The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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Hope

Featur manages to secure a meeting with Yavekamba after many years.  Chrys and Lyrin accompany him and Lyrin gets a valuable life lesson amid the horrors of war.  

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34)  Hope - Year of the Sun 469 Hrivë (Winter)

 

Fëatur

 

After the Dagor Bragollach, the temptation to go north and save Morelen was overwhelming, but he pushed the feeling down, remembering the disaster of the last century where he got allies of The Three killed for his impulsiveness.  At first, the news that filtered in was nothing but terrible and communication was spotty.  Even with the magic of the elves, messages took time.  Fëatur and The Three sat in Lysa’s study within Ty-Ar-Rana, a comfortable chamber full of gray bookshelves and wooden paneled walls.  They were gathered around a central table where a small orb hovered, giving off a rich blue light.

Fëatur read from a parchment that had just arrived from the north from his daughter, Morelen.  For some years, the information was both devastating and uplifting.  The Siege of Angband was broken.  High King Fingolfin was slain.  The Noldor were in retreat on all fronts.  But things began to stabilize.  Seven years ago, Fingon and Cirdan crushed a massive orc army in Hithlum. Human tribes known as Easterlings swore fealty to Maedhros.  Finrod of Nargothrond was slain, but a man named Beren, took a Silmaril from evil Morgoth. Both Beren and Lúthien then passed. She was the daughter of Elu Thingol of Doriath and Melian, a Maia.  By some miracle though, the Valar found mercy and they were renewed.  And the Union of Maedhros was formed to stand against Morgoth, uniting most of the free people of Beleriand.  Morelen fought bravely in every battle, but he knew that something was not right beneath the surface.  Her words did not carry the same warmth and humor as before.

He continued to read off of the parchment as Lyaan, Lysa and Lyrin listened, anxious for any news of the world outside of the south.  “Maedhros is giving hope to the people of the north,” he said, absorbing every word from his daughter.  “The fact that Beren and Lúthien recovered a Silmaril from Morgoth is a beacon for our people.  We may yet defeat him and the evil that he brings.  Maedhros leads the Eastern Army of the House of Fëanor, the dwarves under Azaghȃl and the Easterlings under Bór and Ulfang.  The Western Army is led by Fingon, Gwindor of Nargothrond, Húrin of Dor Lómin, Haldir of the Haladin and Cirdan of the Falas,” he said proudly. “This sounds to be a strong union. Morelen says that the situation has stabilized and that she is safe.”

The Three nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.  “And,” Fëatur continued, “Morelen is wed.  She and Notaldo married a few years ago.”  A smile actually cracked along his lips, something rare these days.  The feeling was bittersweet though as she had neglected to let him know sooner.  Why?  He could only guess.  He could see a pang of disappointment on Lyrin’s face, but that was water under the bridge now.  “Thank Manwë we can all rest a little easier now.  Shipments of arms and armor from the north will resume immediately.  This is the best news we have had in a while.”

Lysa came over and touched his shoulder.  “I know that it has been hard, my friend,” she said gently, her voice carrying a sense of calm.  “I know it was difficult to not go north, and I admire your restraint.  We have a long fight ahead of us against the Court here in the south and we need you.”

Lyaan stood and smiled. “I was angry with you for a long time, Fëatur, but that time is long past.  You have proven yourself to be a good and true friend.  But Lysa is correct.  The influence and power of the Court have grown over the years.  We have heard rumors that their holds are complete. Would this mean that they are preparing for that ritual…the one where they mean to destroy the sun and moon? Is that even possible?”

Fëatur’s mood darkened, and he pursed his lips.  “I…I honestly don’t know.”

Lyaan put his hand on his chin, thinking.  “I remember you telling us of this evil many years ago.  I will admit that we had many other things on our minds.  I tried to pretend that this was just fantasy.  I hope my ignorance does not cost us.  What are your thoughts, my friend?”

