankle had been twisted, and though she fought to keep her balance she fell back against the tree, almost knocking herself out cold. She fell to her knees, watching the walkers, ever growing larger in number around her. Her heart hammered in fright.

Suddenly there was a glint of metal, and a walker's head toppled to the ground, followed by another, then two more. Soon all the bodies which surrounded her had fallen to the ground, blood gushing out in spurts, tainting the sweet earth below a deep red.

There was a figure now standing before her, though they were not alone, as two walkers stood behind them. But the accursed were of no threat as they had neither arms nor bottom jaw.

The figure in the middle wore a long black cloak over some sort of black armor, and a hood covered his face. One hand gripped the chains that connected to collars around the walker’s neck. In his other hand he held a long black sword.

"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked and removed his hood. He was a tall elf, grim-faced and dark-haired, and skin a solid brown like the tree behind him.

Avari, Aredhel thought immediately. Though he had just saved her, she was on alert. But studying him, the hollow cheeks and bags under his eyes indicative of not having properly slept or ate for months, he seemed to be no threat. She neither hated nor feared Avari, as she knew of at least one in Gondolin.

“My ankle will heal,” Aredhel said as she got to her feet, “though it better not slow me down under these current conditions.”

“Aye,” the elf agreed. “I am Eöl of the Kinn-lai tribe, and who may you be?”

“Aredhel of the Noldor,” Aredhel said brightly, already feeling her ankle healing.

“A Noldo,” Eöl said, his eyebrows raised.

Aredhel smirked. “A descendent of the great king Finwë.”

“Ah, a relation of the House of Fëanor. I confess I do not love your people for their ill deeds, my lady, as much as it is believed we both hail from the peoples of the Second Wakers.”

“They are not all awful, but I understand some of your resentment,” Aredhel said conversationally. “There are actions from my kin I too do not agree with.” She tapped the body of one fallen walker with her boot. “Any ideas where they came from? When I was given leave to partake in this journey, no one mentioned there would be undead creatures trying to rip us asunder.”

“None of my or others’ theories have been proven correct,” Eöl said. “Some of my people suspect it came from the race of Men, as they are sickly and die too soon, and in recent days we have not seen nor heard from them. So odd their illness could pass to us.”

“I’ve only heard of them,” Aredhel said, “though one of my cousins said to have met them. They sound fascinating, but a pity their coming here brought with them an illness, if this is true. Our differences aside, I would not like to think this was some curse laden on us all for my people coming here.”

Eöl nodded in agreement. “That was another theory, but you do not look diseased.”

“I appreciate the assessment.” She noticed then, faded on his skin by now, were ceremonial paint, and her mind reeled with what sort of festivals and ceremonies the Kinn-lai held. Stay focused, you foolish elf.

“If you do not mind the slight change in subject, you spoke of having been with a party?”

“Yes. We carried the flags of the Fountain, the Golden Flower, the Heavenly Arch, and that of the King, my own house. Did you happen to see any of those images?”

“A golden flower and fountain?” Eöl said, frowning in deep thought. “Not today, but I have seen them pass by here a few times before. Unlike your cousins, they never showed sign of wishing to assail me or this land. I believe their names were…, er, Ecthelion and Glorfindern?”

“Ecthelion and Glorfindern are dead,” Aredhel said. “Or to use the latter’s correct name, Glorfindel. He was the first to fall after we were attacked. I saw him ripped to shreds by these creatures. Ecthelion fell into a river while fighting a whole army of them, but I doubt he survived. My third escort, Egalmoth, and I first sought refuge in one of my cousin’s lands, but it was only to find a whole horde of them feasting on Celegorm, which may please you to hear. Unfortunately half of the walkers took note of our presence and came after us, thus the fate of my other cousins I do not yet know. Egalmoth and I were separated as we ran. I fear for his safety. He’s a mighty strong fighter, but our enemies are many.

“Who are your companions?”

“Forgamdir and Hargamdir,” Eöl explained. “They were once fellow smiths with whom I worked with in these woods, but after the sickness struck them…they tried to attack me after they turned, but I had not the heart to kill two of my closest colleagues and friends. I noticed the walkers do not take notice if they do not pick up your scent, so I kept Forgamdir and Hargamdir beside me but took away all manners in which they could hurt me. I do feel safer with them around.”

Aredhel nodded to the two elves. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen. You have a smithy here?”

“Yes, for this is Nan Elmoth and I am its lord,” Eöl said. “I will take you there if you wish.” His eyes studied the broken and overused arrows protruding from Aredhel’s quiver. “And if there is anything you require, be it food or weapons, do not hesitate to ask.”

Aredhel dusted the gravel off her dress and straightened herself proudly. “I require a toilet. And new weapons.”

Eöl nodded. “The plumbing in some of the houses still works.” He tugged at the chains, and Forgamdir and Hargamdir followed. Aredhel stayed close, protected by the stench of the former elven smiths. Very little sunlight peeked between breaks in the layers of leaves overhead, but though she would normally find this trait charming in its mystery, it only made her more unsettled with the thought of what danger could be lurking in the shadowy underbrush.

“Oh! Smart thinking,” she said as they neared the village. Lining the borders were long spears bolted to the ground, the sharp points jutting outward. Any walker who came by would drive right into the sharp ends, and indeed there were currently a couple stuck to the poles. Forgamdir and Hargamdir paused and turned to the nearest one, an exchange in groans and moans ensuing.

“Do not converse with strange men,” Aredhel advised wisely, poking their backs till the two resumed following Eöl.

The village of Nan Elmoth was tiny but homely, clearly an industrial village to serve for King Thingol of Doriath. It was once bustling with work: smoke of the smithies filling the air, a canopy over sounds of people at work on the looms, whirls of pottery wheels, appetizing smells from the bakeries and cafes which still faintly lingered. But now it lay completely silent and bare. The doors of the small houses  were left wide open, jars and vases tipped over, some broken, the beautiful intricate design of the Avarin culture shattered.

“We urged everyone to evacuate to Doriath for safety,” Eöl explained. “Only the smiths remained to continue forging weapons, but they too fell. I’m the last of them.”

Aredhel crouched to study one of the broken vases, wondering what the colors and symbols meant for them, if there was a story behind them. There were once several tribes here, she realized, noting the different designs, one of which she recognized as belonging to the Hwenti. A vague scent of special herbs met her nose, and she envisioned their daily life, their cuisines, the elves laughing and dancing to music at night to unwind from the day’s hard work.

How very different and yet familiar the designs looked to her, and she thought of her mother Anairë, a very spiritual woman who taught Aredhel a different story of the stars and the creation of the universe. The thought of her now bowed in prayer, so far away from Aredhel trapped in this vast battlefield, brought out a sadness. She wished she had spent more time with her mother when she had the chance. At least, she hoped, Valinor was safe from the spreading disease.

“Lady Aredhel?” came Eöl’s soft voice, shaking her out of her reverie. He indicated toward a house. “The plumbing here functions.”

“Thank you,” she said, straightening up and wiping all grief from her face. “The dam was just about to break!”

Feeling better at having relieved herself, Aredhel washed at the nearby basin when Eöl called her again.

“There is some salted meat and berries if you wish,” he said, sliding a plate onto a table in the kitchen. “I’m afraid there’s not much here, as Doriath is rationing their lembas, and beasts flee upon seeing the walkers.”

“It is a feast for kings and queens,” Aredhel said, studying the thin strips with hunger. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was from the journey and the battles, and just now she also became aware how awful she smelled.

Eöl bowed. “I do hope you do not mind squirrels?”

“I hunted and feasted on stranger things in the lands of the Valar!” Aredhel laughed. She removed her quiver and satchel and placed each on the bag beside the plate. She took a quick sniff under her arms and made a face, then without thinking pulled her dress over her head. She heard Lord Eöl give a tiny embarrassed yelp and turn away, and she laughed again.

“We were created by the purity of Eru the One and yet we treat our holy bodies as shameful objects,” she said.

“It is impolite to see another in this manner, as we are neither family nor married.”

“Get used to it if we are to team up for this bizarre battle,” Aredhel said. “I prepared a dress for this in case should I find myself in battle, as this one easily got torn and messy. I made it myself for such an occasion.”

Eöl just nodded his head, still not glancing at her until he heard her give a cry of delight at the dress. Grinning, she placed her hands on her hips.

“I call this Code Red,” she said proudly. “Unfortunately, I do not think the pants are strong enough to protect me.”

“In my dresser you will find something to wear, made of metal that will protect you,” Eöl said. “It is the same as what I am wearing right now.”

“Oh, so this is your house!” Aredhel said as she ran to the bedroom. She located the dresser, but became disappointed when she pulled out one of the tiny black pants.

Code Red by welcometolotr

“These can’t even fit a child,” she thought. She tugged on the waistband and was shocked to find it stretched easily. She could slip right into it, and the metal shifted and stretched to take in her entire form. Testing her thigh, she was satisfied with its unique strength. No arrow would pierce it, much less a walker’s bite.

“I can probably stretch this even further,” she mumbled to herself and slipped it up far under her dress, over her waist, carefully tucked each breast inside, and pulled it up all the way to her neck. It didn’t feel like she was wearing anything at all, and the pants at least did not feel like it would cause a problem in movement. Most importantly, she was rest assured her heart and vital organs were well protected. Eöl also had black boots made of the same material, which Aredhel helped herself to.

“Do the others wear this armor?” Aredhel called out to Eöl as she made her way back to the kitchen. Eöl was tinkering with a strange new weapon he had been working on.

“Not everyone,” he said. “Galvorn is not in abundance, and it is…difficult to extract.”

“Such a pity,” Aredhel said. She noticed then a small painting of three elves, one of whom was Eöl, looking not so exhausted, and two others she thought she recognized.

“They are the elves I grew up with,” Eöl said, tracing her gaze to the painting. “My oldest friends. My mother made this before we parted ways. Meleth and Rôg, I knew them.”

Aredhel gasped. “I thought I knew them! They live in Gondolin now, my home. I would take all your people there. The walls of my brother’s land should protect us from any danger.”

“They reside in Gondolin?” The look in Eöl’s eyes sent an ache in Aredhel’s heart; they glanced out in the distance, a yearning bubbling up through his tired body. “My friends. So they must be safe, I’m assuming? Had the Noldor welcomed them warmly?”

“There were no dangers when I left, and no. Admittedly there was some suspicion, for Rôg claimed to be of our kin but none knew him before, and some were hostile to Meleth, but they are loved and respected now. Rôg even is the lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, and all go to Meleth to heal their hurts.”

Eöl smiled warmly. “Bless them both.”

“Come with me, then. You will unite with them and be safe.”

“But I can’t. Do they not say whoever goes in never come out? I have other friends and family here.”

“I left! Besides, it may not be safe out here for the longest time.”

Eöl shook his head. “And what of the dangers within? I sent the others to Doriath, and I made weapons to deliver to them monthly, but communications have run dry in recent weeks. I am concerned for them, so I would like to go there myself soon.”

“Like I said, we can all go to Gondolin, but I can go to Doriath with you first,” Aredhel said, sensing defeat. “I don’t much fancy the idea of traveling alone back to my home. I did not think I would ever say this, but the thought of walls appeals to me greatly at this hour.” She nibbled the tip of the meat strip. From here she could see Forgamdir and Hargamdir standing idly right outside like horses with their reins tied to a post. She could ask for one of them to accompany her back to Gondolin, but Doriath was closer, and Aredhel much liked having someone who could still communicate.

“Once you are done, I will show you the weapons I have been building,” he said after a while.

He next led her to the smithy connected to the largest building of the small village. Aredhel’s eyes widened the moment she stepped inside. Every inch of the place had been hollowed out of all furniture and decorations, and in their place were large stacks of arsenal of every kind.

On one wall were once displays of all jewelry the Avari had made, but each one had been taken down and the gems and gold and silver reused for new weapons.

No wonder he’s so tired and thin! Aredhel thought. He must have taken apart every piece of the village for this task.

Eöl could not help a small smile as he watched Aredhel take in the collection with wonder. He stuck out his thin chest just a little in pride.

“Take whatever you need,” he said. “There is enough for yourself and all of Doriath. I ask nothing in return.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Aredhel threw out her arrows for a new set, the arrows strong and hard in her hand. Among the collection she found a black-bladed dagger with a silver handle and another set of throwing knives.

“How will you take these all to Doriath,” she asked, “if you are the only one that remains here?” She imagined Forgamdir and Hargamdir hailing the entire load with straps attached to their backs as if they were mules, and she tried her best to stifle her laughter.

“Ah.” Eöl grinned. “Elf and Man may be affected by this illness, but there is one people that can withstand them, and they are marching here right at this moment: the race of Dwarves, children of Mahal. They too are my colleagues and closest friends.”

Unable to hold back, Aredhel exploded with excitement. “You kid me! I have only heard of the dwarves! My cousins have been trying for years to gain their friendship.”

Eöl chuckled. “I suppose I am the reason the dwarves do not take kindly to the Noldor.”

“Well then, they have not yet met me,” Aredhel said, her mind reeling with excitement as she gazed out to the fence.

“Come in, quick!” Meleth’s voice reached Idril, who took another glance over her shoulder, surveying the street, before slipping into the healing house.

“How is he faring?” she asked in a whisper, motioning to the elf atop the bed.

“I’m afraid he is slipping. His infection had spread and rejected my treatment. The first time I have seen an elf succumb to illness so quickly.” Meleth studied the man with pity.

Idril nodded. “So sad such a small injury is consuming him!”

“At the least he should not turn into one of them. He was not far outside of Gondolin when he got the injury, but still, I wish to observe him.”

“Do you have some doubt?”

“Lady Idril, is that you?” the elf called weakly from the bed.

“I am here, yes!” Idril’s voice rose up a notch, adopting a more singsong tone. “Brought you your favorite treats from the stalls of the Golden Flower Bakery! Lady Malleth’s famous recipe!”

The elf smiled weakly. “So kind, my lady, so kind. And what of your famous poems?”

Smiling sadly, Idril went on to recite one of his favorites. The afternoon passed, and still he did not even move to touch the bag of treats she left by his side. Idril’s words brought a smile that did not reach his eyes, but he kept still and listened. When she was done, Idril returned to Meleth’s side, and the two sat in silence for the remainder of the day and did not stir even as the elf drew his final breath.

Aredhel watched, excitement filling her despite the dire circumstance, as an army of dwarves marched their way through the gates and toward where they stood in welcome. Her stomach rumbled, as the thin strip of meat awoke her appetite and she wished there was more to eat, but she ignored it for the opportunity to meet the Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost.

They carried a song on their lips and swords and spears in their powerful hands. There were seven of them, Aredhel counted, and yet together they posed a sight of unbreakable strength to any foe. They were heavily armored, and in unison they appeared as little proud walking tanks, not one piece of them visible save for a long beard or a gleam of an eye inside a helm.

“Greetings, my friends!” Eöl said, the frail features of his face wrinkling with his smile. “Telchar, good to see you again!”

“Lord Eöl! At your service!” shouted their leader. “And who may the lass be beside you?”

“Lady Aredhel of the Noldor,” Aredhel answered.

“Noldor?” one of the dwarves repeated.

“Are those similar to the House of Fëanor? They have been trying to win our friendship for the longest time while seeking to sever our ties with Lord Eöl. All political, of course. They do not truly love us!”

Aredhel laughed. “I have no interest in any politics with you, dear ones. I am a new friend of Eöl’s and am joining him for a time as we battle the undead.”

“Speaking of which, I hope your journey hasn't met much trouble,” Eöl said. The two elves studied the dwarves’ armor for any signs of blood.

“Nothing we aren’t used to,” said the leader. “But enough with the greetings! We’re starving, and from the look of you both, so are you! Come, we brought enough to get us ready through to Doriath!”

Aredhel’s heart leapt happily at the sound of food, but she soon received the biggest shock from the dwarves themselves after they entered Eöl’s home. They each took off their helms and armor to reveal that every single one of them were women.

“I thought you were men!” Aredhel cried out when Telchar noticed her confusion.

“Men, women, both or neither, we all grow beards!” Telchar laughed and flexed her muscles free of the heavy armor.

Aredhel learned the other’s names during their meal, most of which turned out to be names given in Sindarin or based on Mannish tribes, as very few dwarves felt comfortable using their real names publicly. Eöl himself had named a few of them, which amused Aredhel greatly; she imagined Eöl picking up each dwarf and declaring a new name.

Telchar was the leader of her group, and her spouse was Delunis, one of the most powerful warriors of Belegost. There were twin archers named Ivor and Orvar who seemed to enjoy moving in unison, though each seemed entirely different from her sister in personality. Others were Sardir the gold smith, Andring the strategist, and Bó.

“Bó?” Aredhel laughed.

“A Kinn-lai word one gives to their grandmother,” Eöl explained, shrugging.

Bó wore her name proudly just as she did everything else. She was the eldest of the bunch, but her tiny frail body and long white beard were a complete deception to her true strength. She ate the least but busied herself carrying large heavy crates of weapons. She never tired and still found the time to crack up jokes and down large flasks of ale.

The largest grin was plastered on Aredhel’s face as she watched the dwarves excitedly, and quite loudly that Forgamdir and Hargamdir groaned in protest, pore over their new weapons.

Eöl watched her with a soft smile. “Here, let me show you something.”

Aredhel followed Eöl to a particularly large stack of weapons that she recalled Eöl was fiddling with earlier. Eöl picked one up that was forged in gold, small enough to fit in his hand. He motioned to another room, one that had already been bared, all weapons already taken out by Telchar’s people.

“Extend out your arms, like this.” He showed her the proper pose, and between her hands he placed the weapon, curving one of her fingers around a trigger. He positioned her arms so that she pointed at the opposite wall.

“Press on the trigger,” he instructed.

The deafening bang jolted her backwards. But she kept a strong grip on the weapon, and when she opened her eyes it was to find a small clean round hole in the opposite wall.

“This is very useful,” she said, grinning. “If we happen upon Morgoth we will put one through his skull and call it a day. For all we know, this plague could be all his doing.”

“Very possible chance it is,” Eöl said, “what with his methods in forging orcs in that forsaken fortress of his.”

Aredhel went to study the round hole left by the pistol. The walls of the house were built with strong heavy wood, but the bullet had gone through clean. But then something else far off caught her eye. Sapphire blue and gold flickered in the distance beyond the spiked gates of the deserted village. With a loud gasp she rushed past Eöl and the dwarves and out of the house.

“Aredhel, be careful!” Eöl called out as he ran after her, Telchar and Orvar following close behind.

Aredhel knew better than to let emotions rule her, rendering her foolish, but she knew that flag from anywhere.

Out of the village, on a trodden pathway leading towards the River Celon lay Egalmoth, a clear red bite mark on his arm. Aredhel and Egalmoth were nowhere near Nan Elmoth right before they parted ways. He must have kept traveling after the injury until a fever took hold of him and he collapsed.

