The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

---

Doubt

Featur panics over what happened to Yavekamba.  The Three attempt to console him but he becomes desperate.

---

29)  Doubt - Year of the Sun 312 Tuilë (Spring)

Lyaan

Deep in the underground chambers of Ty-Ar-Rana, Lyaan looked down at Fëatur, standing a full head taller than the other elf.  His eyes were deep with concern and his lips pursed.  “I am worried about you, my friend.  You have not been yourself for some months now.”  He put his hand on the shorter man’s shoulder, a touch of empathy. It was something that he felt he should do, given the man’s emotional state.  Fëatur held his head down, his face twisted in some psychic pain.  “Please talk to us.”  Lyaan knew that emotional nourishment was not his strength.  He looked over to his wife, Lysa.  “Lysa, please help me to get him to open up.”  Lyaan would be lost without her.  Her wisdom and perception were said to rival that of the Lady Galadriel.  Together, with their son, Lyrin, they made an unbeatable team, each having part of a greater whole.

Lysa walked over and pushed locks of auburn hair from his face.  “Yes, you would be lost,” she said as if she had read his thoughts.  She guided Fëatur to a nearby couch that was upholstered in gold cloth with a mahogany wood frame and guided him to sit. The room was warm and comfortable, designed to set people at ease.  A fire blazed in the fireplace, casting a warm orange glow throughout the area.  Shadows danced on the dark wood paneling and bookshelves that held the knowledge of the Vanyar who built Ty-Ar-Rana.  Lysa sat in front of him, holding his hands.  “Fëatur, we know you received some news at the end of last year.  You’ve held on to it and we know that it pains you.  Please, we share all burdens.  We share all pains.  Together, it makes us stronger.”

Fëatur looked up at them, his body practically shaking.  Slowly, he put his hand in the fold of his plain brown robe, and he pulled out a scroll case and popped the cap off.  “I…I received this.  It’s from…from Yavë.”  He handed it to Lyaan.  “Here. Read it.”

Lyaan took it.  He knew that if anyone could get through to Fëatur it was Lysa.  He took a second to inhale and felt some relief.  He scanned over the Tengwar script, reading the Quenya words from the Healer of the Ardan Court.  “I take great risk now to communicate with you so this must be the final word from me for some time.”  Lyaan’s throat tightened.  He tried to imagine being separated from Lysa.  She had been his rock for eons now.  He took a breath and continued reading.  “My last message to you was detected by Gorthaur, curse him.  He took my assistant, Almariel and I, and was on the verge of forcing Moran to execute us.  Poor Moran was a mess.  Ironically, it was only because of the intervention of Ardana and your sister that we survived.  Ardana exiled Gorthaur to Aurax-Dȗr so I am safe for the moment, but I have stretched my luck too far.  I am deeply worried about Moran.  The sacrifices have taken their toll on him.  I will look after him as best as I am able.  Know that I am safe.  Know that you are always in my heart.”

Fëatur took Lyaan’s hand. “I have to go after her and Moran. They are still in danger.  I have caused so much pain in this world.  I cannot leave them in this danger.  I have to go.”

Lyaan could see the fear in his friend’s face, but he was finding it difficult to say the right thing. To do the right thing.  For Lyaan’s entire existence, he had known no great loss.  Known no great pain.  He found it perplexing to truly understand what Fëatur was going through.  He found himself wishing that Yavëkamba had included some tactical or strategic information that he could act upon.  Still, Fëatur was his friend.  “We cannot let you go.  You know this.  They would just kill you and Yavëkamba as well.  She is still a good asset within the ranks of the enemy.  She will still have good information for us in the future.”

Lysa looked up to him and narrowed her eyes.  “Is that all you can think of love?  Our friend is in pain, and you worry about information?  Come now, put yourself in his place.  I am trapped in the enemy’s camp, and you are here, helpless.”

The words stung.  She was right.  Lyaan closed his eyes and lowered his head.  “I am sorry, my friend.  I am not the most empathetic of beings.  Still, it would be folly for you to go.  Trust Yavëkamba.  Trust that she is safe now and will reach out when it is safe to do so.”

