Chapter Three: The Shadows of the Past
Náthena and the captain of Gondor had rode most of the second day since their fated meeting in silence. She had for the most part remained walking. Boromir often offered, and even pleaded that the lady take up the saddle of the horse once more. Yet, she would smile and kindly decline. She could still sense a weariness in the man. He indeed must have walked for many days after losing his steed. A fact he seemed quite uninterested to speak of.
That day had passed. Now had once more come the night, and glittering sea of stars that hung over all of Arda. From Middle-Earth to distant Aman and to Hyarmenor in the south beyond the sea. Dead tired, but fed and content, Eldamel rested just beyond the two. They say around a small fire as they hunkered down and nestled themselves into a small grove hidden amongst the tall tress, and green leaves along the northern road.
The crackling of the flame and its embers rising and disappearing into the cool night air was all there was for a great time. It was an uneasy silence for the Gondorian captain as he endlessly eyed Náthena and her beyond odd physical appearance and features. She sat with legs crossed before her and head tilted toward the skies and stars. Her eyelids closed, and an ever small contented and even serene smile played on her; just as pail as the rest of her, lips.
Until she finally sighed. As if completing some ritual, and opened those crimson eyes of hers. They burned and gleamed ever clearer as the fire danced within them. She smiled slightly more, and cocked her head to the side. Which brought her single braid falling along her back.
"If so curious, Boromir of Gondor, then speak your mind!" She smirked, and Boromir chuckled awkwardly as he idly threw twigs and stray leaves into the flames. He sat opposite of her from the flames with legs slightly spread out before his sitting form.
"I do not mean to be rude and stare milady Náthena. It is hard I dare admit." He admitted with another smile.
"The world you spoke of lingers within my thoughts! It is a quite terrible tale you mentioned before, and in my weariness of wandering I think it took me some time to appreciate what your words fully meant." His words rung with truth and Náthena bowed her head.
"It is natural." She wisely spoke. "Those who do not wish to hear of ill or fell tidings, oft find they can attune themselves to blocking such words and thoughts from mind. Though," She smiled still. "Those who are tired, and have questions of their own lingering in their own minds may find hearing some strangers ill news...frustrating. Though from the moment I landed onto these old shores, I have felt, seen, heard, and experienced myself, ill news and dark tidings along this continent." Boromir sighed, and nodded. His near shoulder length brown hair falling about him. Some of it matted and dirty as his eyes went into distant thoughts for a moment.
"It is true. The darkness has once again taken the heart of Middle-Earth and stands ready to cease opportunities missed before. My father, the Steward of Gondor, is an honorable man! Though he asks much of me, but even more from my younger brother. Though I would even find it appropriate to say he demands much of our people." His expression was dark and worried for a moment.
"The shadows in the east linger heavily on him. Mordor, their allies both in the east and south, and perhaps elsewhere even. It is my people who bear the full force of this burden! Though none elsewhere would ever admit to it." Boromir sighed again and his hands became idle and clasped together in front of himself. He lowered his head further until it seemed to just hang at his chest.
This was the first real moment he and Náthena had, had a conversation since their first meeting. Her expression turned to a sideways one. Náthena found herself not wanting this talk to end so hastily. So, Náthena leaned herself forward some, and cocked her head in vain effort to peer into the face of the forlorn captain.
"Tell me what you can of Sauron." Boromir glanced up with a furrowed expression. Náthena merely smiled. "I wish to know more of the man that so brings anger and venom from my old mistress." He nodded after a moment of thought.
"For my part I can say he is no 'man,' so to speak. Anyone with eyes can see that, yet I know what you meant in your words. For thousands of years he has plagued the world. Through all the ages, and now more than ever is he poised to accomplish a great victory over the last great kingdoms of men, elves and even the dwarves." His expression became subtly hard again. "Far be it for any of them to take notice, or care! Better still for Gondor, or Rohan to bear these burdens alone." He nearly spat those words. Náthena began to sense how proud, and indeed angry, this man Boromir was.
'No, not anger. Fear. He is very afraid.' She came to realize in an instant thereafter.
"The elves make for the western shores to places we men cannot follow. The dwarves? They linger within their homes of stone. Within mountains, and caves. Where they worry themselves with riches and trade. Rather than Sauron and the hordes that spill out of Mordor. Little has my kingdom, and my people known peace. You would find but two types of people within the walls of Minas Tirith. Those who cannot say they've lived a year without war in their lives. War, pain, sorrow, and misery."
"And the other type, my lord?" Náthena cocked her brow, and Boromir's eyes finally lit once more in mirth, and he chuckled.
"Well, my lady, those would be what we call liars!" Náthena took a moment to dwell on his words as he began to chuckle further and with more power behind it. Until at last she understood his morbid joke, and she grinned in reply and leaned herself back against a tree trunk near to her.
"I see." She spoke with a hint of lingering humor. "Then it was true what I felt when I neared the white city." Boromir looked to her quizzically. "I felt great pain, and...weakness." She quickly added then, "Not of your people, my lord Boromir, for I met none. But of those lands. Of their hearts, and spirits." She leaned back again and seemed to stare off into the distant and pitch black forest surroundings.
"It is not for me to come and judge those who live on these lands. It is my duty to seek those with courage, arms, strength, and conviction. Those with these properties could dare rise against the Sin-Queen, and her hordes." Náthena grimly smirked.
"Ironic as it is, the one who seems ready to challenge her is but Sauron himself! A bleak notion indeed." Boromir's eyes became hardened, but he said nothing. Náthena mused for a moment he may have taken offense to her small jest, but she dared not ask. She didn't wish to press him.
The crackle of the fire was all that went heard for a time as they sat. Both of them went within their own thoughts. The creaks in the woods and whipping winds being the only mild interruptions to their silence otherwise. Until finally a breath left from the captain and he turned up toward Náthena.
"How about you tell me of your homeland?" He asked with a tinge of wonder in his voice. Náthena jerked up with a shocked expression. As if the sound of his voice was unexpected, and maybe it had been to her ears. She turned slightly and seemed enraptured in a patch of dirt off to the side of the fire pit. Her crimson eyes seemed far away and she slightly smiled.
"The land is wondrous. Untouched mostly by war and death. Little of the woods go touched, save for the silent footfalls of my kin who wonder and seek oneness with the earth. It was by our first and great King that the forests were deemed to not go touched. Unless the dire need was brought forth. This was of course dictated by my mistress nonetheless. She came to our king when the need was great, and bent his troubles and twisted his desperation into something ugly. Something that she could control." Náthena turned back to Boromir, who nodded in understanding.
