Tears 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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The mountains surrounding Fwaban appeared empty, but there were eyes that watched all the comings and goings of the Khandun capitol. When the party arrived at the outer ring of mountains, word was sent quickly to Maglor that riders approached.

The Elf went to his secret watching place so he could observe the group as they stopped to walk their mounts through the rocky terrain. Elves. He smiled and sent word to the watchers to guide them to him.

***

“These rocks are almost impossible to get a horse through,” Elrohir muttered. The craggy surface of the hills surrounding Lastharos’ city were an effective barrier to invading armies.

“The Leader’s city is almost impenetrable,” Crasthion told them. “There is only one path through and it must be negotiated as we are doing. An army cannot invade effectively.”

“We do not need an army,” Haldir said. “All we need is to get Lastharos within line-of-sight. He must die.”

“And who will replace him?” Crasthion asked, pausing to look at the Elves who accompanied him. “You are all so anxious to kill him, but who will rule in his stead? His death would create a power vacuum and who knows what might step in to take his place?”

“Whoever or whatever replaces Lastharos cannot be as bad as the man himself,” Elladan snapped. He was almost physically ill thinking of Allase in that madman’s clutches. Alexandra was a trained warrior and had endured many things; she was quite strong. Allase, though, had been untouched, innocent. Lastharos would try to despoil her simply because she was pure.

Legolas remained silent, his thoughts on his wife. He could sense her and knew she was safe, but she was angry. At least he did not sense despair or even fear. Alexandra did not frighten easily and he hoped she had perhaps found Orophin and Naveradir or even Erestor. For all they knew she may have already killed Lastharos.

Haldir suddenly stopped and held up his hand, the other Elves instantly motionless. Someone was coming toward them quietly. Their bows drawn so quickly and silently Crasthion had not even noticed them move, they waited for their visitor to show himself.

A dark-haired, dark-skinned man stepped from behind a group of rocks. He held out his hands, palms up, to show he had no weapons. Bowing to the group he looked to Crasthion and smiled.

“I have been sent to guide you to one who knows your purpose here and is able to help you.”

“Who?” Legolas asked, not lowering his bow.

“An ancient one who has helped many of us escape from the Butcher of Khand. He bids you come; you will find a friend you seek with him.”

The Elves and Crasthion exchanged looks then slowly lowered their weapons. They had no real choice except to follow him. If there was a chance to find an ally … And one of their friends? Who?

***

Though he had told them they would dine with him, Lastharos did not return, or send for, Allase and Alexandra. They remained in their lush prison with only a loaf of bread and hunk of cheese with some wine brought to them by one of the vampires for the next few days.

Their chamber pots were emptied and tubs were even brought for baths, but always it was the vampires who brought them. Neither woman had seen any other mortals—or Elves, for that matter—since Lastharos had visited them.

Allase had been embarrassed by her reaction to Lastharos’ touching her.

“I should not have been so shocked,” she told Alexandra while the two soaked in the warm, large tub.

The other woman smiled bitterly. “You should never become accustomed to such treatment. You should never have to.”

Allase watched her friend thoughtfully. “You are still ill.” She heard Alexandra trying to gag quietly at different times, and the woman looked pale. Also, Alexandra seemed to sleep more than usual; however, there was nothing to do in their prison so she supposed it could simply be a way to pass time.

“What brought that up?” Alex raised a brow.

“You seem pale and tired, listless at times. Perhaps your leg wound became infected.”

“No. It’s healed perfectly. I was feeling bad before that. Maybe I’m just homesick. I miss my dogs and our house. I want to go home with my husband and stay there for a while. He seems to forget sometimes that as a mortal, I don’t have forever to wander around and visit the other parts of the world.”

Allase nodded in understanding. “I cannot imagine what it is like to be immortal. I do not know that I would like it.”

“That’s my theory on Lastharos. He was born mortal and once he became immortal, it did something to him. His mind became more and more twisted until he is completely insane. Mortals weren’t meant to live forever no matter how much we may want it.” Her voice had grown soft, almost as if speaking to herself, and her gaze dropped to the water as if seeing something beyond the surface, beyond the tub.