Fëatur nodded wordlessly and waved his hand as if lost in thought.  He breathed deeply for a minute before he looked up again, some hidden struggle written on his features.  “I’m fine. I’m fine.  Really.”  He inhaled deeply.  “You don’t have to worry about me.  I’ll be fine.”

Lyaan smiled, taking him at his word.  “Very well. Let us return to the business of our defense.  The presence of the Court has grown on our northern borders.  Our people, the Arana, are increasingly worried.”  He sat down and cupped his chin with his hand and began thinking aloud.  “Most of the Arana are Silvan, many without heavy armor or weapons and they seem averse to incorporating humans into our ranks.”  He made eye contact with Fëatur and there was a look about him that he couldn’t quite place.  Fëatur was a deeply passionate man with intense feelings about things that he often kept to himself.  It was best not to pry.

Fëatur returned the smile, which seemed forced.  “I’m not sure we fully trust the humans yet.  Too many of them have fallen into the cult of Morgoth.  But I’ll talk to the Guild.  They have been receiving and sending regular shipments from Fingolfin, but it is clear that we need more.”  He livened up, straightening his robes and wiping his face.  “The smiths of the Guild have also learned much from the north and are producing quality arms and armor now.  I’ll get Chrys to send some our way.”

Lyaan felt some relief. “For centuries, our Silvan brethren have favored light infantry, suited for skirmishing in the forests.  I fear that this will not be adequate when facing the forces of the Court.  Not only will this require arms and armor, but training as well.”  He was back in his element, discussing strategy.  “Can the Guild spare some trainers?”

“I’m sure of it.”

His friend seemed back to normal.  “Good,” Lyaan said with a look of satisfaction.  “We don’t even know where this Aurax-Dȗr is, much less the location of their Citadel.  If Yavëkamba can’t tell us, we need to do more scouting.  This region is full of jungle, so it won’t be easy.  And, right now, even if we knew where they were, we don’t have the strength to launch an assault by ourselves.  We’ll need the power of the entire Luingon Alliance.  It seems that the Court has recruited thousands of human allies, and I’m concerned about the level of fanaticism that they show in the cult.  We can defend, but we cannot yet attack.”

Lysa raised her hand. “Enough strategy.  It’s time to eat.  We need to take care of ourselves.  We have a good plan of action so let it be.”  She called out into the hallway and an initiate stepped up, a short, Silvan woman with ginger hair, wearing a diaphanous white robe.

The woman bowed.  “Yes, Seer?”

Lysa stood up, took the woman’s hands in her own and nodded her head.  “Thank you, Thalindra.  Please tell my son that we will be dining soon.  Have the initiates prepare.”

“Yes, Seer,” Thalindra replied and then departed.

“Your initiates are learning well,” Fëatur said.  “How many do you hope to have?”

Lyaan thought for a moment. “We have twenty now and Thalindra is really coming along as First Initiate.  Sixty would be perfect, I think.  We have quarters for such down here, along with quarters for a hundred troops. I would like to base our elite forces down here.  All told, we have about three thousand Silvan warriors.”

“That is excellent,” Fëatur responded, seeming more confident as if he had decided something. “I am pleased with our progress.” There was something in the way he said this that made Lyaan pause.  It just didn’t sound like his friend.  Still, he couldn’t put his finger on it.  Fëatur stood and bowed to his hosts.  “I should get ready for dinner.  Thank you for the talk.”  His manner was stiff and his expression almost frozen.  When he had gone, Lyaan looked at his wife and she gave him a sideways glance.

“He’s not telling us everything,” she said.  “I can feel it, but he’s good at hiding his inner self.  Damn,” she added, her face scrunching up as if she had thought of something, “we should have had this talk in my chambers.  With the enchantments, no one can tell a lie when within.”

Lyaan drew in a sharp breath and shook his head.  “No.  I think that would be…disingenuous.  We’ve known him for centuries.  We shouldn’t have to trick him into the truth.”