"We have a sprawling range of ceaseless mountains. All of them capped in sparkling white that glitter when the heat of the sun falls upon them. Rolling hills with the greenest of grass! Blue, as blue as one could imagine waters for lakes, with sprawling and vast amounts of fish." She smiled, and her eyes glittered. "I must admit I find weakness when the smell of those little creatures being cooked meets my nose." She giggled and Boromir grinned at the sound. Her face slowly turned back to calmness and she sighed.
"Massive trees," She seemed to carry on without regard to Boromir. "Tall as mountains one would think if lost within them. Their tops a glorious green, their bark solid and strong. Then comes the fall and winter seasons. Where we take sight to the rainbow of colors of our woodlands, and the bitter colds where they wither and become spiked tendrils sprouting from the soil. Until then spring comes and the blossoming flowers and leaves breaths new life into the land!" Boromir imagined it within his mind, and assuredly the land sounded beautiful as she described it. And yet, he was sure he did it disservice with his imagination.
"These trees," Once more her head jerked back toward Boromir with an old and knowing smile along her features. "they're called Míthlend trees! They bloom but only for three weeks and they rest high in the branches among the green leaves, which of course stay for months. But then they begin to fall! The petals a wondrous bloom of pink that fall like waves in the waters down to the ground. The whipping winds that come down from the mountains raise them and circle them! One could be caught and encased by them!" She grinned, and Boromir chuckled. He seemed for a moment to be listening to a child found in wonder at the sight of something they had never seen before, and so desperately wished to share their vision. Even if her eyes spoke of age that he found himself lost in if he looked too long into them.
"The petals, are left to fall and we to take the sights in. Those of us at least who can. Some are too far from the wood. Sadly they are then taken up and gathered. They have great healing properties about them, that we have yet to understand. Only the priests of the Great Temple know how to drain them of their power." Boromir's brow furrowed and he cocked his head.
"A temple? Of whom is worshiped within this temple?" The light in her eyes seemed to fade, and dim, and she reclined further back. A sense of dread hung in the air about them, and even Boromir felt a creeping feeling tingle along his back. Yet he had not heard what she had to say.
"Why, it is to Morgoth. The one whom gave my mistress the queen, the supreme power to rule us all." Boromir felt his eyes go wide for a moment, and forced himself to recall her fell words from their first meeting. The mere mention of the Dark One gave chill to his heart and a moan to the winds. To know this land of beauty she spoke of, had upon it a temple to his vileness hit him as a trampling horse would.
She saw his dismay, and humphed with a sigh. "It took us little time to realize the honey spewed from her mouth was nothing but sweet venom. For our queen gave dark slithering advice to our two and only kings we've ever known. Until then she had corrupted us all from those forms we once had, and we gave her power, and begged for her rule." Náthena raised her arm forward over the fire.
"Our skin was once fair, more so than even yours Gondorian. I have only heard tails from the eldest of my kin, but they speak of the days when our tones were fairer than the clouds. An exaggeration I must only assume, but I know what they mean. For our queen still bears that flesh of purity though she is most vile of us all! We were blind, and in that blindness we became corrupt. A fact she seemed most pleased with. Many time she spoke of our beauty, and changed nature. Blood colored eyes, ashen skin like soot from a volcanic maw, and hair gray or white as death." Náthena lowered her arm, and ran her right hand idly along her hair down her braid.
"She promised us salvation from those invaders, the men of Númenor. Then she killed us from within." Náthena did not spit venom. Her voice was droning, low, and almost apathetic. She spoke of fact, and little of feeling. It made Boromir feel a tinge of guilt, and yet he knew not why.
"You speak of your mistress, as queen, and Sin-Queen. I cannot recall if you have given me her name? If you indeed have my lady than I apologize for my weakness of memory." He chuckled with a kind smile, and Náthena bowed her head.
"By a few she has let be known to me, and those who worked closely with her. Her ancient name she said to me was Vóriselyë. Then she came to us in her second, and far more true name. Úcarëtári, and from that one can translate its meaning. That of Sin-Queen. Of sin she brought to the hearts of those who laid eyes on her, and of sins she made them commit in her name, and that of Morgoth." Boromir's eyes looked sad and he nodded solemnly as Náthena grew silent but for a moment.
"She does not like being called by either of these names any longer. She has had those foolish enough to utter either before her presence sent into the foul pits beneath the temple. She now is known as Queen Calyacále. In her own words she says its meaning is akin to 'illuminating light,' or something of similar description. It is nothing but a lie, but she is an expert of lies." Náthena spat, her mouth forming a frown, and her memories playing of the vision of the Queen.
"Calyacále? Certainly the name sounds well and good off the tongue." Boromir agreed. Náthena darkly nodded while her gaze was distant.
"What else has this Sin-Queen done to gain your ire, lady?" Náthena finally seemed broken from her musings, and sighed lowly.
"When she came to us, as I have said my people were in need. Men of Númenor came and they sought to make a colony. They found us, and we offered peace, but they demanded land and tribute. They saw our people as no more than barbarians as the wild men who lived upon the continent were also seen. Whatever kindness and good there may have been within these men seemed sundered by greed and power. They slew our people and the barbarian men." She uttered darkly and Boromir felt an odd sense of shame fall over him though he knew not why. His heart sank at her words nonetheless.
"She took advantage of our plight and ceased the opportunity. She taught us war, and how to forge mighty weapons. Gave us deeper insight to magic and sorcery. She delved deep into the dark caves and pits of our land and found serpents, and from them she made warped creatures. They serve her with utter loyalty above even my own people and they are many." Boromir cocked his head.
"What are these creatures?" Náthena grimaced.
"Lócënossë they are called. Serpent people. They were ugly little creatures at first. The first stock of my queen's creations were short, not even dwarf size as I know them to be. They were ugly and bent, misshapen and endlessly viscous and violent. She sent them and the eldest of my people to wage war and slaughter the men of Númenor in their colony. She came along with and put utter terror into their hearts and minds, and the men were broken. Their fleets burned and city made to smoldering ruin." Náthena squirmed uncomfortably and her head began to hurt as she recalled these dark thoughts for Boromir who sat with great interest and silence abut his figure.
"The first of the creatures died but days after. Their little bodies and corrupted forms could not weather their new forms and lives. It was then that she threw herself into her sorcery and evil beneath the Great Temple. Only then when our first king died, and his son came to rule, did she show him what those like myself already had seen. She had perfected her serpents." Náthena seethed. "Now they stand most of them taller than men. Their eyes hideous diamonds, and piercing ever squinting and hate and wrath. Their scales refined across their bodies, and dark gray armor uniformly fit across their bodies. She made them to be not but a mere rabble, but a uniformed, refined, and completely loyal force. Not even talking of the fell creatures that she bred to aid the Lócënossë." Náthena gazed darkly toward Boromir.
