"Torment? You don't know what true torment is. Torture and anguish are hardly more than words to you. They have been a lifestyle for me." The svelte lioness lay frozen as she spoke the words. Her eyes grew cold and dead as a shark's and dangerous hatred manifested itself in her delicate features. Her look inspired felt paralyzing fear, spearing all who looked upon her in place. Once again, the antiquity of this being became clear to mortals.

"Who are you?"

She demanded of herself.
Mortals could only sincerely hope they never do anything to earn such a dark look.
In a quiet, insistent manner she said to herself again, "Tell me who you are."
Something ineffably sad unfolded deep in the silver-haired lioness's eyes. Uncountable memories spilled down her cheeks. As each crystal droplet fell from the curved, pale chin, it changed into a ruby.
The first tear landed in her outreached palm. Dumbfounded she stared at the teardrop shaped gem, red as spilled life's blood. A perfect ruby, purer than any stone ever unearthed from the deep mines of earth.
"I've cried so many of the damn things I hate them," her voice came to you as you stared at the flashing jewel within you. She sighed. "My name is ….I was not always what I am now, a thief of blood. Sit back, Master and Mistress, and I'll tell you a tale more tragic than what befell Hurin's children- a story sadder than the Lay of Leithian because there is no happy ending. I will tell you the tale of my people, wiped from the face of this world by the malice of Lord Balkoth.

"My people were the finest mortals ever to walk this earth. I do not say that from pride or vanity, but because it is true. We were the finest. In our own language we called ourselves the Eyerians.
The Eyerians were among the very first of Iluvatar's second children to appear in this world. And we were the ones He cherished most dearly, for we never forsook Him, and we ever turned a deaf ear to the lies of Lord Balkoth. For our constant faith and devotion to Iluvatar, He did not shorten our lives as he did the lives of other men. My people lived fully as long as the Numenoreans of later ages. Of all the Edain, we were most like the Eldar in stature, in foresight, and in beauty of body and mind. You think I'm beautiful? Try to imagine an entire kingdom full of people, tall and white with crimson hair, just like me. For these reasons and because we defied him openly, Lord Balkoth hated the Eyerians with more vehemence than any other houses of men.
When the other Atani began exploring the west and crossing the mountains, my people were content in the east. The kingdom was strong and filled with glory and light. We had no reason to leave. Some of the Edain who came back over the mountains told tales of a wonderful people who called themselves the Eldar. They told us the Eldar had a civilization to rival ours in genius and beauty, that they were a magical people and the first children of Iluvatar. We laughed and declared that if the Eldar were the finest people in the west, we would prefer to stay the finest people in the east.
Still, these explorers of the west gave us a new name in the Eldarin tongue. The Eyerians became known as the Carafingwaith- the red-haired people. We enjoyed the sound of the language and flaunted the Elf name because we perceived how it enraged Lord Balkoth. We could see his hatred for the firstborn."
NoireRae stopped to allow the escape of a deep sigh.
"Can you imagine such a proud people, Master Faldüir?" she asked wistfully. "Can you imagine my people, unafraid to taunt a dark Vala? Oh, we were glorious! Singing praise to Iluvatar and nearly arrogant enough to spit in the face of Lord Balkoth. I must admit I was undoubtedly the proudest and most arrogant of them all."
NoireRae raised her chin and Faldüir watched, bewitched as he saw her straighten and suddenly appear to tower above him. She became a goddess, tall and powerful.
"And I had reason to be," she continued, "For I was the queen of the Carafingwaith. I was the lady and mistress of the greatest people in the east."
Her nobility became clear to Faldüir. She understood the intricacies of reigning over a kingdom, knew what it felt like to look after an entire race of people. He suddenly saw her as a ruler, as a monarch lording over her red-haired culture. When she turned her imperious gaze on him, Faldüir bowed his head. He was shocked to hear her laugh.
