The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

---

Ride for Rivendell

Matters of the kingdom are put aside when news of the curse comes to the Bar Aran.  Valandil sets out for Rivendell for a cure.  Mercatur makes a grave decision that will affect his life.

---

39) The Bar Aran - Lothron (May) 5^th, 1410

 

Nirnadel

They picked up where they left off last night, hammering out the details of Lamril’s request to resettle parts of Tyrn Gorthad and the expedition to Rhudaur.  Lamril would be given a year to settle the land without any obligation to the crown, utilizing towns that had been ruined in the war as a starting point.  They would be given the protection of the Royal Army and be subject to Cardolan law but would pay no duties or taxes until they were established.  Lamril felt this to be very fair and would begin construction of wagons to transport his people to what would be their new homes.

The sale of the panels to the dwarves made the funding of these projects more than feasible and Nimhir felt that a return on investment from Lamril would be seen in three to four years.  Government employees were even given a modest raise, something that had not occurred in years.

Mercatur had just begun to provide details of Rhudauran weather and culture that would impact the expedition, when the herald pounded once and the door opened.  “Announcing Pelemeth and Omah of the Houses of Healing!”  Kaile perked up and looked at the two young women rushing in, searching for someone.  Pelemeth was a tall Dúnadan with chocolate brown hair and Omah was Dunnish with dirty blonde hair.

Nirnadel could see that something was wrong as Kaile rushed up to them, asking.  Pelemeth waved her arms wildly, “You have to help us, Kaile!  Some kind of curse from the Barrow Downs has infected people.  They’re at the Houses, being seen by Firiel.  She asks the Chancellor to quarantine the area!”

Nimhir looked over and gestured for them to approach. They rushed over and curtseyed.  “What is it?  What is going on,” Nimhir said seriously as Nirnadel walked over and stood with them.

“Good sir, this morning, a man named Remodoc from the Traders Bazaar came to us with what looked like a poisoned hand,” Pelemeth blurted out, breathing hard.  “I tested it, but it was not poison.  Firiel determined that it’s a curse from the Barrow Downs that will turn them into wights. She’s locked down the Houses and quarantined the room, but we need to find out who the infected were in contact with. One was from Artan’s and the other is Jellek, the money changer.  And,” she said, her green eyes scanning the room, “Firiel is infected.”  There were gasps in the room and Kaile grabbed the Princess’ hand.  “Valandil will be riding to Rivendell to find Firiel’s mother.  We will need the elves to cure this.”

Though her stomach roiled, Nirnadel went into business mode like she had seen Nimhir and her father do so many times.  Her dear friend, Firiel was in grave danger and the Houses that she loved were threatened.  There was no room for doubt.  She clapped her hands.  “Attention if you please.  We will not let Valandil ride alone.  Sergeant Cedhron, take another guard and ride with him.  Haedorial, your lore will be key to speaking with the elves so go with them. Kaile and I will go with the nurses to the Houses to determine the situation.  Good Nimhir, please order the quarantine of the areas.  We will have Captain Guilrod establish checkpoints.” She grasped the nurses’ hands. “You did well.  Come, let’s go.”

The Chancellor summoned Captain Guilrod, but the snapped his fingers.  “Your Highness, you will do no such thing,” he said sternly.  ‘We cannot have you go to the Houses and risk infection.  You will stay here and manage things with me.”

She turned sharply.  “I have significant training in healing now and I can be of help.  I will not let my friend perish when I can do something.”

Nimhir shook his head vehemently.  “Absolutely not!  I’ve given you wide latitude, but I will not let this happen.  You are too important to the realm.  Now let them go and come back here so we can manage this crisis.”

“Good Nimhir, I say this with all due respect to you as the Regent, but I will either go to the Houses or I will ride with Valandil.  It will be one or the other.  Decide now for time is wasting.”

The Regent grimaced and sucked his teeth. “Fine…ride with Valandil.  Baranor, take the Guard and go with her.  Kaile, go to the Houses.  I will need regular reports.  Go, hurry and may the Valar bless us.”

Nirnadel felt both relief and terror.  She had to do something.  She snapped her fingers.  “Galadel, ride with me.  Kaile will do better at the Houses and she’s not a good rider,” she said as they rushed from the Council Chambers down to the stables.  A horn sounded, signaling that the royal party would need horses.  As steeds were taken from stalls, she saw Kaile and the nurses rushing to the gates with Captain Guilrod and a troop of soldiers, Mercatur in tow.  They made eye contact as Nirnadel climbed into the saddle.  The nurse’s eyes were full of terror.  The Princess nodded to her, a sign of confidence which she did not feel.

