Code Red by Scribe of Mirrormere

A Grey Matter

Read A Grey Matter

Code Red:
A Grey Matter

With speed like lightening flew the arrow, evoking a groan from the walker upon impact, but Aredhel did not stop to make certain her shot had gone through the head. She spun around and jabbed her dagger through the eye socket of another, and with one heavy boot she kicked off the third approaching her, spinning out of its way and raining down on it the thick heel of her boot till its skull cracked, blood and brains spilling over the grey ground.

From the distance she saw more sluggishly making their way towards her, drawn by the sounds. She grabbed the dagger and yanked out the arrow, then dashed deeper into the forest. She located her horse Nimanor, and after hopping on, she cried out for her to make haste just as the growls of more of the accursed undead were heard.

She pushed Nimanor to go faster. Just as she began to believe she was well away from the danger, suddenly a walker appeared from the bushes; Nimanor neighed loudly as she reared up, sending Aredhel crashing to the ground.

Fighting the sharp pain shooting up her arm, she rolled away from Nimanor lest her hooves came crushing down on her. Spitting out dirt, she scrambled to her feet in time to witness that Nimanor was far out of reach, galloping down the path in frenzy.

“Foolish steed!” Aredhel cried before beheading an approaching walker just in time. Blood gushed from its aorta, splattering her white dress. She kicked it off hard enough to topple the other walker behind it. One slash later, and another walker went down, its skull pierced with her dagger.

The blood soaking her dress was starting to weigh her down, and without a moment’s hesitation she tore off the front of her skirt. More were approaching her at every angle, but she had little arrows left, and half were virtually unusable by this point.

Taking one look at the nearest tree, she decided this would be her only chance. As she climbed up she could hear the walkers' growls as they sought to grab her dress. She yanked away strips of hem they could reach while struggling not to fall.

A pressure which had been slowly building in her bladder was reaching its peak, and Aredhel had to draw in a deep breath and press her thighs together to steady herself.

This is perhaps not the best time to be in need to relief myself, unless if I can get a good aim at these bastards from a high branch, Aredhel thought, and she chuckled at the mental image for but a moment, for the act threatened to make her lose control.

The tree was so tall that she was certain she could reach the very top and be safe from the gnarling monsters beneath her. She could stay up there the night or perhaps climb from one tree to the next to locate that dratted Nimanor.

Just as she was feeling optimistic about her prospects, her foot missed a spot, slipped, and down she went.

"No!" she cried, knowing how very well one small mistake would be enough to end one's life. She had seen it with her own eyes before, countless of times.

She sealed her eyes shut the very minute she hit the ground. By some miracle she did not wet herself, but she had no time to be grateful for that. The walkers behind her growled and sneered, jaws snapping at her heels, but she could not back down now. She scrambled back up and kicked away at one before the rippling pain shot through her, tearing out a sharp curse that rang throughout the forest. One ankle had been twisted, and thought she fought to keep her balance she fell back against the tree, almost knocking herself out cold. She fell to her knees, watching the walkers, ever growing larger around her. Her heart hammered in fright.

Suddenly there was a glint of metal, and a walker's head toppled to the ground, followed by another, and two more. Soon all the bodies which surrounded her had fallen to the ground, blood gushing out in spurts, tainting the sweet earth below a deep red.

There was a figure now standing before her, though they were not alone, as two walkers stood behind them. But they were no threat as they had neither arms nor bottom jaw.

The figure in the middle wore a long black cloak over some sort of black armor, and a hood covered his face. One hand gripped the chains that connected to collars around the walker’s neck. In his other hand he held a long black sword.

"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked and removed his hood. He was a tall elf, grim-faced and dark-haired, and skin a solid brown like the tree behind him.

Avari, Aredhel thought immediately. Though he had just saved her, she was on alert. But studying him, how the hollow cheeks and bags under his eyes indicative of not having properly slept or ate for months, he seemed to be no threat. She neither hated nor feared Avari, as she knew of at least one in Gondolin.

“My ankle will heal,” Aredhel said as she got to her feet, “though it better not be slow under these current conditions.”

“Aye,” the elf agreed. “I am Eöl of the Kinn-lai tribe, and who may you be?”

“Aredhel of the Noldor,” Aredhel said brightly, already feeling her ankle healing.

“A Noldo,” Eöl said, his eyebrows raised.

Aredhel smirked. “A descendent of the great king Finwë.”

“Ah, a relation of the House of Fëanor. I confess I do not love your people for their ill deeds, my lady, as much as it is believed we both hail from the peoples of the Second Wakers.”

“They are not all awful, but I understand some of your resentment,” Aredhel said conversationally. “There are actions I too do not agree with my cousins either.” She tapped the body of one fallen walker with her boot. “Any ideas where they came from? When I was given leave to partake this journey, no one mentioned dead walkers.”

“None of my or others’ theories have been proven,” Eöl said. “Some of my people suspect it came from the race of Men, as they are sickly and die too soon. So odd their illness could pass to us.”

“I’ve only heard of them,” Aredhel said, “though one of my cousins said to have met them. They sound fascinate, but a pity their coming here brought with them an illness, if this is true. Our differences aside, I would not like to think this was some curse laden on us all for my people coming here.”

Eöl nodded in agreement. “That was another theory, but you do not look diseased.”

“I appreciate the assessment.” She noticed then, faded on his skin by now, were ceremonial paint, and her mind reeled with what sort of festivals and ceremonies the Kinn-lai held. Stay focused, you foolish elf.

“If you do not mind the slight change in subject, you spoke of having been with a party?”

“Yes. We carried the flags of the Fountain, the Golden Flower, the Heavenly Arch, and that of the King, my own house. Did you happen to see any of those images?”

“A golden flower and fountain?” Eöl said. “Not today, but I have seen them pass by here a few times before. Unlike your cousins, they never showed sign of wishing to assail me or this land. I believe their names were…, er, Ecthelion and Glorfindern?”

“Ecthelion and Glorfindern are dead,” Aredhel said. “Or to use the latter’s correct name, Glorfindel. He was the first to fall after we were attacked. I saw him ripped to shreds by these creatures. Ecthelion fell into a river while fighting a whole army of them, but I doubt he survived. My third escort, Egalmoth, and I first sought refuge in one of my cousin’s lands, but it was only to find a whole horde of them feasting on Celegorm, which may please you to hear. Unfortunately half of the walkers took note of our presence and came after us, thus the fate of my other cousins I do not yet know. Egalmoth and I were separated as we ran. I fear for his safety. He’s a mighty strong fighter, but our enemy are many.

“Who are your companions?”

“Forgamdir and Hargamdir,” Eöl explained. “They were once fellow smiths with whom I worked with in these woods, but after the sickness stricken them…they tried to attack me after they turned, but I had not the heart to kill two of my closest colleagues and friends. I noticed the walkers do not take notice if they do not pick up your scent, so I kept Forgamdir and Hargamdir beside me but took away all manners in which they could hurt me. I do feel safer with them around.”

