The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Lay of Leithian

The expedition departs to fight the Blood-Wights in a tearful farewell, leaving Nirnadel at the Tirthon.  Feelings are revealed.  Nirnadel learns more about her past.  Baranor gives more training to the ladies and the stewards.  Things take a turn for the worse.

I'm adding a CODEX of terms and some background at the end.  I've done research on armor for the names of the parts and I'm just going to leave the names in the original French.  

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49) The Tirthon - Ivanneth (September) 15^th, 1410

Nirnadel

It had been a terrifying three days since the first sentry was butchered like a lamb.  Every night, no matter what they did, someone else would die horribly.  The Blood-Wights became increasingly frustrated. “She’s toying with us,” Alquanessë said flatly though a subdued rage could easily be felt.  One bloody, mutilated body was left with a note, ‘come back to me, my children.  You will have many siblings now to welcome you.’

Nirnadel’s heart cried at the suffering of her people. The only bright spot was that she had befriended a colony of cats that had taken up in the Tirthon under the bandits, feeding them scraps a few times a day.  A particular gray tabby kitten had followed her around for a couple of days now, a little ball of fuzz always at her feet.

Four graves had been dug near the edge of the compound, and the leaders were meeting frequently to discuss methods of countering the threat. A crack of thunder sounded in the distance beneath gray skies, something common in the fall of this part of Rhudaur when cold air from the Misty Mountains hit the warm air coming up the Gwathló.  The temperature was even cooler than it had been last week.  In the conference room of the late Lord Marendil, they met to plan the way forward for they all felt powerless against the evil of Morgoth’s demon.  The room was mostly bare now, the majority of the items taken to Lord Rhudainor’s manor, the curtains and rugs long pilfered by bandits since the Tirthon was abandoned.

It was suggested to use the Silima already. “But we can’t even see them coming,” Silmarien argued.  “We would waste it, sitting and waiting for something that could happen anywhere, any time. That is, unless we have a better way of detecting them before they strike.”

Alquanessë shook her head.  “I could sense if Blogath were coming, but Thuringwethil…all I get are vague feelings.”  Her beautiful blue robes were shredded, but she kept the rags on.  “It’s not enough if we’re going to use the substance.  I kept hoping and waiting for Gildor, but I’ve changed my mind.  I think we need to move with what we have, slim though our chances are.”

Mercatur nodded gravely, twirling the curly hair of his trimmed beard.  “Yes, I agree.  I had held out for hope, but time is running out.  I say that we move just after midday.”

Sergeant Fendir agreed, stroking his thick, ginger muttonchop sideburns with his thumb.  “There are rumblings in the ranks of desertion and nullifying the contract given this overwhelming threat.  I can only keep them in line for so long.  What we face is unprecedented.  Whatever we plan to do, we need to act soon.”  He wasn’t a particularly attractive man with a pug nose that had previously been broken, but he had an aura of toughness, rugged, weathered features with a deep tan.

The captain looked at Elladan and Elrohir. “Anything?  I’d love to wait, but I don’t think that we can without some sure word.”

Elladan shook his head.  “I must apologize as we sense nothing.  It may be Thuringwethil’s oppressive evil, but we have no positive word for you.”

“I vote to depart on the timeline stated,” Elrohir added.  “The longer we wait, the more dire our situation.  We have pledged to support this expedition, and we will do so.”

Nirnadel sat on a plain chair, petting the kitten in her lap, feeling it purr.  “I will help the good sergeant to manage things here and pray for your safe return.”  She was disappointed, but such was the fate of the last royal of House Aranyónorë, the ancient family that sailed from Númenor with Elendil to found the Kingdom of Arnor.  She could not be risked against such a powerful foe.  The blood of Elendil, even that of Elros Tar-Minyatur, flowed in her veins, diffused though it was.  The kitten meowed at her and she looked down, thinking that she heard it actually speak to her.  She snorted. She was tired.  The lack of good sleep was wearing everyone down.

Mercatur avoided her eye contact as he had done for a few days now.  “It is decided then.  Those who journey will be all volunteers.  I won’t force anyone to go with us for we know the peril.  I’d like the sons of Elrond to screen the advance. I will go in the next group with Dagar, who has agreed to come despite my protests.  We’ll have Jaabran, Hirgrim and Silmarien with us.  Baranor, can you spare a few?”

He nodded reluctantly.  “This has been a difficult decision, but I will not be away from Her Highness this time.  I’ll put it to any four volunteers when we are done here.”

Valandil raised his hand.  “I’ll be coming with you although I have…pressured Firiel to remain,” he said, looking at the Healer.  “Neldis and Coru have volunteered to join, brave as they are.”

