Gifts of the Valar.

Disclaimer: 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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While Durisia and Erestor retreated to the chamber they shared, Pomea felt as though she could not breathe and ran to the top floor of the north tower, Helcarin following closely. She made it through the gallery to the steps leading to the roof and burst into the open, taking deep breaths of the clean, crisp air.

Helcarin stopped at the top of the steps and watched her as she stood silhouetted against the late morning sky. The wind blew stray strands of her silky black hair across her face and molded her clothes to her body. He said nothing but waited; she fairly radiated a mélange of emotions---anger, hurt, sorrow, shame.

The discovery had been shocking. She had known Goroth had used mortals for breeding and had required the males of their kin to help keep the supply of disposable warriors coming. Male Elves, their male offspring, mortal males---anyone with the ability to get children on the mortal females under his dominion---all were expected to do so. To refuse meant slow torture and death under the claws and teeth of the warg he kept for just such a purpose. She supposed she should count herself fortunate to have been born an elleth, for he did not require the females of his people to breed with the prisoners---slaves, if one were brutally honest; somehow, the idea of mortal males bedding Elven females was abhorrent to him.

She had known Goroth was cruel, but had not imagined he was so monstrous. The ‘disappearances’ of females and males used for breeding had gone unexamined, perhaps because they did not truly wish to know what happened to the mortals. It was simply something they took as a matter of course, hoping that maybe he had sent them back to their families when he was done with them, but knowing deep inside it was likely not that simple.

She could sense Helcarin on the roof with her and smiled bitterly. The young Elf had captured her heart, something she had never expected. She had always been content with her dalliances, taking the occasional lover for a time, then moving on. She and Cunion had shared each other during the past, but were nothing more than simply close friends, and she had not felt anything with the healer like she felt with the young Noldo from the north.

The elleth turned and looked at him and he was at her side in a flash, pulling her into his arms and enveloping her in solace. She was normally a strong and independent female, not one given to emotional displays; but the horror and embarrassment brought on by the discovery of just what her kin was capable of caused tears to begin to fall and, rather than trying to hide them, she gave in and sobbed in her lover’s arms.

Helcarin held her close, allowing her to let her anger, frustration and shame pour out. He could only imagine what it must feel like to know the leader of your people had committed such atrocities. The things they had already known were bad enough; but something about this crime, hidden and secret, made it more heinous than the others. Perhaps it was knowing that helpless, innocent children had been so cruelly disposed of that made it particularly horrible. The callous way in which they were tossed atop one another in the pit---and obviously, all of them were not dead when it was done---made even the western Elves feel unclean for having witnessed the aftermath. He shuddered to think how their eastern brethren felt, knowing it was their kin and their leader who had wrought such an abomination.

“Why did he just toss them away?” she finally managed to gasp. “I know my kin. Vanurion, Sarendir, Cunion---they and most of the others would have certainly taken the children if Goroth had thought them ‘unsuitable’ for his purposes. We can be a harsh people when dealing with our enemies, but not our children. They should have at least had the chance to grow into their majority.”

Helcarin wanted to say that from what he had heard, they did not seem to regard their forced children any differently than those of others whom they used as their fighters, but refrained. Now was not the time to bring it up and, he reasoned, likely once the children reached their majority, they became responsible for themselves in the eyes of the Rhunian Elves, as in the eyes of most parents. The fact that they did not raise them as their children could also have a bearing on how they were perceived as adults. If they could have gotten them as infants or young children, they no doubt would have loved them as their offspring deserved to be loved. Goroth’s system of simply breeding soldiers as a product for use kept the parent-child bonds from forming, only one more example of how twisted and evil the late Lord of the Elves of Rhun had been.

“I do not know,” he finally replied. “From all I have heard of Goroth, he was simply insane with cruelty and the power he wielded.”

“We will never be able to atone for these sins,” she said. “There is nothing that can erase this stain from us. Eru and the Valar can never forgive us.”

“That is not true. Eru’s grace is endless and all of your people cannot be blamed for the actions of a few; certainly not the actions of one.”

