The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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Infiltrating the Alliance - Part 1

Introducing a new POV character, Rilia, the Sorceress and her hold of Naurlindol.  Rilia is not meant to be an evil character so much as a thoroughly amoral one.  Warning for some sensuality.

Image of Rilia courtesy of the Court of Ardor RPG

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39)  Infiltrating the Alliance Part 1 - Year of the Sun 492 Lothron (May)

Rilia

The head of the Suit of Staves, the Mistress of Fire, stood on the balcony of her hold of Naurlindol, the Hill of Firey Pools, looking out at the valley below.  Magical golden lanterns lit the platform, bathing it in warm hues.  Night brought a cool breeze to the volcanic crater, which could grow quite hot.  The hold had been delved out of solid rock and modified natural caves that was made by lava, long ago.  The upper levels were set in a cleft at the hilltop, and its walls, floors and columns were crafted of polished rose-hued marble with red veins running through them.  Rilia wore a form-fitting gown of scarlet silk, trimmed in black, with cleavage down to her navel and the skirts barely above her buttocks on her tall, slender body. The fabric was woven with images of fire that moved and flickered on the gown.  Her red leather boots came up above her knees over red stockings and she carried a short staff of gray wood.  Her flaming red hair fell to her shoulders and blended with the gown, making it seem as if her tresses and the fabric were one.  Her tawny, amber eyes were focused, revealing great intelligence behind them.  She was an ethereal beauty, like so many of the Noldor.

Standing beside her were Fairië and Ramarë along with Sirnaur, the Lady of Staves, a Noldor who carried a gray staff and wore full-length robes with blended colors of red, orange and yellow.  On her left breast was a badge, an inverted triangle with a flaming staff superimposed on it.  Sirnaur also wore a kynac with a blade of reddish steel at her hip.  The lady had a dour, serious expression that stood in contrast to the others, and her mid-length black hair was parted in the middle in an almost matronly cut.

“It is time that we put that Fëatur in her place,” Rilia cooed in a melodic voice, a sinister hint behind it. “We will put forth a team that will exceed her Darin Tesarath.  I want us to find members of the so called Alliance and bend them to our will or remove them from the game.  We will find the location of their holds before Fëatur does and take the glory of their destruction for ourselves.”  She twirled about, her skirts rising enough to see that she wore nothing underneath. “Come, let us prepare.  I wish to lead this expedition myself.”  She led them in from the balcony, walking past Sirnaur’s quarters, where the lady excused herself.  “Would you not prefer to join us?” the Sorceress chided the Lady of Staves.

“No, mistress.  I’ll change in my quarters,” she said, clearly embarrassed, her cheeks shaded red.

Rilia scoffed.  “Have it your way.  You’re so prudish.  You need to learn to enjoy the heat…the passion.  I’ll teach you yet and light a fire in your heart.”

Sirnaur coughed nervously and lowered her head.  “I…I have a husband, mistress.”

“What does that matter?” Rilia answered, narrowing her eyes.  She did not get an answer.  “Fine, have it your way.  Meet us when you you’ve finished hiding your body,” she finished with a disapproving snort. Sirnaur bowed and then rushed into her quarters while the others laughed at her discomfort.  The Sorceress gazed at the remaining women.  “You both have spouses and children, but we still enjoy each other.”

They continued on to Rilia’s office and she waved her hand in front of the black iron door that bore the symbol of fire, etched into the metal and leafed in gold and silver.  It was a room with walls of purple marble, polished to a sheen and carpeted in deep reds, scarlets and crimsons.  She picked up a scroll from her desktop, which was crafted from frosted red laen.  They continued past another black door into her bedchambers, which was plushly furnished with numerous mirrors.  Rilia enjoyed gazing at herself.

