The Dark Mage of Rhudaur by AliceNWonder000137  

Nightmares

Members of the Tirthon are beset by nightmares.

Image courtesy of the Dark Mage of Rhudaur RPG.

The Tirthon, Cerveth 5th, 1407

Marendil Rhudainor, Lord of House Rhudainor and Warden of the Dúnedain in Rhudaur, tossed about in his bed yet again.  It had been more than a week since he had a decent night’s sleep.  He tried to close his eyes again, but his sheets were soaked in sweat.  He began to fear the night and the thought of sleeping became terrifying.  He grunted in frustration and rolled over yet another time.  It would be dawn in just over an hour.  He put a pillow over his eyes, hoping that it would help.

Then, she reappeared in his mind.  His wife…Eitheriel.  She lay in their bed, beckoning to him.  He went to her.  Thank the Valar she was still alive and with their unborn child.  He sighed in relief.  Why did he keep thinking that she was dead?  How foolish of him.  He stood over her and smiled down.  It would be the start of their family.  How they had longed for this.  The next room had been transformed into a nursery, full of toys and paintings and a crib that once belonged to Elewen, the last true Queen of Rhudaur.  Marendil looked around the room with satisfaction. “I cannot tell you how proud I am, Eitheriel.  This is a dream come true.”

He reached down to touch her cheek, but the air around her shimmered and it was like pushing his hand through tar.  He forced his arm forward and when he touched her face, she was now a rotting corpse, blackened and bloated with empty eye sockets.  “No!  What sorcery is this?  No, this isn’t real!  This can’t be real!”

She sat up and pointed a skeletal finger at him and what was left of her lips twisted in hate.  “You!” she hissed.  “You did this!  You killed me and our baby!”

Marendil recoiled and fell backwards as Eitheriel rose from their bed, cradling a skeletal infant.  “Stay back!  Stay back!  What are you?” he called, scrambling to rise.

“Don’t you want to hold our baby?  Don’t you want to hold our son?” she asked, her blackened lips curled into a smile. She held the bones out, wrapped in swaddling clothes.  “Here, my husband.  Hold him. Get to know your son.”

His heart pounding, he swatted the bones away and they went clattering to the ground.  “No!  This isn’t real!  Stop it! Get away from me!”

Eitheriel didn’t flinch. “Such a shame.  You don’t love your son.  Perhaps we should make another one,” she said and slipped off her moldering nightgown.  As it fell to the floor, the rotting corpse was replaced by a beautiful, pale woman with long black hair.  Marendil blinked and he thought he saw white, feathered wings unfurled behind her, but when he tried to focus, the wings were gone.  Her pointed ears faded into rounded ones, and she stepped forward and drew his face to her bare breasts.  “There now love,” she said in a soothing voice.  “Rest your weary head.  You are safe now.  I will always be here for you.”

Marendil broke down into sobs. “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I failed you, Eitheriel.  I couldn’t save you.  Why did you leave me?”  He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, so afraid to lose her again.

“I’m back now, my love and we will be together forever.”

The Tirthon, Cerveth 5th, 1407

Éanfled Amrodan sat on a luxurious couch that had been a gift from her parents when she became a lady of the Cardolan Court.  It had a waterfall back with a number of quilted cushions in green and red fabrics, the colors of Cardolan.  It had been a source of comfort for her since she moved to the Tirthon, many months ago after marrying Oswy.  Like many Northron knights, he took her noble name and became the heir to the Amrodan family.   She looked out at the night sky, still unable to sleep.  The stars were so clear and full of hope, unlike what she had been feeling lately.  Then she pulled the delicate silver chain from around her neck and gazed at the Amrodan sigil, a wyvern rampant facing a stallion rampant.  House Amrodan was a created as a cadet house when a member of House Melossë married into House Rhudainor more than a century ago.