"These creatures know only loyalty to her and none others. They listen to my kin only because she has told them to, and they will march upon your lands in time. They will burn all that stand against them. Be it Man, Elf, Dwarf, or Orc! That is why I came. To try and warn those on these lands of the darkness that is rising in the far south and across the sea." She saddened and frowned, her brow furrowing in worry. Her dark features seeming even more gray and dead as the deepening feeling of defeat fell across her. It almost felt contagious to Boromir, who felt his heart grow sad and loathing. The vision of Mordor, and wild imaginary visions of man sized lizards killing men filled his mind! The tale was so tall he swore it to be but a dream, a nightmare even, but his heart told him it was true. It sent a shiver down his spine.
"None have seen Calyacále in many decades." She cut in and Boromir jerked his attention back to her and away from bis deeply rooted worries.
"She went away on some great mission that her servants such as myself, as I had once been," She sneered inwardly. "and her generals knew not where she made to go to. She left a vile servant of hers in command of all the Kingdom. He is ruthless as he is absolutely loyal like the vile serpents. She named him Warlord of all us Moriquendi, and Keeper of the Onyx Throne. That dark and terrible throne being hers and that which our monarch sits upon. His accursed name is Núndreníl." She explained and Boromir nodded. His mind forming for an instant the dark seat his father sits upon in Minas Tirith.
"No one really knows where he came from. He was but a nobody of a general that operated in the deep south of the continent. Where it is said he found and enslaved a whole nation of barbarian men who had just begun forming realms of their own." Náthena recalled. "He returned and bore with him thousands of slaves. And with him came hundreds of thousands of Lócënossë. He was greeted with great joy and thunderous applause by Calyacále. He was then granted his titles, and lordship over all the southern lands. He took command of the Kingdom upon our queen's order, and she has not been seen since. It was at her leaving our people, those who called ourselves the 'Purified Ones,' sought to free our nation and the slaves of their bondage!" She sadly cried and a tone of loathing lay rising from her chest.
"We grew in number, reaching tens of thousands and we marched upon her capital. The city of Calandoth. The Great Temple sitting upon the Hill of Darkness I had long since abandoned after learning all I could, and the horrors of my mistresses workings. It lay before us, and her palace in the distance. We were so close!" Boromir grew greatly interested once again. He found his weakness in talks of battle and war rising in him as his imagination formed for him vast plains of glorious warriors fighting against these serpentine monsters.
"Núndreníl came upon his steed and led an army of hundreds of thousands of the Lócënossë. He had in reserve fifty thousand of my kin who were thought loyal to Calyacále, but then they turned and we squeezed the serpents and Núndreníl nearly back to the walls of Calandoth!" her expression turned then from memories of near victory and great joy to moody darkness and scorn. Her crimson eyes bitterly glaring into the darkness of night.
"Then came the war beasts I spoke of. I shall not say what they appear as, needless be explained that they look like their relatives. The vile Lócënossë. We call them Ûnilìm, and they charged my lines, killed all the host and before the end the my people could see that power rested in Calyacále alone, and we were hunted down. I am the last of the Purified, and I am alone." She sadly muttered, and Boromir frowned. Over the fire he gingerly reached his hand and clasped hers lowly sitting on her knees.
"You're not alone, my lady Náthena! Though I know truly little of your struggles and of the darkness of this queen of yours, I can promise you that, if we can, Gondor will see aid given to your noble cause!" Náthena weakly smiled and bowed her head. Free graying locks about her darkened skin falling about her face.
"I thank you, Boromir of Gondor. I can only hope you and your people remain long enough to indeed help me. For little did I know of the sufferings of these lands. Now that I have come, I can see, and no less feel the terror, and dread that befalls these lands. Sauron truly must first be destroyed if there is any hope in stopping Calyacále." Boromir grinned happily and raised his hands happily.
"Then we are once more in agreement! We both shall share our enemies, and defeat them together my lady. Before my lord Elrond we shall speak of our woes and my riddle, and with his guidance we may yet have planted before us an answer to our troubles and irking questions." She smiled faintly, but again nodded. The man's words warming her heart even if slightly.
"Truly you are a blessing, my lord Boromir. For before your coming I had all but abandoned hope that these lands bore any hope of resistance. Now I can see that strength yet remains in the hearts and spirits of men." He grinned and bowed his head, his locks falling freely about his shoulders.
"You honor me, my lady." He laughed and sighed as the fire continued to crack and burn before them both. A silence passed over them both and neither said anything for a few moments, before Boromir failed to stifle a yawn.
"Ah, alas my lady I fear the day has waned my strength." Náthena smirked.
"Sleep my friend. I shall rest myself soon. At the mornings light we may move on toward this Elrond you speak of. My excitement is not so powerful yet as to stave off all weariness from my eyes." She smiled, and Boromir chuckled as he planted himself down upon a small mat of simple cloth he had been using to sleep upon.
"Aye, then I shall rest, and postpone our journey north no longer." He wearily chuckled and Náthena wordlessly nodded as she closed her eyes. Visions plagued her of battlefields and death. Pits of the Great temple, and her lady's face smiling directly toward her as if in a mirror. Her cruel grin nearly feeling infectious save for the glint of malice in her glittering eyes.
Never had Boromir asked, and yet to be said to him what and who she truly had been when she fought against the armies of the Sin-Queen, and she dared not say. Though he had heard her say she had been in her service, she was glad that either he was far too enraptured in her tale or too tired to dare let questions pass from his lips. She worried that all the fleeting hope that now grew in her heart would be stricken from her, and that she could not allow!
That is what she told herself with great passion as her weariness swept her away to fell and foul visions of distant lands, cracked fortresses and fires of war.
The First Age
"I think she knows not what she is really doing, master. Indeed she is rather...childish in nature." Within the pits and darkness of Angband Sauron spoke as he stood before a terrible throne of blackness. His form was fair, his long blackened hair was unnaturally ebony black and hung low across his broad yet smooth shoulders. His face was etched into a vision of beauty beyond that of mere mortal kind. His eyes were a terrible gray that pierced through flesh and soul and could bring low the haughtiest of men or elves.
Yet before him was a far more terrible force and vision. It was a terribly tall figure, greater than he. Robed in blackness and armor of cold steel that seemed scorched yet to a fine make itself. A crown was atop his head from which fell his own black locks that freely hung in perfection to his own designs. Upon this crown burned bright three jewels that even from afar made Sauron nearly have to squint in their glory. An air of hatred, and unkempt malice billowed out forth to all who dared to near he who bore this crown. Save but a few of the endless that waylay his patience. One of those few was indeed Sauron.