“But we did nothing to stop him,” she said, raising her tear-stained face so she could look into his eyes. “We were deliberately ignorant of much because we did not wish to know of it. Our silence is as damning as if we had been participants.”

He tilted her chin and brushed her lips with his. “Do not give in to despair, Pomea. The worst transgression is to lose faith and hope. Trust that Eru has not given your people more than you can bear.”

She laid her head against his shoulder and pondered his words. She felt such comfort in his arms and his words were soothing.

“Thank you,” she said after a long while, her composure finally returning. “You always help me to clarify things in my mind, leading me from the labyrinths in which I sometimes find myself.”

Helcarin smiled. “I would not see you lost to despondency,” he said, his fingertips lightly tracing the curve of her cheek. “You are too precious to me.” She looked away at his words, not yet ready to admit to him that her heart was his, though she had no doubt he knew it already.


Erestor closed the door of the chamber he shared with Durisia and pulled her into his arms as she cried quietly. He could sense her pain, confusion and sorrow and wished only to take it from her. Leading her to the couch before the fireplace, he sat down, holding her as one would a child frightened by nightmares.

“Wh---why did he do that?” she murmured, her voice muffled against his chest.

“I know not,” the dark-haired counselor replied. “Goroth was obviously a cruel Elf and had fallen so far from the Valar he was truly lost.”

“I only saw him a few times in my life, and never did I have occasion to speak with him. He was not concerned with a simple elleth, though if he had remembered I had mortal blood in my family, he likely would have used me for breeding stock as well. I never really thought about how the males of my family must have suffered. I think we all assumed they enjoyed taking the mortal females for breeding, as Goroth did. It was not until later that I would hear Vanurion or Sarendir or Cunion or any of the others talking of how they despised their ‘duties’.”

“It could not have been easy for them,” Erestor said, trying to imagine how one could exist under such a cruel and despotic regime.

“When I was younger, I thought it was, but as I grew to see the horrible things …” Her voice trailed off and she stared at one of the beautiful molded glass vases that sat on the table beside the door, deep in thought.

Erestor did not speak, letting her work her way through the paths that she was following in her mind.

“Vanurion had a concubine he was quite fond of. She was part Elf, having had an Elven grandfather. Some of her descendents still dwell among us. Once, I recall one of Goroth’s messengers came to the keep to summon Vanurion. Apparently it was his time to perform his procreating duties for the realm. I was in the library and he was outside, speaking to the messenger in the courtyard. I remember him refusing to go, saying he would no longer breed children for Goroth to simply send to slaughter.

“A few weeks later, his concubine went missing from where she had gone with some of the other females to bathe. They found the bodies of the others tied to stakes in the ground, raped and beaten to death. Vanurion went to Goroth and remained for over two months and later I heard he had been required to get children on every female in the dungeon who was not with child at the time, simply to get his concubine’s body back so he could bury her.” She looked at Erestor. “You say your people angered the Valar simply to retrieve something from Morgoth; think how they must despise my people for what we have done and allowed to be done.”

He had no words of comfort for her. What could he say? She spoke truly. What Goroth had done and forced his people to do was unconscionable. Still, as his son would say, Eru’s grace was infinite.

“It seems all have suffered at Goroth’s hands,” he finally replied. “I am certain the Valar would take that into consideration, as they would the good your people have done. It is not always about punishment, but redemption as well.”

She nodded, laying her head back against his shoulder. He held her in a soothing embrace and for a change was not impatient to return to their work. All that mattered to him in this moment was the comfort of the elleth he held in his arms and in his heart.


The Elves were subdued for the next few days, Durisia and Pomea joined their kin in covering the pit, a task they firmly refused to allow their western kin to assist with. They also sang laments for the dead, something that Legolas and the others could join in.