“Ai, another lord of Gondolin dead!” Aredhel moaned as she crouched down to inspect him.

“Careful!” Telchar’s warning boomed out.

“He’s rather fair of face,” Eöl muttered softly, studying the fallen elf.

“He was so noble and kind,” Aredhel said. “You say you do not love the sons of Fëanor, but I believe you may have liked him, for the Darkening of Valinor never reached his heart. His humor was mild, and he never went out of his way to hurt another. He fought tirelessly to try saving my brother’s wife when we were crossing the Helcaraxë…I will miss his stories and the sound of his laughter.” Aredhel fought back her sniffle. “He must have thought he could reach a village or some aid with a mere bite. If the fever’s working this fast…Eöl, do all injuries, no matter how minor, cause this?”

“Minor injuries can be survived but at a slower pace. Unfortunately, if the injury came from a walker’s bite…that was how I lost some of my colleagues.”

Egalmoth’s eyelids suddenly fluttered open, but the grey eyes that stared back at them were not the same as Aredhel had remembered them.

“Oh, he is quite fair,” Eöl gasped, completely taken aback.

“Eöl, focus!” Aredhel snapped.

They drew their weapons just as Egalmoth slowly sat up, arms weakly reaching out for them. Aredhel aimed her pistol between his eyes only to lower it a moment later, shaking her head. She pocketed the pistol and produced her new knife instead.

“I’m going to do what you did to Forgamdir and Hargamdir,” she said. “It’s the least I can do. I feel responsible for his death.”

The others nodded in understanding. Telchar and Orvar held Egalmoth in place by the head and neck while Eöl held out each of Egalmoth’s arms, allowing Aredhel to sever the former lord’s jaw and each limb with no difficulty.

They next stripped him of any heavy armor, but Aredhel could not bear to rid him of his circlet. She used a strip of his old flag to tie around his neck and led him back to Eöl’s house so they may replace it with a proper collar and chain.

“I cannot bear to look at him,” Aredhel confessed to Telchar when they reached the smithy. “What have I done? What made me think mutilating an old friend would somehow keep him?”

“By your words, I imagine he would want to continue protecting you rather than become an enemy,” Telchar said.

“I’m trying to amuse myself with what joke he may be making in the Halls of Mandos, but my mind is running blank,” she said.

“Halls of Mandos?”

“Aye. It’s where all elves go after they die.”

Eöl glanced at her with sympathy but said nothing as he fastened the collar around Egalmoth’s neck. The flag became a sort of sash for Egalmoth to wear around his shoulder, eternally representing his house.

The carriages now filled with the last of Eöl’s weapons, and everyone now having eaten their fill and rested, they set out as soon as they had rested. More of the undead had walked straight into one of the spikes, their drawled groans the first thing that greeted them when they stepped out of the village once more. Forgamdir and Hargamdir again growled back just as Egalmoth did the same.

“Oh, no, do not pick up their habits, Egalmoth!” Aredhel begged, pulling her companion towards her. Resting had rekindled a bit of her own spark, and she marched with her head held high as Eöl led them back to the path where they had found Egalmoth.

Crossing the stone bridge of the Celon was thankfully uneventful, though the other side had far more walkers. But very little seemed to notice them due to the presence of Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth.

“There are more of the dead today than our last journey here,” Eöl commented with concern. He slashed through a few walkers as quickly and quietly as he could, not drawing the attention of the others. Aredhel mimicked his movements, for want of something to do with her new arrows.

“We can take them all out right now,” Delunis said.

“And leave our front steps a bloody mess to attract other walkers? Silly dwarf.”

Everyone looked up to the source of the voice. An arrow protruded from the trees, the archer well hidden behind the leaves.

Growling, Delunis charged at the archer. The ensuing commotion was enough to draw the attention of the other walkers, but they were immediately killed. Thankfully the noise was not enough to draw more near, and the archer, having had her fun wrestling with Delunis, hopped down from the tree.

“Eöl,” she greeted as she threw back her hood. “Glad to find you well and among a bigger party. Glad Forgamdir and Hargamdir could make it again.”

Aredhel’s jaws dropped at the elven beauty before them.

“Lúthien!” Eöl greeted. “Usually it is Beleg and Mablung who await our visits. Are they all right?”

“They are well. We fell into the habit of meeting only once a month, so my father and king thought it wise to spend the remainder of the days in the safety of Menegroth. Beleg and Mablung turned their focus to guarding everyone inside.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time with the weapons—why, you could be mistaken for one of the dead! Oh…is that one a Noldo?”

Aredhel yanked at Egalmoth’s chain. “Freshly picked this morning!”

Lúthien laughed. “Charming humor! There’s another one of your kind inside Menegroth, and she is equally as intriguing.”

Theories stormed in Aredhel’s mind as to who lived in Menegroth while Lúthien led them to the great caves. She and Eöl took watch at the front of the gates, joined by their undead companions, as the dwarves and Lúthien rolled the vast heavy carts into the city.

Jeweled lights of Menegroth bathed Aredhel in soft yet brilliant tones. They drew her attention at the foyer, and she momentarily forgot all else until she heard a disgusted sound followed by an airy voice.

“More of those awful pistols? They are so ghastly!”

Grinning, Aredhel didn’t need to see the other elf to remember her name. She ran to the source of the voice. “Artanis!”

Artanis, or Galadriel as she was now known as, turned and threw her arms open. “Írissë!”

“Shun the Noldor tongue in the lands of Thingol!” Eöl and Lúthien chanted in jest, which earned each of them a slap from Aredhel and Galadriel.

“Are there anyone else we know living here?” Aredhel asked Galadriel.

“I am the only one. My husband, Celeborn, is currently away from these lands, and his safety I most fear, for I sense there to be no future of Middle-earth if there is no future between us.”

“I’m sure anyone feels like that,” Aredhel said, knowing all too well of her cousin’s disposition to speak and heed to visions that fill her mind. Her cousin studied her with a deep frown, taking a step back. “Why do you dress in galvorn? Of all ill things that elf forges, the things made of galvorn I hate the most. Queen Melian agrees with me.”

“I feel safe in it,” Aredhel said, deciding not to add that the material also does not ride up into any unsavory crevices. Galadriel’s eyes shifted toward Eöl’s, her eyes narrowing.

Eöl sighed. “Is this about the galvorn or something else?”

“You know what I am thinking.”

Another sigh. “I have no idea what else I could do to rid my old room of the smell you find so offensive, Lady Galadriel. I apologize again Celeborn and yourself had to move out of your apartment to make room for more refugees from Nan Elmoth. It is only incense which lingers in the air.”

“I find it disagreeable,” Galadriel said. “Fogs up my inner eye.”

Aredhel bit down on her lip.

“Is it only a scent not unlike that of pears,” Eöl intoned.

“I do not like pears.”

“You are forgetting that my mother too uses it for her prayers.”

“Your mother lives here?” Aredhel interrupted, perking up.

“And mine,” Lúthien chimed in, motioning toward the tall woman approaching them.

Momentarily forgetting the quarrel, they introduced Aredhel to Queen Melian before then busying themselves by helping the dwarves set in the last of the crates.

When they were done with the task, Lúthien turned back to Melian. “Where’s the daffy old bat? He’ll want to hear from the arrivals.”

“Your father is in the kitchens,” Melian replied rather cooly. “Selflessly he’s been working to provide enough for the entire kingdom now that the crops needed to make lembas have dried up.”

“The king works along with the kitchen servants?” Aredhel asked with interest.

Melian’s smile to Aredhel was warmer. “He does not believe in ruling from a throne, but working among his people in as many ways he can.”

Aredhel followed them to the kitchens. A very tall elf stood stooped over a counter, all attention narrowed on the rations for his people. Aredhel’s heart warmed, imagining her own brother getting involved in helping his people.

Telchar walked behind him, but he gave no indication that he had heard her approach.

Telchar held herself high and suddenly shrieked with all her might, “Mission report, sire!”

Thingol’s yelp rang in the room as he jolted upwards, clutching his heart as he spun around. “Goodness!”

Telchar chuckled. “Apologies. I never know if you can hear the things happening down here from that height.”

Besides Aredhel, Eöl’s shoulders shook but he kept his face stoic and his mouth clamped as tight as he could, and Aredhel wondered what she could do to make him crack.

They spent the next hour speaking with Thingol in the main hall of all they had witnessed. Aredhel looked about herself, at the faces of the Teleri, Nandor, and various Avari tribes all gathered as one kingdom, hearing tales of more walkers, their villages lay bare, counting the loved ones they’ve lost.

There was one very tall woman, her skin black as ebony, who studied Aredhel from across the room. Aredhel learned her was named Wilówë, the old wise lady of Nan Elmoth. Beside her was another woman whose features seemed familiar to Aredhel. Her skin was brown and her long hair, done in a single plait, was a rich jet black.

“Eöl, my beloved son!” she said upon seeing him. She cupped his face in her hands, studying him closely up to the light. “A month has passed since we last saw one another, but you appear as though you’ve been working for years without rest! Go sleep up, child! I kept your old bed for you.”

A soft groan followed. “Am I to share my old room with that Baniai?”

His mother laughed, the sound dark, old, and rich. “She does not hate your room as nearly much as she claims. Who is your lovely companion?”

Eöl introduced Aredhel to Morispiní, who fussed over her and invited herself to feel the fabric of Aredhel’s dress.

“That is such beautiful material!”

“Made it myself!” Aredhel said proudly. “Though I wasn’t taught sewing, as my father and mother both agreed that military training was most compatible with my restless spirit, after wrecking the temples quite a bit. But I taught myself sewing as I have the most narrow tastes for clothes. As for this color, I only wear red when I am in combat. Oh, you should see my other dresses! I found a means to keep the white color untainted from most dirt…though it didn’t survive well during my battle with the undead.”

“Beautiful, strong, and clever! Tell me more about your invention!”

Aredhel sat between Eöl and Morispiní at one of the long tables set out for the peoples of Doriath. Across from her sat Galadriel who kept her gaze on Eöl, unsettling him by not blinking for long painful intervals, and never once looking down at her spoon or plate.

Morispiní’s attention was set mostly on Aredhel. Aredhel herself never had such a captive audience before, as the older woman seemed genuinely interested in everything from Aredhel’s hometown in Valinor to her hobbies and her adventures. But what hit her the most were the tiniest of things, the way Morispiní smiled or gestured with her hands as she spoke, that reminded Aredhel of her own mother. If there was any further proof of her mother coming from the same tribe as the Kinn-lai, this was it.

She was taken back to the time her mother brought her to the temple and showed her the stars of the heavens, and she taught her how to enter reverie so she may feel as though she drifted among them. This too was shared by the Kinn-lai, who revered stars above all else. The memory alone almost sent her into a peaceful reverie again, her gaze floating above the rest of the hall.

Doriath appeared to have all of the elven tribes represented living in the kingdom, save for the Vanyar, the closest of that kin being Galadriel. The people praised Queen Melian and King Thingol for keeping them safe during this dire time, but Aredhel detected a shadow flicker past Galadriel’s face.

Wilówë, who was alone not eating but sipped from a goblet, noticed Galadriel’s vague distress. “Do you feel safer here?” she asked Aredhel kindly from across the table.

“It does feel safer than being out in the open,” Aredhel replied. “We haven’t had any walkers slip in, have we?”

“I think it unwise to lower our guard,” Galadriel interjected, the fear thick in her voice and large eyes. “Strange things linger in the dark corners of this fortress.”

“Nonsense!” snorted an elf who just passed their table. “Save us from your prophecies of doom! Those freaks chained up at the entrance are the only undead who walk inside these caves!”

“Those freaks include my fellow smiths and a noble elf lord of Gondolin, Saeros,” Eöl retorted cooly. “Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth. Forget not their names nor their honor when they had lived, lest your name will be lost should you become among them, counsellor of the king or not.”

“As if I would allow any of those forsaken creatures to get near me!” Saeros laughed. The dwarves at the table caught on to his leers, and they shifted to ready themselves for a brawl.

“Well!” Morispiní laughed, breaking the glare between the two elves. “If we are indeed in any danger, I feel most safe with my son and Aredhel here to guard me!”

Giving Morispiní a glare which did not faze her, Saeros turned on his heel and stormed towards the high table. Lúthien, who sat with her parents, was watching the whole ordeal.

Ivor leaned back, producing a short tube. “If I do this now, I may strike a dart right between his buttocks!”

“Don’t be boorish at the dinner table!” Sardir chided, following it up with a tremendous belch.

“I would not let it bother us,” Eöl said. “He blames mirrors for not displaying his true beauty properly.”

The others sniggered, but Galadriel’s eyes still stared off into space, worry itched into her features.

After the feast and a show put on by Daeron playing a song which brought cheer to them all, Aredhel was shown to her rooms. She had chosen to remain with Morispiní, Eöl, and Galadriel in their rooms as it was large enough to accommodate all four. She was distraught to find the jeweled lights above did not extend throughout all of the halls.

“How far do these caves stretch?” she asked Lúthien.

“Through all corners of the Girdle,” Lúthien replied. “In some halls the dwarves didn’t have enough time to place lights, but for others we kept them dark for the purpose they serve. Beyond here is where all elves rest their hurts.”

Galadriel turned her eyes to the dark hall with a worried look. Just then, Beleg and Mablung crept behind her.

“They’re coming to get you, Galadriel,” Mablung whispered in her ear, voice low and silky as he gripped a handful of her hair. She swatted at them and marched into the room while Aredhel and Lúthien told them off.

“Are there many at the moment?” Aredhel asked when the two let them be.

Lúthien nodded. “But do not worry, for their ills are minor. We checked on them this morning, and they were doing well. Healers are with them right now, in case there is any trouble. They will be back among us by the morrow.”

But Aredhel could not join Morispiní, Eöl, and Galadriel. The darkness drew her in, either catering to her curiosity or to assure a growing fear, she did not know which.

Save for the sounds behind her of other elves conversing and saying their goodnights, the darkness was shrouded in a deafening silence. Step by step she inched deeper into the dark hall, listening intently for any sound of the ill elves: a soft snooze in their slumber, a pained moan, the shuffling of feet of a healer or one of the sick returning to their bed after relieving themself.

But there was only silence. Faintly she heard Morispiní calling her name, but she did not answer. There was something deep in the halls, she sensed. But perhaps she was letting Galadriel’s premonitionary fear get the best of her. She decided, her feet tapping on the stone ground, that should she came across one of the ill, she would just bid them a speedy recovery and return.

Suddenly a pallid face appeared before her from the shadows. Growling in pain, an undead elf inched its way toward her, one long arm outstretched. More groans signified the presence of others.

Aredhel dashed back through the halls, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Walkers! Walkers among us!”

Morispiní was still outside her house, and Aredhel pushed her to run ahead. Pulling out her pistol, she spun around, the gun firing with deafening bangs echoing the hall. More screams followed, doors slammed as frightened elves barricaded themselves inside their homes. Some more came pouring out, including Eöl with his sword, Galadriel with a long spear, and Lúthien with twin pistols.

“Impossible! How did they come in?”

“These are the ill! Do you not see? Look! The healers are among them!”

Doors flew open as more elves poured out in fright, others screaming when they recognized a loved one among the walking dead. More and more were the undead filing into the halls, countless in numbers.

“How did this happen?” someone shrieked in the chaos.

Roars followed, and Aredhel felt several smaller beings squeezing through, charging into the undead army.

“Aim for their heads!” Aredhel cried out among the chaos, pushing Morispiní further away from danger, back towards the large hall where they had just dined. “You are only wasting bullets and energy if you strike them anywhere else!”

In a short time the terrible battle spilled into the halls. Few of the elves remained in their homes, barricading themselves in, but seemingly most of the kingdom was out of their house and ready for battle. The armory so painstakingly forged by the blacksmiths had all been taken; the battle cries and bangs of metal ricocheted off the stone walls, engulfing everyone in deafening chaos. Blood and bodies of both undead and the living slain drenched the ground.

In all this Aredhel kept Morispiní close while trying not to get either of them cornered, unlike King Thingol who was pressed against the wall fighting off each, growing frantic. She eyed a gateway to the outside, but the way was blocked.

“Galadriel! Eöl! Lúthien! Dwarves of Belegost! Anyone!” she cried out.

“You called?” came a booming voice, and Delunis appeared, climbing her way up over a few walkers’ shoulders.

“Fighting is of no use, there’s too many of them!” Aredhel yelled. “We need to go outside! Can you get us to the front gates?”

“Leaving this party so soon?” Delunis laughed, but she roared out a call to Telchar in their tongue.

Bodies toppling signaled the coming of more dwarves heeding to Delunis’s call. Among the chaos also appeared Lúthien with Eöl, Galadriel, Melian, and Wilówë, their clothes soaked with blood.

“It was Andring’s idea to drench us in walker blood!” Galadriel explained at the look Aredhel gave them.

“It will disguise us enough to get away,” Eöl said.

“Useless if we’re moving too much, though,” Lúthien retorted, her hair dripping with blood. Melian glanced out to Thingol, her face frozen with fear.

“We must hurry to save the king,” Galadriel said, but Melian shook her head.

“I will aid him. The rest of you,” she turned her gaze to her daughter, “get to safety. Take as many as you can, but do not remain! The Thousand Caves have been compromised. You must never come back this way, understand?”

Lúthien took a step forward. “Mother…”

“Do as I say!” a heavy gust of wind swept them all a few inches away from Melian, who turned and charged back into the chaos.

“Come on!” Telchar’s voice rang out. Her people grabbed the stunned elves and led them through the warring crowd. They screamed for others to follow them, but few did hear them.

“Beleg! Mablung!” Lúthien called out when she saw them, only to scream moments later when they realized the two elves were crouched down over a third, eating away at their innards.

“Such ill fate!” cried Galadriel just as Ivor and Orvar each cast an arrow through the walker’s skulls. Lúthien and Galadriel both shrieked, watching their old friends collapse over their shared victim.

At last they reached the gate, their bodies collectively slamming against the heavy door only to yell out in pain and fall back.

“The gate cannot be torn down! It was built to ensure no one can ever bring it down!” Telchar moaned, pounding on the stone. “My ancestors built the doors to keep anything uninvited from ever coming in.”

“But we may go through the window there,” Lúthien said as she pointed up above the door.

“But it is made of jewels!”

Lúthien smiled. “No, not jewels, though it was painted to look that way.”

“That is a good alternative,” Aredhel said, “but how do we get up there?”

Wilówë raised up her hands, but even with her height, it was still too high up even for her.

Lúthien gave her a quick bow. “You will see in a moment. Dwarves! Protect us while we do this! Galadriel! Pull yourself together and bring out your knitting needles, please!”

The dwarves all gave a battle cry and formed a semi-circle around them, slaying any walker that got too near. Confused, Aredhel watched as her cousin settled herself on the floor, taking short knitting needles out of her dress pockets. Lúthien sat beside her and straightened out her hair. Split down the middle, each half was then woven through one knitting needle. Moments later a song filled the battle-torn realm as Lúthien sang, her hair growing longer as Galadriel quickly knit a long rope.

