The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Nerindel]

Lespheria

Lespheria sat erect and alert upon her white mare, the noble baring of her birth apparent, but within her mind she could sense the first stirrings of the beast within, a discord in the song of the world that once before she had been forced to banish to the depths of her heart soul and mind, she alone now in this world knew where it dwelt and what it craved! But she would not give into its hunger. No it would remain buried in her determination and strength of will, but in all Irony it was most likely the only bait she knew Naiore could not resist and the one thing that in the revennors control could completely destroy them all!

‘Come, little cousin, if you dare’ Naiore’s alluring taunt echoed again and again in Lespheria’s mind as she let her sharp elven eyes searched out her quarry and her acute elven ears listened for even the slightest murmur of her cousins presence. However nothing stirred, but the chirping of crickets and the whisper of the night winds through the tall grass and leaves in the tree tops, something suddenly felt strangely wrong. Signalling to Amandur she slowed her mount to a gentle stop. “something is not right!” she whispered as the ranger reached her side, he nodded but said nothing as he waiting for her to explain. Slowly and cautiously she opened one of several doors in her mind and pressed outwards searching out the Revennor.

“Ah there you are!” she whispered in Naiore’s mind. “ I have come, not only do I dare cousin but I defy you and will always be here to stand between you and what you seek!” she pressed defiantly and with strength of conviction that challenged Naiore.

Naiore’s humourless laughter filled her mind in response, “you foolish child, you are strong but not nearly strong enough hardly worth the effor…” There was a sudden pause in the revennors retort as a ripple of something hidden washed over Lespheria’s mind, something she was quick to guard against and as another wall went up Naiore’s interest grew, “what do you hide little cousin? what is it you do not wish me to see?” she pondered to herself . “ Your mother” She purred to Lespheria‘s waiting mind, “ now she was a challenge… a pity I did not get to finish what I started with her!”

Lespheria grinned the first bait had been taken, “Yes she was strong, Strong enough to beat the great revennor of Mordor! she kept her greatest secret from you, you are the one who failed Naiore and she is not your only failure now is she ….” sensing an irritated ripple of anger wash over the usually well controlled mind of the Revennor she went on, “ they all seem to get away, don’t they? Kaldir, Menecin, Vanwe and still you have not the answers you seek!”


“You presume to think you know me cousin , I may have been too hasty with the Ranger, but whoever said I was finished with the rest!” Naiore seethed and as the words echoed in Lespheria’s mind another thought of intent slipped through.

“Nooo!” she cried out urgently as the Naiore’s intent gave fuel to the beast that now thrashed violently at the walls of it’s prison longing to at last be let loose. Cracks began to appear in walls of her defence as she struggled to contain and overpower the fear Naiore’s intent had awoken. “Avanill! Vanwe!” she cried as she kicked her mare sharply and turned in the direction of the merchant and his charge. Her face flushed with anger at Naiores deception, she bent low over her mare urging the creature on while the fear within her continued thrashed violently against the walls of its prison. Naiore’s Laughter echoed in her mind “ You can’t save them Cousin ! It will be you who fails Just like your mother failed!”

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

A cold smile of satisfaction touched Naiore's fair lips as she felt the tremor of a familiar emotion flicker across Léspheria's consciousness before another wall fell into place, hiding her cousin’s fear. Fear. Yes, Naiore had sensed its presence even as Léspheria fought to conceal it. She was afraid. Fear in one of the Eldar sounded to many like discord in the Music of the Ainur, a false chord, strident and misplaced amongst the deep strata of overlapping harmonies, but to Naiore it carried an echo of beauty. From whence did those notes spring? Withdrawing her mind from that of her cousin, Naiore’s beautiful smile faded as the question that had haunted her for nearly the whole of her long existence, rose again in her thoughts. Where does fear spawn? Someday, the answer to that question would lie within her grasp. Perhaps soon.

Hearing the distant voices of her pursuers growing ever closer, Naiore turned her attention to matters of more immediate concern. She would come back to Léspheria later, when the time was right. But now, two of her own erstwhile traveling companions approached the very tree in which Naiore had concealed herself. She removed the gray arrow from her bowstring, and slid silently down from her vantage point in the tree to a place of concealment on the ground.

“...help each other out if things go wrong,” said Avanill softly to Vanwe, as the two of them rode slowly along the wooded path. “That is, if you yourself choose to stay with me.”

Naiore’s gaze flicked coolly over the two, assessing their weapons, their state of readiness. She saw instantly that while the young merchant was armed with both bow and sword, he foolishly carried neither at the ready. The bow was carried loosely in his hand, with no arrow nocked to the string. Vanwe wore only a small knife tucked safely into her belt. It took but an instant for Naiore to cast her mind outward, to determine that the others were far enough distant not to present a threat to her. Menecin, the closest one to her location, was moving away, in the direction of the river, following the trail left by her abandoned horse. These two were alone. As Vanwe murmured her response to Avanill, the merchant suddenly dismounted and walked to the base of the tree in which Naiore had so recently been hiding. He gazed upward. Vanwe grew suddenly stiff and silent as Naiore’s voice pierced her consciousness. Be very still, my daughter, my dear, purred Naiore. And no harm shall come to you. Say not a word and no harm shall come to you...

