Ha ha ha! I'm evil! I'm not going to give you NoireRae's story just yet. You have to wait until chapter 7! Really, it's about 2 in the morning and NoireRae has a long story to tell, so I'm putting it off so I can get some sleep. Don't worry, it'll be complete soon. In the meantime, here's a little tidbit to tide you all over. Betcha didn't know Elrond was a flirt, did ya?
Come the nighttime, after much exhaustive argument and determined persuasion, the head caretaker of the Rooms of Healing finally prevailed upon master Elrond to leave the side of his little maid, return to his chambers, and rest.
As Elrond entered the doorway to his room, he had to admit that he was not yet entirely healed and he was thoroughly exhausted. He threw his tall elven frame down on his mattress and freely gave himself to the waiting embrace of slumber.
His peace didn't last long. Elrond shot straight up, this time making sure he was fully awake, as he watched a red mist creep into his room. He stared in amazement as the mist swirled around his bed, then slowly began to converge only a few feet from him. It molded and shaped itself. It condensed and coalesced into something with a human profile. The elf lord shivered violently when the creature sitting on the end of his bed at last became recognizable to him. He had seen her before. Only then her face was twisted like a hungry wolf's. Now she bore a sardonic, seductive little smile and lifted her eyes to him coquettishly, teasingly.
"Good evening, lord Elrond. Allow me to introduce myself. I am your resident blood-drinker," she purred as she extended a hand politely. Elrond looked at the proffered hand and back at her, as if the possibility of this creature speaking instead of lunging for his throat was something he hadn't counted on. After a moment, she finally withdrew the finely formed appendage and pouted at him sweetly. "Really, I expected an elf lord to have better manners than that." She gazed at him silently for a minute- enough time for him to scrutinize her as closely as she was scrutinizing him.
Elrond had never seen anything like this woman. He doubted another specimen like her could possibly be found anywhere in Middle Earth. She was long, lean, beautiful, and haughty as a Siamese cat. She bore herself in a decidedly noble manner. Her eyes, which he unashamedly explored as she boldly gazed directly into his, were a rich cherry-wood brown. They seemed to hold many more years and much more pain than her appearance or her nonchalant behavior betrayed. Elrond felt he was staring into the eyes of something much older than himself.
Leaving her depthless eyes, Elrond's gaze next fell upon her skin. This woman's skin was a shade of white he had never seen in the complexion of any living thing. She was smooth and unmarked as a solid moonbeam. If Elrond had passed her while she was standing still, he could easily have mistaken her for a finely carved porcelain statue. Every angle of her visage intrigued and invited. The shadows melted into her as if they were painted on.
By far though, the most striking thing about this svelte, terrifying lioness perched languidly at the end of Elrond's bed, was her hair. The sun never shone on such glory as tumbled wantonly from the beautiful woman's head and down her back. It was even redder than her blood stained lips. When the crimson ringlets, glossy as a raven's wing, curled against her opaline complexion, Elrond felt dizzied by the contrast. It reminded him of blood against cooling corpses on the battlefield. But, when she turned her head slightly, everything changed and the scarlet mane transformed into a cascade of rose petals, delicate and soft and crying out to be touched. When she turned her head another way, it changed yet again. Images of glistening ripe strawberries in summer floated through Elrond's mind. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to make sense of three such contrasting pictures.
"What's the matter? Too much of a good thing for even one of the Eldar to believe?" the blood-tressed beauty asked as she cocked an eyebrow seductively and tilted her head flirtatiously. Elrond looked up just in time to catch the impish glint in her eyes and hear the mischief in her voice. Something he'd forgotten about, something playful he'd lost when Celebrian left, suddenly found a new hold on him. Elrond decided two could dance this woman's little dance.
He narrowed his gaze at her a moment, leaned back carelessly on his pillows, then drolly tossed his response to her.
"If seeing is believing, you must have had a difficult time convincing yourself of me, for you stared so intently."
The woman's head dropped slightly and her eyes widened in surprise. The corners of her lips tugged upward, then won their battle as a smile settled in place of her seductive smirk. Elrond nearly shuddered as he caught sight of her teeth, a shade of white that perfectly matched her smooth skin; the canines were long and pointed to needle sharpness.
]He forgot to be afraid, however, hearing her laughter rise up full and boundless as the swelling sea. Freely as a nymph she threw her head back and let the sound rise from deep within her lissom body. Elrond felt the same ridiculous mirth scurry into his brain. He didn't fight at all. The lord and master of Imladris laughed with this mysterious woman. He found pleasure in the company of the very thing he knew to be the cause of woe in his household.
When they both sat exhausted on the covers, the woman chuckled quietly and once again teased the elf beside her.
"Well, for all their lack of manners I must admit, elf lords do know how to play."
"Really? And just how many elf lords have you had the pleasure of tormenting?"
"Tormenting? 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." Elrond 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. He felt paralyzing fear spear him in place. Once again, the antiquity of this being became clear to Elrond. He could barely force himself to speak.
"Who are you?"
She looked at him suddenly as if she'd forgotten he was ever there.
"I'm sorry," she said with a half-hearted smile. "That black expression wasn't meant for you."
"I sincerely hope I never do anything to earn such a dark look." Elrond replied gently. In a quiet, insistent manner he said to her again, "Tell me who you are."
Something ineffably sad unfolded deep in the crimson 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 Elrond's palm. Dumbfounded he stared at the teardrop shaped gem, red as it's mistress's hair. A perfect ruby, purer than any stone ever unearthed from the deep mines of Middle Earth.
"Keep it, please. I've cried so many of the damn things I hate them," her voice came to him as he stared at the flashing jewel in his hand. Elrond looked up, his desire to know who she was burning him more fiercely than ever. She sighed. "My name is NoireRae. I was not always what I am now, a thief of blood. Sit back, master Elrond, and I'll tell you a tale more tragic than what befell Hurin's children- a story sadder than the Lay of Leithian because no one gets a happy ending. I will tell you the tale of my people, wiped from the face of this world by the malice of Morgoth.
Wonderment took hold of Elrond. He braced himself to hear NoireRae's story.
