Treachery of Men RPG

[Folwren]

Having done what needed to be done with Gausen, Uldor turned and walked away. He passed through the crowd easily, for men stepped back to make room for him. He stopped half way across the room, looking towards the elves’ entrance. His chest slowly expanded and fell again as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t want to greet them. In fact, he did not actually want this banquet at all. He hated such formality – such shows of dishonest courtesy.

All the same, it had to be done. He moved forward again. Once more, a slight path was made for him. He lost sight of the elves for a moment, but he knew their general direction. Men’s gazes were more towards the elves than towards Uldor and more than once, Uldor had to pluck someone’s sleeve to make way for himself. At such instances, the man would start and draw away quickly, frightened.

Uldor came in sight of the elven envoys again just in time to see two children run pell-mell into the older ambassador. Uldor’s mood had been tolerable until then, but seeing the collision darkened it badly. As little as he respected the envoys in his own mind, he understood the necessity to give them proper show of respect, even if it was false. This…lack of proper behavior, or proper dignity, belonging in the Ulfang Hall annoyed and angered him.

He approached swiftly, striding forward with more purpose than before. He would have to make up, he realized, for some brat’s failure. What were children even doing there? This was not a party for just anyone!

He came within earshot of them as Lachrandir was in the midst of speaking. “I suppose we shall be expected to sit beside the Lord Ulfang, or his sons, but I would be glad to have your family about us, sir, especially as our relations have begun in such an…intense…fashion.”

Uldor bit his lip in vexation, but decided to ignore the words and speak as though he had heard nothing. “Good evening, my lord Lachrandir,” he said when he drew near enough. “Welcome! I am very glad to see that my message bearer found you. Please – the banquet is ready – come and we will find you your place.”

[Celuien]

Like the others in the hall, Ulfast had fallen into a silent, awestruck gaze when the Elves entered. It was strange, he thought, that even he, second son of Ulfang, and rightful heir to the Ulfing lordship, and one who had met the Elves before, still felt the same wonder as the common smith at his side. And yet, it was not strange; for the Elves held a hidden strength and power, and that power reached through the crowd to Ulfast, again awakening his desire to rise and rule over his people.

A twinge of annoyance passed over Ulfast when the children careened into Lachrandir. If Uldor wished to play chief, he should have been awaiting the guests' entrance to see that their proper hosts met them: not lesser guests and their half-wild children. The spell was broken. Again drawing forth the sword, he turned to Dag.

"You have done well, indeed." Ulfast hung the sword from his belt. "And you shall be well-rewarded."

He glanced back toward the Elves. Good. Uldor had finally seen fit to make his appearance.

"But now, be merry! The banquet begins soon. We shall speak again later."

Still annoyed, Ulfast directed his attention to his brother and the Elves and began to make his way towards them. As he moved through the crowd, he spotted Ulwarth at the banquet table. He held a paper in his hands, and seeing Ulfast, beckoned him to come to the table.

"A message?" asked Ulfast.

"Yes. What do you make of this?" Ulwarth handed him the note.

My Brethren,

It has been long since our people came together in open and friendly discourse ...

"What a stroke of good fortune! Say nothing to Uldor." He folded the paper. "Of course the hunt will go forward. And we will announce it tonight. Do you see? We will accept the offer of friendship on behalf of the Ulfings. Not Uldor."

Ulwarth smiled. "I do."

[Lalaith]

“I suppose there is nothing that can be done...” The other woman’s questioning tone and glance awakened a strange feeling in Embla.

Fear, excitement, hope, horror....all fought for mastery and the tumultuous confusion of emotions made her feel slightly sick. As she stood there in the windswept field, watching this beautiful creature and listening to her honeyed words – so kind, so wise - something else awakened in her, something she barely recognised. It was the latent gift of her people, so long buried under crippling layers of morose, sullen brooding.

What she felt from Jord was, above all else, fear. Why? There was nothing in the gaze of this woman that hinted at any secret dread or alarm. No, whatever else she was, the stranger was absolutely fearless. The sense of terror must come from something else. From others....it made no sense, no sense at all. Embla could no longer bear the conflict of feelings within her and she had an overwhelming desire to turn and run.

She thought again. One thing was certain. This woman had spoken to her, with gentle words of courtesy and understanding that no other living creature had shown her for years. Whatever her forebodings, she must talk to Jord again, seek the wise counsel of a woman far above her in prestige and in freedom. “Thank you for your respect, Lady,” she stammered. “I like to see your proud bearing, and would fain hold up my head so high, just as you do. Perhaps, if you could find the time, we can talk again? I wish for more counsel.....but I must go.” With that, Embla rushed off back to the Borrim camp. The tears that streamed from her eyes were, she told herself, pricked forth by the sharp winds. But she knew they had another, deeper cause.

[littlemanpoet]

Lachrandir sat at table, Tathren to his right, Uldor to his left. The chair was too short in the legs, forcing Lachrandir to stretch his long legs out beneath the table. He was gratified that all gathered sat on the outsides of the tables, the walls to their backs, so that the servants had free hand to serve them from the front; there would be no competition for the space his legs needed.

It was a beastly dark place, even with lamps scattered here and there throughout the room. The tapestries hanging from the walls all around the room were rough and colorless, rank with the stench of the animal skins from which they were taken.

The pavilion of that Borrim emissary had not been so barbaric. What was his name? Kaldir? No, too Elvish. Something with less grace. Khandir? Yes, that must have been it. The man had had a silver tongue in his mouth - for a mortal. More so than these Ulfings - but then that was crediting these bowlegged mongrels too well, for none of the clan, not even their sire, had put more than a few sentences together in his presence.

Where was their sire? He should be here as host. Or was he the host at all? Was he a mere figurehead? Or not even that? - for if a figurehead then he would at least be present for the sake of appearances.

Uldor, the eldest, sitting next to Lachrandir, was no less hideous of face and feature than his brothers and the entire clan. And that seemingly permanent sneering scowl spoke not well at all. Apparently, the boor thought rather well of himself for some reason; but he seemed preoccupied, his fool's eye wandering as if he were looking for someone he missed; his sire?

"Master Uldor, where is your lord?"

[Nogrod]

Fastarr was already coming to his tent when he realised he had forgotten to ask for a portion of his salary from Khandr. It had been due for a few days already but as Fastarr still had some coins in his pouch he hadn’t felt any urge to go on reminding Khandr about it. But he’d need to buy new boots anyway, hopefully tomorrow, and there was not enough in his purse for them.

So he turned around and headed back to Khandr’s residence hoping his master would not have pulled off to sleep already.

Coming to the hallway he first met with the servant Hugo.

“So master Fastarr forgot the keys to his tent then?” Hugo flashed a smile. Fastarr chuckled.

“Don’t forget I may still mention this deal of ours to lord Khandr…” Fastarr replied smiling but then went to speak his his mind. “But really… Do you know if lord Khandr has already retired for today or whether he’s still awake? I’d need to have a word with him”.

Hugo gave Fastarr an arching look. “If you’re going to discuss with him about my extended duties to brush also the retainers on daily basis I might not be in the mood of telling you…” He waited to see Fastarr’s expression and then shrugged his shoulders and said in a complaining voice. “All right, all right, it’s the duty of a servant to do what their masters bid – even if it will mean trouble to themselves…” He was about to turn away when Fastarr took hold of his shoulder.

“Oh, you old clown! Now show me a decent smile and tell me whether Khandr is awake or not? I know my way to his room so you don’t need to stress your old feet.”

“The problem is…” Hugo answered, “…that I don’t know. He wrote a letter or something a while ago. I know it as Grogr went to deliver it just a while ago. I need to take a quiet look at it. Sit down there in the main hall, there should be a jug of mead there. It’s mine..." here Hugo blushed a little, "but help yourself with it until I come back. We’ll have a toast then if he’s asleep as I think he is.”

