Disclaimer: Elves and orcs belong to Tolkien. Polarans and Vell-os belong to Ambrosia Software and ATMOS.
All characters speak in their respective languages unless specifically stated otherwise. Ie, Elves speak Sindarin, Nil'Tanar speaks Polaran, and Ryllaen speaks Federation Basic.
The dining hall was the largest room in the homestead. It had for its centrepiece a great oak table that could easily seat a dozen people; there were three around it now. Glorfindel sat on a low bench with his back against one tight-cut stone wall. His fair face was serious and intent. "They will come at nightfall."
The Man across the table was broad-shouldered and large, easily twice the Elf's build. He acknowledged the prediction without much surprise. "We will be ready. Been stirring trouble, my lords?"
Elrohir laughed. "If trouble means fighting when they would have us stand still for their blades, then yes. We have been stirring trouble."
"Cam, how many Men have you?" Glorfindel asked.
The farmer ran one hand through sun-lightened yellow hair. "Myself and my three brothers. Heledh broke his leg pulling a calf out of the well, but he still has use of his bow. Five of my nephews are able to fight and well practised; the others are yet too little. And my Elsa is no mean bowman. Do not fear, my lord. Orcs will not breach my walls tonight."
Though Cam seemed complacent, there was a light in his eyes that spoke of determination. The Elves saw it and were satisfied.
Glorfindel smiled. "Let it not be said that the Men of the Vale of Anduin have diminished with the passing of Ages! Your courage is heartening, my friend." The Elf-lord accepted the bowl of steaming stew that Elsa set before him, gifting her with a nod of appreciation. "And you will have us. We are not yet so weary that we will sleep while orcs prowl the night."
He stopped talking and both Elves looked beyond Cam. Ryllaen had entered the room, quite abrupt, half-clad and still damp from the much-needed bath. Yet, having entered with purpose and seeing the Elves, he stopped precipitously. Whatever anger he seemed to hold fled him, leaving him uncertain and ready to bolt back the way he had come.
Glorfindel rose. "You are bleeding," he commented, taking care to keep his tone neutral. "Come, allow me to bandage your wounds again."
There was a short silence. Then Elrohir's light voice seemed to breathe air into the room. "Though he is oft times fierce and too serious for his own wellbeing, you need not fear Glorfindel. Our Lord of the Golden Flower has slain a balrog, but he is not one himself."
Pressing his lips into a firm line, Ryllaen shook his head wearily. "Do what you will," he said at last. He approached the table and suffered the other to work on him, though the Elf was ill-pleased with the rigid tension that remained in his patient. Ryllaen kept his gaze blank and distant, staring – though he did not realize it – straight at the back of the girl working in the kitchen. When the ordeal was over he sat where he was directed and promptly slipped into a light doze.
Nil'Tanar was not far behind Ryllaen. He submitted to Glorfindel's ministrations with a good deal more grace, all the while switching his thoughtful gaze from Elf to Vell-os. Afterwards he offered a short bow. "I don't know what he sees in you," the young Nil'kemorya said with a jerk of his head in Ryllaen's direction, "but I am indebted to you for my life." He turned to the farmer who had observed the proceedings with discrete perception. "And for your hospitality, sir, I also give my thanks."
Ryllaen growled something indecipherable and untranslated under his breath.
Brow raised, Cam waved his hand in dismissal. "We are bound to help those we can," he said. "You owe me nothing."
More dishes of stew were brought out, and several more men came in. They were an incurious lot; they greeted the strangers courteously and briefly, paying somewhat more attention to the Elves, before digging into their meals. Word of an impending orc threat had spread and they did not linger before leaving to prepare for the night. Only the children seemed willing to approach. They pestered Nil'Tanar and Ryllaen with tactless questions fired so rapidly that neither had the opportunity to answer them even if the inclination was present, turning to the Elves when Cam reprimanded them. Ryllaen ignored them as best he could, eating at a steady pace that allowed for no appreciation of taste. Only the skittishness of his gaze when he might look at Glorfindel betrayed the direction of his brooding. Nil'Tanar, for his part, had a wistful half-smile on his face as he watched the children. They were, he thought, much like children anywhere, and he yearned suddenly for the clean lines of Tre'ar Helonis, the familiar taste of the air, the gravity that had formed his bones, the finite sky. More, he desired to see again the faces of his siblings.
