The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[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.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

A thin voice spoke breaking through a rush of thoughts, reminding Menecin how simple it would be to end this suffering, offering a refuge but one viewed only as if at a distance. And Naiore’s words wound through his consciousness. If ever you loved me, strike him down! What right had he to delay, and so hold all of them trapped in this decisive moment, when the days of a man seemed only slightly longer than that of a flower growing wild in the field? Truly what was life but cares unending, and suffering endured? How mercifully short were the sorrows of the Edain!

Yes love her he had, and deeply, but now a much larger burden overshadowed that love. Menecin would not raise his hand against Amandur, but staunchly held fast as Naiore sought to influence him, skillfully bringing to bear a thorough knowledge of his character. And looking with dismay at Amandur, Menecin backed away quickly sheathing his sword, lest he weaken. Standing thus, between Léspheria and her mark, he effectively safeguarded Naiore and his daughter from the threat of her bow. But the dour elf’s blue eyes, glinting under his darkened brow, did not miss Amandur’s subtle advance, even as he stood watching Léspheria. Nor was he all unaware of Naiore. The rustle and sharp intake of breath behind him, betrayed her movements. And he knew that she had shifted, pulling Vanwe even tighter as she slid quite close behind his left shoulder. "This madness must not come to be!" he cried to Léspheria, "For all that she is and was, Naiore is undeniably your kin! I pray you, put aside your bow."

Amandur then spoke to him conciliatory words the elven warrior did not hear, but with one fluid motion Menecin reached over his shoulder and snapped his arm forward again, releasing a long bladed knife. Coming to rest with its tip buried deeply in the ground before Amandur, the weapon’s haft swayed forward lightly touching the ranger’s boot. "I entreat you Amandur, for the sake of us all, come no closer!" the elf warned. An unspoken voice tore at his mind, as he reached over his left shoulder as if to grasp his remaining knife, and he noticed Amandur’s body flex as the ranger prepared to dodge the blade. Now! Do it now, my love! Naiore’s melodious voice urged from within the deep recesses of his thought, almost as though issuing from his very being.

For one final instant, Menecin wavered. Then, abruptly, he spun on his heel and flew toward Naiore. Caught off guard, the Ravenor pulled back, dragging Vanwe with her, but, hampered by the awkwardness of her stunned captive, she could not move quickly enough. Springing forward Menecin threw out a hand and coiled it in Naiore’s long braids, jerking her fair head backward as he sought to upset her footing. Enraged, Naiore loosed her grip on Vanwe and struck wildly back toward Menecin with her dagger. The blade flashed in the moonlight as it sailed wide of its mark.

"Flee now, Vanwe!" ordered the Bard between clenched teeth as he arched his body to avoid Naiore’s murderous attempts to free herself. "Do not look back!" Without a sound, Vanwe did as she was told and slipped free, running blindly toward the safety of Léspheria and her bow. Just then, Naiore brought her dagger around low and struck for Menecin’s leg. An immediate burn informed him that she had succeeded in grazing his knee with the point of her blade. Grabbing for her wrist, Menecin sought to disarm her before she could do him more grievous hurt, but Naiore proved too quick. With a single stroke upwards, the dagger's keen edge severed her braids just above Menecin’s grasp. And as the Ravenor twisted gracefully away from him, Menecin was left with nothing more in his hands than rapidly unwinding ropes of gold silk.

"Do not suppose that you can prevail over me, Menecin," she whispered sternly. I know you far too well. I can show you peace... but you must follow me. "

"You foretold long ago that my passions would prove my defeat. Would you now bring it to pass?" asked Menecin as her plaits he let fall from his fingers. "You have never known peace, Naiore, nor would you acknowledge its worth. But the peace you would promise is only to be found in the Halls of Waiting. For years in Imladris I longed for even such peace, to sit in my shame beneath those of Vaire’s tapestries that proclaim your ignoble deeds, and thus feel closer to you. But even those days you have taken from me.

"Are you then grown greater than those profane of the Ainur after whom your heart follows, that you would hope to avoid their fate?" Menecin raised a scarred hand, as though intending to touch the Ravenor’s lips and coax the words he wanted to hear from them. "Still with a word you and I will leave this place, but do not ask this thing of me again." He looked over his shoulder toward the ranger, "He is but an unfortunate witness to something that should never have been known among the firstborn, and I will not dishonor you by doing what you would have me."

