Notes - I hope to get some downtime from work. Yes Tara, I work too hard. I'm training a new pilot so we flew the RNAV B to a missed and the RNAV 4L to a full stop. ATC was a cluster flock. Anyhow, thank you so much all of you who have contacted me. If you see this, I have a few offers for artistic help so thank you. This is all new to me so forgive my ignorance. I quipped to a friend that I don't understand people, but I do understand, .VECKI9 for the ILS 17. Or LOKIE.V8 for the RNAV 4L. Tara and my Ghost Recon story will have some flying in it.

Oh yeah, the story - from the last chapter of fluff, it's back to the muck.

26) The Spread of Darkness – Part 1 - Year of the Sun 302 Quellë (Fading)

Yavëkamba

The Healer was becoming increasingly worried about Moran…and herself. She already had one close call when Gorthaur detected a message going out of the Citadel recently. She just had to get word out to Fëatur. She just hoped that she wasn't getting careless. Multiple holds for the Court were nearing completion and their numbers were growing quickly. Through sacrifices and demonstrations of power, Ardana was able to bring numerous human and dwarven clans under her sway. There would be more movement against the Luingon Alliance soon. She sat and brooded over every possible disaster that could befall her love and her lower lip quivered. She drank a vial of her special herbal tincture that should calm her nerves.

Someone tugged at her sleeve. She looked to see her assistant. "Almariel? Sorry, I was lost in thought," she said kindly. She pushed her dark brown hair back behind her pointed ear.

"Moran needs to see you," the woman said. She was short for a Noldo, but proud in bearing. Pretty, with chocolate colored hair down to her shoulders, she wore a healer's robes in deep blue and silver that matched Yavëkamba's. Ardana had tasked Almariel to serve Yavëkamba having seen the woman's healing skills.

Yavëkamba smiled in spite of her anxiety. Perhaps another dose of herbal tincture would solve that again. "Yes, of course," she said and stood up. What would it hurt? She drank another vial, and a warm sensation ran down her throat to her stomach and the gnawing sensation in her mind lessened.

Almariel furrowed her brows. "Milady, I've noticed that you drink a lot of those lately. Wasn't it you who warned me to only consume that in moderation? I'm worried."

The Healer continued to smile, but it was strained. "Yes, but I know what I am doing. Thank you for your concern though. Come, let us see Moran." They walked up a flight of stone stairs in the central tower of the Citadel and came to the quarters of the inner circle. Ardana and Morfuin were away inspecting the other holds and Morthaur was away on other business. She knocked on Moran's door.

The door opened and she could see that Moran was haggard, his hair a disheveled mess. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin pale. "Come in. Come in," he said blankly. He walked back to his chair and slumped into it as if he had no energy left.

Yavëkamba knelt beside him, taking his pulse and feeling his forehead. She was extremely worried for him. Ardana and Gorthaur put him through hell in the last decade. Her hands glowed for a moment and then she stepped back. "You're exhausted. You haven't slept or meditated in days. You cannot go on like this."

"You can tell that from a touch and a spell?" he asked, a cynical edge in his voice. He was changing and it was breaking her heart.

She nodded. "Yes. I can." She reached into her robe and pulled out a small packet. She broke it open and blew the mist into his face. "Breathe deeply please."

Almariel soaked a small tower in a basin of water where flowers floated within. She put a drop of a potion in and then wrung out the towel and wiped Moran's face, leaving the scent of cinnamon. After a few moments, he pushed her hands away.

"I'm fine. Really, I'm fine. Thank you. I have to prepare for a journey with Gorthaur. We will be relocating to Aurax-Dȗr soon. I'm fine, Yavë." His expression was one of disgust and annoyance, his jaw set, and his eyes narrowed.

Yavëkamba grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes. His eyes showed fear and paranoia. "No, no you're not," she said with a stern edge in her voice as her stomach knotted at the thought of him leaving. She already hated Gorthaur, but her feelings about Ardana were starting to change for the worse. "Moran, listen to me," she said as she grasped his face and turned it towards her. "It's me. Talk to me. I raised you, remember?"

He tried to struggle away but she held him firm. "I don't want any help. I don't want to sleep. I don't deserve help! You don't know, Yavë. You don't know!" He held out his hands, which were clean. "Look at the blood! My hands are covered in blood! You don't know!"

