The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Halls of Imladris

The party departs from the manor of Lord Rhudainor, but as they approach the Vale of Imladris, they are stopped by an unseen force.  Firiel begins to weaken, succumbing to the curse as Mercatur tries to be of help.

I just couldn't resist a scene with Rivendell.

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40) Lord Rhudainor’s Manor - Lothron (May) 9^th, 1410

 

Nirnadel

The morning came all to quickly for she, Galadel and Éanfled talked deep into the night, catching up on all that they had been through in the last few years.  Éanfled never told her husband, Oswy, of the nightly seductions by the Blood-Wights, though it still haunted her dreams.  It was awkward having Finculion in the manor at first and she could still picture him, passionate and full of fire.  But he seemed to avoid her once he resided with them, never speaking of the matter. Nirnadel shared her worries for her impending marriage to the King but Éanfled was beyond excited.  Lady Amrodan would surely be invited.  Galadel spoke of her family, the Tinarës and her hope for a handsome, loving husband.  She was glad that her father, the Hir, had no aspirations for a political marriage for her and it would be her choice.  Nirnadel felt as though Éanfled had never left, they all bonded so well.

Giggling and reminiscing about their times together, they drifted off to sleep.  Nirnadel dreamed of King Araphor again, his black hair cascading down his face, past chiseled cheekbones and a square jaw.  She could smell his hair, wet and freshly washed, scented like aloe.  His skin was dripping with water, and he smiled at her as she looked down.  She could see his need for her and she trembled.  He cupped her face, and she could feel the warmth of his touch.  With his other hand, he reached down and she gasped, her whole body tingling.

“Wake up, Your Highness.  We will be preparing to depart soon,” someone said, shaking her gently. Nirnadel looked up to see Alquanessë rousing the others, and the elf looked back at her and gave her a wink. The Princess sat up and noticed that her hand was between her legs, and she quickly scrambled up to dress.

Galadel and Éanfled were up in a flash and immediately set about helping Nirnadel don her riding outfit.  Galadel snickered.  “It’s like you never left, Lady Amrodan.”

Éanfled giggled.  “I think I still fit in, Lady Tinarë.  Is that old shrew still scolding all of the ladies, yourself included, Your Highness?”

Nirnadel snorted.  “Oh, Anariel?  She’s softened up a little.  I think our forays to the Houses of Healing shook her up a bit.”  The mention of the Houses brought a somber mood to her.  “We need to get going.  Firiel and our people need us.”

There was already activity in the main hall that otherwise only had the sound of crickets and the flames in the fireplace.  It was still dark outside with no sign yet of the sun. Valandil and the Guard were already armored, and the stable hands had brought the mounts to the front of the manor. Sir Oswy rode around the corner of the manor with one of the troops of lancers as Dagar stood in his riding outfit, his smallsword strapped to his hip.  He bowed low before Nirnadel, giving a flourish worthy of the Cardolan Court.  “Good morning, Your Highness…errrrr Nirnadel. Mirthi and I took the trouble to prepare breakfast for the road and supplies for the journey.”  His adorable wife curtseyed with a warm smile.

Nirnadel took his hand, and he kissed hers.  “Good Dagar, you are too kind.  And I thank you for the escort.  Our mission is of the utmost importance to the realm and all of Cardolan thanks you.”

One of the stable hands brought out a white palfrey, an excellent riding horse, famed for its stamina and smooth gait.  Éanfled took the reins and climbed into the saddle in her scarlet riding outfit with a scarlet bonnet.  Oswy rode up to her and gave her a kiss.  “We’ll be sure to draw every wolf and troll for miles around, my beacon of loveliness,” he joked.  “But fear not, my lance is all the protection that you’ll need.”

Ecegar roared with laughter.  “Which lance would that be, Oswy?”

The ladies blushed and Éanfled shook her head and rolled her eyes.  “You get used to them,” she said.  “I couldn’t stand Northron culture at the Tirthon, but I’ve come to accept their…rough ways.  I’ve even started calling Wiglaf the Hallweard rather than castellan or seneschal.”

As Dagar kissed Mirthi and Cicrid goodbye, Alquanessë and Finculion stood before the mounted group.  “We will scout ahead and make sure that the way is clear,” she said. “Fear not.  No wolf or troll could stand before us.”

Haedorial motioned to them.  “Are you not harmed by sunlight?  It will be dawn soon.”

She shook her head.  “No, that is an old wives tale that came from the time of Thuringwethil. Her very name, the Woman of Secret Shadows, tells of her darkness.  She preferred the night, but we prefer the day but, like any elf, we see equally well at any time.”

The very name of the vampire, who was the beloved of Sauron, brought chills to the Princess and the bard.  Éanfled gestured to the two elves as they prepared to take flight. “I never get used to this,” she said as the elves removed their robes, standing bare.  Wings sprouted from their backs, white swan wings for Alquanessë and brown hawk wings for Finculion.  Their necks and arms twisted in unnatural ways, and they opened their mouths, full of razor sharp fangs and they leapt into the air and flew ahead.

Nirnadel was stunned.  “What a delight and a horror this was.  I cannot imagine you all having survived that,” she said, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

Oswy raised the banner of Lord Rhudainor and then mounted it on his saddle.  “Ride forth! Ride now for Rivendell!” he called as Ecegar blew the horn to the thunder of hooves.

