The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Two Fëaturs

This is a juxtaposition between the two Fëaturs, brother and sister, one cruel and savage and the other thoughtful and compassionate.  It also has the birth of a Fëatur’s sisterhood, devoted to espionage and assassination.

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50)  The Darin Tesarath – Year of the Sun 499 Nénimë (February)

Fëatur (female) The Illusionist

Within the Great Hall of the Hold of Angkirya, Fëatur’s masterpiece had come to fruition, and her order had come to life.  The Darin Tesarath was now a reality and would be fielding their first operation.  Dimly illuminated by a few candles, the powerful Illusionist crossed her arms in satisfaction, the sleeves of her black Tesarath robe snapping.  Even through the robes it was easy to see her taut, wiry muscles, the result of millennia of training in hand-to-hand combat.  Beyond her reputation for savagery and cruelty in close in fighting, she was a powerful and feared mystic, able to twist, bend and break minds.  As with many of the Noldor, she had an ethereal beauty that was tainted by a severe expression and a perpetual scowl or smirk. She had let her blonde hair out today instead of the usual tight bun as part of the ceremony for the order to seek out, seduce, co-opt, disrupt, destroy and assassinate the enemies of the Court.  Her loyalty to Ardana was absolute and any showing less than that devotion to the Astrologer would feel her wrath.

Fëatur stood on the dais of green marble before her acolytes, her golden amber eyes surveying the ranks of fanatical elven women who would bring darkness and fire to the south. This was a sisterhood of steel.  She tilted her chin up in her arrogant, petulant manner, pleased at the weapon that she had forged.

Angkirya was originally delved by the Naugrim, one of the Seven Fathers ruling that ancient kingdom, but it was long abandoned when Fëatur discovered it in the Year 53 on an expedition to determine the feasibility of ruling the south.  The dwarves of that realm might have been part of the Blacklocks or the Stonefoots, but Fëatur could not care less about that.  She brought in both dwarven and elven stone masons and smiths to repair and expand the underground halls.  It took more than a century to complete the work, blending old and new, the original dwarven construction being solid and dour while the newer masonry was lighter and more flamboyant.

The Great Hall of her hold was mostly of the ancient dwarven construction with a floor of deep green marble with massive, load-bearing columns of black marble veined in silver.  Newer masonry added a tree-like design to the upper portion of the columns.  Mosaics made of mithril, gold and precious gems adorned the walls, depicting aspects of dwarven life; mining, smelting, smithing and brewing.  For some reason, Fëatur particularly enjoyed one that showed dwarves drinking, holding mugs while froth flowed down their beards.

As the hooded acolytes remained kneeling in supplication, Fëatur turned and sat on her dark green laen throne that was as massive as her power and her ego.  She settled into the plush green cushions, her arms on the oak armrests and the throne began to glow a faint green, a symbol of her magical strength. She waved a hand over an orb on the armrest and magical lanterns burst into life, filling the hall with light. “Arise, my sisters of darkness, my sisters of steel,” she called boldly and the women stood as one, eyes straight and focused, a testament to their training and fanaticism.  “Today is an auspicious day for the Order.  You will be dispatched to seek out members of the Alliance.  You are to recruit, spy on, bend, break or even kill them by whatever means you feel are necessary.  Once you leave, you will only have your wits, your training and your sisters to support you. The skills that I have imparted to you will guide you to victory!” she called and the women let out a war cry that shook the columns.  “Excellent!” she said as she flicked her hands past her hair and the acolytes shed their hoods as one with a snap in the air.  “We are the Sisters of the Mind,” she added proudly, surveying the hall of Noldorin, Sindarin and Silvan women.  That was the meaning of ‘Darin Tesarath’ in Veyus, the secret language of the Order that she created.

She stood before one of the Noldor and bore her eyes into the woman.  “Pereldis, tell me of your findings,” she commanded.  Everything about the Illusionist was intense.  The acolyte had been spying on none other than Rilia, a powerful member of the Court.  The upstart mage had been maneuvering to become Ardana’s favorite, and this could not be borne.  As devoted as Fëatur was to the cause, her other life goals were to see Rilia and Gorthaur humbled.