Fastarr walked to the hall where they had had their dinner with the elves just a short while ago. Everything was tidy and clean like there had been no party that day. You’re a wonder-man Hugo, Fastarr thought to himself and let his eyes wander around the hall. New logs had been added to the fireplace and they burnt brightly. There was a comfortable chair beside the fireplace and a jug of mead was placed on the low table right next to it.

Oh… so this is how the mice celebrate when the cat’s dozing off? Fastarr smiled and sat to the chair. He took a long draught of the cold mead and went to his thoughts about the discussions of the day.

Suddenly he felt that someone was watching him. He turned his head to see Embla at the door staring at him with an empty look in her eyes. She looked perplexed with something, sad in a way. Fastarr rose up from the chair confused and bowed to her.

“Please my lady, take the seat. I’m just waiting for…” He swallowed the rest of his words. He knew that the relationship between Embla and Khandr was not the happiest one and to start to babble everything from how Hugo was checking if Khandr was still awake and how he had been asked by Hugo to sit there to consume the mead and everything would make him look like a moron.

There was something in Embla that made Fastarr uncomfortable everytime they were in the same company. Her presence seemed always to stir the same reaction in him. She reminded him of Aud, his former wife. They had something in common not only in what came to the looks of the two but they were also of the same Bairka-clan both of them and thence their demeanor and the way they carried themselves and spoke were very similar as well.

That memory was a bittersweet one. He really had loved her wife – and in a way still did even she was the treacherous woman she had been and was. There was the pain of the lost children, the pain of being betrayed, the pain of his own anger leading to the death of a man… but also the love and affection which it was easy for Fastarr to project to Embla. And she was a beautiful young lady, only ten years younger than him so that would be perfect… but she was his lord’s wife and that would settle it. That was what he had always thought to fight the devils from his dreams.

“Please my lady… Are you allright?” Fastarr looked at Embla who was clearly shaking. “Is there anything I can do?” He was about to take a step towards her but thought better of it and waited for her to answer first.

[Lalaith]

Embla stared, bewildered, into the large honest face of the man before her. For years, her only relations with her fellow creatures had been stiff and stilted at best, unpleasant and bitter at worst. Now twice in the space of an hour, she had, seemingly, been offered warmth, sympathy and understanding.

She struggled to regain that protective layer of sullen bile she had adopted as a Borrim wife - but it refused to reassemble itself. She was still raw and sensitive, after the strange sensations she had experienced during her encounter with Jord. This newly-found Sight was painful to her – it was not a gift, but a burden.

She felt it again as she looked at Fastarr. Her last encounter with this fellow had been just a couple of hours earlier, when he had trodden on her robe and she had hissed an insult at him. Apart from the pleasure she had derived from his discomfiture, she had thought little about the incident, or about the man himself. Now she saw and felt things so fiercely that they hurt and confused her. From the large hunter before her, she sensed difficult memories...of hurt, murderous rage....and above all, regret.

Embla did not experience any of the strange fascination that had held her in thrall when she spoke to Jord. The sympathetic overtures of this clumsy man, and even his hidden unhappiness, felt altogether more genuine, more wholesome. Nonetheless, she tried very hard to work her expression back into its usual haughty smirk.

“No, I....you.....I don’t know.....I am frightened,” she blurted. And, to her shame and horror, she began to cry.

[Folwren]

When most of the guests were seated, the servants began to bring in the dishes of food. Uldor sat silently, looking over the gathering. His scanning eyes could see most of the people in the hall from where he sat. He named many of the men to himself, wondered why a few of them were there, and went on. Among them all he could not catch sight of two that he was expecting – Brodda and, more importantly, Jord. Had the rogue forgotten his order? Did he think it was not very important and did he mean to spend all night in finding her?

His thoughts were interrupted by Lachrandir. “Master Uldor, where is your lord?”

Uldor’s attention jerked suddenly to Lachrandir and he turned his head abruptly. “My lord Ulfang, you mean?” he repeated. Again, he turned his head and looked to where the old man should be seated. The Ulfing lord’s place was empty. Uldor had not even noticed his absence. Had anyone told him? Uldor had not thought to. . .

“I am not sure where he is, Master Lachrandir,” he said, turning back to the elf after a short pause. “He should be here shortly. . .very soon.” I hope, he added to himself. A slight spasm of annoyance could be seen fleeting momentarily across his face. Another thing to worry about. He would wait a few minutes and see what came of it. “Tell me,” he said after a moment and after their goblets had been filled with wine. He paused. What was he supposed to speak about with an elf? How was one to hold conversation? “How was your journey out this way? Was it very difficult?”

[littlemanpoet]

There was a movement behind them. Lachrandir noticed Uldor turn swiftly and rise, almost bounding, from his chair. Lachrandir glanced at the disturbance, then did a double take. Lúthien, daugher of Thingol! But thas was impossible; the daughter of the King of Doriath would not be here for any reason. No, it was not her, though the resemblance was strong enough. Amongst the Ulfing? How absurd!

“I am thankful for your invitation, Lord Uldor, and am glad to be accepting it, though I am afraid I received it too late to seem a truly grateful guest.”

She turned to him, meeting his gaze. It was only then that Lachrandir realized that he had been staring. He quickly regained his self-possession, narrowed his eyes, and smiled with a slight curl of his lips at the woman. Her words had betrayed a courtesy that seemed higher than that possessed by these barbarians. Was she of the royalty here? There was something in her eyes that seemed - he searched for the word - scintillating.

Uldor was babbling uncontrollably at the woman. Did she enjoy the fool's company? Lachrandir could not imagine that, and decided that she was playing a game of some sort. Uldor motioned her to a seat down the table. She nodded graciously to Lachrandir, and he returned the gesture, his interest piqued.

Jord. An odd name, he thought.

Suddenly a connection struck him. She had been the one Uldor had been craning his neck for. Now that was interesting. It seemed that she held him captive in her womanish way. Lachrandir could see that she could have the pick of any brood, but why Uldor? Either there was more to the man than he had yet deciphered, or this Jord had something up her silky sleeve. Could she indeed be of the Ulfing? Lachrandir was not sure.

Absently, he wondered when some good wine might get passed around, not hopeful that any such quality beverage existed among the Ulfings. He sighed.

[Celuien]

"Why have you not seen the invitation?" Ulfast laughed merrily. "That I cannot answer. The letter was left here on the banquet table in plain sight. I was sure that you had seen it." He smiled broadly, amused both by his lie and Uldor's obvious anger. Ulfast pulled out the paper once again and held it out to Uldor.

"In any case, I have had it here during all of my announcement. Read it, if you like. It says little more than I have already told." Uldor snatched the paper from his hand and began to read.

"I trust that I have done well, brother. Surely you would not have refused?"

Ulfast was openly taunting his brother now. For the first time since Uldor's return, he had managed to outmaneuver his brother on a matter of some importance, and Ulfast was enjoying every moment of his victory.

[Folwren]

Uldor sneered at Ulfast’s words, but he didn’t look up from the letter until he had completed it. He wanted to crumple it up in his hand when he had finished, but he knew how that might appear to anyone who might happen to be watching him. Besides, it wasn’t so much the epistle he was angry with. It was his annoying, troublesome brother.

He shoved the letter back into Ulfast’s hand. “Next time, make sure I know before saying anything to anybody.” He placed his fisted hand on the table, and his other hand on the back of Ulfast’s chair, and he leant over him. “Do you understand?”

“Take care, brother,” Ulfast said in a hissing whisper. “There are people watching you.”

“Oh, right,” Uldor said withdrawing. He looked down at Ulfast. “As though you cared about what they thought of me. We all know what they think of me. They fear me. As you should, too.”

He turned sharply on his heel and walked away. Angry thoughts ricocheted about in his head, like a wasp caught in a jar, unable to find a way out. But his thoughts were able to escape. . .there was an outlet. Always. One of plotting and revenge - Uldor would call it punishment. He wouldn’t be mocked in his own hall. Not by anyone.