Galadel swung into her saddle, carrying a sack.  “I have supplies and changes of clothes.”

Baranor blew his horn, the visor on his helm raised. “Open the gates!  Open the gates for the Princess!”  Four guards set aside halberds and pulled the steel gates of the Bar Aran open.  As they rode out, Baranor blew again to the people in the street.  “Make way!  Make way for the Princess!  We are on urgent business of the Crown!  Make way!” Citizens scrambled aside as the horses broke into a canter up the Menetar, the main road through Tharbad and over the Iant Formen, the great north bridge.  Baranor pointed down a side street.  “We will make for the Annon Roch, the Horse Gate.  Valandil will be there, getting his horse.”

Sure enough, Valandil was with his mount, trying to quickly put on the saddle while pulling on riding boots, such was his haste.  Nirnadel didn’t bother to dismount.  “Sir Valandil!  Good sir!  We are coming with you!”

He looked as if he were about to wave them off, but he nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said with a curt bow.  “I would not ask, but I would not refuse.”

Haedorial smiled through his fear.  “We couldn’t leave you, dear knight.  And you will need a bard’s learning to work with the elves.”

Nirnadel nodded as the Horse Gates were opened.  “And you are one of us now.  Good Mercatur told me that you accepted.  Welcome to the Royal Household.  I wish it were under better circumstances.  We will save good Firiel.  I stake my life on it.”

Baranor gave the knight a tilt of his head, welcoming him to the Guard.  The gates were fully open, and he spurred his horse.  “Come, we ride for Rivendell!”  They burst into a canter up the road that followed the Bruinen River north. This would take them through Rhudaur.

“I have read good Dagar’s letters and studied his maps,” Haedorial called out.  “I believe that we should follow the Bruinen north to the Mithiethel, ford the river and then proceed up the Dunnish Track.  The Harnalda Tower is still held by the Vulseggi and Thuin Boid is nearby. We’ll be in friendly lands.  Perhaps we can make contact with Dagar for help. Then, we ride up the East-West Road and turn towards the Misty Mountains.  That should bring us right to Rivendell, by my lore.  I do wish that Mercatur would have come with us, but he seemed intent on helping the Houses.”

Baranor shouted back over the thump of hoofbeats.  “Excellent!  That is what we will do.  We need to minimize any threat to the Princess.”

The King’s Guard looked magnificent on heavy warhorses as they wore their silver plate armor that glittered in the diffuse sun. Valandil did not have the chance to change and wore his chainmail with plate elbows, knees and shins under his Cardolan Army surcoat.

It was a hard, swift, two-day ride through several towns to Fennas Drúinen, a large settlement on the border of Cardolan and Rhudaur.  The inhabitants were rough spun pioneers who guarded the approaches into Cardolan, and they were fiercely loyal.  Cheers went up when they saw the banner of the King. They had survived and repelled multiple forays from the orcs and Dunnish tribes last year and their pride was apparent. Baranor paid them for supplies and information.  There had not been a peep from the Rhudaurans, the mayor told him.  In fact, trade had resumed between them and Harnalda and Rilineldor towers as well as the Vulseggi of Thuin Boid.

Haedorial leaned forward in his saddle.  “Good Mayor Eston, might you have seen my dear friend Dagar?  His manor house is north of here.”

The lean mixed Dúnadan nodded emphatically.  “Why of course!  If not for him we would have been overrun here.  He warned us of the impending attack from Rhudaur and kept attacking them from behind, pulling a lot of those buggers off of us.  We can’t thank him enough.  He comes by a few times a year.”  The mayor had some battle scars along his arms and one above his eye. It was obvious that he fought in the war and knew what he was doing.

“That sounds just like Dagar,” the bard told Nirnadel.

Mayor Eston then reached up towards the Princess. “Bless you, Your Highness!  Bless you!  We proudly serve Cardolan!”

She felt her heart swell, and she reached down from the saddle and grasped his hand.  “And bless you, good Mayor Eston!  On the frontier, you are our guardians.  We sleep safe at night because of your work here!”  She waved to the gathered crowd and they cheered again.  “Fare you well, my good people!”

The horses set off at a nice trot, crossing over the wide bridge.  They were now in Rhudaur.  Nirnadel could see how worried Valandil was.  He could barely focus and frequently prayed to the Valar.  She leaned over and touched his arm.  “Good Valandil, we will make all haste to Rivendell. I promise you that I will stop at nothing to cure dear Firiel.”

He nodded stiffly.  “Thank you, Your Highness.  That means a lot to me.”

