Tears 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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“Why would you wish to help us?” Perswold, the Keeper of the City of Naraketh asked skeptically. He had allowed these creatures to enter the gates because they did indeed seem to be trying to help the injured mortals who were with them and he could not turn his own people away when they were in dire need. Also, the Elves had said they were no friends of Lastharos though he did not completely trust them.

“It is in our best interests as well as yours that Lastharos be stopped,” Saelbeth replied with a smile. “Our actions are not completely selfless---we do not wish him to advance further into Rhun or the west.”

“And if we are able to prevent his army from overrunning your city,” Vanurion added, “We will be able to negotiate from a position of strength and perhaps have our friend returned unharmed.”

One of the men laughed harshly. “Returned unharmed?” He shook his head. “If your friend is in Lastharos’ hands, then he is likely already dead. The Supreme Ruler is not known for his tender care of prisoners.”

“In that case,” Vanurion responded calmly, “we will have no reason to deal diplomatically with him. To harm our friend means certain and swift retribution. Lastharos will not live to see another moon.”

The men in the room were quiet. They had seen that these Elves, while pleasant and kind, even benevolent, also would not hesitate to fight. The survivors from the caravan had been telling the residents of the city how the Elves had fought bravely, defending them from the Dark Force. They told of how Elven warriors had then tended their wounds and took care of the dead.

The town’s leaders had listened to these tales with surprise. They had never heard anything good about Elves. When one of the town’s healers’ came forward and said he recognized the two females as ones who had brought an injured family to him a few months earlier, the leaders began to think that perhaps all they had heard of Elves was wrong. The family was called to the council and the woman told them, reluctantly, how they had rescued her husband and tended her family’s injuries. She added she had not told them their saviors were Elves before now because they had seemed reluctant to reveal themselves as such when they left her with the healer and she wished to protect their privacy.

So when Saelbeth and Vanurion had come to Perswold with their offer of aid, the council was inclined to accept. Their long-held fear of Elves kept them from enthusiastically embracing the offer as it caused an underlying mistrust, but still, they could not argue with evidence that had been presented.

The men conferred among themselves as their guests waited patiently. The Elves could hear them and so deliberately turned their attention elsewhere. Finally, Perswold spoke.

“What would you have us do?”


***


The skies darkened as Lastharos’ Dark Force met the army. The creatures gathered in one area as their keepers went over to take an accounting of the beasts. They noticed the blood and signs of battle and, oddly, that some of the host was missing. When this fact was reported to the generals, they summoned one of the vampires who served as a spokesman for the rest of the force.

“What happened to your comrades?” Vetoran asked it calmly.

“They fell in battle,” the creature replied with a slight sibilance to its words, its voice low and rasping and altogether unpleasant. Its eyes glittered with a malevolent inner light that caused the mortals acute discomfort.

“How? The people of the villages are not warriors,” Vetoran pointed out.

“They had help from creatures we do not know. The things the Master seeks.”

Peferio looked to Crasthion who murmured, “Elves.”

“There are Elves in Khand?” Vetoran did not believe in the old stories that told of beings of light that would come and steal away women and children in the night.

“If that is what they are called, then yes, they are here,” the vampire responded. “Two of our brethren took one of them back to the Master in Fwaban. He had ordered us to bring him one of the creatures if we ever encountered one.”

“Where are these … Elves now?” Peferio asked. If they existed, they could only mean ill-tidings for Khand. He resisted the urge to shrink back as the vampire turned its disquieting gaze upon him.

“The nearest city would have been Naraketh,” it hissed. “They would no doubt try to take the survivors there for aid.”

Vetoran dismissed the creature and after it was gone, the three generals all breathed sighs of relief.

“We should depart immediately for Naraketh,” Crasthion said, thinking aloud. “If there are Elves here then how do we know there is not an army of them waiting to invade our land?”

“Or they may be there to prevent us from moving further west,” Peferio added. He shook his head. “I do not like this development. Why are they here? If they are even real, that is.”

Vetoran was quiet as he pondered the implications. If Elves had decided to surface now and were fighting for the people, it could signal a shift in the balance of power in Khand. Still, they were bound to serve Lastharos until there was a better, viable alternative.

“Let us depart for Naraketh immediately,” he finally told his fellow generals. Glancing at Crasthion he continued. “If there are indeed Elves in Khand we must contain them until we know more about why they are here.”

Crasthion nodded his agreement though his mind was on the city that was their destination. It was the city of his parents, the city of his birth. He still had family there though he had not seen any of them in some time. He hoped he would not be forced to kill any of them.