"You have changed very little Menecin," Naiore sighed. "And unfortunately you still allow those you call your friends to divide us! I do not know why you choose to cleave to them when it is plain that they disregard your wishes! Did you not tell Vanwe to leave?"

And turning, Menecin discovered that Vanwe indeed had not left them as he had urged, but stood now at Léspheria’s side. This posed difficult for him, but he could not ponder it long, for quite suddenly Vanwe grew uneasy, and Valaindon’s daughter quickly pulled her bowstring taught, pausing as she searched for a clear shot. For a fleeting moment Menecin felt as if she would slay him, but turning his head he saw in an instant the cause of their alarm. Naiore had raised her own weapon, and leaning into the grip as the arrow took flight, he knocked it off its course, so that the heavy dart, indeed one he recognized as his own, flew hissing among the grasses.

In great anger Menecin turned on Naiore, his eyes smoldering. Meeting his gaze, Naiore lowered her bow. A smile as cold as the morning frost touched her lovely features as she looked at him. Then, putting the bow aside, she drew one of her curved swords from its scabbard. Without hesitation Menecin took a step toward her.

"Whose life would you have, pray tell me?" he asked. "Léspheria’s? Vanwe’s? Or perhaps mine, in time." He watched her with piercing eyes.

Naiore did not respond, but listened impassively, as though indulging the outburst of a froward child.

Menecin continued angrily. "Know, Naiore, that the blood you would now spill is your own! This is the choice you have set before me and at long last I stand ready to accomplish it." Menecin drew his own sword and raised it in challenge to Naiore. Her expression remained untroubled, but Menecin knew that if she felt him incapable of harming her, then that was to serve to his advantage, for he knew her well.

"Menecin, you once held that there exists a deeper strength which fear could not corrupt, yet look at what you have let yourself become," said Naiore coolly, a predatory light growing in her clear eyes as she observed the small droplets of blood the arrow had freed, that were now trailing down his arm.

"I remember it well," he said gruffly. "In those days you preferred to surround yourself with far softer stuff." His war hardened eyes lowered as he searched her perfect frame for a weakness in her armor. "Truly I have never seen one arrayed for battle with such graceful elegance." A sad smile rose to his face, as his gaze returned to meet hers. He felt suddenly weary, and the sweat beaded upon on his brow though the evening was mild.

But Naiore was no longer in the mood to humor the bard, and in one flowing motion stepped forward, swinging her sword level so that Menecin was forced to spring back in order to avoid the blow. Quickly brandishing his own weapon he charged at her recklessly. After a few fruitless attempts it became clear to him that she anticipated his every stroke, countering him so effectively he thought that to overpower her was his sole option, for each feint and thrust was met with one of equal artistry and skill. It was only then that he became aware that his mind had begun to reel strangely. And his reactions slowed as he sought to ensnare her, so that he was forced to change his technique, and discovered that Naiore had only limited success when he moved less intuitively. Finally with great effort was he able to overwhelm her, sending the sword in her hand spinning to the ground. Even as this sudden sickness threatened to overtake him, he seized the opportunity that fate had given him and as she reached for her second sword, bridged the distance between them closing her in his embrace, so that her arms were held behind the quiver at her back, pinned close against his brigandine armor.

There breathless in the night, he dropped his sword clumsily as Naiore sought to free herself in vain, and holding her tight, he reached for the last of his knives, a thin and deadly bodkin. In the darkness he found two ornate arming points at her closely fitted waist. Slipping the bitter edge behind them he snapped their leather cords; so that Naiore’s armor lay open at her side. With trembling hand, he held his arm outstretched prepared to drive the dagger home. "Forgive me Vanwe," he cried glancing up quickly, struggling to focus through tear rimmed eyes, hoping against hope that his daughter had flown free of this unhappiness.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

Events unfolded so fast that Vanwe was barely aware of what was happening. She had barely managed a faint smile of assurance for her cousin when her fathers broad shoulders blocked her view, she was pulled roughly forwards till both she and her mother where mere inches from the bards left shoulder. A stifled gasp escaped her lips as her father reached over his shoulder and threw the blade that landed at the rangers feet effectively halting his advance. What is his mind? she thought wildly, but her initial fears were dispelled and replaced with shock and horror as her father suddenly spun round and flew at them, obviously as stunned as she her mother clumsily tried to drag her backward attempting to avoid Menecin’s grasp. Then with a sharp jolt she felt her mother grip loosen.