Aredhel nodded to the two elves. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen. You have a smithy here?”

“Yes, for this is Nan Elmoth and I am its lord,” Eöl said. “I will take you there if you wish.” His eyes studied the broken and overused arrows protruding from Aredhel’s quiver. “And if there is anything you require, do not hesitate to ask.”

Aredhel dusted the gravel off her dress and straightened herself proudly. “I require a toilet. And new weapons.”

Eöl nodded. “The plumbing in some of the houses still works.” He tugged at the chains, and Forgamdir and Hargamdir followed. Aredhel stayed close, protected by the stench of the former elven smiths. Very little sunlight peeked between breaks in the layers of leaves overhead, but though she would normally find this charming in its mystery, it only made her more unsettled with the thought of what danger could be lurking in the shadowy underbrush.

“Oh! Smart thinking,” she said as they neared the village. Lining the borders were long spears bolted to the ground, the sharp points pointing out. Any walker who came by would drive right into the points, and indeed there were currently a couple stuck to the poles. Forgamdir and Hargamdir paused and turned to the nearest one, an exchange in groans and moans ensuing.

“Do not converse with strange men,” Aredhel advised wisely, poking their backs till the two resumed following Eöl.

The village of Nan Elmoth was tiny but homely, clearly an industrial village to serve for King Thingol of Doriath. It was once bustling with work: smoke of the smithies filling the air, a canopy over sounds of people at work on the looms, whirls of pottery wheels, appetizing smells from the bakeries and cafes which still faintly lingered. But now it lay completely bare. The doors of the small houses were left wide open, jars and vases tipped over, some broken, the beautiful intricate design of the Avarin culture shattered.

“We urged everyone to evacuate to Doriath for safety,” Eöl explained. “Only the smiths remained to continue forging weapons, but they too fell. I’m the last of them.”

Aredhel crouched to study one of the broken vases, wondering what the colors and symbols meant for them, if there was a story behind them. There were once several tribes here, she realized, noting the different designs, one of which she recognized as belonging to the Hwenti. A vague scent of special herbs met her nose, and she envisioned their daily life, their cuisines, the elves laughing and dancing to music at night to unwind from the day’s hard work.

How very different and yet familiar the designs looked to her, and she thought of her mother Anairë, a very spiritual woman who taught Aredhel a different story of the stars and the creation of the universe. The thought of her now bowed in prayer, so far away from Aredhel trapped in this vast battlefield, brought out a sadness. She wished she had spent more time with her mother when she had the chance. At least, she hoped, Valinor was safe from the spreading disease.

“Lady Aredhel?” came Eöl’s soft voice, shaking her out of her reverie. He indicated to a house. “The plumbing here functions.”

“Thank you,” she said, straightening up and wiping all grief from her face. “The dam was just about the break!”

Feeling better at having relieved herself, Aredhel washed at the nearby basin when Eöl called her again.

“There is some salted meat and berries if you wish,” he said, sliding a plate unto a table in the kitchen. “I’m afraid there’s not much here, as Doriath is rationing their lembas, and beasts flee upon seeing the walkers.”

“It is a feast for kings and queens,” Aredhel said, studying the thin strips with hunger. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was from the journey and the battles, and just now she also became aware how awful she smelled.

Eöl bowed. “I do hope you do not mind squirrel?”

“I hunted and feasted on stranger things in the lands of the Valar!” Aredhel laughed. She removed her quiver and satchel and placed each on the bag beside the plate. She took a quick sniff under her arms and made a face, then without thinking pulled her dress over her head. She heard Lord Eöl give a tiny embarrassed yelp and turn away, and she laughed again.

“We were created by the purity of Eru the One and yet we treat our holy bodies as shameful objects,” she said.

“It is impolite to see another in this manner, as we are neither family nor married.”

“Get used to it if we are to team up for this bizarre battle,” Aredhel said. “I prepared a dress for this in case should I find myself in a battle, as this one easily got torn and messy. I made it myself for such an occasion.”

Eöl just nodded his head, still not glancing at her until he heard her give a cry of delight at the dress. Grinning, she placed her hands on her hips.

“I call this Code Red,” she said proudly. “Unfortunately, I do not think the pants are strong enough to protect me.”

“In my dresser you will find something to wear, made of metal that will protect you,” Eöl said. “It is the same as what I am wearing right now.”

“Oh, so this is your house!” Aredhel said as she ran to the bedroom. She located the dresser, but became disappointed when she pulled out one of the tiny black pants.

“These can’t even fit a child,” she thought. She tugged on the waistband and was shocked to find it stretch easily. She could slip right into it, and the metal shifted and stretched to take in her entire form. Testing her thigh, she was satisfied with its unique strength. No arrow would pierce it, much less a walker’s bite.

“I can probably stretch this even further,” she mumbled to herself and slipped it up far under her dress, over her waist, carefully tucked each breast inside, and pulled it up all the way to her neck. It didn’t feel like she was wearing anything at all, and the pants at least did not feel like it would cause a problem in movement. Most importantly, she was rest assured her heart and vital organs were well protected. Eöl also had black boots made of the same material, which Aredhel helped herself to.

“Do the others wear this armor?” Aredhel called out to Eöl as she made her way back to the kitchen. Eöl was tinkering with a strange new weapon he had been working on.

“Not everyone,” he said. “Galvorn is not in abundance, and it is…difficult to extract.”

“Such a pity,” Aredhel said. She noticed then a small painting of three elves, one of whom was Eöl, looking not so exhausted, and two others she thought she recognized.

“They are the elves I grew up with,” Eöl said, tracing her gaze to the painting. “My oldest friends. My mother made this before we parted ways. Meleth and Rôg, I knew them.”

Aredhel gasped. “I thought I knew them! They live in Gondolin now, my home. I would take all your people there. The walls of my brother’s land should protect us from any danger.”

“They reside in Gondolin?” The look in Eöl’s eyes sent an ache in Aredhel’s heart; they glanced out in the distance, a yearning bubbling up through his tired body. “My friends. So they must be safe, I’m assuming? Had the Noldor welcomed them warmly?”

“There were no dangers when I left, and no. Admittedly there was some suspicion, for Rôg claimed to be of our kin but none knew him before, and some were hostile to Meleth, but they are loved and respected now. Rôg even is the lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, and all go to Meleth to heal hurts.”

Eöl smiled warmly. “Bless them both.”

“Come with me, then. You will unite with them and be safe.”

“But I can’t. Do they not say whoever goes in never come out? I have other friends and family here.”

“I left! Besides it may not be safe out here for the longest time.”

Eöl shook his head. “And what of dangers within? I sent the others to Doriath, and I made weapons to deliver to them monthly, but communications have run dry in recent weeks. I am concerned for them, so I would like to go there myself soon.”