Aredhel, mesmerized, suddenly wished she had grown up in these woods, as the Teleri and Avari here seemed to hold a mystical power she had never seen in Valinor. The pleasing sight was punctured when Aredhel’s gaze turned back to the hall. Melian and Thingol were doing all they could to keep the enemies at bay, but there was no denying they were soon going to be outnumbered. She had half a mind to jump back into the battlefield and pull them to safety, but Wilówë, perhaps sensing what was in her thoughts, placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her from rushing in.

“Are you done over there yet?” Telchar demanded, daring to turn around for a moment. Aredhel sent an arrow through the walker who just appeared behind the dwarf leader.

“Just about to,” Lúthien said. She collected the rope and tied it to a helm that had fallen off one of Thingol’s guardsmen.

Aredhel looked back up at the window and pointed her pistol. “Everyone, careful!”

It took several shots to completely shatter the window, the tiny fragments falling over them but thankfully not causing any injury. Lúthien threw the rope, tested its strength, and climbed up.

One by one they went, striking at any walkers they could get to with an arrow or pistol. The damage from up here was even more devastating, an entire kingdom stifled out in less than an hour by the undead.

The growls could still be heard outside the kingdom. Aredhel located the front entrance and saw that it had been broken, with Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth just visible behind the doors.

“Foolish guards! Get them!”

“It is worthless, my lady,” Sardir said.

“We need them,” Aredhel said. “Look! There are more of these scum even out here. They can protect us on the road!”

“She is right!” Ivor said, and she and her sister Orvar ran towards the mad chaos.

Wilówë silently studied the kingdom before turning to the largest tree nearby.

“It is nothing like the trees of Nan Elmoth, but they will do,” she mumbled. Then suddenly Aredhel saw her fuse with the tree. The ensuing creature pulled her roots out of the ground and made for the gates, tearing it wide open with one great tug, and disappeared into the kingdom, her terrifying scream shaking the fortress.

Aredhel turned to Galadriel with an amazed grin. “An Entwife! I thought she was rather tall for an elf!”

But her smile was gone upon seeing more walkers drag their way out of the fortress and toward them. Pulling out three arrows at a time, she sent each flying through their skulls just as the others readied their weapons. She was back in her element, jumping and avoiding each strike while landing deadly blows of her own.

Ivor and Orvar returned just as the last of the walkers were dealt with.

“Good! My sincerest gratitude to you two,” Aredhel said, grabbing Egalmoth’s chain just as Eöl did the same with his former colleagues. She turned to her group, assessing them and was about to ask where to go next when Galadriel’s gasp turned all eyes on her.

She pointed to Morispiní, whose left hand sported a bite mark.

“Did this happen just now?” Aredhel asked.

The elderly woman studied her own hand in confusion. “No, they did not come near me,” she said softly. “Someone must have gotten to me early on inside the caves, but I must not have felt it.”

Aredhel’s gaze shot towards Eöl, who was eying the wound with devastated horror.

“Can’t we just sever the hand?” Orvar suggested. “We can seal the wound, and she’d be good to go.”

Galadriel felt the lady’s forehead. “I’m afraid the poison has spread already. She won’t make the night, if the happenings in Menegroth are anything to go by.”

“We could…have her join the ranks as with our guards?” Aredhel slowly suggested, knowing how much Eöl would be against the idea.

“It is all right, you have three wonderful guards to protect you,” she said. “One more and I fear you may be one less hand free.” She turned to Eöl and extended out her arms, smiling warmly though Aredhel saw a single tear in the lady’s eyes. “My son, please. I have lived long, awoken by the eastern shores of Cuiviénen. I wish to return now to the stars as in my moment of awakening.”

Silently Eöl raised a pistol, but he moved no more, staring into his mother’s eyes.

“I cannot…I had to slay my own father when he returned to us as a yrch, I cannot do this again…”

Aredhel placed a hand on his shoulder. “Would you prefer me to do it?”

Eöl kept his eyes on his mother, who smiled again and nodded her head in encouragement.

“Yes…” he said softly, lowering his pistol. “I’d hate to bother you with this…”

“I understand,” Aredhel said and lifted up her own pistol. But now that she was looking into Morispiní’s eyes, she could not do it either. She was suddenly looking into her mother’s eyes instead, about to take her life lest her own would become endangered.

“Please,” Morispiní said softly. “To die by your hand would be a kinder death than to walk this world accursed with this plague. Return me to the stars.”

Aredhel still sealed her mouth tight shut long after firing the shot, fighting the urge to scream at the image she was forced to see. She was vaguely aware of Eöl’s own howl of grief, collapsing to the ground, words in the Kinn-lai tongue spewing out, perhaps cursing her for taking away his mother.

Ivor and Orvar were a little ways off busy comforting Eöl. She was tempted to ask for his forgiveness, but the thought of what she had just done still sickened her. She tried not to look at Egalmoth.

“We cannot remain here,” Lúthien called out. “Get up, Eöl!”

But neither Aredhel nor Eöl moved.

“They are coming! Do you wish to have a bullet through your skull too, cousin? Goodness, you useless elf!”

The voice came above them. Aredhel looked up in time to see the flicker in the trees above and an small elf darting out of sight.

“Wait! It’s not safe!” she called out and chased after her.

“I know who it is,” Lúthien spoke. She passed Aredhel and released a song that rippled through the trees. Aredhel thought it might draw out more of the walkers, but the person who stepped out was decidedly still alive. She was as small as the dwarves, her thick wavy hair like dark clouds behind a tawny-brown, young face.

“Do not be afraid, Nellas,” Lúthien said. “The kingdom was under attack, but I believe with Wilówë in battle we are safe.”

“What of the rest of Doriath?” Nellas asked. “Has it all become compromised?”

“Your abode should be safe, if that is what you’re thinking. We can walk you back and build a fence for you, or take you with us.”

Nellas stepped back, shaking her head. “No! No, that would not be necessary.”

Galadriel approached them, her narrowed eyes set on Nellas. “What are you hiding?”

“I…” Nellas studied each of their faces, as everyone had turned to her. She drew a deep breath. “I will show you, but please do not panic.” Quickly she climbed up the nearest tree and motioned for them to follow her.

Nellas hopped through the trees with such ease unlike any Aredhel had ever witnessed. She came to think there was seldom a time when Nellas walked the ground, her entire life among tree branches. The very thought invited Aredhel into fantasizing about being one of the Nandor, so intimate with trees that she could travel through them as fluidly as a ship sailing the sea. She kept herself preoccupied with the pleasant thoughts, stopping only once to stab the skull of one walker who got a little too close.

Though their undead guards were being useful, the sight of any new walker sent a fright through Nellas, propelling her to go faster toward her home.

At last they came upon a small hut; it had been built atop a dam over a lake none at all too wide. Nellas went in first, and Aredhel could hear another voice join hers. A shiver ran up her spine at the odd familiarity. She glanced at Galadriel and saw a similar expression on her face.

Nellas reappeared. “You may come in,” she said shakily. “Just…please don’t panic when you see him.”

Aredhel chuckled. “It’s no shame in keeping a companion, sweet Nel—Ah!”

Frozen, Galadriel and her stared at the sight of the cousin they both had thought dead. There lay Ambarussa, or Telvo as they always affectionately called him. He was still recognizable even with the right half of his face marred with burns. Aredhel knew he had been sleeping in the ship at Losgar, and though he somehow survived, his body had been badly mutilated by the fire, especially on his right. Bits of his scalp was still badly burned, the red hair never having grown back. His right leg had completely burned off below the knee, and the right arm had been amputated above the elbow; the left hand was still intact, but he had lost most function in using his fingers.

“Telvo, you live!” Aredhel said, smiling. She had hunted with him and his brothers a few times and recalled the smallest of the sons of Fëanor with affection.

Her cousin chuckled weakly. “Telvo. I haven’t heard that name in a long while. I go by Amras in this palace.”

Aredhel laughed heartily, but Eöl, she noticed, grew more silent.

“He is not a Penni elf, is he?” he asked Nellas, eyeing his cousin with wide eyes.

“He isn’t a Penni, but of the House of Fëanor,” Nellas said unabashedly. “But he did not agree with his father’s actions! He would have died in that burning ship had the floor not gave away and he fell into the sea. I dug him out from the shore. He is so tame and kind, unlike the other Noldor I have watched and feared—no offense, Lady Aredhel.”

“None taken, little love,” Aredhel replied. Eöl nodded in understanding at the explanation, but the silence hovering over them was over an entirely different matter. It had also crossed Aredhel’s mind after the initial pleasant shock of seeing Amras again.

Telchar decided to be the one to voice what everyone was thinking. “He cannot come with us. He’ll slow us down, be the first to get devoured or be the cause of one of our own deaths while trying to save him.”

Amras kept a brave face, but Aredhel caught his lower lip trembling. Nellas, however, must have been expecting this response and immediately went into defense, her voice hitching up.

“To deny him a chance is unfair and cruel! You cannot discriminate against him simply for being crippled. If it were one of you wouldn’t you want to find a way to get out of harm’s way?”

Aredhel imagined her young cousin, the kindest and softest of Fëanor’s sons, discovered and mauled by the walkers, his body torn and blood oozing out. Quietly she walked around Amras, studying him intently. “Eöl, you’ve made weapons and armor with that galvorn. Think you can make a foot for him at least? I’ll give up my boots or my armor for him.”

“For this Noldo?” Eöl studied Amras’s face, but Aredhel was glad to see there wasn’t any hatred in his eyes toward him. There was virtually nothing in common between Amras and Curufin and Celegorm. “I believe I can, if I am given some time. You need not give anything up from your armor, Lady Aredhel.”

“We’ll guard the front,” Telchar said. “And I recommend the rest of you to step out while he forges the foot.”

Aredhel eyed Eöl’s sword, thinking back to all the galvorn weapons left in Menegroth. “You sure you require nothing from us? It would be a pity to lose your sword.”

Eöl shook his head. “I just need time.”

He motioned for Aredhel to leave the hut, but at the doorway she turned back and had to fight back the gasp as Eöl stripped down, baring his body above the waist. Seemingly half his body was marred in the glossy black material of galvorn. Eöl sat at a stool beside Amras and whispered something about understanding having a body changed, the two of them chuckling lightly.

“Ah! Lady Aredhel, you really shouldn’t see this.”

“Is that really where galvorn comes from?” Aredhel said. “It’s in your body?! How did that happen?”

“During an imprisonment in Angband,” Eöl said. “They were trying to create an impenetrable orc. Luckily Rôg and I escaped.”

“No wonder why Galadriel and Melian hated that metal!”

Eöl nodded. “Its existence is wicked, though I have used it for good. As far as I know, I am the only source of galvorn.”

“I am suddenly gripped by both fascination and revulsion that I am essentially wearing your hide on my body,” Aredhel said, drawing laughter from the two men.

Eöl dug his fingers into the black material and winced. “This isn’t a pleasant process, I’m afraid.”

“Save your energy for the forging,” Aredhel said. “Just take me through the steps.”

She had seen so many horrors already she did not think one more would make a difference. The material was surprisingly cool in her hands even if she was wrist-deep inside Eöl’s gut. She grabbed a handful and yanked it out, then studied the substance in her hand with fascination before handing it back to Eöl.

“Sorry, I was distracted by your innards for a second,” Aredhel said with a smile she hoped would lighten the mood, as the extraction had left Eöl’s eyes glowing bright with tears of pain. Even Amras released a little sympathetic whimper as he witnessed the extraction.

Trembling hands accepted the galvorn from her; after calming himself down, Eöl went straight to work. Aredhel stuck close by, occasionally hearing a groan and a roar signaling that another dwarf had killed a walker. Aredhel paced and hummed some long songs she could remember just to distract herself from thoughts of what may be happening in Gondolin at this moment.

When Eöl was finally done, he crouched next to Amras and extended out a hand. “Here, son.”

Aredhel moved to help Eöl slip on the new leg, securing it around the stump. The part made into a foot didn’t match Amras’s left, but it was well enough to help him with balance. They helped Amras to his feet, making adjustments to the strap as needed to make the length of both legs as close as possible. When they were satisfied, they let go of Amras. He stood frozen, getting used to being upright before taking a few tentative steps. He grinned brightly at them.

Eöl next offered Amras a black piece to place over his right arm.

“Can’t do much in making a hand with limited time. But if you swish your arm quickly, a blade will come out. You can use it to kill any attackers on our journey.”

Amras laughed as he examined his new weapon. “Thank you!”

When they appeared out of the hut, Nellas came running towards them first.

“Amras! You’re walking!” Grinning, they embraced and gave one another soft kisses. Aredhel drank the sight in, something so innocent and soft during such dark times. She wondered if they had married yet or would like to; the thought of a wedding ceremony, even something as informal as underneath the trees with everyone in their blood-stained clothes applauding, seemed wholly welcoming, normal.

“Are you finished yet?” Telchar asked, and the two broke apart, blushing. “Right. Now where off to next, leader?”

All eyes turned to Aredhel.

“I know Menegroth may make us suspicious of the true safety of any region, but Gondolin was perfectly safe when I left it. If this is some sort of illness, it may not have yet reached them, as extremely few even leave the kingdom.”

Galadriel’s eyes widened. “You are taking us to the hidden city?”

“What other option do we have?” Aredhel tugged on Egalmoth’s chain and passed them. “Er, which is the best road to take?”

With the dwarves as guide they followed the path paved by the Esgalduin. Egalmoth turned towards Aredhel and groaned weakly.

“I know, I know. This journey out of Gondolin isn’t turning out the way I expected either,” she said soothingly.

The hours passed and still neither moved, though each’s hearts beat heavy and loud enough for them to hear. Their eyes stayed focused on the figure on the bed.

“His body is getting cold,” Idril finally said. “We should prepare him for burial.”

“We are dishonoring his body by keeping him here,” Meleth said, sighing. “I just wanted to make certain. He was nowhere near the walkers when he got the injury. He was even, as I remember, injured before the first wave of stories reached us. The elves may not be enduring injuries as well as they have before, but they are free of succumbing to this plague.”

She made to stand up when they both heard a groan rise from the corpse on the bed.

The elf shifted and turned his head, opening his eyelids to reveal grey glassy eyes set on them.

Meleth groaned. “But it should be impossible! He’s been gone for hours!” Sighing, she produced a knife from under her chair and faced Idril. “Who’s turn is it now?”

“Mine, I think,” Idril said. She set out to do the deed, whispering sadly, “You won’t get a chance to taste Lady Malleth’s treats, dear one,” before plunging the knife into the corpse’s skull.

“What do we tell the king now?” Idril asked softly, trying not to let the fear grip her.

Meleth sighed sadly. “That doom hovers over all of us. No matter if by bite or illness, every one of us is already infected.”

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Eöl settled by Egalmoth at the fountain. “Nice stars you got here. Perhaps I was too unfair to shun the light all these years.”

Egalmoth turned to him silently, his face fair and as still as the uncertain night.

“And the moon is quite lovely when it is full in all her brilliance, though not as lovely as thy rare beauty.”

“Lord Eöl…” Egalmoth said, gasping softly.

Eöl chuckled darkly. “Did you not think an elvensmith could forge poetry as eloquently as weapons? Come hither. Kiss me.”

Enchanted completely, Egalmoth slipped closer, threading a white hand, clothed in tattered blue raiment, through the ebony locks of the grim-faced and silver-tongued Dark Elf. Eöl tilted his head as his lips parted, meeting Egalmoth’s cool skin to the sound of shrieks.

“What’re you doing?!” Aredhel screamed. “Get away from him, Eöl! He’s a walker! He’s going to kill you!” She watched in horror as Egalmoth groaned, missing a lower jaw, while Eöl continued to make out with the walking corpse, completely oblivious to the danger he was in.

Her eyes flew wide open, one hand outstretched into the night. No Egalmoth. No Eöl. No unsightly displays of public affection between the living and the dead.

Oh, thank the Valar (or not), it was just a nightmare.

Lifting her head up, Aredhel searched for both Eöl and Egalmoth, just in case the former had the bright idea to seek relations with the undead elsewhere out of her sights.

Dor Dínen stretched out, silent and bare. The party had erected spikes around their enclosure to ensure their safety, with Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth stationed as their guards. There they still stood at their appointed posts, grunting and moaning but otherwise behaving themselves. The spikes had claimed a couple would-be assailants. The rest of the party lay in semi-comforted sleep, in rickety safety, and the sole other movement was a tall creature walking between the rows of sleepers—

Shit.

Reaching for her bow and arrows, Aredhel made to strike the walker dead when it suddenly took note of her.

The eyes that regarded her held intelligence.

“You. Elf.” The orc trudged closer to her.

“Yeah, I’m an elf,” Aredhel said. “How may I help you?”

“You gon’ die if no move.”

“We’re not dumb enough to stay here,” Aredhel said. “You saw what happened to our friends.” She motioned toward her fallen companions and the undead who had walked right into the spikes. “We’re heading to a place of safety. We can take you if you seek protection. We only ask that you do not kill us in return.”

“Curse not touch us,” the orc said.

Aredhel blinked. “Pardon? This abomination has spared you?!”

“Aye, Elf.”

“Is it because Morgoth is doing this?”

“Morgoth nothing to do with curse. Orcs strong. Take this.”

She passed a handful of small balls onto Aredhel’s hand.

“What’re those?” Aredhel asked, studying them closely.

“Bombs,” the orc said. “Throw to distract. Make very bad smell, like ten thousand skunks.”

“Sweet. Thanks, bestie!”

The orc nodded, grinning toothily at the term of friendship bestowed upon her.

Aredhel pocketed the extreme stink bombs and set about for the day. No one would ever believe she had befriended an orc. Then again, no one would have ever believed all of Endor had fallen into the end of times.

So the curse did not affect the dwarves and did not affect the orcs, Aredhel pondered as they made their way westward. And all of the Race of Men seem to have disappeared from Endor as though they had never woken. What was going on?

“You sure you wish to proceed, Cousin Aredhel?” Galadriel asked. “Any further and we will be at Nan Dungortheb.”

“We must cross it if we want to get to the Hidden City,” Aredhel said. “Don’t worry. I’ve come by here before.”

She nodded confidently, but the others looked about anxiously, even Eöl who must have had some history with this place. The dark and dangerous valley stretched like a black void, the air thick with poison that set their nerves on edge.

Save for Telchar and her folks, who all yawned at the face of looming danger.

“What’re we waiting for?” Delunis said as Lúthien stepped toward the precipice of the valley, peering into the void. “Let’s jump right in!”

“My mother always forbade me from stepping toward this place,” Lúthien said as she turned around. “But I fear it not! Let us get go-AHH!”

Just then a massive pair of bat wings swept down at the party, and when it lifted, Lúthien was nowhere in sight.