Lysa nodded.  “Yes, you’re right, dear.  I just worry about him.”

They ran into Lyrin and Thalindra in the hall to the dining room.  “Are you three ready?” Lyrin said with his usual boyish charm, his body fidgeting.  He was fully grown for an elf now, but still acted like a child far too often for Lyaan’s tastes.

“Three?” Lysa answered, tilting her head.  “It’s just us.  Fëatur should be with you for dinner.”

Lyrin shook his head and shrugged.  “Nope. I just checked his room.”

“And he’s not in the dining room,” Thalindra added.

Lyaan groaned.  “I should have listened to my gut.  He’s going after Yavëkamba, but he doesn’t even know where she is.  This is pure desperation.  We have to stop him.”  He looked over at Lysa and he could see the fear in her face.

“We both failed, my husband.  I did not adequately understand his pain.  You are right.  He’ll blunder into the forces of the Court and be killed or worse.  He knows where we are and about all of our defenses.”

Lyaan nodded and then pointed to Lyrin.  “My son, rouse the scouts and have horses made ready.  We have to bring Fëatur back safely.  Warn them that he is not to be harmed and that he may not be in his right mind.”  He then turned to the initiate.  “Thalindra, activate Taran and have healers ready.  I just have a feeling we may need them.”

Lyrin nodded emphatically and then dashed off towards the barracks and Thalindra bowed deeply.

Lyaan and Lysa scrambled to fill their packs with food, herbs and other items for a pursuit.  They threw on their green battle dress, breeches and tunics laced with plates of laen, harder than steel.  Each took a strange, three bladed shortsword, known as an Ikasha in the region, useful in catching weapons and even throwing.  They ran through the halls and took the lift up to the stables where Lyrin was similarly dressed and standing with the scouts and horses.

Lyrin pointed to an empty stall in the stable.  “One horse is missing and there are hoof tracks leading to the northeast.  Fëatur has definitely fled.  I’ve assembled a dozen of our scouts and we are ready, father.” The look on his face was eager to please.

He grasped his son’s shoulder and nodded in satisfaction.  Sometimes, Lyrin needed far too much encouragement, but today, he seemed solid and it was deserved. He thought for a moment and realized that his was a huge shadow to live in.  He swung into the saddle of Aldalómë, his mount, and raised his hand.  “Be ready my friends.  We must move swiftly.”

Lysa held up a finger to the air and closed her eyes.  After a few moments, she pointed to the southwest.  “He’s gone this way.”

Lyaan patted Aldalómë on the head.  “Alyë!” he called, and they all surged ahead at a gallop.  The pounding of hooves on dirt went on for hours, but the stamina of elven horses was legendary.  The jungle canopy soon gave way to rolling plains.  Lyaan could still feel the humidity of the south and he wiped sweat from his brow and took a long drink of water from a flask.  The hard ride had made him extremely thirsty.  He then handed the water to Lyrin who also drank deeply.

Lysa held up a finger again and then pointed west.  “We’re gaining, but not by much.  He’s an hour ahead and not stopping to rest.  We have to pick up the pace.”  She took the flask from Lyrin and poured some water on her face and then shook out her auburn hair, throwing drops around.

“What do we do when we get him back?” asked Lyaan.  “We can’t keep him prisoner in Ty-Ar-Rana.”

“I have things that I learned in Valinor from Estë that will help to heal the mind and spirit.  But his pain runs deep so it will take time, and I can only do my best here in this Middle Earth.”

“Your best is more than good enough,” he answered and then raised his hand to the troop.  “Let us move with haste.”  Hooves pounded in the grass and dirt as they rushed to save their friend.

Another hour flew by as the sun moved lower in the west and Lysa called out, “We are gaining!  He is near.  I feel it.”

Lyaan stood tall in the saddle and could just see a dust cloud in the distance with his long sight. Then, he saw something else, dark spots in the air over where Fëatur should be.  They seemed to be moving with great speed.  “There is something closing on Fëatur!  We must hurry!  Now, Alyë! Alyë!”  He tapped his horse on the flanks with his heels and then leaned over to the horse’s ear.  “Aldalömé, Alyë!”

