Haunted

Disclaimer: I wrote this strictly for my own enjoyment and will receive no monetary compensation. All elves and Middle Earth belong to Tolkien. However, the OFC in this story belongs to me
Cast: Thandronen/OFC, Haldir, Ferevellon, Fereveldir
Timeline: Sometime in the midpart of the Third Age

Chapter 6 - Feathered Foes

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
Fields of Gold - Sting


Reverie vanished and his eyes cleared as Thandronen suddenly came awake. Instantly alert, he lifted his head and listened trying to determine what had brought him fully conscious. He relaxed when he found the horse had joined them within the rock shelter. The night was nearly silent. The only sound was the quiet, even breathing of the female nestled within the curve of his body.

He tightened his arm around her waist and glanced down. Envinyatarë snuggled back into his chest before settling back into slumber.

It was the deepest part of the night this last hour or so before dawn. It was the time after the night creatures returned from foraging or hunting or mating to settle down in nests and burrows and perches. The span of time just before the creatures of the day stirred themselves and got on with the business of surviving. All was silent.

The fire had died down to nothing but cinders. Thandronen arose and tucked the blanket snugly around Envinyatarë before padding naked over to the ashes. Ignoring the prickly bumps the cool air rose on his back, flanks, and rump he knelt and brushed aside ashes until he found a few glowing embers. Laying tinder and blowing softly he soon had a small blaze going. He fed it the last of the wood and watched it ignite.

Thoughtfully he gazed at Envinyatarë before searching out his leggings and pulling them on. He secured the lacings and stamped his feet into his boots. As he dressed himself with his usual methodic care he mentally took inventory of his kit and separated what he must have from what he would leave behind with Envinyatarë.

His gaze flicked in her direction before he dropped the under tunic over his head. He would leave her the bedroll and blanket; he would make do with his cloak. The dagger he normally tucked into his boot and had used to cut up the game hen for her would also remain with her.

She would need his extra flint to start a fire. Thandronen secured his outer tunic and decided the wine cup would stay with her as well as half of his tea. Drinking his morning brew from the little cooking pot would not be the most elegant thing he’d ever done he thought grinning briefly, but he would survive. He considered another moment and revised the amount of tea upwards to three quarters. She could steep the leaves in the wine cup while it sat in the coals. He made a mental note to caution her against burning her fingers. Although, of course, he thought wryly she would just heal them if she did. Still he had no wish to see her suffer any pain; she had already suffered far too much in his opinion.

“You will be free.” It was the last thing he had said to her before they settled for the remainder of the night.

She had merely smiled. “But I have been free. This night with you, I have been free. Freedom,” she kissed her finger and touched his lips, “Comes in many shapes.”

He ran his fingers through his hair smiling to himself at the minor disarray she had caused playing in the dark red strands. Thandronen felt surprisingly fit and well rested in spite of being awake most of the night. His eyes softened when they rested on the sleeping maia. It would seem engaging in love play with the daughter of Manwë had an energizing effect instead of an enervating one.

The elf’s mind pursued the checklist as he buckled on his sword. He had lembas he would share with her and he would delay his departure long enough to hunt. Remembering the ease he had in procuring the two birds yesterday he figured they must be quite plentiful. It should not take him long to provide her with half a dozen. The best time would be just after dawn.

Dawn.

*You will not see me in the daylight.*

A fist squeezed his heart as he remembered Envinyatarë’s words. His hands froze in the midst of buckling his sword and he stared at her. Thandronen did not think he could bear to watch her disappear and he wondered how it would happen. Would she wink out of sight suddenly just like a candle being snuffed? Or would she linger and fade gradually as the mist torn apart by a capricious wind? He finished securing his sword belt with fingers not quite so steady knowing hard as it would be, he would strain for his last glimpse of her.

He knelt to rummage in his pack. A soft sigh and a stirring alerted him. Thandronen looked up in time to see her sit up and wrap the blanket about her shoulders. Finding what he was searching for he stood and strode over to her. Envinyatarë watched him approach, her dark eyes glittering brightly.

“You are quite magnificent in your uniform, Captain Thandronen,” she greeted him. She tilted her head and grinned widely, “But you are even more magnificent out of it.”