The day wore on as they pounded along the East-West Road, passing the corpses of wolves and a troll along the way.  These were freshly killed, throats torn out and drained of blood. The look of sheer terror on what was left of the hill troll’s face gave the riders shivers.  Nirnadel could not imagine being on the receiving end of that. While they seemed so serene and centered, she knew that the Blood-Wights were creatures of nightmares.  She was just glad that they were on her side.  But Blogath and Balisimur would not be, and it began to worry her.  Alquanessë told her that Blogath held more power than the other three siblings combined.

Oswy slowed for a moment to point at the slain troll, a monster almost twice the size of a warrior.  The whole lower half of its face was torn away by claws and fangs, its eyes full of terror.  “Look, see these tracks.  This troll was dragged from its cave over there and slaughtered like a lamb.”  They could see how it was kicking and pounding on the ground, trying to escape.

Nirnadel felt a chill down her back even in the warm sun. The troll’s body began to twitch and everyone drew swords, but it started to sizzle and turned to stone.  “Just like the legends,” she said, eyes wide as she relaxed her grip on her mithril eket, the short, stabbing sword that was favored in the north.

Just as they were about to ride again, Alquanessë landed in front of them.  Red and black blood covered her lips and down her front.  She carried a full-grown wolf in her arms that was struggling and yelping in her grip.  It tried to bite and claw but she squeezed its head with her hand, and it began whining pathetically.  The Princess almost felt bad for it, but then she remembered Mercatur’s talks about, “It will be Rhudaur, not the city of Tharbad.  Sometimes, you have to be merciless.”  She turned away as the elf extended her jaw beyond what was human, her mouth filled with rows of sharp fangs and ripped the wolf’s face off.

Éanfled closed her eyes.  “I never get used to that either.”  Galadel and Haedorial just stared, unable to look away.

The elf dropped the wolf next to the road with a thud. She flicked her fingers out and the blood that coated her body evaporated into fine droplets which she inhaled through her mouth.  It was fascinating and horrifying all at once to see a creature of Morgoth feed.  She was entirely unashamed of her body but noticed the discomfort among those who didn’t know her.  “I just ruin anything that I wear,” she said with a hint of humor. “The road is clear to the next bridge a few miles ahead.  Finculion is already waiting.  He grew tired of wolf’s blood.”  Alquanessë’s skin was practically glowing, her cheeks rosy, so much more lifelike than last night.  She crouched down.  “I’ll cover you from the air.  You can feed and water the horses at the next river.”  With that, she leapt back into the sky and started flapping her white wings.

The troop started off again at a canter, but they could tell that the horses were tiring as were they.  It was well into the afternoon, and they had only eaten the small breakfast and only drank a little.  Nirnadel’s rear began to ache again, and she could tell all were starting to get sore. She stood up in the stirrups to get some relief, and it felt so much better.  She looked up into the sky to see the elf gliding on the wind, her wings spread.  It was magnificent.  What would it be like as such a creature?  They seemed normal in so many ways.  Alquanessë was a masterful bard and had a wicked sense of humor.  She could fly and was immortal and had incredible powers at her fingertips.  Nirnadel imagined herself for a moment as a vampire, strong, fast, feared.  Would it be so bad?  If it came down to it, maybe turning Firiel would be the best thing. At least she would be alive.  She pictured the Healer with red eyes and fangs, thrashing about.  Maybe this was something that required more thought.  She looked ahead to see the Misty Mountains growing ever bigger, covered in snow and shrouded in fog and clouds.  Truly magnificent.  From Tharbad, they were so distant as to just be decoration on the horizon.

The next river came quickly and Finculion was waiting by the wooden bridge.  It looked well maintained for as far into Rhudaur as it was.  They were now at the foothills of the mountains, known to the elves and the Dúnedain as the Hithaeglir.  Some of the most important rivers in the land began at the mountains. The sun was lower now, its light shining on the face of the peaks and through the tall pines that lined the road. It was cooling rapidly and Nirnadel pulled her cloak around her as Galadel fussed with the cloak pin.

Alquanessë landed next to her brother and her wings folded back into her body.  “Imladris is across the river and about an hour ride.  It is easy to get lost and Master Elrond prefers it that way.  You will take the third path that goes north where you will see a series of waterfalls.  From there-” she was saying when a gull feathered arrow sank into the wood of the bridge.  Everyone stopped and turned to see where it came from but there was nothing.  The two vampires seemed to focus in on something and raised their arms above their heads.  “We mean you no harm,” Alquanessë said slowly in Quenya.  “We merely escort a delegation from Cardolan to ask for help from Imladris.  We were preparing to depart and leave you in peace.”

Nirnadel scanned around, unable to see who they were talking to.  She noticed the knights fidgeting, hands on weapons but she held her hand out, pushing it down.  “Let us not provoke anything,” she said softly.  She was practically shaking.

Two Noldorin elves seemed to appear out of nowhere, pushing their green cloaks behind them.  They were twins with dark brown hair, beautiful as Finculion was.  They each held red recurve bows with arrows nocked. Under their cloaks were breastplates of a deep blue metal that seemed to shimmer.  “Come no further, demons.  You may look like one of the Quendi, but we know what you are,” one of the elves said. “Creatures of darkness, you enter upon our lands where you are not welcome.  Why should we let you leave?  Why should we not destroy you here and now?”  He drew the bowstring back, past his ear and aimed at the vampires.