“I will go there with you, then,” Aredhel said, sensing defeat. “I don’t much fancy the idea of traveling alone back to my home. I did not think I would ever say this, but the thought of walls appeal to me greatly at this hour.” She nibbled the tip of the meat strip. From here she could see Forgamdir and Hargamdir standing idly right outside like horses with their reins tied to a post. She could ask for one of them to accompany her back to Gondolin, but Doriath was closer, and Aredhel much liked having someone who could still communicate.

“Once you are done, I will show you the weapons I have been building,” he said after a time.

He next led her to the smithy connected to the largest building of the small village. Aredhel’s eyes widened the moment she stepped inside. Every inch of the place had been hollowed out of all furniture and decorations, and in their place were large stacks of arsenal of every kind.

On one wall were once displays of all jewelry the Avari had made, but each one had been taken down and the gems and gold and silver reused for new weapons.

No wonder he’s so tired and thin! Aredhel thought. He must have taken apart every piece of the village for this task.

Eöl could not help a small smile as he watched Aredhel take in the collection with wonder. He stuck out his thin chest just a little in pride.

“Take whatever you need,” he said. “There is enough for yourself and all of Doriath. I ask nothing in return.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Aredhel threw out her arrows for a new set, the arrows strong and hard in her hand. Among the collection she found a black-bladed knife with a silver handle and a set of throwing knives.

“How will you take these all to Doriath,” she asked, “if you are the only one that remains here?” She imagined Forgamdir and Hargamdir hailing the entire load with straps attached to their backs as they were mules, and she tried her best stifle her laughter.

“Ah.” Eöl grinned. “Elf and Man may be affected by this illness, but there is one people that can withstand them, and they are marching here right at this moment: the race of Dwarves, children of Mahal. They too are my colleagues and closest friends.”

Unable to hold back, Aredhel exploded with excitement. “You kid me! I have only heard of them! My cousins have been trying for years to gain their friendship.”

Eöl chuckled. “I suppose I am the reason the dwarves do not take the Noldor as friends.”

“Well then, they have not yet met me,” Aredhel said, her mind reeling with excitement as she gazed out to the fence.

*

“Come in, quick!” Meleth’s voice reached Idril, who took another glance over her shoulder, surveying the street, before slipping into the healing house.

“How is he faring?” she asked in a whisper, motioning to the elf atop the bed.

“I’m afraid he is slipping. His infection had spread and rejected my treatment. The first time I have seen an elf succumb to illness so quickly.” Meleth studied the man with pity.

Idril nodded. “So sad such a small injury is consuming him!”

“At the least he should not turn into one of them. He was not far outside of Gondolin when he got the injury, but still, I wish to observe him.”

“Do you have some doubt?”

“Lady Idril, is that you?” the elf called weakly from the bed.

“I am here, yes!” Idril’s voice rose up a notch, adopting a more singsong tone. “Brought you your favorite treats from the stalls of the Golden Flower Bakery! Lady Malleth’s famous recipe!”

The elf smiled weakly. “So kind, my lady, so kind. And what of your famous poems?”

Smiling sadly, Idril went on to recite one of his favorites. The afternoon passed, and still he did not even move to touch the bag of treats she left at his side. Idril’s words brought a smile that did not reach his eyes, but he kept still and listened. When she was done, Idril returned to Meleth’s side, and the two sat in silence for the remainder of the day and did not stir even as the elf drew his final breath.

*

Aredhel watched, excitement filling her despite the dire circumstance, as an army of dwarves marched their way through the gates and towards where they stood in welcome. Her stomach rumbled, as the thin strip of meat awoke her appetite and she wished there was more to eat, but she ignored it for the opportunity to meet the Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost.

They carried a song on their lips and swords and spears in their powerful hands. There were seven of them, Aredhel counted, and yet together they posed a sight of unbreakable strength to any foe. They were heavily armored, and in unison they appeared as little proud walking tanks, not one piece of them visible save for a long beard or a gleam of an eye inside a helm.

“Greetings, my friends!” Eöl said, the frail features of his face wrinkling with his smile. “Telchar, good to see you again!”

“Lord Eöl! At your service!” shouted their leader. “And who may the lass be beside you?”

“Lady Aredhel of the Noldor,” Aredhel answered.

“Noldor?” one of the dwarves repeated.

“As those similar to the House of Fëanor? They have been trying to win our friendship for the longest time while seeking to sever our friendship with Lord Eöl. All political, of course. They do not truly love us!”

Aredhel laughed. “I have no interest in any politics with you, dear ones. I am a new friend of Eöl’s and am joining him for a time as we battle the dead.”

“Speaking of which, I hope your journey hadn’t met much trouble,” Eöl said. The two elves studied the dwarves’ armor for any signs of blood.

“Nothing we aren’t used to,” said the leader. “But enough with the greetings! We’re starving, and from the look of you both, so are you! Come, we brought enough to get us ready through to Doriath!”

Aredhel’s heart leapt happily at the sound of food, but she soon received the biggest shock from the dwarves themselves after they entered Eöl’s home. They each took off their helms and armor to reveal that every single one of them were women.

“I thought you were men!” Aredhel cried out when Telchar noticed her confusion.

“Men, women, both or neither, we all grow breads!” Telchar laughed and flexed her muscles free of the heavy armor.

Aredhel learned the other’s names during their meal, most of which turned out to be names given in Sindarin or based on Mannish tribes, as very few dwarves felt comfortable using their real names publicly. Eöl himself had named a few of them, which amused Aredhel to think of him picking up each dwarf and declaring a new name.

Telchar was the leader of her group, and her spouse was Delunis, one of the most powerful warriors of Belegost. There were twin archers names Ivor and Orvar who seemed to enjoy moving in unison, though each seemed entirely different from her sister in personality. Others were Sardir the gold smith, Andring the strategist, and Bó.

“Bó?” Aredhel laughed.

“A Kinn-lai word one gives to their grandmother,” Eöl explained, shrugging.

Bó wore her name proudly just as she did everything else. She was the eldest of the bunch, but her tiny frail body and long white beard were a complete deception to her true strength. She ate the least but busied herself carrying large heavy crates of weapons. She never tired and still found the time to crack up jokes and down large flasks of ale.

The largest grin was plastered on Aredhel’s face as she watched the dwarves excitedly - and quite loudly that Forgamdir and Hargamdir groaned in protest - pour over the new weapons.

Eöl watched her with a soft smile. “Here, let me show you something.”

Aredhel followed Eöl to a particularly large stack of weapons that she recalled Eöl fiddling with one earlier. Eöl picked one up that was forged in gold, small enough to fit in his hand. He motioned to another room, one that had already been bared, all weapons already taken out by Telchar’s people.

“Extend out your arms, like this.” He showed her the proper pose, and between her hands he placed the weapon, curving one of her fingers around a trigger. He positioned her arms so that she pointed at the opposite wall.

“Press on the trigger,” he instructed.

The deafening bang jolted her backwards. But she kept a strong grip on the weapon, and when she opened her eyes it was to find a small clean round hole in the opposite wall.

“This is very useful,” she said, grinning. “If we happen by Morgoth we will put one through his skull and call it a day. For all we know, this plague could be all his doing.”