“We must trust that Kaile and other nurses are fighting for Firiel and the others now.  Kaile is very resourceful.  She’ll figure something out.”

After the bridge, they joined the Dunnish Track northeast through the En Egladil, the area also known as The Angle for the angle of the land where the Mithiethel and Bruinen met.  They tore up the dirt road, only stopping for short breaks.

Haedorial pointed to the northwest.  “Dagar’s manor is this way.  We’ll make it by sunset and off at first light.”  He looked back at Valandil with a reassuring gaze.

Within an hour lantern light could be seen on a three-story manor house.  The Princess could make out banners with the sigil of House Rhudainor.  A troop of cavalry rode towards them as Baranor raised the pennant of Cardolan.  They were led by a knight in black armor who rode a gray stallion.  They lowered their lances, and the leader raised the visor on his black bascinet helm over flowing yellow hair.  “Who comes to House Rhudainor unannounced, bearing the flag of Cardolan?”

Haedorial blurted out, “Sir Oswy!”

The knight looked at him sideways.  “Do I know you, sir?”

The bard put his hand out in a conciliatory gesture. “No, sir, I do apologize.  I am a dear friend of Dagar’s, and he has written so much about you.”

One of the lead horsemen, wearing a nasal helmet over a trimmed blond beard and flowing hair, started laughing.  “Only bad things, I’m sure!” he called out as the troop guffawed.

Sir Oswy tapped the man on his helmet with his lance. “And he doesn’t write anything about you, Ecegar,” Oswy shot back, laughing loudly.  He looked over to the bard.  “Yes, I recall the lord talking about a good bard from Cardolan.  He will be happy to see you.  Are you just here to visit?”  The troop turned their horses about, and began to walk up the trail to the house, followed by the visitors.

“We come on urgent business from the Cardolan crown.  In fact, good Oswy, this is Her Highness, Nirnadel, the Princess of Cardolan.  She can give you further details.”

Oswy glanced sideways at Nirnadel, doubtful at first, but then he bowed from the waist.  “Your Highness, welcome to House Rhudainor.  It is an honor.  My wife, Éanfled, speaks so well of you.  She is in Thuin Boid today and will be home this evening.”

She smiled broadly.  It would be so good to catch up and give them all the good…and bad news. “Sir Oswy, it is my honor.  I read of your bold defense of the Tirthon and your courage in Blogath’s Vale.  We need to meet with Lord Rhudainor for we are on an expedition to Rivendell to seek a cure for an epidemic in our city.  Any information you could give us about the route would be most appreciated.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” he said as they stopped in front of the house.  He snapped his fingers, and stable boys ran out to attend to the horses.  “They’ll feed and water your mounts and prepare them for your travels.  Please, follow me.  My wife will be overjoyed to see you when she arrives.”

Haedorial looked at the Princess.  “Having read Dagar’s missives, I feel like I know these people and this very place,” he said excitedly.  “But I know that we must be on our way again soon.  Lady Firiel’s life is at stake, and we will not let her nor Sir Valandil down.”

As they dismounted, Nirnadel rubbed her behind over her cotton riding pants.  It had been a hard ride and her rear and legs ached even for as excellent of a rider as she was, with a finely made saddle.  Stable hands took the reins of her mount and bowed to her as they guided the horses away.

As they stepped up on the porch, two tall elves walked around the corner, one male and one female.  They both wore elegant cobalt blue and silver robes with designs of stars woven into them.  The woman had a silver circlet with the design of a swan over her brow.  Their hair was raven black, framing pale faces with red lips and silver eyes.  Nirnadel put her hand over her mouth.  They were both, stunningly, ethereally beautiful.  She knew who they were immediately.

“Alquanessë and Finculion,” she said in nearly a whisper. “I am honored to meet you.”  She took a knee and lowered her head to a prince and princess of the Noldor.  Haedorial joined her.  She blinked, feeling as if a warm, friendly hand was passing through her mind.

Alquanessë smiled.  “Rise, Nirnadel, Princess of Cardolan and good royal bard, Haedorial,” she said in a voice that was friendly but disconcerting, multi-tonal, reverberating. The elf took the Princess’ hand and brought her up.

Nirnadel looked up into the Alquanessë’s eyes.  The elf stood a full head taller and the Princess was tall for a Dúnadan woman.  Nirnadel was awed, trying to form words.  She could feel waves of power radiating outward from her.  This was a being who was at least 5000 years old.  She gestured to her people.  “This is our party from Cardolan, my Captain Baranor, Lieutenant Valandil, Sergeant Cedhron…”

Alquanessë raised her hand, stopping the Princess. “I know who they are from your thoughts, good Nirnadel.  You already know my brother.  He is a man of few words,” she said gesturing to Finculion.  “You must have received Dagar’s letter.  Oh, I see.  You are planning an expedition, but you come on a more immediate matter…a cure.”