Pereldis, a woman of lovely features and a soft, demure bearing, bowed her head.  “My lady, I am pleased to tell you that Rilia and her ladies have successfully infiltrated the Kingdom of Taaliraan and are considered part of life in the capitol of Kirnak.  They are even…friendly with King Eldanar and his family,” she announced and then a faint, sinister grin spread across her ruby lips.  “And I have found that they have seduced men associated with The Three and are actively searching for the location of Chrys Menelrana’s manor.” She inhaled, proud of her intelligence.

Fëatur smiled and leaned in to kiss Pereldis on the mouth with sensuous intensity.  “Well done, my acolyte,” she said and then there was sudden movement where Fëatur drew a hidden kynac from her sleeve and stabbed upwards at the acolyte’s throat.  Pereldis moved her neck away and drew her own kynac, the two weapons meeting with a clang between them, neither holding an advantage.  Fëatur nodded with fierce pride.  “Well done, my First Acolyte.  You are more than ready for any surprises.  I task you and three sisters of your choice to…turn these men’s attentions to you to learn the location of our enemy before any of our rivals.  Rilia’s ladies are sensuous and flamboyant, but we are cool, calm, measured and methodical.  Get the information however you choose, be it love or death.”

Pereldis knelt with a faint, demure smile.  “I chose Natindë, Nurtalien and Danith,” she said, rising and gesturing to two Noldorin women and one Sindarin, who came forward and knelt before Fëatur.

The Illusionist reached out and pulled them up.  “We will do great things together,” she said and then gestured to the rest of the acolytes. “We are an order of guile, stealth, power and strength.  As our Lord Morgoth commands, there is no room for weakness, no room for failure,” she continued, walking among them, eyeing each woman suspiciously.  Some began to sweat, some trembled.  Fëatur’s hand shot out and seized one Noldorin woman. “Kukuanis, you were the weakest of acolytes in all of our training, physically and mentally.  I will give you one final chance to prove yourself,” she said with an evil grin, stepping back and drawing a kynac from her sleeve that glistened with poison.  Fëatur licked the side of the blade and giggled with glee.

The acolyte quailed, her eyes huge.  “I…I cannot defeat you, my lady.  I have no chance.”

The Illusionist relaxed from her combat stance and sighed.  “Fine.  Here, you can strike first,” she said snidely as one would to an idiot child, letting her arms drop and closing her eyes.  Several moments passed.  “Any time now…”

Kukuanis grit her teeth and focused her mind at her leader, sending a mental attack to which Fëatur merely twitched.  “That tickles,” the Illusionist announced condescendingly.  “Here, let me show you what mentalism is really about,” she continued and held out her open hand and then snapped it closed.  Kukuanis screamed and collapsed to the floor, writhing and jerking, unable to control her body.  The horrific sound of bones snapping came next as the woman’s limbs contorted unnaturally and the screaming went higher.  “Are you learning now?” Fëatur asked.

“Yes!  Yes, please!  No more!  Please!”

“As you wish,” Fëatur said sweetly, reopening her hand and the acolyte went limp, sobbing quietly. The Illusionist stood over her and sniffed.  “What a shame, you’ve wet yourself.  Here, let me help you get out of that mess,” she said and flicked her hand out, tearing the black robes off of the woman with her mind, leaving her bare on the floor in a puddle.  “These will need to be cleaned, no doubt.”  She tossed them to another acolyte.  Fëatur returned to her throne and sat.  “Now, come to me and all will be forgiven.  I’ll even have Yavëkamba heal you,” she said, extending her hand in friendship.

Kukuanis crawled painfully, weeping with each movement, her limbs twisted and useless as her sisters watched, emotionless.  Fëatur snorted impatiently.  “Faster. I don’t have all day.  Your sisters constantly waited for you, constantly cleaned up for you.  I don’t think that was fair at all, do you?”

Snot ran down the woman’s nose, and she shook her head weakly.  “No, my lady.  It was unfair.”

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Fëatur said and then raised her nose to think.  “Now, we should introduce a new wrinkle to this exercise. I think you should apologize to your sisters.  If they accept, I’ll let you continue to crawl like the worm you are.  If not, then we’ll see.”