“Very possible chance this is,” Eöl said, “what with his methods in forging orcs in that forsaken fortress of his.”

Aredhel went to study the round hole left by the pistol. The walls of the house were built with strong heavy wood, but the bullet had gone through clean. But then something else far off caught her eye. Sapphire blue and gold flickered in the distance beyond the spiked gates of the deserted village. With a loud gasp she rushed past Eöl and the dwarves and out of the house.

“Aredhel, be careful!” Eöl called out as he ran after her, Telchar and Orvar following close behind.

Aredhel knew better than to let emotions rule her, rendering her foolish, but she knew that flag from anywhere.

Out of the village, on a trodden pathway leading towards the River Celon lay Egalmoth, a clear red bite mark on his arm. Aredhel and Egalmoth were no where near Nan Elmoth right before they parted ways. He must have kept traveling after the injury until a fever took hold of him and he collapsed.

“Ai, another lord of Gondolin dead!” Aredhel moaned as she crouched down to inspect him.

“Careful!” Telchar’s warning boomed out.

“He’s rather fair of face,” Eöl muttered softly, studying the fallen elf.

“He was so noble and kind. You say you do not love the sons of Fëanor, but I believe you may have liked him, for the Darkening of Valinor never reached his heart. His humor was mild, and he never went out of his way to hurt another. He fought tirelessly to try saving my brother’s wife when we were crossing the Helcaraxë…I will miss his stories and his laugh.” Aredhel fought back her sniffle. “He must have thought he could reach a village or some aid with a mere bite. If the fever’s working this fast…Eöl, do all injuries, no matter how minor, cause this?”

“Minor injuries can be survived but at a slower pace. Unfortunately, if the injury came from a walker’s bite…that was how I lost some of my colleagues.”

Egalmoth’s eyelids suddenly fluttered open, but the grey eyes that stared back at them were not the same as Aredhel had remembered them.

“Oh, he is quite fair,” Eöl gasped, completely taken aback.

“Eöl, focus!” Aredhel snapped.

They drew their weapons just as Egalmoth slowly sat up, arms weakly reaching out for them Aredhel aimed her pistol between his eyes only to lower it a moment later, shaking her head. She pocketed the pistol and produced her new knife instead.

“I’m going to do what you did to Forgamdir and Hargamdir,” she said. “It’s the least I can do. I feel responsible for his death.”

The others nodded in understanding. Telchar and Orvar held Egalmoth in place by the head and neck while Eöl held out each of Egalmoth’s arms, allowing Aredhel to severe the former lord’s jaw and each limb with no difficulty.

They next stripped him of any heavy armor, but Aredhel could not bear to rid him of his circlet. She used a strip of his old flag to tie around his neck and led him back to Eöl’s house so they may replace it with a proper collar and chain.

“I cannot bear to look at him,” Aredhel confessed to Telchar when they reached the smithy. “What have I done? What made me think mutilating an old friend would somehow keep him?”

“By your words, I imagine he would want to continue protecting you rather than being an enemy,” Telchar said.

“I’m trying to amuse myself with what joke he may be making in the Halls of Mandos, but my mind is running blank,” she said.

Eöl glanced at her with sympathy but said nothing as he fastened the collar around Egalmoth’s neck.

The carriages filled with the last of Eöl’s weapons, and everyone having eaten their fill and rested, they set out as soon as they had rested. More of the undead had walked straight into one of the spikes, their drawled groans the first thing that greeted them when they stepped out of the village once more. Forgamdir and Hargamdir again growled back just as Egalmoth did the same.

“Oh, no, do not pick up their habits, Egalmoth!” Aredhel begged, pulling her companion towards her. Resting had rekindled a bit of her own spark, and she marched with her head held high as Eöl led them back to the path where they had found Egalmoth.

Crossing the stone bridge of the Celon was thankfully uneventful, though the other side had far more walkers. But very little seemed to notice them due to the presence of Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth.

“There are more of the dead today than our last journey here,” Eöl commented with concern. He slashed through a few walkers as quickly and quietly as he could, not drawing the attention of the others. Aredhel mimicked his movements, for want of something to do with her new arrows.

“We can take them all out right now,” Delunis said.

“And leave our front steps a bloody mess to attract other walkers? Silly dwarf.”

Everyone looked up to the source of the voice. An arrow protruded from the trees, the archer well hidden behind the leaves.

Growling, Delunis charged at the archer. The ensuing commotion was enough to draw attention of the other walkers, but they were immediately killed. Thankfully the noise was not enough to draw more near, and the archer, having had her fun wrestling with Delunis, hopped down from the tree.

“Eöl,” she greeted as she threw back her hood. “Glad to find you well and among a bigger party. Glad Forgamdir and Hargamdir could make it again.”

“Lúthien! Usually it is Beleg and Mablung who await our visits. Are they all right?”

“They are well. We fell into habit of meeting only once a month, so my father and king thought it wise to spend the remainder of the days in the safety of Menegroth. Beleg and Mablung turned their focus inside.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time with the weapons - why, you could be mistaken for one of the dead! Oh - is that one a Noldo?”

Aredhel yanked at Egalmoth’s chain. “Freshly picked this morning!”

Lúthien laughed. “Charming humor! There’s another one of your kind inside Menegroth, and she is equally as intriguing.”

Theories stormed in Aredhel’s mind as to who lived in Menegroth while Lúthien led them to the great caves. She and Eöl took watch at the front of the gates, joined by their undead companions, as the dwarves and Lúthien rolled the vast heavy carts into the city.

Jeweled lights of Menegroth bathed Aredhel in soft yet brilliant tones. They drew her attention at the foyer, and she momentarily forgot all else until she heard a disgusted sound followed by an airy voice.

“More of those awful pistols? They are so ghastly!”

Grinning, Aredhel didn’t need to see the other elf to remember her name. She ran to the source of the voice. “Artanis!”

Artanis, or Galadriel as she was now known as, turned and threw her arms open. “Írissë!”

“Shun the Noldor tongue in the lands of Thingol!” Eöl and Lúthien chanted in jest, which earned each of them a slap from Aredhel and Galadriel.

“Are there any one else we know living here?” Aredhel asked Galadriel.

“I am the only one. My husband, Celeborn, is currently away from these lands, and his safety I most fear, for I sense there to be no future of Middle-earth if there is no future between us.”

“I’m sure anyone feels like that,” Aredhel said, knowing all too well of her cousin’s disposition to speak and heed to visions that fill her mind. Her cousin studied her with a deep frown, taking a step back. “Why do you dress in galvorn? Of all ill things that elf forges, the things made of glavorn I hate the most. Melian agrees with me.”

“I feel safe in it,” Aredhel said, deciding not to add that the material also does not ride up into any unsavory crevices. Galadriel’s eyes shifted towards Eöl’s, her eyes narrowing.

Eöl sighed. “Is this about the galvorn or something else?

“You know of what I am thinking.”