Unaware, Avanill turned toward Vanwe. “As we rode up, I thought...” his voice trailed off as he caught sight of the stricken expression on the young elf’s face. “What is it?” he asked, reaching over his shoulder for an arrow to put to the bow in his hand. He stopped in mid-motion as Naiore stepped out from her place of concealment, her bow now slung and one of her curved swords ready in her hand. She watched as he blanched at the sight of her, the blood draining tellingly from his face. He regained his composure quickly, but the damage had already been done. Naiore could feel his fear rise. His arm still raised over his shoulder, he twisted the nock of one arrow thoughtfully between his fingertips then slowly, very slowly, drew it from the quiver. His dark blue eyes met hers in a plucky attempt at fearlessness.

“My lady!” he exclaimed. “You gave a me fierce start. I didn’t expect to find you here.” He nodded toward Vanwe. “See what I have brought you? I got her back. The others suspect nothing.”

Vanwe’s blue eyes widened in surprise at the young merchant’s treacherous words. Her mouth dropped open to cry out, to object, to accuse, but no sound escaped other than a soft, wordless moan, like the coo of a dove.

Naiore smiled. “For me? How kind.” Still holding her curved sword at the ready, she stepped between Avanill and his horse, effectively separating him from a chance at flight. To Vanwe, she said, “Dismount, my dear. It is so good that my loyal friend, Avanill, has seen fit to re-unite us.” As Vanwe silently slid from her saddle, Naiore turned once again to Avanill. “You are loyal are you not?” she asked smoothly. “Or is it something else you have brought for me? Tell me. Tell me everything.” She stepped nearer.

Nervously, the young man licked his lips. As his eyes flicked to the arrow in his hand and back to Naiore, the Ravenner suddenly knew all. His words meant nothing. The arrow was what he had brought for her. A sudden flare of anger rose in her breast as the full extent of this young man’s hubris became clear. He meant to lie to her, to deceive her as he might some poor, backcountry farmer. Then he meant to kill her, not openly in battle, but by deceit and treachery, by mere sleight of hand and the use of a poisoned arrow. Naiore would simply not allow it. This no one, this pretender, would not be the one to destroy the dire Ravenner of Mordor. Subduing her sense of outrage, Naiore also felt a spark of excitement as she studied the young man’s handsome face. It would be a pleasure to kill him, to bathe in his fear as the realization struck him that he had failed.

Avanill smiled. His expression was ingratiating and confident. “I had planned to break from the others as soon as I could separate Vanwe from the group. Now that I have her, it is fortunate that you have found us. It had been troubling me as to how I would be able to find you, that I might deliver your daughter into your hands once more.”

“Troubling, indeed,” said Naiore mildly. Her eyes lit on the bow he still held loosely at his side. “I know that weapon,” she said. Abruptly, she held out the gloved hand that did not hold her sword. “May I see it?”

Avanill hesitated, then handed over the Bard’s heavy bow. His other hand tightened around the haft of the arrow.

“A beautiful thing,” said Naiore softly, as her graceful fingers closed around the carved wood. “And so deadly in the right hands.”

“I would think that is part of its beauty,” said Avanill suavely. His voice still sounded calm and pleasantly ingratiating, but Naiore could feel the current of tension and fear that rushed like a rain-swollen river beneath his cool exterior. Her sharp eyes caught the ghost of a tremor in his hands, as he suddenly proffered the arrow. “See... see even the artistry of the arrow maker. The arrow, too is a thing of beauty.”

Artless, thought Naiore. His effort to get near her with the point of the arrow was clumsy and sadly transparent. She smiled and put aside the Bard’s beautiful bow, so similar in design to her own, leaning it against a nearby tree trunk. Then, she sheathed her sword.

“The arrow is indeed a thing of beauty,” said Naiore. “Even more so when it is in flight.” She reached out to take the arrow. As her hand moved toward the shaft, Avanill suddenly lunged forward, flicking the point toward her face with a viper’s quickness. Expecting the move, Naiore fell to a crouch, the arrow’s point missing her by a safe margin. As she dropped, she struck out with one of her legs, sweeping the young man’s unsuspecting feet from under him. He landed in a heap on the forest floor. Naiore sprang and, before he knew what had happened, she had him pinned with her knee on his chest, one hand holding her Noldorin dagger to his throat. With surprising strength, her other hand forced Avanill’s arm and the hand that held the arrow to the ground. Behind her, Vanwe released a sharp cry of horror and surprise.

“Quiet!” snapped Naiore, her clear eyes never leaving Avanill’s terrified face. Instantly Vanwe fell silent, but Naiore knew she had to dispatch the merchant quickly. Sadly, there would be no time to explore the depths of his fear. Watching Vanwe from the corner of her eyes, Naiore saw the young elf hovering just beyond the Ravenner’s left shoulder, trapped in hesitation between flight and coming to her companion’s aid. Suddenly, Vanwe came to a decision.

“No!” she cried and sprang forward. Forgetting the knife in her belt, she picked up the heavy elven bow that belonged to her father and, wielding it with both hands like a club, swung it wildly at her mother’s head. Deftly, Naiore ducked the blow and with a face serene as that of a marble statue, plunged her dagger home. The blade entered Avanill’s throat just above his Adam’s apple and cut upwards toward the place where his spine joined his skull. As a warm gush of crimson spurted out to stain Naiore’s inky leathers anew with blood, Avanill’s body shuddered once and was still, his face frozen in a mask of horror and disbelief. The hand holding the poisoned arrow fell impotently open.