“I have only heard whispers and rumors of late.  Yavë has gone mostly quiet out of fear.  But what I have heard is that they are still planning and are committed to the ritual. It will be Moran that will be sacrificed,” his face twisted with the thought of the young man becoming a tool of Morgoth’s.  His worry about Yavë never went away and every day of not knowing was gnawing at him like a rat.

“Chrys is on his way and should be arriving soon,” Lyaan said.  “The Alliance needs more information.  Would you be willing to reach out to Yavëkamba?  We need someone on the inside.  Otherwise, we’re just groping blindly.”

Fëatur nodded slowly, thinking.  “Yes, you’re right.  It would also go a long way to alleviate the constant worry that I endure.  My restraint is…fraying.  I’ll reach out.”

Lysa patted him on the shoulder.  “I empathize with how you feel.  Just remember we all need to stay coordinated.  I don’t want any more surprises.”

He made a wan smile. “No…no more surprises.”

There was a knock on the translucent laen door.  Lysa waved her hand at it and the door slid into the wall with a scraping sound.  A Sindarin woman entered with a bow.  Her blonde hair was layered and her eyes, deep blue.  She wore the beige robes of an initiate of Ty-Ar-Rana and had an Ikasha at her hip, the chosen weapon of The Three, a sign of her prowess in hand-to-hand combat.  “Our guest, Chrys Menelrana, has arrived. Shall I show him in?”

 

Lyaan made a summoning gesture with his fingers.  “Yes, Caladiel, please do.”  The woman bowed and gestured for Chrys to enter.  Chrys walked in with a broad smile and sat at the table.  Lyaan pointed to another empty chair. “Caladiel, please have a seat.  As one of the senior initiates, I want you to hear this and then inform the other seniors of our planning and preparation.” Lyrin pulled out a chair for her and she sat, seemingly embarrassed.

“Welcome, Chrys,” Lysa said in greeting.  “We have been receiving nothing but rumor and conjecture from the Enclave about the status and preparations of the Court.  While this is good, we need more concrete information if we are to counter their moves.  We don’t even know if their plan to destroy the sun and moon will even work, but we cannot leave that to chance.”

Chrys nodded.  He seemed tired and sad, his face drawn. “The Guild is ready and available to assist.”  He gave a head tilt to Fëatur, who returned the greeting.  

Fëatur summarized the letter and the need to contact Yavëkamba.  “We have a clandestine communication method that we have had to change over the years as Gorthaur became suspicious.  It has…it has been a while since I have used it, and I hope she still checks it.  In my message, I’ll set a time, date and place for our meeting.”

Lyaan leaned forward, ever anxious for more information.  “We need to know when they believe that the ritual will happen, how it will happen and, above all, the location where it will happen.”

Fëatur nodded.  “You know that I’ll get all that I can without putting her in danger.”

Lyaan leaned back and sighed.  “Yes, I know,” he said apologetically.  “It’s…just that I hate how little we know.”

Chrys gestured to Fëatur. “I’ll escort you.  It’s not that I don’t trust anyone in the Court, but I don’t trust anyone in the Court.  No offense,” he said flatly, without true emotion.

“None taken,” Fëatur answered, raising an eyebrow.  “It’s best that I go alone though.”

Lyaan shook his head. “I think we have to insist, my friend. This is too important.  Besides, when we have to attack the Court, I’d prefer more of us be able to identify her to keep her safe.  So, Chrys and Lyrin will accompany you.”

“Very well.  Only very quick and simple thoughts can be sent this way for fear of detection.  Anything long or complex needs to be relayed in person.”  Fëatur stood and placed his hands on the orb that hovered over the table. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, focusing his power into the sphere.  It began to pulse, the blue light surging and then fading.  A trickle of sweat rolled down his forehead into his eye. “There…the message is sent,” he said, looking at Lyaan and taking a deep breath.  “I’ll await…oh, she already answered.”  He closed his eyes again, absorbing the energy coming from the orb. A huge smile of relief spread across his face, and he chuckled nervously.  “Yes…yes, we will meet.”  He felt as if his heart would leap out of his chest.  His mind began racing as to how the reunion would go.  What would he say?  What would he do?  How would she react?  It had been too long.  He wondered if he even knew Yavë anymore.