Uldor took his seat beside Lachrandir.

Not by anyone, he told himself, not even by this elf ambassador.

[Folwren]

The day following the banquet marked the beginning of a season of business and worry on Uldor's part. He had to see to it that a proper response to Khandr's invitation was sent to the Borrim and he also had to set about preparing plans for the muster of the troops that Caranthir demanded of them. He would have to send several messengers out and decide where to have all of the men congregate before setting out on their march.

And there were other dealings that needed seeing to. The matter concerning his brother was not the least piece of business in his mind. Even as he sat, twirling a quill between two fingers and drafting a letter that would summon all of his men, he was thinking of the previous night and his brother's infractions.

Finally, he threw down the quill and pushed back his chair. He stood up abruptly and went to the door to shout for a servant. When the man arrived, he said, "Tell my brother Ulfast that he can send a reply to Khandr's invitation to the hunt. Tell him I want it handsomely done. No slip shod work."

Once that was seen to, he was capable of sitting down and writing down the summoning that would be copied and sent with each messenger. The order was written out quickly and he called another servant to take it to the scribe to be copied several times in large letters. The word would have to pass as quickly as possible. Messengers would ride into each settlement, read the order to rise up and bear arms, and leave a copy in the market square and pass onto the next. Seven thousand men were not to be found in one place, or even in a few places. The settlements of men were many, and the miles long.

The riders would set out that afternoon, Uldor realized. For now, though, his job was done. In a week, after the hunt, he would hear back from his messengers, and in less that time again, he himself with all the men from his own settlement would gather their arms and go out to meet the entire muster. In the mean time, there was a great deal of planning to do. . .

[littlemanpoet]

After the feast, Lachrandir and Tathren had retired for the night to the deeps of the forests beyond the borders of the Ulfing habitation. Lachrandir breathed deeply of the fresh, clean air, satisfied with his day's work and even more pleased with having left the filthy, crude Ulfings behind, at least for a few hours.

While Tathren wandered amongst the trees, Lachrandir sat in the comfortable crook of a great beech tree, and thought. He did have to admit to himself that there was, beneath the unlovely brutishness of these Ulfings, a spark of vigor; indeed a strength of arm and will that promised well for their shared venture.

But there were secrets being kept from him. This was bound to be so. Nevertheless, he considered it to be his duty to uncover what secrets he could so that Caranthir would know that which he needed to know.

When Tathren returned to Lachrandir, moments before dawn, Lachrandir laid his charge before the younger Elf.

"Tathren, I want you to spy on these Ulfings. Be secretive, move swiftly and quietly so that none know you are there, and listen to the words that pass between the leaders of the Ulfings and Borrim. Give word to me after sundown of what you have learned."

For once Tathren did not betray undue excitement, which pleased Lachrandir. The two Elves returned by different paths to the Ulfings' village.

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn sat on a seat of moss that covered a fallen tree. The sun was westering and he was staring at the eyes of Owl. Some folk had guessed that his forethought came from the staff itself, that an Owl fëa had been caught and enslaved to his will. Foolishness. Owl's eyes served as a point of focus so that his own fëa could be fee to catch echoes of the Song that Celehan had taught him.

Thorn's teacher had told him that he had wakened beneath the stars long, long ago, and had been taught by one who had come from the West, who called himself the Great Hunter. That one had called the Eldar to come west, and Celehan had, with many others, harkened to the call and journeyed west. But the farther west he had come, the harder the road until the fear of Thangorodrim had stopped him. So Celehan wandered the wilds of Middle Earth, still hearing the Song though not crossing the Great Sea to be with his teacher.

Thorn listened for the Song. Sometimes it sounded unclear. At such times he would look to his own heart to see if he had allowed his steps to wander from the truth and the right. Usually he found some way in which he had, and when he eschewed such ways, found that the Song could again be heard. He could hear it now. Doom was afoot for the Ulfings, his people. Their lords would lead them into evil. It was time to return to his folk and tell them what he knew. He set his face westward, for he would have to pass north of the Ered Luin and come south to meet the Ulfings.

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn waited, staff in hand, at the edge of the Borrim encampment. He could be patient when it came to waiting, for his purpose was clear; once that purpose had been seen to, then he would move on to the next thing.

After a whle, the Borrim emissary came riding out of the encampment.

"Lord Khandr!" Thorn cried. "A word, if I may! I have urgent news!"

The Borrim leader's horse came up and stopped a moment, and Lord Khandr regarded Thorn with a measuring look.

Would the Borrim leader pass him by, or would he stop? Either way, Thorn had a plan. But he waited to see which it would be.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Khandr had been up and about for several hours, stalking out of the house long before the sun had risen. He had spoken first with Briga and Embla and then visited each of his men, hoping that one of them had come up with some interesting tidbit that would confirm his private suspicions that something strange was going on in the Ulfang camp. His retainers, however, had met with little success. Despite their best efforts, none of the men had managed to gather any real evidence of what was happening behind the secrecy of the court. Khandr had picked up traces of rumors, but these were no more substantial than leaves blowing in the wind. Still, he had told his friends to keep their eyes and ears open today in case anything developed during the hunt.

Only once, when he'd been speaking with Embla, did he become suspicious. He had seen a sly look fall over the woman's face, perhaps an admission that she knew more about Jord than she was actually letting on. But even this, Khandr could not be sure of.

Impatient to be off, Khandr had mounted his horse and sent the beast clattering across the field. In the distance, he could see Uldor and his brothers leading their entourage. Uldor had dismounted and was walking in Khandr's direction. But before Khandr could go forward to pay his respects, he had been startled by an unexpected entreaty from one whose name and face he could not place. Pulling up on the reins, Khandr stared over at the man. He hesitated a moment and then spoke, his voice laced with impatience, "I must be going. I have business with Uldor and his kin. There is much on my mind. But if this urgent news can not wait, speak up now whoever you might be."

[littlemanpoet]

This Borrim lord was impatient to be moving on. Thorn wasted not a moment.

"I will speak quickly. Two things. First, the Ulfing princes will betray Lord Caranthir and turn coat. Second, make peace with friend and kin while you yet have the time, for your life ends today."

By the look on Lord Khandr's face Thorn could tell that his initial reaction was like they always were: a mix of startlement and disbelief. How could some stranger speak with such certainty? Did he know something or was he mad? Thorn knew how it went. But Thorn also knew that a man's heart knows things his mind wishes not to believe. So this was a test. Would Lord Khandr listen to his heart?

[Child of the 7th Age]

Up ahead, a considerable crowd had gathered for the hunt. Men and women dressed in elaborate finery were mounted on steeds who frothed at the mouth, both they and their riders clearly impatient for the chase to start. Villagers in simpler garments wandered along the edge of the glade, while excited children darted in and out shouting out their glee at having a day free from chores or study. The steady yip of the dogs punctuated the general din as the animals paced the grove with their noises to the ground, their tails resolutely wagging.

Yet in one instant all that had faded from Khandr's mind. The hubub and bright colors receded as the meaning of the man's dark words sank in. "Who are you?" he snapped. "What do you know of such things? What reason do you have to accuse the Ulfings of treachery?"

The Borrim lord was of two minds. He had long suspected that Uldor and his crew were up to no good. Why else would he instruct his own men to spy on their hosts? Yet he was not one to trust in strangers, and he had never seen this man before. Khandr's voice dropped to a husky whisper as he stared fixedly at the messenger. "As to my fate..... Since when can any man or elf say that someone's time has come? None can do that, except perhaps the great ones from far over the sea. And I do not think you appear to be in their employ! So who has sent you here with these grim words? Whose bidding do you do?" He stood stock still, demanding an answer.