Alexandra spent much time on the walls, away from the Elves who were mourning. She could not completely escape the sounds of the beautiful voices in their haunting refrains and at times thought she would die of sorrow. Legolas would often find her sitting in the shadows atop the wall, hands over her ears and tears falling freely. He would gather her into his arms and hold her, speaking to her in a calm voice of things that did not resonate with death and grief. Gradually, her tears would cease and she would relax in the comforting envelope of her husband’s serenity and love.

Charika took to joining them on the walls while the Rhunian Elves buried the dead and mourned. She did not wish to remain so alone in the keep as Erestor had also joined his kin in keeping watch, and could not bring herself to go back down to the pit.

“I no longer see the shadows or hear them,” she told Alexandra and Orophin one evening when the two women had been making their rounds of the posts. Charika and Legolas’ wife would slowly circle the walls, every few hours in order to avoid boredom and to carry messages if necessary.

“Then perhaps they are at rest,” the Lorien Elf replied. “You had said they wished to tell someone about their fate. It has been discovered; they may now pass on to the halls of their fathers.”

“Perhaps,” Charika agreed. “I hope they have found peace.”

“What of the other shadow you saw?” Alex asked.

“He … I sometimes see him, usually in a mirror, but he has not touched me again. I wish I knew what he wanted, who he is.”

Alex was aware of the lengthening shadows and the chilled air surrounding them. The year was growing late and soon snow would begin to fall and they would winter in Rhun. She knew Elves did not think on the passage of time as did mortals and for them, a ‘visit’ of several months---years---was nothing out of the ordinary. The only things she really missed were their dogs and, of course, the friends who were still in Ithilien. She sighed. Patience was something that mortals and Elves did not share the same way; she really needed to work on hers.

“The angry presence, Goroth---is he still here?” Orophin had been feeling a disturbance over the past few days that could not be attributed simply to horror and disgust at the gruesome discovery beneath the dungeon.

The eastern woman thought for a moment. “I believe so. I have not seen him, but there is something angry here. I …” She glanced at Alexandra. “I do not think I am the one he seeks.”

Orophin caught the look she cast upon Alexandra and frowned. The other woman had been gazing out at the surrounding forest and did not seem to notice.

“Do you know what it is he does seek?”

Charika bit her lip. “He is angry and afraid. He seems to be hiding from something while at other times, he seems to be seeking someone---someone he blames for his pain.”

“Goroth has no one but himself to blame for his suffering,” the Elf said disdainfully. The woman shrugged noncommittally and she and Alexandra continued on their stroll. As they left, however, Orophin could not help the nagging disquiet that had settled upon him at Charika’s words. He needed to speak to Legolas as soon as possible.

“Thank the Valar for Naveradir,” Erestor said as he walked into the dining hall with a nondescript book in his hands.

The other Elves looked up and Durisia took a plate, putting some of the meat stewed in dried fruit and wine on it and setting it down in the place next to her. The counselor smiled his thanks and sat next to the elleth, the book open to a point almost midway the pages.

“I take it our kinsman left something informative,” Sarendir said as he took a sip of wine.

“He did,” Erestor replied as Rumil, Haldir, Charika and Alexandra came in from the wall. Orophin and Legolas followed close behind, appearing deep in conversation. The prince and his friend both glanced at Alexandra with a protective air.

The counselor waited for the newcomers to take their seats and take some food before continuing.

“Apparently, Goroth used the waters by ‘dipping a frond brought from the trees which surround Cuivienen into the Sacred Waters and sprinkling the walls of each building within the keep, including those surrounding the compound’.”

“He christened the building,” Alexandra mused, though the others had no idea what she meant.

“Anointing the structures is all that was done? When was this?” Glorfindel found it difficult to believe the answer was that simple.

“Shortly after they returned with several large jugs of the water from the journey mentioned in the other journal during which they encountered Lastharos.” Erestor turned the book around and slid it across the table to his friend. “Between 6500 and 7000 years ago.”

Glorfindel read the passage Erestor had just quoted and looked at several pages before and after. “And their effect has lasted this long?” He scanned further in the book. “Ah. It says further along that some of the water was mixed into the mortar used to hold some the stones in place. Not all of the keep was built at the same time, apparently. Still,” he slid the book back across to the counselor, “the waters seem to have a lasting effect.”