He could not breathe. Rising, he spoke an apology and fled the buildings. Nil'Tanar leaned against a rough wooden fence, feeling the chill of the damp grey cloak seeping through his borrowed clothes. He inhaled the cooling air deeply, tasting earth, animals and unfamiliar plant spores on his tongue. Shuddering, he took another breath, and another.
"It is hard to be far from home."
Nil'Tanar looked up. Cam stood not far away, pulling herbal smoke out of a pipe. Beyond him, on the far end of the building, the statue-like silhouette of the Vell-os could be seen facing into the low sun. "It is hard," he agreed.
"You miss your family." His words were measured and objective, a personal observation that did not intrude upon privacy.
"Yes." Nil'Tanar sighed, watching the first bright lights appear, stars that had never before seemed so distant. "I know that should I even find my way back to my birthplace, they will not be there. They moved on long ago, as did I. But it would be enough simply to be home." He did not speak of his duties, the reports he had to make to his leaders, warnings of the Federation's newest strategy. He wondered if another Vell-os had been sent with the same objective, and if that one had been successful. Even if they were, no Nil'Kemorya captured in such a manner would be of high enough rank to provide any of the secrets the Federation no doubt wished to procure. Nil'Tanar felt some satisfaction knowing that.
"Your home is very far, I think," Cam said slowly. "You are strange, you and your companion. I have never met Men like you before." He puffed on the pipe. "Will you return?"
"If I can." The Polaran could not help the stabbing glance he sent towards the Vell-os. "I will return home."
"You do not like him."
"He is an enemy of my people. I will fight him when I must, to protect my people." Nil'Tanar frowned. He did not like the tone he heard in his own voice and repeated it with determination.
"You are a warrior, then." Cam had not turned to look at Ryllaen, keeping his focus steady on the orange horizon. "It is well to protect one's home." He sighed. "I must go now and prepare. Stay inside the hall: I will not have any guest injured while under my hospitality."
Nil'Tanar turned in surprise. "You produce food. You are a worker," he stated.
Pausing, Cam looked back quizzically. "Yes."
"And you will fight?" At the Man's affirmation, Nil'Tanar stood still a moment, confused. It was illogical, he knew, but he had expected differently. Perhaps it was the memories of home and his siblings, perhaps it was being among humans again where he had not expected them; whatever the case, he felt tired, alien, surrounded by a culture that was not his. "It is not so with us," he muttered at last. "Tre'pira are not Nil'kemorya."
"Your land must be both far and very great," Cam replied. "Here, there are not enough to do but one thing; we must share the tasks equally. I do not love the sword and bow, but I am no stranger to their use."
He was gone. Nil'Tanar heard his raised voice as he picked up one of his nephews, warm beneath the laughter and song of the Elves and the chatter of the children. The Polaran warrior did not move, not even when he heard the approach of the Vell-os. Nil'Tanar did not want company; he wanted to be alone. He did not want to face the man who was his only link to the stars. The time would come, if ever they got off this planet, for him to fight. He foresaw only two possibilities: his own capture and eventual death at the hands of the Federation's Bureau, or killing the Vell-os. Because he knew this and no longer accepted the inevitability of it, Nil'Tanar stayed where he was. The Vell-os came to stand beside him.
They remained thus, silent, as the occupants of the homestead went to and fro around them, preparing for the fight. Nil'Tanar stirred as he tracked Ryllaen's gaze. The young woman, first human they had met on this planet, worked near the wall, arms full of arrow bundles.
"I can tell you of the most beautiful woman I have ever met," Ryllaen said in answer to his silent observation. "She will be more than happy to take everything you are, and more, if it will further her ambitions." His voice was bitter with things left unspoken.
Looking at Elsa, Nil'Tanar saw only a young woman, too bright, too full of life, to hold the corruption the Vell-os spoke of.
"No, not her." Ryllaen was distant, almost fey. "I have seen so many like her – I was like her once. They – those people – had potential." He turned to face Nil'Tanar, and the Polaran stepped back. "Do you believe there is such a thing as justice?"
Nil'Tanar resisted the urge to step back again. He swallowed. There was that in the Vell-os' expression: it was terrible. "Yes," he replied. "And I hope you find it."
Ryllaen laughed. The sound was harsh and broken. "Then I am damned." He looked into the gathering darkness. The sky was muted shades of ochre and deepening blue. "He said, did he not, that the orcs had a purpose?"
