Notes - Thanks for staying with me.

Epilogue

Cardolan, the Palace at Thalion, Yüle, 1407

Haedorial the bard looked out upon the courtyard that was covered in a blanket of fresh snow. Multiple carriages were parked near the stables with drivers and coachmen standing by for the royal and aristocratic guests of King Ostoher for the grand Yüle fête. It was one of the great festivals in the Kingdom of Cardolan and the good king always made sure to honor the event. The walls of the palace were of white marble with veins of gold and 40' tall sculptures of the Two Trees were planted just in front of the grand stairway that led up to a columned portico. Four frozen reflecting ponds to the west of the building surrounded a large festival court that was used during the warmer summer and fall months. Beyond that was the processional way, flanked with tall pine trees and 20' tall alabaster obelisks that had multi-colored tourmalines set in the faces.

The bard's breath streamed from his mouth and nose in the freezing weather. He inhaled and exhaled a series of quick breaths to expand his lungs and prepare his voice for the performance. He raised his arms and expanded his chest. For the last ten years he had been the key performer for the royal feast. He was dressed in his finest winter robes, green and red velvet with a silver cloak trimmed in ermine and a black velvet flatcap. His brown hair hung in ringlets, and he had a brown mustache that was curled up at the ends. As part of the theme for the festival, he wore a paper mâché mask over his upper face that was also red and green with white feathers. He could already hear musicians in the main hall, drums beating out a tune along with flutes, recorders and lyres.

A woman touched him on the shoulder from behind and he turned. "Oh, Faeliriel, I didn't see you coming. Forgive my ignorance. I was lost in thought, preparing for the festival."

The bard's wife stretched up to kiss him. She was dressed in a midnight blue gown that was trimmed in fur with a silver cloak. She wore a laurel of holly leaves and berries over her blonde hair. Her mask was silver and gold with black feathers and intricate designs on the face. "A messenger came for you, love. A letter from Rhudaur of all places. Who do you know in Rhudaur? Isn't it a land of savages and barbarians?" she asked as she handed him the scroll of parchment paper.

"Well, not always. Up until King Forodacil, it was a primeval land of forests and hills, led by the Dúnedain, descendants of Isildur. Rhugga the Hillman usurped the throne in Eleven Seventy Six until Forodacil's granddaughter, Queen Elewen, took it back in Twelve Thirty One and reigned for over seventy years. Unfortunately, her son, Aldor the Addled, became king after followed by his equally inept brother, Elegost the Enfeebled and the kingdom disintegrated and fell under the rule of Angmar."

Faeliriel humored him with a smile. They met as bards in the Nightsinger's Guild, and she was easily as learned in ancient lore as he. "Of course, dear. Now, please read the letter. Do you know who it's from?"

He rotated the scroll until he saw a red wax seal. "Oh, my…the seal of House Rhudainor. I've heard rumors that they were still in Rhudaur, defending the faith. A very noble house led by one, Marendil. What could he possibly want with me?" He was about to crack the seal when a teenaged girl walked onto the portico and looked at them. She was dressed in a scarlet ball gown that had silver accents and intricate geometric patterns in the fabric. Her cloak was forest green and trimmed in fox fur and she wore a flatcap of scarlet velvet lined with mink fur. She seemed to be struggling with her mask, which was painted in elaborate golden designs with raven feathers that matched the color of her long hair.

"We do so hate these things. We only wear them once a year for mother and father," the girl said, clearly flustered. "We much preferred a pony for our birthday. We had better get something much more fun for Yüle." She made a curtsey as she approached to which Haedorial bowed and Faeliriel returned the curtsey. "We simply had to get some fresh air, you see," she added and turned her chin up and put her finger to her cheek.

Haedorial instantly knew that she was noble but from which family. The Girithlins? They did not have a daughter of that age. The Calantirs? They had many daughters and granddaughters of Hir Celeph but their hair was blonde or brown. It must be the Tinares. Hir Duin had a son and daughter…what were their names…Ostomir and Galadel. It must be Galadel. "It's not that difficult, my lady. May I?" he asked, pointing to the mask that she held over her face.

She released the mask to him and nodded and he tied the string behind her head. "Thank you, good sir. We are in your debt." She gestured to his scroll. "Were you about to read your letter? We apologize for the interruption. Praythee good sir, do not let us stop you."

The bard cracked the wax seal. "It's from Marendil Rhudainor of Rhudaur," he said as he unrolled the parchment, and he read out loud:

"My dear Haedorial and Faeliriel, it is I, Dagar. I pray that you are both well and in good health." The bard took a breath. "It's young Dagar! I had hoped that he was doing well."