The Houses of Healing – Lothron 10^th, 1410

 

Mercatur

Five long days had gone by and there was still no word from Valandil.  From what he knew, it was probably a four-day ride to Rivendell and four days back if they rode hard and the weather was good.  If.  Too many ifs. They had been couped up for five days, food only shoved through the door twice a day and twice a day where the chamberpots were taken out.  He wanted to stick a dagger in his throat for being so stupid.  He looked down at his hands that were beginning to turn black, and it itched like a mother.

“Don’t scratch it,” Firiel said, her voice beginning to sound weird.  Most of her right arm was black and he could see parts of her shoulders changing.  Remodoc writhed weakly, his face turning black.

He looked at Mercatur, his eyes pleading.  “Kill me, please Mercatur, kill me.  I don’t want to become one of those…things.”

He shook his head.  “No, my friend, we’re going to find a cure.  Please trust me.  I’m so sorry. I never meant for this…”  He grunted in frustration.  He could think of no worse way to go, wasting away to become some kind of horrific ghost.  He wasn’t afraid to die, but not like this.  The room was nearly full now, people groaning and coughing.  There were no more beds, and the people lay on the floor, weeping.  It began to smell of death.

Firiel stood up and then faltered.  She gritted her teeth, clearly in pain.  “Time for…for another dose, everyone,” she said with forced cheer. “I’m adding some brandy to the mixture.” There were a few laughs amid the sobs. “Help me, Mercatur.  I’m so weak.”  Her hands shook as she mixed the potion of Gort with a pour of alcohol.  He steadied her arm.

The mercenary then held the first prostitute down and she writhed in agony.  Her whole body was turning now, her nearly red eyes full of terror.  He did not want to get to know her or anything about her before, but as he held her shoulders down, he looked into her eyes and gulped. Her breathing was labored and raspy. “What’s your name, dear?” he asked kindly.  “I’m here with you.  Talk to me.”

She was panting now, struggling to breathe.  “Îuldis…that…that’s my name.  From my grandmother.  What…what’s happening, sir?”  Her voice sounded weird…ghostly.

He bit his lip.  “Nice to meet you, Îuldis.  So, you’re the Ember Maid by your name?  That’s beautiful.”  He stroked her thick, dark brown hair, surmising that she was a mixed Dúnadan like him.  She was actually very pretty in spite of the curse.  Firiel came over and rubbed some of the Gort poultice on her skin and then poured the Kelventari mix into her mouth.

Îuldis bucked, her face twisting.  “It burns!” she cried, gurgling.  Firiel said that as they changed into creatures of darkness, medicine would start to become painful.

Mercatur tightened his grip.  “Relax, Îuldis, relax.  Swallow it.  It will slow the curse.  Breathe, my dear, breathe.”  He focused on her face just to keep himself calm.

She began choking and sobbing, struggling in his hands. “I don’t want to die, sir. Please.”

“Firiel is the best healer in Cardolan.  We are in the finest hands there is.  Tell me, Îuldis, how did you come to Tharbad?  How did you come to work at Artan’s?”

She blinked, her nearly all red eyes searching for him. “I…my family…my family…we lived in Tyrn Gorthad.  Gone…destroyed.  Everyone. I had…I had nothing.  Selling myself…the only way to survive.  I…I was so hungry...so cold.  Better than starving.”  The Gort seemed to be taking effect and her body relaxed, her eyes unfocused.  “Thank you, sir…for…taking care…of me.”  It was horrifying.  As a man, he could fight to make coin and live.  The woman here had little choice.  He still recalled the frozen bodies in the shantytown, stacked like cordwood when the snows began to fall last year.  This girl was a fighter…a survivor.  He had to admire that.

Mercatur began to tremble.  “Mandos, spare them.  Take me. If we get out of this, I swear, I swear that I will not be greedy and stupid.”

Firiel put her hand on his shoulder.  “I know.  I know. It’s never easy.  Come, we have to do the others.”  One by one, they administered the doses.  Afterwards, Firiel slumped against the wall, struggling.  She held her arm out.  “It hurts so bad.  I can’t…I can’t focus, but I can’t take the Gort or it will dull my mind.”  She winced hard, making a fist.  She got back up and staggered to the door, knocking softly on it.  “Kaile, Kaile, are you there?” she asked weakly.

There was a sob from the other side before she answered, “I…I’m here, Firiel.  I have some good news,” she said with a forced laugh.  “Minister Eärdil has quarantined the affected areas.  I think we may have it contained.  And he unlocked the evidence storage…you know the drugs that Valandil got from the investigation?  Well, we’re stocked with Gort and Kelventari again.  No shortage there now.”

Firiel coughed, pounding her chest.  “Good…good.  We needed some good news.”  Her words held the suggestion of the unasked question.

“No, no sign of Valandil yet.  It’s at least an eight-day ride there and back and I know he will be balls to the wall,” Kaile said, using a Northron expression of speed.  “So, maybe six or seven?” she added hopefully.

Firiel’s breathing was labored.  “Kaile…Kaile, my dear friend, I’m so afraid.  I’m so scared,” she said, her voice wavering.  “Things were going so well.  I want you…I want you to have the most wonderful wedding and for you and Jonu to have a happy life.  And you make sure that Pelemeth does the record keeping like you did.  You had everything so well organized.  She needs…needs a lesson in that,” she said, her voice fading.  “I wanted…wanted to be Valandil’s wife.  I really did.”

