Kin No More by Ellie

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Chapter 1

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“Get him out of here!” the prince screamed as he slashed wide, decapitating two orcs in one fluid movement. Black blood sprayed over him and those around him. Amidst coughing and spitting out a mouthful of the vile substance, he commanded, “Lord Huoro, go with them and see my cousin to safety.”

“My prince,” the lord protested wiping sweat and blood from his eyes where a long gash split his forehead. “King Ingwë entrusted me with your safety. He told me not to leave your side.”

“And I am ordering you to stay with King Arafinwë and not leave his side! I am hale, he is not.” Ingil’s tone of voice brooked no protest. “Help his guard see him safely back to camp. I will come find you when the battle is over.”

Sighing resignedly, Huoro acquiesced with a salute. “Yes, my prince. May the Valar protect you.”

“And you too, my friend, you, too.” The prince inclined his head with a respectful nod, then raised his sword and charged back into the fray.

Motioning to the remnants of Arafinwë’s guard, Huoro watched as two of them lifted their king to his feet while the others formed a protective circle around him. Then he led the retreat as they cut through the melee toward safety.

The desperate minutes seemed like hours as they slashed and hacked their way out of the battle to the edge of the forest. None made the escape unscathed, but they did not stop even after the trees well covered their whereabouts.

“Head deeper into the wood!” Huoro called behind him as he sliced branches out of the way in a poor attempt at hewing an easier path which did not leave branches to snag on arrows still embedded in flesh as they passed.

“Lord Huoro, you are leaving a very obvious trail that even a child could follow,” Lord Sanarondo snarled through gritted teeth from his position supporting Arafinwë’s left shoulder. “Perhaps you should just leave the branches be and we will navigate around them as best we can.”

“And you are leaving a trail of blood that any blind orc could track, Sanarondo,” Lord Guilin mocked from his vantage as rearguard. “So keep your teeth together unless you have something more useful to offer. Huoro leads us as best he can, considering we do not know for certain in which direction camp lies from here. The battle raged deep within enemy territory when we left it.”

“Lord Sanarondo, that leg looks bad. Do you want me to take over for you for a while so you can rest it?” Calmon asked coming up beside Sanarondo.

“No, I am fine,” Sanarondo answered irritably, waving the classically-featured Noldo away. “I have been looking after Arafinwë since he was 20. I am not about to stop now.”

“Your wounds allow you greater freedom of movement, Calmon,” Guilin said. “I need you back here with Séro and me.”

Sanarondo muttered a few choice Telerin explicatives under his breath as he shifted the half-unconscious Arafinwë’s weight a bit, then limped on, scowling and hissing in muted protest and pain.

There was little discussion after that except as was necessary to find their way through the wood. The shadows of the forest deepened as the hours past noon fled before the approaching night. Still they seldom stopped moving; allowing only a few brief halts to stabilize arrows in wounds with what cloth from mantles was left to them after the long morning’s fighting. By the time darkness swallowed the trees, their progress had slowed to a weary crawl due to pain and loss of blood. Huoro’s hacking of branches steadily grew sloppy and sparse, missing more than he struck when he even bothered to strike at them anymore.

Suddenly, Huoro raised his sword from the rut it gouged dragging in the ground behind him. Lifting his left hand, he called the others to a halt.

The others tensed, raising their weapons as best they could despite their injuries, sensing what he had sensed as well.

They were not alone.

“We mean you no harm,” Huoro called in Sindarin to the trees around him.

“That remains to be seen,” came the heavily accented contemptuous reply from somewhere to his right. “You carelessly cut our trees and bring your war upon us.”

Huoro remained motionless. “We fled battle with wounded,” he responded carefully. “We beg your aide for elven kin from across the sea.”

“We could shoot you in the dark, your eyes are so bright,” the voice answered somewhat mockingly. “But we will lend you aid, Lachend.”

The speaker came forth, a nér garbed in strange armor shaded in odd hues of grey and brown which seemed to catch the shadows and obscure the light. His braided raven dark hair and tall broad-shouldered frame spoke clearly of Noldorin lineage, but his eyes were a dull grey, lacking the beauteous light of the Two Trees which it seemed they should have reflected.

“Sheathe your swords. You are among friends,” he said.

Fifteen other elves emerged from the surrounding foliage, clad as the speaker with dark or brown hair and similarly dull grey eyes.

Breathing a collective sigh of relief, Huoro and the weary guard relaxed their stance. In response, the other elves lowered their weapons as well.

“I am Síremardo.” The speaker bowed to them. “Welcome to Eyrn Dholen.”

“You have our gratitude, Síremardo. I am Lord Huoro.” Huoro bowed his greeting in turn.

Síremardo looked at him curiously. “You and the one your friends support in the middle of your group are Minyai, are you not?”

Huoro stared at him in surprise for a moment, whispering the ancient word to himself. Then he glanced back at Arafinwë’s slumped form, noting the blood-streaked golden hair that flowed from beneath his helm and smiled. “Yes. Yes, we are. We call ourselves the Vanyar now, but yes, we both are of the Minyai though his adar is of the Tatyai or Noldor and he claims a Noldorin title.”

“We know about the Noldor and they are not Tatyai to us any longer. The rest of you are Noldorin though?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“The Noldorin rulers and lords from across the sea are all gone now save a small few who rumor claims dwell far away on an island with Lord Círdan the Shipwright. Whom do you serve?”

Huoro regarded the nér shrewdly. “The king of the Noldor from across the sea.”

Síremardo crossed his arms, cocking his head haughtily and staring intently at Huoro and the guard. “And who would that be considering the sons of Finwë are all dead save the two or three grandsons who fled to Círdan?”