"I'm sorry. No one's done that for me in such a long time." He looked up again to see her smiling like a delighted little girl. "I suppose I'm just not used to it anymore. There was a time when I would have struck a man who neglected to show me such respect." With that sentence, the queen quickly replaced the smiling girl. It slowly began to dawn on Faldüir that this woman bore as many facets and faces as the jewels she wept.
"I was only eighty-five, hardly a full grown woman, when my father died. He was killed in an unexpected orc raid upon one of our borders. No one ever needed a reason to despise Lord Balkoth, but for the death of my father I bore him special hatred. Blatant as Feanor I was with my contempt for the Master of Angband. Being my father's only heir, I ascended the throne of the Carafingwaith.
Let me say again, I am not boasting when I tell you I was the most beautiful of my people. I only say it because it is true. I came to be known as Aglarwen- the glorious maiden. My people loved me dearly and I loved them. They loved me because I embodied the best of our race: skilled, wise, noble, fearless, and lovely. The Carafingwaith became mightier than ever under my reign. None of Iluvatar's second born could match us. As I said before, He held us dearer than any of the others and we were His most faithful worshippers.
There came a time when I realized the need for an heir. Of course, to beget an heir I needed a husband. I married in my one hundred twentieth year. His name was Forla. Ours was a happy marriage and we loved one another dearly. It wasn't long until I bore a son. We named him Coralal."
Faldüir recognized the maternal tenderness, which now softened NoireRae's expression. Celebrian had looked exactly the same when she first held their children. In that instant, forgiveness spilled unlooked for from Faldüir 's heart. He forgave this woman all the blood he knew she'd drained, he forgave the terror she brought to his household. He forgave her because she had known the love of her husband and the love of her child. He forgave her because he already perceived she had lost all and was alone in this world: Another beautiful, shining, tragic facet.
NoireRae picked up her story again.
"I did not know, no one knew then, that the end of the Carafingwaith was drawing nigh. My son was in his sixtieth year, still a child practically, when a terrible foreboding started to consume me. It grew and grew with each passing year until I prayed in anguish for Iluvatar to relieve me of it, to tell me what it meant.
He told me, but not in a vision or in a dream. I finally understood everything when my husband was killed by marauding orcs on the borders of the kingdom, just like my father. When I saw his dismembered body, spat upon and carved with foul words by wicked hands, I knew the days of my people would pass and Lord Balkoth would destroy us if we did not stand against him."
Two bright red rubies fell from NoireRae's pallid cheek and found each other in the palm of her porcelain hand. They lay like drops of freshly pricked blood. Carefully, Faldüir leaned forward and scooped them away. With delicate compassion in his movements, he used the sleeve of his robe to wipe the remaining tears from NoireRae's face before they fell.
"Thank you," she muttered and offered a small smile. "Keep that sleeve nearby. There's no telling how many more of these gems will fall before the story ends. Who knows, you may have a whole hoard of rubies before the sun rises." That sarcastic, indomitable sense of humor made Faldüir smile back. She took a deep breath and continued.
"I wasted no time preparing for what I knew had to come. I ordered all the able-bodied men and women to prepare for war. You look at me strangely. Yes, among the Carafingwaith the women fought alongside the men. Women battle just as fiercely for their homes and families. My son, ninety by that doomed hour, led the old, the young, and those women who were pregnant or already had children, away into the west. I commanded him to take our people over the mountains and seek friendship with the elves; to be sure our race would survive should our warriors fail in battle. I do not know, never have known, how Lord Balkoth discovered the route the refugees followed. None of the red-haired people, the most powerful and beautiful of the Edain, ever made it into Beleriand. All were captured by the cruel hands of the Dark One's waiting minions in the mountain passes."