The sound of sobbing came through the door.  “Stop it, Firiel.  Stop it.  Don’t talk like that, please.  I have everything under control out here.  All the potions are premixed and we are onto something in your tomes.  We will figure this out.  Nimhir sent us a roast turkey and Jonu is carving it up for you all. I…I need you to stay with us,” she said, her voice cracking.  “I haven’t hardly slept in five days.  I will figure this out.”  Grit came back into her words.

Mercatur listened to this, his brown eyes misting up, his hands trembling.  Damn, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything.  He came to Cardolan to fight for coin and to drink and wench.  Hard years in Rhudaur taught him that feeling things led to death.  He didn’t raise an eyebrow when his father threw him out and dispossessed him of any claim to House Rhudainor.  He didn’t shed a tear when his parents passed from illness, recanting and leaving him a manor house in their dying days.  He had no attachment to his childhood home and gave it freely to someone that deserved it more.  Don’t get attached.  Don’t feel. That was the hard heart of Rhudaur. Why now, did he want to collapse to the ground, curl up and weep like a baby?  He rose with a feral grunt and walked towards the Healer.  She would lose the ability to function before he did.

“Come, Firiel.  Here, take my arm.”  He pulled her up gently as she coughed and he guided her to an open spot on the floor. “You need to rest.  Here, take a dose of Gort and Kelventari.  You need it.”  He pulled the vials out of her kit.

“No, no, I need my mind.”

“Not for a while, you don’t.  We just gave them all a dose.  You rest a while.  I’ll watch over everyone.  When you get up though, you best teach me this mystical healing art,” he said with little humor.

She drank it greedily, her body relaxing as she got sleepy. “I know…lop heads off of dwarves, put axes into robbers’ faces…that’s you.  None of this touchy feely shit, huh?”

He chuckled.  “You know me too well.  Now rest, Firiel.  I got this.” He forced a smile as she faded into slumber.  He walked over to check on Îuldis and saw that she wasn’t breathing, her eyes frozen open.  He balled his fists, slumped over her body and wept.

The Vale of Imladris

 

Nirnadel

The sun wavered on the western horizon as one of the Noldorin elves aimed his arrow at Alquanessë’s heart.  Nirnadel could see Finculion twitch, his hands raised above his head, but he was ready to fight.  Alquanessë made a motion and they both knelt down, supplicant before the guardians.  The one archer’s hand quivered.

Nirnadel dismounted, the other archer watching her. She moved slowly in between the arrow and the elf princess, raising her hands.  Galadel and Éanfled gasped and Baranor’s face filled with horror.  The Princess had done this once before and only hoped that it would turn out the same.  “Please hear me, good elves!  Please, we come in peace.  I would not allow harm to come to people who have risked much to help us.  We come to you, only with great need.  Please hear us out!”  Her heart pounded, full of fear and hope.  She needed to do this for Firiel…for Tharbad.

The elf without the arrow drawn became concerned, his eyes narrowed.  “You have the royal colors of Cardolan, meaning that you must be Princess Nirnadel. We do not wish to harm you, but please step aside.  It is the demons that we are concerned with.  You may depart after we deal with them.”

Nirnadel heard Alquanessë behind her.  “This is not your fight, dear Princess.  Please step aside,” she said and moved the young lady with her mind, clearing the path of the arrow again.  “I appreciate your kindness, but remember, I won’t die, but you will.”

On her knees, Alquanessë spoke to the elves.  “Before you kill me,” she said, “we are not entirely what we seem to be.  Yes, we are demons, but know also that I am the daughter of Irimë.  Our uncle was High King Nolofinwë and our grandfather was Finwë and our grandmother, Indis of the Vanyar.  We were corrupted against our will by the vampire, Thuringwethil.  After we escaped, we have hidden from the world and only come out to help our friends in their dire need,” she said, gesturing to the group on horseback.  “I would prefer that you not hurt my brother or I, but should you feel the need to do so, please help our friends.”

The two archers studied them closely, no one making a move. “That would make you kin,” one said, narrowing his eyes.  “We are descended from Fingolfin through Eärendil.  In spite of what I see, I sense that you are true,” he said, lowing his bow.  “I am Elladan and this is my brother, Elrohir.  We will take you to our father who will decide what should be done.  He should know of our kin who are also vampires.”

Nirnadel’s heart leapt.  They would actually see Rivendell and be able to plead their case before Elrond.  She glanced at Haedorial who was practically beaming.

Alquanessë made a wan smile at the elves.  “We’ve met…sort of.  He found our bodies after the War of Elves and Sauron and buried us with honor.  I’m sure he would remember.”

Elladan raised an eyebrow.  “Still, you must obey our custom regarding strangers.  We must blindfold all of you, but we guarantee your safety.”  He made a curt bow to Nirnadel.  “Princess of Cardolan, it is good to meet you.  It will be my father who determines what, if any help, to give you.”  He began to hand out blindfolds to the group. “I apologize, but this is a necessary precaution.  And to the vampires, we do not fully trust you yet so this must be done.”  He bound their hands behind them and put a black bag over their heads.  “We will provide you with clothing when we reach Imladris.”

Nirnadel felt a burst of mental power from Alquanessë, a feeling of shame, a feeling of fear.  An image formed in her mind of the elf, writhing on the ground, bound and chained, her body bare before Thuringwethil as the vampire toyed with her then burying her fangs into Alquanessë’s neck, lapping up blood.  The elf faded, weeping, begging to be spared but Thuringwethil tore her own wrist and poured blood back into Alquanessë’s mouth.  The elf screamed in agony but then opened her red eyes.  It was clear that she didn’t want to be bound and sightless, but she accepted this humiliation for the Princess.  Nirnadel would never forget this.  She looked at Haedorial who had seen the images as well.