“Flee now, Vanwe!” her father urged through clenched teeth as he strained to avoid Naiore’s attempts to free herself, “And don’t look back” he added. His words and actions frightened her but she did as he asked, running blindly towards Léspheria, were she fell into the elf’s waiting arms. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Léspheria instantly asked, a concerned frown arching her soft grey eyes. Vanwe did not answer as she looked back to where her mother and father were locked in terrifying battle. “This is not what I had hoped to find,” she sighed mournfully, “In truth I knew not what to expect, but not this.” A pained look reached her eyes as she wearily shook her head. “His fears drive him and will consume him if he lets them,” she whispered turning so that her tear filled eyes met her cousins.

“Do not worry so, our fears can also give us strength, you showed me this,” Lespheria counselled a gentle hand coming to rest assuredly on her left shoulder. But Vanwe merely sighed shaking her head, “I fear it is not so with him his pain is great, the madness has stifled his strength, anger and fear now guides his hand.” “He may yet survive you should not give up hope.” Lespheria urged “And then what!” Vanwe replied sharply shrugging free of her cousins consoling hand, “When guilt and grief consume him, will only death then free him?” a sullen silence ensued broken only by the sounds of battle before them.

Vanwe closed her eyes wearily contemplating the enormity of her own words, how had it come to this? What was the flaw that drove her mothers hatred of them? As her eyes slowly opened she was surprised to see her father looking at her his dark features etched with pain and sorrow, but even as her own sorrow again began to fill her heart, her eyes widened in horror behind her father her mother drew forth a dark bow and nocked an arrow firmly in place, she shifted uneasily and turned to Léspheria only to see that the elf had already again nocked her own bow and held the string taunt looking for a clear shot that could not be found. Turning back she gasped as her mothers arrow took flight, breathing only again when her father harmlessly knocked it aside. Her relief was short lived as in a fit of anger her father again turned on her mother.

“We must stop this!” she declared turning back to Léspheria and to her mild surprise the elf nodded her agreement, “What do you intend?” Vanwe thought for a moment, “They must face their fears and learn the truths hidden from them, but to do this I must get close. I do not have your gift nor my mothers, I sense a wrongness and I am able to heal.”

“You sensed fear as a wrongness?” Léspheria frowned, “Yes” Vanwe nodded, “ a discord within, that is how I sensed it in you and it is so with my father and will be the same with my mother no matter how deep she has chosen to bury it” she gestured towards her battling parents. “The ranger he is different though he does not bury his fears nor does he let them rule him, he uses them, awaking a greater strength born from the basic instincts such as survival and need.” she watched as Lespheria’s features softened and her gaze sought out the man she had fallen in love with. “Indeed we could learn a lot from men?” she sighed . “Perhaps” Vanwe replied still finding the rangers presence frightened her, perhaps it was that of all of them he was the only one who’s hands where not tied in this matter. She did not know why, but his presence unnerved her and reassured her at the same time.

“This thing, this answer my mother seeks you know it don’t you?” she asked shrugging off her doubts regarding the ranger. Léspheria looked at her for a long moment then nodded “I do, but it will not avail her it’s master, the one who planted this seed of discord is no longer, shut out beyond the mortal world by Manwe the greatest of the Valar after the final battle for the Silmarils, banished to the void without, alone with his own hatred and malice, he can never return while the Lords of the west remain enthroned.” Vanwe nodded, not fully understanding the extent of the history of her people, but sensing enough to be certain that Léspheria spoke the truth. Touched by her cousin’s trust and honesty she assumed to asked no more.

She had sensed the source of fears stirrings within Léspheria as she had helped the elf face them and she knew how to awaken it, this? she mused, is this the real power her mother seeks to understand, would this answer satisfy or would she go further. Perhaps even as far as try to dethrone these Valar these beings that Both Léspheria and her father hold in such reverence. To free fears creator for her own selfish needs, is her pride that great that she believes herself above all else? Vanwe felt almost sick at the thought as she watched her mothers dark figure counter and press her fathers attack, she frowned realising that his reactions were steadily slowing.