Cunion took the book and began reading as the others discussed this new information and ate dinner. Alex wished, not for the first time, she had the means to analyze the chemical composition of yet another substance on this world. Still, there was something attractive about the way her husband and his kin---even the humans of this world---believed in the numinous and unknown; her own people no longer had such a sense of wonder and she was saddened by that loss.

“Nevaradir drank the water.”

Conversation stopped and they turned to Cunion. He was reading further into the book and slowly turned a page.

“It seems this book is his personal diary whereas the other one was more of a record of travels. Erestor is correct to thank the Valar for our kinsman’s meticulous record-keeping.” He scanned a few more lines. “He was curious about the waters and so he simply … drank some. The others …” he read a bit more, “seemed to be wary of the waters, likely because Goroth threatened any who touched them with a torturous death.”

Vanurion gave a short, bitter laugh. “That was Goroth: do not reason when threats and intimidation are available.”

Erestor recalled what Durisia had told him about Vanurion’s concubine and what the late warlord had forced his nephew to do simply to retrieve her body for burial. He could hear the lingering disgust in the new leader’s voice and shared it.

“Did Goroth know?” From what he had heard of the former leader, Rumil had no doubt he would not have hesitated to kill Naveradir for drinking of what he considered ‘his’ water.

“If he found the diary, then he probably did,” Sarendir replied. “Though why he did not drink them himself, I do not know. It sounds like something Goroth would do.”

“Perhaps he thought that, as an Elf, he did not need them,” mused Haldir. “It could be that since the Elves awoke at Cuivienen, the waters would have no effect on our kind.”

“But to the Secondborn, they may impart immortality,” Legolas added. “Goroth clearly thought Elves superior to all other beings. He would not think the waters would have an effect on our kind because we are already immortal and the most powerful and perfect beings, in his mind, who dwelt in Arda.” At Alexandra and Charika’s raised brows, he added, “Of course, he was wrong; he never saw the value of mortals except in how they could serve him. It is just one more sign of his self-centered view of life.”

“But he obviously feared something,” said Vanurion, “or he would not have threatened those given the task of acquiring the water.”

“Likely, he simply did not wish anyone to touch what he considered his,” Sarendir replied. “Goroth thought only of himself and satisfying his desires, especially his quest for power. He would not care about anything but keeping what he thought could convey power to himself.”

Helcarin had been silent through the discussion and he happened to glance at Orophin. His friend met his eyes and he could see an awareness of something in them. He let himself become attuned to the atmosphere in the keep and realized he also felt some discomfort. He looked to Glorfindel and sent a silent message.

The Elf-Lord looked toward one of the corners of the large dining hall, where the light from the candles on the table did not reach. A mass, darker than the surrounding shadows, seemed to sit there, like a malignant eye, watching them.

Helcarin and Orophin followed his gaze and the others soon noticed the attention of the three Elves being drawn to the corner, a bit over midway to the high ceiling. Anger and hate seemed to emanate from that area of the room and Charika clutched Rumil’s arm.

“It is the one who tortured all of those others,” she whispered to him. He covered her hand reassuringly and she took comfort from his presence.

“Goroth …” Sarendir murmured under his breath. The other Rhunian Elves did not bother to control their own hatred and repugnance. Durisia found herself grateful for the steadying hand Erestor placed around her waist while Pomea just looked into the shadows with disgust.

Legolas felt Alexandra shrinking back against him and put his arm around her shoulders, surprised at her reaction. She had been so resilient after her initial hurt and heartsickness, and he was unaccustomed to her showing fear of any being. He felt his own anger at the Elf who, it seemed, even in death was determined to cause his wife pain.

“Why are you here, Goroth?” Vanurion asked, standing and facing the darkness. “Your soul should have gone to Mandos at best, the void if justice was to be served.”

There was no answer, and frustration joined the rage and hate filling the air.

“He has not changed,” Legolas said. “He appears as he did on the roof of the tower.”