Laughing he went down on one knee and palming the back of her head, kissed her soundly. “You are a flirt and a tease, Envinyatarë!” he scolded as he shook out the garment in his hands and found the neck hole. Thandronen dropped it over her head. “Work your arms through the sleeves,” he told her, “And I will turn up the ends. I know they will be far too long for you.”

Her eyes round Envinyatarë did as she was told, allowing him to turn up wide cuffs. She stroked the fabric with wonder. “So soft!” she exclaimed. She sparkled at him, “What is it? “

Thandronen pulled her to her feet watching the cotton shirt unfold and tumble down past her hips to stop just below her knees. “One of my spare under tunics. I have two clean ones with me.” He studied her. His hand skimmed down her waist and hip smoothing out the wrinkles. “I will be leaving them both for you.” White teeth flashed at her in the firelight. “No doubt I will reek by the time I reach Lorien. It will not be the first time.” The captain shrugged.

“I do not know how to thank you!“ She twirled around.

He crouched down by his pack and busied himself dividing its contents according to the lists he had made in his mind. “I will bring you a proper gown when I return. With your coloring dark red I would think. Would you like that?” Thandronen made two neat piles. “Or is there another color you would prefer?”

When she didn’t answer he glanced around at her. She stood frozen, an odd look on her face. Drifting a little away from him and the fire she cocked her head. “Visitors. We have company.”

Thandronen’s head snapped up. “What?” He rose slowly to his feet.

There was a distant faraway look in her eyes, “Some of the foul smelling ones have crossed the barrier.“ Envinyatarë’s eyes refocused and narrowed. “I do not want them here. They leave a stench that will linger for days.” She marched around the end of the rock wall. “I will tell them they are not welcome here.”

“Envinyatarë? Envinyatarë, wait!”

His elvish hearing detected the deadly whistling of a barrage of arrows slicing through the air. “Down! Get down!“ Thandronen launched himself at Envinyatarë, desperately trying to reach her. His fingertips scrabbled and snagged the hem of the tunic. Yanking her down just as a dozen and half black arrows spent themselves on the rock wall behind them. The elf wrenched her beneath him as a shower of oily wood fragments rained down. Mindful of the deadly points Thandronen pulled her even closer, covering her slight body with his own.

After the initial fall had passed Thandronen hooked an arm around her waist and scuttled backwards into the shelter of the rock wall dragging her with him. Once he was certain they were well hidden he let go of her. She sat up, her eyes dazed. A dirty smudge painted one cheek and there were grass stains on the lower part of the tunic. Fragments of arrows were clutched in her hands.

Thandronen gently pried her fingers open and removed a piece tipped by an nasty looking point. It glinted evilly in the firelight when he tossed it away. “Do not touch the arrowheads. They could be poisoned,” he told her as his hands skimmed over her searching for any cuts.

“Unforgivable,” he muttered setting his back teeth. “I have been reckless with your safety.”

Looking up from her examination of the other piece of shaft in her hand Envinyatarë frowned. “I would say that is not true.”

But Thandronen’s attention was riveted on the outlying field. “How many I wonder?” he murmured to himself.

“Oh, I can tell you that,” Envinyatarë responded. Her eyes unfocused for a moment. “This side of the barrier there are forty-three.” She blinked, “No more are crossing.” She gazed back at his questioning look, “I cannot see past Melkor’s wall but on this side I can see every living thing.”

He gripped her arm above the elbow and pulled her to the rock wall behind them. “Envinyatarë, you are full of surprises.” Thandronen redirected her attention after glancing behind him. “Dawn is not far off and you say you will not be visible once it comes. Is that true for yrch as well?” At her affirmative nod, he continued, “You climbed this easily before. You will still be hidden by the stone wall halfway up.” He pointed above them to a ledge barely two fingers width wide. “Stop there and wait until the sun clears the horizon. Once you have disappeared from sight, continue upwards and wait. Yrch can climb, but nothing as sheer as this so you should be safe.”

The captain touched her cheek. “I should be able to hold them off that long.” *I must,* he thought grimly.

He slung his quiver on his back and buckled it securely. “You could be injured?” Envinyatarë asked in a low voice.