"Little do I care what her manner be or not be Mairon." The voice was a terrible boom that shook the walls in thunderous power. Sauron felt a small frown cross his lips. He desired very little to be called by that name which had been his among the Ainur so long passed. The great and black figure stood along the steps to his grand throne. The halls beyond screamed in pain and power all at once, as heat of a hot furnace danced across them both. Angband was alive and ever was it preparing for conquest and death.
"I care only if she yearns to aid in unmaking that which was made. Be it by Eru or by that contemptuous fool Manwë." His tone was a seethe but so terribly low that it would send ice into the veins and heart of those who heard and better still, felt his wrath emanate forth from his terrible yet serene maw. His booted feet slammed down on the steps to his throne as he walked slowly and turned to meet the eyes of Sauron.
"She shall serve me well, and our purpose." He declared with absolute and firm conviction. Sauron hesitated and opened his mouth to speak, but found his words failing. Until finally he cleared his throat and gathered his strength into his spirit once more.
"Master, the 'woman' is a foolish maia. I do not think she quite fully even understands what we mean to do." Sauron took a tentative step forward. "I think she believes your desires to be the unmaking of all life in Middle-Earth and a return to some infantile notion of peace and perfection about Endor."
"Is that not our purpose, Mairon?" He glared towards his lieutenant with a frown along his terrible features. Sauron steeled himself and craned his neck and shrugged his shoulders.
"Not precisely as to how she would describe our purpose. Your will master is the undoing of the...'failings,' of the Aratar and of Eru. To reforge it in a more...perfect state. What this maia believes you to be undertaking is a return to a state of perfection based on the will of Eru and the workings of the Aratar before the coming of Eru's children. It is a silly notion, as I have said." Sauron reiterated. Before him his master's eyes flared and he scoffed before climbing the steps a few more further, but stopping once more.
"Immature as her notions may be, Mairon, she will come to know our purpose. If not then she will serve little purpose but enough still to garner me but one further follower and spit in the eyes of Manwë or Eru. So trivial as it may seem to one such as you, to steal but one more maia from under the nose of those cretins from afar is a victory in and of itself. Whether she knows what she does or not, as I have told you, is meaningless to me." Sauron could see his master's reasoning, but he found this newcomer to be more of nuisance than aid, and she had been here but for a few days.
"Master, I seek thy forgiveness, but she would prove more a hindrance than an aid. She carries an air of immaturity befitting a child of one of the children of Eru! She knows nothing of war, she dances on the grass like a newborn maia!"
"Enough!" His master rumbled the room shook in terrible wrath. Sauron felt his form thrown back slightly and he threw his arms out to withstand the coming of a terrible wind that thrust him backwards. He sneered as his head lay out of sight of his master, and quickly he put forth onto his face a mask of serene tranquility as he looked back to his master.
He bore down upon Sauron before he traveled the rest of the length of his steps and sat himself upon his throne in content. He rolled his terribly massive shoulders, and sighed as if he had become bored with his lieutenants droning.
"Be her a child, be her a witless coward and worm I shall take this child as you say from the bosom of her mother and shadow of her father, and twist her to be an engine of destruction for my own purposes!" His master declared with a thunder in his terrible tone, and Sauron lowered his head in a bow and acquiesce to his will.
"How delicious it is..." Sauron paused in his turn to leave as his master's voice went on. "..that this maia come from the service of Lady Varda." His face bore a twisted smirk as his eyes danced in some far off vision that Sauron dared not attempt to fathom within his own mind.
"Oh how foolish it was of she to deny me, Mairon. For that suckling whelp of a brother of my own. A mighty Kingdom I would have made with a queen worthy of my stature." He sighed, but it was highly feigned and reeked of scorn and contempt.
"So then shall I take one of her handmaidens and make her into a vision of terrible, and beautiful malice and destruction. To tear into the heart of her and her trust for those beneath her. As I have done for Aulë with you, my dear Mairon." He smirked with a terrible resolve of ill gratification, and then laughed with a baritone of ear piercing power. Before he threw his left arm outwards and upwards. Shooing away his top lieutenant.
Sauron made to leave, but paused once more.
"See to her Mairon! Make my will be done upon this child!" He called and Sauron did not turn back. He frowned and a sneer spread along his features as he made from his new Lord's throne. Sauron made beyond the gates to the throne where stood two Balrog's. Both burning and fuming with fire and power who bowed only slightly at his passing. For the lieutenant of Melkor dared to not see his master's will be done.
He marched thru the endless winding halls of black and dirty seeming metal. Its points and jutting malice screaming to those who dared tread that this was no place of joy or mirth, but of vile wickedness. Hobbling and crooked little orcs passed by him and sidestepped him, for he was just below the commanding might of their lord Melkor. Sauron found them to be disgusting and vilely beneath he or his masters service. Yet never did Melkor see the need to make better these little creatures. To make perfect these little creatures from the little weak thralls they currently were.
He knew that given time he could remake these orcs into a viscous and far greater form that would do better at serving himself...and of course his lord. Yet he frowned and his brow furrowed in anger. For ever did his master remain fixed on perfecting those serpents. To give them wings and fire. It was a foolish errand! So Sauron believed. But, never would he dare to speak as such.
He sighed and felt his spirit sing as he neared his charge. Before him lay a gate leading to the east of Angband. Beside the door, with arms folded over his mighty chest of flames stood Gothmog. His terrible demonic grin never ceasing upon his horned and burning figure.
"The master wishes me to take charge of this one. She may pass freely beyond these halls and into our domains. See that none of yours hinder her in these things." Sauron commanded and Gothmog flared his skeletal nostrils, and a great heat escaped from within.
"I shall heed the master's commandments, Sauron. See to it that she does not hinder I nor mine and my kinds movements or actions. Be they their own or the master's will!" The thundering voice of the maia replied, and both the lieutenants of Melkor glared at the other, before a single bow of their heads came to one another. And, silently Gothmog stomped his way away from the gate and Sauron.
He had the gate opened by a mass of bumbling ugly creatures who toiled to pull the chains and open the iron maw. Sauron skirted under the gate as it rose and saved himself and the little goblins time as he exited, and the gate slammed shut at their weakness of strength. He made his way down steep inclines and falls until he came before the smallest and most dim patch of green and life that remained nearest to the Hells of Iron. A single dying tree, upon a small patch of yellowing decaying grass with but specks of green in both tree and grass.
The night had fallen and the stars in the sky were glittering brightly and ever. Sauron looked up toward them and mutely noted them as he neared this small bout of green. Beneath the one tree was a figure. She was fair, fair as any of his kind were. Beyond the imaginations of mortal kind be they elf, man or whatever else may be birthed into the world. Her hair of sparkling silver lined with stray strands and long locks of pure gold, or so it seemed. Her skin was fair and gleaming even glittering in its perfection, as her eyes shown in both the light of the stars made by Varda, and whatever power lay behind her eyes. For they too glittered as if the stars of Varda were behind them. She wore but a simple and loose white cloth that accentuated her small frame and beautiful figure. It was enough, Sauron would have wagered to ensnare any foolish elf or mortal man.
