The Dark Mage of Rhudaur by AliceNWonder000137  

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Vampires

In peaceful Beleriand, Irime talks with her four children about the future.  But Sauron's beloved, Thuringwethil, has other plans as Thangorodrim erupts, heralding in the Sudden Flame.

We return to the First Age in Beleriand just prior to the Dagor Bragollach and look at the people who became the Blood-Wights.  We begin in the Tower of Tirith Aeluin, in Dorthonion.  This ties in with The Court of Ardor.  Warning, I wanted this chapter to be pretty dark to show the evil of Morgoth's minions.  

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Beleriand, Hrívë, Year of the Sun 455

 

Their lives had been idyllic for so many years.  The region of Dorthonion in the land of Beleriand was made up of forested highlands, ringed by hills and mountains, the Echoriath and the Ered Gorgoroth to the south. To the east lay the plains of Ladros and the March of Maedhros where sat the great fortress of Himring and the Sons of Fëanor.  To the west lay the Sirion River, Mithrim and the lands of Fingolfin and Fingon.  To the north, beautiful Ard Galen, a land of lush green grass that inspired many a song.  Beyond that, darkness.

Standing atop a tower that sat atop a tall hill, a young Noldorin woman looked up into the night sky, admiring the blaze of stars in the heavens.  She drew her finger along the various constellations, naming each one in turn, “Anarríma, the Sun Border; Menelmacar, the Swordsman; Remmirath, the Net; Soronúmë, the Eagle; Telumendil, the Dome of Heaven; Wilwarin, the Butterfly; and Valacirca, the Scythe of the Valar,” she said quietly, her breath streaming in the winter cold.  She was tall and lean, dressed in thick silk robes of pure white with a red leather belt and a silver cloak, lined with fur.  The images of swans and reeds were embroidered into the fabric in intricate detail.  A golden circlet sat on her forehead beneath her raven black hair and the sigil of a swan was shown on its front.  She had a soft, heart-shaped face with gentle features and high cheekbones.  Her eyes were light gray, almost silver in hue.

She felt a presence behind her.  “Come to gaze at the stars with me, Finculion?” she asked in Quenya without taking her eyes off of the sky.  “Please join me.  It’s so peaceful up here.”  She took a deep breath, feeling the cold air in her lungs.

“I think I shall, Alquanessë,” the man said and then stood beside her.  He was dressed in a red leather doublet with white slashes in the sleeves and wore a simple circlet of mithril with the sigil of an eagle around his head.  He was also tall and lean with wiry muscles.  He had a square jaw and a prominent forehead above intense, gray eyes.  “What do you see, sister?”

She held her hands over her heart.  “I see the glory of the Valar.  I see the hope in our ultimate victory over darkness,” she said in a voice full of wonder and joy.

Finculion grasped his sister by the arm in a gentle, comforting way.  “I have no doubt.  As one of Fingon’s riders we have contained everything that the dark enemy has thrown at us.  It was before our time, but they drove off a dragon on the plains of Ard Galen centuries ago.”

Alquanessë punched him on the arm playfully.  “You do love to use that lance, don’t you?  What’s your team called…the Misë?”

He nodded proudly. “Yes, we’re the Green Squadron.  We are the best team under Prince Fingon, and we lead the charge with our lances.  The Morna, or Black Squadron are in reserve to exploit any openings and the Telepta, or Silver Squadron are the horse archers.”

She tapped him on his crotch. “I meant this lance, brother,” she said with a giggle.  You must be keeping Ectelissë very happy.”

“Is that all you think about, sister?”

“It’s all I think about, brother.”  They both laughed.  “I mean, I love the eternal peace that we have, but my Noldor blood often longs for more, longs for excitement and adventure.  We’re only two hundred years old, but nothing happens.  I sing, I dance, I sculpt, I paint, I gaze at the stars and then I do it again the next day.  I am grateful for what we have, but I long for more.”  She sighed.  “And you have Ectel and I have no one.  How is she, by the way?”

Finculion gave a wry grin. “She’s very happy.  Mother will have a grandchild soon.”

Alquanessë’s face showed surprise and then joy.  “This is…is wonderful, my brother,” she said and then hugged him tightly.  She turned back to wave at three other elves, standing on the balcony that faced north.  “Mother!  Sercë! Tindómeno!  Come over here.  My brother has an announcement!”  She was practically bouncing on her feet with excitement.