“We have a dozen from the cohort who have also volunteered,” Fendir said.

“That gives us twenty-seven, including the Blood-Wights,” Mercatur said slowly, thinking.  “That’s enough.  It’ll be enough,” he said, more to convince himself.  “The fifth cohort will remain with Baranor and Her Highness.”  He looked at the Guard Captain.  “You have the escape plan?”

“I do,” he nodded.  “Our nearest safe haven is Castle Amrodan.  If we are attacked here, we fall back to the east. We can make it in three days, two if we’re lucky.  Oswy has agreed to patrol the roads, so we won’t be far from help.  Lord Rhudainor’s manor is a day farther and it lacks the defenses of the castle, so east is our best bet.  We’ll give you one week, Mercatur.  If you haven’t returned by then, we’ll fall back to the castle.”  He reached out to the mercenary, and they shook hands and then embraced.  “I wish you the blessings of the Valar.  I wish I were coming with you, but my duty is here.”

“I know.  As it should be.”

Baranor moved to embrace Valandil. “Lieutenant.  Lead your knights well and with honor.  Go with the Valar.  May the light of Elbereth guide you.”

“This is not the last that we will see of each other, captain.  We’ll be back soon.”

Firiel stood and went to Valandil, looking angry at first.  “I want to be cross with you for volunteering, but I know this is you.  And I cannot forget when I shoved you out the door when I had the curse.  You saved me once.  You’ll do it again.  Come back to me.  Please.” They embraced.  Hard.

Nirnadel had difficulty watching this. Part of her felt as if they were heading to their doom and she should be with them, damn the line of succession.  She stood and set the kitten down, moving to the people who would go.  “Lord Rhudainor…Dagar…your courage inspires me.  Go with the Valar, my friend and return to us, I beg of you.”

He wiped his eyes.  “You’ll tell Mirthi…you’ll tell her…” he kept nodding and she wrapped him up tightly, Haedorial joining in.

“You’ll tell her yourself and I will be there,” she said, biting her knuckles to keep from shaking.  She separated and then unbuckled her mithril eket and handed it to him in the scabbard.  “I present this to you, my brave lord.  The metal in this weapon will do greater damage to the enemy. True silver is a bane to the vampires.”

Alquanessë nodded.  “It’s true.  While it still won’t destroy us permanently, it causes great pain.  It may be all the edge that you’ll need, pardon the pun.”

Dagar nodded and accepted the weapon. “I thank you, Nirnadel…my friend. But what will you have for your defense?”

“I am also trained in the longsword and Baranor has provided me with a brilliant weapon.  The eket will better suit your fencing style.  Wield it well and true.”

She then went and embraced the Blood-Wights, who felt a little cold, their skin more pale.  “I expect to see you again soon as well, my friends.  My life is so much richer with you in it.”

Finculion smiled.  “I had not expected to say this, but we are enrichened by you as well and that we fight for no greater cause now.  We will give our lives to keep you safe, young lady,” he said in his rich tenor.

Finally, she went to Mercatur and opened her arms to him, but he stepped back.  She gave him a quizzical look, hurt by his action.

He pursed his lips and turned to go. “Highness, I have things to look after. Be well.”  He never made eye contact.  He walked towards the bedchambers, the wrong way and then turned with a snort as she cornered him.  He was clearly distracted when near her.

She slapped her palms on his armored chest, her eyes full of hurt.  “What is wrong with you?  Why are you doing this?  I am trying…I am trying to wish you well.  Can’t you see that?”

He shuddered and took her hands off of his chest.  “I…I…you don’t understand.  I can’t do this.”

Her wrists in his grasp, she pleaded. “Why?  Please tell me why?  We are friends, are we not?”

He nodded, still not making eye contact. “Yes, we are.”  He looked around and then pulled her into the next room.  “She came to me, four nights ago when the first sentry was killed,” he said in a whisper.  “She came as you.”

Her face softened.  “I…I don’t understand.”

“The beast, Thuringwethil, she came to me in my dream as you.  She replayed moments when we interacted.  She…she seduced me…as you.  She knows…she knows,” he said in a pained voice.  He released her wrists and began to shake.

Nirnadel put her hands over her mouth. “What?  What does she know?”  What horrible secret did the vampire know about him?

He grunted, his breath huffing.  “I…” he started, then shook his head. “Eh!  Nirnadel, I have feelings for you, dammit.  Ever since the Houses.  There, I said it.  I never should have let it go on this long.  Forget it.  Forget I said anything.  I don’t even know if I’m coming back.  It can never be.”  He looked at her and then shut his eyes tight.