She thought about the excitement that she felt when her mother told her that she had been selected to be a lady in the Court of King Ostoher of Cardolan.  It was the dream of many a young noblewoman to serve such an honorable and prestigious king.  She was through the moon when she heard that Princess Nirnadel had chosen her to be a lady in waiting.  The young Princess was already known in the northern kingdoms as someone who was pious, educated and intelligent even though she was only 14.  “This could restore the family fortunes,” her mother would say.

Éanfled’s time in the court was more than she could have hoped for.  The King rewarded House Amrodan richly and promised an expedition to retake Castle Amrodan from the Rhudauran rebels some time in 1409.  And Nirnadel was as kind and gentle, as proud and beautiful as rumors made her out to be.  They became close friends and the older Éanfled often tempered the young princess, who could be willful and obstinate when she wanted to be.  Éanfled soon became used to wealth, power, influence and attention.  The young knights of the Royal and noble houses showered her with affection and courtly love.  If only it could last forever.

She looked over to her slumbering husband, unsure whether to feel disgust or adoration.  Her life…it had all changed so quickly.  When she received the messenger from Rhudaur, announcing her engagement to Sir Oswy, a knight of renown bravery and means, it was like another dream come true.  The letter from her mother included a drawing of Oswy in his plate armor, blond hair flowing down his head with a thick, masculine beard.  Again, she was over the moon.

All of those dreams and the hopes of a noble house had faded in the months since she arrived in this dreary, four level tower.  There was little to no art, culture or any level of sophistication.  Unlike the dulcet tones of Haedorial the bard, rough soldiers and mercenaries sang bawdy songs, some even directed at her.  Goats brayed and pigs rolled in the mud at the base of the tower.  The splendor of the Palace of Thalion and the Bar Aran in Tharbad was just a memory now.

There were times that she wrestled with herself.  She didn’t want to take her ire and disappointment out on Oswy, but she couldn’t help herself.  Sometimes, she just wanted to explode or even to throw herself from the tower, but her parents would have none of that.  “Do your duty for the family,” her father would say.

The Lady of the Tower, Eitheriel Rhudainor, brought her some hope.  Witty, charming and sophisticated, the lady took Éanfled under her wing and showered her with affection and friendship.  Lady Eitheriel was an Eldanar, from a House that could trace its roots back to Númenor and escaped with Elendil when the great island was drowned.  They, too, had lost their castle to Angmar and the lady’s sister, Aerin, had made her home in Arthedain, hoping to retake their land.  They had so much in common and Éanfled loved Lady Eitheriel with all of her heart.  When Eitheriel died in childbirth, Éanfled could not be consoled.  Everything had changed.

A gnawing, empty feeling filled Éanfled’s soul and she wanted to cry, but no tears would come out.  She wanted to tear at her skin out of boredom and pain, but she had to keep up appearances.  Maybe, after King Ostoher retook their castle, they could move there. Maybe, she could return to Thalion as a lady of Princess Nirnadel and Oswy could be part of the Royal Guard.  So many maybes.  Nothing seemed to satisfy her.

She closed her eyes and lay back like she had done for the past week.  She felt both overwhelming guilt and overwhelming hope at the same time. It would happen soon now.  Her mind became hazy, and she could see his image through mist and shadow.  He always came through her window with black, batlike wings and pointed ears like an elf. But when he stepped down from the windowsill, he was all man, rippling muscles, bulging biceps, a strong, square jaw and then she would look down.  She gasped.  A wicked smile flowed across his lips with one eye narrowed in a lascivious way. She wanted to turn away, but couldn’t. She put a hand between her legs and sighed.  He beckoned to her and she fell into his arms, feeling his warmth and his need.  He laid her down onto the couch and slid her nightgown from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.  Her fingers explored herself and then him.  She threw her head back as he moved on top of her.

“This is just a dream,” she cooed, “but it is my only dream now.”

Chapter End Notes

We look at why Marendil and Eanfled are acting so oddly as Ethacali's plan unfolds.