Another sigh. “I have no idea what else I could do to rid my old room of the smell you find so offensive, Lady Galadriel. I apologize again Celeborn and yourself had to move out of your apartment to make room for more refugees from Nan Elmoth. It is only incense which lingers in the air.”

“I find it disagreeable with me,” Galadriel said. “Fogs up my inner eye.”

Aredhel bit down on her lip.

“Is it only a scent not unlike that of pears,” Eöl intoned.

“I do not like pears.”

“You are forgetting my mother too uses it for her prayers.”

“Your mother lives here?” Aredhel interrupted, perking up.

“And mine,” Lúthien chimed in, motioning towards the tall woman approaching them.

Momentarily forgetting the quarrel, they introduced Aredhel to Queen Melian, and they helped the dwarves set in the last of the crates.

When they were done with the task, Lúthien turned back to Melian. “Where’s the daffy old bat? He’ll want to hear from the arrivals.”

“Your father is in the kitchens,” Melian replied rather cooly. “Selflessly he’s been working to provide enough for the entire kingdom now that the crops needed to make lembas has dried up.”

“The king works along with the kitchen servants?” Aredhel asked with interest.

Melian’s smile to Aredhel was warmer. “He does not believe in ruling from a throne, but working among his people in as many ways he can.”

Aredhel followed them to the kitchens. A very tall elf stood stooped over a counter, all attention narrowed on the rations for his people. Aredhel’s heart warmed, imagining her own brother getting involved in helping his people.

Telchar walked behind him, but he gave no indication that he had heard her approach.

Telchar held herself high and suddenly shrieked with all her might, “Mission report, sire!”

Thingol’s yelp rang in the room as he jolted upwards, clutching his heart as he spun around. “Goodness!”

Telchar chuckled. “Apologies. I never know if you can hear the things happening down here from that height.”

Besides Aredhel, Eöl’s shoulders shook but he kept his face stoic and his mouth clamped as tight as he could, and Aredhel wondered what she could do to make him crack.

They spent the next hour speaking with Thingol in the main hall of all they had witnessed. Aredhel looked about herself, at the faces of the Teleri, Nandor, and various Avari tribes all gathered as one kingdom, hearing of tales of more walkers, their villages lay bare, counting the loved ones they’ve lost.

There was one very tall woman, her skin black as ebony, who studied Aredhel from across the room. Aredhel learned her was named Wilówë, the old wise lady of Nan Elmoth. Beside her was another woman whose features seemed familiar to Aredhel. Her skin was brown and her long hair, done in a single plait, was a rich jet black.

“Eöl, my beloved son!” she said upon seeing him. She cupped his face in her hands, studying him closely up to the light. “A month has passed since we last saw one another, but you appear as though you’ve been working for years without rest! Go sleep up, child! I kept your old bed for you.”

A soft groan followed. “Am I to share my old room with that Baniai?”

His mother laughed, the sound dark, old, and rich. “She does not hate your room as nearly much as she claims. Who is your lovely companion?”

Eöl introduced Aredhel to Morispiní, who fussed over her and invited herself to feel the fabric of Aredhel’s dress.

“That is such beautiful material!”

“Made it myself!” Aredhel said proudly. “Though I wasn’t taught sewing, as my father and mother both agreed that military training was most compatible with my restless spirit, after wrecking the temples quite a bit. But I taught myself sewing as I have the most narrow tastes for clothes. As for this color, I only wear red when I am in combat. Oh, you should see my other dresses! I found a means to keep the white color untainted from most dirt…though it didn’t survive well during my battle with the undead.”

“Beautiful, strong, and clever! Tell me more of your invention!”

Aredhel sat between Eöl and Morispiní at one of the long tables set out for the peoples of Doriath. Across from her sat Galadriel who kept her gaze set Eöl, unsettling him by not blinking for long painful intervals, and never once looking down at her spoon or plate.

Morispiní’s attention was set mostly on Aredhel. Aredhel herself never had such a captive audience before, as the older woman seemed genuinely interested in everything from Aredhel’s hometown in Valinor to her hobbies and her adventures. But what hit her the most were the tiniest of things, the way Morispiní smiled or gestured with her hands as she spoke, that reminded Aredhel of her own mother. If there was any further proof of her mother coming from the same tribe as the Kinn-lai, this was it.

She was taken back to the time her mother brought her to the temple and showed her the stars of the heavens, and she taught her how to enter reverie so she may feel she drifted among them. This too was shared by the Kinn-lai, who revered stars above all else. The memory alone almost sent her into a peaceful reverie again, her gaze floating to the rest of the hall.

Doriath appeared to have all of the elven tribes represented living in the kingdom, save for the Vanyar, the closest of that kin being Galadriel. The people praised Queen Melian and King Thingol for keeping them safe during this dire time, but Aredhel detected a shadow flicker past Galadriel’s face.

Wilówë, who was alone not eating but sipped from a goblet, notice Galadriel’s vague distress. “Do you feel safer here?” she asked Aredhel kindly from across the table.

“It does feel safer than being out in the open,” Aredhel replied. “We haven’t had any walkers slip in, have we?”

“I think it unwise to lower our guard,” Galadriel interjected, the fear thick in her voice and large eyes. “Strange things linger in the dark corners of this fortress.”

“Nonsense!” snorted an elf who just passed their table. “Save us from your prophecies of doom! Those freaks chained up at the entrance are the only undead who walk inside these caves!”

“Those freaks include my fellow smiths and a noble elf lord of Gondolin, Saeros,” Eöl retorted cooly. “Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth. Forget not their names nor their honor when they had lived, lest your name will be lost should you become among them, counsellor of the king or not.”

“As if I would allow any of those forsaken creatures to get near me!” Saeros laughed. The dwarves at the table caught on to his leers, and they shifted as to ready themselves for a brawl.

“Well!” Morispiní laughed, breaking the glare between the two elves. “If we are indeed in any danger, I feel most safe with my son and Aredhel here to guard me!”

Giving Morispiní a glare which did not faze her, Saeros turned on his heel and stormed towards the high table. Lúthien, who sat with her parents, was watching the whole ordeal.

Ivor leaned back, producing a short tube. “If I do this now, I may strike a dart right between his buttocks!”

“Don’t be boorish at the dinner table!” Sardir chided, following it up with a tremendous belch.

“I would not let it bother us,” Eöl said. “He blames mirrors for not displaying his true beauty properly.”

The others sniggered, but Galadriel’s eyes still stared off into space, worry itched into her features.

After the feast and a show put on by Daeron playing a song which brought cheer to them all, Aredhel was shown to her rooms. She had chosen to remain with Morispiní, Eöl, and Galadriel in their rooms as it was large enough to accommodate all four. She was distraught to find the jeweled lights above did not extend throughout all of the halls.

“How far does do these caves stretch?” she asked Lúthien.

“Through all corners of the Girdle,” Lúthien replied. “In some halls the dwarves didn’t have enough time to place lights, but for others we kept them dark for the purpose they serve. Beyond here is where all elves rest their hurts.”