Nirnadel froze for a moment.  She knew that the elf could read thoughts and emotions but having it happen was overwhelming.  She was about to speak when Dagar came rushing down the stairs with his wife and daughter.  He wore a casual gray suit with a blue and gold jacket while his wife wore a silk robe of the same colors.  And, she carried a young baby, wrapped in white linens.

The young man’s face lit up, seeing them.  “By the sun and stars!  Good Haedorial!  Look! Mirthi…Cicrid, it’s my dear, dear friend, Haedorial.  Come in! Come in!  And…oh, by Manwë, it’s…it’s Princess Nirnadel!”  Dagar practically dove to his knees in front of her and took her hand and kissed it.  “Your Highness, I, Lord Rhudainor, am at your service.  I am…I am so deeply honored.”  He gestured to his wife and adolescent daughter.  “Mirthi, Cicrid, this is Her Highness, Princess Nirnadel.  She waved to me once, you know?”

Nirnadel giggled, holding her hand over her mouth. She then gave him and his family a deep curtsey and then a grand flourish.  “I am deeply moved by your hospitality, Lord Rhudainor.  Your family is beautiful as is your home.”  She gestured around, gazing at the structure, which appeared as if it were part of the forest with cedar and pine trees expertly woven into the walls and ceilings, no doubt the magic of the elves.

Lord Rhudainor shook his hand as if it was nothing. “Oh, my dear Princess, to meet you has been a dream of mine, but I was just a lowly accountant.  And please, please just call me Dagar.”

“Nonsense, Dagar, I value all of our good citizens, high and low.  And you must just call me, Nirnadel.”

He gasped, putting his hand over his heart, clearly touched.  “Come, come inside, come inside.  Oh, my dear friend, Haedorial,” he said, and they wrapped their arms around each other tightly.  “We are preparing for supper.  Please join us.  And what brings you here?” he asked as he ushered them towards the dining hall.

“Oh, dear boy…or should I say, Lord Rhudainor,” the bard joked.  “It is so good to see you.  We are on our way to Rivendell where we need a cure.  One of our dear friends has been infected by a curse and she will turn into a wight before long.”

They went into the dining hall and Dagar gestured to a buffet table.  “This is our midweek special,” he said.  “It’s an idea that I got from dad.  He’s doing great by the way, him and mom.  He still organizes the waenhosh to Harnalda and Rilineldor every year and I fund it.  My days of caravaning are done.”

Nirnadel took a tray and headed to the food.  She admired the quaint, family atmosphere.  There were some trinkets and decorations from Cardolan about but much of the wall was covered in local, Rhudauran items.  She took bits of vegetables and fruit and created a salad as she went to sit down with the group as members of the household filtered in.

Mirthi gestured to the walls.  “These are memories of my people, Your Highness,” she said in slightly accented Sindarin.  “We were the inhabitants of Maig Tuira when it was destroyed by the Macha Mur Tribe.” She began to shake with emotion. “They executed my parents,” she said, holding her knuckles up to her lips.  “It was Dagar and his friends who rescued us.  They didn’t have to, but they did.”  Their infant son smiled and moved his arms about.  “Oh look, Your Highness, he likes you.  His name is Arthor, the Noble Brother in your language, which I learned from the elves,” she added with a gleaming smile.  She was a cute woman with dark brown hair and eyes, who stood as much shorter than Nirnadel as the Princess was to Alquanessë.

Mirthi handed Arthor to the Princess, whose eyes went big as she accepted him.  She held him to her chest and started rocking, something that she just felt was right.  She was rewarded by a delightful little giggle.  “Oh my…oh, this is so, so adorable.  Thank you, good Lady Rhudainor.  I have wanted to meet you and your esteemed husband ever since good Haedorial read Dagar’s letter that one Yüle, over two years ago now.”

Alquanessë and Finculion sat and said a short prayer before dining on fruits and vegetables along with some chicken wings and sauce. “Dagar, they are also planning to assist us in an expedition to rid the world of our siblings,” Alquanessë told him as she nibbled on a celery stick.  Eating seemed to bring a more flesh like tone to their skin.  “The good Princess has allocated funds and has appointed our friend, Mercatur to lead it.”

Nirnadel was still taken aback.  Were there no secrets from her?  She nodded to Dagar as she rocked the infant back and forth.  Hers was a world of wetnurses, nannies and tutors. Play with her mother was…occasional and mostly lessons on the etiquette and protocol of the Royal Court.  How to dress, how to speak, how to pose to let people know that you were a royal.  She then thought how she might shield her mind from the elf.