The Sorceress opened the scroll and read it, her eyes moving back and forth over the Tengwar script, written in Quenya.  She was glad the writer had the education to use Quenya, the language of the High Elves and not the base Sindarin.  The fact that the Sindarin calendar was becoming more common, galled her to no end. She snapped her fingers, getting everyone’s attention.  “Our spies tell us that more and more elven refugees are coming south after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.  They’ve formed a new kingdom called Taaliraan that is siding with the Alliance,” she said with a snort.  “But this also provides us with an opportunity.  Our hunting grounds will be fertile with many a chance to gather information,” she added with a sultry smile.

“Our traveling clothes are in the closet,” she added, pointing and Ramarë retrieved three sets of tight, short leather pants and cotton tunics with cloaks in more muted shades of red and gold.  Rilia let her gown fall to the carpet and moved to the mirror, admiring her slender, fit body.  She spun around to look at her backside, letting her eyes move up and down in admiration.  She knew that both men and women, elf and human, wanted to be with her, and she was not particular in that regard.  The fire, the passion, the excitement were what she lived for.

Fairië slid up beside her. “You are perfect, my lady.”  The Silvan elf was nearly a foot shorter, but her fire and energy more than made up for her stature.  She ran her slender hand along the front of Rilia’s body.

Rilia grasped the elf’s hands.  “Mmmm, there will be time for this later.  We have a hunt to perform.  I’ve been researching sightings of members of the Alliance, and I think I know where we might see some prey.”  She gazed into the mirror again, letting her eyes explore the curves of her own body. She loved herself far more than she was able to love anyone else, but she enjoyed her playthings.  Her massive, round bed was the site of much exploration.

Ramarë approached, holding the traveling clothes and Rilia donned them reluctantly, keeping an eye on every last patch of pale flesh as she covered it.  “You look magnificent, my lady,” Ramarë commented.  

The tall Noldor looked down at her people and smiled, feeling smug in her superiority and dominance. The Noldor were truly meant to rule in Middle Earth, whether it be under a High King or Morgoth, she didn’t truly care. Had Fingolfin offered her a land to rule, she might not be here.  The move from Angband set her free.  Life under Morgoth in the north was stifling and dreary.  Ash and snow.  Snow and ash. It never changed.  And the Dark Lord watched everything everyone did, so paranoid was he.  It was crushing her soul.  She didn’t dare say it out loud though.  Not yet at any rate.  But here in the south, she was the mistress of her domain, and her word was law. Ardana did not interfere so long as Rilia’s actions supported her goals.  And the quest to destroy the sun and moon?  Rilia lived in a time before them…in a time under the light of the Two Trees.  It would matter not to her if Middle Earth were returned to that state so long as she could rule where she was.  If Ardana supported her goals, she would support Ardana’s.  Now, they would discover the lairs of the Alliance before the petulant, arrogant Fëatur and put her in her place.  It would also show Ardana that she was more important than that dull fanatic, Gorthaur and that meathead, Castolder, who dared to wed a human and produce a half breed child.  Humans, dwarves, orcs and other creatures were only playthings for her.  She had bedded some in experimentation, but to wed one and produce such a child?  Preposterous.

“We look positively rustic,” Rilia said mockingly.  “We might even be mistaken for some…villagers,” she finished, her words dripping with disdain. The Sorceress was raised in Valinor under the Trees, a land beyond the imaginings of these peasants.  Her mind wandered to a vision of the Two Trees, and she felt a pang of guilt, but it went away quickly.  She led them down the stairs to Naurlindol’s throne room and took the time to climb the three-step dais and sit upon the throne of red and gold. A delicate golden crown was placed on a red cushion on the armrest.  Rilia sat upon the throne, imagining her vast kingdom in Middle Earth.  She raised the crown above her brow, but stopped.  “Not yet.  I’ll be wearing this soon.”  Still, the women, now rejoined by Sirnaur, all knelt and lowered their heads.  Rilia felt a rush of satisfaction and pride. It would happen one day.  She set the crown back on the cushion and led the women down the stairs to the lower halls.