She inhaled sharply, stunned.  She quickly replayed their interactions in her head.  Yes, it made sense to her now.  She had played a part, flirtatious, and she couldn’t deny that something about him stirred her…powerful, masculine, dangerous.  She had no words at the moment.  She just embraced him tightly, kissed his cheek and nodded.  “Allow me this, and come back to me, my captain. Be safe,” she said and departed.

The whole interaction hit her like a ton of bricks.  How did this happen?  How did she feed it?  Did she want this?  It was not something that she had much experience with other than dodging suitors, like Falathar Girithlin, at Yüle.  She sighed heavily, her heart burdened as she rejoined her ladies and saw their concern. He was right.  It could never be.  She was destined for someone else.  Such a thing would be a scandal that would destroy Cardolan.  She picked up her kitten and stroked her head, feeling the purring.  “I think I’ll name you Gîlien,” she said kindly, trying to distract herself.  The kitten meowed at her, and she thought she heard, “Thank you.”

As those on the expedition departed the room, Kaile gave her a worried look.  “What was that all about?” she asked.

Nirnadel took several deep breaths to calm herself.  “He…he said…that he has feelings for me.  And that Thuringwethil came to him as me to entice him…that she knows his thoughts and desires.”

Anariel pursed her weathered lips. “I was afraid of something like this. You are too friendly with men who are not of your station, Your Highness.  I tried to warn you.  Ever since you had that ceremony with the Beffraen, you have been flirtatious.”

She cast her eyes downwards, thinking. “I shall…think on your words, dear Anariel, but for now, we have greater worries than my feelings and flirtations.”

The stewards brought them drinks and then moved to stand behind the ladies of the court.  Nirnadel drank her pear juice from a crystal goblet as her kitten jumped down and looked back up at her.  “Come…come,” it meowed and then trotted towards the stairway down.

She looked at Haedorial.  “Good bard…did you hear that?”

“Hear what, Your Highness?”

She narrowed her eyes.  “The…the kitten.  It said, ‘come’ to me.”  She followed as it scurried down the steps into the kitchen where Maelil was preparing lunch and supplies for the expedition.  Several more cats were there and they gathered at her feet.  They bumped into her ankles as she took some chicken scraps and fed them.

After, they began licking their paws and looked up at her.  “Thank you,” they meowed.

Her eyes popped open wide.  “There, they just did it again!  They said, thank you.”

Haedorial looked stunned. “This…this is extraordinary!  By my lore there was…there was a Queen of Gondor…five hundred years ago.  Her name was…was…yes, Berúthiel.  She was described as nefarious, solitary and loveless…certainly not you, Your Highness. But she could speak with cats. She used them as spies against her enemies and she became hated.”

“What became of her?”

The bard developed a faraway look. “She came from a city inland of Umbar to marry Gondorian King Tarannon Falastur, a great ship king.  It was an alliance between kingdoms but alas, it did not work.  She detested the sea and chose to remain in Osgiliath.  Berúthiel hated all colors and elaborate adornments and wore only black and silver clothing.  She lived in bare chambers in the house in Osgiliath, but decorated its gardens with tormented sculptures beneath cypresses and yews.”

Nirnadel gasped.  “What a dreadful woman.”

“Indeed,” he said intently.  His lore had been invaluable for about a year now, always providing insight into a matter at hand.  “The Queen kept nine black cats and one white one to spy on the others.  It is said that Berúthiel was able to converse with them or read their memories.  Eventually, King Tarannon exiled Berúthiel from Gondor and her name was erased from the Book of the Kings.  He had her set adrift at sea before a north wind, alone on a ship that was last seen flying past Umbar under a sickle moon, with the white cat at the masthead and another as a figure-head on the prow.  Berúthiel is said to have went back to live in the inland city and no word of what became of her is known in the west.”

Nirnadel looked down at the group of cats, musing.  “Would you like more, my dears?” she asked, putting more chicken bits into a bowl which they gobbled down.  They then ran to the entrance of the Tirthon, and she followed as they hopped around the yard in the camp.

They began leaping up into the air. “Bad…bad…night,” they meowed.

She knelt down and scratched one behind the ear.  “Yes, they come at night and they’re bad.”

One orange tabby tapped her on the hand. “Warn…warn,” he told her.  “Bad.  Warn.”

“You’ll warn us?  You can warn us?  You mean you can sense them?” she asked as the others looked on in amazement.

“Yes, yes.  See, smell, warn,” he said and then bumped her hand with his head, then shaking it back and forth.