[littlemanpoet]

There went Uldor, strutting off to corner the Borrim lord. No subtlety about Ulfast's big oaf of an older brother, none at all. It would be disastrous for the lordship to fall into his hands, for the people, but obviously for himself. Ulfast held no illusions about the likely span of his years if Uldor became lord of the Ulfings. It would be short. He would be accused of committing some treacherous crime, treason even, with no proof to be found, just the word of Uldor's mealy mouthed and fork-tongued witnesses. It would not matter how many witnesses to the counter Ulfast would produce, they would all go missing by the most inconvenient of accidents. Not clever, but effective, was brother Uldor.

And living in denial. For example, Uldor had no idea that Ulfast had had his own meetings with Jord; only they were held in secret, hidden from prying ears and eyes; they were never seen to converse in public, not even make eye contact. And Ulfast knew that Jord had greater confidence in himself rather than Uldor. She knew he was the clever one.

Ulfast saw the ragged old man flee an encounter with his brother. He had not had a chance to see him well.

Ulfast strode forward, not to be outdone by his brother. Before Khandr had a chance to reply to Uldor, Ulfast threw in his own words.

"Greetings, Lord Khandr! Did that old man have a name?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

For a long moment, Khandr stood silent, hearing the words from Ulfast and Uldor but paying scant attention to them. Finally, he turned to the men and replied, "A name? He spoke a name in passing, but as it meant nothing to me I let it slip away. He spoke some garbled nonsense....about mischief afoot in the court. But I understood nothing that he said. Surely you have heard of him for he seemed to know you two quite well....."

Hearing no response, Khandr forged ahead, anxious to be finished with any talk of the stranger. "But enough of such things. If we do not get on our way, the day will be gone and we will have no quarry to show for ourselves. I am tired of standing here. Can we not get on our way? Now I go to ride with my retainers."

Khandr pulled on the reins and turned the animal around, trotting over to join the rest of the Borrim who waited a short distance away. In that manner, he also avoided immediate conversation with his hosts, at least till he had done something that must be done. Riding up to Hunta, the Borrim lord leaned close, lowering his voice, and told the man something in his ear. Hunta's face turned ashen as he listened to the words.

"Now?" Hunta queried. "I am to go now?" the young man looked reluctant and nervous.

"Yes, go and pack a satchel of food. Gather all the weapons you have. Then go immediately on the road along with that dog of yours. Make all haste. Head straight to our King as fast as you can ride and tell him what I have heard. Hopefully, you will get there before our forces leave for the field. I do not know how much truth lies behind these charges, but I can not ignore these words. I will try to gain more information and send it along later, either from here or once our hosts join together at the meeting place. Go now Hunta, and may the hosts of the West protect you for we may surely need it."

With a final salute, Khandr turned and rode back again towards the larger group. This time, he asked one of his men, "Have you seen my wife Embla? Has she joined us for the hunt? I have great need to speak with her. Our party leaves now to follow the game, but I would have her ride beside me that I may share some news." He looked up and glanced around the clearing to see if she was there.

[Folwren]

“A name?” Khandr repeated, turning to look at the two brothers. His brows knit were knit together. “He spoke a name in passing, but as it meant nothing to me, I let it slip away. He spoke some garbled nonsense. . .about mischief afoot in the court. But I understood nothing that he said. Surely you have heard of him for he seemed to know you two quite well. . .”

Uldor cast a measured glance towards Ulfast, wondering if his brother knew anything of the ragged stranger. The brothers’ eyes met, briefly, but Uldor knew in that second that Ulfast knew as little of the stranger as Uldor did. Neither of them answered and they looked back to Khandr.

“But enough of such things,” the Borrim leader said with an impatient movement in his saddle. “If we do not get on our way, the day will be gone and we will have no quarry to show for ourselves. I am tired of standing here. Can we not get on our way? Now I go to ride with my retainers.”

Uldor nodded and stepped back as Khandr wheeled his horse about and trotted back the way he had come. He stared after him, his jaw clamped shut tightly. He said nothing out loud to his brother, but his mind was whirling with thoughts. ‘Mischief afoot in the court? What did he tell him? What does he know? What does he think he knows? I will have an answer. And if he dared speak anything dangerous. . .’

“Come, brother,” Ulfast said at his side. Uldor looked at him with a black look. He hated his thought to be interrupted. “It’s time to ride.”

“Yes. It is time.” He turned and strode back quickly to his horse. He mounted up and looked about himself. “Where is Brodda?” he asked of the nearest attendant.

“Down the line, my lord,” the man said, pointing.

“Stay here,” he commanded his squire, and he urged his horse forward and pulled his head about and rode down the line. “Brodda,” he said, catching the servant’s eye. He jerked his head sideways and Brodda came out away from the others. “Brodda, did you see the man talking with the Borrim leader?”

“Yes, briefly.”

“I want him.” Brodda looked about at the many people milling about. Uldor grabbed his shoulder and turned his attention back to him. “I want him found and brought to me. At whatever cost, Brodda. Do you understand? Use whatever means you must.”

Brodda looked bitter, but he nodded his head. He understood.

[Noinkling]

‘Valr, you go on and help Falarr with the hunting gear.’ Dulaan watched as he turned away from her and walked resignedly away. She could not help but see how the boy’s shoulders slumped and his lips clamped firmly together as he bit back yet another protest.

‘Here, help Granny, pack these seed cakes and little pot of sweet goat-butter,’ she instructed Jóra. ‘And fetch one of those pots of honey from the chest – one with the red string about its neck. Got that nice bit of comb in it.’ She gave the girl a nudge with her hand, one finger of the other pointing to where the family’s larder was stored. 'And those two crocks of jam there at the end of the top shelf, too.'

Again, she saw this child’s shoulders droop with disappointment. ‘Go, on now. You know we’ll put our heads together later, you and I, For now, let your mother and father sort this problem out without you, missy!’ She gave the girl a conspiratorial wink, nodding her chin as if to confirm the promise.

When the two youngsters were busy about their tasks, Dulaan made her way to where Grímr and Káta spoke in quiet, tense tones behind the curtain of their sleeping compartment. She waited for a pause in the conversation, then called cleared her throat loudly and called out to her heart's-daughter. ‘Káta! I’ve had a thought in this old head,’ she went on. ‘Let me come in and we’ll see if you two think it might help for now.’ She waited a moment, hearing nothing. She could just imagine the shrugging of her Káta's shoulders and the shaking of Grímr’s head as a deep silence filled the little space beyond the curtain.

‘Well, since I didn’t hear a “No!” ’, she said, pushing the thick material aside. ‘I’ll take it as a “Yes, come in”, then. She stepped into the small quarters, letting the curtain twitch back into place. ‘Well now, how about we do this so’s you can make the hunt with those outsiders and the Lords,’ she began, nodding at Grímr. ‘You know, make a good showing for the family.’ She turned toward Káta, pushing on with her idea before they could ask her to leave. ‘And it’s been a good turn of days since the ... banquet,’ she spit the word out with some distaste. ‘I think I should pay a call on Gunna. See how she and the baby are coming along. And I’ll need someone to drive me.’ She rubbed her left shoulder as if it pained her. ‘Hurts something fierce today! And no, I don’t want Jóra driving. She’s a little bit wild in her handling of the reins! I was thinking Fálki could handle the cart, while Jóra rides along to keep the cakes and pots and such steady in the back.’ She looked from one to the other, her brow raised in question. ‘Course, that’ll leave the hunting party a little short on your end. Why’nt you take Valr to handle your gear and manage your kill. He’s old enough now, don’t you think? I know he’s been out hunting with Falarr before...tagged along, wasn’t it. Boy’s moving toward manhood, be good for him!’

Before Káta or her husband could answer, there was a quickly squelched sound of delight come from beyond the curtain. A hasty protest. And the sound of a minor tussle threatening to escalate...

[Folwren]

As soon as Uldor had given Brodda his instructions, he turned and headed back to his place at the head of the column. He took a deep breath as his horse trotted up the line and smoothed the lines of worry from his face. A mask fell into place and only the very few that knew him well would have caught the look of some concern hidden deep in his eyes.