Three more tears carved a path down the fallen queen's cheeks. Faldüir caught three more rubies as they hung suspended from her jaw, rose petals tossed upon sea foam. His own heart twisted as, unbidden, images of pale captives bound with heavy, black iron chains arose before his mind's eye. He envisioned the Carafingwaith, proud and tall, beaten and imprisoned, their long lost tears melting the mountain snow. The snow that matched their smooth moonbeam skin so perfectly. He saw orcs molesting frightened children as mothers wailed and screamed and tore their scarlet hair, sending it to join the blood of their massacred elders on the cold ground. The swollen bellies of pregnant women slit wide and the defenseless unborn pinned against the ice by black orc arrows. He couldn't stop the thoughts from coming.
Faldüir gagged and retched, desperately fighting back the onslaught of morbid nightmares. Steaming tears blazed from his eyes down his face. He felt strong arms supporting him.
"Are you alright now?" NoireRae's voice brushed his hearing like a soft feather. Faldüir could not speak, but he nodded. "I'm sorry," she continued. "I know exactly what you saw. Those things came from me, not you." When he furrowed his brow in question, NoireRae continued. "You see, whenever I drink the blood of another being, my mind remains connected to theirs for a short time. I feel what they feel. Normally, I can control my own thoughts so my victims never detect my presence at all. But just now, my feelings were so bitter, they overcame all my barriers and invaded you. I'm sorry. Maybe I should stop."
"No!" The word shot out of Faldüir more forcefully than he intended. "I must know now, I must know how this story ends." NoireRae looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
She became distant and entered the realm of buried memories once more.
"As I gathered my army I was unaware that Lord Balkoth had already made prisoners of my son and his followers. I was lost in the haze of impending battle, blinded by the flash of armor and swords, deafened by the twang of arrows leaving the bow. Everyone knew that war was imminent. The Dark One's hosts were on the move and we prepared for their arrival on our fields.
The day came. I stood at the head of my army, at the head of my people willing to let me lead them to liberation, or doom. A thousand ranks upon a thousand ranks of mighty, silver helmed, red-haired warriors faced a thousand upon a thousand ranks of putrid, stinking orcs and forsaken, evil men. My archers lined the walls of our great city; arrows pointed with deadliest precision at black orc throats, ready to spill black orc blood. My steed, a war mare with a coat of the rarest gold color, snorted and stamped, as ready for carnage as her rider.
The sight of those rotten creatures profaning the land of the Carafingwaith with their sickening presence ignited my hatred for Lord Balkoth anew. I drew my sword and lifted it high in the air for all of my brave, fearless people to see. My horse reared and lifted a war scream to her stallions in the cavalry. I blew the horn of my country, a note that truly shook the earth and made the walls of my own city tremble. Or perhaps it was the galloping of scores and scores of armor-clad horses desperate to crush the enemy's bones. It might even have been my own blood pounding in my ears, I don't know. But the world quaked as I and my glittering army lunged for the enemy's very heart."
Faldüir felt his own blood racing as NoireRae stood and relived that moment. Without warning, every candle and lamp in his room burst alight and blazed furiously, as furiously as she felt the beat of hooves on grass, felt the sword in her hand deal death to those who fled before her. As the raging flames threw new light and dark across her body Faldüir saw the warrior.
Another facet.
He saw the terrifying, vengeful queen. He saw his room transformed into the inferno of her hatred. Faldüir stood in an attempt to calm her before the entire sanctuary of Imladris changed into a smoldering furnace. Her wild eyes grasped his meaning. The flames disappeared so quickly as to throw Faldüir off balance and nearly send him reeling in the sudden dimness. She caught him by the shoulders.
"I'm sorry. When I've told you more, about how I came to be what I am, you'll understand why it's so difficult to keep in control of my emotions."
As Faldüir regained his balance, he realized for the first time how tall NoireRae was. She was fully as tall as an Elf and only a few inches shorter than himself. For the first time, he also became aware of the unnatural strength she possessed. Faldüir felt it in her lean, taut arms, in the pressure of her hands.
