Gifts of the Valar

Disclaimer/Author's Notes: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.
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With all of the Elves able to read Quenya poring over documents, guard duty fell to Legolas, Haldir, Rumil, Orophin and Alexandra most of the time. No more incursions by vampires occurred and they began to wonder if perhaps the appearance of the creatures of darkness was a coincidence.

With Rumil standing watch at night, Charika found herself in the company of the other Elves during the evening and, when it came time to sleep, she did so on the couch in the library. She joined him in their chamber when he occasionally came inside to rest, and sometimes even went to sleep with Alexandra when exhaustion caught up with the woman and Legolas remained alert.

During the day she would sometimes wander through the keep to the large room she, Pomea and Alexandra used for her lessons, and practiced with the tataqualme and the bow. She could not help but feel some sense of pride that her archery skills exceeded those of Alexandra.

When she mentioned it once, however, her friend had replied sarcastically, “Yeah, well, that’s not saying much. Anybody is pretty much better than me with a bow. I’m still taller than you.”

Charika had raised a brow. “Yes you are. It is a good thing you married an Elf because men do not like women who are bigger than they are.”

One afternoon, she tired of practicing and decided to explore the keep on her own. It amazed her that the Elves could stand watch without much rest though she had heard they could sleep without actually losing consciousness and could, in fact, do so while performing other tasks. She marveled that such a mysterious, exotic being had chosen to love her. As she had in the past, she tried to identify that same emotion in her feelings for Rumil, but she had never truly been loved or loved anyone before, so she did not know if she felt love for him or not. She recalled Alexandra’s description of how she felt for Legolas and agreed that she did indeed feel some of the same sorts of things for Rumil; but was it really love? She simply did not know.

She wandered through the halls and passed by the one leading to the door to the cellar and dungeons. She had never been there and had no real desire to do so; but the fact that the others had carefully kept her from the area heightened her curiosity. Knowing it was dangerous, she paused, looking down the dim hallway. Few windows were here and what little bit of light penetrated the gloom was not very strong. The candle in her hand that she had been carrying to search in closets and cupboards did nothing to lessen the darkness.

Charika was about to pass by and return to one of the towers---perhaps there was some treasure she and Alex and Pomea had missed---when she caught a glimpse of movement at the far end of the hallway near the door, and heard a faint whisper.

“Charika …”

She strained but heard nothing else and thought she must have imagined it. Then it came again, this time sounding like more than one voice calling her name.

“Charika …”

Once again, she thought she saw movement in the hallway and before she could stop herself, she found she had gone halfway down the hall toward the cellar door.

Shadows moved around her and she was aware of them sliding over the walls, the floor, the ceiling. They were leading her toward the cellar, calling to her; many voices now, plaintive and sad and her heart was touched. The woman knew she should be frightened, but for some reason, she was not. Somehow, she knew these shadows did not mean her ill. She opened the door leading down into darkness and walked through, the only light the candle she carried.


Erestor was getting tired. He hated to admit it, but he had been reading for too long, something he had thought impossible. He closed the ledger he had been skimming and leaned back against the wall where he sat on some cushions piled on the floor. He felt movement next to him and soft fingers began to massage his temples, then brushed down to gently knead the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Smiling, he opened his eyes and saw Durisia kneeling in front of him, between his sprawled legs.

She leaned close and brushed his lips with hers, conscious of the other Elves scattered about the vast room. He reached up and stroked her cheek and she smiled at him, then sat next to him, picking up the next book on the stack.

“Rest,” she said quietly. “You are no good to us exhausted.”

“I simply need some respite for my eyes,” he replied. “The script in some of these books is difficult to see.”

Durisia reached over and pulled his head onto her shoulder.

“Rest your eyes,” she told him. “I will let you know if I find anything interesting.”

He chuckled and settled against her, the scent of limes and sunshine filling him with peace and in that moment he realized he loved Durisia and did not wish to leave her. Never had he been so content, so comfortable with anyone. He recalled the stories told by the Eldar that said Elves could sometimes recognize their true mate upon meeting them for the first time. Though he had known her for several months now, he knew some would say they had not known each other long enough for love. But Erestor knew differently.