She didn't know whether to be angry or horrified. She shook him hard. "No! No! Listen to me," she said, her eyes misting over. "You were my…You should have been my son. I raised you. Watching you disintegrate is killing me. I know, Moran, I know." She pulled him forward into her arms and he grasped her tightly, sobbing and pounding weakly on her back.

His breath came in ragged gasps. "I can't do it anymore, Yavë. I can't! The blood, the screams. I see them in my sleep, calling me, begging me. I hate him, Yavë, I hate Gorthaur."

"Shhh shh, my dear," she cooed softly as she rocked him gently. "I hate him too. I hate what he is doing to you. Calm now, my dear." She cradled his head and began to sing softly, a lullaby that she sang to him more than two centuries ago when he was still a child.

"Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!

The wind's in the tree-top, the wind's in the heather;

The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,

And bright are the windows of Night in her tower."

She pulled him up and guided him to his bed. "Lay down, my dear. Rest," she said and then rubbed a salve on his chest and beneath his nose. "Drink," she added as she poured a vial of liquid into his mouth. He reached up and touched her face before he drifted off into slumber. She drank one herself and then motioned to Almariel. "Please let Gorthaur know that Moran is incapacitated right now and is under my care. He will not be available until further notice." Her assistant turned to go, but Yavëkamba caught her by the sleeve. "No wait. I won't do that to you. Gorthaur is not one that I would have you face alone."

"Yes, my lady and thank you."

Yavë tried to smile. The tincture was having an effect, numbing her, chasing away the horrid feelings that were building in her. Her growing anxiety was like a poison that was slowly spreading throughout her whole being. It was the third dose that she had taken this morning, when one a day was the safe amount. Almariel gave her a sideways glance with eyes narrowed, but she paid it no mind. She placed Moran's arms over his chest and then covered him with a blanket.

"Come, we must speak to Gorthaur and let him know that Moran will be unavailable for further sacrifices. This has to end now." She pointed down the hall towards the Healer's Quarters and held out her bag. "Please, take this back to my room and bring back my circlet. I need to look the part when we meet with him." Her temperature rose with saying the man's name. Her request had a purpose beyond looking the part. When Almariel left the room, she held her hand out the open window and a sparrow landed on it. She brought it to her mouth and whispered something. It then flew off. She knew she was being risky, but Fëatur had to know what was going on. He could rescue Moran. Maybe she could leave this evil too. They could be a family with Morelen. If only.

Almariel returned shortly and put the circlet on Yavëkamba's head. "Here you go, mistress."

Her assistant was a good soul, and she had no idea how the woman got mixed up in this mess. "Thank you. Almariel, how did you come to the Court? You don't seem…the type."

"I am the sister of Tirial, the Lady of Orbs. Perhaps you may know her? No? Well, she told me so much about the great lord of the earth, our master Morgoth. Morgoth is such a devout god, one who cares for all of his people and all of the earth. My sister has shown me the love that he has for all creation and that he is the chosen one who will lead us to prosperity. I felt the need to be part of this wonderful movement." she said, practically gushing over the Dark Lord.

Yavë fought down a burning need to smack her in the face. This was ludicrous. How could good people believe that one so evil was someone so good? It was becoming cultlike, and she didn't think that her sanity could last another hundred years. She chose to remain deep in the cesspit of evil to fight from the inside and it was costing her. "I see. What do you think of the sacrifices?" she asked, hoping to see some negative reaction.

Almariel paused for a moment and put her finger to her mouth. "Tirial says that it is necessary. Those people are non-believers and they are evil. We must do this for Father Morgoth so that he may bring good into the world."

"Hmmm, Tirial told you that? What do you think for yourself?" Yavë hoped to see some doubt. Anything.

Almariel put her hands together over her heart as if she were talking about a lover. "Morgoth is magnificent. He raised the Great Lamps and the Two Trees that were destroyed by the evil Valar. He brought life to the world that the other elves corrupted. They created the monsters that prey upon our people. Even now, they lay siege to his palace, a place of light and beauty."

Nothing could have been further from the truth. They arrived at Gorthaur's quarters. Yavë was glad to end that conversation. Almariel had been a good assistant and seemed to be a good, compassionate person as deluded as the woman seemed to be. Maybe she could be brought to see the light like Fëatur did. All it would take is for her to see the facts. The Healer could only hope. She looked at Gorthaur's door and felt a wave of nausea come over her. He was the last person in Middle Earth that Yavë wanted to see right now, but she had to force herself on. She knocked.