Vanwe struggled to regain her balance, having been thrown off by the momentum of her swing. Snatching the poisoned arrow from Avanill’s dead hand, Naiore rose to face her daughter. Knowing that she could not defeat Naiore hand to hand and that her companion could no longer help her, Vanwe lowered the bow and fell back a step toward her horse. Still holding her blood-stained dagger at the ready, Naiore added Avanill’s arrow to the quiver on her back, knowing that she could identify it by the touch, the fletchings being oddly notched and different from her own. Smiling again, but with eyes as cold as starlight, Naiore moved toward her retreating daughter.

********************************

Hilde Bracegirdle's Post - Menecin


The elf reined in his horse. The sound of something stirring at the water's edge had reached his ears, now still as the mountains behind him he listened, a darker silhouette in the night. And though the breeze bore with it no additional warning, chariness prevented Menecin from moving further along the river. Dagger in hand he slid from his mount, drawn to the water's edge.

There under the clear sky, he came across a sleek mare that had dared slake its thirst by a dark pool and was unable to free itself. Though neither tethered nor tied, Naiore's weary mount was held fast, its tangled reins dripping with stagnant water. The discarded creature bowed its head, sadly watching the slow moving Gladden with resignation.

Nowhere could Menecin see Naiore, or the least sign of her passing. Had she then chosen to wait and watch hidden among the reeds? Or perhaps enshrouded by the night, she still continued this hurried journey? And as he searched the terrain for her, his eyes fell upon the dimly glinting Anduin, flowing ever south in the distance, and with sadness he recalled Lórinand of old, like a reflection of light from the west, a jewel concealed beside the Great River. But beyond that once fair realm, he knew lay dusty Dagorlad; bordered by the treacherous marshes where so many of Lord Gil-galad's forces had become lost. And others, returning, whispered tales of a beautiful elf maid who had ridden at the forefront, captain of a host of Mordor. Naiore's appearance had inspired fear, as The Dark Lord sought to drive a wedge of mistrust deep into the alliance. Would she then seek to retreat behind the stonewalls of Ered Lithui as had her master, awaiting a siege, or plan reprisal as she roamed blighted Gorgoroth, remembering?

The horse blew in excited greeting as the elf waded into the water to free it. Quickly sheathing his knife, he deftly unwound the strips of sodden leather, speaking in low tones to the creature as he listened for the least crackling among the weeds. All was deceptively peaceful. If Naiore had fled, crossing the water, she would not long be idle. And in his heart Menecin with dread knew she would not flee. Not without ensuring that they would no longer pursue her. She would cripple them if she could, and they had played into her hands. "Vanwe," he whispered. How blind he had been, following this false trail away from her!

With great noise and haste Menecin led the mare to where his own horse waited. And still grasping its lead, he swung into the saddle pulling the dun's nose back in the direction he had come. Naiore's mare might be required to bear her yet a little while longer. Gripping its reins in his left hand, he kicked his mount sharply and set off, threading his way rapidly though the fen.

When the moon had climbed high and Menecin had almost reached the spot where he thought to leave the water's edge, he heard a cry far upstream. Brief and troubled, it was Léspheria he recognized, calling out to Vanwe and Avanill. But where then was Amandur? Immediately Menecin let go the spare horse, sending it galloping forward along a deer's path that led away from the bank, while he followed a short distance behind. But he had only gone a few yards when a clear whistling bird called out, as though disturbed. It was a signal such as he had heard before in Ithilien, a warning from Amandur. And he knew then the danger was not to be found with them, but with the others.

His heart became stone as he veered off the path, and his horse's hooves churned the earth, galloping with all speed over the soft ground at the river's edge. Menecin did not slow, not until he heard to his right, his daughter's voice and Naiore rebuking her. Only then did he allow the beast to rest as he suddenly stopped, closing the last stretch on foot.

Silently approaching with weapon readied, he saw Naiore standing with her back to him, effortlessly slipping an arrow into the slender quiver poised between her shoulders. It was the heavier arrow Avanill had prepared, his own arrow that she placed beside her own, so finely fletched. And at her foot lay the merchant, unblinking and unseeing. Menecin was staring down at the young man with regret, when he felt a familiar intrusive presence slip like a shade through his mind, searching. Even as Naiore stepped over the body to stop in front of her daughter, Menecin felt he had been expected. The bard looked up to see Vanwe's surreptitious glance, her eyes quickly darting to her mother at the sight of the gleaming blade in his hand.

Barely distinguishable from his own at first, a persistent thought broke through catching hold of his reluctance, So this is love, Menecin? What is it that you have come to do? But Menecin stilling his mind, stood mutely behind the Ravennor, looking slowly from the bloodied dagger held firmly in Naiore's hand to his daughter who stood just an arm's length before her, a mirrored image of Naiore in her youth. What stays your hand? the Ravennor taunted him in silence. Is this ignominious ending, not to your taste? You know it is in your power, Menecin, to choose another, but do you have the strength? You can avert this bloodshed, if you so wish. The coils tightened for a moment, stirring old and pleasant memories before vanishing altogether as Naiore quickly slipped her free arm around Vanwe, walking her away from Avanill's body to more sheltered ground. Then gently spinning her around, side by side they both faced Menecin. "There is a strong resemblance, is there not?" she asked smoothly.