“Lady Lúthien!” Galadriel cried out.

“Now we’re talking!” Delunis laughed, and the other dwarves gave a war cry as they stormed into Nan Dungortheb. Without thinking, Aredhel and Eöl charged in with them.

“Oh, it’s too dark in here!” Nellas complained as she hopped from tree branch to tree branch on their way down. “I think I see the bat—oh! Oh no! That isn’t a bat!”

“What is that abomination?!” Amras cried.

“Lady Lúthien!” Eöl cried out. “Damn it, the one who’s captured her is Thuringwethil, a close servant of Sauron. From what the dwarves have told me, she’s a vampire.”

“We’re dealing with walkers and vampires now?” Aredhel scoffed. “Did we all just collectively wake up in the wrong universe? My Little Bizarre Timeline?!”

“AHH! MY KNICKERS ARE OUT IN THE WIND!” came Lúthien’s voice high above.

Really, panicking about your undergarments during a time like this? Aredhel thought as she tried to fell whatever creatures came swarming toward them.

“I can’t seem to cut down anything here!” she complained then screamed and dodged instinctively when she felt something swing above her head.

“Count yourselves lucky,” Eöl said. “My eyes can pierce through the dark, and they perceive horrors which you cannot begin to imagine. It’s best you do not see what I can see.”

“You gotta make this worse?”

“I suggest you fight with your eyes closed, then.”

Galadriel was doing just that, throwing a phial that emitted light at the onslaught of attackers while crying out, “Eru Almighty, the haters!”

“Fight with my eyes closed. Got it.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Aredhel surveyed the land, suddenly realizing that she could see everyone’s spirits: her friends and her foes. The enemies she perceived as a cold presence: lurking, shifting, attacking—she quickly nicked an arrow and sent it flying, hearing Nellas’s cry.

“You saved me!”

Aredhel grinned.

“What about me?!” Galadriel cried while Lúthien echoed her sentiment.

“Ugh, guys, I’m trying!” Aredhel grunted as she was shoved this way and that in the merciless dark.

“I feel something crawling up me bum!” one of the dwarves cried out.

“It’s me!” Amras’s voice squeaked out. “My galvorn stump’s stuck up something!”

“Oi, I thought it was just me worms!”

“I was trying to activate the blade—Ugh!”

“Don’t activate it now, boy!”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Aredhel muttered. She felt for the flying foe high above then pointed her arrow. Lúthien’s aura was overlayed with the bat’s, but it wasn’t like she had much choice on the matter. She gave a quick prayer and plea to Eru Ilúvatar and sent the arrow flying.

To her horror, the vampire knocked it off, laughing darkly at her misdeeds—“You’ll never get your beautiful little princess back!”—when suddenly another arrow struck her from behind.

With a shriek, Thuringwethil dropped Lúthien and flew off. The half-elven rolled onto the ground and with a groan. She pulled herself back to her feet, and lifted up a piece of the vampire’s raiment that she had ripped off her person.

“Huh, this could come in handy…” Lúthien mused. “But…who…”

All heads turned toward their savior. A lone figure stood, clutching his bow and arrow. The once piercing gaze had long grown dim, and his torn robes, midnight blue and silver, hung loose around his shoulders. He placed his hand on a white horse who Aredhel instantly recognized as her foolish steed Nimanor.

“Curufin!” Amras gasped, motioning to his brother. “You’re alive!”

Peering closer, Aredhel could pick out stains of blood on her cousin. He regarded the party with narrowed eyes, full of disdain and mistrust.

“Looks like you found Nimanor, or she found you,” she said.

“What’s this? Noldor and Avari?” he said, ignoring her comment.

“Best to stay in big numbers,” Galadriel said coolly. “Now’s not the time for foolish battles, Cousin.”

His eyes flashed dangerously, but the threat was gone just as quickly as it had come.

“What happened to everyone in Himlad?” Aredhel suddenly spoke. “Last time when I passed there, I saw those creatures feasting on your brother Celegorm.”

Curufin regarded her coldly. “We were attacked. Many of our number perished.”

“And you just so happen to be the only survivor?” Eöl said, eyeing him incredulously.

Curufin’s gaze fell on Eöl. “Appears so. Lucky me.” He spoke in a deadpan voice, his eyes holding none of the inner fire he once possessed.

Aredhel turned back to meet Galadriel’s eyes. They both knew their cousin better than the rest, and Amras knew him far better than any of them. This wasn’t the same man.

Seeing their unease, Nellas trembled as she regarded to Noldo prince. Lúthien placed a hand on her shoulders. Eöl was too busy being caught in a staring contest with the cold and crafty Curufin. Curufin was, Aredhel recalled, had been among those trying to steal business from the dwarves away from Eöl. And speaking of the dwarves, they sat around idly watching the staring contest as though it were a mildly amusing sport.

“Lord Curufin,” Telchar said as she approached with her full chest. “How many walkers have you killed?”

Curufin folded his arms. “At least a hundred, if not more.”

“How many of the living have you killed?” Telchar next asked.

A moment of silence followed before Curufin finally answered. “A few dozen.”

“Who and why?”

Curufin drew a heavy breath, annoyed. “My brother Caranthir was bitten by one the accursed, and it was by request that I took his life. His eldest daughter Gorfuinel and I quarreled for who would succeed in leading his troops, and in the end I came out victor. I felt death was a kinder fate for his other daughters as well for the remaining followers of Caranthir and my own.”

“You killed your own nieces?” Nellas squeaked. “And there was no reason to?!”

“They’re not known as the Kinslayers for nothing,” Eöl said, still staring at Curufin with all of the loathing of existence.

“Hey, what would you have done in my situation?” Curufin demanded. “How many of the living have you killed?”

“Nary a soul,” Eöl said. “My colleagues and I worked tirelessly in Nan Elmoth to forge weapons for King Thingol. One by one we fell. I anticipated death every hour, but it never came for me. Two of the walkers you see with us are my former companions.”

Curufin raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

“I don’t like him,” Nellas said under her breath as a small group formed around her. “I know he is of your kin, but he gives me the creeps.”

“The Noldor have been pestering us to trade with them,” Telchar said. “I was right to turn my nose at them—no offense to you, dears.” She nodded toward Aredhel, Galadriel, and Amras.

“All the same, we could use his bloodlust to our advantage,” Andring said. “Place him in the forefront of every battle.”

“So long as he doesn’t turn against us,” Aredhel said. She felt sick after hearing Curufin’s testimony. Truthfully, she just wanted Nimanor back. How did Curufin find her horse in all this mess? Was he traveling everywhere killing elves left and right while all this madness ensued? She wondered if he was the reason why Celegorm was dead. Had he betrayed the brother he was closest to? What happened to the rest of her kin? Of her cousins Fingon, Maedhros, Maglor, Amrod, Angrod, Aegnor…

“I’m not very fond of him either,” Eöl said, “but you know the saying, ‘keep your friends close…’”

In the end, Curufin was welcomed into the traveling party. As they had agreed, he would be traveling in front so everyone else would keep an eye on him. He walked slowly as though he were among the undead, silent throughout the journey.

With Nimanor back with Aredhel, the party could burden the horse with whatever gear they needed off their own backs. Having learned her lesson of running off into the blue, Nimanor trod beside Aredhel, ever so glad she was back in safety.

“As you should be,” Aredhel chastised her before offering her some berries from a nearby bush. “I thought you surely became walker food!”

The entrance to Gondolin was tricky to get in, even now, living up to its title of the Hidden City. There was but one entrance that led to it. Locating the mouth of the secret path Orfalch Echor, Aredhel directed the party to it. The great ravine was marked by six gates, each set about half a league apart. At the mouth of the ravine was the first gate, the Gate of Wood.

“Who goes there?” came a command.

“Elemmakil!” Aredhel called out, waving her arms. “I’ve returned!”

The Dark Guard ran up to meet them, his face sullen at the sight. “Why, is that—Lord Egalmoth?!”

“Yes, he’s not quite himself…”

Egalmoth groaned as if verifying her statement.

“And who are the rest—are you bringing in dwarves and Avari to our hidden city, Lady?”

“Well, why not?” Aredhel said. “There’s also Lady Galadriel and Prince Curufin—I wouldn’t blame you if you leave him behind—and Lady Lúthien, daughter of King Thingol of Doriath and Melian the Maia. Surely you’ve heard of what ill fate has befallen these lands?”

“Of course,” Elemmakil said. “I was…well. This is certainly a party. Well met. Welcome in.”

Weapons at the ready, they traveled through the ravine of the old Dry River. Elemmakil took the lead, showing them to the second gate, the Gate of Stone. As they passed, the tall walls of the old Dry River on either side, moans howled like the wind in the distance, and the party paused, silent and listening. Amras yelped and yanked out his right stump, activating the blade. Nellas leaned closer to him for protection.

“It’s either the wind or the walkers,” Sardir the dwarf said.

“Would be a pity if the curse reached these walls,” Bó said. “It’s well fortified. We dwarves can see that.”

Egalmoth moaned as if in response to her comment. Aredhel frowned. No one ever leaves Gondolin. How could the curse ever enter the hidden city?

Elemmakil turned around and frowned slightly but otherwise said nothing.

“What?! There’s walkers everywhere here?!” Aredhel exclaimed, pounding her fists on the table.

“Sister, calm yourself,” King Turgon said, waving his hand for her to sit back down.

Aredhel plopped back down in a huff right next to Eöl, ignoring her plate of food. “Great. Just great! We’re never escaping them!”

“That’s not true…” Idril said softly from her seat. She and Meleth were present for the feast. Once the party had shown up to Gondolin, they were among the first to welcome back Aredhel, so relieved they were to see that she was well and fine. Meleth had double reason to celebrate, reuniting with her old friend Eöl. The two went way back. Currently, her husband Rôg had not yet made an appearance.

“I don’t understand,” Lúthien said. “You pride yourself in never letting anyone go, do you not?”

Turgon gave a nod of his head. “That is true, Lady Lúthien. And the only person who had left prior to the madness was my sister and her guards.”

“Strange indeed,” Telchar said after downing a whole flask of mead. “We assumed the walkers were the result of the passing of the curse from a bite from another walker.”

“We assumed the same, until one of our ailing friends passed and turned into one of the accursed,” Turgon said. “We’ve since been monitoring the situation. My daughter and her dearest friend have kept an eye on the sick and dying and noted there was no correlation.”

Aredhel thought back to the Thousand Caves, how the horde of walkers had originated from the infirmary…

“So what you’re saying is…” Galadriel began, her voice tight.

Turgon nodded slowly. “It doesn’t matter what we do to try to save ourselves. We are all infected with the curse. If we die, we turn.”

A wave of silence followed, broken only by Ivor and Orvar munching on some hard bread.

“But do not fret,” Turgon continued. “Currently, we keep our walkers segregated from the rest of the city. Rôg, lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, was quick in building designated areas to house the fallen.”

“Rôg…hey, that’s your buddy!” Delunis said with a grin at Eöl.

“We’re currently discussing how to remove them,” Turgon went on, “and if we should given the dire situation throughout all of Endor. But in the meantime, I have appointed guards to ensure not a single walker crosses onto civilian grounds.”

Aredhel sighed. “Then I suppose this is the safest place we can stay in the meantime.

Eöl nodded. “It’s either Gondolin or death, I suppose.”

“We welcome you to Gondolin,” Turgon said with a slight bow of his head. “I’ll send some of my men to help situate you into proper living arrangements.”

“Better be close to me,” Aredhel said. “You can crash in my space, Eöl. What?” she added, seeing everyone snickering around them—everyone, that is, except for Curufin, who just sat sulky silently in his spot, his plate untouched.

“There she goes again,” Aredhel sighed as she pulled herself up by her elbows. Galadriel’s screams could be heard through the walls.

Appearing from the next room was Eöl, still in his bedclothes.

“Should I go comfort her?” he asked in his no nonsense voice, face as grim as ever.

“You might scare her, actually,” Aredhel said.

Months passed, and poor cousin Galadriel was still having nightmares of Menegroth. Slipping out of bed, Aredhel slipped on her fuzzy bunny slippers and joined Eöl’s side. By the time they reached Galadriel’s door, Idril and Meleth appeared on the other side, as did Lúthien, Nellas, and Amras from another hall.

“Looks like our dear friend has woken all of us,” Aredhel said with a sigh. Excluding Curufin, but he had opted to living alone, and Eöl was more than fine with that arrangement.

They filed into Galadriel’s living quarters. Lúthien settled on one side of Galadriel’s bed gracefully and gently tapped her shoulders while Aredhel plopped herself down and cried out, “Hey, Cousin! You’re annoying us again!”

With a little shriek, Galadriel jolted wide awake.

Lúthien sighed. “Please be more lady-like, Aredhel dear.”

“I am! Look how dainty I am!” Aredhel showed off her slippers before releasing an almighty belch.

With tea and a small breakfast prepared by Idril and Meleth, the party settled around the guest quarters, eating quietly and sporting tiny injuries after Galadriel was done beating the ethereal egesta out of them.

“I keep seeing the entire white city turn black with spilled body and the walkers infiltrating every path,” Galadriel said in a haunting tone. “And yet you make light of my visions.”

Aredhel sighed. “I’ve tried speaking with my brother to see if there were any plans to evacuate and where to, just in case the city’s compromised. He’s adamant Gondolin will stay standing.”

Eöl scoffed. “A bit of an oversight, if you ask me. In times like these, there should always be a backup plan.”

“We have been living in comfort for the past few months,” Amras said, nodding in agreement, “but I don’t think we should relax just yet.”

“I agree,” Nellas said. “In this world, danger doesn’t slumber for so long, especially not the undead.”

“Right you are, young Nellas!” came a singsong voice. Just then long arms wrapped tightly around Eöl’s neck and hoisted him up. A long pale face appeared beside Eöl’s, grinning from ear to ear. His hair was long and pitch black save for occasional strips of bright blood-red streaks, and eyes that burned like embers. “Which is why Idril, Meleth, and I with the help of my beloved Eöl’s dwarf-y friends have been digging secret passages out of Gondolin ever since!”

Eöl gasped and struggled against Rôg’s tight embrace. “I’m not your beloved!—get your hands off me!”

“Husband, please,” Meleth said, chuckling.

Rôg dropped him before climbing over the settee and eating straight out of Eöl’s plate.

“You’ve built a secret tunnel all this time without telling any one of us?” Aredhel said, turning to Idril.

Idril and Meleth nodded.

“We do apologize for not saying anything sooner,” Meleth said, “but we didn’t wish to tell anyone until we were further along with the project. We didn’t wish to get anyone’s hopes up and lead to a bigger tragedy should something transpire before the tunnels have been completed.”

“The tunnels are situated under an old tower near the main gates,” Idril explained. “We wanted to build it under the tower here, but we could not risk my father finding out about it.”

“Though we did think of a workaround,” Rôg said with a wink.

“Good job!” Aredhel said, grinning.

“Surprised Rôg stayed silent about this plan for this long, if I’m being honest,” Idril said with a smile.

“How far along are you with it?” Lúthien asked.

“Far enough that we can escape today if need be,” Meleth said. “Again, we’re sorry for staying silent for this long, Lady Galadriel. It might have eased your anxiety, but we wanted to be certain.”

“I just hope we never have to use it,” Galadriel said while shaking her head. “My dreams are often prophetic…”

The others regarded Galadriel silently for a few moments before Aredhel straightened her back and clapped her hands once.

“Right,” she said. “We got an escape plan. We’re living well right now. Best of all: we got each other. Life is good. Now let’s just hope that the day Galadriel foresees never comes.”

“Have your tried any of Malleth’s treats?” Aredhel asked Eöl one morning.

“Meleth’s?”

“No, Malleth’s! She’s the sister of Glorfindel who…well, you know. We can visit the Golden Flower Bakery to get some of her goodies! It’s at the Great Market east of here.”

Eöl groaned. “I would not be cause of alarm, will I?” Ever since their arrival, the sight of Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth had caused a stir throughout the Gondolindrim. As the solution of the walker guards was Eöl’s idea, many had perceived Eöl as too foreign and strange for their delicate senses, as if locking away their undead was any more civilized. At least their undead served a purpose and got a chance to stretch out their rotting legs. Currently the three were tied to a post on the outskirts of the city, near the other walkers.

Aredhel tapped her bottom lip as she leaned her head back in feigned concentration. “Well, it’s either that or you can join Rôg—”

“Let’s go.”

She cackled at how quickly Eöl shot to his feet.

They headed out, with Aredhel linking their arms together as though they were school friends. They made a strange pair indeed: the chipper and skippy one in vibrant white raiment with the grim-faced and dour one attired in all black. Even in the safety of Gondolin, Eöl refused to part from his armor. Galadriel’s prophecy hung heavy over his head.

Their tower overlooked the Alley of Roses, and east of that was the main road to the Great Market. Aredhel was excited to show Eöl and possibly even make him a flower crown—how funny and adorable he would look wearing one! But they hadn’t taken a few steps in the Alley when Meleth ran past them, eyes wide.

“To the square, quick!” she said.

“Hmm?” Aredhel stopped and shared a confused look with Eöl.

“It’s our cousin,” Galadriel explained as she followed closely behind. “Lord Maglor is here.”

Aredhel gasped. “He’s here?!”

The famed minstrel had indeed come. By the time Aredhel and Eöl crossed the Alley of Arches, it was to find Turgon speaking with Elemmakil, who was present with an elf with his head bowed. His long matted hair cascaded down past his hips, covering his face. His robes had long lost their luster, the stench of death clinging to the threads.

“How did he find us?” King Turgon said, aghast.

“It was I,” Curufin said as he came up from the other side of the square. Dressed in finer robes than when they first met him, he walked a little prouder than before, though the luster had not rekindled in his eyes. “I perceived my brother traveling beyond the hidden city. I begged Elemmakil to fetch him.” Folding his arms, he glared at anyone to dare question him further. “He is my brother! Many have fallen to the wicked dead! I will not allow any harm to come to him!”

He ran up to Maglor and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you well, Káno?”

“Curvo?” Maglor said, his eyes widening as though he had seen a ghost. His hands trembled. “Bless your heart, it is you!” Grabbing him around the waist, he pulled him in for an embrace. As the onlookers warmed at the sight, Aredhel caught sight of Galadriel, whose gaze never left Maglor. Her lips stretched downwards.

“Not too pleased to see him, Cousin?” Aredhel asked.

“A shadow sits in his heart,” Galadriel said. “I can see it as plan as day. There’s something amiss about the whole thing.”

“Could be from all the horrors he had seen,” Eöl said. “His brother was sort of the same.”

“No, Curufin was different,” Galadriel said. “We…we should not welcome this man into this protected realm.”

Whatever it was that ailed Galadriel, no other elf shared her premonition. Curufin pulled Maglor into his private quarters and had him wash up and dressed in the finest threads he could find in the markets: a turquoise and gold raiment, with a matching golden diadem.