Of course such carnal lusts were beneath him. Still he appreciated the figure she had taken onto herself. No doubt her immense beauty was born from being a maiden to Lady Varda. Most fair of them all.
"My lord Mairon!" She cried as he came into sight before her. She ceased her dancing and jumping about, once again seeming a child before him. She broke into a run, and Sauron felt his eyes go wide, and he made to stop her, but it was too late. Her frame slammed against him in his fine clothing and her arms wrapped around his neck. A giggle of mirth escaped from her lips and Sauron was left groaning as he timidly patted her back before she finally freed him from the unwanted embrace.
"Vóriselyë. You mustn't do that. In these lands and among those of our thought it is unwanted, unwarranted and some would say dangerous." She pursed her lips and her brow furrowed, and ever did Sauron see a child looking up at him. Then she smiled brightly and her eyes dance in starlight.
"Okay! Sorry I was just so excited to see you! The stars, they glitter and gleam so wonderfully this night." She looked up and Sauron nodded as she grinned wildly.
"Oh, how my Lady makes the finest gems in all of creation! Even above those elves who say otherwise." She wrinkled her nose, and Sauron did not doubt the image of Fëanorcame to her mind. Though a thin smile crawled along his own features as he recalled his death not too long ago.
"Yes of course my lady." Sauron placated her. "I have com bearing...good news." She perked up and looked into his gray eyes with a hopeful glint. "Melkor will welcome you graciously into his service." She laughed triumphantly and fell into a fit of giggles and began once more prancing and dancing under the stars in utter joy. Sauron forced himself to not sigh.
"Vóriselyë." His voice was commanding but low, and she stopped. "If you'd please." She took a moment but then her eyes widened in understanding and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"Yes sorry." Sauron nodded and moved to stand under the tree. She silently followed after and stood next to him as his arms folded over one another and he glared distantly outwards over the vastness that lay before Angband.
"These plants, and the tree, the grass it is all very sadly dying! How unfortunate. My Lady Yavanna would be so saddened! As am I." She intoned sadly as her bare feet moved across the dying plants. Sauron gruffly chuckled.
"If so much care you have for plants and trees, or the wilds of these lands, why then did you not come into Yavanna's service rather than Varda?" She frowned sadly.
"I did go to her! I made myself and my powers readily available for her, and toiled for her for many years, but then..." She trailed off and Sauron raised one of his brows inquisitively.
"Then?" She looked at him almost bashfully.
"I don't know! She told me one day that my services were better spent under Lady Varda. I hadn't wanted to leave Yavanna's service, but...I guess she didn't want me anymore." Tears were near to her eyes and Sauron stifled yet a greater groan. For his work was to be cut out for this fallen maia.
"It is of little importance, my lady. What is important now is that you are with us. We shall make good use of you and your...skills." Sauron intoned as he eyed her in a sideways glance. She smiled and seemed pleased by his words.
"Let us speak of those upon Valinor any further. I have been given command by Melkor to prepare you for what lay ahead."
"I'm ready!" She cried in protest and Sauron merely shook his head lightly.
"I very much doubt that, my dear. What would one such as you know of war? Indeed beyond those small glimpses granted to you by Eru upon the making of this world through the music. I think you know little, and of this there can be little helping." He waved her off as she began to purse her lips into another pout.
"What is war to you Vóriselyë?"
"I...fighting?" She asked rather than stated, and Sauron sighed.
"Indeed. But in a manner that I am more than sure you are unused to. From what I know of you, from those among us who have heard of you; I know that you came late onto the Earth. Not too late as to not be able to aid Yavanna and Varda so it would seem. Yet not long enough to see the Battle of the Powers so it would seem." She huffed.
"I knew about it! I just...didn't leave Aman. I've been on this soil for a long time Mairon."Sauron grumbled lowly, but took her at her word and bowed his head.
"Nonetheless you have much to learn, my lady. And, I shall be your...tutor. For war has a tendency of breaking one at first, but it's how you're reshaped afterward that makes you truly ready for the trials ahead." She eyed him for a moment, before she smiled and nodded.
"I'm willing to do whatever I can! The creations of my ladies Varda and Yavanna, and all those who shaped this Earth should not be sullied by the children! If war is the only way to save it, then I'll do it." She declared with complete conviction and Sauron nodded once more. He then began moving away from the hill, and turned back toward her when she did not follow.
"Come, my lady." She cocked her head and followed after in what seemed more like gliding than walking. Sauron began walking once more and she followed.
"Where are we going Mairon?" He stifled his ever more irritated growls from rising from his throat and rolled his shoulders as the descended from the blackened hills that kept secure Angband about the mountains.
"We go to find ourselves a bit of sport. A small enclave of Ñoldor have been spotted in the south, and should be under the thumb of our forces in no time. It shall be where you see what war entails, and decide then if what you truly wish to do is remain here and fight under the banner of our lord Melkor." She hardened herself and attempted to seem strong before Sauron.
"I'll be more than ready. You'll see Mairon." She smiled and Sauron only nodded as he led her down to the steps of the hills and mountains. Where they would make for this encampment of elves. And where Sauron would introduce to Vóriselyë true war.
The Third Age
Náthena awoke from a sleep she hadn't planned on. The light of the distant sun shone bright and hot through the trees and leaves. The wind blew and rustled the woods where she and the Gondorian captain had made camp. She rubbed with one hand her weary eyes and felt the weariness vanish quickly thereafter.
It was only then as she scanned the camp, and noted the lack of fire, that she also found no Boromir to be seen. Her brow furrowed and she turned in haste towards Eldamel. The horse was yet still where she had left him. His head picked up quizzically at her sudden moves. She only smiled and patted his nose. The horse leaned into her touch and seemed saddened as she rose from where she had sat and stretched herself.
Her black clothing was still stained in blood of men and droplets of orcs. Dirty and stained they were, and ever clearer in the light of day. She paid it little heed, however, and was glad so did Boromir. Even if she did catch him eye a clearer stain along her cloak on a previous day.
Yet, as she mused on such thoughts her ears caught sounds of rustling and grunting in the distance. She froze and turned her head toward the sounds beyond. Her crimson eyes narrowed and she snatched up her bow and quiver of arrows. She bent herself low and feel quickly and silently along the grass, fallen green leaves, and twigs about the foliage. She bade Eldamel to remain in her native tongue and the horse seemed most inclined to listen as she passed through a thicket brimming with obscuring lush branches.