Per their prearranged plan, they would meet the day after tomorrow.  They had a series of secret locations that would rotate after every meeting, but only one had been used in the last fifty years.  He stood and bowed to the gathering.  “I’ll need to prepare.  We’ll depart tomorrow morning, and the ride will be a day.”

Chrys made direct eye contact and held it, causing Fëatur some discomfort.  “I don’t ask this lightly.  Is Yavëkamba still on our side?  Would she betray you?”

Fëatur was offended at first.  He knew her. They had been friends for thousands of years before they were lovers.  He knew her.  Then, he blew out a long breath.  Did he? In the aftermath of the near sacrifice, did she bend?  Did she strike some deal?  He just didn’t know.  He closed his eyes and nodded.  “I believe that she wouldn’t hurt us…but I honestly don’t know for sure.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Chrys said.  “It’s why you will need an escort.  I’m afraid we will have to be prepared for the worst.”

“I, however, have an intuition that she is true,” Lysa added.  She paused for a moment, focusing her eyes seemingly on nothing.  Fëatur knew enough not to interrupt her.  Her sight went beyond the physical.  She could see things that no one else could see. Plus, her words gave him hope. Then she smiled and looked around the room.  “We’ll have food and horses prepared for your departure.  I’m not saying that this won’t be dangerous, but we cannot lose any of you.  Chrys, you are the leader of the Alliance.  Fëatur, you are the heart of the movement and the only one with inside knowledge of the Court…and Lyrin…you are our son and the future of Ty-Ar-Rana.  We look to the Valar for your safety.”

Lyrin winked and tapped his Ikasha.  “I trust in this and my training more, mother.”  He was still young in the reckoning of elves and even his near death in battle years earlier hadn’t dampened his boyish outlook.

Lysa cupped his face with her hand.  “You will learn, my son.  I only hope that it will not be the hard way.”  Though she looked no older than a sister to Lyrin, her bearing and her posture told of millennia of knowledge and experience.

Something that she said struck Fëatur.  “What do you mean, Lyrin is the future of Ty-Ar-Rana?  We are all in this together and I would give my life to protect you. Do you-”

She looked away and flicked her hand dismissively.  “It’s nothing.  Just a…no, it’s nothing.”

Fëatur knew that she had seen something in her mind.  Something that she dared not discuss.  He knew better than to press her on it though.  “Very well.  I will take my rest and then and see you all on the morrow.  I’m sure that we will have answers to our questions soon enough.” He added that last part more out of hope than anything else.  Still, he rested better than he had in years, his mind reliving moments with Yavë in his meditation.

In the morning, they gathered at the stables.  Lyaan had already saddled the horses as Lysa placed food in the saddle bags.  “We won’t be gone that long, mother,” Lyrin protested, always thinking that Lysa was overprotective since he was wounded.

“It doesn’t stop me from worrying.  And it’s better to have it and not need it-”

“Rather than need it and not have it,” Lyrin finished with an eye roll, having heard the phrase thousands of times over the years.  The young man would need some life experience before he would truly mature.

Fëatur took the reins of his horse and was about to climb into the saddle, but Lysa grasped him by the arm.  “Please, I need you to keep an eye on Chrys.  He’s not himself.  I suspect that it’s about the north.  He’s lost three close relatives in a short time.  Angrod and Aegnor perished in the Dagor Bragollach and Finrod was slain by a werewolf.  That has to weigh heavily on him.  Please look out for him.”

He nodded and then glanced at Chrys.  The head of the Alliance barely interacted with anyone and merely slumped in the saddle. There was so much on his shoulders that Fëatur feared he would break.  Everyone had their breaking point, something that Fëatur knew all too well. “I will.  I promise you.”  The team set out along the road, past the wards and glyphs that he had created for the defense of Ty-Ar-Rana.  They would distract and confuse any invaders; some would even cause harm to enemy troops. Still, it never felt like it was enough in the face of the Court.