His eyes went back to the parchment. "I have had the most extraordinary adventure. It all started when I arrived home, and my father made me the head of the annual waenhosh to the Tirthon Tower. All went smoothly until we reached the town of Maig Tuira, which had been sacked by the Macha Mur tribe. Everyone had been killed, tortured and mutilated by them and their chief, the barbaric Lumban. There was a sole survivor, Baga Montúri, a teenager, who now works for me. Things became stranger as we drove the wagons along the Dunnish Track to the tower and it began to snow in summer." Haedorial stopped and looked up at the girl, concerned that the description of violence would rattle her. "My lady, perhaps you should go inside. This may be graphic."

She shook her head. "We are fine, good sir. This is most interesting. We do so enjoy tales from far off lands. Praythee, continue."

"Along with mercenaries, who became my friends, we scouted the forest and found the Dunnish camp. My friend, can you imagine me in the company of mercenaries? I am sure you could not. It was there that I had to kill my first enemy. I felt sick. We were able to free many of the prisoners from Maig Tuira, including a young woman named Mirthi and her daughter, Cicrid, but I regret that the elderly and the gravely wounded could not be saved as we were being pursued. It was heartbreaking to have to leave Mirthi's parents. The Macha Mur tribe was positively fearsome, and their chief wore a cloak of ears and noses. How horrifying."

"We arrived at the Tirthon while under attack from the Cultirith Rangers, vassals of Cameth Brin. Soon, the tower fell under siege, and we were bombarded with stones and bolts. Sir Oswy Amrodan led sorties out at night to destroy some of the siege equipment and to wear down the attackers. You may know his wife, Éanfled Amrodan, who was a lady of the court in service to the Princess Nirnadel."

The girl seemed excited and bounced on the balls of her feet. "Yes! We know good Éanfled! We are ever so pleased to hear her name, but the siege sounds positively dreadful."

Haedorial had met her once at a function and she was a pleasant, cultured woman whom he knew hailed from Rhudaur. He continued reading. "Lady Amrodan and I would pass time during the siege playing music for the garrison. As you know, I was a mediocre bard in the Nightsingers. However, I have since had a mentor who greatly improved my skills. I will speak of her later in the letter. Now, unbeknownst to us, a demon of the night who had been recruited by an Easterling mage, Ethacali, had been infecting the dreams of Lord Marendil Rhudainor, driving him to despair and depression. He became consumed by guilt and launched an ill-fated cavalry charge that was defeated by the enemy. One of my mercenary friends, Gamrid, was slain by one of the demons, known as a Blood-Wight. Yes, it is as bad as it sounds. They consume the blood of victims like the vampires of legend."

The bard, his wife and the young lady gasped. "Lord Marendil fought bravely alongside his cousin, my other mercenary friend but he was struck by a ballista bolt in the chest. Mercatur tried to save him, but the female Blood-Wight, Skrykalian, swept him away. Yes, poor Marendil fell in that battle but I am sure that he is with his wife, Eitheriel now." Haedorial looked at the cracked wax seal. "If Marendil fell, then who made this seal?"

"Marendil's troops, the Vulseggi, who are all under House Melossë, fell back in disarray. Ethacali then launched an all out attack. Clansmen from the Macha Mur, the Siol Nȗnaw, the rangers of the Cultirith, orcs, goblins and three trolls surged forward. I saw that the kitchen was on fire, the result of foul magic from Ethacali and I ran there to save Mirthi. It was something orchestrated by my father's supposed friend, Nasen. Nasen betrayed us because he wanted to inherit the business. Through a magic ring, the mage was able to bewitch the cook, who murdered the other cooks and hurt Mirthi. She hit him with a frying pan and stabbed him with a kitchen knife. She is someone who can take care of herself, mind you."

"Then, Mercatur sent us to the roof and the footmen and I fought the barbarians coming over the top until the mercenaries arrived. It was there that I had to battle Lumban. But the siege tower was also nearing, and I had an idea. I had Mercatur cut away one of the giant bronze plates that protected the tower, and it smashed the siege tower and crushed a troll. Ha!"

"Then, Lumban came at Mirthi and I with a spiked club. You know, all I had was my smallsword and a light crossbow and I must credit you for the one good technique that I learned. Somehow, I was able to wound Lumban, probably more luck than skill. Mercatur then finished him off and threw him over the wall."

The girl had her hands over her mouth through this whole last section. "How dreadful and exciting at the same time," she said with a gasp.

"On the ground floor, Sir Oswy counterattacked and broke the enemy. Our casualties were high so we were not able to pursue right away. Ethacali and the survivors fled to a place called the Yfelwood. It was there that the Blood-Wights made their home. I will resist telling you more of them right now for fear of spoiling your enjoyment. But, suffice it to say that they appeared as High Elves of old, tall, proud and regal, but with wings and fangs and without a shred of clothing."

"I will let one thing slip here. My friend, Mercatur, the cousin of Marendil, named me as the successor to House Rhudainor so I write you now as Lord Rhudainor, hence the seal." Haedorial looked up. "This is extraordinary!"