“The arrow” Léspheria uttered reading her thoughts. Yes, off course she mused, the one meant to subdue not kill. Her eyes searched the ground and found the dart nestled in the grasses immediately to their left. But as she moved to retrieve it Léspheria grasped her wrist and she turn to see that her father now stood with Naiore firmly in his embrace the moonlight glinting off the blade in his raised hand.

“No!” Vanwe cried already moving forward, her hand catching her fathers wrist mid-thrust, “the dart” she called back to Lespheria her eyes not moving from her fathers as the blade cut into her lower arm, “This is not the way, the pain and guilt will destroy you!” she whispered softly “A guilt that is not yours to bear, you loved her, there is no crime in that. You said yourself that the flaw was hers, she made her own choices!” her eyes softened with compassion and understanding as she broke down the walls of his defences and laid bear his fears and the truths that for so long had eluded him. “Please father, I need you!” she whispered pleadingly.

“It is too late for him my daughter the madness has taken him, he would kill us both. See now how he does not release the very blade that draws your blood! If you really love him you will end his suffering now and quickly.” But even as her mothers words cut into her thoughts her fathers pain turned to a tired weariness that etching his battle worn face. Finally aware of the blood trickling down his daughters arm and in a mix of shock and dismay he released his grip and the blade fell harmlessly to the ground. He Lowered his head partly in shame and partly due to the subduing effects of the potion mixing with his blood. Vanwe let go his wrist and brought up her hand to gentle raise his head, “I will need your strength for a little longer, do you think you can give it” she whispered softly gazing into his glazed eyes, he nodded and brought his other hand about Naoire’s waist holding her fast.

“You foolish ungrateful child, I give you life, made you strong by letting you experience and see the terrifying realities of this world. Yes I could have raised you myself, but you would not have survived !something darker would have used you as a weakness against me or made you their plaything if you proved weak, I saved you from that and this is how you would repay me!” Naiore issued through clenched teeth as she again struggling to break free of the bards embrace.

Vanwe‘s steady gaze shifted then to her mothers and she smiled gently “and for that life I am forever grateful,” she answered truthfully.

“I once feared and hated those forced by you to be my keepers, but now I realise that their actions were a mere result of their own fears and superstitions, a lack of understanding that I can now forgive. For what comparison did they have to show then any different, the only elf they had ever know was the great Naiore Dannan, Revennor of Mordor right hand to the devil himself!” sighed Vanwe heavily the truth of her own words sending a cold chill down her spin.

“I never wanted to believe the rumours, even though they hunted me relentlessly, Umbar, Gondor, Rohan they all had their stories each more terrifying than the last, but I had to believe that it was not true, I had to have hope! But they were all true or at least versions of the truth! I had hoped to find a family I thought I had lost, but instead I found myself. ” A small tear escaped her eyes as she smiled sympathetically.

“You accuse Léspheria of vengeance yet the thought is ever in your mind, you say you are more sinned against than sinner yet your own trail says otherwise, you make bargains with my father that you never intend to keep and this…” she said holding her left hand out so that Léspheria could place the dart in her open palm, her long fingers curling around the shaft she brought it before her mothers face, “this was never intended to kill, though the young merchants fears may have caused him to wish it!”

“No, my father is not dieing,” she whispered seeing her mothers anger mixed with a fleeing look of disappointment, “I am surprised you do not recognise it’s effect’s they are similar to a draught you once had me drink!” then with a quick flick of her wrist she scratched her mothers flesh with the tip, “I’m sorry” she whispered, but your sins are many and you must see the truth!”

Tossing the dart harmlessly aside and sensing both Léspheria and Amandur protectively at her left and right she tore away her mothers armour and placed her left hand on her mothers chest. Instantly she felt her mother throw up protective walls of defence in her mind, but it mattered not for Léspheria had shown her that there fears steamed much deeper and that’s what she searched for. Not finding what she was looking for she closed her eyes concentrating harder looking for the wrongness she had sensed in the others, but she could not find it, It has to be here! she thought pushing deeper within her mothers dark soul.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she staggered backwards her hand pulling away as if it had just been burnt, “No, that can not be!” she whispered her eyes widening as she stared unbelievably into her mothers grey eyes. “without fear, there can be no regret… no compassion…no true love,” she whispered to herself, tears now flowed freely from her eyes. “I am sorry, I hoped to help you but I can not, no one can.” she sighed, then turning to the Ranger she nodded “If apprehending Naiore Dannan is your charge then so be it, though I warn you she is without fear and nothing can be done in this world to fix that wrong.”