“Quite loud and excessive, if you ask me,” Eöl commented upon seeing him later when they gathered at the king’s table for the welcoming feast. Maglor outshone even some of the other elf lords who were shooting him the stink eye, ignoring the fact that the elf sitting near them was a husk of his former self.

“Certainly,” Aredhel said in a low voice to Eöl, “but Maglor was one of the most vain and proud among the sons of Fëanor. Something must have knocked him down a few pegs.”

“What sort of work did he do?”

“He was a bard, and the mightiest one in all of Arda, or so his brothers proclaimed.” She smiled, knowing that Doriath once had their own star minstrel.

“Ah.”

Aredhel nodded.

“Did you enjoy his work?”

“Personally, I found the music his mentor back in Valinor produced to be a lot more lovely,” Aredhel said. “Then again, her heart was always more pure.”

“I see.”

“But don’t take this the wrong way. I suppose Maglor had his virtues as well as his vices.”

“Are you happy he’s here?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. It’s not like I was really close to him to begin with,” Aredhel said as she picked up her goblet. “I hung out more with the middle sons of Fëanor, but only because they shared my hobbies. You know, the hunting and all that. Although…Curufin never stopped talking about him, now that I think about it.”

“Did he now?”

“It was a little strange,” Aredhel confessed as she slowly rotated the goblet in place, watching the mead swish around. “You would think if one sibling was filled with so much admiration for another, he would spend more time with him. But I never really saw them together. That family sure was strange.”

“And yet you spent time with them.”

“I mean, they are family.”

They shared a smile as Aredhel peered back up.

The only other person who seemed to share Galadriel’s discomfort was Amras. The looks he kept throwing his elder brothers caught Aredhel’s notice. Considering what she had just told Eöl, a strange feeling of unease began to seep into her heart.

“You don’t seem so thrilled to see your brothers, Cousin,” Aredhel said later as she approached Amras.

He bowed his head, studying his feet.

“Sorry,” he said. “Was I that obvious?”

“Well, to someone like me…yeah. But it’s okay. No hard feelings. I’m just curious if something’s going on. Was it because of what happened when your father burned the ships?”

Amras shook his head. “That’s not it. It’s just that…he’s…changed. Trust me. I know my own brother. But Curufin…he’s too blinded by his own heart to see that.”

“Blinded by his own heart? What do you mean by that?”

Instead of elaborating, Amras leaned in closer.

“Be on your toes, Cousin. I have a bad feeling.”

“Hmm?” Amras raised his head. “Who’s there?”

It was early morning, and someone had come stirring into his room. Usually Nellas knocked, or at least her singing would rouse him awake. The sun still had not begun her full ascent, and the light passing through the curtains of his windows were blue, growing steadily lighter.

“Little brother,” Maglor said in a sing-song voice that came like a haunting tune. “You were not among the people who welcomed me back. How hurtful, and when I had thought you perished!”

He appeared in Amras’s line of vision, smiling from ear to ear as a sly fox. Yelping, Amras immediately sat up only to slide back down. He didn’t wear the galvorn prosthetics Eöl had forged for him to bed, and so his mobility was currently limited.

Bad thinking, he realized. He should have kept the arm under his pillow. Then he could swipe it and activate the blade I case he needed to protect himself from—

“Yeah, well, we all know what sorts of horrors unleash whenever Father’s favorite is involved.”

He watched as a dangerous glint whipped past Maglor’s eyes. Maglor and Curufin. King Turgon should have cast them both out of Gondolin…

“You seem to know a little too much,” Maglor said as his voice turned colder.

“Cousin Galadriel’s picking up on your heart too!”

Maglor chuckled. “But who believes that batty wench? But you, a son of Fëanor, who has forsaken the Oath…”

“After I had seen the truth with my own eyes,” Amras said.

“…I cannot have you in the way.”

He pinned Amras down on the bed.

“Káno—wait!”

Panic seized him. Would his own brother actually do this?

He’s a kinslayer, but would he actually turn against his own brother?

Instinctively he reached for under the pillow before remembering that he had removed the galvorn.

“Looking for something?” Maglor said as he suddenly produced the galvorn arm. “Curvo has told me what an odd little contraption you possess. A rather unique weapon…”

“Káno!”

Activating the blade, Maglor plunged it into the chest of his youngest brother, watching as his eyes grew wide with horror and fear. Blood gushed from the site as he retreated the shining black blade. He stabbed him several more times, the blood splattering his exquisite robes and hair.

Soon, Amras stopped squirming under him, and all was silent, and still Maglor drove the blade, savoring the bloodlust he had tasted right before leaving the shores of Valinor.

The blade clattered to the floor, spent. Making his way to the window, he peered out, watching as a black blood ran through the once pearly white pristine streets. His heart steadied. He hadn’t realized how badly it had been racing. He was saved.

And then he heard the scream behind him.

“It’s beautiful!” Aredhel gasped. “It’s so bright, like the gem itself is breathing! Don’t you agree, Eöl?”

Eöl nodded as he studied the fair necklace with the gemstone pendant in Aredhel’s hands. Sardir was studying another one of Rôg’s creations through a loupe. “Hard to believe one such as yourself can craft such delicate and graceful jewelry.”

Rôg laughed as he strolled behind Eöl and wrapped an arm around him. “I will make a special diadem just for you, my love.”

“Don’t get any ideas!” Eöl swatted away his hand.

Aredhel laughed. “Were you two always like this?”

“In a way,” Rôg said, arms folded and leaning close to Eöl. “We were sort of…lovers, you could say, during our darkest hour.”

“Please don’t bring up such memories,” Eöl said as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

Rôg laughed darkly as he regarded Eöl with sharp bright eyes as if daring him to do something in retaliation for this revelation. The other dwarves paid them no mind.

“But are you not married?” Aredhel asked Rôg.

“That I am, to my dear Lady Meleth since before our times of hardship, and I love her still,” Rôg said. “She does not mind when I get frisky with my beloved Eöl.”

“I do!” Eöl spat.

Ivor whispered something to Orvar and the two snickered behind their beards.

“Did you not say your uncle was also a blacksmith?” Eöl said in want for a change of conversation. Growing bored quickly, Rôg left him alone and prowled around the small group like a demonic panther.

“Oh yes,” Aredhel said. ”Fëanor was considered the mightiest. I think you all would have enjoyed working together.”

“The mightiest blacksmith…” Eöl said with a soft whistle, nodding his head in appreciation.

“That would be a Noldo we would not hesitate to get to know, even for all of the ill deeds he was said to have wrought onto the land,” Telchar said. “We’re very curious as to how that brilliant mind of his worked.”

“Even I’ve heard stories of him,” Eöl said. “Can’t say I’m not curious myself.”

“Likewise,” Rôg said, grinning cheekily. He squeezed Eöl’s ass as he passed by, earning himself another swat and a glare. Aredhel watched with wide eyes before laughing.

Eöl sighed. “He had never been himself either after our imprisonment in Angband.”

“Is that when you two…”

Eöl nodded while giving her a look that begged her to say no more. She bit her lower lip shut.

“How could we not?” Rôg drawled on mercilessly. “Even that Noldo Curufin’s noticed what a handsome elf you are. Why, if things have been different, I’m certain he would love to get to know you intimately in that smithy of yours.”

Aredhel squeaked, blushing to the roots of her hair. The dwarves gave one another amused looks, stretched smiles and raised eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Enough or you’re joining the undead!” Eöl threatened.

“What’s happened to you, my beloved?” Rôg laughed. “You used to sing and frolic in the forest with Meleth and me.”

“You did?” Aredhel gasped.

“Don’t listen to him!” Eöl begged, suddenly all scandalized, and everyone cackled at Rôg’s success at having gotten under the gloomy elf’s skin.

After getting their fill of Rôg’s jewelry collection at his forge, they made for the main square. It was a bright sunny morning, and everyone was in high spirits (save for Eöl, who was, if it was even possible, even far more gloomy.) Aredhel was about to suggest where to go next when they heard a scream.

“Lady Aredhel! Lord Eöl! Lord Rôg!”

Spinning around, they caught sight of Nellas speeding toward them down the steps of a tight alley that led to some apartments, face ashen and eyes like saucers.

“Nellas?!” the three elves cried out, startled. The dwarves tensed around them.

“Lady Ared—AHHH!”

Aredhel screamed. A sickle materialized out of nowhere from around the back and struck Nellas across her middle, cleaving her in half. Falling to the ground, she crawled on her arms even as her innards spilled onto the ground.

“R-run!” Nellas screamed. “Amras is dead! Maglor’s killed him! They’re coming! They’re coming!”

“What?!”

The dwarves all began shouting. “This way—look!”

From the other street there they came: an entire horde of the undead toiling toward them, slowly yet surely, unstoppable and great in number.

Nellas reached out with her hand just as Aredhel was about to take hers, however hopeless her situation seemed, when suddenly one of the accursed fell on top of the poor Green elf, digging its jaws into her flesh.

“Careful!” Eöl cried out, grabbing Aredhel’s wrist.

Given what Amras had warned Aredhel the night before, Aredhel and the others had prepared with their weapons on hand. Eöl produced his sword made of galvorn, and Rôg pulled out a long-shafted mace (Aredhel didn’t wish to speculate where he had pulled that from.) Aredhel meanwhile casted off her long white robes, displaying her galvorn armor and red coat once more, quiver and bowstring already set. Her pistol was set by her side.

The dwarves gave a war cry, and the elves joined in, shooting down walkers with bullets and arrows, striking them down with maces and hammers, and cleaving off their heads clean with swords. But something bothered Aredhel, a strange sensation of being watched from every angle.

She fell another foe and soon she got her answer: staring at one of the walkers in the eyes, she noted intelligence behind them.

Her heart plummeted as her memory drew her back to Dor Dínen.

“They’re not all undead!” Aredhel cried out. “Orcs! Morgoth’s army! The city’s been compromised!”

Eöl swore. “We should have killed that elf the moment he stepped foot into the city!”

Rôg laughed hysterically, caught in the middle of a swarm. He crushed every foe as they came near him, walker or orc alike. “Let them come! This is exciting!”

“No, Rôg!” Eöl plucked him out from the horde impressively, as he had to hop over the heads to get to his old friend.

“We can’t fight all of them off!” Telchar announced as she surveyed the scene around her. “Retreat!”

Rôg and Delunis voiced their disappointment but obeyed, following the others.

“Where do we go?” Eöl said.

“We must warn my brother!” Aredhel said. Being the one most familiar with the lay of the land, she took the lead. She utilized the skills she had honed as a huntress: keeping a sharp eye out and her ears perked for any signs of groaning or slow shuffling of feet, she steered from places which had become compromised. As more and more forsaken walkers and Orcs infiltrated the pristine white streets of Gondolin, panic spread wide and far, people rushing past them in the opposite direction. She tried to give a warning to them, urging them to stop, that they were heading headlong into their doom, but seldom did any heed to her warning.

She wove her party through alleys and behind shops that were mercifully devoid of walkers; their journey, barring getting warmed by panicked Gondolindrim, otherwise safe.

By the time they reached the palace, it was to find it surrounded by the accursed. Torn pieces of body parts lay strewn about, adorned in threads that Aredhel instantly recognized as her brother’s robes. A walker trudged by, a crown hanging from its tangled hair.

Aredhel stared in pure shock. “Turgon?!” she almost shrieked, and just then, perhaps sensing her lapse of judgment, Eöl clamped her mouth shut.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“Any time,” Eöl said. He peered around them. “This is grave. I cannot help but feel we’re responsible…”

“Ooh hoo hoo, the city’s surely fallen now!” Rôg laughed as he slayed a few more of the accursed.

“Really, asshole?” Sardir cried out as she smashed the head of another. “Maybe learn to read the room!”

“Er, sorry about your brother, Aredhel…”

Loud neighing soon reached their ears.

“Nimanor!” Aredhel gasped and looked up. The neighing came again. Sending her arrows flying, striking several walkers down, she made a pathway for herself as she spotted her horse. “I’m here, Nimanor. I won’t let them hurt you!”

“We must make haste,” Eöl said, looking around himself. He fell several more as the party slowly closed around Aredhel and Nimanor, protecting them both. “There’s too many of them.”

“Where’s that damn secret passage?” Aredhel said. She spotted Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth also attached to a pole nearby, surrounded by walkers, but she couldn’t get to them. They may need to leave them be. It wasn’t like the accursed could hurt them after all…

“This way!” came a silvery shout high above.

They all looked up to see Idril waving from a upper story of the palace. Accompanying her were also Lúthien, Galadriel, and Meleth, all looking safe if a bit shaken.

A whole sea of walkers separated them from the entrance.

“Allow me,” Rôg said, laughing. Bonking walkers on the head with his mace as he went, he formed a pathway for them. They made their way up to the upper story, running over slippery skulls and cracked bones. In a moment of insane clarity, Aredhel hopped onto Nimanor and ordered her, and Nimanor rode up, neighing frantically. She scooped up Eöl on her way up, as Rôg cried, “What about me!” while the dwarves roared and laughed, charging forward as though they were merely mountain climbing.

Then suddenly there came a startled cry as Ivor suddenly slipped.

“Sister!” Orvar shouted, instinctively reaching for her, and that moment’s weakness fueled by compassion too cost her her life. The others watched helplessly as the two went down in the horde of hungry walkers, torn apart and devoured, their cries shaking the sky.

It was all over within moments.

“There’s no time!” Telchar ordered, urging them onwards.

Finally they made it to the top. Bó and Andring prayed for their fallen comrades as Aredhel embraced the others awaiting them in the hall: Idril, Meleth, Galadriel, and Lúthien. She told them of Amras and Nellas’s fate, which they grieved for.

“The other elf lords are fighting throughout the city, but they’re falling one by one,” Idril explained. “We were watching them in the highest tower. It doesn’t look good at all right now. The walkers found Salgant really tasty; we saw them passing around his body in pieces to one another. We watched Penlod go down by the fountain. We've been watching Duilin fight in the square, but the place is completely swamped with foes now.

“Pengolodh chose to die in his library even as we urged him to join us.”

“That’s all of the high lords!” Aredhel gasped.

Idril bowed her head. “Everyone will fall just as my father has.”

“What of the Eagles?” Aredhel asked. They had done well shielding Gondolin from Morgoth’s eye all these years.

“No good,” Meleth said. “It’s like they’re scared of going near Gondolin all of a sudden.”

“Or some evil bewitches them far away,” Galadriel said, her ethereal voice eerily haunting in the empty hall.

“Whatever it is, we cannot stay here,” Lúthien said. “There’s more of them pouring into the palace as we speak.”

“Right. Follow me.” Idril led the way. They went down past Aredhel’s own quarters, past white marbled halls and into passages low-ceiling’ed, earthen, and barren.

“Can we not fetch the others?” Eöl asked. They could hear commotion right over their heads.

“We tried,” Meleth said. “Most ignored our warning, and then when they saw the walkers, they just ran off screaming.”

“We saw some of them outside,” Aredhel said. Perhaps they should have let the rest of Gondolin know about the secret escape route, but then again…a traitor would have done all they could to sabotage it…

“It’s Doriath all over again,” Lúthien bemoaned. “There won’t be any survivors…”

Aredhel’s heart ached. Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth were gone for good now, and Amras and Nellas had joined so many others in the Halls of Mandos. She did not even know where deceased dwarves went. The entire world was ending…

“What is that light behind us?” Andring suddenly cried out.

“Show yerselves, ya bastards!” Delunis called out, banishing her axe.

“Easy, you’re only working yourself into a tizzy,” drawled a low voice as a small-statued elf appeared, flanked by his taller and older brother.

“You!” Galadriel hissed. Knocking the lantern from his hand, she grabbed Curufin by the collar and slammed him against the cave wall, shocking everyone with her strength and sudden rage. “What’ve you both been plotting? Answer me! Hunting for the Silmarils in the midst of all this madness? Is that it?! Gondolin does not have any of those abominable jewels!”

“How’d you even know to come here?” Delunis said, still raising her axe. “Were you spying on us?”

“Leave them,” Idril said. “Our main priority is getting out of here alive.”

Maglor bowed his head and sighed. “Please, Cousin Galadriel…Curvo had nothing to do with this. While the world fell into darkness, I was imprisoned and tormented. I was given the choice to trade my freedom with another’s.”

“And dying wasn’t an option for you,” Rôg said and gave a snort. “What a coward! Eöl and I came out of Angband and no one had to die in our place. And look at us! We’re perfectly fine!”

Eöl shook his head. “Half my body’s fused with galvorn, and a rare madness courses through your veins.”

“So? That’s what makes us so unique and awesome!” Rôg laughed and attempted to high-five Eöl. Meleth rolled her eyes, smiling, and facepalmed.

“So you betrayed your own kin,” Aredhel said, glaring at her cousin. First the kinslaying and now this. “You made a deal with the devil himself?”

Maglor winced. “My choices were to either lead Morgoth to Gondolin or Tol Sirion.”

Galadriel froze, her face ashen. “Tol Sirion…”

“What’s so special about Tol Sirion?” Eöl asked.

“That’s where my brother resides,” Galadriel said.

Eöl and Rôg both regarded Maglor coldly.

“We’ve just found our next destination!” Rôg said with a wicked grin.

Eöl stood upon the grey steps of Tol Sirion, eerily silent and bare of any inhabitant.

“HELLO!” he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “IS ANYONE THERE?”

No reply.

He called out again. And again. Still all that replied back to him was the night.

He carried on like this, over and over, his voice carrying hauntingly in the hollow and empty wind. The others stood around in the courtyard of the castle, shaking in the chilly air.

After Maglor’s revelation, Galadriel grew distraught over her brother Finrod’s wellbeing. As they were heading west, they had decided to go to Tol Sirion next. Eöl had fashioned handcuffs for Maglor out of the galvorn from his own body. Although Curufin couldn’t be proven guilty in Maglor’s scheme, he ended up losing the right to bear any weapon. The surviving dwarves walked behind the brothers, keeping a close eye on them.

“HELLO!” Eöl called out again, his voice almost going out. “Damn it, Rôg, do your part!”

Aredhel took another step, frowning. Tol Sirion was built upon a small island in the middle of Lake Sirion situated in the middle of the pass of Sirion, and yet never had she ever felt so exposed. The same unsettling feeling she had when she was Doriath crept over her like a cold shadow. Something lurked just beyond sight, close enough that her fingertips tingled. The hair behind her neck prickled.

“Stop!” Lúthien suddenly cried out, reaching out and squeezing Eöl’s shoulder.

The ground shook with the arrival of the horde: walkers and werewolves, and flying high above them, a swarm of vampires.

“The hell?!” the dwarves cried out.

“What is this madness?” Eöl said. “Walkers and vampires and werewolves?!”

“Oh my!” Rôg giggled.