“You can see him?” Alex managed to ask. She could see nothing but the black cloud.

“You can not?” Helcarin asked her. She shook her head.

Rumil looked to Charika.

“I see only the evil bloom; not a dead Elf,” she told him.

“Why does he not answer?” Pomea asked. “The Goroth I remember was never at a loss for words.”

The sheer fury radiating from the being struck them almost as if it was a physical force, then suddenly it was gone, rushing out through one of the windows with a great gust of icy air that caused the candles to go out. Charika let out a small cry and Alex turned, burying her face against her husband’s shoulder. Sarendir and Haldir took tapers to the kitchen and relit the candles.

The gathered company sat in silence for a moment, considering the events of the past few minutes.

“That was not the shadow who touched you, was it?” Glorfindel asked Charika, who shook her head in the negative.

“Neither is it the same one we have sensed,” Helcarin affirmed. “This … Goroth has likely been the source of much of the disquiet we have felt here. The spirits of his victims masked his anger with their sadness and fear and loneliness. But now that they are at rest, his hatred can now focus.” He, Glorfindel and Charika all looked toward Legolas and Alexandra.

The prince smiled grimly. “I am certain he is quite angry with me. I killed him.”

“His anger also seems directed at Sarendir and Vanurion because, in his eyes, they betrayed him,” Glorfindel pointed out. “It seems, however, to be centered on Alexandra.”

“Me? Why?” She could think of nothing she had done to Goroth, but could not deny the feelings of intense fear that had washed over her when she realized the angry … ghost, she supposed, was ‘watching’ her.

“I believe he blames you for bringing his downfall to pass,” the Elf-Lord answered quietly.

“That is preposterous,” Haldir said, irritated. “She was his victim.”

“Goroth would not see it that way,” Sarendir replied. “In his mind she is the root of his problems. Had she not accompanied the babe, Legolas would not have sought him. Had Legolas and the rest of you not come to Rhun in pursuit of vengeance, we would not have had the impetus to assist your cause and escape from under his despotic rule; and, of course, had Legolas not come here, the prince would not have killed him, ending his reign.”

“Had Goroth not gone to Minas Tirith and taken Farmir and Eowyn’s child, none of this would have happened,” Orophin snapped. The others looked at the normally quiet, good natured Warden with surprise. “He kidnapped a helpless child, tortured and abused Alexandra and then has the temerity to blame others for justice finally falling upon him? The things he did to you, to his kin and his own people were enough to earn him eternity in the void. I would see him there still.”

“No doubt he will be punished,” Glorfindel said calmly. “Already he suffers. Much of his anger comes from finding himself in his current state. He cannot speak for he has no voice; cannot touch anything for he has no form. He cannot rest; even the emptiness of the void would be preferable to being without form or substance and having nowhere to find peace.”

“He deserves no peace,” Orophin muttered.

“I agree,” Vanurion replied.

“He is also frightened,” Charika said tentatively. She blushed and looked down when the others turned to her. “I---I have felt him for some time and beneath that anger and hate is fear. He not only seeks to find, but seeks to hide.”

“Hide from what?” Pomea asked.

The woman shook her head. “I do not know. Sometimes … sometimes I think the moments when I have felt such fear that I cannot move; when I am unable to speak and all sound ceases and the air becomes icy … Sometimes I believe those are when something else comes that even he fears.”

“Could he fear the shadow that does seem to have form and substance?” Erestor asked, his agile mind turning over possibilities.

“I do not know. The shadow does not seem …” She shook her head. “I simply do not know. I get no sense from the shadow when I see him; but that time in the bedchamber, I was very frightened. I do not know, though, whether I was frightened before I saw him or after I realized he was holding me.”

“But Goroth was not around then,” Rumil said and she shook her head.

Vanurion sat back, a goblet of wine in hand and took a sip before speaking. “So, we have the shadows who were the shades of Goroth’s victims. They were present both at my keep and here. Since their fate was discovered, Charika has not seen them since, correct?”

The woman nodded.