As she came thru to the other side she paused and listened further. Indeed the grunts and chortles sounded familiar. It didn't take her long to realize what they were.
"Orcs? Ever should those nasty little creatures trouble me." She seethed in a low intone her accented drawl in Westron quite evident as she did so.
"Indeed." She turned right and spotted Boromir. The man beckoned her to lowered and near. She crouched and neared to where he lay prone along a small hill that overlooked the valley and main road down below.
"Far these orcs must have come from."
"How far is 'far,' my lord?" She questioned as they exchanged words in but whispers. Boromir sighed and craned his head in thought.
"Perhaps the Misty Mountains, but they seem a little less fearful of the morning sun. The mountain orcs have not seen the sun in years I would dare to say. These seem familiar with its light. Perhaps of Gundabad, but even still they lay within that mountain hole." He spat with a distinct sense of disdain for this place he spoke of.
"The Ettenmoors! They may yet have come from there. I have heard they mingle with the trolls that yet live there." Náthena nodded, as her eyes trained on the company of raiders. They were yet larger and taller than those she had met in Gondor west of the river Anduin. They had long and wild hair about them. Matted to their greasy and filthy faces and armor. They snorted and growled with heavy barrel shaped chests. They bore simple black armor here and there, and the larger ones liked to smack around the one or two smaller ones with them.
One of them seemed to be quite keen on smelling the air about the road, and Náthena sneered as she imagined it picking up her and Boromir's scents.
"Wherever they may have come from, it is best we be rid of them quickly. Before they may call to any of their comrades. If indeed there be any at all."
"Best not to take chances?" Boromir asked though it was a redundant one and with what was best described as a cocky grin along his face. Náthena nodded nonetheless.
"Well then, best leave this to me milady. I shall handle this scourge myself!" Boromir declared with an air of inflated chivalry, and Náthena cocked one of her white brows. She made to speak, but Boromir beat her.
"Never should a lady be forced into battle whilst a captain of Gondor is about! Wait here, my lady Náthena." And, with that he dove up and over the small hill. Náthena seethed and made to grab his shoulder but he made down the hill and drew his long sword with a hum of blade against sheath.
A growl escaped from her throat as she lowered herself into a crouch and shook her head.
"Chivalry is no excuse for foolhardiness!" She seethed again and watched as Boromir came before the orc troupe. The large one grunted and turned quickly with massive broadswords with single curved points at the top inwards toward themselves, at the ready. The small ones squealed and also turned toward Boromir. Some held blackened bows and arrows at the ready in kind.
"Halt foul creatures!" Boromir came to a stop and grabbed his large sword with both hands upon the hilt. Náthena realized there he had not taken, or even forgotten his shield!
"I haven't the slightest clue why your foul kind has come this west, but you will go no further!" Boromir declared with an uproarious bout of chortling meeting him in reply by the orcs. The smaller sniveling ones snickered and the larger ones bellowed their laughs. It gave Náthena flashbacks.
"I don't have to listen to you!" A large and quite pronounced orc declared and smashed his shoulders into his fellows to pass them by from behind them. He neared Boromir and growled with a large underbite about his face and piercing beady eyes.
"All I sees here is one stinking man! What's stopping me from gutting you eh?" The orcs clamored and roared as the large one threw his sword up onto his shoulder and grinned toward Boromir.
"You face no mere peasant orc! I am Boromir, and I am a captain of Gondor!" He announced, and seemed to think that would strike terror into their hearts based on his proud glare of victory. The orc hushed his companions a lot more effectively than the last captain Náthena had met did.
"Eh? You come a bit too far me thinks, Gondorian filth. Your titles and big sword there ain't mean nothing to me or me boys! I'll gut ya' like I gut me a stuck pig, or farmers and their pretty wives." he paused and craned his neck as a thought came to him and he snorted with a laugh.
"Better yet I'll gut ya like a farmers kids! Squeal real loud those ones do!" The orcs roared in mirth and agreement and some sense of memory about them all. Boromir growled and hatred suddenly came over him as he heard them take pleasure in such foul stories. He clasped his sword tightly along the hilt.
"Then you shall know the wrath of Gondor!" he cried and flew forward against the large orc. He in kind laughed and threw his free arm forward. Unleashing his small thrall against Boromir. The large ones charged past their commander and toward Boromir.
Boromir ducked as one made to slash his head and he slashed into that one's exposed hip and dug deep sending black blood flying. It howled angrily and fell over. Boromir slashed right and across the neck of a second who slumped back into two of his fellow orcs.
The captain then threw both arms back and then slammed forward. His sword pierced thru into one of the orcs and he fell limp on the sword. His weight was heavy and nearly took Boromir with him, but the Gondorian slammed his boot into the dead creature and pushed him off just in time. For two more orc fell upon him and Boromir sidestepped but nearly fell against a small boulder.
A smaller orc squealed and jumped at Boromir's exposed right and onto the man's shoulder. Boromir cried out as it sought to bite at his neck. He threw himself about in a circle and tried to force the small creature off of himself.
A large orc slammed his shoulder against Boromir and sent him along with the small orc falling into the grass and dirt. Boromir nonetheless growled and clasped his left hand onto the neck of the little orc and threw him with all his might away from where they lay.
He made to get up but the man groaned as a heavy metal boot hit his chest and kept him against the ground. A large orc snarled and grinned at him from above. His blackened and oily features twisting in glee as he raised his broadsword high over his head and made to slash down upon Boromir. The captain felt his pulse race and his right hand dug into the grass next to it searching for his sword.
A small hum rang through the air, and then the orc froze. A dumbfounded and glassy look about his beady eyes, and an arrow clear through his head. Out one side and through the other. It was black and notched at the pointed end with fine metal. The orc grumbled and fell over dead. Boromir cried a little in shock before he rolled away from the dead orc, grasped his sword and jumped up at the ready to fight.
The orcs, however, were not looking to him. Rather they turned toward the hill where the arrow had come from. Boromir allowed his eyes to follow their and he found Náthena standing atop the hill. Her silver hair shone in the daylight and her dark skin contrasted almost enchantingly with it. She seemed a terrible beauty to behold. With another arrow notched and ready to fire, and a hateful glare in her crimson eyes visible even from this distance. One of her legs was fully atop the hill and the other hung back behind it.
"Dare another of you to meet thy doom? I shall bring it quickly upon all of you should you make to attack my comrade again!" Boromir felt a small, and bit of embarrassment come upon it. For one thing a woman...well elf woman had just saved his life. For another he hadn't thought her ready to fight but a moment ago. And, thirdly he felt a sense of new found camaraderie for her as she spoke of him in the same manner.
