"Thuringwethil."

I crouched in the dark, gazing up at my master, Sauron. The faint light seeping in through a crevice in the great fortress of Angband flickered in his gold eyes and glinted off his long, silver hair, which contrasted with the black tunic he always wore.

"I have a task for you."

I shifted from my giant bat-hame into my other accustomed form, as one of the Children Ilúvatar, with thick black hair and the pale skin of a corpse. I slid across the cold floor to my master. "Yes, my lord? What message shall I carry?"

He did not look at me, but turned his gaze aside to the crevice where the light pooled in. His eyes narrowed. "Not a message." Now he turned back to me, and I cowered at the black look on his face. "Our lord wearies of the offspring of his enemy – Fëanor. Fly south and discover what you can."

I hissed. I did not like flying so far from Angband. Elves roamed the lands to the south, and I hated them. (For their beauty, for their love of light, though their blood was sweet.)

His hands twitched, and I cowered again. "This is a matter of importance. They are fell, dangerous."

I snarled. "I desire their blood." The blood of the elves was sweeter than that of men's. It had been a long time since I had tasted it.

He let out a shrill, hollow laugh. "Our lord yet has plans for them. They are cursed and I think he sees the demise of the Noldor in their capable hands. Leave them. Just see what it is they do and plan."

I growled and tossed my black hair. If I was to be made to fly so far south, I felt I should have some sort of recompense. "Not even one? There are seven of them – surely our lord can spare one."

Sauron was already walking away. "Do as you're told, Thuringwethil."

I sent a hissed curse after him as he disappeared into the shadows. I knew there were twins. Perhaps our lord would not miss one of them.

Once night fell, I slipped out of Angband by a small, secret way close to the ground and changed into my giant bat-hame once again. I skimmed through the air, away from the smoldering peaks of the Thangorodrim, heading for the hills of Dorthonion. I reached them as the sun rose, and I remained close to their shadow, away from the burning light. I flew like this for several days, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. I did not sleep much. The hills soon climbed into mountains, and I saw the peak of Himring in the misty distance. I streaked across the plains toward it, flying into a burrow when day broke. I remained there until night. Then I spread my wings again into the cool air. As I went, I espied afar off two riders, so I checked and swerved higher into the air.

I heard a cry far below me, a faint twanging like something rapidly fanning the air, and then a sudden jolt, as something sharp lodged itself in my side. I shrieked in surprise. The first sensations of pain throbbed through my body, and I felt faint. My wings gave out and I plummeted to the earth. I managed to break my fall with a few meager flaps before I hit the ground. I heard the sound of hooves and voices approaching. With my last shred of consciousness, I shifted to my other form, knowing the riders would kill me instantly as a vampire. I lay there, bleeding into the grass, my gasping breaths racking through my body as two horses stopped before me. I heard the riders speaking, two male voices, as though from far away:

"A maiden? Where did that thing go?"

"That is your arrow, Curufin. You shot her. Maedhros will be pleased when he hears you shot one of his people." Sarcasm weighed heavy in the second voice.

But the first sounded far from mocking. "I thought it was a bird of some kind. Where did she come from?"

"Your arrow must have missed the bird and found this one. Her appearance is strange."

"She looks like she could be one our own people. Her skin is as pale as Aredhel's."

"Aredhel's was not so ghastly. There is something fell about her."

"Still, she is a beauty. And I never saw any maiden along the marches."

"Nevertheless, she bleeds."

I felt strong, gentle hands lifting me up into the saddle, then the body of one of the riders, warm and strangely comforting as he sat behind me, one arm holding me upright. I lost consciousness as we galloped over the plains of Himlad, the night wind whispering above us.


When I awoke, light flooded my eyes, and I groaned, turning my face away from it into something downy and suffocating. Blinking, I opened my eyes, finding I lay on a soft bed, and my wound wrapped in clean linen. Turning, I saw a male elf sitting in chair by the bed, reading a book. I started, thinking to escape, but a sharp pain in my side restrained me. The elf looked up as I settled back into the blankets, and he smiled. My stomach turned over at his smile; it seemed to me to fill the whole room, and the darkness of my mind lessened somewhat. I shivered, unused to the feeling. I looked away and fidgeted with the edge of the coverlet. The light filling the room made my head hurt.

"Hello, maiden." The elf stood and strode up to me. I cowered under the coverlet. (I was not afraid of him – afraid only of his light.) He laughed, his voice painfully soft. "Do not fear. You are safe. I am Prince Curufin, Lord of Himlad, though you rest now in my brother's fortress of Himring. Who might you be?"

Not Thuringwethil. I did not speak, only gazed back into his wide, deep gray eyes which held a strange, beautiful light. (I, who did not love the light, found them irresistible for some reason. I silently cursed them.)

(Much like my lord desired and hated the light.)

"Where do you hail from?"

Again, I did not speak.

"Are you from the East?"

I shook my head, though regretted it immediately afterwards.

He said nothing for a long moment. We stared at each other until I could not bear the light in his eyes and looked away. He moved out of the corner of my sight, and I glanced at him. He smiled as if he had come to a decision. "I will give you a name. Reingwen, for you are a wandering maiden."

Wandering maiden. I never wandered before. I opened my mouth. "Reingwen." The word felt strange on my tongue. Strange, and beautiful, and I hated and loved it. Reingwen. Sauron would hate it. I found myself smiling.

"You like it?" He looked extremely pleased with himself.

I hesitated, then nodded, cursing myself afterwards. I almost lost myself. (Did I like it?)

I sat up, causing the pain to streak up my side again, and I fell back on the pillow with a cry. He reached out to me, catching my arm and laying a hand on my head. I recoiled at his touch. His fingers left strange, tingling spots on my skin, and I felt faint, both from the pain and from his touch. I did not understand.

"Care, Reingwen. You are not yet well."

I looked up into his eyes, and found in them peace and comfort that I had never known. It burned inside me, and I could not comprehend it. I hated it, yet desired it. My hand somehow slipped into his, and I clutched it as if that alone kept me from the darkness I felt with sudden clarity.

(I never noticed how oppressive it felt before.)


Hello all!

First of all, I have not forgotten my other stories - I just got this *really* weird idea and I had to run with it! (When the muses call, you do not ignore them!)

I'm a little nervous about this story as it is *so* far out there. Please let me know what you think!

And thank you Silmarilz1701 for beta-ing and elenrith for making it better!

Much love,

Unicadia