He had been attracted to her and found her a pleasant companion in every way. Their joinings were passionate and tender and as he looked back, he saw the signs he had not necessarily missed, but perhaps ignored. She seemed to return his feelings, though they had never discussed them. Once this adventure was over, however, he would be certain to bring the subject up with her.

Glorfindel watched his friend from across the room and saw Erestor’s epiphany as if the Elf had shouted it to the world. His heart was filled with happiness for the quiet counselor. Too long had Erestor been alone and Durisia seemed to be a gift of the Valar, sent at just the right time.

He went back to scanning the journals, ledgers and documents, immersing himself in the ancient script. Apparently, Goroth’s influence spread throughout Rhun and even into Harad. Still, there was no mention of Khand or the seemingly immortal mortal leader of that mysterious realm. Neither did he see any mentions of Cuivienen, though they were also scanning for anything mentioning “water”. None were taking the time to actually read; just looking for significant words.

The Elf-Lord lost all track of time as he pored over the documents. The sense that something was not right slipped into his unconscious mind so subtly he was completely unaware of it until Helcarin leaned over.

“There is something wrong,” his son said softly.

Glorfindel’s attention immediately shifted from the diary in his hand and he let his senses reach out. Helcarin was correct. Something was definitely off beam. He put down the book and stood.

Vanurion looked up. “What is it?”

“There is a … disturbance somewhere.”

Once alerted, all of the Elves sensed something amiss, but it was undefined.

“Have the vampires returned?” Sarendir stood and reached for his sword. “I have heard nothing.”

“No,” Helcarin said. “I do not believe they have---we would have heard from those keeping watch.”

“Where is Charika?” Pomea’s question gave them all pause. They had not seen the woman in some time, though she often took to wandering through the building during the day. Still, she had been gone longer than usual.

“We must find her,” Erestor said. “After what she told us about the shadows that seem to be stalking her …”

Sarendir and several of his warriors went to join the others on the wall while more ranged about the grounds. Pomea, Durisia, and Erestor each took a tower while Cunion and Vanurion took the main floors. Helcarin and Glorfindel started for the dungeons.

“Do you think she would have gone down there?” Helcarin asked as they made their way toward the hallway leading to the dungeon door.

His father shook his head. “I cannot see her coming down here on her own. But then we cannot afford to ignore the possibility. Besides, we must be certain the dungeon is secure.”

Both Elves drew their swords and Helcarin put his hand on the handle of the door, pushing it open. The dark pit yawned in front of them.

“Surely, she would not have gone down there in the darkness,” Glorfindel said to himself.

Helcarin took the torch they had brought to light the way in the pitch black dungeon and lit the first one at the top of the stairs, handing it to Glorfindel. The Elves made their way down the stairs, lighting torches in the walls at intervals. The sense that something was wrong grew stronger as they descended into the darkness and their grips tightened on their sword hilts.

“Charika!” Helcarin called.

The response was utter silence. Glancing at Glorfindel, the younger Elf opened the door to the cell directly in front of him. It was empty.

“There is no sign of her,” Glorfindel pronounced after examining the floor for footprints or some sort of trail. The stone was unyielding of any information. “If she is here, she could be anywhere.”

They split up, one taking the hallway to the right, the other the one directly across from the stairs from the upper level. Only their innate sense of direction and familiarity with the maze from having helped empty it of reminders of Goroth’s barbarism allowed them to cover the many rooms, hidden niches and narrow passageways. No sign of the woman was evident, nor of any intruder. They met once again in the main room then proceeded down the left-hand corridor together.

“The silence is uncanny,” Helcarin murmured and his father nodded.

They moved through the corridor, checking the cells and rooms along the way, finding nothing. Rather than easing their concerns, however, the lack of … anything only added to their apprehension. Time passed and each empty room brought both relief and tightened the strings of tension in the Elves.