The Polaran didn't answer. He was growing anxious. The Vell-os was acting strangely – stranger than usual – and he watched warily.
"There is something to the south," Ryllaen continued. His expression grew blank as he focussed all his attention in that direction.
It seemed to Nil'Tanar that he stood like that for a long time, perfect in stillness. The singing stopped, but he was only aware of it as a part of the background environment. For now, he could not look away from the Vell-os. The foreboding he felt had its source there, and he did not like it. Neither did he understand it, until he saw the Vell-os jerk suddenly. Ryllaen did not move again, but this motionlessness was different: no longer seeking, he was struggling. It was not a kind struggle, or an easy one. His expression was transformed with pain.
There came a shout. Glorfindel flew past Nil'Tanar before the Polaran even noticed his presence and tackled Ryllaen to the ground.
The golden-haired Elf had never looked so angry. "Foolish Man!" he cried. "Do not seek out the Necromancer!"
Ryllaen blinked. His trance broken by the Elf and senses broken free by the abrupt assault, he gasped for breath. Then he rolled over and retched until his stomach emptied of its contents. "I... don't think... I'll be doing that again," he said when he had recovered a little.
Watching with fascination and not a little concern, Nil'Tanar said, "What is it?"
"The Necromancer of Dol Guldur," Glorfindel replied. Even in the gloaming as the sun lowered beneath the hills, Nil'Tanar could see him with absolute clarity. "We do not know what He is or where He came from, but He is evil."
"Corruption." Ryllaen shuddered. "I have never felt anything like it before." He accepted the flask of water Glorfindel gave him with shaky hands, gulping its contents down to wash out the acrid taste of bile. There was a lingering trace of horror in his eyes. "It is like... like entering Telluer or Llysla."
Nil'Tanar's scalp tingled. He did not know those systems, but they were Vell-os names, and all the Vell-os worlds had long since been destroyed.
"Do not do that again," Glorfindel commanded. "Now go, prepare yourselves. Night has fallen and we are not long from battle." He was gone, a shining figure striding into the building so recently vacated.
The attack started nearly two hours later. The first warning they had was Ryllaen's sudden restlessness. Upsetting his bench as he rose from the table, he took up a position in the centre of the courtyard, standing as he often did. The enjoinings of Cam and his brothers did not make him return to the relative safety of the buildings, and they gave up in favour of watching the walls. Nil'Tanar joined him. Alien or not, he had resolved hours ago that he would not sit by the wayside if he could be of aid – and would not let his only means of transport home die – though he had originally intended to watch for the orcs that the others might miss.
The second warning came from the dogs. Whining, barking, they set up a clamour of sound, whipped into a frenzy of agitation as they circled behind the walls. The defenders could not fail to miss the answering howl from outside. Cam was grim as he shifted his grip on his sword.
The third warning was the last. A rapid rising thunder of bootsteps, a slight cessation of sound, and the first orcs leaped onto the walls and into the torchlight. The quick shooting of Elsa, Heledh and the Elves dispatched them but could not get them all. There were more than enough to reach the ready blades of Cam and his family. These were not the goblin tribes of the Misty Mountains that the family of Men was used to; these were a larger species, stronger, less canny and more determined. The aid of the battle-sworn Elves counted for much, yet the defenders found themselves hard-pressed to keep the wide stretches of wall clear.
Shouts arose from the southern flank. Elsa came running into the semi-shelter of the buildings to leap up onto a wagon and release arrows in quick succession as a cover for the retreat of her cousin. The boy – perhaps an adult by the standards of his people, yet neither Nil'Tanar nor Ryllaen could think of him as such – was bleeding from an arm that hung limp against his left side. He turned as soon as he reached a defensible position to face the orcs that clambered through the breach. The set of his stance was as determined as any Navy captain or Nil'kemorya either had seen. Nil'Tanar hesitated. He did not want to leave the Vell-os unprotected; neither could he stand by while orcs converged on the injured boy. Following through with his second instinct, Nil'Tanar threw a borrowed dagger. The warg he hit snarled as it turned on him, distracted from the boy it had been stalking. Wolf and man met in the middle of the courtyard at bone-crushing speed. There was a curious strangled howl, and Nil'Tanar emerged from the scuffle. He spun to face the orcs now rushing towards him, fully joining the battle.