Lyrin seemed to be in his own world, watching birds and reading some book that he brought along, oblivious to what was going on.  He seemed very childlike when compared to Morelen who was much younger.  Fëatur knew that the Court would make their move for dominance soon and he hoped that the young man would find his way, but it was not for him to speak out.

Fëatur nudged his heels into his horse and trotted up to Chrys, who did not seem to notice him.  “Hey…you seem a bit out of sorts.  Is there anything I can do to help?”  His friend didn’t respond.  “Chrys, hey,” he said again, reaching out and tapping him on the shoulder.  “Chrys…are you alright?”

He jumped as if startled. “What?  I…I’m fine.  Really. I’m fine.”

Fëatur narrowed his eyes like he did when he needed to impart a lesson to Morelen when she was a child. “You took me in when I was nobody…a traitor to our people.  I was literally lying there, naked and you gave me clothes, a home and a purpose.  I owe you my life, my loyalty and my honesty. No, you’re not fine.  Not by a longshot.  Talk to me, Chrys.”

Chrys let out a heavy sigh, one laden with regret and fear.  “No…you’re right.  The wars in the north…I’m not sleeping.  I barely eat. Finrod was the scion of our house in Middle Earth and now he’s gone.  Losing Angrod and Aegnor was hard enough.  I should be there, Fëatur.  I should be helping.  Fingon has sent us arms and armor, and his smiths have taught our people. Everything that he promised, he fulfilled.  All I do is take.  I’ve given nothing back.  I am not fit to-”

Fëatur swept his hand down like a chop.  “Nonsense. Stop right there.  We have an important task here in the south.  If we do not oppose the Court, here…now, we could lose everything.  I don’t know for sure if it’s even possible but imagine a world without sunlight.  Without the moon.  I have and it terrifies me.  Know that you are doing good work.  You have led us in repelling every attack, every incursion, every probe into our territory.  Without fail. All of this weighs upon you.  Let us help.”

Chrys nodded.  “Keep this just between us.  Aelrie is already worried enough.  I’ve been trying to hold it together, but it’s been too much,” he said and then clenched his jaw.  The tension along his face was noticeable.  “I’ve played multiple scenarios around in my mind and none of them are good.  I allowed the Court to establish themselves here and now they outnumber us.  We still have no idea where their holds are located in spite of my best attempts at reconnaissance.  Their magic in deception is formidable.  After the destruction of the Luingon Conclave, I’m still concerned about treachery in our ranks, so I’ve tightened internal security, but I’m no closer to finding the truth.”  He bit his knuckle, thinking.  “Just…just keep an eye on me.  Make sure that I’m clear headed.  And don’t be afraid to call me out.”

“Don’t worry.  I think I’m pretty good at that.  You know-”

“Lysa asked you, right?” Chrys asked and Fëatur nodded.  “I would daresay that she has the insight of Galadriel…now that Galadriel and Orodreth are my only cousins left in Middle Earth.”

“We didn’t mean to pry, but we are concerned.  And you do have a niece, Finduilas.  She’s in Nargothrond, now that Orodreth is king there.”

Chrys gave a smile, somewhat forced, but a smile nonetheless.  “It would be nice to visit if things calm down here,” he said and then furrowed his brows.  “Fëatur, my friend, how do we defeat the Court?  Give me some insight.  You were deep in the enemy’s council.  How do we do this?”

It was Fëatur’s turn to think.  He racked his brain, trying to come up with some weakness.  Any weakness.  “I have a few things if this would help.  First, egos will likely grind on the unity of the Court.  Morthaur is brilliant, but he’s nothing more than a puffed-up shirt…a coward, really.  Ardana is so focused in returning her beloved stars to their rightful place in the heavens that she has many blind spots.  Moran will be one of the keys.  It is his blood that will power the ritual.  If, somehow, we could take him…or even seize some of the gems of unlight, we would remove their source of energy.  The ritual could not be completed.”

“But we would need to know where Moran and the gems were first.”

“True,” Fëatur answered with a nod.  “First things first.”  Then, he tilted his head as an idea came to him.  “I’d almost forgotten, it’s been so long, but I can pass for my sister.  We are twins.  We would play this game where we would impersonate each other for Morgoth’s amusement.  I perfected my acting skills and I could fool anyone in the Court.”