Preparations for the moving of the army to Naraketh took longer than anticipated---there were supplies to be replenished, wounds to be healed and strategy to be developed. Instead of two days, it took them almost a week for the Khandun army to begin its march to Naraketh. The morning of departure the generals were once again informed of the Dark Force’s disappearance.

“Likely they have gone ahead to slaughter the inhabitants of the city,” Peferio muttered.

“Then let us not tarry,” Crasthion snapped. Though he was doing his duty as a general of Khand, he did not wish to see more innocents killed than was absolutely necessary. The army was pushed into readiness and headed quickly to the northwest.

***

“To the north wall!” Glorfindel ordered and Elladan, Elrohir, Pomea and Saelbeth followed him, dodging arrows and flying stones from where the bests of the Khandun army lobbed great rocks against the city fortifications.

The men at the northern defenses were taking heavy casualties and Haldir was moving the injured out of the way so those still able to fight would have adequate vantage points to attack the enemy. The smell of burnt flesh was strong and it was obvious there had been a widespread fire on this side of the city.

“Oil filled bags covered with brush and set afire were launched onto the walls,” Haldir told them when the Elves arrived. He looked at the pile of charred bodies. “Hardly anyone survived.”

Glorfindel, Pomea and Saelbeth took positions on the wall and began firing at the attackers with unerring accuracy though the numbers overwhelmingly favored the Khandun army. Elladan and Elrohir helped what wounded they could before joining the others on the wall. Haldir, once the dead and dying had been moved, returned to his position on the west wall where Rumil, and Sarendir were managing to keep the citizen defenders in order.

“Do not let any of the shadow figures into the city,” Saelbeth called to his brethren. “Once inside, they will be difficult to find and fight.” As if in response, a shrieking heralded the arrival of one of the creatures, its sword glinting as it swooped down upon the defenders on the north wall. The dark army knew it was the weakest part of the city and would continue to pound it until its inevitable breach.

Glorfindel’s sword blocked a blow the creature had aimed at one of the men on the wall. The dark being hissed and dissolved only to reappear behind the Golden Lord. Glorfindel turned swiftly, his sword already swinging in the direction of the shadow figure’s head and he heard a satisfying howl as it connected, the sound cut off abruptly as the Elf’s sword sliced through, splitting the dark head in diagonal halves.

The Elf-Lord had no time to relish his victory as another shadow figure materialized just above them and slashed one of the men on the wall. The stricken man cried out, falling from his position over the wall and into the sea of attackers below. A werewolf and a vampire snarled at one another as they fought over his body and the defenders watched in horror as the creatures began a feeding frenzy.

Taking advantage of the beasts’ distraction, Pomea, Elladan and the others began firing down onto the tussling creatures as Glorfindel, joined by Saelbeth, once again fought the shadow figure.

Elrohir sighted one of the vampires flying above them with another burning oil bag and fired, hitting the beast in the eye. It screeched and dropped the burning bag, releasing it before reaching its target so that it landed on its own troops. Bellows and screams of pain erupted from below the wall and the stricken vampire fell into the melee.

Glorfindel and Saelbeth managed to kill the shadow figure as another stone flew just over their heads, crashing into a building just beyond the wall, knocking a hole in it. The sounds of a child crying and a woman screaming reached them and Elladan turned in time to see a woman with a young boy, no more than two or three years old, huddled in the building. A shadow figure flew over the wall and into the house and the screams of terror grew louder.

Without pause, Elladan leapt from the wall onto piles of fallen stones and ran nimbly across to the house, jumping gracefully onto a ledge and pulling himself into the room. Drawing his sword, he began to fight the shadow figure, drawing its attention away from the woman and child.

The creature swirled around him and he could barely keep up with its movements. He felt something sharp against his left thigh and looked down to see blood appear in a thin line across his leggings. Instead of causing fear, however, his injury only angered the Elf and he redoubled his efforts against the creature of darkness. As long as it was fighting him, the woman and child were safe, though they appeared to be trapped. The only door to the room was now blocked by fallen debris and he did not doubt they would be either unable or too frightened to try to climb down from the hole in the outer wall.

Another stinging pain almost took Elladan’s breath away and his left arm seemed to be suddenly numb. A rather large gash down his upper arm was bleeding profusely and he knew this injury was more serious than the relatively shallow cut to his leg. Swinging around, his sword caught the shadow figure in the side and it howled its rage. Remembering what Saelbeth and Glorfindel had told them about striking before the creatures could disintegrate, Elladan quickly thrust the sword once more into the shadow figure, striking its chest.