Then turning back she saw a strange gleeful look in her mothers eyes like she was close to finding the answers she sought, but pity filled Vanwe for she knew that her mother no matter what she believed would never truly understand the fear she lacked. “It is not a gift to be without fear,” she whispered her hand coming up to touch her mother’s bare cheek, “but a curse! You will never fully know or understand the beauty of life, the strengths bestowed on us in life for life.” with a final sigh of pity her hand slipped slowly away and she turn with a heavy heart and walk away to allow Amandur to take his charge.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore felt a sharp flush of anger as Menecin's grip tightened around her. Her armor now hung open on one side where he had cut the bindings, leaving her vulnerable to attack as she never had been before. Fury threatened to overpower her reason as now Vanwe thrust a hand into her clothing to lay it over Naiore’s heart, daring to make the attempt to read her emotions and, to Naiore’s mind, manhandling her like a common criminal. How dare they take such liberties! Daughter or no daughter, former lover or not, the two of them touched her as no one had ever dared to touch her before. She fought off a rush of murderous fury, knowing that she must think clearly now in order to free herself else all would be lost, but her pride reared up inside of her, all sulfur and brimstone, like a cornered dragon.

Pity! The stupid lot of them. Who were they to pity her? Had they no idea who they had before them? Naiore was the Ravener of Mordor. She had led fell armies and sat at the right hand of the Dark Lord himself. She had seen things, nay, perpetrated the very acts that haunted these petty creatures’ worst nightmares. And they had the audacity to pity her, to lecture her on the value of fear, whose only real value was as the answer to a philosophical, forever enigmatic riddle, which had eluded her for years. Fear had never been anything more than the root cause of their failure. Naiore narrowed her eyes and looked sharply from Léspheria to Vanwe and back again. That was why it had fascinated her so over the years, and now, her captors sought to gain strength from it. Such irony! And the irony would be even thicker as again they failed, captives of their fear.

“It is not a gift to be without fear,” whispered Vanwe. “But a curse! You will never fully know or understand the beauty of life, the strengths bestowed on us in life for life.” As Vanwe withdrew her hand and began to walk away, Naiore let out a mocking laugh.

“Since when have you become such a sage, daughter, that you think you may explain the complexities of knowledge or understanding to me?” she hissed. “You are like a mortal child and see things with a mortal child’s eyes. Yes, I saw to it that you were raised in darkness, but does not the memory of the dark make the sun shine so much brighter for you now? One must love both," she added, turning her fair eyes toward Léspheria. "And not be restrained from examining both by such a thing as fear.”

“And you!” Naiore now addressed Léspheria directly. “Have you seen the enemy? Does she trill her cold fingers down your spine even now as we speak? You know then that I am not the enemy. She is someone you carry with you in your heart. You cannot destroy her by striking me down, nor can you bring back your mother, whose doom you persist in laying at my feet. I see you have put aside your bow. That is good. Vengeance is dangerous game to play at, and you, my dear, haven’t the stomach for it.”

Her eyes still on her kinswoman, Naiore twisted gently under Menecin’s hold, testing his grip. He was weakening, his mind growing foggy under the influence of the drugged dart, his muscles less purposeful. She knew it would not take much to slip away from him, but she waited to make her move. With the ranger standing so close by and edging ever nearer, she knew she would not have much time and must make every second count if she had any hope of escape. She cast her eyes around for a weapon and a way out. Yes, yes, she could see both. Her own sword lay at her feet only slightly to her right, and, just a few paces beyond stood a riderless horse, perhaps Menecin's, the reins looped loosely over the saddle. The animal had wandered up at some point on its own. If she made a clean break from Menecin’s grasp, she could reach the beast and make her getaway. The serene smile returned to her face.

“Come closer, my kinswoman,” she said softly to Léspheria, a new idea having entered her mind. She would create a diversion. The few seconds she would gain while her remaining captors coped with their shock would be enough. Her beautiful eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Come closer that we may speak to one another as kin,” she continued. “Tell your ranger to stand down. We have much to talk about that would lie far beyond his understanding.”