He pulled his horse up beside the elven ambassador and his apprentice figure. “Well, my lord Lachrandir,” he said, giving as near a genuine smile as he could, “I imagine we will be starting soon. Lord Khandr is speaking over there.” He nodded in the Borrim’s direction where Khandr and Fastarr sat upon their separate mounts, together in close dialogue. “As soon as he is done there, I imagine we will be on our way.”

He relapsed quickly into silence and settled back into his saddle. His head swiveled about again and he fixed his dark eyes again on the Borrim leader. He was growing wearisome of the waiting, and now he was even more anxious to be off.

The talk between the two Borrim came to a close. The other man, one who Uldor did not know, turned his horse about sharply, bringing the reins about the beast’s neck and turning his nose all the way about before spurring him forward. Khandr at once turned to his other side to speak with a woman who had approached.

’What on earth does that man think I am – to be kept waiting so long?’ He drew an impatient breath. ‘And what did he send that other fellow off for? Why so quickly? Uldor turned to watch Fastarr urge his horse as quickly as he could through the thick gathering of men, women, and children. Suspicion slowly grew in his mind. He was sent on an errand, and sent in quick succession to Brodda’s errand. Were they connected? What was it he told him?

[Nogrod]

As soon as Ruadan entered from the gate Fastarr threw his arms over him and yanked his staff towards him forcing Ruadan's throat between the staff and his chest. Fastarr pulled Ruadan quickly to the shadows of the gate and forced him to his knees.

"Why were you after that old chap? Tell me now and tell me quickly. I've killed men before..." Gah, an overexaggeration but maybe I'm forgiven for the circumstances... Fastarr pulled the staff firmly tighter towards him leaving Ruadan gasping for air. Ruadan's feet started kicking into the air.

"Tell me now or end your journey right here", Fastarr hissed from between his teeth while slightly loosening the grip. Tell me you fool, I don't want to kill anyone any more... there has been enough sorrow from one...

"I... I... I can't t-tell... They'll kill m-me..." Ruadan was trying to get air to his lungs.

Fastarr yanked the staff even tighter he had done the previous time. Ruadan's face started turning blue.

"What do you think I will do to you if you don't tell me? Here your death is imminent. From the hands of your lords you may still escape". Just to make his point sink in Fastarr added the pressure and then released it. Ruadan was coughing his lungs out. There was water pouring from his eyes and bubbles fell from the corners of his mouth. Ruadan drew his lungs full of air.

"They just told me to get him with whatever it would take, whatever it would cost. I needed to turn him to Brodda the chieftain who serves lord Uldor. That's all I know."

Fastarr started tightening the grip once again and Ruadan felt it.

"Honestly! I know nothing else! That's what I was told to..."

Fastarr thought for a moment releasing the grip enough for Ruadan to breathe again. Then he took the staff from around Ruadan's neck and slowly straightened himself up. Ruadan fell on all fours from exhaustion panting heavily.

Before Ruadan had chance to see it coming Fastarr had knocked him unconscious with a firm hit from his staff. After dragging Ruadan behind a few barrells and checking no one had been overseeing the incident he straightened his tunic and ran after Hugo.

There was no one behind the corner. Fastarr made the conclusion and took to his feet. To Khandr's residence then... I can't take part on the hunt without Leafeye... and I want to know something before I go back there.

Rushing finally through the gate of Khandr's quarters Fastarr found the old man standing at the steps, seemingly waiting for Hugo whose noise could be heard from the stables to the right. He was frozen under the gamling's gaze.

Finally the old man raised his eyebrows and Fastarr felt like he could breathe again.

"Master...? Well, erm... I mean what did lord Khandr mean when he said that he might not come back from the hunt today? Is it something that has to do with you? And do you know what is the right thing we should do if that evil would befall on us?"

[littlemanpoet]

The Song did not sing this man's name to him.

"I greet you. I am Thorn, some time of the Ulfings. How are you called?"

"Fastarr, Master Thorn."

Having named himself, the young warrior cocked his head expectantly, making it clear that he was still expecting an answer to his original question. Thorn glanced at the images on his staff. Yes, this young man was almost all Eagle; there was a bit of Otter about him too; decisive and quick to action but strong of feeling as well.

"One of the Eldar taught me how to listen to the Song of Arda," Thorn said calmly. "I had words from the Song for your lord: two things. First, that the Ulfing lords will betray Lord Caranthir to Morgoth Bauglir. They will turn coat in the midst of battle. Second, that this day is the last Lord Khandr will spend within the walls of Arda."

Thorn raised a hand to stop Fastarr who had frowned and opened his mouth speak quick words of anger.

"Had I not told him the second thing, he would not have taken decisive action to warn of the Ulfing betrayal. He knows in his heart that this is his last day, and has proven true to his honor by sending your fellow armsman to warn the Borrim king of my words."

The one called Hugo returned from the stables, having overheard part of Thorn's words.

"Fastarr, he knew my name before I gave it."

Lachrandir

What, wondered the Elf, was all the fuss? Did they not want to go on this hunt? It seemed that this Borrim lord was very impressionable. Some fool of a shaman had apparently spoken some rubbish that had quite won the man over to change some plans he had laid out, and whilst the Ulfing lordlings chafed impatiently, he busied himself with seemingly urgent business that had nothing to do with the rest of those gathered. It was really quite amusing, especially to see Uldor so infuriated that there was someone - besides himself of course - whom he could not control. To cover his rage, Uldor spoke mindless banter to him, eyeing the Borrim lord suspiciously.

By contrast, Ulfast's eyes seemed to constantly be moving from one subject to the next, never resting in one place for long. What was he looking for? Game ready to be killed? Lachrandir shrugged, hoping that these boorish, ugly Men might turn out to be of some real use to Caranthir's military plans.

[Folwren]

It was not long before Ruadan came back to his senses. The first thing he was aware of was a terrible ache on the side of his head where Fastarr's staff had struck him. The next thing he felt was the ground beneath him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and sat up. His head swam and a sharp pain shot down his spine.

He looked about. He was lying in an out of the way place, an alley of sorts, tucked between the outer wall and a small shed.

Ruadan swore under his breath as his lifted his hand first to his head and then his throat. “Gah,” he said, gulping slightly as he rubbed his gullet. “I didn't even see the bloke.”

It did not good to sit there and feel sorry for himself. Slowly, and in much pain, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled out into the open. He had to find his master, the cheiftan Brodda, and tell him what had passed. A sick feeling tightened his stomach and he quailed deep within himself. As little as he would admit it to any other man, he feared to make his report.

“Sir,” he said, when he had found Brodda after long search. “I was waylaid and my purpose ruined.”

[Folwren]

Uldor sat with no attempt to hide his boredom and annoyance. He tapped the pommel of his saddle with his gloved fingers and peered about him with his lips pressed close together in a scowl. About him, the murmur of many voices rose and fell as people talked and gossiped the minutes away.

He was about to turn and make a remark to his brother sitting near him when his eye caught sight of a figure riding through the press of people. It was a mere boy, but he was looking straight at Uldor and riding in as straight a line as he could manage. The Ulfing sat up straighter, picked up the reins he had allowed to droop over his horse’s neck and waited with keen attention while the messenger drew nearer.

“My lord,” the boy said, dismounting as he drew near and bowing. “Lord Khandr has sent me to say to you that he is delayed by – by a personal matter that could not be put off. He bids that you go on ahead of him, and if he does not join you in the hunt, he will be at the festive meal he has planned.”

“Very well,” Uldor muttered, more to himself than to the boy. He hesitated not an instant to make up his mind. “We will go.” He looked at Ulfast and relayed the message in few words, and told him his decision to be off at once.

“Is it not strange, brother. . .” Ulfast began, but then trailed off and did not finish his thought.

“Eh, what?” Uldor asked, but upon receiving no immediate response, he shrugged it off. “Never mind, let’s be off before the morning is entirely wasted and all our preparation goes to naught.”