The three came over, all smiling.  One was male, tall and broad shouldered with a thick neck, built like a warrior.  His face was like chiseled stone, angular and hard. His black hair flowed down over a mithril circlet with the sigil of an eagle.  Another was female, taller still with lean, defined muscles born of training with her bow and sword.  She wore a silk crimson robe with the images of birds embroidered into the fabric.  Her face was thin with a tapering jawline and a mischievous smile.  The last was a woman of average height and gentle demeanor, but her face was the definition of refined beauty.  She wore robes of green and gold, embroidered with silver and golden leaves.  Her mithril circlet had the sigil of an eight-pointed star that radiated in hues of red, gold and silver.  The House of Fingolfin.

Alquanessë curtseyed while Finculion bowed to the shorter woman.  “Mother, Finculion has an announcement.”

He blushed as he smiled. “Mother…Ectelissë is with child.  You will be a grandmother.”

The older elf put her hands over her mouth.  “By the Valar…this is wonderful news.  Sercë, Tindómeno, congratulate your brother!” she commanded, and the four siblings embraced. “I must send word to my brother, Fingolfin and to my nephew, Fingon.  This is a joyous day.  I always doubted my decision to follow the Noldor into exile,” she said, “but this tells me that I made the right decision.”  She looked up into the sky at the stars.  “I wonder how my sister, Findis, is…and my brother, Finarfin.”

Alquanessë was proud of her lineage.  Her mother, Irimë, was the younger sister of High King Fingolfin, the older sister of Finarfin, who remained in Valinor, and the aunt of Prince Fingon.  After the Kinslaying of Alqualondë, she almost turned back when Findis and Finarfin refused to go forward.  Irimë was also bold and was closer to Fingolfin and she decided to cross the Grinding Ice with him.  In the centuries since the rising of the sun, she bore four children, her pride and joy.  

Sercë, the oldest sibling, was fiery and bold.  It seemed that she inherited some of the blood of Fëanor, her half uncle.  There never was any doubt that she was in charge when the siblings were together.  She rode with Fingon’s horse archers, the Telepta Company.  Tindómeno was her closest sibling.  Physically powerful and fleet of foot, he never contradicted his older sister.  He and Finculion were lieutenants in Fingon’s lancer company.  And then there was sweet Alquanessë, most like her mother in beauty and talent.  Her quiet demeanor spoke of introspection and a love of nature and the arts.  The dances and paintings that she and her mother would make were the talk of the Noldor.  For hundreds of years now, song, art, dance and wonder were the culture of Beleriand.

Alquanessë pushed back and made a pouting face.  “You all have someone.  I have no one.  It’s not fair.”

Irimë stroked her daughter’s hair.  “Come now, child.  Life isn’t fair.  There is someone out there for you.  You just have to be patient.”  She held Alquanessë’s cheeks.  “All of my children have their talents and strengths and yours is compassion, empathy and beauty.”  She pressed her face to her daughter’s, and it was easy to see just how much alike they looked.

Alquanessë felt a change in the air as if it got warmer suddenly.  She looked north and, in the distance, she could see an orange glow in the darkness. “What is that?  It looks like…”

“Fire,” Tindómeno said with an edge of urgency.  “Thangorodrim has erupted.”  He pointed at Finculion.  “Come brother.  We must ride to the company.  Sercë,” he said to his sister, “bid the Silvers greetings for us.  We’ll see you on the field.”

Alquanessë felt a pang of fear.  Nothing like this had ever happened in her lifetime.  She tried to be hopeful.  “It’s…it’s probably nothing.  I’m sure we’ll be playing Coron Mittarion again soon.  Mother will join us, of course.”

“Of course, I will, my dears. Alquanessë will remain here with me. We’ll play cards while you make things safe.”

The four siblings put their hands together, one atop the other.  “Until we meet again,” said Sercë and they broke ranks, the three eldest heading to the stables.

Alquanessë’s expression changed to that of worry, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed.  “What if this is something more, mother?  I cannot bear the thought of us being separated.”

“I understand, my dear. It is still so hard to be away from Findis and Finarfin.  We are as you…two sisters and two brothers, one family, one heart.  I can only say that it is not easy and that I will do all that I can to keep us together.  We will always be a family.”

Alquanessë tried to lighten the mood as she saw her three siblings riding off as if to battle.  “Mother, I always laugh at how humans think that we’re twin sisters.”

“Well, young lady, we don’t age.  Physically, I’m as old as you are.  And, with the light of the Two Trees in me, I’m probably younger than you,” Irimë said with a lighthearted edge.

