Chapter 1 - A Soldier's Plight

Thaliondil sat alone in the shadows, lost in the lonely paths of his thought. A dark mood was upon him, though he knew not why. Suddenly, his sharp ears picked up the sound of clattering hooves upon the hard stone of the courtyard. Seizing and unveiling his lantern he strode out into the chill night, his heels tapping fiercely against the cold ground.

'Who goes there?' He did not allow his voice to waver. Peering into the gloom, Thaliondil scowled in trepidation as a tall rider dismounted before him, his footfalls echoing faintly in the darkness. The stranger strode confidently into the light. He was indeed an Elf, though worn with care even as a mortal man. His flaxen hair was thin and unkempt, and a taut, grim expression was upon his lined face. His grey raiment was in places torn and his heavy boots were caked in mud. He was breathless, and spoke rapidly with a rush of hurried words.

'I must speak with Durthol! I believe this to be his abode.' He cried urgently. Thaliondil frowned, making no effort to conceal his misgivings.

'It is,' he replied. 'I am Thaliondil son of Durthol. What is your business?' He eyed the stranger doubtfully, perhaps a little rudely, openly disliking the look of him.

'Tell your father the hour draws near - we depart at dawn.'

'Whither do you go?' Demanded Thaliondil abruptly.

'To battle. Orcs are marauding on our borders. A great host of the vile creatures approaches our realm, so the scouts report.' The stranger hesitated as though waiting for some reaction. Thaliondil was unmoved.

'That is no news,' He argued sullenly. 'Orcs have ever stalked the borders of these lands, and ever they are driven back. This matter does not concern my father. He no longer battles against the forces of the Enemy, for he is lame.'

'Nonetheless he has vowed to ride alongside my company, for his strength and valour endures.' The rider mounted his grey horse, and raised a grimy hand in gesture of farewell.

'You are mistaken!' Thaliondil cried heatedly, but the rider did not heed him, and rode off in great haste. Thaliondil watched the retreating form of the stranger, as he disappeared and was swallowed by the darkness. The clatter of the galloping horse drifted for some time upon the air, until it slowly faded and was gone, like smoke dissipating in the breeze. Shivering, he drew his cloak close about him and turned round. He started as he beheld his father stood in the open doorway. He was shrouded in darkness and barely visible, yet his tall, proud bearing, despite his maimed foot, was unmistakable. Thaliondil held up his lantern. Durthol's face was stern and impassive, yet distictly ashen.

'Father? What goes forth? Tell me that this fool is mistaken!' He gazed into his father's eyes. They were harsh as grey stone, and almost as impenetrable, guarding his thoughts. Durthol replied inflectionlessly,

'Am I not a soldier?' His voice was unwavering, and cold. 'Many long years it seems, since I have felt the glory of battle. Though the strength of my body is lessened, my spirit is restless within me, and I have fallen into dishonour.'

'Dishonour? And you would take orders from a band of ruffians?' Remarked Thaliondil fractiously. Durthol was silent, but gave his son a warning glance.

'Why must you do this? Answer me father!' He met Durthol's cold gaze fiercely.

'To avenge the death of my beloved wife, your mother, whom neither of us shall forget!' Thaliondil flinched, and turned away. His father did not relent.

'I tried to defend her from the Orcs, and almost it cost me my life. Yet at the last I failed. And no peace have I known since that dark day! Each night my sleep is disturbed by the echoes of her screams - she whose voice was soft as the rain of heaven -' he faltered, and seemed for a moment at a loss, until he resumed more steadily. 'The time has come. Understand, my son, that I can no longer remain idle, and I fight for the sweet memory of Tarien.' At this moment, Durthol drew back his cloak, unsheathed his glistening sword and held it aloft. It gleamed bitterly in the icy glare of the lantern. Thaliondil gazed at the blade, his eyes burning with tears, much to his shame.

'My father, your ridng to war shall avail nothing, save to bring grief to those that love you! I percieve that under no circumstances would you allow me to ride alongside you, and you would have me remain and care for my sisters.'

'So it must be! For I will not leave them unguarded. You are strong and valiant, and can bear arms, yet I deem that you are too young for a trial such as this. You must abide by my judgement in this matter. You will give me your word that you shall guard Annariel and Tinuial, and shall keep them from harm as best you can.' He placed his sword back in its golden sheath. Thaliondil spoke softly, yet his words were tinged with hate:

'As for that, how can I refuse? Yes, I vow to care for my sisters. Would that you were so loyal to your kin. For you know in your heart that mother would not have willed this - she would blanch at the mere mention of war!'

'And she now lies dead at the foul hands of the Orcs! Her gentleness aided her not!'

'This is sheer madness!' Thaliondil raged, unable to control himself. 'For the fact remains, father, that it is your own will, not hers that drives you into peril. Do not claim to seek vengeance, for clearly now do I see your mind. It is death you seek!'

'You would do well to show your father more respect!' Durthol's voice had become perilous, and he clenched his fists in anger. His fury, however, was easily matched and mirrored in the eyes of his son.

"Respect, indeed! A man earns respect by showing strength; not by abandoning his loved ones in favour of a swift death because he is too craven to face his own despair! Am I to respect that, father?" Durthol, pale with rage, drew a breath as though to argue, but merely let out a shuddering sigh. His eyes were changed somehow; weakened, as though something deep within him had broken. There was a stricken pause. In the past, when Thaliondil had spoken to his father in such a manner, Durthol would not have hesitated in beating his son half-senseless. They had fought before, often. Yet this was somehow different; instead of reacting with his habitual anger, Durthol merely looked defeated, and old - so terribly old. Thaliondil stared at his father, noticing for the first time how the flesh of his face now clung so tightly to his bones, hollowed out by the grief and despair at losing the wife he had treasured above all things, and how frail and wasted his limbs had become over the months. Thaliondil felt a sudden stab of remorse, and wished suddenly that his father would strike him; give him the beating he deserved, and then they could simply go back to how it was before.

'My words were harsh,' Thaliondil said quietly. 'I'm sorry. I..I did not intend to cause you pain.' The words came not easily, for he was proud as was his father. Durthol, however, showed no sign that he had even heard, and he stood motionless and cold amid the shadows.

'Father! Will you not answer me?'

'Bid farewell to Tinuial and Annariel.' Without looking at his son, he turned with a limp more pronounced than ever before, and melted into the hollow gloom of the house.

Thaliondil stared blankly after his father, unable to move or to weep. His heart seemed suddenly to freeze within him. Nothing of the hours that followed could he afterwards recall to memory, save that the empty darkness seethed coldly about him like the dark tide of death.