Kukuanis rolled over painfully, trying to raise her broken arms and twisted fingers.  “Please my sisters.  I’m so sorry.  Please forgive me!  Please!” she begged.

“What say you?” Fëatur asked politely.  “Do you accept her apology?  Yay or nay?”

As one, the women shouted, “Nay!”

“Well, there it is. I’m very sorry but your sisters have spoken.  So, let’s see.  Since you have always been slow, this will now become a race to motivate you.  If you can reach me before Pereldis does, my offer stands.  Fail and your sisters will teach you a lesson that you will never forget.  Pereldis, are you ready?  Oh wait, this is so unfair.  Pereldis, start from across the room and sit with your back to us.  Go on.  I’ll even give a ten second head start.  There, now that’s more fair.”

Kukuanis continued to sob but pushed herself along as fast as she could along the floor, grunting in pain and huffing with every foot traveled.  Fëatur picked at her nails for ten seconds and then snapped her fingers. Pereldis rose and easily jogged over past the crippled woman and put her boot on the back of her head.

Fëatur sighed.  “Oh well.  You tried and it wasn’t enough…again.  Acolytes, teach her a lesson, if you will,” she commanded and the other women drew their kynacs and surrounded Kukuanis with slashing noises and screams.

“No!  No!  Please, no!” she cried until there was just weak gurgling.

“Her name meant ‘dove’,” the Illusionist said derisively.  “Hrmph, how appropriate.”  She looked down at the blood and quivering body.  “And clean that up and remove that thing. Have Yavëkamba dispose of it.  Maybe she has some medical experiments to do or something,” she said in a disgusted voice, waving her hand dismissively as acolytes carried Kukuanis away and began scrubbing the blood from the green marble floor.

Fëatur smiled, her power secure and her reputation for cruelty intact.  “Let this be a lesson to all!” she cried out.  “There is no room for weakness here.  We are all Sisters of the Mind.  Go forth with strength and power or I will be looking for the next dove to demonstrate on.”

Year of the Sun 499 Súlìmë (March)

Fëatur (male)

In the conference room of Chrys’ manor in Tumlindë, mariners from the north approached the Alliance, handing Fëatur a rolled-up parchment.  Their faces were grave and serious.  Círdan sighed deeply.  “I am very sorry.”

Fëatur unrolled the parchment slowly, fear building in his heart.  What had happened?  How bad could it be?  He read and his lower lip began to quiver.  “What?” he exclaimed in horror, clutching a parchment in shaking hands. “Why are we just hearing about this now?”  He had been going mad with worry for more than three years since they lost all contact with Morelen.  He fell back into a stiff-backed chair and groaned, putting his face in his hands.  “Nargothrond has fallen,” he told Chrys and the members of the Guild.  “I have no idea if she is alive or dead…or any of them.”

Círdan and Captain Ferui lowered their heads.  “We are sorry that it took us this long to reach you,” the Shipwright told them.  “After the fall of the kingdom and the death of King Orodreth we had our hands full with the refugees.  And I have more bad news.  There will be no more shipments of arms and armor.  We barely have enough at the Havens of Sirion for the people there.”

Fëatur trembled for a moment as Chrys grasped him by the shoulder in support.  “I…I know.  I’m sorry that I snapped at you.  You didn’t deserve that.  I…I thank you for coming and delivering this news,” he said, nodding stiffly.

Lysa sagged, her hand on her mouth and Lyaan caught her.  “Caladiel…Morelen…,” Lysa whispered.  “Is there nothing else you can tell us.”

Ferui held out his hands. “I don’t want to get your hopes up as the situation has been confused for years but…but some of the survivors told us that a number of the people of Nargothrond sought out Gondolin and Doriath but we have no more information than that.  And since most of them are Noldorin, it won’t be Doriath in my opinion.”

Círdan nodded his agreement.  “We have lost most of our ability to gather and spread information, but we have one bit of hope, but it does not pertain to Morelen or our friends.  Glaurung was slain,” he said to murmurs of surprise. “The dragon laid waste to Brethil and Túrin Turambar went forth and hid in a gorge, stabbing the beast through the heart as he passed.  It is said that Túrin died afterwards with his sister, but we don’t know any details of that.  Other than Glaurung’s death, most of this is rumor and speculation.  We do know from escapees from Angband that the dragon sired many young. I fear for our future in the north.”