“Out—now!” Aredhel ordered as she shot three arrows at once. But there was nothing to the army proceeding toward them. Even the dwarves had to admit defeat and turn around, making for the bridge crossing the River Sirion.

“Not again—not again!” Lúthien yelped and swatted away at a vampire attempting to seize her.

Idril gave a shriek, and Aredhel stopped dead in her tracks. The bridge was collapsing. The werewolves were gnawing away at it, leaving a massive open gap. They wouldn’t be able to get to the other side unless they swam, and one look at the river and Aredhel could see the shadows or even more ghastly horrors.

“Damn them!” she hissed just as Rôg ran past her, laughing manically and swinging his mace around.

“Watch it!” Eöl warned to Rôg’s back just as a particularly large werewolf appeared behind him. He made to go after them when the ground shook again. The trees were being uprooted, but no one had touched them.

“Don’t be frugal now, ladies,” came a rustling voice. “These vermin have no business sullying our precious lands.”

“Wilówë!” Galadriel and Lúthien cried out in relief. Aredhel watched as all around them the trees awoke, the Entwives moving slowly yet gracefully. They snatched vampire bats from the skies, crushed walkers under their feet, and kicked werewolves into the river.

“This way, dear friends,” Wilówë said as she laid her arms and head on the bridge, allowing the branches atop her head to grow and form a new bridge. Her companions copied her movements.

“Thank you, kind Entwives,” Aredhel said as her party crossed the bridge, not wasting another moment.

Just as they reached the bank, a massive werewolf charged from the other end, having scaled one of the Entwives, scarring her in the process, and leapt from a great height.

In his hands was Maglor, struggling and crying out in fear. The werewolf growled as it raised the tormented minstrel above its head. The dwarves immediately went on the offense, attacking it with everything they got, but the beast could hold up Maglor with one hand as it slashed back at them, baring its long sharp teeth. Lúthien shot up her arms in some last-ditch effort to protect the others.

For a moment Aredhel thought to just leave him be and get her friends to safety before her senses caught up to her.

I may be a walker-killer expertise, but I’m no kinslayer!

She drew back her arrow before her attention turned back to the golden pistol by her side. A single shot could do so much…

“What is that?” Curufin gasped as Aredhel drew it out.

“One of my inventions,” Eöl said.

Rôg grinned wickedly as Aredhel took aim and fired.

The werewolf gave a terrible cry and threw back its head, dropping Maglor from a tall height. Yelping, Curufin charged forward, ready to catch his brother, when suddenly a tall clocked figure caught the elf in his arms. The werewolf toppled to the ground, blood seeping into a pool, poisoning the River Sirion.

Laughing jubilantly, Maglor’s savior drew back his hood, luscious golden hair catching the moonlight. He regarded the fallen beast then regarded Maglor still cradled in his arms.

“Oh all places for us to meet again!” he said. “My, did you choose that grizzly man over there over me? I’m hurt, my beloved.”

Dazed, Maglor blinked a few times as though he wasn’t certain if he was seeing right. Even Aredhel had to take another look. The last time she had seen him was in Valinor…

“Gildor!” Maglor gasped, and color returned to his cheek in the form of an intense blush. Curufin growled under his breath. The others shifted their weight, watching the scene with uncertainty.

“Who’s this fool?” Eöl asked, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

“Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod,” Aredhel said. “A close friend of Finrod my cousin, and…seemingly now the only survivor.”

Instinctively the others drew out their weapons, all pointing at Gildor.

“Did I offend?” Gildor said, looking about in confusion. He set Maglor down gently.

“Depends,” Aredhel said. “We’ve been through something similar before. How do we know you do not mean us any harm?” What were the three questions they had asked Curufin?

“Perhaps I can convince you,” came a reply behind Gildor. Aredhel’s heart shot up, instantly recognizing the voice. The party watched as little lanterns lit up the bank, revealing an entire traveling caravan composed of elves and dwarves alike. The Entwives slowly untangled themselves from the bridge and bowed to the newcomers. But Aredhel’s attention was fixed on the tall woman who had just appeared beside Gildor, smiling sagely at Aredhel.

“Aunt Írimë?!” Aredhel gasped.

She chuckled. “Lalwen is more how I’m known as these days. Yes, it’s me, my dear niece.”

“More survivors,” Idril said in a daze, a hand over her heart. She regarded Meleth. “This seems too good to be true. I feel safe. What about you?”

Meleth nodded in agreement then turned to Galadriel. “What about you?”

“I…I do not sense any danger,” Galadriel. “There is warmth and light. The darkness is kept at bay.”

“This is a rather unexpected group of traveling partners,” Lúthien commented. “I see Noldor, Sindar, Avari, dwarves as well…”

“We’re ones to talk!” Rôg laughed.

“Lady Galadriel,” Gildor addressed with a bow. “I know Lord Celeborn. We have been working closely ever since darkness has swallowed Endor. We can take you all to him, if you are willing. We will not pressure you.

Aredhel peered at Lalwen, whose face shone with genuine warmth. Gildor was also smiling with that gentle aura he was known for ever since the blessed Years of the Trees. From what Aredhel remembered of him, Gildor was never the sort to hide malice or deceit in his heart. For the Valar’s sake, he was a friend to Finrod Felagund the most liked loser in the entire Finwë linage! Maglor was clinging to him, a mere shadow of the man he once knew, but it was almost like Gildor didn’t notice. Then again, the two had one of the strangest marriages Aredhel had ever known.

Meanwhile, Curufin kept throwing daggers at Gildor with his eyes.

“If I may ask, what happened to my brother Finrod?” Galadriel asked. “Although I fear I may already know the answer…”

Gildor bowed his head. “You can take a guess at that.” He motioned to the fallen werewolves. “This was the work of Sauron, although he is not the one behind the walkers from what we understand.”

“So it didn’t matter if you chose Tol Sirion or Gondolin,” Rôg said, folding his arms and glaring at Maglor. “The two places were doomed from the beginning.”

Maglor winced and clung tighter to Gildor, who only patted his head. Despite their marriage they seldom were together, from what Aredhel knew. Gildor followed Finrod while Maglor had his own dominion near Himring.

“I can take you all to Lord Celeborn and the others, if you do not mistrust us,” Gildor said again.

Galadriel regarded him closely, her large blue eyes searching.

“I see nothing but kindness behind your eyes,” she said. “Please, take us to safety, Gildor Inglorion, my brother’s more trusted friend.”

Gildor led them to the port of Falas, a coastal region of Beleriand. One of the most beautiful regions in, if not the most beautiful, in all of Endor, it filled Aredhel with intense sadness to think of all of the missed opportunities to mingle here and watch the sun rise and set at the coastal city. It was so peaceful and beautiful that it was almost hard to believe what was happening in the rest of the world.

With the knowledge that Finrod and his people had also befallen the same fate as those of Doriath and Gondolin, the party allowed themselves to grieve for all they had lost. The dwarves wept alongside them, having lost the twin warriors. The dwarves with Gildor’s traveling party set up a ceremony to honor the dead.

“Too many stars have gone out in a short time,” Lúthien said.

“Are we all that’s left?” Aredhel wondered, shuddering as she peered over the caravan. Celeborn had reunited with his wife. He was introducing her to an old-looking elf named Círdan, the lord of Falas. Apparently he was born in Cuiviénen, making him among the first elves to awaken. Or something like that.

“So you’ve been building ships all this time…” Eöl said under his breath, studying their handiwork and nodding his head with approval.

“Precisely,” Gildor said. “We watched as countless kingdoms fell. Fighting the walkers could only delay the inevitable for so long. Our only solution, then, seemed to head back to Valinor.”

“Valinor?” Aredhel said. Talk about desperate times, desperate measures. “The Valar banned us from ever entering those lands again.”

“We believed as much,” Gildor said. “Círdan has been sending word of our plight by dove to Valinor, and to our surprise, they have sent a reply. Given the dire situation, if we can survive the trip past the ocean, then we are welcomed back to Valinor.”

Remembering what Idril and Meleth had said, Aredhel next asked, “Would we not be bringing the curse to the undying lands? We’re all infected, are we not?”

“There is that chance,” Gildor said. “Truthfully we do not know much of the curse’s true nature. Perhaps with Nienna’s blessing she may protect the people there and the curse will not spread to the land.”

“Assuming the curse has not reached there yet already,” Eöl said.

“We are confident Valinor is safe,” Gildor said. “Perhaps this is a fool’s hope, but I do think the Valar will find some solution to heal the land.”

“And so the only path to safety is…beyond the sea,” Eöl said, nodding his head. “And they will take Avari?”

“You are elven, so I do not see why not, especially given the dire situation. Nienna may be able to spare you and others from the curse.”

“Then I do not suppose my friends are welcome.”

“I’m afraid not,” Círdan said as he approached them. “At least, not for the time being. There has never been a dwarf who entered Valinor, and we do not wish to hinder the survival of the others should our entrance be blocked due to…well…”

“It’s okay, you can say we would be uninvited guests,” Telchar said as she came up beside him. “After all, we can handle the walkers. Our dead don’t turn into them. It may be best for your kind to go and settle the matter there with your gods.”

Aredhel nodded. She thanked Telchar and the others for having accompanied and protected them thus far. As she straightened her back, she caught sight of her aunt Lalwen directing Idril and Meleth to a ship as others loaded it up with whatever provisions they could gather for the journey. They would be traveling very soon.

So, this was it. Aredhel never thought the day would come this soon. Would she ever step foot here again? Aredhel found herself wondering as a pang grew in her heart. She peered out to the ocean, the moonlight beckoning them forth to a promising new life on land filled with merriment and joy, then back to the ever-growing darkness of the world they were leaving. The dwarves would have to contend with the accursed alone…

“So the Avari will be heading west after all…” Eöl said in a low voice. “And the dwarves have inherited Endor. Strange how fate moves.”

The two regarded one another and nodded in understanding.

So be it.

Farewell, Endor.

Chapter End Notes

The three questions that the party asks Curufin are modified from The Walking Dead.

I cannot claim the clever coinage of the term “ethereal egesta.” That was lifted straight out Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth (and Pirate Yakuza and Kiwami 3.) It’s an actual item you collect to form the ultimate weapon for Ichiban, whose normal appearance of said bat, coincidentally, looks like Negan’s bat from The Walking Dead. Everything is connected! 😆

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Calm and steady was the night. Maglor slid down next to Gildor who was keeping watch while softly humming through an ocarina; he placed his entwined hands upon his lap.

“What they said about me,” Maglor began slowly, “about being a traitor and a kinslayer…it’s all true.”

Gildor set down the ocarina slowly, his gaze never once breaking away from the ever-blue horizon.

“I am well aware of what sort of man I have bonded my soul to,” he said. “He is kind of heart, prideful and a little vain, but also passionate and mighty in voice and song-making. The fire of his father also burns through him. Whatever you tell me will likely not startle me.”

With a sigh, Maglor went on into his story, of his imprisonment in Angband and of his deal with Morgoth. Being of the House of Finrod, Gildor was bound to have heard tidings of his previous affairs, but he was, as Maglor expected, frustratingly forgiving.

“Aye, you were foolish,” Gildor said calmly, “but many weaker than yourself would have cracked far sooner. Do we blame the one who crushes the egg in their hand or the egg who gives in to the pressure?”

“Gildor…you’re being ridiculous…”

“Perhaps because I find it impossible to be fully reasonable when it comes to you, my love…”

He swept his cloak over him and beckoned him into their private cabin. With lips that left trails of healing fire, he burned away some of the ills wrought by the Dark Power of the North.

Deep into their lovemaking, Maglor looked up in time to spot a pair of eyes watching. Gasping, he gripped Gildor’s shoulders, all thought of his spouse gone.

“Is something the matter, love?” he asked.

Smiling faintly, Maglor swept a finger past his lips while humming a tune, and after a few moments Gildor slouched in his hands, fast asleep. He set him down gingerly on the bed beside him.

“Do forgive me, Gildor,” he whispered. Throwing on a robe, he stepped out and tracked down the owner of the eyes. He hadn’t made it a few paces away when he spotted him. Grabbing him by the shoulder, he flung him against the wall, not caring if they had disturbed another sleeper.

“What’s the meaning of this, Curvo?” Maglor demanded. He folded his arms together, shivering slightly in the cold.

“Oh, nothing, brother dearest,” Curufin said with a sly smile. “So, you have reunited with your husband…”

“And what of it? We are wedded, as you well know. You’ve always been strange about our bond, despite you yourself being wed to another…”

“Ah, it’s just…we’ve known one another since forever…”

“Of course. We’re brothers, Curvo.”

“This matters not.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

Suddenly grabbing his arms, Curufin pushed Maglor against the wall of the cabin. “You know what it is, brother. We’ve sinned beyond measure in our lives. What’s one more act of sin to add against our name?” He swept in closer until their noses were touching. “What I can offer you is far more than that Finrod ass-kissing buffoon.”

“Curvo!” Maglor gasped, but he was starting to feel the heat, his body awakening even moments after his last ordeal with Gildor. But he shouldn’t—this was not right even for them. Their father would be so disappointed…

“Come on…your body, mind, and soul craves me,” Curufin purred. “I can feel every fiber of you pulsating with need…give in…”

“Curvo…”

And that was when the two felt eyes on them. Turning their heads to their left, they saw Eöl and Rôg standing by the corner. Eöl was pressed against the cabin walls mirroring Maglor’s position; it seemed Rôg had been pursuing him with a similar proposal when they had taken notice of the two brothers.

They had witnessed the whole ordeal. Cackling, Rôg shifted and leaned one elbow on Eöl’s shoulder, sneering at the two.

“So, that’s how it is in that family,” Rôg said.

“The last time I saw Valinor, the entire land was shrouded in darkness,” Aredhel said. They sat out on the deck, watching as the ship slowly inched them closer to their destination. “The light of the Two Trees was taken away, and all that was left was the everlasting dark. Thinking back, it had driven us into madness. Most of the elves rallied around my uncle Fëanor to seek out Morgoth and take the light back, which were in the Silmarils he had taken.

“Looking out now, I can see the land surrounded by sunlight. Doubt it’s anything like the days of the Two Trees, but at least we’ll be safe.”

Eöl smiled sadly. It was some time since he and Rôg had caught the Fëanorians in a compromising position. He was all too glad for the escape route all the same, considering what ordeal he and his old friend were about to get into. “I wish the place was still under darkness.”

Aredhel punched him on the arm. “Of course you’d say that!”

Eöl chuckled lightly. “There is beauty in the night, and the light of the sickle moon is a rare charm very few appreciate.”

“I guess I can see your point,” Aredhel said, peering up. “When all is dark save for that little shining sliver, it reminds you that there’s still light, still hope, in the world.”

Eöl smiled. “You get me.”

Aredhel giggled. “I still think you should behold the light of Valinor in its old glory days. Don’t knock it ’til you try it, as they say!”

“Who says that?” Eöl asked as Aredhel jumped to her feet, grinning from ear to ear.

“This mad elf in Valinor named Mahtan,” Aredhel said. “He too was a smith. I think you’d get along. Anyhow, I’m checking up on my aunt!”

She ran off, and as Eöl watched her leave, his gaze fell on a small shadow by the door leading out of the deck.

“You again,” Eöl said flatly as Curufin emerged. Saying nothing at first, the elf placed a hand on the railing of the ship as he peered out.

“You’re an incredible elvensmith from what I have heard,” Curufin began. “The dwarves would have business with none other.”

Eöl scoffed. “Not that it matters now. We’re both very far from home.”

Curufin tensed. “You’re a lord of a people who seemed happy in Nan Elmoth.”

Eöl stilled. “Why do you bring them up? It pains me still what has come to pass—”

“And yet you’ve never wed.”

Eöl stared at Curufin. “What are you—”

“You’re handsome. Your skills at forging might even rival my father’s. You even have Rôg, Lord of the Hammer of Wrath, throwing himself at your feet. My cousin Aredhel is right there, a companion and yet never once do you regard her as anything more than a friend. Did you ever…”

“Who can think of romance during a time like this?” Eöl said as he stood up, mirroring Aredhel from earlier. “I do believe Lady Meleth is making something special tonight. You are welcome to join if you wish.”

And with that he too left.

Curufin watched Eöl’s retreat form, his heart heavy in his chest. How he despised the man over the years, and yet deep down…

Maglor. Eöl.

He knew not what his heart desired more. There sat a void he could not seem to fill.

After traveling for what seemed like an eternity, at last the glow of Valinor greeted them. A line of Teleri elves stood around the pier to welcome them in. Círdan had been in close contact with them throughout the entire journey by dove, assuring them that none on board had come with ill intention (he left out the part of Maglor’s participation on the fall of Gondolin.)

Among the greeters was a woman who Aredhel recognized. Dressed in a long raiment of soft silvers, lavender, and ocean blue, Queen Eärwen raised her long arms, her white shawl and diadem sparkling along with the ocean. It left Aredhel, Galadriel, and Idril weeping with joy.

“Welcome, welcome!” Eärwen said, her voice merry and bright, rising like the tide in song. “We humbly receive you to Valinor where it is safe and warm!”

“Yes, yes,” said the man next to her. He bowed, his crown golden and catching the sunlight, his robes like the ocean with tiny sparkling shell-like adornments. King Finarfin raised his hands as his mouth stretched with sunlike warmth. “Welcome to Valinor, dearest friends, where it is safe and warm!”

As they later learned, Finarfin had taken up the mantle of the king of Valinor after Fëanor and Fingolfin had left, which only made sense. They were taken to his seaside castle—his one of many castles in Valinor—situated not too far from the pier. The party bathed, glad for a chance to clean off the gunk from the diseased world, and put on proper clothes. Eöl, hesitant to part with his galvorn armor, washed them and placed them back on, but he accepted robes of night-sky black adorned with tiny diamonds glimmering like stars.

Aredhel put on a white dress. Now that they were out of danger, she did not feel the red coat was needed for now, and hopefully not ever again.

An entire banquet hall was set up for the new guests, laden with food of every kind imaginable. Aredhel wasn’t certain if she could eat much after living on rations for so long, but she managed to get three helpings of everything.

“I can’t stop eating!” Idril complained. “Everything’s so good!”

Lalwen, Meleth, and Lúthien agreed by nodding their heads, all with cheeks pumped with nutrients.

Rôg was shoveling food into his mouth like it was a totally new concept.

“We are honored that you are enjoying the humble meals we have provided,” Eärwen chuckled.

“Humble?” Meleth said, meeting Lúthien’s gaze. “This? Oh my!”

“Perhaps the Noldor aren’t so bad after all!” Rôg proclaimed as he threw an arm around Curufin’s neck and gave him a squeeze. “No wonder why yer so chummy with all, even your closest of kin!”

Maglor gave a tiny gasp and met his husband’s gaze; he quickly looked away. Aredhel wondered what that was all about. Next to her Eöl cracked a tiny grin, but it was gone in an instance.