A grim smile rose to the bard's lips, as he followed them. "Sadly there is little resemblance, Naiore. For you have ripened to cruelty having had every advantage, and she, though born to cruelty has grown to possess great strength of heart and a noble spirit." He shook his head, a piercing glance still fixed on Naiore, "But such traits are of no account to you, though I would that it was otherwise."

"You too have strength of heart, Menecin. But did you not at first show me this path I have set my foot on? And now there is so very little time left to prove yourself. Your fledgling family will soon be scattered once more, beyond all reconciliation. Yet perhaps not all is irretrievable, there remain a few moments still. You must choose quickly."

Then Vanwe spoke softly, seeing her father's quandary. "Father, Amandur is a honorable man, he does not seek my mother's death."

Menecin addressed her earnestly, "Yes, he is a good man. But I cannot speak of the others she would encounter, even were the King and Queen themselves to moderate their judgment. And your mother prefers her own methods of defense. I see no good thing would come of the path." Then hearing the dull pounding of horses approaching he turned quickly to Naiore, "I will go with you, if you so wish."

With a smile, the Ravennor nodded directing Vanwe to recover Menecin's bow and arrows. But the elf stopped his daughter, announcing in a commanding voice, "No Naiore, we will go into the east alone and unarmed. Vanwe has served her purpose for you."

With the horses almost upon them, the Ravennor's smile broadened, and grabbing Vanwe she placed the red smeared dagger against her fair throat. "No, Menecin, she has one last function to perform, and you, one last chance to save her. Kill the ranger, Menecin. Kill Amandur and I will go with you as you said, alone and unarmed."

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur’s rich hazel eyes, hardened by the passage of time and the evils he had been unfortunate to witness peered through the strands of loose dark hair that stubbornly blew across his rugged features, quietly scanning the surrounding night as he waited for the ladies explanation as to their sudden halt. After a moments silence he turned back to regard her, a pained look reached his eyes as he looked upon the blank expressionless features of the elven lady, a trance like state he had witnessed many times on their adventures together. While he knew that in this manner she could searched out their elusive quarry, he worried, it often troubled him greatly how much on this journey she had struggled to control the emotions that made her who she was and if Naiore; as was said indeed share Lespheria’s gift what harm might the elf witch inflict upon this noble women he would so willingly protect with his own life. But against such an enemy all his strength and wisdom might yet prove useless, a sudden feeling of helplessness washed over him as in his heart he knew he may not be able to save her from the true might of Naiore’s malice. For once in his life he would have to have faith in another, he had to believe that the strong ,determined, Just elf he knew and loved could defeat this evil in her own way.

“…But not alone” he murmured, not with piercing arrows nor tempered steel could he help but with trust and faith, love and friendship would her armour be and he would not desert nor betray her no matter what manner of witch craft Naiore decided to inflict upon them. Reaching out he gently squeeze her gloved hand in his, but started as she suddenly cried out.

As she turn to look at him he was surprised to see the briefest glimmer of fear in her eyes, a look he would never forget, Dark and foreboding like a shadow of evil fogging the gentleness of her heart. But as quickly as it had appeared it was gone, almost as though it had never been.

“Avanill! Vanwe!” she cried urgently her hand slipping from his as she kick her white mare to a gallop, quickly gathering his wits he turned briefly to whistle a signal to Menecin only to hear the thunder of hooves denoting that Léspheria’s fearful cries had already alerted the elven warrior, then he too kick his horse to follow.

It was evident by Lespheria’s haste that she felt the elf maiden and her companion were in danger, he watched as Lespheria abruptly reigned her mount leaping agilely from the saddle to the ground drawing forth the great bow she carried, fashioned from the wood of the great Mallorn trees of Lorien, the intricate gold leaf inlay glistening eerily in the moonlight. Seeing her falter as she reached into her quaver he rushed to her side. “No! I will be ok!” she protested, The pain etched on her gentle features changing almost instantly to a look of defiant determination.

She grasped an arrow and knocked it securely in place, then pulling herself tall she quietly cautioned that Naiore was near. With a slight nod of her head she signalled him to break off to the right to cover her advance, leaving the horses to gaze were they stood. His sword now firmly in his hands Amandur moved off easily matching the elven ladies pace listening for any hidden dangers that may lay ahead.

After barely a few feet she stopped drawing back the string of her bow so the feathers of the arrow gently brushed her cheek, at first Amandur could not see the ladies intent but as he stepped closer he saw the reasoning behind her haste. He blinked twice to be sure he was not seeing double. Two elven women almost double in likeness stood beneath the arching boughs of two great oaks, only the inky dark armour of Revennor of Mordor distinguishing them apart.