“I could be,” he answered, adjusting the fit. The faint rumble of a far distant thunderhead raised the small hairs on the nape of his neck. He set a part of his mind working on the chore to determine how he could turn a rainstorm to his advantage.

“You could be killed?”

“Possibly.” Again thunder, a little louder this time, reverberated and rebounded around their rocky enclosure.

His eyes fell on the two neat piles he had divided his kit into earlier. He shot her a reassuring grin, and pressed a quick, hard kiss on her lips. “But I am very hard to kill.“ He knelt and began hurriedly to stuff everything back into his pack. “There is no reason to leave this for the yrch when you can easily take this with you. There are straps so you can carry it on your back and you are strong enough.” Thandronen fastened the flaps, “Once you have made it to the top it would be best if you lie flattened as close to the rock as you can to avoid stray arrows.” Resolutely he boxed his fear for her and set it aside. He rose to his feet. “And do not watch.”

He held out the pack but she was gone. Thandronen glanced sharply around but she was nowhere in sight.

“Blood of the Valar!“ Dropping his burden and cursing her stubborn hide, he grabbed his bow. Quickly pulling an arrow and nocking it, he rounded the edge of their shelter. He found her standing a short distance in front of it studying the field before her. Off to his left a dark shape moved slightly closer.

Taking quick aim he let his arrow fly, smoothly pulling a second from his quiver as soon as the first had left his fingers. Thandronen noted with a small amount of savage satisfaction the surprised grunt and gurgling thud that followed. *Only forty-two to go* he thought grimly searching for another target.

Before he could order her back behind the stone barricade a white light blinded him temporarily. It was Envinyatarë flaring with a brilliance that quickly dimmed but did not die entirely. When he was able to see again, an astonishing sight met his eyes; she was holding what appeared to be a ball of light in one hand.

The size of a walnut it shimmered and radiated a silver glow that gleamed softly. It was as though she’d reached up and gathered a handful of moonlight. Envinyatarë casually tossed the sphere up into the air and caught it deftly once, twice, and again. Deadly whistling heralded another volley of arrows and she cast it up a final time. It hovered for a moment and then split into several threads, each one streaking out across the terrain. They each ended in a short, sudden flash of straight lines.

Thandronen’s mouth dropped open as a second sphere appeared. She calmly lobbed it into the air and again the sibilant hissing of orc shafts was halted at the end of glowing threads. Directly in front of her a long, thick bar burst into flame that lasted long enough for the elf to recognize a spear before it burned itself to ashes.

Envinyatarë narrowed her eyes. “I grow weary of this hostility.” A pale silver globe the size of his fist appeared in her hand. Flinging it up and out the ball hung suspended before dividing itself into a multitude of strands. Each filament streaked out and erupted in sizzling pop. Yrch jumped up and screamed, bursting into small, writhing towers of flame. Hands clawed the air in panic as their faces contorted in agony, black smoke rising from their bodies. Their shrieks were short lived however; they quickly crisped and charred into blackened shapes and fell, breaking into pieces to the ground.

It was all over in a matter of moments. Thandronen was stunned. For several heartbeats he was conscious only of the sound of the breeze disturbing the golden grasses and the thin stench of burnt yrch, a scent well known to him. He finally recognized the harsh panting he heard as his own and took a deep calming breath.

“They are dead? All of them?”

“This side of the barrier, yes. But I do not think there are any others past it. I got no sense from these-” her graceful hand swept out, “that they were missing comrades.” Thandronen grunted and without looking at her forced his feet to move. Envinyatarë followed a pace or two behind, hands clasped behind her back.

Thandronen studied the first burnt orc he came upon, dread and wonder laying themselves stiffly across his shoulders. He set his bow aside. Looking around and finding a stick he crouched down beside the black pile and stirred it cautiously. There was only a small heap of ashes. “Cleansed with fire,” he muttered. Looking up at Envinyatarë his voice strengthened, “Cleansed with flame. Renewed.” He rose smoothly to his feet and leveled his gaze at her, catching her eyes. “ ‘Fire-child’. Is that not the meaning of Nárion?” She nodded. “And Nárion had this gift as well?” Another nod.