The door flew open and Gorthaur glared at them through the opening. "What is it? I am busy preparing for the journey to Aurax-Dȗr and you are now interrupting that," he said with utter contempt, looking down at them. Gorthaur was very tall, towering over Almariel and he wore a blue leather breastplate and a gold collar. His bowl cut hair let his pointed ears protrude out from his head. The High Priest sucked on his teeth. "Make it quick." He looked back into the room and pointed to a Silvan elf who was packing things into a crate. "Taurion, continue preparations. I'll deal with this…interruption." The man nodded and went back to what he was doing.

Yavë closed her eyes for a second, pushing down her sense of disgust and anger. She could feel that gnawing anxiety growing again. She blew out a cleansing breath. "Gorthaur, I need to speak to you about Moran. He is not well. I have decided to keep him here at the Citadel. He will not be going with you to Aurax-Dȗr. In fact, he is unable to continue with the sacrifices."

His face twisted in anger for a moment before becoming merely annoyed again. One side of his mouth curled back into a sneer. "Who are you to make that decision? I am the High Priest. I am the Lord of Helms. Who are you?"

Yavë bit her lower lip and flared her nostrils. "I am the one who cares for Moran. I am the one who keeps him safe," she said with a hard edge in her voice. "He is not well. I am telling you that he cannot make that journey, and he needs to rest under my care."

"Really? Have you spoken to Ardana about this? We'll see what she has to say. That has been the plan. Moran will accompany me to Aurax-Dȗr, and I will train him in the priesthood of Morgoth. You speak blasphemy, Healer. Tread lightly. I hold the power of life and death here. I have a direct connection to our Lord. You best remember that, girl."

She balled her fists, but then relaxed. "Yes, let's talk to Ardana. She entrusted his care to me."

Gorthaur stepped back into the room and picked up a yard-long ebony rod that was capped in a cluster of gold. He turned back to her, holding it up as it crackled with electricity. "How dare you!"

Yavë stepped back, now a little afraid. She had taken a great risk, and it was not paying off. She bumped into someone behind her, and she looked back. "Fëatur, my lady," she said with a nod of her head.

The Illusionist was dressed in black, form fitting robes, and her blonde hair was layered to the neck. She wore a headband of gold cord and a long kynac was sheathed at her hip. She glared at Gorthaur with her gold, amber eyes. "What is the matter here?" she asked sternly. "Why are you threatening my people?" She took an aggressive posture and Gorthaur retreated a step. Fëatur's hand to hand combat skills were legendary and few dared to stand against her in a physical confrontation. This was not even counting for her prowess in magic that could destroy minds.

Gorthaur's face twisted again for a second before becoming impassive. "Your…servant dared to defy me. Did you know of this?"

Yavë turned to The Illusionist, her eyes pleading. "Moran is not well. I have placed him under my care for now. He is not able to travel at this time."

Fëatur nodded. "This is good enough for me," she said and then turned to the High Priest, her chest and chin puffed out. "The matter is settled Gorthaur. Be on your way to Aurax-Dȗr and bother us no more." She was a full head shorter than the High Priest, but he knew not to trifle with her.

Gorthaur put his rod down on a table and then glared back. "This is not over, Lady of Orbs. This is not over. I am still hunting a traitor in our midst, and I am willing to bet that it is one of your people, leaky as your house is. When I find that person, there will be retribution for your blasphemy."

Fëatur waved her hand dismissively. "Look to your own house, priest and go grovel to the master. We are done here." She led Yavë and Almariel back down the hall.

The assistant looked positively terrified, her eyes and mouth wide open. Yavë knew not to let Fëatur see her like that. The woman despised any weakness. The Healer touched Almariel on the shoulder and gave her a look to knock it off and then tried to distract the Illusionist. "Say, my lady, your robes are different. Is something changing within our house?"

Fëatur nodded with a smile on her thin lips. "I am forming a new organization within the Court," she said proudly. "I've decided to call it the Darin Tesarath or Sisters of the Mind in the Mentalist tongue." She stopped and began gesturing. "It will be a sisterhood of elven women who excel in mentalism, astrology, mysticism and healing. All will become experts in close combat as well." She reached into her black robes and pulled out a throwing dagger that was crafted from the volcanic glass, Laen, and then a garrote. "I'm glad you asked as the two of you will be invited."