“I remember you saying that now.  Yes…we need to use that.  Are you willing to play that role again?”

His eyes and his purpose became focused.  “To destroy the Court and thwart Morgoth’s plans…absolutely.  My sister used this roleplay to humiliate me…but now I think I can use it to humiliate her.”

They heard a voice behind them, and they looked back.  Lyrin was holding up an apple.  “Hey, anyone else hungry?  Maybe we should stop for a bit and eat.”

Chrys and Fëatur blew out a laugh.  Tension rolled off of their shoulders.  Chrys leaned in and whispered, “I shouldn’t speak out about their parenting, but Lyrin really needs to grow up.  If Lysa has one blind spot, it’s him.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.  I’m not sure how to approach this.  But just know that Laurre is a son that you should be proud of.”

“Thank you.  That means a lot.”  Chrys pulled the reins of his horse and stopped.  “Yes Lyrin, I think this is a good place to stop,” he said, swinging his leg over the saddle and hopping off.  He tied the reins to a nearby branch and undid his pack, pulling out the food that Lysa had made.  Lyrin skipped up and set a towel down, seemingly without a care in the world.  He dug into a sandwich, munching loudly and then took a long drink of water.  Chrys pointed out the setting sun, a golden orb on the western horizon.  “Perhaps we should make camp for the evening.  We can press on tomorrow.  How far are we from the meeting site?”

“Less than half a day’s ride.  There’s a small fishing village, inhabited by Silvan Elves.  It’s really quite nice and the oysters are fabulous.  I discovered it on my way back south on one of Cirdan’s ships.”

Chrys began setting up a large tent and Fëatur stepped in to help, putting up the poles and stringing the fabric around them.  They pounded in stakes to secure it while Lyrin finished his meal.  “Don’t worry, we have this,” Fëatur said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh good,” Lyrin replied, wiping his face with a napkin.

“What I meant to say is, get up and help us,” he said with a heavy, frustrated sigh, dropping all pretense.  He had been holding back, but it was time to speak.  “Lyrin, don’t get me wrong because I would give my life for your parents without a single regret.  I held my tongue for years out of respect and how you and your family saved me.  But you need to step up.  You need to look around and see what needs to be done and pitch in.  The Court is growing, and they will make their move soon.  Everyone needs to share the load.  We will all sacrifice before this is over.  Do you understand me?”  His words were stern, but full of love for this family.  “I don’t say this to scold you, but to help you.”

Lyrin’s face turned red, and he dropped his napkin.  “You’re not my father, Fëatur.  And yes, we did save you and you shouldn’t forget that.”  His lips were pinched and his eyes ablaze.  He clearly did not receive this in the way that it was meant.

“I am not, and I will never forget what your family has done for me.  Never.  But, I stand by what I said.”

Chrys nodded.  “I am in agreement.”

Lyrin scoffed. “Fine,” he said in disgust and then put the towels and blankets in the tent.  The night passed in total silence.  Fëatur didn’t mind.  He was focused on someone else.

Morning could not come soon enough.  Fear, regret and hope flooded Fëatur’s mind and heart.  He could not pack his gear and saddle his horse fast enough.  Surprisingly, Lyrin pitched in though his face was sour the entire time.  Still, it was a start.  Chrys raised an eyebrow, but managed a faint smile.

Fëatur was first on his horse, ready to shake the reins, impatiently watching for the others to get going.  “Morning is wasting, people,” he said, trying desperately to inject some humor.  The moment they were in the saddle, he gently pushed his heels into his horse, and they took off at a trot.  He knew just where to go.  It was just a few hours up the road.  Shortly, he sped up into a canter and then a full gallop as they got closer. Time seemed to stand still.