A weak shriek signaled the effectiveness of his blow and the Elf felt a sense of satisfaction at the being’s demise. Pulling his sword free, he glanced toward the woman and child to see that they were unharmed. As he opened his mouth to tell them he would carry them down from the isolated room, he felt a burning, yet icy, sensation in his right side.

Looking down, he saw the shadow figure had, as it fell down in final death, managed to drag its sword across his side, slicing deeply. Almost as if watching himself from a distance, Elladan noticed the blood beginning to pour from the wound and a part of him could appreciate the irony of the creature killing him as it died.

The last thing the son of Elrond saw was the terrified, tear-stained faces of the little boy and the woman as they watched him fall.


On the wall, Elrohir suddenly felt cold.

“Elladan,” he whispered and felt as though his entire body had lost all strength as he dropped to his knees.

“What is wrong, Elf? Are you injured?” one of the men on the wall asked him.

He shook his head, but could not speak. He could no longer sense his brother and knew Elladan now heard the call of Mandos.

The man beside him suddenly swore and Elrohir felt himself jerked to one side. A large rock crashed into the exact spot where he had knelt and he turned to the man who had pulled him to safety.

Brown eyes in a deeply tanned and weathered face looked back at him from beneath unruly black curly hair. The expression was exasperated but not unkind.

“What ails you, Elf? I thought your kind was supposed to be strong and aware of everything around them.”

“My … my brother is dying,” Elrohir managed to whisper, though saying the words made it more real---and more painful.

“Many brothers are dying today,” the man said pragmatically, then his gaze softened. “I am sorry, lad, but there is no time for mourning now; it must wait until all is said and done.”

Elrohir nodded. The man was correct. He stood, thanking the man for saving his life, then turned back to the wall, once more facing the enemy though his fighting now was tinged with a fury that had been missing earlier.


Vanurion and Helcarin spread out along the south wall and kept the men of the city in orderly ranks as they fought the relatively fewer attackers that laid siege to their part of the city.

“They must have found a breach somewhere,” Vanurion shouted to the other Elf. “They seem to be attacking here simply to keep us busy. Notice they do not try to scale the wall.”

Helcarin turned his head and listened. “The north; their numbers are greater to the north.” They could see thick smoke rising from the area of the northern wall and the smell of burning wood and flesh drifted to them on the still air.

“We cannot abandon this section,” Vanurion told him. “That will only give them an opening here as well.”

The other ellon nodded, but each Elf wondered what was happening on the opposite side of the city. It galled them to be unable to help their kin in what must surely be a mismatched battle.


Legolas, Cunion and Alexandra could see the concentration of attackers massing on the north side of the city. From their position on the east wall, they and their mortal companions managed to prevent more of the dark forces from joining their fellows in assaulting the weakened wall.

“I hope Glorfindel and the others have been able to help them,” Alexandra told her husband.

“We shall know shortly,” he replied, taking down two vampires with two arrows in the same shot.

She watched the Elves and other bowmen for a bit, then turned back to Legolas.

“I am going over to the north wall,” she told him. “If there is a breach, then that is where it will be.”

“That is precisely why you are NOT going to the north wall,” he responded, bringing down a werewolf as it ran alongside the wall.

“Legolas, I am of no use here. I can’t shoot anything with a bow. The only good I’ll be is in actual face to face encounters. I can do more good there than here.”

Cunion, overhearing their conversation, nodded.

“She is correct, Legolas,” he told the young prince. “Her skills are of no use when there is no enemy within her grasp.”

Legolas looked at her and sighed. Knowing his wife and his friend both spoke truly was no consolation.

“I do not wish you to be at any more risk,” he murmured.

Alexandra smiled and brushed her fingers lightly across his cheek.

“I thought we stayed to help. Let me do what I can.”

He nodded, then pulled her close with one arm, kissing her possessively, then releasing her as he once more took aim at another fell creature testing their skills.

Alexandra nodded farewell to the others and ran swiftly along the battlements toward the spot where the thick, black smoke seemed concentrated.


The archers on the walls began to take aim at the vampires flying over with the burning oil bags and by shooting them down before they could reach the walls of the city, they often inflicted heavy casualties on the attackers below. Glorfindel and Saelbeth concentrated on the shadow figures while the others fought off the more corporeal creatures.

Elrohir fought with single-minded determination, not allowing himself to feel the empty spot inside of him where Elladan dwelt. His brother’s presence was fading and he wondered if he would once again feel Elladan when he left Mandos.

A sudden group of shadow figures slid through them on the wall and the men cried out in fear. They began swinging wildly at the creatures and Saelbeth tried to calm them.

“Strike only when they are in solid form; they tire you out by fading away when you try to hit them. You must time your blows for when they are making theirs.”