She rushed over and took off her cloak and jacket.  She tied the jacket around Finculion’s waist and put the cloak around Alquanessë.  “Here, my gift to you,” she said, pinning the cloak with her royal pin, a hill and tree surrounded by an eight-pointed star.  “I would not have my friends so humiliated.”  She then went back to her horse and put the blindfold on. She slapped her arms in the chill and began to shiver.

Elladan and Elrohir led them for about an hour before they heard waterfalls and could smell the mist in the air and the scent of pines. It sounded like the horses were now on gravel.   A horn was blown, startling Nirnadel amid her teeth chattering.  She could see a little beneath the blindfold and saw a structure up ahead, surrounded by oak and pine trees.  She barely made out footsteps approaching.

“You may remove your blindfolds,” Elrohir said and they pulled them off to see a three-story building, constructed of stone: travertine and granite, with oak beams for a luxurious but earthy ambiance, an understated elegance.  The roofs were of gray slate tiles with chimneys poking out at various points.  A bell tower rose from the center of the structure, all of which nestled in the crook of an overhang of the Misty Mountains with waterfalls pouring around the house.

The Princess gasped, her hands over her mouth.  This was Rivendell, known as Imladris, home of many of the Eldar who remained in Middle Earth.  Elladan untied the vampires as three Noldor elves approached from the house.  One had short, black hair, wearing a red and gold robe.  The second had long, dark brown hair, wearing a green robe with a green cloak.  The last was taller than the others and had wavy golden hair, wearing a green and gold robe with the sigil of a golden flower.

Alquanessë tore her hood off and threw it to the ground in a huff, wrapping the cloak tightly around her body.  She shook in rage, her eyes tinged red.  She nodded to Nirnadel, her lower lip quivering.  “Thank you, Your Highness.  I shall not forget your kindness.”

The first elf bowed curtly.  “We apologize for the necessary precautions.  The spies and agents of the enemy are many and crafty. Our best defense is secrecy.  Allow me to introduce ourselves.  You’ve met Elrond’s sons.  I am Erestor, Chief Councilor of Imladris.  This is Gildor Inglorion and this is Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower of lost Gondolin.”

Haedorial and Dagar’s mouths fell open, and they just stared as Nirnadel dismounted and approached them.  She took a knee for a moment and then rose, trying her best to present herself as an equal.  But she knew otherwise.  “I am Nirnadel of Cardolan, heir to the throne.  This is my personal guard, led by Captain Baranor with Sir Valandil. This is Dagar, Lord Rhudainor of Rhudaur and his knights, led by Sir Oswy.  And they…are Alquanessë and Finculion, Noldor of the House of Fingolfin. We come to you to beg your help in curing a curse that has descended upon our fair city of Tharbad.  The people, who include a dear friend of mine, are running out of time.”  She fought to keep her voice steady.

Glorfindel escorted the vampires to change while Erestor continued.  “We are not in the habit of freely helping strangers, mannish ones at that.  Such are the times.”

The Princess held up her hand to stop him.  “Please, allow me to finish, good sir,” she said strongly, unaware of where she got the courage to challenge one of the Eldar.  “The friend of whom I speak is the daughter of Elanoriel of Rivendell.  We came to inform her and to seek help.”

Erestor’s eyes widened.  “Elanorial?  Yes, she is here.  Gildor, please summon her quickly.  Meet us at the council chambers.  Nirnadel, Princess of Cardolan, you are well spoken for one so young and you are bold beyond your years.  I will take you to meet Elrond.  I feel that your cause is good and just and I will advocate on your behalf.”

Nirnadel sighed in relief.  “Thank you, good Councilor.  Time is of the essence, please.”  

Erestor opened thick double doors, made of stout oak, that led into the foyer where a number of elves stood, gawking at the visitors. To the left was a lounge with multiple fireplaces of white stone that were crafted to appear as trees.  To the right was a library, vast and extensive. Nirnadel thought she saw one book, titled in Quenya, that was about the lost city of Ost-in-Edhil.  They went along a wooden walkway with a railing that overlooked a grassy courtyard that was ringed with flowering plants in pinks, yellows, reds and violets.  In the center was a three-layered fountain, spraying water into the air and then flowing into blue asymmetric ceramic bowls.

A blond elf came up to them, eyes locked on Valandil. “Valandil, it’s me, it’s me Ascarnil, from the Barrow Downs,” he said.  He was dressed in robes of dark forest green with his hair tied back. “And you too, Haedorial!  What brings you here?”

The knight’s eyes widened.  “Ascarnil!  I knew that you lived in Rivendell, but I didn’t put it together.  It’s good to see you,” he said as Haedorial clapped the elf on the shoulder.

Ascarnil looked around.  “Is Firiel or that Mercenary with you?  You guys always traveled together.”

“That is precisely why were are here, good Ascarnil,” Haedorial added.  “Lady Firiel has been afflicted with a curse, and we are here seeking aid.  Mercatur stayed to help.”

Ascarnil nodded solemnly.  “I see.  Yes, the council is gathering for something so I guess you are why.  I saw Lady Elanoriel heading that way with Gildor. Come, let’s not keep them waiting.”