But unlike a mother holding her child protectively close Naiore held Vanwe to her with the cold steel of death. A dagger glinted dangerously close to the young elves throat, he knew that neither he nor Lespheria could never reach her in time if Naiore really intended to carry out this threat. Keeping his sword raised he glanced to his elven companion to see what she intended, but her bow arm remained locked and her silvery grey eyes set intently on Naiore. He followed her gaze to see that both elves stood firm like two old warriors locked in unseen battle, neither flitching. His gaze then fell sorrowfully on young Vanwe an innocent caught up in this age old battle; a participant simply by birth. Tears filled those bloodshot sapphire eye as she meet his gaze but not from fear, the look was one of pity and sorrow and as her eyes slowly shifted he followed to see a dark form lying only a few feet to his right. Suddenly remembering the young merchant he cautiously moved off to examine what he had already guessed he would find, Cautious all the time never to drop his guard or the turn his back on this most dangerous enemy.

Holding his sword firmly in his right hand he slowly crouched down beside the body of the young merchant searching for a pulse with his free hand, but as he had assumed none was to be found. The young man was already dead and even he who had had misgivings about the young man and his part in Tallas’s death felt sorrow. As he glanced down to see the fear etched into the wide lifeless pools of the young merchants eyes disgust and anger filled his heart, this elf fought and killed with no honour or regard for life. Hate and vengeance her allies feeding off her enemies fears and using them against them. well she will find no fear here! he muttered silently behind clenched teeth. Unclasping his cloak he laid it over Avanill’s broken body muttering a quick prayer. Filled with new resolve and determination that this elf should be brought to justice he rose quickly turning in the direction of the revennor and her hostage his sword raised and his eyes locked with hard determination. He had barely taken two steps when he found Menecin blocking his path, his eyes quickly shifted between the bards sapphire eyes and the half raised weapon in the elf's hands. What madness is this? he thought has the bard finally lost all reason or is this more of Naiore's doing?

"Move aside Menecin, The time has come for this elf to surrender and face the consequences of her actions!" Amandur commanded his words leaving no room for debate, but the Bard remained his eyes level and his sword in readiness.

"Look Bard I have no quarrel with you but if you do not step aside you will leave me no choice!" he added, frustration and impatience now tracing his voice as he stepped back to raise his own sword. But still the bard remained fixed as though rooted to the spot his eyes betraying no emotion.

"On the kings honour I mean you nor your family any harm but Naiore must face judgement surely you must know this?" he questioned changing tact and pressing the elf hoping to reach what if any good judgement or reasoning that yet remained.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

“You must decide Menecin,” Naiore hissed softly behind him. “See, with his own mouth the Dúnadan says he does not wish you harm, yet his sword is raised.” And though her speech was calm, Menecin was much grieved at heart at the condition she had set before him, for he counted Amandur a friend. But he had taken an oath and could not endure to see Naiore consigned to a cave deep under Mindolluin for the ages to come, abandoning her to derision under the shadow of the Citadel. And his oath and his pain she would use against him. Must he then choose the death of Amandur or that of his daughter?

“Surely friendship is a lesser bond,” the Bard whispered to himself, his ire rising as Léspheria began to engage Naiore. The chance of extricating the Ravenor from this net without cost to his friends, grew more remote as each moment past. But focusing again on the weather beaten ranger before him, he saw that Amandur had indeed brandished his sword, and a cold fire kindled in the elf’s eyes as he steeled himself. “Both the Lady Dannan and I know what judgment awaits her in Minas Tirith,” he said with a chilling restraint. “Too heavily would it lie on one of our kindred.” He paused renewing the grip on his own weapon. “I will not let you pass, while there is yet another way,” he declared stepping toward the ranger.

Menecin noticed the man’s muscle’s tighten as Amandur studied him closely through narrowed eyes. “What course are you considering Bard?” he asked with caution now tempering his speech.

“No doubt, you question my faculties…. I assure you that I am in my right senses, quite painfully so. But what is it am I considering?” the elf mused. “Truly it would be madness!” Lowering his weapon he looked steadily at the ranger as if he would read his thoughts. “What of exile?” he questioned. “A new life…or perhaps death if it should find her upon the way. There are too few of us to make the trip safely to Gondor, but without your hindrance, I would see Naiore passed the wilds of Rhûn, and mete out my own justice. For what fragile hope I have found in Vanwe stands ready to be extinguished by Naiore’s own hand. And how does one live without hope? Let my daughter not know what becomes of her mother. Better that she say she has known no parents.”

“Though you are an elf, I believe that your death would not be long upon that road, and the lady would return unchanged and unscathed” the ranger said frowning. He looked past the bard to where Naiore stood with Vanwe still caught up by her deadly embrace. “I can not permit it!” he said shaking his head as if to dispel this nightmare. And the ranger’s whisper was harsh to the elf’s ears. Amandur’s gaze soon returned to Menecin. “But if you would find comfort in exile, return with us. Once pronounced, if the wisdom of men displeases you, could we not petition the King that you might be allowed to seek the Undying Lands, and be granted it? Then prevail upon Manwë and your kindred for their mercy and judgment if you so wish, pledging only that the Lady Dannan will not return to Middle-earth. Surely there would be both justice and wisdom in this. For King Elesser would not relish such a captive to become the inheritance of his house, and perhaps the Lady Dannan will find greater understanding among her own people. But we must act now, Menecin!”