"Oi! What we have here?! You got yourself a wench to save your hide gondorian?" Boromir sneered, but before he could speak Náthena cut him off.
"And what have thee? Nothing but words? I dare to say you feel need to compensate with so mighty a sword, but so little action?" Náthena smirked from afar and her eyes gleamed in humor. The orc snarled as his manhood and pride took offense and he smashed past his fellows again and over his dead.
"Come here and say that to my face! I'll be sure to show you compensation pretty little...whatever ya be!" Náthena snorted. Quite unladylike Boromir noted at that.
"You couldn't handle me orc. Even if you could 'rise' to the occasion." The orc bellowed in rage and his fellows stepped back from his wrath.
He made to charge her up hill. Náthena fired another arrow and it hit his left shoulder but merely made him stumble as he kept on towards her. Boromir took a step forward in worry.
"My lady!" She only smirked and brought her other leg from behind the hill forward so she stood fully atop it as the orc captain fell upon her. He slashed his heavy sword toward her, but she sidestepped and let it fall to the ground. Her right hand in a flash, went to her back and pulled a finely made blade forth from beneath her cloak. She slashed downwards and pinned it into his right arm. He threw himself up in a howl and swung around, and with his great strength, as well as Náthena still gripping her blade, threw her down the hill into a roll with her blade still in hand.
She came to a stop at the bottom of the hill and in a kneel. Her single braid fell along her shoulder and she remained kneeled for a time before the orcs that moved away from her in what seemed to be astonishment mingled with fear.
"Kill the wench ya' worms!" The captain bellowed as his wounds gushed blackened blood. Boromir charged forward and stood beside Náthena and before the orcs with sword at the ready.
"Never again tell me to wait for you to kill a company of orcs. Had you not listened to my stories? I've killed plenty in my time." Náthena whispered in a halfhearted seethe mingled with an undertone of a laugh. Boromir's eyes twinkled and he chuckled.
"Never again, my lady. Now shall we end this confrontation?" The orcs neared in grunts and growls, and Náthena nodded.
"Lets!" She replied with a smirk.
Boromir charged forward and so did she. The orcs came against them in kind. Boromir slashed across the front of one orc or large stature and he fell before him. Náthena snatched her second blade from her back, and swung both arms left and then right. Both gashing into an orcs neck and head with a hard crunch. As metal pierced through bone.
Boromir turned left and stabbed another orc heading toward Náthena and ran him through as he roared in his death throes. As Náthena slammed a hard boot into a second orc heading towards her with sword thrown above his head. He fell back and fell hard into the grass, as the strength of this one dark-elf was beyond what they had guessed. Both Boromir and the orcs.
She fell upon him and straddled the fiend as her daggers dug deep into the orcs chest and she twisted them much to the orcs pain, and yanked them forth as the blood flowed and flew from the thrashing beast. She pushed herself easily back up into a full stand and threw one of her daggers thru the air and into the neck of another orc. She turned and threw her last dagger up and slashed against a powerful and tall orc. It snarled and gnashed its teeth toward her as it attempted to overpower her in their clash.
Náthena snarled and kicked into the leg of the orc. It jolted and bent but did not yield. The orc in kind freed one of his hands and leveled it against her face, and swung forth. It collided into her and she staggered back. She barely missed the blade of the orc and it snatched along the bottom of her leggings. Her head spun and her vision momentarily blurred.
Boromir swung up left and carved into another large orcs hip and cleaved into his blackened skin. That orc made to swipe at Boromir, but too long was his great sword and the orc only flailed wildly, before Boromir grunted and pushed the creature off to the ground. He spotted Náthena then staggering back from another larger orc.
His eyes narrowed and he raised up high his sword. He cried out and charged the orc. It swung to meet the call, but the captain swung his mighty sword through the air with a great hum it slashed, pierced and left the neck of the orc. And, there then fell the head of that orc to the ground, and the body fell soon after.
"That...very much hurt." Náthena declared in a swooning tone. Boromir nodded but quickly turned and clashed with a large scimitar of another tall orc, as a small one charged beyond Boromir, along with a third and smaller still orc, toward Náthena.
She in kind growled and threw her last dagger toward one of them. It hit that creatures' eye and it flew back dead. The second small goblin; or so the creature seemed, took two daggers and stabbed toward her legs. Náthena seethed and with a fast and swift kick her boot fell onto the creatures face. It spun thru the air and fell to the ground nearby with a huff. Náthena bent down and elegantly snatched up a foul orc sword and bore down onto the fallen orc. She turned the hilt and stabbed down and picked the creature. Killing it quickly with no needless further suffering.
Boromir backed toward Náthena and kept his sword at the ready near to his face. His sword was covered with black blood, and sweat beaded down his brow as he eyed the remaining orcs. The larger ones were all dead, but three smaller skittering orcs remained but fear was within their eyes. They made no move against them as Náthena glared hatefully toward them and snatched up her daggers stuck into two separate orcs.
"ARGH!" Náthena turned as Boromir remained trained on the last fearful creatures. She looked upon the captain as he neared toward them even as he bled.
"Useless scum the lot of ya! This be the last time I take stinking Moria filth with me on raids!" The captain sneered toward the three creatures and they backed up further now as fear of their captain and the man and strange woman entered their hearts.
"I'll gut ya' both and take both yer' corpses back to Orthanc!" he snarled. To Náthena his words were meaningless, and she imagined some dark cave being this Orthanc, though the name flickered in some deep dark part of her memory. But, for Boromir's part, the man furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Why would one such as you speak of the tower of Orthanc?! No orc would dare near the dwelling of Saruman the White!" Boromir cried in full confidence. The orc snarled, and ignored Boromir's question. He lifted and pointed his sword toward Náthena who swung her daggers ready to meet the captain.
"You though, you I think I'll make sport out of, for what you did here to me arm." Náthena's eyes glinted and a twisted smirk crossed her darkened features.
"This one not only takes onto himself so great a sword as to compensate for what he lacks in manhood, but he can't even remember me saying as such! My dear Boromir he hasn't a chance." She laughed mockingly. Boromir looked to her incredulously but chuckled lowly nonetheless.
"I'll be showing you in but a minute you filthy maggot!" The captain cried clutching his massive sword. He swung at Náthena and she ducked under. Boromir sidestepped as the orc swung right and clear towards Boromir. It forced the gondorian to swing himself back, as the orc threw himself in a full circle to slash at Náthena.
She, however, ran toward him and with both daggers aimed upwards she caught the orcs sword. Both sets of arms shook as they struggled against one another. Both sets of eyes bore daggers into the other, and the blood from the orc spilled a little faster from the wounded arm.