They made it to the end of the section of dungeon and had started back when Glorfindel paused. Helcarin stopped and listened.

The faint sound came again, but it was coming from above them.

“There are no stairs here, are there?” Helcarin whispered.

“I do not recall seeing any,” Glorfindel replied. “But the sound seems to be coming from behind this wall.” They examined the stone, looking for creases, cracks, lines---anything that would provide a sign that an opening led to the other side of the wall.

“Here,” Helcarin called from around the corner to one of the hallways that ran perpendicular to the one they had been following back to the main cellar. His father joined him and found the young Elf looking inside a narrow niche in a hidden corner. It had been empty when they had checked it earlier, but they had not been looking for signs of invisible doorways. On the floor were faint marks as if heavy stone had scraped over it. Handing his torch to his father, Helcarin pressed against the far end of the stone of the wall in the niche and it swung open with the barest of sounds.

Glorfindel returned his son’s torch and they found a winding stairway that was utterly dark and, more disturbingly, utterly clean. Again, no signs of vermin or pests were apparent as they began climbing up the stairs that seemed to be well-worn. The noise that had first caught their attention was louder now that they had opened the door.

It was whispering.


Erestor searched the tower quickly and quietly, his skill in his past occupation apparent. He moved with perfect stealth, impressive even for an Elf. He did not know why, but he felt it important that he be as silent as possible. Once alerted to the … oddness in air, he immediately slipped into a frame of mind completely different from that of a quiet, studious counselor. He was now a hunter.

The tower had proven to be quiet and empty, but the silence, instead of being reassuring, was heavy with anticipation of … something. He started to return downstairs when he paused, almost unsure he had actually heard something, but knowing he would not have noticed had nothing been there. The Elf stood completely still, not even breathing and waited for it to come again.

He looked to his left. There was nothing there but the walled up entrance to Goroth’s bedroom. Once it had been emptied, the windows had been covered with stones and sealed, the door had been locked and a stone wall erected over the doorway. The room was completely blocked off.

Yet the sounds he heard came from behind that wall. He listened closely, his ear pressed against the stone. He heard whispering, but could not make out the words. Still, he knew they were actual words; not simply the sounds of air passing through passages or an unfelt wind.

Erestor was about to go and ask Sarendir for the tools to pry away the stones so they could investigate the odd sounds, when he heard a distinct female voice crying out in fear or pain.

He went to one of the rooms in the same hall and looked around for something with which to break open the stone wall. He spotted a strong iron poker near the hearth and picked it up, testing its heft. Judging it to be appropriate, he went back to the blocked doorway and began breaking away the mortar, no longer bothering with stealth. He was certain the voice he had heard was Charika’s.


Helcarin and Glorfindel could hear the whispering growing more distinct as they climbed the hidden stairs. They did not know where they led; the only exits from the stairs seemed to be at the bottom where they had entered, and wherever the steps terminated. They had seen no other doorways along the climb.

Neither Elf spoke during their exploration, though they knew any unseen enemy would spot the light from their torches if keeping watch. Still, they did not wish to announce themselves any more than they could help.

Without warning, an icy wind blew past them from above and both got the impression of something dark and angry rushing by. At the same time, they heard a woman’s voice crying out above them and both recognized it as Charika’s. The Elves raced up the seeming endless stairs which, they had deduced from their length, seemed to run inside one of the keep’s towers.

They came to a doorway that seemed to be blocked from the other side. There were no other doors leading out so they knew this one was their destination. Both could hear a pounding coming from the other side and looked for a way to open the door.

“Charika,” Glorfindel called. “Can you open the door?”

Her answer was muffled and did not sound directed at him, though she seemed to be saying, “No, no, no …” over and over.

“There must be a way to open it,” Helcarin said. “Perhaps it has a hidden lock.”

The Elves finally spotted a small indentation in the stone and Glorfindel pressed a finger into it, feeling the stone give slightly and the door sprang open. Whoever had built it had not meant for any except those who knew its secrets to have an easy time getting into the other room.

