Code Red by Scribe of Mirrormere  

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Blackout

Surprise! 😁💕 After ten years, this fic is finally done! While importing fics to this account a couple years ago, I was reminded just how much I intensely loved this fic—writing it, watching The Walking Dead, just the general happy and good vibes I was in during that time period. A lot has happened since, and long story short, I don’t want to see this fic hanging like that. Yet while I had ideas and a sketchy outline written down for the other chapters, it’s been so long since I watched TWD and I wasn’t sure if I could get back into the Middle-earth mindset (even if this fic is filled with crack!) However, I’m not someone who likes to see WIPs laying around collecting dust in my Scrivener, especially something I really, really love. I complete what I start, even if it may take me time!

So I decided on a soft reboot. I revised the first chapter primarily to fix up typos and strengthen any wording. I then brought in some influence from Gorillaz’s music (especially the ones referencing zombies) and Yakuza: Dead Souls, which is a zombie AU for my most beloved fandom.

Instead of waiting and spreading out the chapters like what I normally do with my fic these days, I decided to just post the rest of the story all together. Enjoy the cracky madness! I am celebrating! 🥂🍾

---

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! 😆