Galadriel turned her eyes to the dark hall with a worried look. Just then, Beleg and Mablung crept behind her.

“They’re coming to get you, Galadriel,” Mablung whispered in her ear, voice low and silky as he gripped a handful of her hair. She swatted at them and marched into the room while Aredhel and Lúthien told them off.

“Are there many at the moment?” Aredhel asked when the two let them be.

Lúthien nodded. “But do not worry, for their ills are minor. We checked on them this morning, and they were doing well. Healers are with them right now, in case there is any trouble. They will be back among us by the morrow.”

But Aredhel could not join Morispiní, Eöl, and Galadriel. The darkness drew her in, either catering to her curiosity or to assure a growing fear, she did not know which.

Save for the sounds behind her of other elves conversing and saying their goodnights, the darkness was shrouded in a deafening silence. Step by step she inched deeper into the dark hall, listening intently for any sound of the ill elves: a soft snooze in their slumber, a pained moan, the shuffling of feet of a healer or one of the sick returning to their bed after relieving themselves.

But there was only silence. Faintly she heard Morispiní calling her name, but she did not answer. There was something deep in the halls, she suddenly sensed. But perhaps she was letting Galadriel’s fear get the best of her. She decided, her feet tapping on the stone ground, that should she came across one of the ill, she would just bid them a speedy recovery and return.

Suddenly a pallid face appeared before her from the shadows. Growling in pain, an undead elf inched its way towards her, one long arm outstretched. More groans signified the presence of others.

Aredhel dashed back through the halls, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Walkers! Walkers among us!”

Morispiní was still outside her house, and Aredhel pushed her to run ahead. Pulling out her pistol, she spun around, the gun firing with deafening bangs echoing the hall. More screams followed, doors slammed as frightened elves barricaded themselves inside their homes. Some more came pouring out, including Eöl with his sword, Galadriel with a long spear, and Lúthien with twin pistols.

“Impossible! How did they come in?”

“These are the ill! Do you not see? Look! The healers are among them!”

Doors flew open as more elves poured out in fright, others screaming when they recognized a loved one among the walking dead. More and more were the undead filing into the halls, countless in numbers.

“How did this happen?” someone shrieked in the chaos.

Roars followed, and Aredhel felt several smaller beings squeezing through, charging into the undead army.

“Aim for their heads!” Aredhel cried out among the chaos, pushing Morispiní further away from danger, back towards the large hall where they had just dined. “You are only wasting bullets and energy if you strike them anywhere else!”

In a short time the terrible battle spilled into the halls. Few of the elves remained in their homes, barricading themselves in, but seemingly most of the kingdom was out of their house and ready for battle. The armory so painstakingly forged by the blacksmiths had all be taken; the battle cries and bangs of metal ricocheted off the stone walls, engulfing everyone in deafening chaos. Blood and bodies of both undead the living slain drenched the ground.

In all this Aredhel kept Morispiní close while trying not to get either of them cornered, unlike King Thingol who was pressed against the wall fighting off each with growing frantic. She eyed a gateway to the outside, but the way was blocked.

“Galadriel! Eöl! Lúthien! Dwarves of Belegost! Anyone!” she cried out.

“You called?” came a booming voice, and Delunis appeared, climbing her way up over a few walkers’ shoulders.

“Fighting is of no use, there’s too many of them!” Aredhel yelled. “We need to go outside! Can you get us to the front gates?”

“Leaving this party so soon?” Delunis laughed, but she roared out a calling to Telchar in their tongue.

Bodies toppling signaled the coming of more dwarves heeding to Delunis’s call. Among the chaos also appeared Lúthien with Eöl, Galadriel, Melian, and Wilówë, their clothes soaked with blood.

“It was Andring’s idea to drench us in walker blood!” Galadriel explained at the look Aredhel gave them.

“It will disguise us enough to get away,” Eöl said.

“Useless if we’re moving too much, though,” Lúthien retorted, her hair dripping with blood. Melian glanced out to Thingol, her face frozen with fear.

“We must hurry to save the king,” Galadriel said, but Melian shook her head.

“I will aid him. The rest of you,” she turned her gaze to her daughter, “get to safety. Take as many as you can, but do not remain!”

Lúthien took a step forward. “Mother…”

“Do as I say!” a heavy gust of wind swept them all a few inches away from Melian, who turned and charged back into the chaos.

“Come on!” Telchar’s voice rang out. Her people grabbed the stunned elves and led them through the warring crowd. They screamed for others to follow them, but few did hear them.

“Beleg! Mablung!” Lúthien called out when she saw them, only to scream moments later when they realized the two elves were crouched down a third, eating away at their innards.

“Such ill fate!” cried Galadriel just as Ivor and Orvar each cast an arrow through the walker’s skulls. Lúthien and Galadriel both shrieked, watching their old friends collapse over their shared victim.

At last they reached the gate, their bodies collectively slamming against the heavy door only to yell out in pain and fall back.

“The gate cannot be torn down! It was built to ensure no one can ever bring it down!” Telchar moaned, pounding on the stone. “My ancestors built the doors to keep anything uninvited from every coming in.”

“But we may go through the window there,” Lúthien said as she pointed up above the door.

“But it is made of jewels!”

Lúthien smiled. “No, not jewels, though it was pointed to look that way.”

“That is a good alternative,” Aredhel said, “but how do we get up there?”

Wilówë raised up her hands, but even with her height, it was still too high up even for her.

Lúthien gave her a quick bow. “You will see in a moment. Dwarves! Protect us while we do this! Galadriel! Pull yourself together and bring out your knitting needles, please!”

The dwarves all gave a battle cry and formed a semi-circle around them, slaying any walker that got too near. Confused, Aredhel watched as her cousin settled herself on the floor, taking short knitting needles out of her dress pockets. Lúthien sat beside her and straightening out her hair. Split down the middle, each half was then woven through one knitting needle. Moments later a song filled the battle-torn realm as Lúthien sang, her hair growing longer as Galadriel quickly knit a long rope.

Aredhel, mesmerized, suddenly wished she had grown up in these woods, as the Teleri and Avari here seemed to hold a mystical power she have never seen in Valinor. The pleasing sight was punctured when Aredhel’s gaze turned back to the hall. Melian and Thingol were doing all they could to keep the enemies at bay, but there was no denying they were soon going to be outnumbered. She had half a mind to jump back into the battlefield and pull them to safety, but Wilówë, perhaps sensing what was in her thoughts, placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her from rushing in.

“Are you done over there yet?” Telchar demanded, daring to turn around for a moment. Aredhel sent an arrow through the walker who just appeared behind the dwarf leader.

“Just about to,” Lúthien said. She collected the rope and tied it to a helm that had fallen off one of Thingol’s guardsmen.

Aredhel looked back up at the window and pointed her pistol. “Everyone, careful!”

It took several shots to completely shatter the window, the tiny fragments falling over them but thankfully not causing any injury. Lúthien threw the rope, tested its strength, and climbed up.

