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. Their grandfather is slain. Their father's greatest works have been stolen from their house: the last of the light of the Two Trees light that remains! And the Trees! The Trees! Melkor spilled blood in our lands, took our light away! How can even you say, brother, even if only for that, Feonor's kin are wrong to seek vengeance?"

Fool he was. His brother had been right.

No … he couldn't … surely … But they would not make him. They must grieve the Trees too. They must see Melkor had to be chased down and punished. Surely, surely, they would finally help them now, ferry them across the sea, join their quest. Feonor unsheathed his new great weapon, his sword, like those he had made for himself and his brothers, for his sons and their dearest friends, and slew the elves in his way. They fell bleeding and dying on their own beloved works of art, their beautiful ships. As those behind the first line to die pressed back, he, friend to Feonor's sons, drew his own blade. He cut into elven flesh for the first time. His brothers then did the same beside him. They followed his foolish example.

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. He doomed them. Feonor sailed on. One of their fiery leader's own younger half-brothers turned back. They, he and his full brothers, remained. Narkal looked back at the retreating ships but remained with them. They had caused their eldest brother to come even after he had advised them not to. He, the second eldest, had led all his brothers including his elder into wrong.

Curse upon curse ... Justice must come …

Narkal 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, Tarman, his closest brother, and their younger brothers had continued following Feonor's family into battle, He and the others had sworn fealty to them rather than Narkal, so they had to. Hadn't they? But he without swearing fealty to Feonor or his sons had followed "them" into his first battle against Morgoth's forces. Thus, he 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! Lead away and watch over the others! Swear to me!"

And he, knowing these servants of Morgoth would not stop till they had his older brother: student of Feonor, and that Narkal considered his mission on these shores to be protecting them, his brothers, and held it more sacred than comfort, safety, or life, that his spirit to despair into darkness if he failed, replied "I swear!" Then he'd turned, ridden away, and led their brothers to abandon Narkal to his fate and get themselves to safety ... as he had wished ...

And finally, the 'other' night that haunted Ascarant's nightmares … all their nightmares … came to Tarman's 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. "Oh, brother if only you had died!" His brother's scarred face already painful to see had its joy fall away as his lighted eyes went wide and his mouth followed as he stared at those he'd sacrificed so much for in horror.

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