Alquanessë sighed.  “Ah, the Two Trees.  Such a wonderous sight.  I would so love to have seen it.”  She gazed back north and could see the orange glow growing quickly.  This was going to be more than they thought.

 

Tirith Aeluin

 

In the two weeks since Thangorodrim erupted, it was complete chaos.  News of the disaster only came through refugees in the form of rumors.  Word was that Maglor’s company was nearly wiped out on the Plains of Lothlann by the sudden flame of molten magma that poured from the Iron Mountains.  Maglor’s Gap may have been overrun with orcs pouring south into Beleriand with the Sons of Fëanor in full retreat.  Rumors abounded that Angrod and Aegnor, sons of Finarfin, were slain in battle and that Dorthonion would be next.

Amid streams of refugees, Irimë wept at the news of the death of her nephews.  Not knowing the fate of her family was even harder.  She hugged Alquanessë tightly.  “I need to know, Alquanessë, I need to know.  Where are the rest of my children?”

Alquanessë felt helpless. She was woefully unprepared for this. Song, dance, art and poetry would not stop the hordes of orcs that were on their way, along with dragons, wolves, balrogs and other horrors.  This could be the end.  She had learned enough of the sword and bow to stand her ground, but she was by no means an expert like Finculion or Tindómeno or a leader like Sercë.  The world was changing and dreamers like her would have no place.

The commander of the guard yelled, “To the walls!  Here they come.  Prepare to defend!”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Alquanessë rose and awkwardly strapped on a silver breastplate and helm. She picked up her sword and bow and rushed to the wall.  There was a sea of dark creatures surging up the hill and seeing them made her feel nauseous.  She wanted to scream and run, but the commander pointed down and yelled, “Fire!” A stream of gull-feathered arrows flew, each one finding a mark given the skill of the Noldor.  Alquanessë lost count of how many she had fired until her quiver was empty.  The shrieking and screams around her were unnerving, but she shut it out of her mind and began to sing.  Her voice lifted up above the din of battle and filled the ears of the soldiers on the wall with her.  The defense was holding.  Every wave was beaten back with arrows, rocks and spells.  But they were tiring and running low on everything.

Then, a ladder crashed into the wall and an orc climbed over the parapet, howling and swinging a jagged scimitar.  Alquanessë fell backwards and tried to draw her sword as the orc stood over her.  She covered her eyes and screamed, but a spear shot through its throat, and it collapsed backwards.  “Get up daughter!  We must fall back!”  Her mother’s hands pulled her up as more orcs clambered over the parapet, bellowing and slashing.

Alquanessë rose and slashed an orc across the neck, and they turned to run.  Suddenly, the air grew cold, and a distant shriek sounded above them.  She looked up and, with her elven eyes saw something like a giant bat, black wings and iron claws, but with the face of a woman, her expression twisted, and her mouth open inhumanly wide with rows of razor-sharp fangs.  “Get down, mother!” 

The bat swept several soldiers away and then buried her fangs into the neck of one guard.  Gouts of blood sprayed into the air, turning into a mist that seemed to float, suspended in space.  The guard collapsed to the ground, shriveled and desiccated. Alquanessë gasped as the creature looked at her.  The bat kicked the body aside and advanced on the two women.

Alquanessë cut at it with her sword, but the bat caught the blade with her iron claws and cast the weapon away.  Irimë stepped between them.  “You will not touch my daughter!  Away with you, foul beast!”  A light appeared from her eyes and seared the bat, its flesh sizzling in the beams.  It shrieked, but slashed Irimë down the chest and blood soaked her robes.

Alquanessë drew a dagger and stabbed at the bat, but it caught her hand and drew her close.  It was almost as if she could see through the bat’s translucent skin.  “Who are you? What are you?” the young woman cried, snarling and struggling.  

The bat laughed.  “I am the beloved of Sauron.  I am Thuringwethil, she of the darkness.  Ah, I see that I disturbed family time.  How touching.  I’ve always wanted a family.  I think that I will take you both.”

Alquanessë tried to wrench free, but Thuringwethil’s grip was too strong.  The bat reached down with her leg and her claw seized Irimë by the arm. In a moment, they were airborne, screaming into the night sky.