She rubbed his chin and he purred. “They can see and smell Thuringwethil. He said that they’ll warn us.  I think I’ll name him, Carvion, the talker.” She stood to see that those on the expedition were gathering to depart as Maelil and the cooks brought them sacks of bread, cured meats and cheeses, flasks of water and ale filled.  It had just begun to drizzle, a cool, light rain. She thought to tell them about the cats but Mercatur had already given the order to set out, the leaders on horseback while the twelve mercenaries of the cohort marched on foot.  She rose up on her toes and gave them one final wave, Neldis and Coru waving back to everyone.  Cries and wails rose up from the camp followers, their husbands, brothers, fathers and sons marching to what felt like their end.

If, by will alone, Nirnadel could bring them home safely, she would.  So, how could the cats be useful?  How could the cats help them?  She bent down again and gave them all pets.  She would not be a Queen Berúthiel, dark and evil, but would fight evil to its core.  How did she have this ability?  She had discovered many odd abilities in her life now: hearing whispers, casting her voice, healing.  “Good Haedorial, how is it that you think I might have this…power?  You have taught me so many things about what I can do.”

He thought for a moment and put his finger to his lips.  “I recall…I recall that King Tarcil the Mariner, your great, great grandfather, sailed with the Gondorian Navy two hundred years ago.  He was elected after the disaster at Cameth Brin that claimed King Calimendil’s life.  His wife…was a Black Númenórean from an inland city near Umbar and he brought her back to Cardolan.  Her name was…was Aerondes, the Sea Lady from the royal family there.  It is entirely possible that you are descended from Queen Berúthiel.  Now, Berúthiel would have been long dead by then and Tarcil’s marriage was full of love and tenderness, but I daresay that the coincidence bears consideration.”   

Her curiosity was piqued.  “Aerondes?  …extraordinary.  Please, if you know more, I beg of you to tell me.”

“She was fair as you are, a young queen from a foreign land.  Black hair with a deep tan from the sunny skies of the region, mocha colored skin. She had a bright smile and full lips.  Like you, she introduced new life and culture to the Royal Court, which was, unfortunately erased by their son, King Tarastor, who married an Arthedanian Princess…Amarthel, who returned the Court to its traditional roots.”

Nirnadel felt for this queen, Aerondes. They seemed to share much.  She liked being on the cutting edge of fashion and culture and was pleased at her impact on court life.  “Thank you for sharing that, my good bard.”  She saw Captain Baranor approach.  “My good captain, what may I do for you?”

He gestured them over to a dining table. “I want to go over the escape plan. You need to know it down cold.  If we are attacked, it will be chaos at first and we cannot trust that we will be able to speak to one another easily.”  He unrolled a scroll that he had been working on.

“I understand.  Please, tell us.”  She motioned the ladies and the stewards around the table.

He had drawn a rough map of the area and pointed to the Tirthon.  “You and the ladies will be in quarters at night on the Second Floor, the stewards in the next room.  They have a little training, and I’ll have them armed.  The healers and nurses are down the hall, here.  Maelil and the cooks on the First Floor, here,” he said and then pointed at each of the locations.  “Like the first attack, there will be confusion.  Stay put at first and Sergeant Cedhron, Corporal Riston or myself will come to get you.  Stewards,” he said to the young men, “Until we arrive, you will be responsible for defending the Princess and helping her to arm.  Do you understand this important task?”

Angion and Allion, the two biggest boys, nodded.  They were the sons of a weapons smith and a carpenter and had done physical labor. Mindolinor joined them, patting the smallsword at his hip.  He had some dueling practice under his father.  “We’ll defend Her Highness with our lives,” he said proudly.

Baranor smiled.  “Good, I’m counting on you lads,” he said, tousling Mindolinor’s hair.  “Now, when one of the Guard reaches you, we will determine whether to remain and defend the tower or to evacuate.  If we evacuate, we will move into the yard and gather with the fifth cohort and the camp followers and do a roll call.  Her Highness and Lady Galadel should be armored by that time.  We will then move south to join the East-West Road and make our way east to Castle Amrodan.  We stay together from then on.  No one goes off alone.  No one.” His finger traced the way south to the road.  “Is all of this clear?”  Everyone nodded.  “At that point, the only priority is the safety of the Princess.  We are all expendable for that one priority.”

Those words sunk in hard and all faces were serious.  Nirnadel understood it but did not like the implications.  It was she who sacrificed for the realm, not the other way around. “We understand, good captain.  Let it not come to that.  I, too, will fight for our people.”