Alquanessë looked at her with a smile.  “No, there are no secrets and only a powerful mage like Ethacali was would even have a chance,” she said in Nirnadel’s own voice, sending shivers down the Princess’ spine.  The elf then lowered her head.  “I apologize, Your Highness.  I am still suspicious of outsiders and have endured much…abuse.  It was rude of me,” she finished in her own melodious soprano. “I will teach some tricks on how to deflect your thoughts so that it would be more…difficult for us to discern. You will need that to fight Blogath, and you may count on our support when the time comes.  We will clear the way ahead of your party on its way to Rivendell, but we will not go there for we would not be welcome…as Blood-Wights.”

She went on to explain the nature of wights, part physical, part spirit, always torn between both worlds.  “If the curse emanates from the Witch-King or his minions, your friends will have perhaps two weeks at most,” she said with a voice full of empathy. “It was the vampire, Thuringwethil, who turned us by draining our blood and then feeding it back to us.  The transformation was agony as if my veins were filled with acid.  She stood there, laughing, as I writhed like a worm before her.”  Finculion put his hand on hers and nodded.  “Then…I begged for blood, I begged to kill, I begged to be her slave.”

The group sat, enraptured by the elf’s tale, a story of an ancient time, beyond the reckoning of any man.  Valandil, who previously sat, just staring, reached out to the elf. “Please, if it comes down to it, can you change her?  Can you change Firiel?  Would it keep her from dying?”  He sounded desperate and rightfully so.

Alquanessë nodded slowly.  “Aye, I can, but I would caution you.  Your love would have little control over herself at first.  It was years before I could defy Thuringwethil. The thirst for blood and the hunger for flesh would be too much for her.  She would thrash about at night, eyes red and fangs bared, screaming to kill. We master it now and can eat normal food and drink animal blood when the mood suits us.  But think long and hard, sir knight, or you may unleash an even more devastating plague on Tharbad.”

He sank back into his chair, thinking.  Nirnadel glanced at Haedorial, whose face was equally locked in horror.  “I had no idea,” the Princess said.  “We knew the basics from Dagar’s letters…”  She reached out to the elven princess and was met with a cool hand that held hers.  “My heart weeps for you.  All that I have will aid you, whether it be to end your siblings or to save them, I will try.”

A single tear rolled down Alquanessë’s cheek, tinged with red.  She tugged gently on Nirnadel’s hand.  “Even after thousands of years of my life, I am touched.  I have a lifetime of horror to atone for.  I have some ideas on how we should proceed but you have more pressing matters to attend to for now.  We will talk more when you return from Rivendell.”

Dagar gestured to Oswy and his troop as they arrived for supper.  “And we will join you as well tomorrow and provide you with a proper escort through Rhudaur.  This year has proven to be fairly safe since Angmar’s armies faded back north and the forces of Cameth Brin were devastated.  Cagh and Hirgrim are maintaining their truce with us and we even trade from time to time to everyone’s benefit.  But still, there are wolves or even trolls about, especially at night and I would see no harm come to you all and the hospitality of our house knows no bounds for my friends.”

The sun had set, and the sound of crickets wafted through the windows.  The air was cool but the sky clear with radiant pinks and purples spreading across the horizon to the west.  It was one of the wonders of untamed Rhudaur and Nirnadel admired it through a fine glass pane.  The air was so clear, only the scent of pine trees, cedar and a crackling fire in a nearby brazier that was held up by a metal mount shaped like a tree.  This was so much to take in.  She had never met an elf, much less an elven prince and princess who were also vampires.  The things that they had seen and endured over the ages.  And what they endured…  Alquanessë’s story was horrifying.  Torn from her home, turned into a creature, stripped of her identity, abused and exploited. The Princess could not imagine. The possibility of being forcefully married into an odious, power mad family was the worst of her fears.  She would have gone insane being subjected to what the elf survived.

Alquanessë came up behind her and put her hand on Nirnadel’s shoulder.  “You are worried about your upcoming marriage.  I, too, am in terror of love.  What man would have me, a creature of darkness, a used item?  He would live in fear of me tearing his throat out, even though that fear is no longer a reality.  You do not have that darkness in you and I feel that you have so much love to give.  You are good in mind and heart, and your body will follow.”

Nirnadel touched her hand and found it to be a little cold.  “I thank you for your kind words.  I have been worried.  I don’t know what he will think when he sees me on our first night.”