 

Tol-In-Gaurhoth, Tuilë, Year of the Sun 456

 

Alquanessë and Irimë wept in the dank cell on the Isle of Werewolves.  Unearthly howls sounded at all times through the night, the beasts of Sauron ever hungry and savage.  This was once an island of light and beauty under the rule of Orodreth, the brother of Finrod Felagund, but now it was part of the growing darkness.  Alquanessë struggled against the chains that bound her arms and legs.  Her body ached and she was so hungry.  Her once silky hair hung matted over her bare chest.  “Mother…” she said weakly.  “Mother…I’m so sorry.”

The iron door burst open and the vampire, Thuringwethil floated in.  She leapt at Alquanessë and seized her by the throat.  “Do not call her mother.  She is not your mother.  I will be your new mother.”

“You will never be anything to me, monster!”  She struggled impotently against Thuringwethil’s grip, her legs immobilized, and her arms chained behind her.  The bat lifted her off of the ground and she began choking.  She tried to buck and kick her legs, but it was of no use.  As her vision faded, she looked down and saw the bat’s hideous face changing.  In a moment, Thuringwethil became a beautiful elven woman with black hair and pale skin.

“You will be my daughter, and I will love you,” Thuringwethil said as she lowered the girl, who started coughing and stopped thrashing.  The bat tossed her to the ground and then ran a finger down her chest to her stomach and then down between her legs.

Alquanessë bucked and rolled over.  “No! No!  Never!”

Irimë shrieked, “Don’t you touch her you fiend!  Don’t you hurt my daughter!”  Then, she began to sob and rock back and forth.

“This is so much better when I have people who love each other.  It’s much more entertaining.”  Thuringwethil rolled the girl over so that she was on her back.  “Look at me.  Look at me!” she commanded, grasping Alquanessë’s face and forcing her to look.  “There. Much better.  See how easy that was?  Now, where are your brothers and sister?  I want the whole family together.”

“Die beast!  I’ll kill you myself when I get free!  I’ll never tell you!”  She thrashed about again, but the bat’s grip tightened, and she thought her jaw would shatter so she lay still, her eyes full of tears and snot running down her face.

“Tsk tsk.  I asked nicely.  It looks like I’ll have to use more…invasive methods.”  She lifted Alquanessë’s head and leaned over her.

The girl thrashed again. “No!  Stop!  No!”  Then, fangs plunged into her veins and arteries. She felt blood in her mouth and her mind began to fade.  This was the end.  She would perish in this horrid cell and rot away here.  “Mother…mother,” she whispered weakly.  “I don’t want to die.”

She could hear her mother screaming, “No!  Take me! Take me!  Please!  No!”

Alquanessë could no longer move.  She was drained.  She could feel her pulse quicken with the loss of blood and her breathing slowed. She tried to focus her eyes, but everything was blurry.  She would be in the Halls of Mandos soon.

Thuringwethil leaned back, a bloody smile on her lips.  “Rest, daughter.  Rest. You will not die.  You will live.”  She put her wrist into her own mouth and bit down, ripping flesh.  She put her wrist just above Alquanessë’s mouth, letting blood drip down onto her lips.  “Drink, my daughter, drink,” she said.

Alquanessë felt a thirst that she had never known.  She licked her lips and then swallowed, the taste of Thuringwethil’s blood, sweeter than wine.  The drops of blood became a flow, and the girl gulped it down greedily.  The bat caressed her body as she drank, letting her fingers explore.  Alquanessë bucked her hips up to meet the bat’s hand and waves of pleasure cascaded over her.

“Good.  Good, my daughter.  You are now of my blood.  We are now family.”  She pointed to Irimë.  “Who is that?”

Alquanessë wanted to tell the truth, but her tongue would not let her.  “Some woman.  A prisoner.”

Thuringwethil nodded and turned the girl’s face back towards her.  “And who am I?”

She fought.  She fought hard.  The mere thought of disobeying the vampire brought immense pain. “My…my…no!  You’re m m my mother.”

Thuringwethil’s smile lit up the room.  “Yes, my darling daughter.  And I name you, Skrykalian.  You are now my little swan.  You will fly upon the air, and we will feast together.”  She laid the sweat soaked girl down and caressed her cheek and stroked her hair.  “And now you will tell me where your siblings are so that I may complete our loving family.”  

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Chapter End Notes

I want to show how ancient the Blood-Wights are by the Third Age and how Alquanesse became corrupted to become Skrykalian.  This was not part of the RGP module at all but I thought it would be interesting to see where they came from and why Ethacali would be so afraid of them.  Based on the way Skrykalian was made into a Blood-Wight, there will be a fair amount of sensuality.