They walked through a tunnel in the rock and could see an orange glow up ahead and the temperature began to climb steadily.  The others appeared uncomfortable, but Rilia was unconcerned.  Her power could easily shield them from most any heat.  She raised her staff once she saw her subordinates begin to sweat and focused her energy around the group and it immediately began to cool around them.  A simple trick.  But her power would help to bring about Ardana’s dreams.  It would be a shame to destroy the vessel that the Maia, Arien, sailed in, but if it brought about her kingdom, so be it.  Arien had been a role model for her in Valinor and Rilia had often sought the Maia’s word on the manipulation of fire.

They entered a large cavern where a massive pool of lava bubbled, and the stench of sulphur was nearly overpowering.  While the others covered their mouths and noses, Rilia reveled in the smell, the smell of power.  The magma fueled her experiments and powered the hold.  She inhaled deeply, enjoying the burning feeling in her nostrils.  They crossed one of four bridges to a central octagonal platform where eight black stone pillars rose to the high ceiling of the cavern.  In the center of the platform was a throne of polished black stone with red cushions. They continued on to the east bridge where eight orc guards knelt as they approached.

“Mistress Rilia,” one said with a lisp.  The orcs were dressed in clean chainmail hauberks and carried cruel looking glaives as weapons.  Though naturally dirty creatures, Rilia insisted upon cleanliness and hygiene, and they somehow complied.  They could be properly trained and motivated with the right touch.

She patted him on the head. “Rise, Prigka.  We are going hunting.  Keep Naurlindol safe until I return.”

“Yes, mistress.”

They continued east, down a long corridor to exit the hill and it grew progressively cooler with every passing yard.  At the end of the tunnel, Rilia waved her hand, and the stone parted to reveal a grassy plain, dotted with trees.  A cool, gentle breeze washed over them.  She then raised her staff and whistled and soon, four horses galloped to them, stopping just short.  Her birthright, her power, her intelligence and her beauty made everything easy.  Domination was her destiny.

They leapt onto the horses and Rilia licked her index finger and held it up into the breeze. “I have a feeling that we should go south, perhaps to this new Taaliraan.  I think we make fine refugees, don’t you think?” she said and then put her heels to her mount’s flanks, and they sped off.

The journey took several days where Rilia was both uncomfortable but exhilarated.  Being out in…nature was a difficulty that she just had to endure to accomplish her mission, and she did want to view her lands personally, plus the lands that would be added to her domain.  Eventually, the jungle gave way to rolling plains and the heat and humidity began to fall.  Instinct and intuition brought her in this direction, and her instincts were rarely wrong.  There was something about this area that just needed her attention.

They set camp at the setting of the sun, and they watched the orange orb dip under the horizon.  Rilia never tired of watching Arien guide the sun across the sky.  “Such power,” she mused out loud.”  As darkness grew, they raised two tents, one for the Lady of Staves and the other for the rest as Rilia pointed to the pile of wood and kindling and it burst into flame.

Ramarë took her lute from her saddle and began to play.  She plucked a few strings and the air itself seemed to vibrate with life. “I’m composing a song for my daughter, Linsûl,” she said, strumming a chord.  “It’s not completed yet, but it will embody the essence of her soul.”

Rilia cupped the bard’s cheek with her hand.  “She will be a beauty, just like her mother, and play just as well.  This I am sure of.”

Ramarë smiled and continued to play as Fairië began to dance, swirling and twirling, her lithe body bending and twisting in nearly impossible poses.  She became a blur of arms and legs, graceful and sensuous.  She dove to her knees in front of Rilia and then bent fully over backwards to face her mistress with a smile, head upside down. It would have broken the spine of any normal woman.  Rilia leaned forward and kissed her.

Sirnaur coughed uncomfortably.  “I will bid you goodnight, mistress.  Have a good evening, all,” she said, excusing herself, her face blank.  Rilia smiled but rolled her eyes.  The woman’s dour, full length skirt was positively uninspired and downright boring.  She was determined to draw her out, but it could wait.  The Lady of Staves would be another conquest.  The three remaining ladies cuddled by the campfire until they fell into meditative slumber.