He took her by the shoulders, his eyes intense.  “Your Highness, I need you to understand and listen to me.  This is the most dire thing that our kingdom has faced since the war. You are the priority.  You are the realm.  There are no brothers or sisters who can succeed you.  I need you to promise me that you will obey my commands in an emergency.”

“I promise.”

“Good,” he said.  “Now, Angion, Allion, Mindolinor, head to the camp weapon smith and secure arms for yourselves and the stewards to your taste. Be ready at all times and remember the elf’s mental exercises.  Thuringwethil has already infiltrated the minds of people here.”

Nirnadel wanted to tell him about the cats, but it did not seem like the right time, and he would probably think her mad.  The stewards rushed off to the smiths, somewhat more excited than they should be, commenting that they would finally get a chance to work with the Guard and see some action.  The cohort was already drilling in the yard, sparring with sticks as spears and wooden swords.  Once the stewards were armed, Baranor had them all gather for training.  He laid out wooden ekets and longswords on the grass and people went to pick them up.  As members of the aristocracy, Nirnadel and Galadel had used weapons since childhood.  The Princess picked up a longsword and Galadel an eket.

The stewards, dressed in their black uniforms with the appropriate cockade on their chest that signified their guild, took the training weapons and stood around in the light, cool drizzle. Baranor ushered them into lines, pairing off.  “Easy now, go at half speed and strength.  Not many of you stewards have had much formal training.  Angion, you’ve had some under your father, Halfred, the Weaponsmith. Mindolinor, I know you’ve fenced with your father.  Make no mistake, the enemy that we face is savage, merciless and cruel.  While none of you should have to face Thuringwethil, she has other minions.  If you fight, it will be for your lives.  Expect no mercy and give none.”

“But sir, it’s raining,” Gallion said in protest.

Baranor stifled a laugh.  “Are you going to tell Blogath that?”

The steward looked defeated.  “Uh, I suppose not.”

“If it’s not raining, you’re not training,” the captain said.  “In the Royal Guard, we train in rain, snow, heat, forests and on mountains.  A Guardsman must be prepared for anything.” This seemed to liven up many of the boys.  Even commoners could become a Guardsman and be knighted.  It was the dream and aspiration of many young men.  Sergeant Cedhron was a shepherd as a boy and joined the army, working and fighting his way up to become one of the elite.

The group sparred easily for a few minutes.  Nirnadel and Galadel traded cuts and parries, both reasonably skilled and more advanced. They tried techniques like beats, binds and grapples as well as feints.  Kaile struggled with her eket, but Mindolinor was a patient opponent.  The captain called a halt and had everyone shift position for a new partner.  As they passed each other, Kaile quipped, “I told you to give me a potion or a powder any day.”

As they started again, Galadel easily disarmed Gallion of the Potter’s Guild and Nirnadel made a feint and disengage to put the tip of her wooden longsword on the throat of Brondon of the Vintner’s Guild.  Ethirdir of the Mason’s Guild had a white cockade with a gray center, signifying his affiliation.  His black hair was parted in the middle, and he had a cocky face with a perpetual scowl. He made a smirk at Kaile as they began, swinging wildly and then pushing her over and she fell with a yelp.  He stepped on her hand and put the point of his longsword at her eye.

Baranor halted the group.  “Not so hard at first, son.  We’ll build up to it.”

“But you said this was for real,” he protested with a sneer.  “Give no mercy.”

“I meant to the enemy.  We are here to learn.”

Ethirdir’s scowl deepened.  “But she is the enemy right now!”  He was practically shrieking.

Baranor sighed.  “Your Highness, would you step in and take Lady Kaile’s place.”

She could feel the heat rising up her neck at what was happening.  “Gladly, good captain.”

He put his hands on her shoulders from behind.  “I know how you feel,” he whispered.  “But this is about control.  When the battle is for real as you have experienced, emotions will run high.  I lost it when I thought you had fallen…never again.  Remember, control.”

She nodded as a group of cats gathered to watch.  At the age of 17, she had trained for more than a decade and would be more than a match for any in the cohort.  She wiped rainwater from her eyes and bladed her body, raising the longsword above her head on one side, tip angled down and forward, the Ox Guard, like the horn of an ox, ready to attack.  Ethirdir jumped at her, chuckling in an attempt to scare her but she didn’t flinch. He stepped back, a little more cautious. He slapped at her sword to knock it away and she pulled the blade back and low, out of his reach to the Tail Guard. He laughed dismissively.  “You don’t even have your sword out front,” he said of the weapon that was now hidden behind her legs.  He casually reached in to grab her, and she brought the blade out, swatting his hand with the flat of the wooden sword.  He yelped, shaking his hand.  “Ow, that hurt,” he said with a sneer.

