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 moment stretched into silence. Ryllaen stared back at him with the blank, neutral mask perfected by so many Vell-os. The mane of hair, shoulder length now, was tidier than he had ever seen it, save for that first glimpse on his Manta. Nil'Tanar allowed himself to study it for a moment, contemplating the implications of what the other had just said. At last, he met the Vell-os' gaze.
"What are you up to?" he asked, well aware of the open suspicion in his tone. But he did not take back the question.
Ryllaen's brow rose. "Do I need some nefarious purpose?"
"You are born, raised and trained by your Federation."
His eyes flashed. Mouth tight with anger, he said, "We are not all spies and schemers. There are billions of completely innocent people in the Federation."
Nil'Tanar huffed in disbelief. "And you're going to tell me that your government isn't corrupt at its very foundation?"
It was the wrong thing to say. Ryllaen's face twisted, and slid back into the impassive mask that Nil'Tanar suspected had been worn whenever the Vell-os had worked with the Bureau. It disturbed him to be compared to the Vell-os' former masters, and he wondered what the other was hiding. The Nil'kemorya silently cursed himself for his thoughtless comment, but did not try for the calm voice that had so angered Ryllaen before. He did not know what to make of the man standing composed in front of him. It was not so long ago that he had seen the man utterly broken.
"Why do you want to leave Rivendell?" he tried.
Ryllaen gazed at him a moment in silence, and appeared to reach some decision. "It's time to leave," he said.
Nil'Tanar understood his meaning instantly. His heart leapt. He could almost see the stars within reach, feel the vast empty space surround him. He suppressed the surge of hope viciously. "Are you able?"
"To leave this planet, yes. I am as strong as I will ever be. Once beyond the gravity well, whatever it is that's maintaining the weaves against me will have little effect. Returning to a known system–" he shrugged, "it's risky, and we could run out of supplies in a few months without ever finding a way back, but the chance is better than staying here."
Those were words Nil'Tanar had spoken often, though usually in the semi-privacy of his own thoughts. To hear them repeated back at him without knowing why the Vell-os had come to this decision was no small cause of unease. "Why now? Why, after three weeks? I've seen little of you these past few days, and you were in no shape to fly before."
Shrugging again, Ryllaen looked away. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life here. And I want to get as far away from whatever that is to the east as I can."
Nil'Tanar's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"It is . . . searching. Not strongly, nor thoroughly; it avoids conflict with Elrond and the other powerful Elves here. But I have felt it – occasionally – brush against my mind."
With a start, the Polaran warrior remembered the horror reflected in the Vell-os' expression, and the grimness of the Elves at the human homestead when they refused to speak of the corruption to the east. "What is it?"
"I don't know." Ryllaen's eyes were dark with memory. "Something powerful. Something horrible and closer to true evil than anything you may think the Federation capable of. Something I never want to come into contact with."
"I believe you," Nil'Tanar said quietly, "but I know there is something else, Vell-os. What?"
Ryllaen scowled. His voice was harsh. "I'm offering to take you home, Polaran. This is the last chance you get. It doesn't matter to me if I leave you behind."
This was the Vell-os he remembered, before the enslavement device was removed. He wondered what had happened to make Ryllaen rebuild the shields that had been broken; he could read neither intent nor the emotions behind the hard shell the Vell-os had surrounded himself with. But he had no choice. Despite his suspicions, there was only one thing Nil'Tanar could say, and he agreed to leave Rivendell.
Procuring supplies involved dealing with strange Elves who, while friendly and filled with bright chatter and laughter, seemed to delight in playing riddles and games, and managed to keep the two aliens occupied for hours without achieving anything. It came as no surprise to Nil'Tanar that the cheerfully obstructive Elves only became truly helpful after Elrohir and Glorfindel appeared. He smiled wryly; seeing Ryllaen's resignation, he knew that the Vell-os also realised they would not be getting anything without the permission of the Elf-lords.
"You intend to leave," Glorfindel stated without preamble.
Elrohir was looking at the rapidly growing pile of food. "For how long do you travel to regain your lands?"
Ryllaen and Nil'Tanar looked at each other.
"I don't know," replied Ryllaen. "Weeks, perhaps months." He hesitated. "Maybe never."
"As long as it takes," interjected Nil'Tanar with a fierceness that took the Elves aback.
"Will you keep us here against our wills?"
Elrohir raised a brow at Ryllaen. "You are not prisoners," he replied. "You speak of an uncertain journey, the end of which you know not, for all that your hope is high. It is not for one such as I to say you nay or yea to the urgings of your heart. Neither will we impede you, for you are not enemies. Yet I will counsel you to linger within these walls 'til you have considered all paths before you and your course becomes clear."
"Our course is clear," Ryllaen said calmly. "Will you see us to the boundaries of your land?"
"We will," Glorfindel agreed.
Ryllaen nodded, once, and turned away to count the growing pile of supplies. Nil'Tanar caught a glimpse of some quickly suppressed emotion and looked at him with fresh suspicion.
They left Rivendell the next morning, joined by Galind and Eiliant. The Wood-elves said that it was time they returned to Mirkwood. There was a light in their eyes as they made their own quick preparations; they intended to see the manner of their parting before they reported back to Legolas. Nil'Tanar did not blame them; a Vell-os formed craft was an exotic and beautiful sight, more spectacular than the ill-shaped Dart they had seen before. But he questioned Ryllaen's desire to walk out of Rivendell before they left the planet.
"Elrond," replied the Vell-os succinctly. "His mind envelopes everything in his territory. It inhibits my ability to weave."