Dawn awoke them and Sirnaur was already up, tending to the campfire, cooking something on a skillet. It smelled like fish.  Rilia blinked in the growing sunlight and stretched, causing Fairië and Ramarë to groan as they snuggled next to her.  “Time to rise, my sweets.  I have a feeling that we will catch our prey today.  Those Alliance people will have to help lost travelers and then, you ladies will know what to do.”  She pulled the blanket off of their bare bodies and then went to the nearby river to wash her traveling clothes.  The others followed suit, wading into the water and splashing about. Sirnaur appeared hesitant and Rilia gestured her into the water.  “Come in! The water is delightful and you definitely need a bath!” she ordered playfully.

Sirnaur made a face but then threw her clothes in the water and waded in slowly.  The Sorceress’ relentless pressure wore her down.  Then, a grin spread across her lips, and she jumped in next to the others.  Rilia smiled approvingly.  Like young elves, they giggled and flung water at each other.  It was a joyous, unassuming moment that Rilia basked in. Unlike the dour Gorthaur, the petulant Fëatur or the simple Castolder, she was a fire that could not be quenched. And what good was power if you could not have fun.

The sound of hooves that suddenly stopped got their attention and they froze.  Rilia frowned for a moment, furious with herself that she was caught so off guard.  She looked up to see two elves on horseback now staring down at them.  The first man’s eyes were huge and the second’s mouth wide open.  “Ummm, pardon me, ladies,” the first man said.  “We…we did not expect anyone along this pathway.”  The first man was dressed in fine, silver plate armor with a surcoat of blue and gold.  His long hair was black and straight and his features strong and noble with iron gray eyes. The second wore robes of green and gray and he carried a white staff.

Rilia made a poor effort to cover herself as she moved slowly to retrieve her staff.  “We did not expect anyone either.  Just who are you,” she said, getting her voice to quail and her hands to shake.  Her eyes were wide with mock fear.  She needed to play this just right.

The lead man drew his sword and pointed it at her staff, while the second began to glow with power. “Please don’t touch that just yet, but if you wish to dress, please do so.  But no sudden moves,” he said politely.

The women crept slowly, carefully.  Rilia put her boots on first, keeping their attention, then her tunic.  She looked up again, maintaining her best fearful look. “Might I ask who you are again? And do you intend to…harm us?  Please, we are just refugees from the north who have become lost.  Please don’t hurt us,” she pleaded, putting her pants on slowly, watching his interest.

The men seemed to relax and lowered their weapons.  “No, we intend you no harm,” the leader said, though with a hint of suspicion.  “I am Eldanar, King of Taaliraan and this is Celumener, my herald.  We have come from the north ourselves so you are in good company.  Might we know your names, good ladies?”

Rilia made herself relax and sighed a breath of relief, patting her chest and fanning her face. “Oh, thank the Valar!  You caught us in such a vulnerable state.  We were afraid that you would…but thank you.  We saw such horrors in the north ere we fled. I am Celestë and my friends, Tarien,” she said, gesturing to Sirnaur who blushed furiously, “and Karya,” she added for Ramarë, “and Allisa,” she finished for Fairië.  “And you are a king?” she asked, her voice full of wonder. “We have…we have never met a king. Are you the protector of these fair lands, my lord?”  She motioned the others to kneel, and they did, lowering their heads, their wet hair draped over their faces and chests.

The two men dismounted. “No, no, please rise,” Eldanar said, motioning upwards with his hands.  He was truly a Noldorin lord from his looks and bearing.  We have a home for you, if you wish.  Our keep, Kirnak, is not very far from here.  We would welcome you should you need food, supplies, clothing or anything else.  Our kingdom is made mostly of refugees from the wars in Beleriand.  I would be honored to host you,” he said with a respectful bow.

Rilia opened her eyes wide, and her mouth fell open.  “What? Really?  No, we couldn’t impose, truly.”    

