She dashed up through the gates. The fragrance of roses could not comfort her, for now she had others to fear for then herself. She knew she was far too weak to ride out and so she would sit here, useless, hopeless, helpless, to weep at the tidings that would come in an ill form.
Gentle inquiries came from all sides but she ignored them all. She could not answer them anyway.
The door closed behind her. Arwen sank down on the linen bed. Her heart was warped with fear. Shadows danced before her, winged shapes that would swoop down upon her but she could not tell if this was simply the visions of an over-wrought mind, or if this was truth. She clutched the mithril pendant in her hand and lay there.
A hand grasped her shoulder. Arwen screamed with fear, thrusting out on the pendant as her only defense. Darkness was everywhere.
A warm, familiar voice spoke by her ear. "Arwen, it is I."
The Undómiel drew a breath. She must have been sleeping. The night had come, the white jasmine and moonflowers outside her window perfuming the twilight air. A few stars shone in the violet sky.
She turned the speaker. It was Lindir. The musician looked exhausted. His rich chestnut hair was in a hasty braid, his deep eyes lined with fatigue and worry. Blood dripped down his face. "Lindir." she whispered, forcing the word to come to her. It seemed hardly easier.
He saw her struggle to speak, and relieved her. "I only just arrived, mellon. I was out searching for you and your mother."
"Dead." she whispered.
He stared at her in horror. "Dead? What do you mean?"
"Dead." she repeated. A dread came over her every time she tried to talk, but she must. "Dead. Our company was killed. I think Nana is dead."
"Do you feel that she is dead?" asked Lindir softly, holding her hand.
"I-can't feel it." she whispered, clutching his hand in both her own. "A shadow lies between her and I that I never felt before. I don't understand it! Oh Lindir, everything feels…wrong. Twisted!" she sobbed into his chest. "It hurts me so much!"
He held her as she wept. "You know what we must do then?"
"What?" she whispered.
"Kill Thuringwethil." His voice was hard.
"How?" she asked, her eyes eager, but something in her soul shrank from the thought. It was as if shadow lurked there, as if Thuringwethil had implanted some of her own fëa into her, and now darkness tainted her. Was she seeing things through Thuringwethil's eyes, Arwen wondered. How they were twisted into the vampire's own vision?
It seemed to be growing stronger, every moment. The mithril that she had once clutched she found she had unconsciously dropped to her side and it lay forgotten on the bed.
A part of her was hungry, hungry with a desire she had never known. She wrenched herself from Lindir's side. "Lindir, look at me."
"I am."
She bit her lip, took a shuddering breath and spoke. "Lindir….I think that Thuringwethil put part of her fëa into me. It's turning to the shadow. I can feel it growing stronger, and stronger. I'm hungry, I shy away from mithril now, I do not want you to kill Thuringwethil. But you must do it. If Thuringwethil dies her soul will flee, and I hope that includes the part within me. Bring me with you. Do anything you must-bind me with mithril, but do it now!"
The musician was staring at her, but instead of repulsion she saw only the love and sorrow of a friend. "I will, Arwen. I promise. But how shall we kill this…curse?"
"I do not know. Mithril and steel should be enough." said Arwen. She found herself struggling to say the word mithril, and she unconsciously inching towards the part of the bed that lay in shadow. As the starlight flooded through the window in pure brilliance, she felt a growing fear, a tiny piece of ice implanted in her soul. But it was growing.