"Much evil does my father keep from Imladris," Elrohir said. "These lands he has claimed as his own, and his power provides nurture and protection. Nil'Tanar," he added, turning to the Polaran, "these belong to you." He held three blades, hilts toward Nil'Tanar, over one forearm with a deftness that would have defied any casual attempt by a human.
The Polaran warrior accepted them with a bow. The tension he carried in his shoulders melted away with their weight in their sheaths; he had not realised how much he missed his weapons, and felt suddenly that it was really possible he could return home.
The journey to the boundary of Rivendell was accompanied by the quick flow of words and laughter between the Elves. The two aliens were silent; what Ryllaen was thinking behind shuttered eyelids, Nil'Tanar could not say. Now that the prospect of leaving this planet forever behind was real, Nil'Tanar looked upon the river valley with a fresh eye for the natural beauty of the land. And it was breathtakingly beautiful, a habitation built within the folds of nature without overly disturbing the delicate ecosystem. For the first time, he truly appreciated it and acknowledged that, though it could not compare to the great ringworld of Tre'ar Helonis, this planet would be fixed forever in his memory. Not, he thought wryly, that there had been any doubt of that.
They crossed the river by a low stone bridge. Ryllaen relaxed immediately. His back straightened, he lost the tension in his shoulders, his fingers unfurled at his sides. His mouth was set in a purposeful line; he drew the attention of the Elves, who regarded him with thoughtful expressions. Glorfindel especially seemed wary; Nil'Tanar could not fault him for that, for the Vell-os had never lost his peculiar fixation on the golden-haired Elf. They walked for another hour, and Rivendell was long hidden by the road behind before Ryllaen stopped at a wide flat area.
"Here," he said.
He had not turned to face them. There was something in his voice, a note of triumph that raised the hairs on the back of Nil'Tanar's neck. Instinct had often kept him alive in battle; he had learnt early not to ignore them. And they were telling him now that he should brace for an attack.
The sharp crackle of energy ripped through the air. Behind Nil'Tanar, a cry of surprise and alarm was cut off abruptly. He whirled in time to see four slender bodies collapse. The sight was inexplicable; he gaped before he registered what he was seeing, and spun back to face the Vell-os.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
For the first time in days, Ryllaen's expression was open. There was a great confusion of emotions there, the twisting threads of determination running through a complex storm, but Nil'Tanar was too blinded by shock to read the answers he sought.
Ryllaen did not reply. His gaze travelled to Glorfindel's still form, and he took a step forward.
Nil'Tanar was ice-cold, frozen in place. This was a treachery he had not anticipated. "No," he spoke through numb lips. "Vell-os, don't do this."
"You have a choice, Polaran." The voice was hard, a knife's edge held to the throat with deadly intent. "Hinder me and stay to rot on this planet, or don't interfere."
"Don't do this," Nil'Tanar repeated. "There's no reason! Let him be. You don't need to do this, Vell-os."
"But there is reason," Ryllaen said softly. The golden Elf-lord rose into the air at the Vell-os' bidding, wrapped in a blanket of energy weaves, drifting at waist level over the rocks to settle between the two aliens. "Don't you see him shine?"
Nil'Tanar never looked at the unconscious Elf. He stared into the Vell-os' eyes, and felt hollow. "He's no threat to you. Let him go, Vell-os. You're free now – he freed you! – you don't have to do this. There is no honour in this!"
"Yes, I am free." There was madness there, behind the calm, flat voice, memory burning its brand into reason until it had passed all recognition. "He will free us all."
"He will not!" Nil'Tanar cried. He would have surged forward, but energy was woven into a weapon around the Vell-os, and Nil'Tanar knew he would be killed the moment he moved. He recognised now the insanity that the Vell-os had so successfully hidden. Wondered how many years of slavery it had taken to twist him like this. How many more it had taken to hide it. "He cannot! You nearly died; the others will die! This is his home, the only planet he's ever known. They've never even been to their moon! You don't need him; he can't help you. Ryllaen, don't do this!"
The Vell-os blinked, surprised. It was the first time Nil'Tanar had ever addressed him by name. Then he smiled. There was nothing but bitterness and mockery in the curve of lips. "Would you stay behind," he asked curiously, "if it meant that I left him here too?"
The Nil'kemorya was silent.
Ryllaen laughed then. The sound was harsh and cutting, wounded and meant to wound. "You are foolish, Polaran," he said. "You don't understand. He has been beyond the veil."
Nil'Tanar's thoughts crashed to a halt at those words. His gaze dropped, heavy, to the Elf, who had begun to stir. Beyond the veil. His entire universe pivoted, collapsed, and formed again on those three words. And one name.
Ory'hara.
It was a legend, a prophecy, a truth. It never even occurred to him that he should doubt the Vell-os; he remembered well the awe-filled gaze of the Vell-os, the light shining around the Elf in battle, the grace behind ancient, ancient eyes in the youthful, inhumanly beautiful face. Beyond the veil. A Vell-os euphemism, that, translated from the original thought-images into the unwieldy spoken language that was Federation Basic, but the words translated as easily into a name with much more significance to the Polaris.
Ory'hara.
Nil'Tanar looked up at Ryllaen, new purpose in his stance, in the grip on his knife. He no longer cared if he lived or died, left this planet or returned home. He wasn't important. The Polaran warrior launched himself at the Vell-os, knife blade first, intent only on protecting Glorfindel. He was dimly aware of the clamour of voices from the newly awakened Elves and the streak of silver-blond hair moving across his peripheral vision. His narrowing focus was on the Vell-os, and the snare of weaves he ran headlong into, sending an agony of fire through his nerves.