They rushed into the council chambers, a large room, furnished only with a long oak table that was surrounded by comfortable chairs. The high ceiling was flat, covered in white plaster with dark wooden beams.  Numerous windows let in the fading sunlight with glass doors on the north and south, leading to a wide porch and on the east, leading to a roofed portico with a travertine tiled floor.

Erestor gestured and bowed, giving an approving nod to their leader.  “I present Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían, and Lord Aranto, the Housemaster.”  He then gestured back to the visitors.  “Lord Elrond, I present Nirnadel, Crown Princess of Cardolan and her entourage.  I have heard their plight and advocate for assistance.”

Nirnadel was shaking, trying to keep her body under control. She saw Haedorial and Dagar doing the same and it gave her some comfort.  She took a knee for a moment and then rose.  “M…m…my lord Elrond, I…I beg of you an audience so that I may humbly request the aid of your p…people,” she said rapidly in a wavering voice but then she dug deep and found courage.  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.  “You have been allies of the northern kingdoms since the founding of Arnor.  I beg for your friendship once more.  My people, my friends have been afflicted by a curse, likely of the Witch-King and they will waste away to become wights if we cannot stop this.”  Her words were now strong and clear.

She looked at Elrond, who seemed both as young as she and ancient at the same time.  His bright eyes spoke of eons of life and wisdom.  He put his knuckle up to his lips, thinking, his black hair parted in the middle, flowing down his back.  On his finger was a ring of gold, set with a large, clear blue sapphire.  Vilya, the legendary Elven Ring of Air.  How was it even possible that she could dare to speak to one so powerful?  The Princess felt absolutely tiny.  She focused her mind back on Firiel and she would see this through.

Lady Elanoriel, Firiel’s mother, came to her and put her elven cloak around Nirnadel’s slender frame.  “Dear child, I heard that you came all of this way for my daughter.  Bless you.”  Her golden hair streamed down over jade green robes, held with a silver sash. She gave Valandil a warm nod.

Glorfindel then entered with the two siblings, now dressed in white robes.  He seemed to be keeping a close watch on them with his bright blue eyes.

Elrond took a breath, and all awaited his word.  “These are grave matters, but the path of wisdom is clear.  We will assist you and honor our friendship with the kingdoms of men.  You were all courageous to come here, not knowing what fate would befall you.  I offer you the hospitality of Imladris while we make preparations.  Time is of the essence so we will depart tonight.  We will have your mounts attended to and refreshed for the long journey ahead.”  He gestured to Lord Aranto, a tall Noldo.  “Please see to it.  Our friends will be heading home in a few hours.”

Valandil fell to his knees.  “Thank you, Lord Elrond.  A million thank yous.”

Nirnadel touched him on the shoulder as she wiped her cheeks.  A tidal wave of relief washed over her.  “Yes, thank you, Lord Elrond.  I and our kingdom are forever in your debt.  We stand as your allies in defiance of evil.”

Elrond grasped her hand, and she could feel the ring and its power.  The sensation was soft but permeated her entire body.  “You are very brave, young Princess,” he said.  “You will stop at nothing for your friends and those that you love.  You must temper that courage with wisdom.”  He looked deep into her eyes and she trembled.  “I see…I see the light of Elendil in your eyes.  You have the blood of my brother, Elros Tar-Minyatur, in your heart.  So, we are…relatives, if you will.  You may yet do great things if wisdom prevails.”

Nirnadel saw a flash of a mithril crown, a wedding and then a tomb in a barrow that read, “Her Majesty, Queen Nirnadel of Cardolan.  The essence of love and the embodiment of light. 1394-1412.  Reigned 1412.  Gone from us far too soon.  May she endure in the embrace of Eru, the One.”

She gasped, releasing his hand.  “What?  What was that vision?  I saw…”

He gazed down at her.  “Your life is both a blessing to the good and a curse to the evil.  You are a beacon to many, but people plot your downfall.  This is just a possible future, one among many.  You will be a queen soon and will become the head, heart and soul of everything that your realm stands for.  You are trusting and kind.  But you must also be wary.”  He then gestured to the vampires.  “We should now get to the bottom of this new mystery, shall we?”  They walked over to Alquanessë and Finculion, who, though powerful, were no match for Glorfindel, a warrior who had slain a balrog during the sack of Gondolin and paid with his life.

They stood with Dagar and Haedorial, awaiting Elrond’s judgment.  Elrond approached and nodded.  “Lord Glorfindel, I feel…I feel that we can trust these two.  Please be at ease.”  He looked the two of them over.  “Yes, I remember you.  Slain in the temple of Sauron, having rebelled and fought against his dominion. And, you reported to me many times of his troop movements, which was instrumental in our victory against the Dark Lord.”  He extended a conciliatory hand.  “It was a necessary precaution, but I deeply apologize for the way in which you were first treated.”

Finculion took the hand and Alquanessë knelt.  She then rose and took a breath.  “I was so angry at first.  I am no longer ashamed of my body, but I was so humiliated.  It felt…it felt as when Thuringwethil had me in her grasp.  I was helpless…her…plaything.  You cannot imagine what she had me do.  I slew our people.  I drank their blood.  I later became a tool for Sauron and my sister.”  She began to shake and bit the back of her hand.  “What they did…they made me kill children.  I…I,” she began and then straightened her back, shuddering. Her eyes became clear.  “I pledge myself to rid the world of Morgoth’s lingering evil.  That is…if you will accept me…nephew,” she added with a wink.