King Eldanar waved his hand, side to side.  “Nonsense. Though our kingdom is new, we are very prosperous.  Many share your story, and you would be welcome.  We have much work to do, but in the twenty years since the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, we have built a vibrant land.  So, it would be no bother, rest assured.”

Rilia looked at the other women, pretending to think.  They then whispered amongst themselves for a minute before she turned back and nodded. “Thank you, good king.  We are in your debt.  It has been a long road to get here.  We heard rumors of friends here in the south, especially this…this Alliance.  Are you the Alliance?” she asked, looking at him sideways.

He shook his head. “No…well, not officially.  We are…allies with the Alliance-”

“Oh,” she interrupted, “Then it does exist!  Praise the Valar.  My intuition was right.  We have come to safety at last.  Please good king, how do we get to Taaliraan?  May we meet this alliance?  We wish to serve.  We have some skills with magic, cleaning and cooking.  We are not masterful, but we can fight too.  We will earn our keep.”

“There’s no need for me to point the way.  We can take you there.  In Taaliraan, we all give effort to make the land better for all.  Your skills will be valued, and we are all treated with dignity. We all have seen so much horror in this world that we want to create a new one, here in the south.”  He brought his horse over and gestured for two of the women to climb into the saddle.  Rilia and Ramarë climbed up while Sirnaur and Fairië mounted the other horse.  The men began leading them south.

They soon saw a castle with white marble walls and tall spires, like those in the north.  “There,” Eldanar said, pointing, “That is Kirnak, our fortress.  There is still construction ongoing, but it is nearly completed.  These lands are mostly safe.  My contacts in The Alliance do warn us that forces of Morgoth are in the region.  They call them the Court of Ardor,” he added darkly.

Rilia put her hand over her mouth.  “They sound…sound formidable.  The Alliance seems so knowledgeable about the area.”

“They’ve been here much longer…for centuries I believe, perhaps even longer.  They are sending emissaries to meet with us soon.  We hope for more information and to form a more permanent arrangement.  They tell us that our arrival alters the balance of power in the region.”  He waved to the gate guards who activated a mechanism, and the gates began to slide into the walls.  “I previously met with their leader, Chrys Menelrana of The House of Finarfin.  He is a good sort, and I think that this will be a positive thing.”

Rilia’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Chrys.  He was one of the Court’s primary targets.  If they could get that fool, Lyaan, and his family here too, she could wipe the lot of them out.  Ardana would be sure to grant her the entirety of the region as a reward after the fall of the sun and moon.  And if she could kill Lyaan before Castolder did, it would be a personal victory.  “We have heard much the same on our travels. Which house do you belong to, my king?”

“I am cousin to King Turgon of Gondolin.  We have his blessing to establish a kingdom here.  According to Chrys, much of the trade with the north has ceased, but we hope to reestablish networks one day.”  He led the horse in through the gate and stable hands took the reins as the women jumped off.

Rilia practically bounced as she looked around the busy city streets.  There were shops, food kiosks, guard houses and towers and clean pathways through the grounds.  She inhaled the scent of fresh fruit, vegetables and meat.  Fountains sprayed water along the tree lined route, giving Kirnak a peaceful serenity.  Guards came to attention as Eldanar and his herald passed, bowing respectfully.  Rilia touched the his arm.  “My king, we do not wish to be a burden upon you any longer. Is there somewhere we could stay? We’ll be no trouble, really.  And please tell us how we may serve,” she said with a curtsey.

Eldanar pointed up towards the keep, a fortress with high walls and guard towers.  “We have quarters there.  You are welcome to stay and establish yourselves.  I would be remiss if I didn’t see to your needs.  Follow me.  We’ll get you settled.”