They stepped quickly into the pitch-black room just as Erestor slammed open the door to the hallway. Charika was standing in the center of the room, a candleholder with an extinguished candle, still smoking, lying on the floor of the empty chamber.

Erestor recognized the other two Elves just in time to avoid throwing his sword at one of them, Helcarin and Glorfindel spotting the counselor at the same moment. The dark-haired Elf reached Charika first and she gave a slight shriek when he touched her.

“It is alright, Charika,” he said gently. “You are safe.”

The woman realized who he was and buried her face against his chest, practically sobbing with relief. He held her close, his eyes meeting those of his son and his friend.

“What happened, Charika?” Helcarin asked in a soothing voice.

“So many … so sad,” she managed to gasp, looking up at the Elves. “They just wanted to---to show some---someone.”

“Come, let us get you out of this place,” Erestor said firmly, leading her from the room, his arms around her. Helcarin and Glorfindel exchanged glances and retraced their steps, down the dark staircase into the cellar and dungeons. They could not sense the angry presence that had blown past them on their climb up. When they finally emerged into the waning light of the fading day, Helcarin looked at his father, his expression grim.

“We should seal the stairs and we might as well bar this door.”

“It may already be too late,” Glorfindel said. “Whatever is here is not stopped by walls or doors. Still, it may make it more difficult for any of us to find ourselves in a difficult situation. I will speak to Sarendir and see what can be done.”

They joined the others in the main sitting room. Alexandra and Legolas had come inside along with Rumil and his brothers as Sarendir’s warriors took over the watch. Charika sat between Alexandra and Rumil, her friend holding her hand as her lover held her in his arms.

“How did you get in that room, Charika?” Alex was asking as they entered. The others listened as she gave her explanation.

She told of seeing the shadows moving and of hearing her name called, then going to the door to the cellar and dungeon.

“They kept leading me,” she said, accepting a goblet of strong brandy from Cunion. “I followed them---they sounded so lost and so lonely; I could not abandon them.” Her eyes met Rumil’s, pleading for understanding.

He smiled and kissed her forehead softly. “It is of no matter, Charika. It is impossible to turn away from anyone---or anything---in need.”

“Were you not frightened?” Orophin asked. Charika had always seemed so timid.

She thought for a moment. “I was, but I have seen them for so long and they never harmed me. And the feeling I got from them was not one of … danger; not for me. They simply seemed lost and begging for someone to listen to them. I suppose I did not even think of the darkness or where I was. It was as though they filled my mind and everything else faded in importance.” She looked around at the others. “Does that seem possible?”

Haldir nodded. “If you felt they were in need and it overwhelmed you, then I would imagine you could lose sight of any other dangers when concentrating so fully.” He could recall doing things on the border or in battle where he later looked back and wondered how he could have ignored dangers surrounding him as he concentrated on a goal.

She took another sip of the brandy, coughing slightly. “They led me deep into the cellar and when I got to the dead-end of a hallway, there was an opening in the wall with stairs. I climbed up and the door at the top was open and I was in a large, empty room.” She took another swallow before continuing. “It was dark, but I could see the shadows---I do not know how, but they were there, blacker than the darkness. There were more of them in the room and they all were trying to tell me … tell me …” She trailed off and shivered violently. “It was horrible,” she whispered.

The Elves exchanged glances. They had tried to protect Charika from knowing of the atrocities committed in the keep by Goroth and his followers. Still, she had seemingly found out about them.

“I thought your warriors sealed the room,” Vanurion murmured to Sarendir who nodded.

“It was a hidden door,” Helcarin told them softly. “If one was not looking for it, it would have been impossible to find.”

They fell silent as the woman seemed to gather her thoughts.

“They were tortured and abused, forced to bear children or father them, only to have their children taken from them.” Vanurion and Sarendir both closed their eyes as if awaiting blows. “But when they could no longer … produce, or if they were not---not perfect, they were---they were thrown into the pit.”

Legolas looked at the Rhunian Elves. Durisia, Cunion and Pomea looked confused; what surprised the prince was the utter bewilderment in the eyes of Vanurion and Sarendir.

