[Nevtalathiel]

Thrakatburz tried to close her mind down, but it was too late, Aman had slipped into the mind of Siluailwen and Thrakatbruz no longer had any control over what she saw. She saw only glimpses at first.

Silualiwen's memory had been erroded by years of neglect, but she clung still to a few things. The landscape where she had grown up, the lake, the flight of the birds in spring. Inside her self and yet distantly, Thrakatburz felt the memory welling up inside her, as Aman dug deeper and Siluailwen led her on. The vision of the thing she had loved most flashed before her eyes and the memory flooded back like a sudden rush of the tide and events more than four thousand years old became tangible once again.

A young elf was riding hard, her long hair streaming behind her in the wind. She clutched a bundle to her chest, and despite the bumping of the horse, the child was reassured by his mother's presence. Thrakatburz was beautiful, but Silualiwen was more so, her beauty was unmarred by cruelty hate and even now, a light shone from her eyes and cheeks glowed. A gentle radiance surrounded mother and child, like a bubble protecting them from the traumas of the world.

Behind her, Siluailwen could hear the clash of metal on metal and the battle cries of the orcs. "He cannot win" a voice spoke in her head and even though the sounds of battle were now faint, she felt his anguish, his fear that she and the child would not escape. She felt his pain. She forced herslef to ride on, to save herself and her son as he had wanted.

She felt the blow to his face, and saw him before her. Blood and sweat mingled and ran down his forehead into his eyes. His clothes were torn, his body scartched and bruised. A gash in his leg bled heavily, and he was on his knees. His swordarm hung limply at his side and he tried to wield his weapon in defense using only his left hand. She watched, not willing to see, yet unable to escape the vision, as the orc fired an arrow through his throat, and his body collapsed limply to the ground.

The horse stumbled, and Siluailwen was brought back to herself. A dreadful numbness filled every part of her body. She clutched her son tightly to her breast and unaware of the horrors his mother had seen, the child slept soundly. The horse knew where it was going and needed no guidance from its rider. They arrived just before nightfall and Siluailwen was helped from her horse and led to a room. The elves spoke to her, asked her her name and where she had come from, but she did not hear them or notice anything which happened to her that night. Whether she slept or not, she did not know, but the dark hours were long and tortuous.

It was her child who awoke her from her grief. Woken by the dawn light, he cried to be fed and held close to the warmth of his mother, but in this, he was dissapointed, for her warmth was already fading and she lacked the radiance which had surrounded her only hours before. Siluailwen rose from the bed and bathed her face before feeding her son and dessing herself to meet her father-in-law. Before long, she was called in front of him to ask what news she bore.

His face was haughty and impervious, as if the trivialities which she could tell him were of little worth, and yet she trusted him, and thought nothing of telling him the news she brought.

"Who are you, and why do you come here alone in such dark times?" he asked, his voice severe.
"I bring you news of your son, Elatar, but I fear it is not good." Siluailwen said, seeing the elf's joy at the metion of his son.
"Your son is dead, my lord, but he has left you with a grandson, though at this time, that may bring you no consolation." Crystal tears were by now rolling down her cheeks and droppping onto the floor.
"Give me the babe" He spoke with authority, and Siluailwen did not think to disagree, but meekly handed over the child. the elf drew a dagger from inside his cloak and raised it high.
"No! Please!" Siluailwen cried despairingly, but to no avial.
"I will not accept a bastard child into my family. He is not my grandson, my sons would never betray me; least of all Elatar." The dagger fell and with that stroke, all beauty was killed for Siluailwen. Again and again the dagger was raised. The cloth and the floor were drenched with blood and both mother and child screamed. Siluailwen grabbed her son from the clasp of his murderer, his grandfather, and the child died even as she took him into her arms. As she ran from the room, the blood soaked into her white dress, staining it forever. But it was not just the child's blood. The mother bled, as though she too had been stabbed through the heart.

Thrakatburz broke away from her opponent, pulling herself out of the other's mind and leaving Aman for a moment vulnerable, not quite in possesion of her own thoughts. But Thrakatburz was not thinking of attack. She turned her head so that Aman would not see her face, the pain and grief etched into her eyes. Her voice remained steady, and she knew she must convince the elf that what they had seen did not matter.

"I think black suits me better, don't you? The blood does not stain as much." She said with all the malice she could muster.