“Then, there was the sense of Lastharos, tormenting her, but she has not experienced that since the first day after once again coming into Rumil’s care.” Again, he looked to the eastern woman for confirmation and she nodded, blushing slightly.

“I believe those ‘visits’ from him may have been, at least partially, products of my own fears. I cannot say for certain, though. With Lastharos, one never knows.”

The others could not help but agree: little was known about the Butcher of Khand, hence he was unpredictable.

Vanurion continued to outline what they knew.

“The spirit of Goroth is obviously here in this keep and he is a palpably angry, hate-filled presence, likely masked by the intense sorrow of his victims. With them gone, he has no buffer. Still, he fears something. Charika said she got the sense he was hiding from something, though we also know he focuses his rage on Legolas, Alexandra, Sarendir and me, in general, the prince and his lady in particular. The great unknown in this situation is the shadow that held Charika and seems to be drawn to her.”

“We sensed a presence near the lady while at your home,” Glorfindel said. “But it likely was a sense of the spirits of Goroth’s victims, since Charika said she had seen them there. Still … there is something familiar about the shadow form. I feel as though I have known it elsewhere.”

“It seems to be elusive and not easily seen,” Helcarin pointed out. “Perhaps it, too, was at Vanurion’s keep, but simply remained hidden.”

“Then why would it reveal itself more boldly here than at Vanurion’s?” Alex wanted to solve this mystery and was ashamed of her reaction to Goroth’s presence. Focusing on the known facts of Charika’s own ‘haunting’ and looking for possible answers helped take her mind off of her own fear.

“It could be that, like Goroth, he was somewhat masked by the shades of the victims,” Haldir suggested.

“Or, it could simply be that he is stronger here,” added Erestor. The others pondered his words. “If we make that assumption, then it would mean he is related to this place as well, and something here gives him more strength and substance than elsewhere.”

Helcarin, Sarendir and Orophin quickly cleared the table as Pomea, Charika and Rumil put away the remains of dinner and set the kitchen in preparation for the morning meal. They then joined the rest in the Great Room where speculation continued into the night.

Charika listened to the talk, answering questions when asked, but mainly searching in her mind and in her heart for the shadow who seemed always with her now. She somehow thought she should be able to communicate with him; after all, the souls of Goroth’s victims had experienced no problems letting her know what they needed. Still, she felt nothing from him. At least, she thought with some relief, she did not feel threatened by him, a welcome change from the other unseen presences she had experienced over the past year or more.

Soon, they all retired for the evening, each thinking on the mystery that surrounded them. What had started out as a simple visit to comfort a friend had turned into a quest to uncover secrets both far-reaching and private.

In their chamber, Durisia asked Erestor, “Where did you find the diary? It must have been in the midst of a hundred or more similar books.”

She pulled off her leggings and tunic, revealing the thin, pale blue undertunic, an exquisite and decidedly feminine garment, seemingly incongruous compared to the elegant, but severe clothing she had been wearing on the trip.

“It was here on the table beside the window,” he answered as he removed his boots. He looked at her. “I thought you had found it and brought it in to read, but simply had not done so yet.”

“No,” she said, tilting her head quizzically. “I have removed no books from where we gathered them.”

He raised a brow. “I know I did not bring it here. Perhaps one of the others … But why would they simply leave it? They would have read it and discovered the information.”

“Not if it was one of your brethren who did not read Quenya,” she pointed out as they lay on the pallet, her head resting on his chest and his arms automatically encircling her.

“They were all standing watch,” he replied after a moment’s consideration. “And it was not here earlier this afternoon. I only found it when I came up to retrieve a new quill.”

They fell silent as each mulled over this new, albeit small, mystery. Soon, they both drifted into reverie, as had their brethren within the keep, and nothing stirred in the vast building except an angry cloud that seemed to prefer the darkness of a formerly sealed room, and a shadow in the shape of a Man or Elf that watched the sleeping forms of the young former Warden of Lorien and his eastern lady from the depths of the mirror in their chamber.