The elf chuckled.  “It will be hard to imagine, but I was young once as you are.  Now picture me as an innocent girl, standing atop the tower of Barad Eithel in lost Beleriand, counting the stars and daydreaming about handsome men, my dear mother laughing at my awkwardness.”  She pointed out the window as it drew darker and the stars appeared in the heavens.  “There, dear Princess…the Remmirath, the Net; Soronúmë, the Eagle; Telumendil, the Dome of Heaven; Wilwarin, the Butterfly; and Valacirca, the Scythe of the Valar…the lights of the night as they were meant to be by the hand of Varda.”

Haedorial stood behind them, entranced.  “Oh, dear lady, you do not know how long I have waited to meet you and to hear you speak.  It is like peering through a window into a forgotten age.”

“It was a time when we Noldor were the dominant people of Middle Earth.  Grand cities like Nargothrond and Gondolin thrived.  The white spires of Minas Tirith rose above Tol Sirion amid the wide river.  My uncle, Nolofinwë, or Fingolfin as you call him, reigned as the High King.  Magic and power flowed through our blood as easily as you breathe.”  She waved her hand through the air, golden tendrils of energy flowing from her fingertips to create a scene of lost Beleriand: the grand caverns of Nargothrond, the white towers of Gondolin and images of her family, the High King, Prince Fingon and her mother, Irimë the Fair.  “I do this often to remind myself of my people.  It brings me both great joy and deep sadness.  That is the essence of out kind.”

Both Nirnadel and Haedorial put their hands over their hearts.  This was the first elf that she had met and, while they seem so human, there was also something much deeper and more profound in their being.

“If…when we pass from this world,” the elf continued, “our spirits would be brought into the Halls of Mandos, there to be judged by the Vala.  Finculion may survive, but I would surely be rent asunder for my crimes or cast into the eternal void.  There is no forgiveness for me.”

“Dear Alquanessë,” Haedorial spoke in a soothing voice.  “We have no imagining or understanding of any of this.  However, if I am correct, did not Manwë forgive even Melkor his sins after three ages?” he added hopefully.

The elven princess cocked her head and a slow smile spread across her ruby lips.  “You are correct, my friend.  Does that mean that there may be hope for us?”  She looked over to her brother.  “Finculion, the bard has a point.”

The elven prince looked skeptical, then he nodded. “We will take any scrap of hope that we can get.  We are on to a cure, but I will admit that the thought of being cured frightens me. We can remember no other way.”

Nirnadel looked him in the eye and gulped.  Finculion was beautiful in a way that no human could be. He had flowing, wavy black hair, steel-colored eyes and a sculpted jaw and cheekbones.  “Is there anything we can do to help?” she asked.

The sound of Valandil rising and heading to the door, caught their attention.  Dagar rushed to head him off.  “Sir Valandil, I know your plight,” Dagar said, his voice full of concern.  “But you cannot continue at this hour.  You would not last the night.  Wolves prowl the roads now that much of Rhudaur is deserted after the war.  Your horse is tired and so are you.  I beg you, sir, please stay and I promise that we will rouse your party early so that you may set out before sunrise.”

Valandil tried to wave him off and brush past, but Alquanessë moved across the room in a blur and stood before him.  She put her hand out.  “Please sir, please listen to Lord Rhudainor.  We will accompany you and ensure your safety all the way to Imladris. Even if my brother and I were to be with you tonight, we could not protect you from all of the wolves or the occasional troll from the Hillshaws.  You could not help Firiel if you are dead.”

He trembled for a moment and then nodded.  “I…I am just so worried.  I need to be there, but I need to be here.  I…thank you.”  They guided him back to the table.

“It is small comfort when those we love are imperiled,” Alquanessë told him, “but allow me to soothe your soul.  I will show you the music of my people, something from the ancient past.”

Haedorial gasped.  “This is surely a dream.”

She gestured to him.  “Join me, quenso, as we say in Quenya, a bard as am I, quensi for a woman.” He rushed up as did Cicrid, Dagar’s daughter.  She raised her hands and instruments began floating in the air, a lute, a harp and a recorder.  “Allow me to show you our world as it was when the world was young.”  Power began to swirl around her form, a gentle breeze circulating around the hall.  The air began to shimmer and change before their very eyes.  Comfortable wooden tables and chairs faded, replaced by a table with frosted glass and mithril legs crafted to look like trees and elegant seats of dark wood and sky blue and silver cushions.  The walls changed to marble, adorned with elven banners and golden statues of the Valar.  Sunlight beamed through stained glass windows.  The floating instruments were now held by elven musicians in silk robes of sky and cobalt blue and silver, the colors of the House of Fingolfin.