Obediently, perhaps confident in her own righteousness, Léspheria moved in closer, her bow held low at her side. Her other hand raised in a mute signal to Amandur to keep his distance. Naiore’s smile widened as the ranger ceased his slow advance. It was the opportunity she had been counting upon. Catlike, Naiore sprang into motion. With a graceful turn of her slender body, she slipped from Menecin’s grasp, pushing him away from her with one hand, while the other hand reached out for the sword at her feet. His reactions clouded from the effects of the drugged dart, Menecin staggered and fell to the grassy forest floor, his dagger dropping from his hand as he fought in vain to right himself. Naiore closed her fingers around the hilt of her sword. With a chilling fluidity of motion, she raised the weapon and swung it toward Léspheria’s unsuspecting and unprotected throat.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur had not been idle in his slow advance, his keen warrior instincts cautioning him to be wary of this most cunning of foes. So while the women parleyed words he listened to those instincts and watched intently the bard and his enchantingly dangerous prisoner. So it was that he noted the beads of sweat rolling down the bards face as he doggedly tried to blinked away the effects of the drug stealing at his strength and clarity. It was too that he caught the slight twisting of Naiore as she also came to realise the bards weakening hold. She was biding her time! He knew, waiting like most accomplished warrior’s for the most opportune moment, then she would make her move.

In that very instant he could not help but admire her skill and cunning, in some other life she may have made a very valuable ally, but as it was she was the enemy and he did not forget this as he stole about the elf’s reach. Her sword lay glittering in the starlight close to her feet and in easy reach, she would make for it when the chance arose. Menecin’s horse also stood nearby fully accessible and ready for a quick and easy get away, if needed or intended.

It was then when Naiore with false civility bade her cousin come close that Amandur knew the time had come. He tested the grip of his sword in his right hand drawing his dagger with his left as he continued his advance, only to be halted by the raised hand of Léspheria. He stopped but only to allow Naiore to relax in her believe that her design was assured! Her Arrogance would be her mistake! He thought coolly.

So it was as Naiore graciously slipped from the bards grasp and the others hesitated in the resultant confusion Amandur moved, with a swiftness that belied his size he cutting in front of Léspheria forcing her back as he positioned himself, sword raised ready to receive the Ravenor blow.

Sharp and heavy it came crashing off his blade with an almost deafening ring, surprised to find metal and not the soft flesh of her cousin’s throat, as she had planned Naiore hesitated. Amandur knew he had but only and instant and he acted pushing down forcing her weapon to the ground, but he did not stop there he could not let her regain her composer, so pulling back quickly he smashed his elbow into her pretty face sending her stumbling back, then without so much as a pause he lunged with his left hand and it was done!

He watched detached as Naiore, blood still flowing freely from her nose looked down in stunned disbelief at the black hilt of the dagger protruding from her left breast, ‘how can this be? I the Ravenor of Mordor defeated by…this…this….mere Mortal….’ she looked up at him her eye’s glittering one last time with a malevolent hatred and anger and as she fell slowly into death she raised her hand and with the last of her strength she struck out at the ranger, a glancing blow that caught his sword arm cutting it to the bone.

Dropping his sword and grasping at his wound Amandur fell to his knees leaning over the lifeless corpse of the elf once believed to be one of the last great threats to Middle earth!

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

Lespheria

“One must love both”

Lespheria shivered as a chilling tingle ran down the length of her spine, The thought of embracing the darkness with the light…the discord with the harmony seemed totally abhorrent to her and again her fears washed over her , Vanwe had opened her to them and shown her truth….but what if…no she would not entertain such thoughts, the choice was always hers.

“And not be restrained from examining both by such a thing as fear.”

She looked up then to find Naiore eyeing her intently, those deep emerald pools filled with unbridled loathing and contempt . did she know... did she sense…Then as if in answer to those unspoken questions Naiore addressed her directly.

“Have you seen the enemy? Does she trill her cold fingers down your spine even now as we speak?” Lespheria resisted the urge to shiver as another cold chill took her, hoping that none of the effort showed on her face, but the sudden light and subtly curve of the other woman’s mouth said that it had.

“You know that I am not the enemy.” 'Not true!' She thought bitterly, 'The choice was always hers!'