Aldalómë bolted as if Morgoth were on his trail, and they group tore out at a gallop.  Scouts readied bows as they closed the distance rapidly.  Lyaan could now make out the scene more clearly as he stood up in the stirrups.  About two dozen giant birds began circling over Fëatur.  “Look there! Do you see that?  They look like…like giant hawks!  With riders!  Come! Prepare for battle!”

The hawks began to dive on Fëatur, their riders showering him with crossbow bolts.  Fëatur rode in circles, dodging the shafts and waving his arms, creating shimmers in the air to foul their aim.  Lyaan pushed a knife hand out towards the hawks.  “Aim for the mounts!  Aim for the mounts!”  Arrows filled the air, but many of the hawks dodged.  Two were struck multiple times and began spiraling down towards the earth, crashing in a heap.  Lyaan saw one Noldor elf, clad in black plate armor, point at them and bolts leapt from crossbows.  One scout tumbled from the saddle; his chest pierced with several bolts.  Lyaan looked at the Noldo.  “That’s the leader!  We must take him out!”

Another wave of arrows felled another hawk, but the Noldo maneuvered his mount with exceptional precision and dodged every arrow fired at him, but it disrupted his dive on Fëatur. He wheeled his hawk in a tight turn and dove at the group.  An arrow sank into the hawk, but it continued its dive, its talons raking another scout and his horse, spraying blood into the air.  The Noldo looked back at the bloody mess and laughed.  He pointed at a Noldo female clad in a silver breastplate and helm.  “Elendur, start your attack!”  She pushed her hawk over and began a near vertical dive towards Lyaan and his troop, followed by a half dozen hawk riders.  The hawks screeched into the dive, a sound that made Lyaan’s skin crawl and his hair stand up.  Scouts brought down two with precision shots, but Elendur struck and flayed one of the scouts with the talons of her hawk, carrying the man far into the air before releasing him, screaming and bloody.  The scout fell nearby with a sickening thud as his horse fled.

Elendur wheeled back around and pointed at the Noldo in black armor.  “Castolder!  They’re breaking.  Drive the attack home!”

Lyaan felt helpless. His Ikasha was useless against this enemy.  He scanned quickly, feeling more desperate.  Fëatur had been unhorsed, now standing besides his dead mount.  The illusionist pushed his left palm out and two hawks collided at full speed, throwing riders and feathers in the air.  Lyaan spun his mount and charged towards where Fëatur was defending.  He put his anger at his friend aside and hope drove him to the rescue.

“Look out!” he heard Lysa call and then something slammed into him from above.  In a moment, he realized that he was airborne.  Stunned, all he could see were yellow talons and feathers and he stabbed with his Ikasha up into the dark mass above him.  A hawk shrieked and then pitched over and all he could see was the ground coming up fast.  On instinct, he leapt out the hawk’s grasp and rolled in the grass as he hit the ground.  Blood covered his chest, and his green tunic was shredded in front.  Now, the pain shot into his body, and he gasped, also feeling a broken rib.  He didn’t dare look down at his wounds.  In the ruined heap of the hawk, the black armored Noldo stood and drew a massive two-handed sword from a scabbard on his dead mount.

The warrior stood taller than he and slid the visor of his helm down.  “You are Lyaan.  I have been hunting you for some time now.  Your head will make a fine gift to Ardana…yours and that lackey mage.  I am Castolder, head of the Suit of Swords and finest swordsman in the Court.  Now that we are properly introduced, you may die with honor.”

Lyaan brandished his Ikasha, which seemed like a tiny dagger in the face of the warrior’s sword. Could he take Castolder?  He was already injured, and his weapon seemed wholly inadequate.  The warrior stepped around the dead hawk and advanced quickly, full of confidence.