They sat in silence until the water grew uncomfortably cool, then got out, dried and put on more of the very thin, silken gowns and sat on chairs looking out over the balcony, waiting.

***

Their host did not join them for meals for several days as Naveradir, Orophin and Dehlina continued to explore the palace and helped several slaves and prisoners to escape. The woman told the newly freed to continue to the mountains where they would be found and cared for. The ellyn wondered who would rescue the refugees in the mountains, but Dehlina seemed certain.

“What is happening that takes his attention?” she wondered aloud.

“Likely he has rebellion brewing in his army and is planning his defense,” Naveradir replied as he pried a stone away from a wall and found the skeletal remains of an adult and an infant. He grimaced and breathed a silent prayer then replaced the stone. What more could he do for them?

“And there is no more word on his prisoners,” Dehlina fretted.

“Do you think he is harming them?” Orophin asked, forcing open a rusty iron door. Several bodies in various stages of decomposition hung from chains around the room and he pulled the door closed wondering how anyone could be so evil.

“It is Lastharos,” she reminded him. “He harms everyone and everything.”

“We could try to find them,” Naveradir suggested.

“Then that will be our goal,” Orophin agreed as they headed back toward their chambers. If they were gone too long they would arouse suspicion.

One of Lastharos’ servants was waiting when they arrived. The boy bowed and smiled timidly.

“The Star of the East invites you to join him tonight for dinner.” He could not help but be awed by these beautiful people, especially the Elf with his silver and gold hair, fair skin, and beauty.

“Tell Lastharos we will be happy to join him,” Naveradir replied with a smile. The boy was looking at Dehlina with undisguised admiration and he realized she was wearing nothing to hide her luscious body. It seemed as though the lad had not yet become ruined by service to Lastharos.

The servant finally tore his gaze away from Dehlina’s curves and bowed again, then left. As they entered their room, the elleth chuckled.

“He appreciates me at least,” she told them.

“You are saying we do not?” Orophin asked, raising a brow.

“Not like he does,” she replied.

Naveradir washed his hands and face as Dehlina relaxed against the pillows on the floor and Orophin stepped onto the balcony.

The Lorien ellon missed the sunlight and trees—there were no trees in Fwaban. Lastharos had thwarted any attempt to get him alone; his guards were everywhere and he refused to risk killing the man with Dehlina present. The guards would kill everyone in the room and he refused to let that happen to innocents.

His gaze drifted over the distant mountains, the busy courtyard below, the guards along the base of the palace, the towers rising high above everything else … His eye followed the lines of the palace, over ramparts and up towers, up, up to where two figures sat looking out from the balcony of the highest tower in the complex. The unknown prisoners.

Orophin fixed his keen Elven sight on the two females, one with black hair, one with rich brown hair highlighted with red and gold. His heart quickened—Alexandra. He thought the other female might be Pomea, but her features were different. Sweet Eru, Alexandra was here … in Lastharos’ clutches.

“We must kill him now,” he murmured so softly only another Elf could hear his words.

“Why?” Naveradir asked as he joined his friend on the balcony.

“There.” Orophin nodded to the two women on the tower balcony and Naveradir followed his gaze.

“Alexandra—and a woman of Khand or Rhun.” He understood Orophin’s urgency and shared it. He also sensed something more from the other ellon but would not call attention to it. Orophin was honorable and had his own battles to fight.

Dehlina heard their words and joined them, focusing on the two females.

“Which one is she?”

“The one with gold and copper hair,” Naveradir replied. “I do not recognize the other woman.”

“Neither do I, but she looks like someone from one of the cities near Rhun. They often mingle.” She went back inside and sat on the edge of the bed. “What should we do? They are obviously well-guarded.”

The ellyn were silent as they pondered how best to reach Legolas’ wife and her companion. Their presence increased the urgency to find a way to kill Lastharos quickly. Who knew what he would do to them? What had he done already?

***

Maglor waited as the Elves were led to his position. Erestor and Sui had joined him in the shelter of the large boulders, Kidur sitting beside the woman, his head leaning against her hip.