One by one they went, striking at any walkers they could get to with an arrow or pistol. The damage from up here was even more devastating, an entire kingdom stifled out in less than an hour by the undead.

The growls could still be heard outside the kingdom. Aredhel located the front entrance and saw that it had been broken, with Forgamdir, Hargamdir, and Egalmoth just visible behind the doors.

“Foolish guards! Get them!”

“It is worthless, my lady,” Sardir said.

“We need them,” Aredhel said. “Look! There are more of these scum even out here. They can protect us on the road!”

“She is right!” Ivor said, and she and her sister Orvar ran towards the mad chaos.

Wilówë silently studied the kingdom before turning to the largest tree nearby.

“It is nothing like the trees of Nan Elmoth, but they will do,” she mumbled. Then suddenly Aredhel saw her fuse with the tree. The ensuing creature pulled her roots out of the ground and made for the gates, tearing it wide open with one great tug, and disappeared into the kingdom, her terrifying scream shaking the fortress.

Aredhel turned to Galadriel with an amazed grin. “An Entwife! I thought she was rather tall for an elf!”

But her smile was gone upon seeing more walkers drag their way out of the fortress and towards them. Pulling out three arrows at a time, she sent each flying through their skulls just as the others readied their weapons. She was back in her element, jumping and avoiding each strike while landing deadly blows of her own.

Ivor and Orvar returned just as the last of the walkers were dealt with.

“Good! My sincerest thanks stop you two,” Aredhel said, grabbing Egalmoth’s chain just as Eöl did the same with his former colleagues. She turned to her group, assessing them and about to ask where to go next when Galadriel’s gasp turned all eyes on her.

She pointed to Morispiní, whose left hand sported a bite mark.

“Did this happen just now?” Aredhel asked.

The elderly woman studied her own hand in confusion. “No, they did not come near me,” she said softly. “Someone must have gotten to me early on inside the caves, but I must not have felt it.”

Aredhel’s gaze shot towards Eöl, who was eying the wound with devastated horror.

“Can’t we just sever the hand?” Orvar suggested. “We can seal the wound, and she’s good to go.”

Galadriel felt the lady’s forehead. “I’m afraid the poison has spread already. She won’t make the night, if the happenings in Menegroth are anything to go by.”

“We could…have her join the ranks as with our guards?” Aredhel slowly suggested, knowing how much Eöl would be against the idea.

“It is all right, you have three wonderful guards to protect you,” she said. “One more and I fear you may be one less hand free.” She turned to Eöl and extended out her arms, smiling warmly though Aredhel saw a single tear in the lady’s eyes. “My son, please. I have lived long, awoken by the eastern shores of Cuiviénen. I wish to return now to the stars as in my moment of awakening.”

Silently Eöl raised a pistol, but he moved no more, staring into his mother’s eyes.

“I cannot…I had to slay my own father when he returned to us as a yrch, I cannot do this again…”

Aredhel place a hand on his shoulder. “Would you prefer me to do it?”

Eöl’s kept his eyes on his mother, who smiled again and nodded her head in encouragement.

“Yes…” he said softly, lowering his pistol. “I’d hate to bother you with this…”

“I understand,” Aredhel said and lifted up her own pistol. But now that she was looking into Morispiní’s eyes, she could not do it either. She was suddenly looking into her mother’s eyes instead, about to take her life lest her own would become endangered.

“Please,” Morispiní said softly. “To die by your hand would be a kinder death than to walk this world accursed with this plague. Return me to the stars.”

Aredhel still sealed her mouth tight shut long after firing the shot, fighting the urge to scream at the image she was forced to see. She was vaguely aware of Eöl’s own howl of grief, collapsing to the ground, words in the Kinn-lai tongue spewing out, perhaps cursing her for taking away his mother.

Ivor and Orvar were a little ways off busy comforting Eöl. She was tempted to ask for his forgiveness, but the thought of what she had just done still sickened her. She tried not to look at Egalmoth.

“We cannot remain here,” Lúthien called out. “Get up, Eöl!”

But neither Aredhel nor Eöl moved.

“They are coming! Do you wish to have a bullet through your skull too, cousin? Goodness, you useless elf!”

The voice came above them. Aredhel looked up in time to see the flicker in the trees above and an small elf darting out of sight.

“Wait! It’s not safe!” she called out and chased after her.

“I know who it is,” Lúthien spoke. She passed Aredhel and released a song that rippled through the trees. Aredhel thought it might draw out more of the walkers, but the person who stepped out was decidedly still alive. She was as small as the dwarves, her thick wavy hair like dark clouds behind a tawny-brown, young face.

“Do not be afraid, Nellas,” Lúthien said. “The kingdom was under attack, but I believe with Wilówë in battle we are safe.”

“What of the rest of Doriath?” Nellas asked. “Has it all become compromised?”

“Your abode should be safe, if that is what you’re thinking. We can walk you back and build a fence for you, or take you with us.”

Nellas stepped back, shaking her head. “No! No, that would not be necessary.”

Galadriel approached them, her narrowed eyes set on Nellas. “What are you hiding?”

“I…” Nellas studied each of their faces, as everyone had had turned to her. She drew a deep breath. “I will show you, but please do not panic.” Quickly she climbed up the nearest tree and motioned for them to follow her.

Nellas hopped through the trees with such ease unlike any Aredhel had ever witnessed. She came to think there was seldom a time when Nellas walked the ground, her entire life among tree branches. The very thought invited Aredhel into fantasizing about being one of the Nandor, so intimate with trees that she could travel through them as fluidly as a ship sailing the sea. She kept herself preoccupied with the pleasant thoughts, stopping only once to stab the skull of one walker who got a little too close.

Though their undead guards were being useful, the sight of any new walker sent a fright through Nellas, propelling her to go faster towards her home.

At last they came upon a small hut; it had been built atop a dam over a lake none at all too wide. Nellas went in first, and Aredhel could hear another voice join hers. A shiver ran up her spine at the odd familiarity. She glanced at Galadriel and saw a similar expression on her face.

Nellas reappeared. “You may come in,” she said shakily. “Just…please don’t panic when you see him.”

Aredhel chuckled. “It’s no shame in keeping a companion, sweet Nel- Ah!”

Frozen, Galadriel and her stared at the sight of the cousin they both had thought dead. There lay Ambarussa, or Telvo as they always affectionately called him. He was still recognizable even with the right half of his face marred with burns. Aredhel knew he had been sleeping in the ship, and though he somehow survived, his body had been badly mutilated by the fire, especially on his right. Bits of his scalp was still badly burned, the red hair never having grown back. His right leg had completely burned off below the knee, and the right arm had been amputated above the elbow; the left hand was still intact, but he had lost most function in using his fingers.

“Telvo, you live!” Aredhel said, smiling. She had hunted with him and his brothers a few times and recalled the smallest of the sons of Fëanor with affection.

Her cousin chuckled weakly. “Telvo. I haven’t heard that name in a long while. I go by Amras in this palace.”