Word spread quickly through Uldor’s company of men. Girths were checked and tightened and then men remounted. Uldor took his spear in his hand again and spurred his horse forward. With a clatter of hooves and a cheering upon either side from the onlookers, the hunters were away.

[Nogrod]

I saw there wading through rivers wild
Treacherous men and murderers too,
And workers of ill with the wives of men;
There the vampire sucked the blood of the slain,
And the wolf tore men; would you know yet more?

It was Embla and something was wrong. Something really was wrong.

Embla wawered to and fro on her saddle staring straightforwards with empty eyes when Fastarr finally reached her and took the reins of her horse bringing them to a halt. Fastarr unmounted to grasp her thigh and arm to prevent her from falling.

“What is it, Embla? What is it?” there was a slight panic in Fastarr’s voice as Embla seemed to be somewhere beyond the here and now of the fields. She didn’t react.

“What was that? You saw something? You’re allright?” he shook Embla’s thigh and tried desperately to find any signs of sense in her. He shook her violently now with both hands. “Talk to me! Embla!”

Suddenly Embla came back to her senses troubled with what had just happened and confused about Fastarr holding her in his grip. She looked down at Fastarr trying to compose herself.

“Please help me down, I’m feeling quite shaky...”, she whispered taking hold of Fastarr’s shoulders still looking a bit dizzy. Then she fell forwards.

Fastarr carried her weight easily and slowly brought her down to the grass. They stood there a moment looking at each other. It felt awkwardly familiar to stand there: Fastarr’s arms were on Embla’s hips and her arms were on Fastarr’s shoulders. But even as there were so much that reminded Fastarr of their last encounter most everything had changed. Fastarr knew things had changed but Embla knew even more... and there were new tides they both were totally unaware of.

“What was that Embla? You really scared me with all those murderers, vampires and wolves... What happened to you?”

“I don’t know... I mean... I’m not even sure what I said or saw... It was terrifying”, she laid her head low and shivered with even the partial remembrance. She started shaking all over.

Fastarr grabbed her tighter into his arms and let her cry silently against his chest while he tenderly stroked her hair and back trying to sooth her as best he could. He was trying to breathe slowly and calmly to assure her that everything was all right.

But even if he managed to look and feel calm outside there was a thunder and a roar inside him. It felt to Fastarr it could explode at any moment.

There was the passion he hadn’t felt since the early and happy days of his marriage... the passion he had kind of forgotten to exist in him. And now it was there much stronger than the last time. But there was also this feeling of fragility and tenderness and a great sorrow which would keep them apart to the rest of the days. A love that would never fulfill, pure and clean from the passions of the flesh. Wasn’t that something to strive for? And wasn’t she something he should just adorn and keep at a distance in the first place? Wasn’t it not only his duty to his lord but also to her that he would treat her as a flower, a crown jewel not be be violated with rough hands or physical thoughts? Wasn’t he just thrown into this situation and he’d need to get out of it with honour.

But there was also all this talk about evil, all this talk of death and treachery... That old man had talked about it, Khandr had talked about it and now even Embla had talked about it... Were all the people going crazy? No. He felt the evil himself as well... or at least he thought he felt it... all that talk made him feel it... the Song, the fates of men, the prophecies, the vampires, the wolves... And where was Khandr he was supposed to protect or at least wittness how he met his end? Now why was he here and not beside his lord? He’d need to do the right thing... Fastarr felt her breasts under her robes against him as well as her hip pressing his groin.

“Lord Khandr set me free...”, Embla managed to mutter in the end her face still buried in his chest.

That awoke Fastarr from his thoughts. He pushed her gently a few inches away from him and waited until she lifted her eyes to meet his.

“You saw Khandr? When was that?” he asked her getting focused again.

“Just a moment ago. Why do you ask that?” Embla answered truthfully although Fastarr thought he noticed something like disappointment from her face as she heard his question.

“What else did he say? Where is he now?” Fastarr asked now more agitately.

It looked like Embla had to compose herself to answer the question. Finally she was ready.

“He talked about there being evil afoot... and that he would probably not be here to see how it all turns out... and he told me to find you if there is trouble”. Embla studied Fastarr’s expressions as she spoke and Fastarr actually felt he was in a cross-examination rather than just listening to what Khandr had said.

“Okay... I’m found now”, Fastarr said and withdrew his hands reluctantly from her hips. He was more than confused about all that was going on.

“Now tell me about the trouble and I’ll do whatever is in my powers”, Fastarr managed to say but it felt like half of the words got stuck to his throat.

[Folwren]

Brodda and Ruadan rode together through the streets, searching in vain for the old man. Brodda kept up a long string of curses, bitter with his ill luck. Ruadan rode in miserable silence beside him.

“This might cost us our heads, you know, you miserable dog,” Brodda said in Ruadan’s direction. “Yours at least.”

Ruadan had nothing to reply with.

“Keep searching,” Brodda snapped abruptly. “I’m going to go back to him and feel things out before I break the news.”

Ruadan cast him a baleful look before nodding and turning his head away. Brodda reined his horse about and cantered off down the street. Once he had left the crowd of houses behind, he slowed the horse again to a swift walk and continued on his way, brooding silently over what he was going to say, what to expect, and how to deflect his lord’s displeasure.

Lost so in thought and consideration, Brodda did not spot the old man in the road ahead until he was withing twenty yards of him. His eyes lit up suddenly with recognition and an unfriendly smile twisted up the corners of his mouth.

“Holla! You, old man!” he called out, and spurred his horse forward into a canter.

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn knew how it would go. He knew that Uldor's and Ulfast's men were searching for him. He knew that he would be found and brought unceremoniously before the Ulfing lords, and he knew that he would be scorned and named traitor to his folk. It mattered not in the least to him. He did not look forward to the pain that would be inflicted upon him; he was, after all, quite human. But the Song led him, and it led him true. He would not waver, would not stray. He had learned at least that much: to waver or stray from the sooth of the Song never helped, only hindered, and to his own loss. He would walk straight to the doom awaiting him.

Such thoughts occupied him only briefly. Of greater moment was his inkling of a great winged bird or beast that appeared only as a bat. He knew that the Bauglir had many kinds of servants, and that there were fëar that chose to wear the shapes of beasts and birds of prey. Such a one had been she would had murdered Lord Khandr. Would it be so surprising that she had changed her shape and now sought more prey? He considered that he was walking toward Lord Lachrandir of the Fëanorians, and that the bat, if bat it was, flew straight toward him. Perhaps the Elf might be dead before he had a chance to deliver his message; perhaps not. Time would tell; the Song was silent on the point.

His thought was interrupted.

“Holla! You, old man!”

A horse and rider began to canter up from behind, bearing down on him.

Thorn stopped. He turned without fear and faced the rider, still in full charge.

[Folwren]

Brodda drew his horse in, barely bringing his horse to a stop before running into the old man. Thorn did not budge, although his head turned slightly to one side to avoid being hit when Brodda's mount tossed his head in protest to the tight reins.

For a moment, Brodda sat and looked down at the man. What did Uldor want with such an old, poor, shriveled man? What good would he be for their goal? It wasn’t his business to question the actions and wishes of the lords.

"You're under arrest, by order of Lord Uldor,” he said roughly. “Will you come quietly? Or do I need to knock you over the head?”

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn heard the Song even through this man's rough words. He knew that he would be going to his death. It did not trouble him.

"I will go with you, for I have words for your lords as well as with the Elf. You are on horse and I on foot. How shall we proceed?"

At this very moment (the Song told him), the Bauglir's emissary had come upon the Elf and the two messengers who preceded him; apparently their word would be enough or it would not, and he would not speak to the Elf. This meant most likely that the Ulfings would betray the Elves but the Borrim would not. That did not mean, however, that all Thorn's work had been in vain. Khandr had died well. Fastarr and Embla (the Song sang their names) would survive in infamy but free. The Borrim would not betray their allegiance. These things would be enough, until the Valar intervened.

These thoughts passed through his mind in a moment. He looked up at the Ulfing impassively.

