I own the main characters in this chapter, but not all events and characters that are referenced in it in flashback.

Please don't sue and just enjoy.

Nightfall came and Lathwinn remained on one knee staring over at the cave. Then clouds covered the stars and the shouts of one orc came from the opening only to be answered by grumbles from many. The older elleth could not understand the black tongue but felt the younger go rigid beside her. The line of orcs that came forth was longer than Sarnin expected, nearly forty. As they crept away along a thin trail hugging the canyon wall, Lathwinn did not aim her bow at the last in line. Instead, on silent feet, she followed them, and her aunt followed her.

. . .

As he followed his youngest brother his three other younger brothers following him, Tarman's mind went back in time.

"No! Do not do this! Do not follow him! Feonor is mad now! Mad!"

"But his sons are not fools, merely enraged, and with reason to be. Their grandfather is slain. He spilled blood in our lands! His greatest works were stolen from his house, the last of the Two Trees light that remains! And the Trees, the Trees, how can even you say, brother even if only for that Feonor's kin are wrong to follow him and try to avenge that?"

Fool he was. His brother was right.

No … he couldn't … surely … but they would not. They must greive the Trees too. They must see Melkor must be stopped. Surely, surely they would finally help them come with them, ferrie them across the sea. Feonor unsheathed his great weapon his sword, like those he had made for them and his sons and slew the elves in his way on their very works of art, their own ships. As they pressed back, he, friend to Feonor's sons drew his own blade and cut into elven flesh. His brothers then did the same.

Tarman sighed to himself while shifting his weight as his horse rounded a bend. His eyes sought his youngest brother's form trying to keep him within sight so he wouldn't pass around two canyon bends and loose them fully. Didn't they all deserve this though, to lose each other? Wrong upon wrong. Justice must come …

The hooded figure stood. The voice spoke. Feonor sailed on. His own youngest brother turned back. They remained. Narkal looked back at those retreating ships, but he remained with them. They had caused their eldest brother to come, he, the second eldest, had led all his brothers into wrong. Curse upon curse ... Justice must come …

His brother lay skin grey from his first wound received in battle with the enemy. The one tending it turned half his face from his patient to glare at him. This elf had been left to tend to Narkal himself, while he, his closest brother, and the younger had continued with their friends in battle: the friends they'd sworn fealty too rather than Narkal who had followed them to his first battle against Morgoth's forces and thus had received his first wound.

Tarman clenched his teeth as he remembered. Wrong upon wrong wound upon wound …

His brother his only elder brother placing the hilt of his great sword into his hand before drawing a knife and yelling "Go! Look after the others! Swear to me!"

And he, knowing these servants of Morgoth would not stop till they had his brother and would slay all of them, and that Narkal had considered his cause his sworn duty and mission here on these shores to protect them more sacred that his comfort, safety, or life, that it would cause his spirit to despair if he failed in it, said "I swear!" Then he'd turned, ridden away, and had led their brothers to do the same.

And finally, the 'other' night that haunted Ascarant's nightmares … all their nightmares … came to his mind.

"Brothers! Brothers it is me, your brother! Let me in to embrace you! Let me in to see you!"

A darkness settled into his spirit, turning it grey, turning it to ash as he recalled his reply that had made his brother's smiling scarred face open its mouth and eyes in horror. "Oh, brother if only you had died!"

Tarman pressed his lips together. Oh, if only they had all died, been killed upon the sea, died along with Finwe in Feonor's house … if only …

. . .

Along the top of the plateaus, Sarnin and her niece crept ever on silent feet. They kept in sight the line of orcs weaving its way along the mountainside more audible than visible beneath the cloud covered sky. Indeed, downwind from them, they could track them best by smell.

Then the sound of a voice at the head of the line froze her niece. Sarnin also stopped at the note of authority in the voice and an answering cry. Lathwinn almost reckless ran forward to look closer at the head of the line of their foes. Sarnin ran after and stopped beside her to see it was true. Now two lines nearly equal in length, and they had been following the shorter, met and marched along opposite sides of a canyon apparently toward some agreed upon meeting place.

As Lathwinn fingered the feathers on the end of her arrows, Sarnin did not have to look and count them. She knew the number of her niece's bolts too well. Even if she killed one with each release of her bowstring there were not enough to kill all this gathered hordes. They would have to kill up close as well, for she would not allow her niece to this alone.

What do you think?

God bless

ScribeofHeroes