She held the sword in front of her now, low, tip to the ground, the Fool’s Guard.  She just glared at him, daring him to move as it made her head look wide open.  He raised his blade and rushed in clumsily and she flicked her weapon upwards between his legs, swatting him in the groin.  Ethirdir gave a high-pitched squeal, one hand on his crotch, staggering around.  Kaile snickered.  Nirnadel swung her blade up over her right shoulder, hilt next to her ear in the High Side Guard.  Ethirdir snarled and charged at her, but Baranor stepped in between them, holding him back.

“Enough for now,” he commanded.  “Get some rest and drink and we’ll regroup again soon.”  He put his finger in the young man’s face.  “You, go cool down.  You have a lot to learn.”  He patted the Princess on the shoulder.  “You would have crushed his skull had he taken another step.”  The High Side Guard made a head cut quick and easy.

The Princess just smiled at him, wiping rain from her face again as her hair hung down, damp and limp.  “Shall we, good captain?”  She moved to the Longpoint Guard, sword held straight out, controlling the center.  Baranor nodded and went to the High Guard, sword all the way above his head, pointed slightly back.  She aimed the tip right at his throat as they maneuvered slowly, cautiously, professionally. He made a body feint, but she didn’t react and he lowered his weapon to the Closed Left Guard, handle at stomach height, tip raised, body bladed.  He was considered to be the greatest swordsman in Cardolan, all of his movements, smooth and precise.  She took the initiative, trading cuts, thrusts and parries until he spun his blade overhead for a strike, using the momentum of her attack against her.  She shifted to the Hanging Guard and his blade glanced off of hers, deflecting downwards.

Nirnadel thrust the tip at him and he sidestepped, letting it blaze past his chest.  He moved to grab her hand, but she spun away, putting her tip at his throat again.  Baranor smiled.  They were moving at full speed and strength.  No holds barred.  They traded a few more blows, more gauging for any weakness than real attacks.  He beat her tip away and moved in with a diagonal cut and she dodged beneath, sending an upward cut to his armpit but he lowered his blade to the Hanging Guard, deflecting it away.  He stepped back and raised his blade, hilt to his lips in a salute.  “Enough for now, Your Highness.  Your improvement is noticeable.”

Her heart soared.  This was the first time that she held her own against him though she knew deep down that he was holding back.  She stood no chance against him at full skill.  But still, it was a great victory for her.  As they went to go wash up, Kaile hugged her. “You’re my hero, you know that.”

The cats followed her to the washroom, rolling in the water and drinking as Kaile and Galadel pour buckets of water on the Princess.  Gîliel, the kitten made funny noises as she lapped water from Nirnadel’s hand.  “Wiwiwi!” she cried as Carvion and the others splashed around.

As the light rain stopped, dinner was a somber affair, so many gone now.  Worried murmurs filled the dining area.  Nirnadel found it difficult to hang onto the hope that her friends would succeed, much less survive.  Their absence had her on edge.  She could see it in Firiel’s eyes too: her love and two of her dear nurses were well on their way into the darkest of evil.  The setting sun, through gray clouds, felt like the weight of a mountain coming down on them.  Everyone knew what had happened the past four nights.  Faces grew grim, people looking up at the sky, expecting death to fall on someone at any time.  Sergeant Fendir walked over and sat with them, his ginger muttonchop sideburns poking out like an orange porcupine.  “Your Highness, I was a cattle man before this.  I could handle a weapon and ride, but I was no soldier, not like the captain or the Guard.  Most of these boys were villagers, never having held a weapon before they signed the contract.  We’re all scared.  We’re all worried.”

There was little that she could say to set him at ease.  No one here had ever faced an ancient demon of Morgoth before.  The two Blood-Wights had revealed all that they could before departing and their influence and presence was missed now.  They felt downright exposed in the camp.  “Captain Baranor has a good plan.  We will follow his lead and we will survive,” was all that she could manage to say.  Her recent confidence had turned to ash.  How could she expect these good men to die for her?  Then, something came to her, a snippet of memory from Yüle.

“Good Haedorial.  Do you recall the Yüle that you and your lovely wife performed the Lay of Leithian?”

He scoffed.  “Why, of course I do, Your Highness.  I recall it as if it were yesterday.  Are you thinking…?”