[Folwren]

The man’s calmness disturbed Brodda. He shifted his weight in the saddle. “You’re not going to see the elves, you presumptuous rogue,” he said sharply. “You will proceed before me, walking, and I will ride behind. We’re going to the great hall, and if you don’t know the way, I’ll tell you. Now move.”

He jerked his head in the general direction behind him and then moved his horse out of the old man’s way so that Thorn had a clear path back into the narrow streets of the village. Thorn’s steady eyes gave him a final stare and then he walked forward obediently. Brodda’s mouth tightened with anger and disdain. The more he had to do with the old man the less he liked him.

Thorn knew the way to the hall. Brodda never once had to give any sort of direction and never once did he feel as though Thorn were contemplating any movement to escape and get away. He walked like a lamb to the slaughter, Brodda commented to himself. A cruel smile twisted its way onto his face. Like the lamb, he thought, the man probably didn’t know what he was walking towards.

At the gates of the courtyard of the hall, the guards sprang to attention. “That man is under arrest,” Brodda said as he stopped. “Put him away until lord Uldor returns and calls for him.”

The guards knew precisely what Brodda meant and one of them immediately laid hands on Thorn and took him inside the gates. Brodda looked after them a moment and then nodded briefly. Without a glance at the other guard, he turned around again and once more headed towards the hunting grounds, this time without dread of meeting his master.

[Lalaith]

The ill-will emanating around the gathering was so strong you could almost touch it. Embla shrank under the weight of the stares.
"Come with me, both of you, you will sup with us."
The elf-lord was looking into her heart and her mind, she could feel it. She had always been thin-skinned, but since the sight of her people had come to her, she often felt near-naked under the eyes of others: it was, in many ways, a most unwelcome and unwanted gift.
Embla moved closer to Fastarr, for comfort, and the two of them followed Lachrandir through the trees to a nearby clearing.
The elf looked at her, expectantly. It was time to be bold, to speak or forever be silent about what lay so heavily on her.
"I know, my lord, that to you I seem a mean thing - young and foolish. Wood, even,” she blurted. “I seem that way to myself, sometimes. I do not really know what it is I fear. But my heart tells me that there is no honour, no fealty, in these Ulflings; and if I do not tell you this now, I will never sleep easy at night again.”
Emboldened by her new-found eloquence, she continued, and her thoughts seemed to become clearer as she spoke, giving form to the nameless apprehensions that gnawed at her.
"I fear too, the woman Jord. She has the Ulfling lord in thrall, and little wonder, for her words are like honey. She has cunning, she has power over the souls of men...and women.” Embla reddened, remembering how she too had almost succumbed to the wiles and promises laid out by the dark-haired stranger. Instinctively, she reached out for Fastarr’s hand.

[littlemanpoet]

Hands were laid on him and he was unceremoniously pushed into the hall.

"You heard Brodda, this is Lord Uldor's prisoner, so I'm taking personal responsibility for him, and if any of you others have any complaints on that score-" the dark-haired man cast a baleful eye around at other guards who did not look pleased "-you can take them to Lord Uldor when he gets here."

"Fancy words, Anydor," said one of the taller guards, "but it was Uldor's man who brought him and so of course he says wait for Uldor, but more likely the order came from Ulfast."

"So that's how it's going to be, is it, Clegga?" said Anydor. "Uldor's men, to me! Let's put this upstart in his place, where his upstart favorite will no doubt be before too long!"

Clegga's eyes smoldered. "Ulfast's men, to me! We all know Uldor's a treacherous rogue who forfeited his claim but won it back through foul play! To me Ulfastings!"

Quickly, the men in the room formed two companies facing each other, with hands on hilts, eyeing each other angrily, waiting for the least provocation. A handful of men had stood aside and watched the two groups of guards nervously.

"What of them?" Thorn asked of Anydor, who still held his upper arm in a vice-grip.

"Never mind, traitor!" He faced Clegga. "You see we have the greater number, so stand down, fool."

Clegga glanced at those who had not taken sides. "We of Ulfast have no quarrel with those who love Ulwarth best, but know that if Uldor becomes lord of the Ulfings, it will go ill with all those who do not favor him now. To me, Ulwarthings!"

A three way civil war right in the great hall, thought Thorn. This could undermine the Bauglir's plans if it could be used so. He wondered what would happen next.

Lachrandir

Lachrandir remembered the woman Jord, from the banquet, how Uldor had seemed ready to eat out of her hand. This young woman's words did fit the pattern. Lachrandir had not been impressed with much from the Ulfing lords until this day when their prowess of arms came clear in the hunt, and he had been ready on that basis to report to Lord Caranthir that the Ulfings would make good allies. But base treachery, like that which the woman spoke of, threatened to turn the tide away from the Fëanorians and their allies, in favor of Morgoth.

"Woman, I am convinced that you believe what you are saying. Further, it is clear to me that you are speaking to me to no advantage for yourself, at least that I can yet see. Therefore, I am given to believe you. Therefore-"

His words were interrupted by the screech of a large bird that suddenly flew into the clearing. It came hurtling at him.

[Gwathagor]

It was not a bird. It was a bat. Or it seemed at least, though it was larger than any bat they had ever seen and it was indistinct, as if it was not wholly bat, but unsure of its own being, a creature caught between natures and cloaked by shadow. The great shadow-bat soared over the trees, beating its great translucent wings of trailing gossamer, then swept down towards them with terrifying speed. Its claws were long, and made of cold iron.

As Jord (for Jord it was) had stood triumphantly over the body of Khandr in the dusty street wiping the last trickle of blood from her lips, she felt a spasm of power ripple through her body. She waited, breathing heavily. It hit her again, driving cramps through her arms and neck. She looked down towards Khandr, and then at the blood still on her fingertips. Was it possible? she thought. As the power-spasm hit her a third time, her head was thrown back instinctively and her arms flew straight out, fingers splayed wide. This time, the power did not leave her. It rose in her throat, taking possession of her being. A darkness from the blood pooling about her feet began to swirl close about her, until it had obscured her from sight completely. Then, it dissipated in the blink of an eye. Jord had changed.

She was now winged and mantled by shadow. Her fingers had grown long and cruel. Her face remained Jord's, but there was no longer any color in it, save a the blood-red of her lips, between which a row of sharp, white teeth could be seen. Her dark hair had become dull and black as soot, and it blew about her face in an unnatural, chill wind which emanated from her own person. The only light in that dark figure was the glittering of the iron claws which protruded from her hands, the glittering of her sharp white teeth, and the glittering of her eyes.

She spoke not a word as she examined her claws and her wings. Everything was just as she remembered it, if not quite as vivid. She laughed quietly to herself. The change triggered by the drinking of Khandr's blood had been painful, but now that it was made, she wondered how she had ever been content in a mortal shape. She knew that it would not last long without the taste of new blood. But she smiled, for her sudden need for blood lent itself well to her task.

"And now the elf lord," she said, and then was gone, thrown skyward by a single great sweep of her wings.

In the clearing she found him and two others. Into their midst she hurtled like the Hammer of Morgoth, landing in a crouch. A great slash of her deceptively delicate wings threw both Fastarr and Embla to the ground with tremendous force, ten feet behind her, even as she was rising to face Lachrandir. Then, quick as a wink, her cruel, clawed fingers flashed out and seized the elf lord by the neck. She lifted him from the ground with utter ease and looked into his eyes.

"Do you know me, Feanorian? I am Thuringwethil, and I have come to destroy your people."

[littlemanpoet]

Uldor glanced at Ulfast with almost hidden disdain and gruffly said that the prisoner could wait. The brothers, including Ulwarth, went off to their private chambers; Ulfast could tell that his way was being shadowed by Jord's gleaming eyes.

He got to his room and left the door open, and began working at the cords that tied his tunic tight upon him. It was not long before he heard the whisper of a presence just beyond the door, a hint of a breeze that told him she was there. He kept his back to the door.