The town came into sight and his heart stopped.  Pillars of smoke rose from burnt and ruined buildings.  Fishing boats lay, half sunk in the bay.  He kicked his horse, oblivious to his companions.  “No…no…,” he muttered, trying to keep calm, but his stomach was already in knots, his mind screaming.  He charged to the inn, where they were to meet, passing bodies of Silvan elves lying in the streets, killed with swords, spears and arrows.  He leapt off of the horse in front of the smoldering inn.  The roof had caved in, and one wall had collapsed from fire.  He saw the fisherman who had greeted him when he first arrived there back in 156.  The elf’s body was perforated with arrows, his eyes wide open.  Fëatur knelt down and cradled his head, his hands shaking. What was his name?  Actharin…yes, that was it.  A simple fisherman.  But another fear took over like a giant snake that was crushing him.  He ran into the ruins.  He heard sobbing.  A woman.

The sight was horrific, but a tidal wave of relief flowed from him.  Yavëkamba was on her knees, holding the bodies of two children, tears flowing down her cheeks.  She didn’t look up.  “Yavë! Yavë, it’s me!  Are you…?”

She looked up, her face twisted in emotional agony.  “They did this…the Court did this,” she cried, her voice shrill.  “I arrived this morning and it was…they were…already dead. I know these children!  Fëatur, this is monstrous.”

He rushed to her and held her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders like he did with Morelen when she was a child.  “Why would they…?  These people were no threat to anyone!  They were fishermen!  They were innkeepers!”  He cried out in anguish.  “But I thank Mandos that you are safe.  I feared the worst when I saw the town.  I can’t lose you.  I can’t.”

“You won’t. Never.  I’ve seen the evil for what it is.  I will die fighting it, my spirit to be cast into the void for who I’ve been…who I’ve supported.”  She gripped his arms tightly.

“Come back with me,” he urged.  “Leave them. Cleanse your soul.”

She pinched her lips, thinking as the sound of hooves neared.  One horse neighed and the sound of dismounting riders followed. “Fëatur!  Are you…?”  It was Chrys. He looked around and saw them and the bodies of the children.  “Oh no…” Lyrin ran in after him and stopped cold. He saw the children and then ran back out, the sound of retching following.  Chrys stepped forward and extended his hand.  “You must be-”

“Yavëkamba,” she finished. “Yes, I am the insider in the Court of Ardor.  I have been with Ardana since Valinor when Morgoth deceived us.  You have questions for me, no doubt.”

Chrys nodded.  “Yes, but it can wait.  Let us do our best to lay these souls to rest and tend to any wounded.”

She forced a smile and wiped her nose.  “Thank you. Fë tells me that you are a good man. I will do what I can to help you.”

Fëatur rose and walked towards the ruined door of the inn.  “I’ll check on Lyrin.  He looked pretty…lost.”  He went outside and saw Lyrin bent over Actharin’s body.  A pool of vomit was nearby.  Lyrin was wiping his mouth, making grunting noises, his other hand tightened into a fist.  He started as Fëatur approached as if he expected to be attacked.  When he recognized his friend, his mouth fell open and his eyes opened wide.

“I…I…this…why, Fëatur. Why?  These people…they wouldn’t hurt…”

Fëatur pulled him up by the arm and embraced him like a brother.  Lyrin began sobbing, hitting him on the back weakly, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind.  “I know. I know.  You’ve never seen anything like this, have you?  I wish it were not so.  Our world is full of horrors.  This is why we fight.”

They spent most of the day burying the Silvan elves, Yavë’s magic moving dirt for graves.  As the sun began to set, the four were covered in sweat and grime, carrying bodies into the massive pit.  They sat for a moment to drink water, no one saying a word. There was just a quiet acknowledgement of the horror that had occurred here and the duty to lay innocent people at rest.  The sound of a dead branch snapping caught everyone’s attention and Chrys’ sword, Kirlhach flew from its scabbard, bursting into flame.  “Who’s there!” he shouted, looking around for any threat.  Lyrin’s Ikasha was in his hand along with Fëatur and his kynac.  A Silvan elf staggered towards them, covered in blood, holding a broken arm with an arrow sticking out of his back.

Yavë ran to him first. He focused his eyes on her and then sagged to his knees.  “I…I heard you…help,” he muttered and then passed out.  Yavë pointed to Fëatur.  “Get my kit. It’s still at the inn. Hurry.”