She smiled broadly, slapping her hand on the table.  “Please have your son join us.  And Sergeant, set your mind at ease for a time.”  She stood, the skirt of her simple dress twirling as she spun.  She clapped her hands above her head.  “Lady Galadel, if you would kindly join me? Lady Kaile, observe for you will be performing with us this Yüle,” she said with confidence in their future.  She clapped again.  “My friends, your attention please.  We wish to bring you an ancient tale of love and triumph over impossible odds.”  The Princess was as nervous as could be, but she was determined to raise the flagging spirits of her people.  Like Alquanessë taught her, the power of music could dampen the terror of Thuringwethil.

Haedorial grinned as Mindolinor joined them, lute and recorder ready as darkness fell and torches were lit.  The two ladies flitted about, hands and faces miming the fearful approach to Angband, the instruments beginning an ethereal melody, soft and dreamlike.  Nirnadel and Galadel began vocalizing, their voices in harmony, two strong sopranos blending in an ageless tale.

Nirnadel began with Galadel joining in at the end of each verse, slow, heavenly.

“Oh stars, your light I send,

Oh dark heart, I will weave your rest,

Remain shadow, your breath shall fade,

The star shines in the land at night,”

 

“Dooo do do do dooo,” They vocalized again, gliding ever so slowly about and twirling to the lute and recorder, moving as if they were seeing Morgoth himself and his horrid creatures.

“Flame of thy house burn against thyself,

I keep no pain, I bear no fear,

 

“Now the cold

Fire of thy wrath shall fall and the

Steadfast light I see,”

 

“Sleep,” they sang and then vocalized again, dreamy, almost a lullaby to children.

“Fear, thy shadow is gone,

Sleep, in peace, in thy hollow doom,

For the ghosts, the webs of mist doth part,

And let day rise again,”

 

They moved again, crossing slowly, miming walking past all manner of slumbering horrors.

“May light now shine and bless the dark flame,

Awake the brightness, unwake the gloom,

Flame to light where sorcery coils,

Sleep now,

And thy pain be broken,”

 

They vocalized again, miming cutting the Silmaril from Morgoth’s iron crown.  They then made as if they were fleeing the infernal halls of Angband.

“For Lúthien…the fair maiden…sings…unto…the west.”

They trailed off into silence, the recorder and the lute trailing away too.  There was a hush in the camp as soldiers sat, mouths agape, the kitchen staff gathered at the tower entrance.  Elanoriel was the first on her feet.  “That, dear girls, was magnificent.  This was as if it were performed by the Eldar.  I truly had a chill down my spine.”

Haedorial set his lute down.  “I…I have no words.  In just a few months, I have been made a bard, truly.  My ladies, I am moved to tears,” he said, choking up. 

Sergeant Fendir nodded slowly.  “I do not know the tale of which you sang, but I saw it in my head.  Everything. Every horror.  Every hope.”  The people around him nodded.  “I feel…I feel lighter.”

Maelil came out and stood before them, her apron stained with food.  “Oi love, I first thought you just a well-dressed camp follower, I did.  But mercy me, you are the Princess.  This was…this was a dream made real.  I count meself so lucky to have been here.”

Nirnadel picked up a tray of food and held it like a tavern wench.  “Well, my dearest cook, you have trained me to perfection, and I would work in your kitchens anytime,” she said to laughter.  The mood had certainly lightened.

Haedorial patted his son on the back. “The things that you will see, my son. You are part of the history of our people.”

The camp wound down and the sentries were posted.  Nirnadel spoke to the cats.  “Can you please patrol the grounds and up in the tower too?  Warn anyone if you see or smell our enemies.”

Carvion sat on his haunches. “Yes…warn…bad,” he told her and then looked at other cats who scattered away, some running into the tower.  He licked his paws as Nirnadel scratched behind his ear and fed him a piece of chicken.  They went up to their quarters and began to draw a bath, the Princess cradling Gîliel in her arms.  The ladies took turns dunking into the hot tub, a far cry from the luxury of Rivendell or even the Bar Aran.  As they dried off with towels, she thought she saw the door to the stewards’ quarters cracked a bit and she could have sworn that she saw an eye, watching them. When she focused there, it was gone and she went and shut the door completely.  The Princess thought to say something, but she did not want to make a false accusation, and the older nurse would certainly overreact.  Anariel then climbed in and soaked her old bones, sighing contentedly in the hot water.  She might have been too old for this venture, but she insisted on coming, needing to keep an eye on the youngsters.  

 

Nirnadel put on her padded undergarments that would go beneath her armor, for it was best to be prepared.  And, perhaps it was nothing, but the feeling that some of the stewards might be spying on them unnerved her.  Did she actually see that?  Anariel might dismiss the whole cadre if she spoke up.  It wouldn’t be fair to destroy so many lives and families on ‘might have happened.’  Each boy would be disgraced and their family likely run out of Tharbad.  Anariel was known to have done that when she served Queen Lossien.  But if it did happen, who was it?