Yavë bowed her head. "We are honored. Please let me know what I must do."

"I have a spot picked out," The Illusionist said with excitement. "On the Island of Tharin in Koros Bay. This will be the site for the Tharin University where all sisters can learn and study. And the two of you," she added, pointing at them, "will need more combat training. Healing is fine, but what will happen when Lyaan tries to rip your throat out. The mindless hatred that they have for us… Pure evil."

Almariel nodded emphatically. "Yes, mistress. I would love that. You have my undivided attention. I fear the day when we have to meet the evil of The Three or the Guild. Savages…mindless savages. They poison the blood of all elvendom."

Fëatur took her by the shoulder. "Yes, my sister. We will be ready. I would consider it a life well spent if I could plunge my kynac into Chrys Menelrana's eye. Now prepare yourselves for travel too. We will be relocating to our new home of Angkirya within the year."

Yavë started fishing for information. "Angkirya, my lady?"

"Yes, the Iron Mine we call it. It was originally dug out by some dwarves centuries ago, but it's been abandoned. Our dwarves now said it was part of the House of…Boron, no, Borat…I can't remember, much less pronounce those names. Suffice it to say, it was one of their Seven Houses with Seven fathers and all of that, if you care about such things," Fëatur said, rolling her eyes, seemingly bored by such information. "Our dwarves now are working to complete the tunnels. Work will still take time, but we will be safely in a new home soon."

The Healer took it all in and forced a smile. "It sounds exciting, my lady."

The Illusionist curled her lip up in a half smile. "Good, I trust you will be ready, and I will have Tesarath robes and gear sent to you. We will begin combat training for you and the other initiates soon. Good day." She turned without another word and walked off to her rooms.

Yavë blew out a long breath and closed her eyes. Her anxiety was growing again, and she could feel a dark pit in her stomach. Almariel was beside herself, practically bouncing with excitement. "I'm going to meditate, Almariel. If you care to join me, you are welcome to." She wanted to talk more with her assistant, to continue undermining her devotion to Morgoth, but she simply did not have the energy. Still, having her close might influence her.

"I'd love to, my lady. Thank you for inviting me."

They went into Yavë's chambers and sat on the floor, cross legged. The Healer had to admire her assistant's energy. Was this what it was like to be so young? She snorted, thinking that she was not that old, just over a thousand years of the sun. What those poor humans went through was just tragic. Old and decrepit by seventy, likely dead by eighty or ninety. It was little more than the blink of an eye for her. Out of habit, she downed another tincture and felt the warm, numbing sensation that she desperately needed.

She took Almariel's hand and smiled. "Rest well and sweet dreams." She then closed her eyes, and her mind drifted off into space and time. Her spirit settled in a place that her lover had described as Ty-Ar-Rana. Though she had never seen it, his words were so vivid and detailed that she knew every part of every pyramid down to Taran, the magically animated guard. She could see the faces of The Three, warm and inviting. Fëatur smiled as Morelen danced and sang the Naiar I Faer, the song of renewal. She could hear her lilting voice hitting the high notes with such grace that Yavë's skin prickled. Her attention was caught by a melody from a stringed instrument along with bell-like notes from another instrument. She looked to see Moran, happily strumming a lute as a woman tapped notes on a dulcimer. That must be Lysa.

Yavë wandered into the group and Fëatur rose and took her hands. "Welcome back love," he said and then gestured all around. "The Dark Lord is defeated. We are a family for all time now," he said and Moran and Morelen came to hug her. "We have waited so long for this."

The Healer laughed, the sound like the tinkle of bells. She grasped Morelen by the cheeks. "Oh my. Oh my, you have grown. You are so beautiful, your voice so pure. I dreamt of this," she said and then did the same to Moran. "I was so worried. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy…to call you my son."

He started to speak when someone grabbed her by the hair and pulled hard, waking her up. She opened her eyes to see Gorthaur and some of his clerical thugs. Gorthaur had a kynac held to Almariel's throat. He smiled in a vile, perverse way, practically salivating at their helplessness. "I place the both of you under arrest for treason. There will be sacrifices tonight to the Dark Lord." He then pointed to two of his minions, the Silvan man and a Noldorin woman. "Taurion, Silion, bring Moran here. He will have work to do."