“What pit?” Alexandra asked. She had known there were things the Elves had discovered the last time they were here that they had not shared with her. She had figured it was something she might be better off not knowing about. Still, from what Charika was saying, it seemed someone wanted the story told.

“The pit where the cast-offs were thrown. They had nothing and … and…” She closed her eyes and gulped down the brandy. “They had nothing,” she repeated. She looked around at her friends. “He was mad. I did not know Elves could go insane, but to do that to people … to children he fathered and those of his family …” Rumil pulled her head down to his shoulder and stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort.

“I … know nothing of a pit.” Vanurion’s voice was strained and he looked at Sarendir, who shook his head.

“Nor I. We have not seen evidence of one here and I never remember it being mentioned, though,” he added with a grimace, “I tried to stay away from this place as much as possible.”

“As did I,” Vanurion replied. “I only came here when I was given a summons that could not be refused.”

“You mean when he sent an ‘escort’?” Cunion asked with a bitter smile as his friend nodded. “Yes, they could be quite insistent.” At the questioning looks of the western Elves, he explained. “When Goroth ‘requested’ your presence and you did not comply immediately, he would send some of his guards to deliver the summons personally and you came to him either on your feet because you knew better than to defy him again; or they dragged you to him in chains.” He pulled open his tunic and a long pale scar, barely visible, stretched across the left side of his tautly muscled abdomen. “My ‘reminder’ to not refuse his invitations.”

“What was so urgent that he would force you to come to him?” Alexandra asked. The more she heard about Goroth, the more she wished Legolas had made the Elf suffer before killing him.

“Goroth needed to constantly replenish his armies,” Vanurion answered in a deceptively casual tone. “As prolific a breeder as he was, he could not do it on his own. Hence, the rest of us were expected to do our part.”

Alexandra stared at him. “He made you …” Her voice trailed off. Though he may not have forced himself on them, it was a form of rape nonetheless, not only for the females involved, but, apparently, for many of the Elves. “But you were his family. How could he treat you that way?”

“He used his own offspring as disposable assets, so having us get children on the women he kept for breeding did not even count as an abuse in his eyes,” Sarendir said. “Besides, he figured we could not object too much. He enjoyed raping his prisoners and could not fathom that we would not as well.”

Charika listened as they spoke. It occurred to her that Vanurion, Sarendir, Cunion---they had been forced to do things not unlike those she had during her life before meeting Rumil. They had been subject to the will of a madman and fathered children though they did not wish it. She suddenly felt a sort of kinship with them, something she had never thought she would feel toward an Elf. With Rumil, she felt affection and care and comfort; but she was aware they were very different from one another. But that even such powerful Elves as these of Rhun had experienced oppression---it helped explain why, perhaps, she felt so comfortable in their midst.

“They told me any children who were weak or not … not strong, were thrown into the pit as well,” Charika said quietly, the brandy having its effect. The others watched her. “Some were not dead be---before being tossed in. He just threw them in and left them to die.”

“With the corpses?” Alex felt ill and Legolas put his hand on her shoulder. She closed her eyes and swallowed her disgust.

Charika nodded. “So many of them … they are so sad.”

“What happened when you got to the room?” Haldir asked, directing the woman back to the events of the evening. He felt just as much repugnance as any of his kin at her tale, but was more concerned about any present threats. What had happened in the past was over and they could not change it. They could, however, try to minimize future repercussions.

“It was dark and they began to talk to me, to tell me what had happened to them. They were all talking at once and I could not hear them all. Then … something changed. They were afraid and they covered me and it---it seemed so important that I blow out the candle.” She looked around at the others. “I … No one told me to, but the urge to hide was so strong.” Her gaze settled on Erestor who gave her an encouraging smile.

“It felt as if something else was in the room with us; something very angry and … and … I do not know how to describe it.” She sighed in frustration.

“Do not try to force your memory,” Cunion said gently. “Simply say what you felt. Do not worry about it seeming logical to us.”