A few of the men heeded his words, but many were simply too frightened of the shrieking, swirling creatures.

Alexandra arrived just in time to see the shadow figures attack and the disarray of the men, and so drew her sword and began fighting the dark beings, having had experience with them when last they encountered Lastharos’ dark army. She hated the things and always felt deep satisfaction when killing one.

Several men were knocked from their posts by the beings, some falling to their deaths on the rubble below, others pierced by the weapons of the shadow figures. The army at the base of the wall took advantage of the defenders’ preoccupation with their shadowy brethren and began to scale the walls.

“Kill the things coming up,” Alexandra told one of the dazed men who seemed almost frozen from fear in the face of the shadow figures. Giving him a push toward the breach in the wall, Alexandra was satisfied to see him focus on the solid danger and begin to repel the attackers with the help of his fellow townsmen.

She joined them and soon began to hope for the creatures to make it far enough up the wall to be within her reach so she could have the pleasure of killing them face to face.

The Elves and the mortals who had adapted, managed to fight off most of the shadow figures, though there were a few who were quite persistent. They darted in and around the Elves and Men alike, always just a hair too fast for permanent elimination. More than one of the defenders suffered stinging blows and cuts from the creatures’ swords before Glorfindel and Saelbeth managed to kill some, leaving one with which to contend.

The shadow figure dissolved and reformed quickly and Saelbeth murmured it must be an old one for it was quite strong. It tormented and teased those on the walls, harassing them as they tried to hold the encroaching army at bay.

The attackers once more began scaling the walls, sensing the fatigue of the men on the wall. The Elves were beginning to tire as well after such prolonged and vigorous fighting and the shadow figure managed to land a crippling blow against Saelbeth’s back, knocking him from the wall.

Only his Elven reflexes saved him from certain death on the rocks below and he managed to land with merely a snap of his ankle. The searing pain caused him to swear in several ancient languages and he knew he would be useless except with a bow for the rest of the battle. The Elf looked about him, noting several quivers with arrows on some of the bodies nearby, and gathered them to his position. Nocking an arrow, he prepared for any targets that might come into range.

The men were beginning to fight sloppily, exhaustion wearing them down, and Elrohir, Pomea, Glorfindel and Alexandra found themselves bearing the brunt of the battle. The woman, despite the strength she had been given by her inner darkness, was also beginning to tire.

Alexandra felt a sharp tug and looked down to see a werewolf with its claws sunk into her calf. With a shout of anger, she brought her sword straight down onto the beast’s head, impaling it, killing it instantly. It released her as it fell back down the wall, but its claws caught on her boot and pulled her foot out from under her. She scrambled to hold on, but the weight of the creature pulled her over the side as well.

She thought how sad that she would die from a fall rather than a sword’s blow, but her fall came to an abrupt stop. Looking up, she saw Glorfindel had grasped her by the collar of her tunic and was pulling her back from the teeming sea of darkness below the wall.

The Golden Lord held her as she managed to find a crevice in the stone to support herself and she kicked until the werewolf’s claws ripped free, leaving a long gash in her leg. The blood did not pour freely, for which she was quite grateful, though it did damage her leggings and boots heavily. Still, she hoped it would clot soon and she would not need to find salt to neutralize it.

Just as Glorfindel pulled Alexandra back atop the wall, the shadow figure he had been fighting lifted its sword over one of the men still firing at the enemy and brought it down with a shriek.

The man did not have time to look up before Pomea, seeing the danger pushed him out of the blade’s path. The elleth, however, was not so fortunate.

The darkly gleaming sword pierced the fair, gold-tinged Elven flesh with ease and the point pushed all the way through Pomea’s slender body from just below her left shoulder blade through her lower right abdomen, then on into the mortar on the wall, pinning her to the surface.

With a shriek of satisfaction, the shadow figure dissolved and flitted away back to the roiling mass of its brethren as a low, rumbling horn blew in the distance. The dark Khandun army suddenly ceased its assault and seemed to meld into a single black mass and move quickly away to a point well out of range of the remaining defenders of the city.

At first, Pomea did not know what had happened and could not understand why she could not move. Then, the pain hit and her green eyes opened wide. She looked at Elrohir who was the first to reach her and tried to ask him about her condition, but could not draw breath to form the words. She looked down and saw the sword pinning her body to the wall and realization dawned.

Glorfindel released Alexandra once she was on relatively solid footing and ran quickly to the stricken elleth who was now being supported by Elrohir. The Elf-Lord could see her glow fading quickly and his heart broke for his son.