The press of orcs at the breach was great; none of the other defenders could come to them, having enough to do by preventing further breaches. At first Nil'Tanar tried to keep the orcs away from the main building in which the children were sheltering, protected by their mothers who were standing just inside the entrances with long knives in hand. He realised very soon, however, that the most defenseless of the humans were simply temptations that a few orcs succumbed to. The rest seemed determined to mob Nil'Tanar and the Vell-os he was careful to keep behind him. But, as he had noted before, they were far more primitive than the Elves or even the humans, and their fighting also reflected this. The greatest danger they presented was sheer force of numbers. Knowing this, he adjusted his own fighting to compensate.
The young Nil'kemorya held his ground until a startled cry caused him to risk a glance away from his most immediate opponents. A group of orcs had crept up behind Elsa, their stealthy movements masked by her concentration as she kept the ranks of orcs around her cousin thin. Only the flash of movement at the edges of her vision as they raised their blades made her duck and roll to the side. But the wagon did not allow her space, and she had fallen off. She dashed away, reaching the partial shelter of the main building's walls with several long cuts to mark her escape. Many of the orcs were willing to be distracted by the girl, it seemed. Elsa carried a long knife, but she wielded it awkwardly, and Nil'Tanar guessed that her wrist was broken. He shouted, but though he and the boy fought with renewed vigour, they could not break free to help her.
The sharp white lines of energy crackled across the courtyard, illuminating it with blinding intensity and filling the air with the sharp tang of ozone. The orcs pressing in on Elsa drew back, half of them incinerated by that brief twist in the weaves. Ryllaen appeared at her side, slipping past the orcs in their confusion. He looked at Nil'Tanar and opened his mouth as if he might speak. His indecision firmed into resolve.
Sight of Ryllaen, Elsa and the main building was obstructed. A shimmering blue dome encased them in a Vell-os energy shield that was a barrier more effective than anything this planet could produce. The orcs stopped in surprise; cries echoed from the far walls. Nil'Tanar's smile was fierce and victorious, though he was not entirely sure why he was so elated – the Vell-os had left him outside and vulnerable to the orcs that now assaulted him with the ferocity that he had only met before in the barbaric Aurorans. Thwarted, afraid and made furious by fear, the orcs advanced with such rage that Nil'Tanar was forced to give ground. He had lost his borrowed blade somewhere on the ground, irretrievable under the dusty boots of orcs. He wished for that blade now as he pushed his body to its limits in desperate defence.
More cries arose from the walls, but Nil'Tanar had no attention left to decipher them. It was all he could do to stay on his feet as he was slowly and inevitably forced back against the stable walls. Arrows flew across the courtyard: Glorfindel and Elrohir, he thought. The brief distraction was costly. He grimaced in pain and kicked away the warg snarling at his feet. The double thwack of two objects hitting the ground not far to his left and the brief vision of two blades sticking upright in the dirt led Nil'Tanar to twist away from his closest opponent and roll across the ground.
He gained his feet with knives in hand and was very nearly killed as shock made him pause. He knew these knives! Without more than a glimpse, he knew these blades were his own that were lost to captivity; the weight, the molded hilts, the vibrations as he blocked orc blow and sliced through wolf hide were as familiar to him as the cloak on his back. Nil'Tanar glanced up as a voice he did not recognize called out to him.
"Your weapons!" Eiliant cried. The Mirkwood Elf was cutting his way towards the Polaran with a long knife darkened by orc blood. "May you find them more willing to aid you than my own!"
Nil'Tanar did not have the breath to respond, so busy was he with the knives that he held. The two made short work of the orcs between them; Nil'Tanar looked around to find that the rest had been driven off by the arrival of the Mirkwood party. Glorfindel and Elrohir were speaking with Legolas on the far side of the courtyard as the farmers hesitantly approached the blue dome keeping them apart from their families.
The dome dissipated; through its growing transparency, Nil'Tanar saw Ryllaen, rigid with the strain of maintaining the tight energy weaves, collapse. As he fell, so too did the remnants of the shield. Elsa emerged from the building, wrist bound, and rushed to the fallen Vell-os' side. Nil'Tanar joined her there. He frowned as he felt the Vell-os' pulse: it was weak and slow. Glorfindel knelt by his side, touched Ryllaen on the forehead, and gazed at Nil'Tanar with serious eyes.
The Polaran stared back at the Elf, dismay slowly growing as he realized that he could not understand a single word spoken around him.