He sprinted into the ruin and grabbed her bag, returning quickly.  He knelt down and looked at the elf.  Something about the man was familiar.  “By Mandos, this was the stable boy who greeted me centuries ago. His name was…was Teldin.  We have to help him.”  He opened the bag with haste.  “What do you need?”

“That pouch, there,” she said with a quick point to a small, velvet sack.  “The Mirenna Berries.  I need three.”  He handed them to her, and she placed them in the man’s mouth, popping them for the juice. “Yes, now the Gort mixture in that vial.”  He knew just where it was, and she poured that into his mouth next.  “It’s a solution of several herbs.  Pure Gort is highly addictive, but this just numbs the pain. Now we need to roll him over to remove the arrow.”  They worked together and placed him face down as Lyrin put a towel beneath the man’s face. Yavë pulled out a scalpel and made an incision near the arrow shaft and then gently removed it.  Blood bubbled up around the wound.  “I need the Harfy salve now.”

Fëatur knew just what it was and where to look.  For centuries, he helped her heal and cure.  It was a rhythm that they grew into.  He handed her the jar of paste, and she smiled at him, melting his heart all over again.  She spread the paste on the wound and the bleeding immediately ceased.  She put her hand on the site and her hand glowed blue for a moment and, when she removed her hand, the skin had fused.  It was still red and raw, but the danger had passed. “Will he…?”

She nodded.  “Yes,” she said with a sigh.  “He’ll recover.  But he needs rest.  I suggest you take him with you.”

He looked at her sideways. “With us?  Aren’t you coming?”  A pit formed in his stomach.

She put her head down. “Fë…I wish I could.  Really, I do.  If I come with you, everything that I have done in the Court to help you would become suspect.  Moran would fall under suspicion.  I have to return.  I will continue to work from the inside.  I’ll be careful, I will.  Seeing this…I want to see them destroyed.  I will stay in regular contact with you.  This won’t be the last time we see each other.  I swear it.”

Chrys put his hand on Fëatur’s shoulder.  “We need her. This is our best chance.  I know how much this will hurt, but we need it.”

He nodded slowly…reluctantly.  “Yes…yes, of course.  You’re right. We all must sacrifice.  The task is the most important thing.”  He knew that it was right, but his heart ached.

Yavë smiled, her eyes lighting up, that wistful, alluring smile that she had.  “Worry not, Fë.  I have two more days for you.  We will overcome this tragedy, and it will fuel our cause.  We will remember these good people and bring them justice.”

He sighed with relief. Two days was better than none.  “We will.  I swear it.”

Chrys whistled for the horses.  “Lyrin, I think that’s our cue to head home,” he said.

Yavë raised her hand. “Not yet, good sir.  I know why you are here.  You need information and I will give it to you.  Gorthaur has relocated to Aurax-Dúr,” she said, producing a map from her pouch and pointing to the location of the hold.  “The eclipse that will signify the ritual will happen in just over a hundred years, according to him.  They have eight gems of unlight, stored in the Citadel and Gorthaur is preparing to sacrifice Moran.  We can’t let that happen.”

Chrys’ eyes widened. “This is the best information that we have.  Thank you. The Citadel…?  Do you…?”

She rose and pointed west out over the ocean to a large island.  “That island…Ardinaak.  The Citadel is there.  The gems are in the caverns below.”

Fëatur’s heart skipped a beat.  He looked out over the waves and recalled passing Ardinaak centuries ago.  “That is…that is the perfect location.  They can see anyone approaching.  Yavë, how would we attack such a tower?”

“That is not my area of expertise,” she said, shaking her head.  “But know that it is heavily guarded and the only way in is by boat into a bay that has significant defenses.  There are chains that seal the bay along with fortifications that would rain fire down upon any attacker.  Otherwise, the cliffs surrounding the Citadel are nearly impenetrable.  A thousand soldiers couldn’t make a dent.  Plus, Ardana and Moran have a balrog…Morfuin. I don’t see a way to attack it successfully, much less survive.”