Charika thought for a moment. “It felt as though they were both hiding me and hiding themselves from whatever it was.”

“Did it feel like Lastharos?” Legolas asked.

She shook her head. “No. He has always felt … different. He feels like something that comes from inside of me while this … thing definitely felt like something else.”

“What happened to it?” Glorfindel asked, recalling the angry presence he and Helcarin had felt on the stairs.

“It hovered for a moment as if searching, then it was gone” she replied, leaning against Rumil, the brandy having relaxed her considerably. “I think it heard you at the doors, my lords.” Her eyelids were drooping and Rumil gathered her into his arms and stood.

“That is enough for now,” he said firmly. “I am taking her to rest.”

“Wait,” Haldir said. “Charika, who was looking for you? Is it the same as the shadow you have seen?”

She frowned sleepily. “No. It was the one who did these horrible things to them. The shadow has never given me this feeling.” Her body relaxed in Rumil’s arms and they could see she was asleep. Rumil took her to their chamber while the others pondered what they had learned.

“Goroth is here?” Alex asked as Legolas sat next to her on the couch, putting his arm around her.

“It would appear his soul did not go to Mandos,” Glorfindel replied. He and Helcarin told the others of the sensation they had felt on the stairs as something passed them in the dark.

“At least it is not Lastharos,” Sarendir said. “The lady has endured enough from him.”

“Yes, well, Goroth is no prize,” Alex murmured.

“Forgive me,” the eastern Elf told her. “I spoke without thought.”

She smiled slightly. “It’s alright. He was a coward in life; I have no doubt he is just as cowardly in death. I agree, Goroth is easier to deal with than Lastharos.” Her voice hardened. “Goroth is just insane and cruel. Lastharos is evil.” She glanced at her husband who seemed to be deep in thought. The Khandun had tried to wound and humiliate him, and had succeeded to a degree, though his innate calm and serenity had helped him to recover.

Alex entwined her fingers with Legolas’. She would die to protect him and woe be to anyone---mortal, immortal, enchanted or otherwise---who tried to hurt him.

“How is it that these … spirits speak to Charika? And that she does not seem frightened by them?” Pomea had never noticed anything particularly mystical about the woman in her interactions with her. “Has she done this before?”

Alexandra shook her head. “She has never given any indication of having a connection to the spirit world.”

“Perhaps her brush with death when Lastharos stabbed her and left her for dead changed her somewhat,” Glorfindel suggested. He spoke from personal experience.

Legolas’ fingers tightened on his wife’s at the Elf-Lord’s words and he looked sharply at the golden-haired Elf. Alex watched him curiously, but said nothing. Not in front of the others.

“Rest,” Vanurion told their western visitors. “We will not solve this dilemma tonight and the lady appears safe for the time being. You have taken the watch far too long. Sarendir’s troops stand guard tonight and we will continue to search the texts.” When Erestor made to join them, the Rhunian Elf shook his head with a smile. “Even you need rest from time to time. Take it now.” He glanced at Durisia. “You need time to gather your thoughts and approach things fresh tomorrow. We will call upon you if we need you,” he added, dismissing them with a casual wave as he, Cunion and Sarendir went back to the library.

Pomea gave Helcarin a quick kiss. “I will join you shortly. I simply want to finish the stack I was working on.” He watched her go with a smile then looked at his father.

“What?”

Glorfindel’s expression was thoughtful and a knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“It is no matter,” the Elf-Lord said. “I, for one, will be glad to rest for a moment.”

The Elves drifted upstairs to their respective chambers, Legolas and Alexandra stopping by the kitchen to pick up some bread and cheese.

“Well, I’m not an Elf, you know. I have to eat now and then,” she said defensively when Legolas had laughed at her insistence they find some food before retiring.

“I know, my love; and I would not deny you anything.” He picked up a pitcher of water and carried it up to their room, though his hand had lingered over a bottle of wine. Knowing how strong it was, however, he regretfully passed it by. They needed their wits to be sharp if Lastharos, his minions, Goroth or Charika’s shadowy stalker should decide to put in an appearance.