"Well, Jord? Aren't you going to come in?"

[littlemanpoet]

“What do you know of these murders, Ulfast?” asked Jord. Murders? thought Ulfast. More than one? Ulfast had only known of the murder of Lachrandir. Was there another he should know about? Had he missed something? Jord continued. “There have been rumors circling through the hall all day." [/i]All day? How could that be? Lachrandir had been murdered perhaps two hours ago. Is she playing cat and mouse with me?[/i] "Or perhaps I should ask Uldor?” She glanced sideways at Ulfast in that way she had, the gleam in the eye, the playful smile on her lips; the play of a predator with its prey. She was trying to provoke him!

"He knows no more than I! We have been hunting side by side all day." His own voice sounded harsh in his ears compared with her purring words. "As to the murder of Lachrandir, it must have been the filty Borrim pair, maybe trying to ruin the pledge between Lord Caranthir and the Ulfings." He still know nothing of a second murder and did not care to admit it. "So tell me what you know of these murders, and what folk are saying."

She spoke of the Borrim lord's death, reported by guards in the hall. He knew that the Borrim would have word back to their folk, and there would be no alliance between Borrim and Ulfing.

"Just as well," Ulfast said, "it means more glory for the Ulfings.

"And as for my brother, you say that I stand in his shadow. It is the way of the Ulfings. He is the elder, and so has right of birth. The only way for me to take his place is for him to die. Am I to murder him? Those who love him would want vengeance on me. Nay, if Morgoth wants me to lead, then Morgoth must see to it that Uldor is removed. Unless you know of another way?"

It was not the most subtle speech, but it would have to do, to give him some kind of advantage. And perhaps Jord knew of a way. This was his chance to learn of it. He watched her carefully to see what he could read in her expression. What would she say?

[littlemanpoet]

Uldor spoke.

His voice was quiet and cold. “What good has your song done for you, old man? If it is of use to you, why did you bother to tell Khandr anything if you knew he was going to die before he could do anything with it? Why not better have spent your time telling the elven ambassador? You failed.”

Thorn looked at Uldor with steady eyes. Here was the oldest brother, the one with the greatest ambition, the greatest power and presence. Ulfast paled by comparison to the evil, hunger, and cleverness in this one. This one chose scorn and mockery. He listened to the Song even as Uldor spoke, and as he considered his reply. It gave him his words now. He was content.

"You speak and judge, lord Uldor, as if you know the whole of my purpose. But you do not. I have done all that has been required of me, save one. It is this. Rid yourself of this buzzard of Morgoth that bears the face and form of a fetching lady. Do not put your hope in Morgoth Bauglir, for he will betray and destroy you. Be true to your vow to aid Lord Caranthir. Your aid may turn the tide for the Free Peoples. Your betrayal will lay waste all the land. Choose carefully, for your doom hangs on a thread, lord Uldor."

Uldor was at first inclined to be angry and to end this miserable interview, but he suddenly pause. This could be valuable to him. If Thorn knew the future because of the Song, perhaps Uldor could find out exactly what he should do to gain his desired end.

"What doom?" the Ulfing asked.

Jord stiffened. Buzzard of Morgoth indeed! If the old lunatic seeks to save his life, he does it ill. And yet, for all her scorn, she knew that Thorn had the power of truth on his side - which, for all its weaknesses, had an unpleasant manner of being persuasive at the most surprising and disruptive times. Unbidden, Thorn began to take form in her mind as a meek, yet strangely confident and masterful nemesis, in control despite his prison bars. She fought down a sudden surge panic. He is old, mad, and weak. Play your turn carefully, and he can pose no threat. She wished to appear unconcerned with the accusations leveled against her, and protest was all too often construed as a sign of guilt; so she kept her silence, and waited.

Thorn could tell that his words had made the servant of Morgoth bridle. He sensed her fear. Well she should; not because he was a threat, for he was just a servant of the Song. No, she should fear the truth, and the One to whom the Song pointed. But Uldor had asked a simple question. Thorn knew what he sought; the Ulfing lord would have to work harder than that.

"Your doom. If you betray the Eldar to Morgoth your name will live on in infamy, and the Ulfings will be wiped from the face of the earth by flood and fire. Should you be true to Lord Caranthir, you will reap what one may expect from the fields he sows in."

"Lord Caranthir battles against the most powerful being in the world. The fields he sows in seem to be promising only of defeat. I do not see victory possible, and to stand against Morgoth would be worse doom to me than to have my name live on in infamy." He stared down at the old man, and a slow smile played over his face. "Besides, you don't know what I have been promised."

Thorn found it amusing that this ambitious lordling of men what stoop to bandying an argument with a poor prisoner such as himself; but this betrayed the latent fear in Uldor, for all his grand words. Thorn's mouth spread in a slow smile.

"What matters it to a poor prisoner likely to see his death this day, what lies Morgoth Bauglir has told you? Whether he gives you a silmaril to wear, Dorthonion to lord over, be sure that you will be in his thrall and never know freedom again. Is betrayal worth such a price? Only a fool would pay it, and such I name you."

Uldor snarled and his left hand lashed out and caught the collar of Thorn’s tunic. He shook the old man furiously. “Fool! Fool! You’ll meet death - you’ll know him intimately by tomorrow! Lies - lies and treachery!” He threw him backwards at the guard who had been standing quietly beside the prisoner. “Take him - and use what slowest means you can to kill this worm - this - this” he couldn’t find an appropriate word for one who defiled Morgoth’s name with baseless accusations.

Or were they baseless? Before even Thorn’s punishment had begun, Uldor was already being tortured. Doubt and fear and hatred tormented him. He turned around, sent one, long look of hate towards Jord and Ulfast, and then stormed from the cell.

[littlemanpoet]

"Your brother seems to be in a bad temper," Jord said to Ulfast, a haughty and bating look on her face. "Perhaps you should go and comfort him."

"He needs no comfort from me," Ulfast grated, but took her cue and left the cellar.

Thorn was ready to die, but he had no intention of dying under the torturer's tools. He found it almost unbelievable that his warders had not chained him in any way. His hands were free, and so were his feet. One more thing he could do for the cause of the Free Peoples. Even though it was not likely to succeed, it might keep his death from being prolonged.

He had sat on the bench as Uldor had walked out, and as Jord had spoken her cunning words to Ulfast. Did she expect to be the one to exact his torture? There were two guards with Jord yet, and that was just how he wanted it.

Thorn leaped off the bench at Jord. With the advantage of surprise, he grabbed her neck in both hands and began to squeeze with all his might, his thumbs at her wind pipe. He did not expect to survive this, but he was determined to die fighting. They would have to kill him to get his hands off her throat.

[littlemanpoet]

"Kill him!"

As if there wills were not their own, the two guards drew back with their spears and pierced him twice, one low and upward, one high and straight. Suddenly the vacuum of his lungs was gashed and he could not get enough breath. And his heart was breached. The pain thudded like a ton weight on his chest. He fell to his knees, his cell going black. He began to go numb. He felt the two points pull from his body like distant pricks that scarcely mattered.

Everything went dark. He could not feel, could not breathe, could not taste or smell; he could only hear.

He heard curses on the lips of the fiend of Morgoth. He heard the fleeing footfalls of the two guards. He heard the Song again, at first only faintly. Slowly the sound grew in beauty and in might until it filled all his world. Suddenly light returned, and there were two Trees tall and strong under a bright sunrise, and glad birds sang the Song as if this dawn outmatched all that had come before.

Briefly he looked back and down and saw a small form in a small earthen cell, alone, wounded to the quick, a wrathful fiend full of fear and doubt fleeing from it, seeking vengeance wherever it could while its misbegotten life lasted; and there were two lords with his blood on their hands, each seeking the death of the other; and there was a young Elf sorrowing, preparing to return to his liege.

Much had yet to go well and ill, but his part of the tale had come to its end. He walked toward to the two Trees, singing.