Galadel and Kaile set her plate armor up on a stand, ready to don at a moment’s notice.  They slid into bed, the giggling revelry of past days gone.  The kitten and her mother leapt up onto the mattress and snuggled in with them, soft purrs lulling them to sleep.

In the space between consciousness and dreams, Nirnadel felt as if a spider were crawling into her head.  She then saw her mother in her den at Thalion. She was weaving something, a quilt? The Princess couldn’t tell, the scene was blurry, her eyes unfocused.  Was this a dream?  It felt real. She moved closer.  “Mother?  What are you doing?  How are you here?”

She looked into a mirror on the wall and saw that she was her current age.  How was that possible?  Her mother passed a couple of years ago.  She would have been 15 then, shorter, younger.  “Mother?” she called, but there was no response.  She moved even closer and saw that it was a spider’s web being woven. A spider’s web?  How strange.  Her mother looked up but it was another woman’s face for a moment.  She blinked and it was her mother again.  She sighed, feeling safe and relieved and went to sit with Queen Lossien to see what she was weaving.

Then, she felt something furry bumping her face and a paw tapping insistently on her cheek.  “Warn…warn…bad.”  The meows were urgent.

She then knew.  She was being warned.  “No, this is a dream.  You are invading my dream,” she said forcefully.  She turned, but her mother tossed the spider web onto her.  It stuck and she was held fast.  The web grew, engulfing one arm and then the next.  She cried out, struggling as the web covered her legs and she fell to her knees.  “No!  I know who you are!”  The web began to cover her face and she screamed.

Her mother stood and cradled her cheek. “Welcome to my family, little one. You will become my favorite plaything,” she said as her eyes glowed red and fangs sprouted from her mouth.  “Your name is now Lindarë, the girl who sings and you will sing for me, that beautiful voice of yours will sing in pain.”

Nirnadel shrieked, bucking her body and her eyes opened to the sound of a cat hissing.  There she was, Thuringwethil, crouched over her, pushing her head back to expose her neck, the vampire’s fangs bared.  “No!” she screamed as the cat leapt at the vampire, scratching and clawing.  The other women were up in an instant, eyes wide in terror but holding daggers at the demon.

Thuringwethil shrieked in fear and leapt back to the window, snarling as the other ladies pulled Nirnadel behind them. Claw marks were on the demon’s arm, and the mother cat arched her back, her own teeth bared.  How did a mere cat frighten off the most horrid vampire of all time?  The demon went back through the window and flew into the night.  “You will sing for me, little one, one way or another!”

Alarms were sounding all over the compound now.  “There’s movement in the woods!  Hundreds of them!” someone yelled from atop the Tirthon.  Still shaking, Nirnadel rushed to the window to see ensorcelled men and corpses shambling towards the palisade wall, climbing over.  Galadel, Kaile and Anariel were instantly grabbing her armor and strapping it onto her body as the stewards came in, weapons drawn.

“Defend the Princess,” Mindolinor called to the others, and they faced the door as he drew his smallsword. Angion jumped in to help with the armor, strapping the faulds and tassets around her waist and then the cuisses onto her thighs and the greaves onto her shins.  The others had no experience with armor.  Galadel handed her the sallet helm and then attached the bevor around her neck.

There was a loud banging on the door. “It’s Corporal Riston, I’m coming in,” he said and then rushed inside, his eyes huge.  “Captain Baranor has ordered the evacuation.  Follow me!”

CODEX:

Eket – a shortsword, akin to a Roman Gladius, mostly used for stabbing.

Fauld – armored plates that go around the waist.

Tasset – an armored plate, attached to the faulds that cover the upper thigh.

Cuisse – an armored plate over the thigh.

Greaves – an armored plate over the shin.

Sallet – a squat looking helmet that has a tail to protect the neck and a movable visor over the face.

Bevor – a plate neck guard.

Line of Cardolan Rulers:

Thorondur – 861-936;

Turambar – 936-1001;

Ciryon – 1001-1079;

Tarandil – 1079-1153;

Calimendil – 1153-1235;

Civil War – 1235-1248;

Tarcil – 1248-1287;

Tarastor – 1287-1332;

Minalcar – 1332-1381;

Ostoher – 1381-1409;

Nimhir (Regent) – 1409-

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Chapter End Notes

I got some inspiration from content creators on Queen Beruthiel which I thought would be interesting to add.  Some characters will not make it but I haven't quite decided who.