This was working far better than Rilia had anticipated.  She shot the other women a satisfied look and then returned to being the dutiful subject.  They followed Eldanar and Celumener to the keep where another great gate parted for them. Elven warriors lined the streets, dressed in armor of green and gold, reminiscent of leaves.  Rilia surveyed them with concern, her earlier satisfaction shaken.  This new power in Southern Middle Earth could very well tip the balance as Eldanar had said. The Court had been smug in its numerical superiority over the forces of the Alliance, who had not yet stood in open battle against the Court.  This could change things.  Thus far, the Alliance had only staged guerilla style warfare, striking and vanishing, a very Silvan thing to do.  “You have quite a force here.  I feel safe already,” Rilia said in mock admiration.  “I never imagined that we Noldor would create such a secure new kingdom so far away from Beleriand.”

Eldanar nodded, a faraway look in his eyes.  “It was a challenge.  When the Falas were taken, Cirdan gave us passage south to safety.  It was years before we could establish a realm.  We elves tend to become complacent.  Years mean nothing to us.  I learned much from our Edain allies though.  Time is precious.  We no longer have centuries or even years in the face of Morgoth’s onslaught. We now have months.  We must see the world through the eyes of the men and move more quickly.  Thus, what you see was completed in fifteen years.  Quite the accomplishment for elves.”

Perhaps there was some wisdom in what he said.  Rilia pursed her lips.  It was true that the elves saw time in such a different manner.  She was honestly surprised by the growth of Taaliraan in such a short time.  It was quite unelven.  Her mind raced as to how the Court could counter this new threat and she chided herself for being lazy for years.  This would change.  For now, they would gather information and seek opportunities.  “This is impressive, my king.  My intuition was right.  We have come home,” she said as she brushed his arm with her hand.

They entered the keep, which still had construction ongoing.  Defenses were being finished, and guard quarters were being created with wood and stone.  The sound of workmen chiseling and sawing filled the main hall as sunlight streamed through wide windos.  Several stewards came out to greet the king.  “These women are refugees from the north as we are,” Eldanar told them.  “Please show these ladies our hospitality and get them settled.”  He looked at Rilia.  “I will check in on you soon.  It was a pleasure meeting you and welcoming you to Taaliraan.”  The women bowed as he departed.  

Three stewards, a man and two women, gestured to the women to follow.  “Greetings,” a young elf said as he pointed up a wide marble staircase that was carpeted in blue and silver, the colors of the House of Fingolfin.  The stewards were dressed in flowing white robes with a badge of the House, a winged star superimposed on the sun.  They all had the dark hair of the Noldor.  They led the women to rooms on the Second Floor where they put their meager belongings.

“I am Celestë and I heard that members of the Alliance may be here soon,” Rilia said, more of a question. “We fled from the north and in our travels, we heard much about them, a decent force for good in the region.” She was probing a little harder now. She gestured about her room, which was very quaint, something simple, fit for a servant in the household, but comfortable.  “This is far better than what we had in months.  Please thank good King Eldanar.

The steward bowed with a smile.  “We treat our guests with courtesy and respect.  And yes, emissaries from the Alliance will be here in two days.  It will be an auspicious moment and a way forward for the free peoples,” he said in a voice mixed with pride and hope.

“That is so wonderful to hear,” Rilia said, practically gushing.  “Would it be…would it be possible…possible to meet them?  We’ve been on the run for months and it would be nice…so nice to feel safe again,” she added, stuttering in her excitement.

“I don’t see why not. I can ask and we will let you know,” the steward said hopefully.

Fairië snuggled up to him, stroking his chest.  “That would be so wonderful if you could.  We would be in your debt,” she cooed, and the steward smiled.  “What should we call you, sir?”

“I am Pathanar,” he said and then pointed to the two female stewards.  “That is Aphredil and this is Mithiel.”

The women bowed.  “We cannot thank you enough for your hospitality,” Rilia said respectfully while she thought of ways to exploit them.  The stewards nodded and left them to their room. Rilia grinned at the others.  The plan was going well.  Fairië knew to keep pushing the limits.  It would not be long before they ferreted out the secrets of the Alliance.   

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Chapter End Notes

I want Rilia to be amoral, but intelligent and able to adapt and learn.  She is mainly concerned with her own power and comfort.  She has one soft spot and that is the Maia Arien.  We also make the switch to the Sindarin calendar.