“I have waited a century for this,” Castolder said boldly.  He held his sword in a wide grip over his head, one hand on the ricasso, an unsharpened part of the blade just above the hilt for added leverage.  This man was an expert.  He continued to advance on Lyaan, shuffling his feat for balance.  From Castolder’s flank, Lysa flung her Ikasha, but it merely glanced off of the warrior’s armor and flew back into her hand.  Lyaan held his breath and then blew a long exhale out.  He moved back and forth to try and throw off the bigger man’s aim.  He knew that this would be fight that he might not walk away from.  From above his head, Castolder powered a downward cut and Lyaan leapt to the side, letting the blade hit dirt.  It threw clods up into the air with the sheer force of the blow.

Lyaan felt that this was his chance, and he tried to rush in, but Castolder flipped his sword back over his head to an on-guard position.  The man was way too fast someone of his size and Lyaan had no opening. From the corner of his eye, he could see someone riding at his enemy from behind.  Maybe they could take him by surprise.  As if already aware, Castolder pivoted and swung his blade sideways, cutting the approaching horse nearly in half.  Blood sprayed as Lyrin tumbled over the horse’s head onto the ground.  The two-handed blade came down again and Lyrin rolled out of the way as it struck the ground.  Lyaan gasped.  Please, not his son.

As Lyrin rose, another cut came at him sideways, and he jumped over the blade as it swung by.  As he touched the ground, Castolder smote him in the cheek with his gauntleted fist.  Lyrin flew several feet and then crashed to the ground, holding his face. With a near howl, Lyaan charged in and caught Castolder’s sword arm with his Ikasha, trapping it.  He yanked the arm down, dislodging the big man’s sword and it fell with a thud in the grass.  The Lord of Swords reached out with his free hand and grasped Lyaan on the gashes across his chest.  Lyaan howled in pain but held onto the Ikasha.

As tears filled his eyes, he could see Lysa riding at full tilt towards them.  “No!” he tried to call to her.  She was preparing to throw her Ikasha again when Elendur swept down, and the hawk’s talons tore across her back.  Lysa arched back and dropped her Ikasha, its blade sticking in the grass. Her eyes were wide in pain and fear as she tumbled out of the saddle.  His whole family.  Would he lose them here?  He couldn’t lose them.  In a near panic, he willed his body to move.  Muscles stiff and screaming in agony, he released Castolder’s arm and then stabbed into the back of the big man’s thigh behind the cuisse, armor on the front of the thigh.  The Lord of Swords pitched backwards and fell over, bellowing, taking the weapon with him.

Lyaan rushed to his son and helped him to his feet.  “Son, we have to go!”  Lyrin’s cheek was obviously broken, and blood ran down his neck, soaking his tunic.  They staggered together as Lysa struggled to stand. Hooves thundered nearby and Lyaan dared to take a glance, seeing Fëatur riding at them, holding the reins of Aldalómë and another horse.  He released Aldalómë and Lyaan and Lyrin leapt into the saddle.  The other horse took Lysa, and they rode as hard as they could.

Lyaan looked back and saw Elendur helping Castolder to his feet with a few other hawk riders.  The Court was in no shape to pursue and the Arana in no shape to counter.  Only three of their scouts were left with them.  Relief washed over his being, but then rage took hold.  He glared at Fëatur.  “You led us here!  You just had to run off!  This is you, Fëatur.  Look back there at the carnage!  This is you!”

Fëatur lowered his head and then nodded.  “I have failed you all.  I don’t deserve your faith.  I will leave you and never return to Ty-Ar-Rana.”

Lysa rode between them and raised her hand.  “Enough. If we fight each other, we lose.  Lyaan,” she said to her husband, “when you saw me fall, do not tell me that you were not in panic.  How did that feel?  Can you not empathize with Fëatur?”

He snorted.  “I…I cannot argue against that.  To think that I lost you and Lyrin.  I could not bear it.  I could not.”  The heat in his heart and face cooled, replaced by a shrieking hot pain in his chest. He could see the agony in Lysa’s face too.  The back of her tunic was nothing more than shredded fabric and he thought he saw bone through the blood.