Finculion nodded.  “And I am shamed for just watching and allowing it to happen.  I was…afraid, but I am no longer.”

Elrond gave them a sad smile.  He knew of the evils of this complex world.  He let out a shuddering breath.  “I…I understand, you who are my kin.  As a child, my brother and I were at the sack of the Havens of Sirion when Maedhros, full of the fury of the cursed Oath of Fëanor, burned the city and murdered its people, all to find the Silmaril that my mother, Elwing, bore.”

Haedorial whispered into Nirnadel’s ear.  “I have read this…but to hear it from someone who was actually there…”

“Many of the Fëanoreans turned against them, so evil were their deeds,” Elrond continued.  “But it was not enough.  Maedhros, in his might, slew many of them and my mother cast herself into the sea rather than be captured and lose the Silmaril to darkness.  She was raised up by great Ulmo, who transformed her into a swan or seagull, depending on who tells the tale, and guided to Aman with my father.  During the battle, the brothers, Amrod and Amras were slain, leaving on Maedhros and Maglor as the last Sons of Fëanor.”  He nodded slowly, remembering.  “My brother and I became prisoners of Maedhros.  We were still very young but knew the tale of Eluréd and Elurín, my uncles. After the Sons of Fëanor destroyed Doriath, Celegorm took the young boys into the forest to starve and perish, so evil was he.  We feared the same fate, having been left in a cave to die, but Maglor took pity on us and raised us.”  His hand trembled for a moment.  “I still have difficulty reconciling Maglor’s evil with his kindness.”

Alquanessë smiled, her face beaming, her perfect teeth showing.  “So, you know what it is to be helpless and afraid.  We are not this by choice.  But we chose to fight those who made us this way.  And, it is alleged that Maglor is our father but that is only a rumor.”

Elrond took the hands of his kin.  “And we will stand with you.  I sense in you, a fear of your other siblings, whom we found and sealed in the tomb all of those centuries ago.”

Dagar stepped forward and tentatively raised his hand. “Good sir, if I may.  Good Alquanessë and I experienced the horror of Blogath first hand.  She and good Finculion were able to stop her, but it is only temporary.  Her Highness is funding an expedition to end them for good. We will set off towards the end of summer if all goes well.”

“I see,” Elrond answered.  “This requires a response for we cannot let them free.  The devastation of the countryside would rival that of the last war.  Come, Lord Rhudainor and my kin.  Let us discuss what you know with Erestor and Aranto.  I will send word to Curumo and Olorin for advice…Saruman and Gandalf in your tongue.”  He then gestured to Lady Elanoriel.  “Princess Nirnadel, if you and your party wish to clean up before the journey, I bid you to follow Elanoriel to the guest suites.  We will provide you with towels and refreshment.  Then, please join our people out on the portico for music.  It will soothe your heart and mind.  Think not, overmuch, about your vision, but be ever wary.”  He put his hand on Dagar’s shoulder.  “Come, we have much to discuss in a short time.”

Haedorial was besides himself with wonder.  “Your Highness, I wish to thank you for allowing me to be part of your journey.  I could never have imagined this as part of the Guild of Nightsingers.  I have met and sung with an elf of the old world.  I have met the Herald of Gil-Galad and stood in his home.  And, they agreed to help good Firiel.  We will make it back in time, I know this,” he said with the utmost conviction.

She grasped his hand as Elanoriel guided them up the stairs to the guest suites.  “My good bard, Lord Elrond showed me something in a vision, something both comforting and disturbing.  I saw my crown, mithril with the jewels of Cardolan.  I saw my wedding to King Araphor…then…then I saw my tomb in the barrows,” she said, shaking.  “It…it said that I die in Fourteen Twelve…two years from now.  He told me that it was only one possible future and that I needed to be wary.  But I can’t unsee that, Haedorial.”

“Lord Elrond is wise beyond what we can imagine.  I would see it as a friendly warning, Your Highness. We know that Hir Girithlin has designs on your throne.  With an alliance with Arthedain and Gondor and with the elves in support, Girithlin would be a fool to test you.  And…you have so many who would stop that from happening.”

On the third floor, Lady Elanorial opened a door to a room that was plushly decorated, carpeted in deep blues and earthy browns with beds, desks and a large washroom.  “For you and your ladies, my dear.”  She then pointed to an adjacent room.  “And for you men.  I will await you downstairs in the council chambers.  Relax…be free.  We will depart in about two hours.”

Nirnadel tried to put it out of her mind, focusing and accepting Haedorial’s word for she trusted him completely.  They saw a set of bathtubs and a type of spigot.  “Where do we get the water?” she asked as she touched the spigot and hot water shot out of it into the tub.  “What?” she cried out, stepping back.  “How is this…how is this possible?”  Hot water quickly filled the white porcelain tub that was shaped like a dolphin.  The other ladies did the same with their tubs, wonder filling their eyes.  The Princess made an amused face.  “Well, I don’t have to be invited in,” she said as she removed the elven cloak that Elanorial gave her.  Galadel and Éanfled rushed to assist her, but she waved them off.  “No, please, attend to yourselves this evening. Tonight, we are just three girls taking a bath.”  She removed the rest of her clothes and slid into the tub, sighing in contentment amid the steam.  She glanced at the other two, whom had ample bosoms and then looked down at her own childlike body.  She put her hands on her chest and closed her eyes.  “It will come.  It will come.”