Painful clarity at last. That tremulous and fleeting fright he had seen on her face earlier after she had healed him had not been fear *of* him. It had been fear *for* him. Any threatening move on his part would have been answered with a delicate thread of death and the wind would even now be scattering his remains across the ripened grasses. That she would have keenly regretted the necessity he had no doubt.

Closing the distance between them he gripped her shoulders and searched her face. “It was for this that Morgoth wanted you? Not your healing gifts?”

“Yes.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Chaos coalesced into understanding. “I confess I was somewhat puzzled. I could not understand why he wished to have healers in his service--even such talented healers as you and your brother. He dealt in death and destruction.” Thandronen paused, a thought occurring to him. “How many times can you divide the - the ball?”

“I can manage a thousand threads at once but no more.”

“All of them with the same results as in this field? Yrch? Men? Elves?“ Thandronen had difficulty breathing. “And how many of those globes can you produce?”

Envinyatarë nodded yet again and brought her hands up to rest on his chest. “Only one at a time but I can make perhaps a dozen before I tire and must rest.” Fingertips touched his chin. “Nárion could manage over twenty.”

In shock his lips formed the words “a dozen” without sound. He felt her cold fingers curl into his tunic and laid a hand over them to still their trembling.

The captain mentally shook himself, “As quickly as you made the three earlier?”

A dozen spheres of death divided into a thousand strands each; in the space of a few breaths an entire army of nearly twelve thousand could be annihilated. Thandronen shuddered inwardly. Had Morgoth managed to press the brother and sister into his service, Middle-Earth would probably have a very different complexion than it did now.

Her eyes glittered slightly in the dim light of the coming dawn. “Yes. Yes, I can.” Envinyatarë peered anxiously at him. “I beg you; do not think less of me.”

Startled, Thandronen pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “Of course not, naur reviol nín ” he soothed resting his cheek on hair. “Of course not.” Somehow a chuckle worked its way up and out of his chest.

“I know, I know,” her voice was muffled. “I am full of surprises.”

He gave her a little shake. “Are there more? I am not certain my heart can survive the shock if there is.”

“No,” she mumbled. “I think you know everything now.”

Releasing her after a long moment he bent to retrieve his bow and, each lost in his or her own thoughts, they slowly made their way back to his camp.

~*~

“Did you see that?” Ferevellon’s startled voice broke the silence between the three.

Haldir and Fereveldir had been searching the ground, the rocky stretch making it difficult to read tracks. The Marchwarden looked up sharply, “What?”

“Fire, on the horizon.” He pointed. “Like many bonfires had been lit and caught all at once.” His eyes strained in the darkness. “They are gone now.”

Fereveldir reached out and punched his brother lightly in the arm. “Are you certain you did not see fireflies?” he teased.

The elder twin grunted and rubbed his arm absently, never taking his eyes from the horizon. “No, I am quite certain.” His tone was one of long suffering of the dim witted. “I thought at first it was a prairie fire but it died too quickly.” He frowned. “And now, nothing.”

Haldir shrugged. “It would not do to be caught in the midst of a field fire. Keep a sharp eye and let us move on.”

~*~

Thandronen broke the silence first. “Why did you not use your gifts against Morgoth? Combined they must have been overwhelming, even for him.”

She stopped and turned towards him. “We did once and he turned it back on us.” A hand traced a path across her midriff. “Nárion sprang between us and took the worst of it but I did catch part of it. It is why I am marked as I am.” Envinyatarë sighed and averted her shadowed eyes. “It took many days to heal him and it was dreadfully painful. We did not try it again.”

Thandronen shifted his bow to his other hand and took her arm above the elbow. Urging her onward, he was not comfortable out in the open even if Envinyatarë was certain there were no more yrch. The enormous rock monolith loomed in front of them when his memory stirred. “When you expressed a desire to destroy this place but would not since it was your home--that was no idle threat, was it?” When she smiled he queried, “Just how much power do you wield?”

The maia’s response was to shimmer into white brilliance. Thandronen screened his eyes until the glare faded somewhat. The glowing white ball she tossed into the air was a little bigger than a large apple. It lingered above them for a moment before it hurtled through the air. Fascinated, Thandronen tracked its progress as it streaked over the stream and struck the largest tree. It exploded into fragments and he ducked as they rained down.