Pomea clutched Glorfindel’s hand with surprising strength and tried to speak, but no sound emerged. Elrohir released her to his mentor’s arms and stood back as Alexandra limped over to them, surprise and shock on her face. The son of Elrond pulled the woman into his arms, supporting her so her injured leg would not need to hold her weight and trying to comfort her as she clearly grieved for her friend. Seeing Pomea as her life faded brought to mind his own loss and he knew he needed to find Elladan’s body if only for the closure mourning it would bring.

The Elves from the east and west walls arrived long before any of the mortals who survived and all drew up short at the sight of Pomea impaled on the sword. Legolas took a distraught Alexandra from Elrohir and held her as she struggled not to sob aloud. Elrohir slipped away, unable to watch the elleth’s dying moments as he searched for his brother.

“Where is Helcarin?” Rumil asked quietly.

“Likely he is coming from the southern wall,” Sarendir replied as he knelt on the other side of his kinswoman and took her icy cold hand in his, adding his support to Glorfindel’s.

Cunion knelt before her and gave her a small smile and a brief kiss.

“If I remove the sword, it will hurt, but will hasten the end,” he told her. “Do you wish me to withdraw it?”

She gave a slight nod.

“You may pass before Helcarin can arrive,” Haldir told her. He knelt and took her hand from Sarendir and kissed it.

Pomea tried to smile, but nodded again, turning her eyes back to Cunion.

“Do … not … let … him … see …” she managed to mouth soundlessly before closing her eyes from the effort. Blood began to trickle from the corner of her mouth and she struggled to take in even the smallest breath.

Cunion stood and grasped the hilt of the sword as Sarendir and Glorfindel held her steady and pulled it free from the mortar with an effort. Pomea gave a soundless scream of pain as the blade jerked in her when it came loose from the wall.

“Forgive me,” Cunion told her, anguish in his voice, then he slid the blade upwards until the point finally cleared her body.

The elleth collapsed against the ellyn who held her and blood poured from her wounds. Haldir stood back as Cunion and Sarendir pressed their hands against the injuries to try to stem the bleeding, but the effort was futile.

Pomea looked up at the darkening sky as Elbereth’s jewels began to glitter against the dark blue backdrop. She had lived a long life and had known love, even though her time with Helcarin had been painfully brief. Still, she could take the memory of him with her to Mandos and whatever fate awaited the vanwe.

She noticed the pain did not seem near as bad as before. In fact, there was no pain at all; just a feeling of floating, the gentle rise and fall reminding her of journeys to the Sea of Rhun and days spent among the waves. She could even smell the sea. A star glowed brighter than any of the others and it seemed to add to the welcoming warmth that now surrounded her. She had not thought they were near the sea …

Pomea’s sightless eyes stared up at the twilight sky and she no longer drew breath. Cunion and Sarendir released the pressure on her wounds and they bled no more. Each of the Elves sent silent prayers to the Valar that Pomea’s spirit be granted rest in the Halls of Mandos and Alexandra buried her face against Legolas’ shoulder, her body shaking with silent sobs.

“Pomea …” Helcarin’s voice broke the silence around them and all turned to see the ellon standing on the wall, staring at the body of his beloved, still held in the arms of his father.

Haldir and Rumil stood aside and Helcarin ran between them to where Pomea lay and took her from Glorfindel, holding her limp body against his as he looked into her sightless eyes. He caressed her cheek for a moment then brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.

Helcarin stood, lifting her in his arms, then looked at his friends.

“I will take her back to the building where we are lodged. She must be buried when I can do it. We must see to the wounded and regroup while we have this reprieve.” Without waiting for a response, he carried her carefully down from the wall and disappeared into the crowd of people who had gathered to sort out their dead and wounded.

“Where is Elrohir?” Rumil asked, breaking the silence.

“He was here,” Legolas replied, looking around, but not seeing the dark-haired ellon.

“For that matter, where is Elladan?” Haldir asked.

“And Saelbeth,” Glorfindel added.

The Elves began searching for their missing comrades and Alexandra managed to control her grief as she helped them look. Pomea had been her friend and the woman had admired the elleth for her grace and good humor. She had always been so … vibrant and Alexandra could not bear to think of Pomea’s light being extinguished.

Intellectually, she knew Elves died; had seen them die before. But those had been somewhat abstract deaths and had not been people she had truly come to know and care for. She felt ashamed that the passing of one being was more important to her than that of another, but it was part of her human nature. Seeing Pomea actually die had been startling and Alexandra realized that despite knowing of Elven death, she had never fully accepted it. Some other Elves might die, but not her friends, not those she loved. They were invincible … immortal.