Nirnadel gasped and held her hands before her mouth.  Was this an illusion?  Plucked notes rose from the harp and it was as if she could see the music floating on the air in golden tendrils.  She would never forget this journey but the worry about Firiel was always on her mind.

The elven princess beamed, proud to show her trade. “A Lindalë Ya Nauvar,” she said, “We are those who protect.”

Haedorial shook his head.  “I…I don’t know that one.  I’m sorry.”

She embraced him, inhaling his scent, her eyes flashing red for just a moment.  She then breathed into his face, silver threads of her being wafting into his nostrils.  “Now you do,” she said as his eyes lit up.  The lute now joined in, and they took a breath.  Haedorial’s strong tenor blended with Alquanessë’s intentional alto and Cicrid’s soprano.  It was as if a dream became music.  The voices rose and fell as if marking a battle, strong then soft.  All the while magic swirled around the hall and an image of Noldorin cavalry shimmered into being, warriors in silver atop white steeds, the banners of the High King fluttering in the wind.  The recorder brought sharp notes, the fight against the Dark Lord.  The lute and the harp rose over the other instrument, then softening to an ethereal, floating tone.  They could see Fingolfin, standing tall, his sword, Ringil, shining in the darkness as his son, Fingon the Valiant, stood by his side, surrounded by Noldorin warriors. As their last note hung in the air and then faded, so did the illusion, the room returning to a lord’s manor.

Every heart in the hall felt soothed, Valandil’s included. Every face was serene, every breath calm.  Haedorial knelt and grasped the elf’s hand.  “I cannot thank you enough for this gift, fair lady.  I was never a bard until now.”  She smiled down on him and then swept her hand across the room. “Rest well, people.  I will rouse you on the morrow.”

Everyone began to make their way to their rooms, Dagar and Mirthi guiding them.  Footsteps pounded on the porch and Lady Éanfled rushed in, her scarlet dress flowing behind her.  Her eyes fixed on Nirnadel, and she beamed with joy.  The two rushed together to embrace, Éanfled weeping.  “Your Highness!  My Princess!  I…this is a dream, is it not?”

Nirnadel waved Galadel over.  “Come Lady Galadel, join us.  This is Lady Éanfled Amrodan, who served me when I was younger.  We are heading to our room, but please join us, Éanfled!  We have so much to catch up on.  And we are hiring mercenaries to take back Castle Amrodan.  This was my father’s promise to you, and I intend to fulfill it.”

The Houses of Healing – Lothron 5^th, 1410

 

Mercatur

He ran along with Kaile, Pelemeth and Omah down the wide Menetar road to the Southbank where the Houses were, over the great Iant Harnen or South Bridge.  Captain Guilrod had stopped with his soldiers to set up a roadblock along the Menetar. At the massive gate of the Ryncaras Tharbad, Kaile held up her badge as a lady of the Royal Court and the guards ushered them through.  Out of breath, she put her hands on her knees and waved to the guard sergeant.  “Sergeant…we bear orders…from the Chancellor…to close the gate.  We need to quarantine parts of the south bank from an epidemic.  More…information will come shortly.”

The sergeant nodded.  As a lady of the court, she did carry the authority of the word of the Chancellor and the Princess.  “Close the gate!” he ordered as the massive portcullis lowered, grinding and cranking to a final thud.

Mercatur pulled her up.  “Are you alright?”  He knew that she hated him at one time, but he hoped that those days had passed.

She took several deep breaths.  She had lost a lot of weight, but she was still not a prime physical specimen.  Still, she had earned the mercenary’s respect in Annúminas and with her work in the Houses. “I’m…I’m good, thank you.  We need to keep going.”

She started off with the nurses and Mercatur thought for a moment.  Did he really want to risk this infection?  A good part of him wanted to keep heading south to the Annon Harn, grab a horse and ride for the Gap of Calenardhon, a province of Gondor that would one day become Rohan.  They needed mercenaries at the Tower of Orthanc.  Kaile looked back, her eyes narrowing.  “Well, come on!”

The big mercenary choked for a second.  Dammit, he wasn’t going to let some chubby little girl show him up for a coward.  And Firiel, how many times did she save his ass?  He knew, deep down, that he caused this.  If it meant his death to atone, then so be it.  He grunted and then sprinted to catch up.  They cut down a side street, the Augon Curhyth, past the Pisgedain, the Fisherman’s Guildhouse and over the Cherant Rynd, the canal that fronted the Houses.  They pounded on the door.  “It’s me, Kaile!  Open please!”

The door shot open and the two young nurses, Vicri and Sissi shook, clearly terrified.  “Come in, come in!  We’ve had three new cases already.”