Sui saw more of the beautiful creatures—Elves—approach and her breath caught at the sight of the silver and golden hair and fair complexions of three of them. Truly they were magnificent and she could understand the Leader’s desire for them. Her attention was pulled away, however, when she heard a familiar voice call her name.

Crasthion stared at the woman who had been his bedslave, now in the company of two Elves. A long scar ran from the outer corner of her left eye back toward her ear over her cheekbone. There were several scars around her throat and he knew they were from the ropes and sharp, pointy wire Lastharos used. She was covered in a tunic and cape so he could not see the rest of her body but he did not doubt she had been abused horribly.

“My lord.” Sui dropped to her knees before Crasthion, head bowed. “Forgive me, my lord. I tried to make you proud.”

The Elves, momentarily taken aback by the woman’s words and actions simply watched the two mortals.

Crasthion knelt beside her, then stood and lifted her to her feet.

“No, Sui. There is no reason for you to apologize. I am sorry you were caught in Lastharos’ web.”

She remained silent and kept her head bowed, acutely aware of her scars, especially surrounded by so much beauty though none could rival the beauty of her lord returning safely.

Erestor felt immense compassion for the woman and hoped she would be able to rise above what had happened to her. Turning to the new arrivals he smiled with undisguised happiness as he was embraced by his kin. Turning to Maglor, he began introductions.

“My friend, this is Legolas, son of Thranduil, king of the Elves of northern Eryn Lasgalen, grandson of Oropher; Haldir of Lothlorien, Marchwarden of the Galadhrim; his brother, Rumil of Lothlorien; and these are the sons of Lord Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir of Imladris.”

Maglor smiled and bowed to each of the Elves in greeting. When Elladan and Elrohir were introduced he paused and examined the ellyn closely. Elrond’s sons.

The twins wondered why this Elf looked on them with such an expression, as if in wonder and sorrow as well as joy.

Erestor smiled and continued. “My friends, may I present Maglor of Aman.”

“Maglor,” Elrohir whispered, exchanging a look with his brother.

“Our father’s foster father,” Elladan finally said with a smile. “My lord, I am honored. You saved our father’s life and have now saved the life of our dear friend. Thank you.”

The ancient Noldo bowed in acknowledgement then gestured toward the path to his dwelling.

“Come. Let us find a way to rid Khand of Lastharos once and for all.”

***

Glorfindel took a drink of water from the cup Saelbeth handed him. Helcarin still slept, his fair complexion pale and his breathing barely perceptible. His son seemed to be fading and there was nothing the Golden Lord could do to save him. He stretched then smiled sadly at his friend.

“I never thought to see my child die.”

“He is not yet passed into Mandos’ realm,” Saelbeth said quietly. “He may yet recover.”

“True. His wounds, however, are grave.” He looked around the encampment for the first time in hours—possibly days, noticing how the people and the soldiers had been mingling. “Where are Vanurion and Sarendir?”

“Helping the people make plans to return to their homes or move on to other towns peacefully. Some are determined to return to Naraketh while others will seek refuge in other places that have not suffered total devastation.” Saelbeth smiled as he gazed out over the people. “Vanurion and Sarendir have developed quite a following among the mortals. Perhaps it is because they are eastern and do not look as different as we do; the mortals here do not find them so strange.”

Glorfindel allowed himself a smile as well. “Perhaps it is their destiny to help these people as it was ours to help the mortals of the east.”

Saelbeth nodded in agreement. The two ellyn remained silent for some time before he spoke again.

“Do you think our friends will end Lastharos’ reign this time?”

“I pray they do,” the Golden Lord replied. “Too many have suffered because of him.” He turned to glance at his stricken son and froze. Helcarin was no longer in the spot where he had been resting.

“Helcarin!” Glorfindel called as Saelbeth began scanning the surrounding camp for the ellon. Surely he had been too ill to move on his own.

“There!” Saelbeth pointed to the lake where Helcarin floated on the vast body of water. The two Elves ran to the shoreline and dove in, swimming out to where Helcarin lay on his back, eyes open but not responding.