“Arafinwë Finwion yet lives and is rightful king of all the Noldor here and in Aman though Erenion Gil-galad rules the exiled Noldor in Ennorath.”

“Your king may rule the Noldor, but he does not rule the Tatyai!” Síremardo declared.

“Who rules the Tatyai?” Huoro asked carefully.

Síremardo motioned to his men who surrounded Arafinwë’s guard. “Let us assist you with your wounded, and we will take you to our healers and to meet our ruler.”

“Thank you,” Huoro nodded courteously. Then he and Guilin immediately moved to relieve Lord Sanarondo and the guardsman Ortírion who had borne Arafinwë thus far from the battle, but Síremardo and two of his men stopped them.

“Lord Huoro, allow us to aide you. You are all weary and wounded. Permit us to carry your friend for you,” Síremardo offered.

Huoro met Guilin’s steady determined gaze as they exchanged a barely perceptible shake of the head.

Smiling grimly, Huoro drew himself up to his full height which was greater than that of Síremardo. “We thank you for your kindness, friend Tatya, however, his cousin and I are close in friendship and he asked us personally to look after his kinsman. While any of us yet stand, our honor will not allow us to shirk or share that responsibility. Being honorable ellyn yourselves, I am certain that you understand our loyalty and obligation. I remember the great loyalty and strength of the Tatyai in Cuiviénen and you are clearly great sons of the Tatyai yourselves. Your assistance for the others would be most appreciated though.”

Sanarondo scowled as he released his hold on Arafinwë, but Guilin silenced any protest with a stern glare.

Síremardo smiled in awe and respect of Huoro, offering him a courteous bow. “It is good to meet one who remembers our kinship and our friendship from the Night when we all dwelt as friends side by side beneath the stars by the water.”

Huoro nodded to him as he and Guilin lifted Arafinwë, careful not to jostle the broken arrows still protruding from the king’s wounds.

After a few minutes, the group made ready to depart. “The way is easy from here and you will soon find nourishment and rest. Please follow me,” Síremardo said. And he led them deeper into the dark wood.

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Stars struggled to peek through the thick canopy by the time they finally stopped. The gates of the walled city looming before them were tall, constructed of hewn trees. After a brief discussion with the watch, the gates silently parted, revealing tall buildings of wood and stone. Unlike the large stately buildings of the Noldor which were made of carven stone and heavily influenced by the teachings of the Valar, the Tatyarin buildings tended to blend as part of the forest –as much within it as they were of it. The subtly of their work in wood clearly echoed and indeed harmonized with the gifted craftsmanship of their Noldorin kin. Each Tatyarin building was a work of art unto itself as was every Noldorin building.

Síremardo led the weary travelers to a large house which served as both a place for healing and a place for guests in the settlement. As they moved through a long corridor with many rooms on either side, nissi and neri came forth to stare at the travelers, some taking two reluctant wounded Noldor at a time into separate rooms.

When Sanarondo parted their company to enter a room, he hissed over his shoulder to Huoro in Quenya, “Do not let these wild elves butcher and poison our lord with their primitive remedies. What my wife’s Telerin kin suffered at the hands of the Noldor will look like a common brawl compared to what I will do to you if any further harm comes to him.”

“Do not loose your venom on one whom the High King himself trusts with the life of his own son and heir!” Guilin warned back in the same language. “Your pain speaks for you too much. Be at peace, Sanarondo. See to your own healing and we will see to his.”

“I do not have to speak your tongue to know that he has some quarrel with you, Minya,” Síremardo commented raising an eyebrow at Huoro.

Huoro shrugged as much as one can while supporting half of the weight of an unconscious elf lord. “He has yet to learn that we are on the same side in matters which are of close concern to him.”

When two neri came forth to take Arafinwë, Huoro and Guilin promptly refused to turn him over to their care.

“Lord Huoro, be reasonable!” Síremardo pleaded. “Your friend is in need of aide. Let the healers help him.”

When they still hesitated, he gestured toward Arafinwë’s blood-stained body and bluntly asked, “Will his cousin forgive you if he dies because you failed to allow him the care he needs?”

“Will you allow us to remain in the room with him?” Guilin asked cautiously.

A dark-haired nér dressed in brown robes, apparently the healer in charge, conversed briefly with Síremardo.

“Of course you may remain. The room they will take you to is large enough for you two to be treated there as well.”

“Friend Minya,” Síremardo placed a reassuring hand on Huoro’s shoulder as he passed. “I believe that you, too, have yet to learn that we Tatyai are on your side as well.”

As they slowly made their way into the healing room, Síremardo remained by the door for a time, then whispered under his breath to the lead healer, though the others in the room heard it as well due to their superior hearing being so newly come from Aman. “That Minya has a head injury which has clearly affected his judgment. At least one among them doubts him. The other Minya is too dear to them to be merely the wounded kinsman of a friend. Learn what you can of them and report back.”

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Chapter End Notes

If I screwed up anything on the use or explanation of archaic forms of words, my apologies to Fiondil. He tried his best!

Arafinwë – Finarfin

Ner/Neri – (Q) male elf(ves)

Nissi - (Q) female elves

Minya/Minyar/Minyai/-singular and plural and archaic plural of the “first” clan of elves which later became the Vanyar.

Tatya/Tatyar/Tatyai- singular and plural and archaic plural of the “second” clan of the elves, a large segment of which later became the Noldor.

Lachend – “flame eyes”, a term used by the Sindar to describe elves from Aman because the elves from Aman had piercingly bright eyes from having beheld the Two Trees.

Ellyn – (S) male elves

Ennorath – Middle-earth

Adar - father