Chrys cocked his head. “Are you saying…?”

“Yes,” the Shipwright continued.  “I am asking that, if worse comes to worse, may we bring our people here to the south? I know it will only be a respite from Morgoth’s wrath, but it will buy us time.  I am convinced that our only hope truly lies in the west.”

Fëatur bolted up. “Of course!  Of course,” he blurted out, looking at Chrys and the other, who nodded.  “You will be more than welcome, my friends.”

Ferui rolled his eyes but smiled.  “From dragons and balrogs to the destruction of the sun and moon.  From the frying pan into the fire.  Thank you.  If that comes to be, you will have staunch allies to fight the Court.”

Chrys shook their hands. “We could ask no more of you and would welcome you with open arms,” he said, a smile breaking out in spite of the bad news of Nargothrond.

Lysa had recovered and touched Fëatur on the arm.  “And you…I know what you’re thinking.  You are not going north right now.  Our fight is here and the time of the ritual will be upon us soon.  We need you, Fëatur.  You will have to trust that they made it to Gondolin.  How I miss the days when commerce and communication were swift and reliable.”

Fëatur chuckled in spite of his overwhelming worry.  “You are right, of course,” he said, turning back to the mariners.  “But please, please let us know anything that you can find out.  We would be forever in your debt.”  He had to get word to Yavëkamba.  She had to know.  Maybe she might have more information.  Things had been a little more relaxed since she moved to Angkirya as she no longer had Gorthaur looking over her shoulder and his sister was far too consumed by her obsessive internal politics within the Court.  His sister’s disgust of Gorthaur and Rilia could be exploited, but how?

Chrys gestured the mariners to the dining hall.  “You have had a long journey.  Please enjoy the hospitality of Tumlindë.  Aelrie and Miriani are already preparing supper.  We would be honored if you would join us.”

Círdan grinned.  “Of course.  I’m starving.”  He then gave a sly expression, half of his mouth curled up.  “Let me guess…chicken?”

Chrys snickered. “It’s like you never left.”

As the group went to the dining hall, Fëatur detoured to his chambers to compose a message for Yavë. Their clandestine system had worked well so far; never the same method twice in a row, different routes and different carriers each time in a seemingly random pattern.  He practically had an aviary and a menagerie of birds, beasts and insects to deliver messages.  In the absence of his loved ones, he cared for each of his couriers like family.

It had been almost two years since they saw each other and his heart ached.  He walked over to his windowsill where several sparrows peeped at him in protest.  “Yes, yes, I’m sorry, my friends,” he said apologetically.  “You’ve been waiting for me patiently.  I had a meeting, but I’m here now.”  He poured more seed into a feeder that rustled into a trough that the birds pecked at rapidly.  “I have a message for you to take.  You know what to do,” he said and whispered his missive to them.  They peeped happily and fluttered away.  While he didn’t want Yavë to worry, she had to know.  And he hoped that she could tell him more.

He sighed as he placed leaves into the moth and butterfly enclosure, watching them munch on the greens. A cocoon hung from one branch that he had been watching all week, anxiously awaiting the hatching.  His mind wandered back to having Yavë and Morelen meet and to their time in Tumlindë and Ty-Ar-Rana.  It was magical.  It was the highlight of his life.  His family together and happy.  Would it ever come to be again?  Was Morelen even alive?  An image flashed in his mind of her, rotting on the field of Tumhalad and then chained in the dungeons of Angband, tortured and screaming.  And if Morgoth ever found out who she really was…  “Stop it.  Stop it!” he told himself, slapping his own face to dispel the image.  “It’s not true and you know it!  She’s alive…she has to be.”  What would they tell Silmani and Idhrendiel?  They had to know as they were well into adolescence and no longer children.

He forced himself to head to the dining hall, but he had lost his appetite.  Chrys was already digging into his chicken as the others discussed matters of Middle Earth.  Aelrie ushered Fëatur to a seat.  “Come, come, the food will get cold.  You’re wasting away again.  Come eat!” she commanded and he sat as she spooned a healthy serving of chicken on rice onto a plate for him.  “Not a scrap leftover,” she said, pointing her finger at him, “or you’re doing the dishes.”