Galadel pranced over and smiled at the Princess.  Nirnadel looked up, about to speak when the lady flicked her nipple with a finger and giggled.  Nirnadel’s mouth went open wide and she splashed water at Galadel.  “Oh, you wicked woman!  What was that for?”

Lady Tinarë skipped back to her tub and slid in.  “I didn’t fill out until a year ago.  It will happen,” she said with a wink.

Éanfled soaked her red hair and scrubbed herself. “She’s right.  I was still a stick at Seventeen.  We Dúnedain mature just a bit later than other women.  And you forget that I was Twenty when I attended you, already a woman so I already had these,” she said with an evil grin, cupping her breasts above the lip of the tub.

Nirnadel took comfort in that.  It seemed to her that she would be a child forever.  So much was changing so fast and she was growing up more quickly than her uncle Nimhir wanted.  She slid down, letting her whole head dip beneath the water.  Then, she sat up and began scrubbing the dirt and sweat away from their long ride.  It felt good. The heat soaked her skin and cleared her pores.  The sweet scent of lavender permeated the water and the room and she inhaled deeply, just enjoying the bath and the company.

The main door opened and shut and Alquanessë entered. “I have to say that this is pretty nice. No offense, Lady Éanfled, but Imladris has better accommodations than House Rhudainor.  Still, I would not trade what I have been given by Dagar.  I do miss my own kind though.”  She touched another tub, and it began to fill.  “Ah, the magic of the elves.  We had this in Barad Eithel and in our…cave.”  She shed her robes.  Her skin was smooth and creamy and, though slender, she was perfectly formed, a picture of womanhood.  She pushed her black hair behind her pointed ears and slid into the tub, sighing contentedly.  “Oh, Lady Éanfled, we need to put this into our home.”

Nirnadel felt herself admiring the ancient elf, wanting to emulate her manner and humor.  She felt the vast wisdom and the deep pain that radiated from Alquanessë.  “What did you discuss with Lord Elrond?” she asked.

The elf cupped water onto her face and then over her hair, letting it pour down upon her broad smile.  Her beautiful silver eyes were stunning but disconcerting.  “We will be part of your expedition.  In fact, my brother and I will help retake Castle Amrodan. It would be nice to see Mercatur again so long as he no longer wishes to put his silly axe in my head.  Lord Elrond will also provide support against my siblings.  And he also mentioned the ability to create a cure.”  She paused and her expression became thoughtful.  “I both want one and fear one.  As you have seen, my powers are awesome and addictive.  I have been a demon for…about Five-Thousand Years…give or take.  What would it be to become a woman again…to be able to love and receive love?  Other than my brother and mother, I have never known it,” she said sadly.

Alquanessë climbed out of her tub and strode over. She cupped Nirnadel’s face. “Trust me,” she said and then kissed the Princess.  She pulled back and then exhaled into her face, translucent tendrils of power flowing into her nostrils.

“What was that?” Nirnadel asked, feeling her whole being tingle.

The elf walked to pick up a towel, wrung out her hair and wiped her body down.  “You’ll have to find out,” she said, donning her robe.  “I’ll be in the portico, listening to music.”

It was good to feel clean.  They wiped themselves and put their riding clothes back on, heading downstairs.  Music already permeated the halls, strings and woodwinds, playing a serene instrumental tune.  As they passed the council chambers, they could see Lord Elrond speaking intently with Erestor, Aranto, Celebrían and Elanoriel.  Firiel’s mother was already dressed in riding clothes.  On the portico, Dagar and the others reclined on soft chairs, eyes closed, just listening.  The cool night air flowed through the pillars, rustling the leaves of the potted plants.  Nirnadel wished that she could stay here forever.  She could just be a page or some other staff member, learning at the feet of Elrond or even Alquanessë.  It would be a good life.

She settled into a plush chair, and the world seemed to stop.  She closed her eyes for what only seemed a moment when Elrond gently shook her.  She awoke with a start.  She felt refreshed, wonderful even.  All sense of doubt had vanished.  She did notice that her chest felt a little tender.

“It is time to depart,” Elrond told her.  “Lady Elanoriel and Gildor will accompany you back to Tharbad.  The lady is one of our finest healers.  It was she that taught your Firiel.  Gildor is our finest ranger.  He will ensure the swiftest ride.”

Elanoriel bowed.  “I will cure my daughter and your people, Your Highness.”  She produced a sack full of medicines.  “Elendil’s Basket, to brew the cure.  Menelar for the infected skin.  And,” she said of a number of flasks, “Miruvor, the Cordial of Imladris.  It will keep us fresh for the hard ride.  Come, we must not waste any more time,” she said in a stern, motherly way.  They rushed to the entryway where Gildor was already mounted with the knights and the Royal Guard.

Elanoriel reached out to Valandil.  “I was initially…skeptical of you, but you have proven yourself to me this day…son.  Take heart. We will cure her.”

With that, they thundered back down the path for home.

---

Chapter End Notes

Plot ideas courtesy of Gianna Aurora.  

I wanted to reintroduce characters from the Dark Mage of Rhudaur.  This will set up the finale of the Blood-Wight arc.  I'm trying to showcase Mercatur and Nirnadel's character arcs too.  Mercatur has to come to grips with his past and his stoicism.  Nirnadel continues to grow and find her way but it is revealed that she may die soon.