“No, I can not do as you desire, and neither can I carry out Naiore’s wish, but I must find my own way. For I will not willingly bring such discord to The Blessed Realm by delivering such a one, even in chains, to the feet of those I hold dear. The peace of Aman was too dearly bought.”

But as a crushing hopelessness began to press down upon Menecin, so that with growing effort and strength of will he fought the darkness in his mind, Amandur drew still closer facing Naiore, even as the tall elf's own back was turned to her. And Menecin did not hinder him, but raised his eyes to see Léspheria, and despair took him.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

Léspheria’s timeless features appeared hard and her starlit grey eyes cold as they fixed on her kinswoman, the quarry she had so ardently hunted these past few weeks. Her bow arm taunt and unwavering as she stared down the arrow shaft into the steely eyes of the elf that haunted her dreams giving face at last to that dark and ominous shadow! It was true that Vanwe shared her mothers beauty but not the malice and darkness that lay behind those stone like eyes staring back at her, cold and calculating, even now as Lespheria’s arrow marked it’s target. A sudden and unexpected wash of hatred and resentment coursed through her mind as she recalled the cruel and malicious torments of her mothers last year, Vanwe and Menecin’s current torments adding to her desire to just let loose the arrow in her hand and rid the world of this darkened and disillusioned creature, letting Mandos cast his judgement in the halls of the dead where perhaps she would find the true meaning of fear!

Perhaps sensing the sudden change in her cousin Naiore pulled Vanwe closer raising the blooded dagger threateningly close to the young elf’s bare and exposed throat. Naiore twice attempted to move out of bowshot but found that Lespheria countered each movement as if it were her own. However no concern nor fear crossed the cornered elf’s lustrous features instead a sly grin curved her lips giving those grey eyes a deceptively convincing glint of interest and intrigue. Ripples of discord tugged at the corners of Lespheria’s mind and she resisted the urge to turn to witness Naiore’s latest play. She could feel the bards struggle and Amandurs hesitant recourse but chose to block it out. She had faith in both and Naiore’s attempt to feed her these doubts not only failed, but added to her resentment.

“I will not be cowed by you Cousin!” she issued with calm defiance in her voice, but Naiore’s grin only broadened as if a challenge had been sent out and only too eager she accepted. Her eyes fixed on the arrow still nocked in her cousins bow she lowered her head slightly to whisper in her daughters ear. “See now your friend my daughter she means to take her revenge and separate us once more!” a look of triumphant satisfaction crossed the revennor’s face as a mixture of fear, confusion and horror swept over the young elf, Lespheria felt it too as was intended but refused to look into young elf’s eyes, she could not afford the distraction of the pleading look she knew she would find.

“I wonder daughter if you would avenge me so keenly?” Naiore cooed stroking her daughters hair with her free hand. Vanwe hesitated as she searched Lespheria’s hard set eyes hoping that that choice would never be hers to make. Sensing her daughters fears Naiore pulled Vanwe’s head back and glared towards Léspheria.

“Well Cousin what do you wait for!” she issued all the smoothness gone from her voice. “Is this not what you wanted my death in retribution for your mothers? it must have been agonising to bear her pain knowing that you could do nothing to save her, the fear must have been intense” and with that Naiore bombarded her with more memories of her mother imprisonment, Causing the fear within to writhe an twist trying to break free, But Lespheria would not give into it pushing the memories aside with shear force of will keeping her focused.

But at the back of Léspheria’s mind a fierce struggle battled as the elven warrior within filled with anger and bitterness compelled her to let loose her arrow and exact her revenge while the gentler more neutral healing side that cherished life weighed up the cost of her actions, could she willingly forfeit Vanwes life for vengeance, killing Naiore without finding out why? Why had Naiore chosen this path? What answers did she seek? Why had she killed her mother? Why would she kill those who loved her?

“WHY!” she questioned taking a threatening step forward her bow arm slackening but only a fraction, as she waited for the Revennor’s reply.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

"Why?" echoed Naiore. Her lovely eyes sparkled with a false merriment that sent chills trilling down the spine of the Elven woman opposite her. "Why, indeed. You might well ask yourself the same question. Why, cousin, do you pursue me so relentlessly? What is your motivation? It seems to me that Revenge guides your feet and, indeed, nocks the very arrow to your bow. Revenge, cousin! A vile and base pursuit, more suitable for orcs and misguided men than those of the Eldar race." Leaning forward to place her cheek against that of her daughter, Naiore tuned her comments to her daughter’s ears, though her eyes never left Léspheria’s face.

"You see, my daughter, this creature would slay me for no better reason than the misguided belief that it was my hand slew her mother."

"It was your hand," objected Léspheria softly, her fair features darkening at the memory of her mother’s pain.

"Was it?" Naiore’s expression grew sharper, the feigned merriment vanishing abruptly. "If my memory serves, and I believe it does, your mother was still alive when I was forced to flee Barad-dûr. She still drew breath when the Rangers entered the fortress of the Dark Lord. Ask yourself," purred Naiore. "Or, better yet, ask the Ranger who would fain be your lover, how it is that Lady Valaindon should die after leaving my hands and entering into his?"

Léspheria winced as though she had been struck. For the fleetest instant, her arrow trembled from its mark and the clear gray eyes flicked toward the tall Ranger who remained some distance away, his way blocked by Menecin. "It is not possible."