Lyaan gestured to Círdan. “All right, tell us again.  Where did you sail?  This is incredible,” he said and Elerior of the Air Element nodded enthusiastically.

The Shipwright shrugged, his hands splayed outward.  “It’s been a long time, but we once circumnavigated Middle Earth.  There is a vast realm in the far northeast…Helkanen it is called in Sindarin and is ruled by women.  They are Avari Moriquendi of the Hisildi People or the Dusk Elves, who descended from the Tatyar and the Nelyar.  Their realm covers much of the coast from the tropics to the tundra. Now…now it is rumored that they have a lake called Khelkeneni in their tongue.  I believe that is Cuiviénen, our birthplace…or what is left of it after the War of Powers that damaged the land so deeply.”

Lysa grinned.  “Ruled by women.  I think that is wise.  We would have less horror if Middle Earth were led that way.”

“Now, it’s not a kingdom like we would understand here,” Ferui added.  “They were originally ruled by a guy they called the God King, Túvo, a fearsome sorcerer so they told us.  The Hisildi said that he ruled by fear with an iron fist, providing tribute to Morgoth from the east.  Well, his daughter, Lúcewen, rose up against him, leading a rebellion of the Avar and the tribes of petty dwarves and overthrew him in the Battle of Palisor, a few years after the rising of the sun, where he fled and no one knows where the heck he went.”

“So,” Círdan continued, “Lúcewen…governs…?  Advises? I really don’t know how to describe it. It’s like a loose conglomeration of Hisildi tribes, the Falmari, the Umanyari and the Penni, that really do whatever they want provided that the come together when she calls.  But the beaches…  You won’t believe the shells and the seafood there.”

“And the women!” Ferui blurted.  “They love to bathe in the ocean with nothing on,” he gushed.  “That was…ummm, before I was married,” he trailed off with a cough.

“Incredible!” Lyaan said. “Honestly, I’ve never left this area since we returned from Valinor.”

“He’s quite the homebody,” Lysa said with a smirk.  “Getting him out of the pyramid gets harder each year.”

Fëatur looked around at the gathering and noticed something.  “Lyaan, Lysa, where is Lyrin.  I haven’t seen him all day.”

Lysa rolled her eyes but smiled.  “He’s back in Kirnak again…with Celestë.  He’s quite infatuated with her but we hope that it will lead to something more.  I would enjoy having grandchildren.”

“I take it that his two bobbleheads are with him?”

Lyaan snorted and then chuckled.  “Edenor and Anuven?  Of course,” he said with a hint of exasperation.

“Be nice,” Lysa cut in sternly.  “He needs his friends.”  She looked at Fëatur.  “And I will tell Silmani and Idhrendiel of the events when we return to Ty-Ar-Rana,” she assured him.

The supper was a pleasant gathering, even with the specter of the Fall of Nargothrond hanging over them. Carnil Ravirë of the Earth Element sparred verbally with Talan, of Water, an age-old argument, while Ralian, of Light flirted with Miriani.  Some things never changed in the south, which was nice.  Even Elvëon of the Enclave seemed pleased, drinking his wine. Aelrie and Miriani then brought out dessert, while Chrys’ son, Laurre, served drinks.  Dessert was in a large, clear bowl that contained some type of custard and fruit.

“Alright everyone, pay attention now,” Aelrie called.  “Dessert will also be a visual treat,” she said as she pointed her finger at the bowl and it burst into flame.  “Oh no! Too much!” she squealed as they batted towels at it, leaving the surface a little blackened as smoke drifted off. “Ummm, sorry.  It’ll be a little crispy,” she said sheepishly.

“I’m sure that it will be just fine,” Chrys said as he heaped a serving unto everyone’s plate.

Fëatur took a bite and it was a little crispy but just the right balance of sweet and creamy with caramelized mangos and bananas blended with custard.  “Oh, Aelrie, Miriani, it is superb.  I am grateful that you got me to eat.”  He actually felt full and content.

Miriani slid around and patted him on the stomach.  “You needed it, I can tell you that.”