“Please, let the meats and berries and roots and wine nourish your bodies, hearts, and soul,” King Finarfin said. “We have provided beds for our esteemed guests. Tomorrow you will get to reunite with the people who you miss most.”

Aredhel’s heart leapt. She would get to see her mother again? And so soon?!

“You do not need us in quarantine?” Lúthien asked.

Eärwen chuckled. “Do not worry, my dear. Ulmo King of the Sea has ensured the waters would purify your hröa of all ills.”

“Does my mother know I am coming to see her in the morrow?” Aredhel asked.

“I have sent envoys to notify everyone’s living relatives,” King Finarfin said. “You must understand, I had to wait until I could verify for myself who had made it back to the shores of Valinor.”

“Yes. I see. Thank you.” Frowning into her plate, Aredhel next asked, “Um…what of my father and your brother?”

“Fingolfin was among the first to fall when Endor was encased with that strange shadow,” Finarfin said. “I heard tidings that he has reached the Halls of Mandos, but in time he will be healed and released, as well as all who had met a similar fate.”

Aredhel gave a nod. “Of course. Couldn’t imagine him surviving and not running into him at this point.”

“Sounds like your father was a mighty man,” Eöl said.

“Yes. He was considered the proudest, most steadfast, and most valiant of all of the Noldor,” Aredhel said. “My uncle Fëanor had all of the creative fire in him, but my father was more of an immovable earth.”

“And that would leave the king loyal and lofty,” Eöl said with a little chuckle.

After the meal they were taken to their rooms in the castle. A staircase from their rooms led to the very top on the roof where they could watch the stars and peer out to all of Valinor. Aredhel spent some quiet time there, breathing in the crisp fresh scent of the heavenly realms of the Undying Lands as she took in the sea and then the land far ahead.

On the way back, Aredhel passed by her cousin Galadriel and Lord Celeborn who was rubbing his wife’s back and whispering something to her.

How lovely it was to see them like this, together and cozied up, Aredhel thought with a smile. Giving them privacy, she made for her room. Slipping into a nightgown, she brushed her hair and decided on a loose braid for the night. Sighing, she smiled again and took it all in. The night was so calm and silent with the sweet scent of something floral in the distance.

Home.

Safe.

They were all safe. She snuggled under the covers and peered out the window, smiling endlessly to herself. They were all safe and warm.

The morning brought forth a further fracturing of the party. Círdan and the other shipwrights stayed behind to mingle and integrate with the Teleri elves of Alqualondë. Galadriel also stayed behind to be with her mother, and with her would be Celeborn. Lúthien would be accompanying Galadriel as she did not know where else to go, for Valinor was not Lúthien’s birthplace.

Upon hearing about Amarië, Galadriel wished to visit her at some point as well.

“I feel I owe it to her,” Galadriel explained to Aredhel before they parted ways. “She had waited for Finrod for so long. I must bring the grave news to her.” She made plans to meet her together with Gildor.

Lalwen was returning back to Elemmírë her wife. She joked to Aredhel that she wasn’t sure if her wife would even greet her warmly after running off without so much as a goodbye.

“I’m sure she misses you,” Aredhel said. “Even if she might be mad at you, if I had to guess, the pain of separation might spark back the love when she sees you.”

“What a wise thing to say!” Lalwen said, brightening up. “Guess I will see if absence really does make the heart grow fonder, and if love really will conquer all. See you later, beautiful one.”

Maglor was also planning on seeing Elemmírë. She was his mentor and first music teacher when he was growing up in Valinor. Being reminded of her, he bowed his head in shame.

“Do you think she might see right through me?” he said. “I fear my music may not be what it once was.”

“All crafts wax and wane,” Eöl said. “You hit a rough patch. Perhaps being in the energy of another creative soul, in this blessed realm, will spark your music back to life.”

Maglor’s smile was faint but genuine. “You speak from experience. I almost forgot, you were imprisoned in Angband as well. Thank you. You’ve eased the tension in my heart.”

He would go see his mother Nerdanel first, and Curufin and Gildor would be joining him. As nervous as Maglor was with reuniting with his former teacher, meeting his mother again made him feel faint. It was like being back in Valinor had finally knocked sense back into him. Similar could be said of Curufin who had become silent as a shadow, following Maglor everywhere with little argument.

…or perhaps he was dreading that he would eventually have to meet with his wife Hyalmië. That morning he was informed that Hyalmië had been with child when he left. She gave birth when he wasn’t there. He had a daughter.

“She’s gonna kill me when she learns that Celebrimbor isn’t with us,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, that’s probably your fault,” Aredhel said.

That left Aredhel to go visit her mother Anairë. As she was the grandmother of Idril and one of the only surviving relatives, Idril would be tagging along. Joining them were also Eöl, Meleth, and Rôg.

Mounting Nimanor, Aredhel regarded her little party, each with a new horse that Finarfin had graciously provided. They went on their way.

“This place used to captivate me,” Galadriel said under her breath, fighting back the tears. They stood atop the mound of Ezellohar studying what had become of the Two Trees as part of their tour around Valinor. Laurelin and Telperion now stood hunched like two naked beings, humbled and ashamed, no light shining from their branches.

“Yavanna’s singing and Nienna’s weeping eventually led to Laurelin and Telperion bearing us just one final fruit and flower respectively,” Amarië said. “From that we got the Sun and the Moon, and for that we are grateful.”

“It is something,” Galadriel said with a frown. Lúthien walked around the trees, one hand outstretched but not touching them, finding them too sacred but mesmerized all the same.

“They must have burned the eyes,” she said. “Perhaps placing the lights high up in the sky was a good idea.”

“The light of the Two Trees was far more brilliant than anything in the world,” Galadriel said with a sigh. “But it never hurt to gaze upon them.” They retired to the house Amarië had been living in. She now lived in Valimar alone, but her home was that of brilliance and light: silver floors, golden roofs, and every door made of polished bronze.

Perhaps living in Menegroth had changed Galadriel’s perception of things, made her too…sensitive to stimuli…no.

Something was amiss here. Something uncanny. Something she should have picked up on.

She felt it as early as when they had arrived. Her husband had tried to soothe her as they peered out to all of Valinor together. She tried to shake the feeling. It had to be from all of the fright from what they had witnessed before.

But no. Goosebumps ran up her arm again. She tried to catch Celeborn’s eye, but the big buffoon was too busy enjoying his tea, oblivious to the world around him. She loved her husband, she really did, but he could be such a scatterbrain at times.

“These are such lovely plants,” Lúthien said, motioning to the potted pretties around. “And the portraits on the wall! I take it they are of Lord Finrod? You’re such a wonderful artist.”

“Thank you, dear!” Amarië said, clapping her hands together. Galadriel anticipated her to start crying at the mention of him, but instead she beamed. “I am so blessed to have Finrod in my life. A pity what is happening out there, but what a joy it is here. With their blessing, Valinor is safe and warm.”

“Over there, that’s where I used to travel all the time,” Aredhel said as she pointed to the vast forest to their west. “The Vala Nessa and I would race and hunt to our hearts content.”

“And meanwhile Vairë and I would watch you while she braided my hair,” Idril giggled. “I was just an elfling in those days.”

They had just reached the hill of Túna and were about to enter Tirion. The cleft of Calacirya, The Cleft of Light, did not appear as magnificent as Aredhel had once remembered, as gone was the light of the Two Trees. But it was still beautiful, and if she were to roam freely here once more without worry, she was sure to find newfound happiness.

Anairë welcomed them all into her house with much love. She hugged each of them individually, even the elves she had never met before in her life. Already she had plenty of gifts to offer everyone, which brought up looks of embarrassment among the elves who were unfamiliar with her.

“It’s so wonderful to have you back here once more, Írissë,” Anairë said.

“It is a pity about Father and my brothers,” Aredhel said heavily. She recounted how Fingon and Turgon had died, although she left out that Maglor had a hand in the latter. Argon was at least spared from the worst horrors of the accursed; he had died during the journey through the Helcaraxë along with Turgon’s wife Elenwë.

“Yes, it does seem a terrible shadow has befallen all of Endor,” Anairë said lightly when Aredhel was done. “But here nothing and no one walks with fear of the unknown. With their guidance, Valinor is safe and warm.”

When they were done with their tea and treats, Anairë requested they join her in prayer at the temple. There was a temple for the Valar set up in the heart of Tirion which Anairë regularly visited.

“I remember this place,” Aredhel said to Eöl, Meleth, and Rôg at some point while they were out on the road. “It’s not too bad. Everyone is welcome inside. Just…sorry if it’s not part of your beliefs.”

“Aredhel…” Eöl frowned. They were now halfway to the temple. Anairë led the way, and the others fell back, providing enough room between them that she likely wouldn’t hear. “Do you not find it odd that your mother had not wept over the deaths of her sons, nor for her husband for that matter?”

Aredhel turned to the others. Meleth and Rôg nodded. Idril was watching Anairë’s back with a deep-set frown. Of course, it would impact her deeply. She had to witness her father getting torn apart, but all Anairë could muster was a half-hearted remark.

“It’s possible that she’s already grieved before we even arrived,” Aredhel said in a low voice so only the five of them could hear. “King Finarfin sent her a letter, remember?”

“But she did not know how they had died,” Meleth pointed out.

She had a point. Aredhel glanced back at her mother. Anairë was a very spiritual woman; perhaps the knowledge of the Valar’s mercy and that their kin were resting and being remade in the Halls of Mandos was enough to soothe her nerves?

Then again…

She was starting to feel goosebumps run up her arms the closer they got to the temple, like they were being watched. Something wasn’t adding up.

Lalwen settled back, accepting her cup of tea with gratitude. Her wife’s house, once teeming with other elves busy with music-making, was no bare of a single soul, yet music still drifted gently in the air. It unsettled her, as though an occasional note was missed though she was not familiar with the song.

“Many of my fellow friends were slain in Alqualondë, as you know,” Elemmírë said. Her voice held no scorn or accusation for Lalwen having been part of the whole ordeal. “But that is no matter. They still sing their little songs with me.”

Lalwen nodded slowly, unsure what to make of her wife’s words, as she brought the teacup closer to her lips.

Nerdanel’s smile was small yet firm as she greeted Maglor and Curufin.

“So you have finally arrived back,” she said. “Welcome.” To Gildor she bowed politely before asking them to follow her. Standing beside her was Hyalmië, Curufin’s wife, who regarded him silently with a raised eyebrow.

“You stink of unspeakable sin and evil,” she said as means of a greeting.

“I love you too,” Curufin said gloomily.

Once settled around the guest room, Maglor told Nerdanel of all that had transpired in Endor while leaving out some of the more incrementing details. Gildor shifted uneasily from time to time, undoubtedly expecting Nerdanel to explode at them in anger, but it never came. She merely smiled and nodded along to his words.

Even Hyalmië sat there and merely blinked when she learned that her son Celebrimbor was dead.

Frowning to himself, Curufin studied the two women before his eye caught something flash in the hall: the hem of a robe.

“You endured a very harrowing journey,” Nerdanel said calmly when Maglor paused in his story. “But you are safe back here now where it is safe and warm.”

While the others were deep in conversation, Curufin slipped out. Not even his wife noticed.

There was one person who had not been present to greet them, and Curufin desired nothing more than to meet his daughter. He found her crouched in a small room that had been turned into a shrine.

“Who’s that?” the young elf said as Curufin approached. His throat tightened at having heard his daughter’s voice for the very first time.

“I’m…Curufinwë, your father,” he said.

“Father?” she said as she turned around to face him, parting her veil to give herself a wider scope of vision.

Curufin smiled wearily, his mind and hands suddenly hyper-aware of what he had done to his own son back in Endor. “What’s your name?”

“Curutanë.”

“Ah. That’s a lovely name, Curutanë.” A name passed from Fëanor to Curufin and now to… “Did your mother perceive you to be gifted with smithing?”

“In a way, yes,” Curutanë said, “but I haven’t stepped in the forge for some time. I’ve been…praying.”

“Praying?” Curufin leaned his head to one side.

Curutanë nodded slowly. “The forge, you see…in the forge…I pray…for everyone. My uncles and…my brother…”

“Here we are,” Anairë announced warmly, motioning for everyone to join her inside.

The temple was made of strong white marble, and inside was a high dome in the center. Stars glimmered as though set by Varda herself.

Everyone bowed their heads in prayer or out of respect. To Aredhel’s surprise, the Avari fell deep into prayer. Never did she think she would ever see Eöl in the temple built by the Calaquendi praying, a strange yet exciting sight.

How the world had changed.

“What?” Eöl whispered when he noticed her staring. “Worship is worship, no matter the place.”

Aredhel smiled.

Seemingly ignoring everyone, Anairë bowed her head and began a prayer.

Aredhel peered around herself. Her mother was too caught up with the whole spiritual atmosphere of it all, her mind completely in a trance. She had completely missed the fact that Avari were praying beside her.

As for Aredhel herself, she tried to pray, tried to link her soul with Nessa, but something kept tickling her nose, breaking her concentration. She couldn’t focus.

Gingerly Aredhel found herself getting to her feet. She ignored the looks others gave her.

She wasn’t certain why she was doing this. Call it a hunter’s hunch. Everything in Valinor was perfect. Too perfect.

Safe and warm.

She suddenly remembered how Galadriel was shivering the night before they parted ways. She had thought her cousin was happy, but in hindsight…

Stepping onto the hallway, a strange shiver ran up her spine, the hunter’s hunch telling her to get out of the temple immediately. Danger lurked behind the shadows.

Was that curtain always there at the end of the hall?

So much had changed in Valinor since they had left…

Inching toward it, she could hear the others start to speak. Her mother must have been done with her prayers.

“Lady Anairë,” Meleth was saying. “I’ve heard many speak of the Valar and their actions, but I have yet to meet any. Do we not see them with our eyes?”

Something shifted behind the curtain. Grabbing the hem, she yanked it away and gave a scream. There her father Fingolfin stood, nailed to the wall of the sacred temple. His glossy grey eyes barely registered his own daughter before him as his jaw cricked and snapped, low guttural growls issuing from his mouth.

“Isn’t he wonderful, dear daughter?” Anairë said as she came up behind Aredhel. She had her hands placed over her heart. Eöl, Idril, Meleth, and Rôg were right behind her, witnessing the entire ordeal with mouths hung wide open in shock.

“Mother, how did he come here?” Aredhel found herself saying in a tight voice. “Are you not aware of the dangers—”

“There’s no danger at all, dear!” Anairë laughed nervously. “Thanks to them, Valinor is safe and warm…”

“Who’s they?” Aredhel said as her face grew hot with mounting rage. “Who’s they, Mother?!”

“Why, I of course…and Morgoth,” came a voice, chilling Aredhel to the bone.

The thud startled Galadriel, the fear shooting right into her heart.

“What was that?” she said as she sprinted to her feet.

“The cat must have knocked down a vase again,” Amarië chuckled.

“You do not have a cat,” Galadriel said. “You were always allergic to them.”

Amarië’s nervous giggles rattled the room as Galadriel took a few strides into the hallway. “Artanis, dear, don’t be silly!”

“Lady Galadriel…” Celeborn gasped. Lúthien and he had just joined her by her side. The other end of the hall was shroud in darkness, rather unusual for the brightly-lit house, but from deep within the abyss they could hear a sound.

“What’s happening?” Galadriel said under her breath. “Who’s in there, hiding in the shadows of Valinor? Show yourself?”

Slowly the thing came creeping out, one hand outstretched.

Celeborn and Lúthien gasped as Galadriel shrieked. “Finrod! My brother Finrod!”

“Is he not wonderful?” Amarië said, rather hysterically as a heavy rattling came on the front door.

“You’ve broken the promise. Now you must pay the price.”

Aredhel watched in horror as the swish of the sword came quickly, and after a cry of pain, her mother lay dead on the ground, unmoving. The assailant turned and grinned coldly at Aredhel. “Hello, dear niece.”

“Fëanor!” Aredhel gasped. “How? You died! How are you out of the Halls of Mandos already?! What of the others?! Why’s Father here?!”

Fëanor placed a hand on his heart, his eyes burning with a fire brighter than Aredhel had ever remembered in her youth. “Indeed I was in the Halls of Mandos, my soul turning and suffering knowing what lay beyond. But my mind never rested. I found death…fascinating. Almost…euphoric in a way. I wanted to learn the mysteries of life and death, and Mandos I was able to convince to teach me all about the world’s greatest mysteries.

“Morgoth knew what lay in my heart. Our last battle had forged a telepathic connection between us, unforeseen by all. He came to me in my thoughts offering to show me how to bend the laws of the universe to my will.”

“And you accepted?!” Aredhel shouted. “After everything you went through?! After everything the people you love went through?!”

“I could not pass up such an opportunity!” Fëanor said, raising a fist to his chest. “I could even learn how to fight back Morgoth, finally defeat him, and take part in his own fate. Do you not see how genius this plan is?”

Meleth feverishly shook her head. “And wipe out all of Endor in the process? No.”

“Who’re you?” Fëanor said before turning back to Aredhel. “Anyhow, what gripped me most was the euphoric feeling of death, the sleep-like trance-yet-waking feel of it. I had to bring that to the living world.

“But I could not command the souls of the departed. No matter what I did, that was all under Mandos’s command. But I found I could reanimate the body, keep it going, keep the mind hanging to life by a single thread. Behold, the extent of my power as a blacksmith! Surely I am the greatest smith to have ever lived!”

Eöl and Rôg regarded him with their mouths open.

“I mean…I guess,” Rôg said, gesturing with his hands while Eöl pulled a face.

“He’s even more prideful than I remember,” Idril mumbled.

Fëanor stopped and regarded her. “Itarillë? I remember when you were still a wee lil elfling.” He patted her on top of her head sardonically, and it took every effort for her not to slap him.”

Fëanor regarded the group again, his smug grin stretched from ear to ear.

“Of course, there were some…side effects when my creations could walk again. But look! Look at the second, euphoric life I have granted them! Look how eager they are to share their newfound jubilation with others!”

“That sure doesn’t seem like he wants to share jubilation,” Eöl said in a deadpan voice as he eyed Fingolfin warily.

“Nay, and we should scram!” Aredhel ordered. Her heart dropped at the sight of her uncle, his eyes burning unnaturally bright. Even the gemstone on the necklace he wore over his dark raiment burned with a strange light that left her feeling queasy rather than filled with hope and joy.

He made no effort to stop them as they sped down the hall, which Aredhel found rather odd.

“Where do we go?” Idril said after they had all mounted their steeds, turning to Aredhel. If Anairë was tricked into receiving back her husband, then every household was likely the same. Then that meant…

Aredhel gasped. “Galadriel!” She was visiting Amarië who had lost Finrod! And Maglor was visiting Nerdanel who had lost many sons! Had they also discovered…

Aredhel peered around herself. Where could they go?

“You cannot resist me!” came Fëanor’s voice echoing out from the temple behind them. “This shall be the fate of every elf in Arda!”