"Is it not?" Naiore smiled, feeling the tiny ripple of doubt that flashed through Léspheria’s emotions. "Ask yourself, how well do you know his heart? His mortal heart. And how well do you know mine? That of one of the Eldar and your own kinswoman, no less." The Ravener’s smile faded to be replaced by an expression of calm equanimity. "All I sought from your mother was knowledge. There were certain questions of lore and the heart that I sought answers to. Granted my means of interrogation were not easy..."

"Yet you hold a dagger to your own daughter’s throat."

"And you aim an arrow at mine. Have I a choice but to use my daughter as a shield if I wish to evade your murdering intent?"

"Young Avanill lies dead at your feet."

"He sought to kill me with a poisoned dart. Is it wrong of me to defend myself? It seems - " the smile appeared again at the corners of Naiore’s lips, though it fell short of her eyes " - that I am indeed more sinned against than sinning."

"And Kaldir?" Léspheria continued to press.

"He was alive when he left my sight. Ask yourself at whose hand he met his end." Naiore turned her head to speak softly into Vanwe’s ear. "You see how she twists things to blame me and prove me guilty of horrors that would serve to justify her murder of me? Have you seen me murder anyone, my child? No one, no one, except those who would kill me first." Yet, even as she spoke, Naiore’s mind drifted toward the poisoned arrow she had taken from Avanill’s dead hand. If only there were a way to put aside her dagger and nock that arrow to her bow. A mere scratch, almost a miss, and Léspheria, too, would lie dead, no longer barring the Ravener’s passage. Menecin had only to slay Amandur for her, if he did not fail her, and she would be free. She would deal with Menecin, and Vanwe, too, when the time came, but for the moment she needed them.

Without taking her eyes from Léspheria’s face, Naiore cast her mind toward Menecin and, to her profound disturbance, found a waver in his resolve. A wall, perhaps some remnant of his madness, blocked her from knowing his thoughts, but she sensed an aura of doubt. She sent a thought to his mind, do it, my love, do it, along with the renewed promise that they should go into the East together when the Ranger was dead, but the Bard’s doubt still did not diminish. Perhaps the doubt echoed from the Ranger instead? If so, Menecin should take advantage of the Man’s hesitation and move against him while he was vulnerable. If you ever loved me... urged Naiore. Strike him down!

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

Vanwe stood frozen in her mother terrifying embrace shrouded in the darkness of her own fears and doubts, they suffocated and clouded threatening to leave her a numb shell devoid of any thought or feeling, a shadow caught in a void longing for something that it could not quite remember to end. A sudden pulling and the cold bite of the blade at her throat yanked her back to herself. At first she thought that her mother had meant to end her life but as she became aware of the voices around her, her mothers and the Elvin lady Léspheria’s she realised that Naiore had only merely tightened her hold. It frightened her how easily she had accepted that fate almost welcoming it. She pushed the thoughts roughly aside as the voices filtered into her mind and she realised that her mother was speaking to her, the words no longer as honeyed as her mother had intended as sharp hardness edged every word as they echoed in her ear.

“I wonder daughter if you would avenge me so keenly?”

Avenge? What does she speak of? If she could have she would have gasped as her eyes raised to see the hard faced determination etched on the Elvin hunter before her, no not hunter the woman she had thought her friend…Léspheria! What of your promise??? She screamed silently in her mind her anguish awash anew as Léspheria refused to met her gaze. What of your mother she would not have wanted this…….remember…. Please remember! she thought suddenly feeling a wrongness in her Elvin friend that caused her concern it was a wrongness that she also sensed within her mother.

“Why?” Léspheria had cried out and in her mind Vanwe sighed a sigh of relief as the woman stepped forward her bow arm loosening if only slightly but for now it was enough as they waited for Naiore reply she to was interested to learn why her mother had turn enemy to her friend.

She Listened silently to the arguments passing between mother and friend at times her mothers lips brushed her ear as she directed certain question through her stirring the fear and doubt she knew was ever present. Was she correct was she more sinned against that the sinner everyone believed her to be?

"You see how she twists things to blame me and prove me guilty of horrors that would serve to justify her murder of me? Have you seen me murder anyone, my child?

She could not deny her mothers words it was true she had not, but neither could she forget her mothers relentless methods of questioning it had changed her as she now assumed it had the others, the bounty hunter, Lespheria’s mother, her father and inadvertently Léspheria it had changed them all shaping them to her mothers will or driving them to madness was this what was to become of her was she to be subverted to her mother will or go mad in the process? No her mother had not put her hand to those who had died except in defence… she had done things far worse!

The pain of this truth struck her like a sharp blow as her despair again resurfaced, had it been all for not? what had she found? Yet another prison from which this time there seemed no escape except perhaps in death!

NO! the survival instinct that had kept her alive all these years cried in her mind, she had discovered herself who and what she was she was, an elf with kin and family not abandoned as she had believed but found. She had discovered a purpose for her gift. Her eyes raised to find Léspheria’s, it had been she who had shown it to her in the halls of healing. What legacy had her mother given her, yes undoubtedly her life and her gift both for which she would ever be grateful but the Cage the prison her mother constructed and placed around her, the bars not wrought iron but those affected by the Revennor of Mordor terrifying reach, instilling the fear and distrust that had closed her to the truth of what she was, she was a healer and healing was what was needed.