Chrys’ face twisted in a look of deep concern.  “A balrog? This is worse than I feared.  We need a way in though.  A small team.  Yes, maybe that would work.”  He was in leader mode again, thinking through problems and coming up with solutions.

“I will look for any covert ways in,” she answered with a sense of determination.  “I have not yet had the opportunity to fully explore the Citadel or the island.  But the tower itself has over one hundred guards and there are about a thousand human and elven troops on Ardinaak.”

“This is enough for now,” Chrys said, a sense of satisfaction in his voice.  “We’ll be on our way, and I trust Fëatur to handle all future meetings.  I did want to meet you though, just in case we needed to meet in the future.  Should we find a way to assault the Citadel, I want to be sure who is our ally.  I’m confident that you two have a lot of catching up to do,” he added and then turned to the horses.  “Lyrin…,” he started, but saw that the young man had already put Teldir on his own horse and was climbing into the saddle.  He shot Fëatur a look with a smile.  It might be that the talk that they had with Lyrin sank in.  That could only be a good thing.  “Take care, my friend.  We’ll be back at Ty-Ar-Rana.  There will be a lot of planning to do.”  He leapt into the saddle and clapped Lyrin on the back.  “Good man.  Welcome to the Alliance.”

The two broke into a trot and soon vanished in the distance, a small cloud of dust kicking up behind them.  Suddenly, the ruined town was silent and only a chill breeze could be felt wafting through the streets littered with debris.  The stench of charred wood and burnt flesh still hung oppressively like a poisonous cloud.  Yavë took him by the hand.  “I want to leave this place.  There’s a stream nearby.  We can clean up there.”

Fëatur nodded silently and allowed himself to be led back to his horse.  He climbed up and then pulled her into the saddle in front of him. He paused a moment, just letting himself feel her with him again before he nudged his heels into the horse’s flanks. They trotted off into the forest just north of the town where the stream was.

“I haven’t left the island much since the…incident with Gorthaur, but I visited this town many times before.  They always had wonderful fish,” she said sadly.

“My favorite was the oysters,” he answered.

“Fë, I’m afraid that Moran will do something stupid.  He hates Gorthaur and Ardana has decreed that he will live at Aurax-Dúr soon.  I don’t know when exactly.  And there is something else that you should know.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”  A sense of concern flowed into him.  Words like that never led to anything good.

“Moran…,” she started, her voice low and quiet.  “He’s in love with me.  I paired him with my assistant, Almarien, but he thinks it’s me.  I don’t know how to proceed.  I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Hmmm.  I was never good with people, as you know well.  I honestly don’t know either.  I will think of something though,” he replied, wishing that he could solve all of her problems.  “And Gorthaur…  I will kill him for what he did to you.”

She nodded and then pointed to the stream that wound through the woods.  “There it is.”  The sound of water flowing over stones could be heard along with the song of tropical birds. They looked up to see colorful parrots, squawking and calling.  “This was my quiet slice of Valinor for many years.  Fish are plenty here and the river stones are so beautiful.”  They climbed down from the saddle and he tied the reins to a tree.  She had already reached into the stream and pulled out a polished green stone.  “Look at this, Fë, it’s perfect.”  She put it into his shirt pocket and patted it.  “I suppose we should get cleaned up.  “You stink of smoke,” she said with a wink and then dropped her filthy blue robes.  She tossed them into the water and followed them in.  “Brrrrrr.  It’s quite cold!”

“I stink?” he said wryly. “Speak for yourself.”  He pulled off his sooty clothes and tossed them in, leaping into the water with a splash.  He held her hands and they sat in the water, just gazing into each other’s eyes.  “I feared that I would never see you again…that you had forgotten me.”  His eyes misted up and his cheeks felt hot.

She cupped his face with her hand, a warm, comforting touch.  “Fear no more.  We are in this together until the end and we will see justice done.”

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Chapter End Notes

More on Featur's character arc and a deeper look at Chrys, Lyrin and Yavekamba.  I'm hoping for an emotional scene.