Kaile pushed past them and looked around as Pelemeth comforted the two.  The lady and Mercatur ran over to the door to the exam room where Jonu stood guard. The young man let out a huge sigh of relief and embraced Kaile.  “It’s bad, Kaile, it’s bad.  I don’t know what to do.  She’s in there alone with the victims.  It’s already spreading on her, Kaile, it’s already spreading.”

Kaile fell right back into nurse mode.  “The Chancellor has agents locking down the money lender’s and Artan’s right now.  Have Vicri and Sissi keep bringing victims to the exam room.”  She gestured to Pelemeth, the woman who had replaced her as chief nurse.  “Pel, turn out all of the medicine and the healing tomes.  We need to read up and see if anything will be effective.  Omah, go help her.  I’m going to check in on Firiel.”

Pel did a quick curtsey.  “Yes, my lady.”

Mercatur felt helpless.  This was not his area of expertise.  Crack some skulls, stick a crossbow bolt in some thugs or Dunnish warriors, yes.  Healing, definitely not.  He watched Kaile move and speak like a commander of armies and he knew that he could not let them down.  But what could he do?  Pel and Omah dashed off to the Healer’s Chambers as others ran to the storage rooms.

Kaile pounded on the door.  “Firiel!  It’s me, Kaile!  I’m here. The Chancellor has locked down parts of the city and has people investigating the money lender and Artan’s. Anyone who came in contact with them gets quarantined!  The Princess and Haedorial rode with Valandil for Rivendell.  They’ll bring back help, I swear.”

Firiel’s voice came from the other side, shaky. “Good…it’s good, you did well.” There was a sniffle.  “I knew I would find some way to get you back,” she joked.  “Pull you away from all of that finery back to the grind…”

Kaile gave a sad chuckle.  “A horde of orcs in the snow and a dog demon couldn’t keep me away. What do you need?”

“I could use a hand, truly, but no one else gets exposed. I have six in here now.  I can slow it somewhat and dull the pain with herbs but it’s not a cure.  Have Pel and the rest research and pull the medicines.  There’s got to be something.”

Kaile nodded, laughing sadly.  “Already done.  It’s like I never left.”  She began to tremble and Mercatur put a steadying hand on her.  She nodded in thanks.

Firiel’s voice cracked.  “How did I know?  I could use you now, dear friend.  Remember Yüle…oh, that was such a good time.  And did you know that Valandil proposed, and I accepted.  I only wish…only wish that I will be here…for the wedding.”

The lady wiped her face.  “Don’t talk like that.  And yes, Nirnadel told us that he would.  You will be here.  I will be here.  And this big dumb mercenary will be here.  Nirnadel says that she will sponsor your and my weddings in Arthedain when she marries King Araphor.”

“Oh my, oh my, that would be so grand.”

Vicri brought another young woman to the door, another prostitute by the looks of her, a tall, young Dúnadan with black hair, a pretty one. “We have another one.  She’s also from Artan’s,” the young nurse announced.

Firiel tapped the door.  “Very well, I’ll open the door.  You all stand back.”  The door began to creep open.

Mercatur knew that this was his moment, the moment that he had to act to help and to atone.  The grasped the young woman by the shoulders and pushed into the exam room and shut the door amid gasps.  “What do you need, Firiel?”  He looked to see that her index finger was almost entirely black.  Remodoc writhed in pain, his whole hand infected by the curse.

Firiel’s face twisted in horror.  “You big stupid mercenary, what are you doing?  I can’t let you out now!”

“I’m not leaving my friend when she needs help. Now put me to work.”

The Healer closed her eyes for a moment and then shook her head.  “Dammit. Damn you, fine, fine.  Hold Remodoc down while I administer another dose of Gort.  It’ll ease the pain.  Then we’ll give him some Kelventari.  I found that it slows the curse for some reason.  I haven’t figured out why just yet, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Mercatur grasped the merchant by the shoulders. “I’m sorry, old friend.  I’m going to make this right.”

Firiel placed a poultice on Remodoc’s hand and then poured a dose from a vial down his throat and he relaxed, breathing easier.  “At this rate, we’re going to run out in a week. I just hope that Valandil will be safe in Rhudaur.”

“My friend, Dagar, will take care of him.  I’m sure of it.  He’ll be back right quick.”

---

Chapter End Notes

This ties in and sets up the finale for The Dark Mage of Rhudaur and has a little tie in with The Court of Ardor.  I wanted to showcase the interaction between Nirndael, Haedorial and Alquanesse, contrasting the elves with the Dunedain.