Aelrie lit the braziers as the sun went down and the gathering wound down to quieter conversations and some members drifted off to bed.  Fëatur was still anxious as he returned to his chambers but was delighted to see that the sparrows had returned.  “What do you have for me, darlings?” he asked in a high-pitched, childlike voice and the birds began peeping, one dropping a blue marble from its claw.  It would contain the message from Yavë.

He picked it up with trembling hands.  Any word from her went straight to his heart.  The marble glowed and began to vibrate, her voice coming forth.

“My love, I thank you for trusting me with this terrible news.  I am heartbroken and have paced the entire evening since I received your missive.  I know that you want to go north but I pray that you remain patient.  I trust in my heart that she is alive.  The Court has already been celebrating the conquest of the north and the destruction of the Noldor in Beleriand, but your message was the first that I’ve heard of the Fall of Nargothrond.”

“Now there are other things that you must know for I fear that you and your friends will come to harm without this knowledge.  Your sister has released her Sisters of the Mind, the Darin Tesarath and they are fearsome, utterly fanatical and savage.  They maim, torture and kill without mercy and they are trained to spy, seduce and assassinate.  They brought me one poor acolyte whom they cut to shreds because she was weak.  I managed to save her but there wasn’t much to save.  I will do my best to care for her.  Now your sister has sent them on a mission to learn the location of your holds and to turn your people against you.  But she also detests Gorthaur and Rilia and actively seeks to undermine them.  Use that to your advantage.”

He nodded, understanding her wisdom and then continued to listen.

“Gorthaur continues with his sacrifices to the Dark Lord.  I would kill him myself if I could.  As evil as your sister is, I was glad when she put him in his place.  Many in the Court are utterly convinced of Morgoth’s goodness and benevolence like we were.  I know a few who might waver and I will explore those options.  But I tell you that Morgoth is planning something big in the north that will end the elves there.  I gleaned that he is breeding more dragons and fire drakes, fearsome beasts.  And he has amassed a vast number of thralls in Angband, poor spirits who are tormented and worked to death.  Some have been…have had their minds ruined and unwittingly work for him as he released them, letting them believe that they had escaped.  Tell our friends in the north to be wary of this.”

Fëatur sighed.  More bad news.  But just hearing her voice was magic.  “I will,” he said to the marble as her voice sounded again.

“But there is something that worries the Court.  I’ve heard snippets that Morgoth is not…well…that he is weakened from all of the power that he pours into his monsters and his hate.  His mind is…unstable, so I gleaned, and he agonizes and obsesses over past hurts like the wounds he suffered from Fingolfin and Thorondor and the Silmaril that was recovered by Beren and Lúthien.  He speaks incessantly about how he almost able to vent his lust on Arien and Lúthien and how they cheated him and got away, they should have been his…and how he tore the disguise off of Lúthien and saw her bare.  He is vile.  I know this now.  His weakening mind will mean more sacrifices to bolster his waning strength.”

Fëatur nodded at the words, drinking them in.  This was good information.  But a weakened and possibly sickly and unstable Morgoth would be a more dangerous Morgoth.  A narcissistic megalomaniac with the power of a god was never a good thing.

“Know that Moran remains with me and that he does have a good heart as Morelen does.  I hope and pray that it will remain so and that the vileness of their true father does not infect them.  No, I said that poorly.  You are their true father, not him.  He merely donated the seed.  You care for them.”

“But that is all that I have for you, my love.  I will hold the vision of us as a family in my heart and know that it will be again. I pray for your safety and anxiously await your next missive.”

Fëatur leaned back in his seat and exhaled deeply, digesting her words.  This was a lot, some good, mostly bad.  The storm would be coming for the south soon and they had best be ready.

CODEX:

Weapons:

Kynac – A single edged bladed weapon, longer than a dagger and shorter than a shortsword.

Ikasha – A large, multi-edged throwing star.

Clothing:

Gambeson – a quilted shirt worn under armor.

Doublet – a fitted jacket.

Hose – leggings worn under the armor.

Chausses – loose pants worn under the armor.

Pauldron – armor over the shoulder.

Organizations:

The Riders of Fingon –

Misë Company – Green

Telepta Company – Silver

Morna Company – Black

The Luingon Alliance –

Guild of Elements – Fire, Air, Water, Earth, Light.

The Three

The Starseer Enclave