Lysa turned to Fëatur, and her eyes bore into him.  “And you are not free from my words.  I know why you did what you did, but nine of us are dead because of it.  You will never do this again.  Am I understood?”

He nodded quietly.

“But thank you for coming for us,” she said, her features softening.

Lyaan felt the anger drain and a sickly cold feeling formed in his gut.  “My family.  I can’t lose you.  I can’t.” His mind was foggy and sluggish, locked in fear.  He willed the dark thoughts away.  “But you are all still with me.  I am grateful.  My thanks and praise to the Valar.”  He turned his head back to look at Lyrin, who was surprisingly quiet.  His son was slumped forward against his back, eyes closed. “Lyrin?  Lyrin?”  He reined in his horse and his son sagged in the saddle.  “Lysa!  Help me! Help our son!”

All pain vanished from her face in an instant and she leapt down from the saddle and took her son’s hand. “Lyrin!  Speak to me!”

Lyaan held his son as Lysa guided him down.  He leapt off of Aldalómë, forgetting his pain.  He dove to his knees beside Lyrin.  “No, Lyrin.  Please, no.”

Lysa looked at him, her eyes huge and watery.  She put her hand on Lyrin’s neck.  “There’s a pulse.  It’s weak though.”  She tore through her pack and then spread a green poultice onto a gauze wrap.  She gently laid it on her son’s cheek.  “This should ease his breathing, but we need to get him home quickly!  Stay with us, Lyrin!”  Her hands glowed on his face as she poured some of her very essence into him.  “It’s not enough Lyaan, it’s not enough!”

They barely saw Fëatur kneel besides them.  “May I?” he asked, holding out his hands, palms up.  Lyaan nodded stiffly and took Fëatur by the hand.  Lysa did the same.  “I am not a healer, but I can enhance your powers for a time.”  He looked up at the sky.  “Holy Mandos, let my life flow into this noble boy.  Let my strength be his strength.  Let me undo my mistake that put him here.  I am not worthy, but I beg you.”  His body shimmered a golden hue for a moment and then the shimmer flowed into Lysa and Lyaan, shrouding Lyrin in light.  The boy’s eyes opened, and the shimmer faded away.  Fëatur’s shoulders slumped in fatigue and his face showed a mountain of pain.  

Lysa put her forehead onto her son’s.  “Lyrin! Speak to me!”

The boy blinked and wiped some blood on his face with the back of his hand.  His eyes darted back and forth, lost.  “What?  We were running.  Father, you were hurt,” he said, looking at Lyaan.

Lyaan’s eyes flowed with tears, and he held Lyrin’s face with both hands.  “I’m fine, son.  We need to take care of you.”  He looked back to Fëatur.  “Thank you for my son.  I…I understand why you did this.  I would do the same for my family.  Let us get past this and return to Ty-Ar-Rana.  We are all gravely hurt.”

“I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I gladly accept.”  Fëatur looked deeply into the eyes of The Three.  “In my despair I forgot something more important than my pain.  You.  You three are also my family.  I will spend my life restoring your faith in me.”  He turned back towards the site of the battle.  “I will weave a spell to cloak our way to Ty-Ar-Rana so that none may find us.”  He raised his hand, and a dome of shimmering light appeared over them.  But now, his exhaustion was obvious and his eyes almost vacant.  He staggered a few steps and was steadied by Lyaan.  Then, they slowly, painfully remounted their horses and began the trek home.

“I have learned this much,” Lyaan said, “we cannot hope to stand against the Court in open combat.  We survived today, but just barely.  Fëatur, we need those arms and armor for our people. Even our magic is inadequate.”

Fëatur took a long inhale and nodded.  “Morelen has the ear of Finrod and Fingon and Morgoth is contained.  So long as the north endures, we will have our gear.  I will make sure of it.”  He leaned forward and lay his chest on his horse’s neck.  He had nothing left to give. 

---

Chapter End Notes

I want to move Featur's and Lyaan's character arcs along and show the dynamics of The Three.  Lyaan is a good person but knows his limitations, which is why he supports Chrys as the leader.  With Lysa, he is whole.