“She is someone you carry in your heart. You cannot control her by striking me down, nor can you bring back your mother, whose doom you persist in laying at my feet.” Lespheria knew this but hearing it from Naiore irked at her soul , if it was the elf’s intent to anger her it was working. Naiore still could not see, yes it was true it could not be control, not completely but neither could it control, yes it could coheres, tempt or even deceive, but never control the choice inevitably was always yours, a remedy to the greatest of sins, she thought grimly.

“I see you have put aside your bow. That is good. Vengeance is a dangerous game to play at, and you, my dear, haven’t the stomach for it.” If Naiore’s words before had irked her these now infuriated her… Haven’t the stomach…does she think I am afraid…. Does she think I would not….her knuckles whitened as she gripped the bow tightly, but still she did not raise it. No, she would not be goaded so.

There were still things Naiore could tell her, things she would know that no others would…things….. Naiore’s sudden smile distracted her from her thoughts, unsettled her casting suspicion as Naiore bade her come closer. She hesitated a moment. Apart from Amandur Naiore was the last to speak with her mother alive, what was it that Valaindon knew, what was it that Naiore so ardently wanted that she did not let the woman die no matter how close to death she took her, what other secrets had they shared?

“Come closer that we may speak to one another as kin,”

She considered Naiore a moment longer. The woman was dangerous and not to be trusted she knew, but the lure was enough. Besides Menecin held her and Amandur was close by, Naiore was not going anywhere, what harm would there be in just speaking to her, perhaps she would even learn something useful.

“Tell your ranger to stand down. We have much to talk about that would lie far beyond his understanding.”

She had barely noticed Amandur’s slow advance , but curiosity now had her in its throws and moving closer, she raise a hand in muted signal to the ranger, glancing only briefly to see that he had stopped. A mistake, and in that instance she realised it, sensing too late the other elf’s satisfaction. Naiore’s hands were round the hilt of the fallen sword before even she thought to react. Too close for her bow to be any use she let it fall and reached for her sword, but before she could even curl her long fingers around the hilt she felt the wind knocked out of her and she fell to the ground.

Unsure of what had just happened she scrambled backwards, struggling to her feet and ignoring the fresh bruising to her ribs, she reached for her sword pulling it free. Looking up in time only to see Amandur plunge his left hand towards Naiore’s chest.

Her eyes widened as the ranger stepped back a pace and she could see the black hilt of the dagger protruding from Naiore’s breast. she watched detached as the stunned elf stared down at it disbelievingly and sensed the roiling anger and hatred as her eyes rose to take in the one who had defeated her. Even as Naiore mustered the last of her strength to strike out at the Ranger, Lespheria gasped Naiore’s blade cut deep into Amandur’s right shoulder and as they both fell she was certain that through her tears she saw Naiore look at her with that ever present serene smile curving her blood covered lips as she finally fell into death. She shivered and for a second she merely stood there in stunned silence. It was finally over, the bonds that tied them to Naiore were finally severed.

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Vanwe

After she had overcome the initial confusion of her mothers distraction Vanwe had gone to her father. He was still struggling to get his feet when she knelt beside him. “Father are you hurt?” she whispered anxiously, laying a restraining hand on his shoulder.

His shoulders slumped in defeated resignation as he shook his head, “I’m sorry my child I could not hold her….I tried…you should have…” but he did not finish that thought and instead sighed deeply. Then looking up at Vanwe he smiled, not the thin and weary smile she had seen in the past but the warm and loving sort that most fathers bestowed on their precious daughters from time to time, filled with pride and warmth. “Oh My Daughter if we are to die this day know that I am ever glad that our paths have crossed and proud as any father to know that without any other help but your own you have grown into a kind and virtuous woman.”

“Now hush,” Vanwe frowned “That is the drug talking, we are not done for yet and if you hold still a bit I can….” but she did not get a chance to finish as her father suddenly let out a stunned gasp, his eyes widened as he stared at something behind her. She turned slowly half expecting to find Naiore right on top of them but what she saw suddenly turned her blood cold and drained the colour from her cheeks.

It was her mother, but not so close, yet dark against the shadow of the first line of silver peeking out over the eastern horizon. The hilt of a Dagger sticking out from her chest as she fell forwards. Vanwe turned away then burying her face in her fathers chest as hot wet tears ran down her pale cheeks, she had know in her heart that there had been no hope for her mother and had resolved not to cry when the time came, but the grief and pain was too real and as her father wrapped his arms around her consolingly she wept openly and freely, for he at least would understand her loss, if others did not.