Boromir caught his opening and made after the orc with a heave of his sword upwards. The orc snarled and heard the man's approach. He threw his right arm back and smacked against Boromir's sword with enough strength to throw him off his balance. Náthena felt a boiling hatred fill her heart, and visions flooded her mind, of her mistresses words. Until her head began to hurt, and at lasts he needed release herself from the pain.
"Your arms grow weak, orc-kind. You feel your power waning and will failing." The orc snarled at her, but then his expression turned confused, and he shook his head quickly. Boromir breathless, turned toward them from where he had stumbled. His eyes falling on Náthena as she spoke those words. They seemed to echo within his own mind, though no power they had on him.
"I know you grow weak, and wish now to let your fate consume you. For it s the fate of all your kind. To run or hide or wither and die. Listen now and listen clear for death draws ever near." the orc looked dazed, and Boromir felt his expression turn to wonder as the captain began losing his will before the man's very eyes. Though he still clashed with Náthena, Boromir could see her struggle weaken as the strength of this orc simply began to vanish.
"Oi...wha...what are you-"
"You have fought long, and you've fought hard, but now you wain. Through clash, and clang you feel only. The time has come to let go. Let me help you make it so." There then the orcs eyes glazed over and his sword fell to his side. He seemed to swoon and his gaze was far away looking into nothing but whatever lay within his head.
Náthena with ease and fineness of movement took both daggers and slammed both into the orcs head. One in the right and the other through the left. He almost didn't seem to notice in that instant they entered. Rather, as she pulled them out the orc captain fell over with a mighty thud. And, was no more.
She turned toward Boromir, and had what looked to be shame in her red eyes.
"How...?" Boromir trailed off, but then noticed the smaller orcs running and fleeing. Their fear was palpable as they too had witnessed what she had done. Náthena noted them wearily over her shoulder and shook her head, before she turned back toward Boromir.
"I...I assume that comes from your time among your people?" Boromir managed to say aloud. Náthena's head began to throb once more, and she felt a sense of paranoia fall over her. She felt as if something was looking for her from beneath a cowl on some distant mountaintop, or from a thicket in a distant full forest full of darkness and anger. She couldn't explain it but her head only throbbed further until she stepped away from where she stood and nearer to Boromir. The man sidestepped her as she passed by him, and she noted the marred expression of fear upon his face in this moment.
"Calyacále, Úcarëtári, whatever you or I may call her." She began. "She desired for herself those who would serve as acolytes. Thralls of a measure of power more than those other servants beneath her. Within the Great temple, in the deep pits of the soil, just before the breeding pits of the lócënossë and ûnilìm, I and my fellows were taken. Men and women of the moriquendi. We who became her priests and priestesses. I was one of them." She declared openly as her head felt like a dagger dug into it. Visions of her queen with shining silver hair mingled in gold and fiery red with glittering eyes staring into her face appeared.
"Our minds and our memories of our births and parents were sundered. I have flashes of trees, forests, dark mountains, and fire. Grass and glee I can remember smells and feelings. But, faces are all blurred. I can't recall names, or deeds. I can't remember my forebears and I can't remember those of my blood. I have only ever known since the pits beneath the Great Temple of Morgoth, my queen." Náthena said ashamedly and her eyes darted from Boromir's as he looked upon the dark-elf.
Her red eyes grew moist but she commanded them not to spill. Visions of her queen ever smiling at her lingered in her minds eye. A devious and knowing smile it was, and a welcoming one that nearly felt infectious. As though Náthena was meant to smile back along with her. All she knew was that she wouldn't! She hated her!
"I spoke to you last night of my service to Úcarëtári. I meant then that I had been a priestess of her. Only to finally rebel against her after a night of terror that I can only recall from feeling rather than actual memory. It was I who began the Purified movement. It was I who stood against her and formed the armies of those who wished to be free of her and Núndreníl. It was I who failed and brought everything to ruin." She cried as a tear finally forced itself from her and traveled down her ashen colored cheek.
"So, here I am. A broken moriquendi, of dark power and knowledge. Looking to beg men and elves I know little of for help in defeating my queen as she makes to send endless armies against this continent. It was my hope to not tell you or any other of my full history. As much as it is my own to even recall." Boromir's expression turned understanding and remorseful.
"You need not have hidden this from me my lady. It is true I have been more enthralled by your many stories and the oddness of you and your people since our meeting. Seeing you cause an orc to swoon into a stupor was shocking. Frightening even! Yet, it should not be for me to judge you for such actions until I know fully of how you came to do them." he smiled and neared. Quickly thereafter clasping a dirty hand onto her shoulder. She looked him in the eyes and his smile brightened.
"Now that I do I do not fault you. Indeed I welcome it!" He chuckled and pushed her back in lightheartedness. She smiled there then and disgustedly wiped her tear stricken face of the water droplets.
"Better we tread lightly with such matters when before lord Elrond , however. I doubt he'll hear your story and bid thee ill will. But, of other elves I cannot say, nor of my kind. Ever fearful of the new and the dark and unknown are the people of the world. And, of your story fear mingled with your warning of doom would be, perhaps too much for some to bear." She nodded solemnly. But, Boromir sheathed his sword after wiping, sighed in content.
"However, you shall always have my backing and support with you, my lady Náthena." She looked to him, and noted his expression and eyes as they spoke of truth behind his words. She felt herself flush with emotion and she smiled in kind though it was thinner than his.
"None who would fight an orc such as you have, or better still a pack of orcs, could be an enemy to the race of men. Indeed I would hail you a lady and friend of Gondor! Chief among my friends and comrades if we were both about my city and people." He declared with that returning lordly air about him.
"Indeed after we make for Rivendell, I would take you to my city, and you hall see the power left within our people, my people. We will see done both our woes my lady. Sauron and this Calyacále, will fall! Tremble before us and our combined strength!" he chuckled again and clasped her shoulder once more with a firm squeeze.
"As I said before, you're not alone my lady. I will help you if I can. For to defeat one enemy we need first defeat the first. Through it all I promise my word, and my strength to helping you."
"And I you, son of Gondor." She spoke lowly and thankfully. Her eyes threatening again to spill liquid down her cheeks. She tentatively laid her hand on his opposite shoulder and the two shared a silent moment of understanding and respect. They in that moment had become not just allies. But, comrades, or better still, friends.
They would soon thereafter speak no more of the ill and fell memories. They returned to Eldamel, who had been restless for some time now. Packed their things mostly quietly and returned along the main road toward the Last Homely House.
They would be there soon. Where the fate of the world was to be decided. And, yet changed still.
Authors Note: As ever guys please excuse OR point out any and all grammatical errors you may find. I will gladly fix them give time. ;P
Also, please tell me what you thought and leave a review (if you want of course,) and I'll be sure to update it in due time. :)