“How did he get out here?” Glorfindel asked as he and Saelbeth slipped their arms around the Elf and began guiding him back to shore.

“I do not know. I did not notice him awaken or leave, but then I did not think it possible in his condition.”

“Nor did I,” Helcarin’s father responded just as his son suddenly slipped from their grasp and disappeared under the water.

Both Elves dove beneath following him, each thinking to himself it had felt as though someone had pulled him from their arms, dragging him straight down.

***

“You.”

“Yes. It appears you have been injured quite severely.” He looked just as he had at Cuivienen: silvery-blue eyes, a serene smile, straight silver hair with two braids on each side pulling it back from his beautiful face. He wore clothing of pale blue and cream and shone with an inner glow. They were standing in a courtyard garden with fountains and pools surrounding them. Magnificent buildings with massive white, gleaming columns and statues were visible and everything was bathed in a glorious iridescence reflected from an enormous crystal sphere towering above them.

Helcarin looked down at the bloody bandages around his chest. Reaching up, he pulled them loose and soon had his wound exposed. It continued to ooze blood.

“I was stabbed by a vampire.”

“I know,” Inderion replied. “You and your friends have fought valiantly, not that I would have expected any less of Elves. Even those who were lost have sacrificed themselves for these mortals. You have done well, Helcarin; but there is more and it will not become any easier.”

“I will do whatever is necessary,” the young ellon said, looking down and touching the blood that trickled down over his bare chest from his wound. “But I may pass to Mandos before I can do what must be done.”

“Did Pomea not tell you it was not yet your time?” the beautiful Elf asked.

Helcarin nodded, looking again at the blood that stained his fingers.

Inderion reached out and placed his fingertips upon the wound. “You should not doubt your beloved,” he scolded gently.

Helcarin felt the warmth of the other Elf’s touch and it was comforting.

“How will I know if what I am doing is right?” he sighed, feeling himself growing sleepy, relaxing, dimly aware he no longer felt any pain or discomfort.

“You will know,” the magnificent silver-haired Elf answered as sleep overtook the young ellon.

***

“We must get him to the shore quickly,” Saelbeth gasped as he surfaced along with Glorfindel, holding Helcarin’s limp body once again between the two of them. They swam quickly to the shore where Vanurion and Sarendir were waiting along with the mortals who had gathered to watch the curious drama. When they reached shallow water, Glorfindel scooped his son into his arms and ran onto the dry land and laid him down on a blanket.

“He does not breathe,” Vanurion murmured as they rolled the unconscious ellon onto his side to allow water to drain from his lungs.

Glorfindel grasped his son’s cheeks and placed his forehead against Helcarin’s, praying, begging Eru to spare his son—his life had been so short compared to any other Elf’s and he knew Helcarin had so much more to give to the people of Middle-Earth and beyond.

A sudden gagging sound and coughing began as Helcarin took deep breaths. Glorfindel supported him as he cleared his lungs then gently helped him to sit up with Sarendir’s help. The young ellon looked around with a somewhat dazed expression.

“Where are we?” he asked, accepting a cloth from Vanurion to dry his face.

“Still on the lake shore,” Saelbeth answered with a smile. “How did you get into the water?”

“I dove in from the boat,” he replied, the others exchanging curious looks.

“What boat?” Glorfindel asked. “You have been right here, unconscious since you were wounded.”

“No, I was in a boat with Pomea and she told me to go to the water; that I must return to the lake, so I dove over the side. But it was not wet,” he added with a frown. “It was a beautiful city with columns and statues, gleaming white.” He did not add the part about Inderion—somehow he felt he should not speak of the mysterious ellon.

“A dream,” Sarendir said, pulling Helcarin’s wet clothing away so they could clean and replace the bandages over his wounds. Everything was soaked with lake water.

“No, it was a real place,” Helcarin insisted then looked down as the bandages were removed to reveal his wound. Only, there was no wound.

“How can this be? Even Elves do not normally heal so quickly,” Glorfindel murmured, running his fingers over his son’s unblemished chest and back. There was no sign of any injury ever having occurred.

Helcarin had no true answer, but he began to think there was much more to Inderion than he had ever suspected.