Aredhel laughed heartily, but Eöl, she noticed, grew more silent.

“He is not a Penni elf, is he?” he asked Nellas, eyeing his cousin with wide eyes.

“He isn’t a Penni, but of the House of Fëanor,” Nellas said, unabashed. “But he did not agree with his father’s actions! He would have died in that burning ship had the floor not gave away and he fell into the sea. I dug him out from the shore. He is so tame and kind, unlike the other Noldor I have watched and feared - no offense, Lady Aredhel.”

“None taken, little love,” Aredhel replied. Eöl nodded in understanding at the explanation, but the silence hovering over them was over an entirely different matter. It had also crossed Aredhel’s mind after the initial pleasant shock of seeing Amras again.

Telchar decided to be the one to voice what everyone was thinking. “He cannot come with us. He’ll slow us down, be the first to get devoured or be the cause of one of our own deaths while trying to save him.”

Amras kept a brave face, but Aredhel caught his lower lip trembling. Nellas, however, must have been expecting this response and immediately went into defense, her voice hitching up.

“To deny him a chance is unfair and cruel! You cannot discriminate him simply for being crippled. If it were one of you wouldn’t you want to find a way to get out of harm’s way?”

Aredhel imagined her young cousin, the kindest and softest of Fëanor’s sons, discovered and mauled by the walkers, his body torn and blood oozing out. Quietly she walked around Amras, studying him intently. “Eöl, you’ve made weapons and armor with that galvorn. Think you can make a foot for him at least? I’ll give up my boots or my armor for him.”

“For this Noldo?” Eöl studied Amras’s face, but Aredhel was glad to see there wasn’t any hatred geared at him. There was virtually nothing in common between Amras and Curufin and Celegorm. “I believe I can, if I am given some time. You need not give anything up from your armor, Lady Aredhel.”

“We’ll guard the front,” Telchar said. “And I recommend the rest of you to step out while he forges the foot.”

Aredhel eyed Eöl’s sword, thinking back to all the galvorn weapons left in Menegroth. “You sure you require nothing from us? It would be a pity to lose your sword.”

Eöl shook his head. “I just need time.”

He motioned for Aredhel to leave the hut, but at the doorway she turned back and had to fight back the gasp as Eöl stripped down, baring his body above the waist. Seemingly half his body was marred in the glossy black material of galvorn. Eöl sat at a stool beside Amras and whispered something about understanding having a body changed, the two of them chuckling lightly.

“Ah! Lady Aredhel, you really shouldn’t see this.”

“Is that really where galvorn comes from?” Aredhel said. “How did that happen?”

“During an imprisonment in Angband,” Eöl said. “They were trying to create an impenetrable orc. Luckily Rôg and I escaped.”

“No wonder why Galadriel and Melian hated the metal!”

Eöl nodded. “It’s existence is wicked, though I have used it for good. As far as I know, I am the only source of galvorn.”

“I am suddenly gripped by both fascination and revulsion that I am essentially wearing your hide on my body,” Aredhel said, drawing laughter from the two men.

Eöl dug his fingers into the black material and winced. “This isn’t a pleasant process, I’m afraid.”

“Save your energy for the forging,” Aredhel said. “Just take me through the steps.”

She had seen so many horrors already she did not think one more would make a difference. The material was surprisingly cool in her hands even if she was wrist-deep inside Eöl’s gut. She grabbed a handful and yanked it out, then studied the substance in her hand with fascination before handing it back to Eöl.

“Sorry, I was distracted by your innards for a second,” Aredhel said with a smile she hoped would lighten the mood, as the extraction had left Eöl’s eyes glowing bright with tears of pain. Even Amras released a little sympathetic whimper as he witnessed the extraction.

Trembling hands accepted the galvorn from her; after calming himself down, Eöl went straight to work. Aredhel stuck close by, occasionally hearing a groan and a roar signaling that another dwarf had killed a walker. Aredhel paced and hummed some long songs she could remember just to distract herself from thoughts of what may be happening in Gondolin at this moment.

When Eöl was finally done, he crouched next to Amras and extended out a hand. “Here, son.”

Aredhel moved to help Eöl slip on the new leg, securing it around the stump. The part made into a foot didn’t match Amras’s left, but it was well enough to help him with balance. They helped Amras to his feet, making adjustments to the strap as needed to make the length of both legs as close as possible. When they were satisfied, they let go of Amras. He stood frozen, getting used to be upright before taking a few tentative steps. He grinned brightly at them.

Eöl next offered Amras a black piece to place over his right arm.

“Can’t do much in making a hand with limited time. But if you swish your arm quickly, a blade will come out. You can use it to kill any attackers on our journey.”

Amras laughed as he examined his new weapon. “Thank you!”

When they appeared out of the hut, Nellas came running towards them first.

“Amras! You’re walking!” Grinning, they embraced and gave one another soft kisses. Aredhel drank the sight in, something so innocent and soft during such dark times. She wondered if they had married yet or would like to; the thought of a wedding ceremony, even something as informal as underneath the trees with everyone in their blood-stained clothes, seemed wholly welcoming, normal.

“Are you finished yet?” Telchar asked, and the two broke apart, blushing. “Right. Now where off to next, leader?”

All eyes turned to Aredhel.

“I know Menegroth may make us suspicious of the true safety of any region, but Gondolin was perfectly safe when I left it. If this is some sort of illness, it may not have yet reached them, as extremely few even leave the kingdom.”

Galadriel’s eyes widened. “You are taking us to the hidden city?”

“What other option do we have?” Aredhel tugged on Egalmoth’s chain and passed them. “Er, which is the best road to take?”

With the dwarves as guide they followed the path paved by the Esgalduin. Egalmoth turned towards Aredhel and groaned weakly.

“I know, I know. This journey out of Gondolin isn’t turning out the way I expected either,” she said soothingly.

*

The hours passed and still neither moved, though each’s hearts beat heavy enough for them to hear. Their eyes stayed focused on the figure on the bed.

“His body is getting cold,” Idril finally said. “We should prepare him for burial.”

“We are dishonoring his body by keeping him here,” Meleth said, sighing. “I just wanted to make certain. He was no where near the walkers when he got the injury. He was even, as I remember, injured before the first wave of stories reached us. The elves may not be enduring injuries as well as they have before, but they are free of succumbing to this plague.”

She made to stand up when they both heard a groan rise from the corpse on the bed.

The elf shifted and turned his head, opening his eyelids to reveal grey glassy eyes set on them.

Meleth groaned. “But it should be impossible! He’s been gone for hours!” Sighing, she produced a knife from under her chair and faced Idril. “Who’s turn is it now?”

“Mine, I think,” Idril said. She set out to do the deed, whispering sadly, “You won’t get a chance to taste Lady Malleth’s treats, dear one,” before plunging the knife into the corpse’s skull.

“What do we tell the king now?” Idril asked softly, trying not to let the fear grip her.

Meleth sighed sadly. “That doom hovers over all us. No matter if by bite or illness, every one of us is already infected.”