For such a volatile creature to have such great power is a fatal combination. I have no doubt she could kill me in an instant.
He pushed the thought away, hoping the desire to end his life would never enter NoireRae's mind. He escorted her back to her place on the end of his bed and asked her to continue.
"My army plowed through the rows of foul creatures. We sang songs of victory as our axes and swords cleaved skulls, as the arrows of the Carafingwaith struck our enemies like devouring locusts upon helpless crops. The legions of Lord Balkoth cowered in terror. They ran blindly only to be stomped and bloodied under the hooves of our great horses. I rallied my troops around me once more, certain that victory was ours."
NoireRae choked and could say no more for many minutes. Faldüir saw another ruby bounce from her knee and tumble onto his bed. He removed it and put it aside.
"Oh Iluvatar, Eru!" The words made a sound of tearing seams as they ripped themselves from her heart. "Why did you abandon us in that hour? Why? When victory smeared our armor and swords, why did you forsake us?" The red-haired queen, the glorious maiden sent her cry to the shivering stars.
Faldüir took her hand and held it tightly.
"Listen to me, Queen of the Carafingwaith," he commanded, "Eru, the almighty, never forsook your people or you. But the Ainur, the offspring of his thought, has free will, just like all of Iluvatar's creations. Lord Balkoth chose a path of destruction and Iluvatar could not stop him. Whatever horrible fate befell your people was not Eru's desire, but purely the evil thought of the Dark One. The Carafingwaith fought bravely against him. You should be proud of your people, for none ever turned to darkness. They died the way they lived, in the light and love of Eru."
NoireRae looked at him with her glistening brown eyes. She found serenity in the cloud-grey gaze of Faldüir Half-Elven.
"I know," she said. "It has taken me centuries to realize and accept that. I have continued my struggle against darkness ever since. But, because I am a creature formed from perversion and malice, I will only know I have succeeded in my task when I can at last release myself from this world. Until then, I am bound by my honor, my love of all Iluvatar's creations, to stay here and undo all the evil I have the power to end." She fell silent for a moment. Then, she sent a smiling reproach to Faldüir. "You've let me get ahead of myself in my story, Master Faldüir. There is much still to tell." So she began again.
"The orcs fled, the men of Angband lay dying. It was then the battle turned against us. At that moment, Lord Balkoth unleashed his deadliest creations."
"Balrogs," Faldüir gasped.
"Yes." Impossibly, NoireRae seemed to grow paler than before as the word passed her lips. "Fully a hundred of them. You know the panic induced by just one balrog alone. Can you imagine what the Carafingwaith felt when we saw five score of those fearsome things swooping down upon us with their wings that killed the sun and their burning whips lashing like hot irons from the air? The horses threw their masters and killed many with their sharp hooves as they whinnied and tore away. Men's shields could not protect them from the blistering heat of the balrogs' whips. Yet even then, Lord Faldüir, even then, in the face of painful death, my warriors rallied round me when I called. We stood united even under Lord Balkoth's horrible torment from above. Can you imagine my people, Lord Faldüir? Can you imagine such a marvelous people, afraid, but fighting through fear. Can you name another people as noble and brave as those lost heroes of the east?"
NoireRae shook with every desperate word. Faldüir found himself once again besieged by her memories. He saw, as if from a distance, an endless black cloud of soaring figures with tendrils of flame unwinding beneath them. He heard the cries of tortured men and women, the crazed screams of unmanned horses. Yet in the center, a silver star rose from the earth on her golden horse. Her voice rolled over the yells and chased away the pain of a losing battle. The thousands of frightened crimson heads held themselves high at her command. A tide of shining armor, shields, spears, and swords surged against the black horror from above. The flight of demons accepted the challenge and plunged downward, whips ablaze. The vision left Faldüir as quickly as it had appeared.
"That time was intentional." NoireRae's voice cut into his spinning head. "I wanted you to see. No one else will ever know of that battle. There is no one to remember." She closed her eyes and sat still as heavy air in summer.