Bemused, the elf looked around at the remains of tree littered on the ground around them. “It is how I get firewood when I need it.” A corner of her mouth turned up. “That is maybe a tenth of the force I can command.”

The captain let out his breath in a whoosh. His thoughts milled about in his head. Caught in avid curiosity he continued to question her. “But with what control? From what distance? How fine a thread can you produce? And with the amount of what power?”

Envinyatarë snorted delicately and showed him her palms pretending to fend him off. “So many questions. Do you want to test me? Perhaps devise a way I can demonstrate?”

Thandronen grinned. “Yes! A test of your skills.” Searching the ground he found a pebble the size of his thumbnail. “Is this too small?”

She burst out laughing and shook her head. “And just what has that little stone done to offend you? Caused you to stumble? Cut your heel?” She leaned closer, her eyes bright. “I know! It bruised your shapely backside. How dare it do such!” She struck a pose, hands on hips and nose tilted upwards. “It must be punished!” Envinyatarë spun around, her eyes wandering the fallen tumble of rocks they’d hidden behind earlier. “Place it anywhere. As long as I can see it, I can hit it.”

Lips pursed, he considered his options. Tossing her an impudent grin he began to climb. When he reached a wide ledge that led up to the very top he stopped. Setting the pebble near the lip of stone he stared down at her. “Can you see it?”

A faint look of scorn passed subtly across her upturned face. “Of course.”

Thandronen gestured genially then folded his arms across his chest. “Fire away.”

A feminine brow lifted skyward. “You wish to stand so close?”

“Is your aim so poor?”

Smothering a laugh at her narrowed eyes and the soft growl he heard even from where he stood, he raised an arm to shield his eyes when she flared brightly white.

~*~

The stone tower known to them as Ghost Rock barely appeared on the horizon when an unnerving blast of light briefly lit up the dim gray sky.

“The tree appeared to be struck by lightning that moved along the ground,” Haldir exclaimed.

Urging their horses into a gallop they closed the distance between themselves and the haunted monolith. The elder twin was the first to sight Thandronen. “It is Ada!” he shouted to Fereveldir.

“Where? I do not see him.”

Ferevellon pointed, “Halfway up the center tower.”

With relief evident in his voice Fereveldir responded after a few moments, “Yes, I see him now.” The lightening sky threw him in sharp relief to elven eyesight.

The gap between them and Thandronen dwindled. The younger brother pointed, “Who is that?”
Ferevellon shook his head and his eyes widened when the figure on the ground burst into dazzling white light. “Whoever he is he has power of some kind. He must have used it to destroy the tree.” They watched in dismay as Thandronen lifted his arm as though to ward off a threat. The brothers exchanged anguished glances and urged their horses to greater speed.

Nearly in unison the twin sons of Thandronen dropped the reins, guiding their well-trained mounts with their knees. Together they rose in the stirrups and with duplicate shrugs of their elegant shoulders, rolled their bows into their waiting hands. Smoothly and simultaneously each pulled an arrow from the quiver that lay across their backs. Nocking them swiftly and sighting carefully they released their white fletched arrows, one following half a length behind the other.

Ferevellon’s shaft stirred the Marchwarden’s hair. Startled ,he whipped his head around just as they pulled a second arrow. “Daro!” he bellowed, anger plain in his voice. “I gave no orders to fire arrows.”

With mutinous faces they replaced the arrows saying nothing and continued their plunging pace to the rock.

~*~

Thandronen’s eyes were slitted against the glare. Instead of dimming as he expected however, it vanished suddenly. At the same time his elvish hearing detected the sound of a soft *thunk, thunk*. Peering down from the ledge the jest he was about to make died on his lips.

“No,” he breathed, horror closing his throat. Thandronen flung himself down the unforgiving wall scrambling with reckless abandon trying to reach Envinyatarë before she fell. He came to a skidding halt in front of her. “No,” he moaned.

She stood swaying slightly from side to side. Gazing down at the ends of two sharp arrows protruding from her lower chest and belly she ran shaking fingers along the shaft of one coated with her blood. She stared at her sticky fingers before raising her pain-glazed eyes to his.

“Sharp,” she gasped. Her knees buckled and Thandronen caught her before she sank to the ground.


naur reviol nín - my flying fire