“We travel west! To the Halls of Mandos!” Aredhel said.

And they were off.

“Seems we all had the same idea, running to the Halls of Mandos,” Gildor said, a little out of breath. His party had to run on foot the rest of the way after their steeds had gotten a fright and ran off, having thrown their riders off.

“You all came across those creepy-ass fucks?” Rôg said with a grin. To him this was all fun and games.

“Amarië had kept Finrod chained to a bed all this time,” Galadriel said, still haunted by what they had seen. “He apparently had broken out of his chains when we arrived.”

“He must have really wanted to see his sister,” Rôg cackled.

“We only managed to get away because these three knocked the door down,” Celeborn said, motioning to Maglor, Curufin, and Gildor.

“Aye,” Maglor said with a nod. “We went to visit Nerdanel my mother. Curvo was reminiscing how much he missed the old smithy he and his father used to work in. He begged to see it, but our mother became very elusive. She would not allow us to approach there.”

“Truthfully, I did not miss the forge,” Curufin said. “While everyone was playing catchup, I noticed my daughter, who I had never gotten to meet, rushing out. I followed her to a shrine where she was praying. What she told me made me suspicious of what lay in the forge.”

“That was when we forced our way in,” Gildor said. “All of the once-deceased sons of Fëanor were there—and Lord Curufin’s son, Celebrimbor.”

Curufin shivered.

“And all Nerdanel said to that was, ‘So it seems Hyalmië did not wish to keep her son in her own abode.’”

Curufin gave a tiny low growl.

“So we got out of there,” Maglor said. “We sensed our experience wasn’t unique, and sure enough, when we located Amarië’s house, we found the others in similar predicament.”

“We discussed what to do next after our escape,” Lúthien explained, “and we decided to come here. Surely the lord of the departed souls would have an answer and solution for the madness gripping all of Arda!”

“Good thinking too,” Aredhel said. She filled them in on what they had encountered in the temple.

“I hope Círdan and Lalwen are faring well,” Celeborn said.

“Valinor suddenly doesn’t feel very safe and warm anymore,” Meleth said.

Idril gripped her friend’s hand tightly. “It’s be okay! The Valar should help us.”

“Yeah, and where is that bustard?” Rôg cried out and began pounding on the door. “Hey, yer a god, do something godly!”

“I do not think they would take kindly to ‘dark elves’ shouting at their door,” Eöl said bleakly.

“What, do they want us to be well-behaved victims?” Rôg sneered.

Just then the door flung wide open and there stood a tall formidable figure. He regarded the party through a black hood.

“Hey, he’s got the same aesthetics as you going on,” Rôg snickered to Eöl, earning him a punch to the arm from his friend.

“Mandos!” Aredhel said and marched up to him. “Surely you’ve seen the madness that has spread like wildfire throughout all of Arda?”

“Is my father truly the culprit in all this?” Curufin said, sounding sick. He had grown even more grim and silent ever since Aredhel had relayed the story to the others.

“It is true indeed,” Mandos said. “Fëanor and Melkor are working as one, and my halls are empty. Now, disturb me no more. The Valar have long washed their hands of you insolent Eldar.”

“Is that any way to speak to us?!” Rôg roared, and Eöl had to hold him back.

“Is that any way to pound on someone’s door?!” Mandos retorted just as loudly before gripping his temples and sighing deeply. “You’ve all given me a headache. Do not disturb me ever again.”

And with that, he shut the door behind him with a resounding bang.

The other elves all regarded one another with horror. They were abandoned by the Valar…again. What were they to do now?

“I suppose a nice chat with this Fëanor asshat with tea and crumpets isn’t the way to go,” Rôg said.

“Perhaps not, but you never know,” chuckled a voice as a long shadow fell over them.

Spinning around they stared face to face with Fëanor.

Aredhel sighed. Just great. So he knew they would all come here too.

Curufin took a step forward.

“Father…I do not think you really want this deep in your heart,” Curufin said. “I know what you’re like. You would never fall so far from grace, even after everything we have gone through…Morgoth. You would never, ever give yourself to him. What happened, Father?”

Behind him, Maglor nodded slowly, staring at Fëanor with wide eyes full of fear. Neither had ever seen Fëanor with such terrifying fire-lit eyes before. The others watched in silence as Curufin approached slowly, regarding the mightiest elf with wariness. Fëanor gave a small sinister smile at his fifth son.

“Curvo…my dear son,” he said.

“Father…” Curufin said. “Nothing is worth this, do you understand? The entire world is ending from your actions.”

“Where there was once pain there is now nothing but joy and euphoria. Have we not suffered enough, dear son?”

“We have, Father, but…”

“Now, now, dear little Curvo…” Fëanor said as he gripped Curufin by the shoulders and pulled him close against his chest. He spun him around so that he was facing the party. “Death isn’t so bad. I know you carry a heartfelt wish, a burning desire…I can grant it for you for all of eternity. Let me demonstrate.”

Aredhel screamed. The dagger appeared out of nowhere, jutting out of Curufin’s jugular. Gurgling, Curufin’s eyes widened in shock, staring at the party. His knees gave, and Fëanor caught him, cradling him tenderly as he drove the blade deeper.

“See? See how euphoric death is, my son?” Fëanor said, his grin stretching from ear to ear as blood from his own flesh and blood splattered him. Maglor screamed and screamed at him to stop, but it was too late. The fifth son of Fëanor went limp in his arms.

Horrified, Maglor turned and wept into Gildor’s chest.

Within a few moments, Curufin began to stir again, his eyes wide and glossy-grey. They turned toward Maglor, his arms outstretched as if an infant reaching for its favorite toy.

The arrow went between his eyes, and Curufin went limp again.

Aredhel sucked in her breath between her teeth, her chest heaving.

“You sick bastard,” she hissed, glaring at Fëanor.

He turned his cold fiery gaze toward her. “I am a sick bastard? All I see around me are people who are sick and need to be cured of the temporary state of living. Let me cure you all. Let me show you the ecstasy of death!”

In that moment, Aredhel, Eöl, and Lúthien whistled with their fingers, and a dozen neighing filled the vicinity. With a cry, Fëanor jumped aside just in time, nearly crushed by hooves as a herd of horses galloped toward them. Without waiting for an order, everyone cried out and jumped, mounting onto a steed.

“Ride on, Nimanor!” Aredhel cried out to her loyal steed, and she charged out, followed by her party.

“Now what?”

They had found a cave far and safe enough to convene in.

“There’s one of him but ten of us,” Eöl said. “How hard could it be to take down one man?” Any interest in getting to know the mighty smith had long disappeared. Eöl just wanted to get things back to how they were.

“He’s the most powerful elf to have ever lived,” Gildor said. “I do not just say that because I am wed to one of his sons.”

“And he has Morgoth’s backing,” Meleth said weakly. She slid down and placed her face in her hands, shaking.

“Speaking of, we have not seen nor heard from him,” Lúthien said.

“Morgoth would never set foot in these lands…” Galadriel said, ”although with the Valar turning their backs on us for good, that could very well change…”

“That sure is a comforting thought,” Aredhel said.

“There’s also the matter of the Silmarils on his crown,” Idril mused. “I’m surprised Fëanor is allowing someone like that run around with his Silmarils, ally or not.”

Maglor bowed his head. “Morgoth…does not have the Silmarils.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Come again?” Aredhel said.

Maglor nodded. “When I was imprisoned, I got to see him from time to time. Not once did he wear the crown.”

“Perhaps he did not wish to bestow its brilliant light upon the prisoners,” Celeborn suggested.

“He loved showing off that thing,” Rôg said with a dark grin. “Reminds ya of the good ol’ days, eh, Eöl love?”

“Don’t remind me,” Eöl said.

“So he wore the crown with the Silmarils back then,” Aredhel said, “but not recently?”

“That is correct,” Maglor said with a nod of his head.

“That’s a tiny bit of good news we’ve heard in a while,” Galadriel said.

“Is it?” Meleth said, turning to Idril for confirmation. Her friend nodded her head.

“Where do you suppose the Silmarils went?” Idril mused.

“Fëanor said Morgoth had given him an offer he couldn’t refuse…” Gildor said.

“Do you think Morgoth gave Fëanor the Silmarils?” Idril asked.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Celeborn said with a shake of his head. “He’d never take Fëanor as a partner, no matter what.”

“Then where the hell is it?” Rôg said.

“Morgoth would need the Silmarils to keep his control of the land and the peoples,” Maglor added.

“The necklace!” Aredhel gasped. “Have you not noticed the necklace he wore? The gemstone was rather strange…”

“Are you suggesting that’s the Silmarils, or what remains of it?” Eöl said.

“I don’t know,” Aredhel said. “He could have placed the Silmarils in there—or, he’s found a way to possess Fëanor through them. The gems have unimaginable power, and maybe he’s using them to control Fëanor to do his bidding. Think about it. Fëanor’s mission is to kill us all, make us see death as desirable and euphoric. I wouldn’t put it past Morgoth to do something so twisted and ugly.”

“He controlled a spirit across the world and who was in the Halls of Mandos?” Eöl said. “Then again, he is one of the Valar, so a god being able to do that…I suppose the idea isn’t all that far-fetched.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“I can see it,” Idril said. “If you knew Fëanor, his eyes were so different from before.”

“I’m sure he was as handsome then as he is now,” Eöl said.

Aredhel threw him a side glance and a smirk.

“And the way everyone was acting in Valinor,” Galadriel said. “Everyone was smiling, happy. They’re all under a spell as potent as Fëanor. Safe and warm my glutes!”

“I have an idea,” Aredhel said, perking up. She saw the sparks of hope light up in everyone else’s face. “Eöl, Rôg, do you think you can forge something for us?”

“Sure, so long as we can find a spot that isn’t overtaken by those walkers nor their little fan club,” Eöl said.

Aredhel nodded. She crossed her right hand over to her left shoulder and yanked her dress off, revealing her red coat underneath. It was time. “Here’s the plan.”

It was beyond crazy. But it might just work.

A lone figure stood upon a large rock, her arms outstretched. The sunlight reflected something brilliant in her hand.

“O Fëanor, oh Fëanor, where art thou, Fëanor?” she called out as she presented the long glimmering strands to the heavens. “Three strands of my luscious hair I offer thee as thou art has requested.”

“Galadriel, my dear niece!” came the reply as Fëanor materialized, lust in his fiery eyes. He reached for her and she yelped and screamed, hopping off the rock just as Celeborn sped by, riding a horse. She fell behind him gracefully, the strands of hair still gripped in her hand.

Fëanor made to run after them when he suddenly spotted Maglor standing all alone a few paces away. He raised his arms like a music conductor about to command his orchestra.

“Father!” he cried out. “I was once scared, but I have come to see the light! Please, show me the euphoria of death! Let me reunite with my brothers!”

Fëanor paused and sneered. The little brat could wait. He had a little soul to teach.

“Of course, son,” Fëanor said. “You were always the most soft-hearted of my sons. I promise I will be gentle with you. Your brothers will be so happy to see you. Your mother will tend to your gladly…”

“Father!”

He was just a couple more paces away when Maglor suddenly jumped in the air, and to Fëanor’s astonishment, did a double summersault before landing right behind Gildor as he sped by, riding on another horse. And so Celeborn and Gildor zipped by Fëanor, taunting him with two of his deepest desires.

“Lord Fëanor Son of Finwë!” came a cry.

He groaned. What now?!

Peering behind him, he saw two elven women. One of them was Idril, he recognized. Among them they held high above their heads—

“Is that—The Silmarils?!” Fëanor gasped and groaned, grabbing for them hungrily.

“You can’t catch us!” the women cried and laughed. They made to play catch with the three jewels, irritating Fëanor beyond measure.

“Those are not playthings! Give them back this instant!”

Just then a horse sped past him, and in that moment something large and fast swept above him, and suddenly Idril was lifted up while the other woman was swept away on the back of yet another steed.

Fëanor had no idea where to look. The woman with the strange, crazy man with fiery eyes on the steed was laughing and waving above one Silmaril—where did she get it?! Idril’s legs were dangling from a large vampire while trying to support two of the gems.

“Let me go, you—fiend!” she giggled, and the vampire let go, but not before snatching one of the Silmarils for herself.

“Uncle! Do you not want my hair?”

“Father! Hurry on here and kill me!”

So now Fëanor was now torn on which of the five directions to go. The vampire flew this way and that, tossing up her Silmaril. The crazy man was cackling and breathing fire onto his. Idril was running about bouncing the damn thing like it was a ball, and still Maglor and Galadriel rode past him.

“I…I…” His eyes widened. How does he stop them all, get all of the Silmarils back before Morgoth—

And then several things happened at once.

“Oopsie!” Idril cried out, laughing as she threw her Silmaril onto the ground.

At that precise moment the vampire screamed and tossed hers high into the sky, and it exploded like a firework. And at that exact moment the crazy man belched fire onto his, engulfing it flames.

“NOW!”

And in that exact moment, as Fëanor stood transfixed in horror, he did not see as another pair came galloping by, a grim-faced man in black and a woman in all red, her arrow at the ready.

She set her arrow flying, and with Fëanor frozen in that moment, the arrowhead struck the heart of the gemstone upon his necklace and shattered, and Fëanor collapsed on his knees, giving a shuddering breath.

The others cried out in victory, startling some of their horses, but none so much as Rôg’s steed. Rôg roared with all of his might, and his steed drew back on her hind legs before sending him flying. Meleth was still miraculously on the horse, gripping tight.

Laughing manically, Rôg must have flown a hundred meters. The others watched as he descended down into a ground-breaking belly-flop. Still laughing, he plopped his head up and regarded everyone with the most manically grin ever.

“FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC!” he cried out hysterically before face-planting the soft earth.

After the battle, Fëanor found himself crawling deep into the Halls of Mandos. His soul did not find itself there. Mandos had not come to collect his spirit. He had free reign in Arda. His body and soul were still intact, but he was nothing like what he once was.

Deeper and deeper he traveled, past where the voices of his mother and father could call him, until he found it.

The Door of Night. Boundless white light issued from it, dazzling his eyes, but all Fëanor could see was the darkness he had wrought into the world.

“I give myself, wholly, as sacrifice,” he said. “Please…just fix this mess, Eru Ilúvatar. Lay the deceased to rest. Let Arda heal.”

And with that he leaned forward and fell through into the light.

“Brilliant idea, I must say, transforming yourself into a vampire bat,” Gildor praised.

Lúthien chuckled. “Thank you. I knew the part that ripped from Thuringwethil would come in handy at some point.”

Others joined in on the praise, recounting events of their recent victory.

“Pity about that Fëanor, though,” Eöl said. “In another lifetime, we may have been friends, possibly even intimate friends. He was a great smith from what you’ve told me. We may have had a lot to bond over.”

Aredhel cackled. “See? The Noldor aren’t so bad after all!”

Eöl smiled grimly. “So long as you aren’t Celegorm or Curufin.”

“Yeah, about them…what a pity.” Aredhel bowed her head.

The party had now settled in the Home of Oromë in the middle of his woods, eating bread and honey found left out as though some benevolent spirit had anticipated their arrival. Aredhel wondered if her old friend Nessa had been watching them from afar.

None of the deceased would ever return. As they ate they recounted more names of their friends, the fallen of the Curse of Morgoth. Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Egalmoth, Forgamdir, Hargamdir, Morispiní mother of Eöl, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Celebrimbor, Amras, Nellas, Beleg, Mablung, Turgon, Finrod…

The list went ever on and on.

“On the bright side, we have spoken with Irmo and Estë,” Galadriel said. “It seems Morgoth has not been seen around Middle-earth ever since our battle with Fëanor.”

“So it seems destroying the gem around Fëanor’s neck in turn blew up in Morgoth’s face,” Gildor said with a nod of his head. “Good.”

“Ah, it was so much fun, I would’ve loved a go at that big beefy bastard!” Rôg said, grinning toothily.

“Dear, first heal yourself,” Meleth said, chuckling as she rubbed his shoulder. He was still sporting a broken and bloodied nose.

“But it does make me wonder about back home,” Idril said. “Back in Endor, I mean.”

Aredhel smiled, knowing how Idril felt. Though they were born in Valinor, their hearts were set on Endor. This was where they all belonged, with all of their kinfolk: the Sindar, Green elves, the Avari…

“Do you suppose there may be a chance for Queen Melian and King Thingol’s survival?” Celeborn said. “The Queen is of the Maiar…”

Lúthien sighed. “I would not dare to get my hopes up.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to go back,” Aredhel said. “At least, we can reunite with our friends there. The Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost. The Entwives. Any other survivors out there.”

Maglor peered around them. “I suppose I may remain here. There is nowhere else for me to go. No purpose for me…”

The others regarded him.

“You may have redeemed yourself after betraying my entire people,” Idril said coolly. “Like it or not, you’re with us.” The others voiced their agreement.

“You’re still my husband,” Gildor reminded him with a smile.

“I wonder how Círdan and Lalwen are doing,” Aredhel said, getting up to her feet. “And the others—the ones who were under the spell.”

“Wonder how King Finarfin is faring…” Celeborn mused.

“Suppose it won’t hurt if we go and revisit everyone once more,” Eöl said, standing up as well.

The others all followed suit.

“After we get a proper tour, perhaps we can travel back to Endor,” Aredhel said.

“Who knows how much this ordeal has changed the course of history,” Idril said.

“Perhaps we’ve come into a more peaceful time sooner than had things played out without the walkers,” Eöl said.

“Or we’re about to get hit with a greater doom!” Rôg laughed, wrapping an arm around Eöl’s neck and laughing.

“The only way to know is to take the first step out there,” Galadriel said.

Meleth nodded. “If anything else, this has brought us together.”

“Calaquendi and Moriquendi,” Lúthien said. “The race of the elves are reunited as they should be.”

Aredhel nodded, smiling at her new friend Eöl, and then to Rôg, Meleth, Idril, Galadriel, Celeborn, Gildor, Maglor, and Lúthien. They all carried satchels of provisions for their new journey, and merriment colored their cheeks from all the mead, honey, and bread. Even the sun felt really bright and warm today.

“What are we waiting for?” Aredhel said. “Let’s get going!”

Chapter End Notes

“Where it is safe and warm” comes from Voltron Season 2 Episode 2 where the mermaids of The Deep say this to placate victims. XD

The manner in which Aredhel yanks off her dress here is reminiscent of how Kiryu and other characters rip off their shirts right before certain boss battles in the Yakuza/RGG games. There’s a bit of homages to other canons in this fic!

And thus ends Code Red! I can’t believe it took me this long to finish it. I just got distracted with so many other projects! I have to thank FicWIP once more since they provided a wonderful opportunity for me to finish a fic that I kept thinking back on for so long. And maybe it was meant to be finished now, as this YouTube Short was made, and it just oozes with Rôg energy. So I’ll leave you with that. Bye for now! Have a wonderful day to you all! 💕 

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