In that moment of stillness, she suddenly looked very old to Faldüir. A sort of kinship with this solitary soul awoke in the Lord of the Secret Valley. Her deep love and understanding of her people mirrored his own for the elves of Imladris. She was alone and forlorn as a weathered tree on a hilltop. There was nothing to protect her, nothing to shield her. She stood utterly alone. Yet Faldüir still did not know entirely why.
"What happened to you and your army?" he questioned gently.
"We were defeated, of course. It takes nothing short of a Maia to stand up against a balrog. What hope did a handful of puny mortals ever have, no matter how powerful or noble or beloved of Eru?
Lord Balkoth did not want us dead, however. No, he had more sinister things planned for the Carafingwaith. We were captured and imprisoned in the deepest dungeons of his stronghold. Many passed to the arms of Eru there, slowly languishing to corpses in the dank, dark cells. Lord Balkoth made sure that I stayed alive however. His malevolence towards me equaled my own towards him. He would have his chief pleasure in defiling the greatest queen of the greatest people.
I was brought before him. He offered to spare my people if I would humble myself to his service. It was my weak spot. I nearly gave in. But even naked and in chains, I found the strength to realize he was a liar. I could never debase my courageous people by willingly becoming his slave. I spit at that evil being.
And so my torment began. He made me watch as one by one he killed each of the red-haired people. Then he made me watch as one by one he resurrected their dead bodies and changed them into perversions from his own mind. The spirits were gone, true life was no longer there, but he filled their brainless corpses with a lust for blood. The beautiful Carafingwaith became the undead, Lord Balkoth's most insidious demons. He unleashed the walking corpses upon the world. They stole the blood of unsuspecting men, only so they could wake with the moon to steal blood again. And all those they drained who died by night became undead as well. Their spirits fled, but their bodies continued to walk the earth in search of blood. Like most of Lord Balkoth's foul creatures, the undead could not stand the light. It hurt them badly. They slept in crypts and caves when the sun arose."
Another vision assaulted Faldüir. This time it was of darkness. Suddenly, the dark was rent with pale bodies and pale moans. He saw people. Yes, they were the tall Carafingwaith. He recognized them. They crept through the dark, furtive as foxes, sniffing for living blood. The scene changed and there before him stood one of the undead all alone, holding a writhing victim by the throat. The twisting prey stilled and the pale blood-drinker threw it aside, licking the dripping blood from his lips like a sated cat. Faldüir's eyes widened as he watched the dead victim rise and begin to sniff for blood to replace what the other had stolen. The image disappeared as NoireRae continued.
"The Dark Vala killed me as well, but he would not let my soul fly to the oblivious stars. No, through black magic and evil purpose he detained me. My body he changed as he had the others, making my teeth sharp and my desire for blood strong. But he gave to me special powers, in mockery of my royal status. I have the ability to change shape, but only by night. I can become mist, a wolf, a bat, a spider, or a crow. To me he also gave the ability to connect with the minds of my victims so that I would feel the pain I caused them. He wanted me to suffer the way I made them suffer.
There were times when, for sheer perverse pleasure, Lord Balkoth would slam my soul back into my impure body. I became his favorite distraction, his greatest weapon. I was his whore."
Faldüir held still as a man confronted with a venomous snake. Hardly breathing, he watched as NoireRae's hands contorted and twisted the sheets of his bed. There was a pop as her nails pierced the fabric and cut clean through to her palms. Bloody crescents upon the creamy sheets oozed into his sight. Faldüir looked up to see her soul bleeding down her cheeks, rubies that fell and matched the red blood perfectly.
"That was the end of the Carafingwaith. Lord Balkoth damned every last one of the greatest Edain. The glorious red-haired people hid from the sun and slunk under the light of the moon. That was the end of the Carafingwaith, but my story goes on.