A sudden calm swept over her and as Naiore thoughts turned to her father Vanwe realised what she must do.

***************************************

Léspheria

Naiore’s words brought neither the answers Lespheria wanted or needed, nor did they lead her to any better understanding of the reasoning behind her cousin’s treachery. Instead they left her wondering and questioning herself ,did she really haunt her mothers cousin so unjustly? Was it not her own curiosity of knowledge kept from her that brought her on this haunt to begin with? Was it the same with Naiore? Did her curiosity regarding the nature and purpose of fear and pain drive her thusly? Where they as different as she once believed? Who was she to decide and dispense such justice? Her hand wavered uncertainly, Had she not promised herself after the encounter with the bounty hunter that stalked Vanwe in the stables at the green dragon that she would see no unwarranted harm come to the young elf, yet here she now stood having in Naiore’s words place Vanwe into the very predicament she had vowed to avoid. Was she no better than the haunted elf before her?

Too late she realised what was happening to her, the walls she had carefully constructed not only over the past few weeks but most of her life where being carefully stripped away, one at a time revealing to her the flaws and mistakes of her past. Forcing her to see the events of her life that she would rather forget, but also showing to her all the good she had accomplished in her lifetime, the lives she had touched and saved, the people she had loved and respected. It all fell away until at last in her mind she stood completely alone!

No not alone, something else remained a shadow dark and ominous, it’s touch cold on her very soul. She could feel its elation at finally being free, it swirled and danced drawing together to take form as she attempted to look away. You must face your fears! a soft and comforting voice in her mind urged. Yes this is what this creature was! she could hear it now the discord in the music of her being, a thing that was born with the making of the world, something she now knew she could never escape. She could lock it away but never banish it completely. It was a part of her, a part of them all laying dormant in the souls of each and everyone of them until the time came when they must face it and either defeat it or ever be ruled by it.

Drawing the last of her resolve she raised her eyes to look at the face of her fears, while all her outward appearance remained serene and impassive revealing nothing of the confrontation going on in within. But nothing could have prepared her for want she saw, from the inky darkness of her fears a figure stepped forward, clad in the very darkness from whence it had come a cold chill marking each step. Naiore! she thought unsurprised that her fears would take such a form, but as the figure drew closer she saw that a pale hands wrapped around a bow of finest mallorn and in the other a short sword that she instantly recognised as her own. No she thought drawing back a few steps, It can’t be! She panicked seeing the dark blood dripping from blades stained edges. The figure laughed coldly seeing her revulsion and with a sweep of the blade it drew back more of the darkness to reveal lifeless unmoving figures sprawled at it’s feet.

Noooooooooooooooo! She screamed wordlessly in her mind as the forms were suddenly given faces. Vanwe, Menecin, Amandur they all lay dead at the feet of the dark figure. Who are you? she cried now uncertain that Naiore was her greatest fear. The figure ceased it’s advance and laughed mirthlessly. Do you still not know me? It issued coldly. Then with another quick sweep of the bladed hand the figure drew back the dark cowl that had hidden it’s features and Léspheria suddenly found herself face to face with herself!

She wanted to flee, escaping the face of her fears; recede to the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind, but she could not something… no someone held her in place. Time to heal a soft voice whispered and this time she recognised it as Vanwe’s . It comforted and gave her strength to stand her ground and face the truth of the thing before her. It was a manifestation of her fears, a fear that her gift like a double edged blade could either be used to serve, preserving life or it could consume; Manipulating and taking life till its purpose is Fulfilled. Lespheria feared the latter and the consequences if she could control it! She feared she would become the very elf she hunted

Suddenly everything disappeared and all she could hear was a strong but steady bu bum bu bum bu bum. She gasped horrified, realising that she held Naiore's life in her hands. ‘Just one thought and we could stop it all here,’ a smooth velvety voice whispered, a voice eerily her own, ‘strong we are, stronger than anyone, even this the great revennor of Mordor’ the voice trilled, the abhorrence dripping from it, echoing her own revulsion. 'no!' she cried shaking her head, ‘But she killed her!’ the voice hissed angrily ‘she killed your mother, tortured her for knowledge and for no better reason than that she could!’ The pain of those words chilled her right to her marrow. But still the voice went on enticing her, urging her to take the life of the elf before her and for the briefest moment she actually contemplated just closing one of those great valves that feed the woman’s heart. ‘One thought and it would all be over’ the voice cooed again. ‘No, no I can’t do this! It is my choice it will always is my choice and I choose not to carry the sins of our fathers, I will not kill one of my bloodline, I shall not dishonour my mothers memory with such a vile act and I will never become that which I detest! No Naiore will not die by my hand.'

Léspheria came back to herself suddenly. What had felt like hours locked within her own mind had been merely moments. Her eyes searched out Vawne’s and found unspoken a silent understanding. Before she could speak Menecin had moved between them unaware of his daughters intervention and as he prayed her put aside her bow she did so, now knowing that spilling Naiore’s blood that of kin would only hasten her fears to reality, no if Naiore was fated to die it would not be by her blade or bow.