"We pursued them to their caverns in the vale where the Cultirith asked for parley and we came to a truce, which I was able to negotiate. Their captain, Hirgrim, told us that the two younger Blood-Wights seemed reluctant to participate in the fighting but were forced to do so by the mage, using a rune of binding. I only hoped that we might have been able to negotiate with them as well. We then entered the caverns of which I cannot truly do justice to the description of fear and horror within. We began to see visions of one of the Blood-Wights, Blogath, who tried to trick us into 'rescuing' her. We also saw visions of how the caverns used to be in the last age, luxurious and full of music and mirth. But then, we were all trapped in the spirit realm by Blogath. All of us, Ethacali, Nasen and even the orcs. Blogath's power was immense as she is a demon of the ancient world from the times that you told me about, a time of dragons, balrogs, vampires and werewolves. We were unable to control even our own bodies, and she made us sit, telling us that we would become her children. I can only imagine that she meant to turn us into vampires. Now, the Blood-Wights were all siblings who were turned by Thuringwethil, surely you remember the name from the tales of the Silmarillion that you shared with me."

Haedorial nodded. "I do indeed, young Dagar. I am enthralled by your tale."

The young woman grasped him by the arm, unable to contain herself. "We simply cannot wait. We praythee, good sir, continue with all haste."

"Hirgrim was right. Skrykalian and her brother Naranantur rebelled against the older siblings, Balisimur and Blogath. Blogath sacrificed one of the orcs and her power grew. She was going to humiliate Skrykalian by forcing her to lie with an orc but the younger sister bit her wrist and poured her blood into Ethacali's mouth. With the power of her blood, he broke free and freed us. He apologized as he struck the ceiling with his staff, collapsing the room on top of him, the orcs, Blogath and Balisimur. Skrykalian and her brother helped carry us to safety. Then, Ethacali erected a magical barrier as his final act to seal them in."

The three on the foyer blew out breaths in relief. "I have no way to top this tale," Haedorial said. "I must add this to the collection of bardic sagas in our library."

The young woman jabbed the parchment with her finger. "There's more. Please, there's more!"

"I cannot express the relief that I felt at having survived that ordeal. There were too many times that I was sure that I would not make it. I banished Nasen and his man and we returned to the tower to assess our future. The tower was so badly damaged and so few troops were left that we decided to abandon it and move to the manor of House Rhudainor. You would be amazed to see me as a lord, overseeing farms and soldiers. You prepared me well, my friends, as I keep the books for the house and we have prospered. Sir Oswy is the captain of my guard. Wiglaf is my Hallweard. Baga is my master of stables. I freed the two wealli, Nig and Cisgid and they organize supplies and caravans. You would also be amazed to hear that the two Blood-Wights have come to stay with us for now."

Haedorial's eyes widened. "What? This is extraordinary!" He took a deep breath and continued. "So now I will reveal to you, the history of the Blood-Wights, something that I am sure that you will be interested in. I have one final surprise for you at the end, so please indulge me. The Blood-Wights were originally High Elves in the land of Beleriand in the First Age, a time so ancient that we cannot truly understand it. They are the children of Irimë, the younger sister of High King Fingolfin of the Noldor and Maglor, the bard, though it seemed to be out of wedlock."

Haedorial looked at his wife and the young woman. "This is…this is extraordinary! I am…without words. They were kidnapped by Thuringwethil during the Dagor Bragollach and made into vampires. Thuringwethil took pleasure in corrupting them in front of their mother, which nearly drove her mad. They escaped and hid until the arrival of Sauron in the Second Age. He corrupted them again until the armies of Gil-Galad and the Númenóreans arrived and destroyed Sauron's army. They were all slain and sealed in the caverns as their tomb until Ethacali woke them. So now you have the full story of my adventure. The Blood-Wights, whose true names are Finculion, known as the brave and Alquanessë, known as the fairest of Irimë's children, are staying with us for now. They will be searching for their mother soon and have a lead on a cure for vampirism. I daresay that Alquanessë is the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen, and she is the one who taught me more about singing and music. I would offer that she would give you a run for your money."

Haedorial smiled broadly. "We simply must bring him here or we must travel there."

"And, we have made trade agreements with the Siol Nȗnaw and the Cultirith so it has been peaceful since the battle though Alquanessë tells me that Angmar will stir up trouble soon, but she doesn't know any more. If that happens, they can conceal the manor house and they have already spread rumors that our lands are haunted and cursed by vampires, which I suppose is true. And, I was able to convince them to wear clothing…most of the time. She dotes on Cicrid too and has become her teacher. Finally, I know that you will soon perform for the Yüle Festival so I will leave you with the fact that Mirthi is now Lady Rhudainor and I have adopted Cicrid as my own and my heir. I wished that I could have joined you as I am sure that it will be sublime but we are expecting. I wish you and Faeliriel good tidings and happiness. Until we meet again, yours, Dagar Rhudainor."

Haedorial wiped a tear from his eye. "I am so proud of him. I was truly worried when he went to Rhudaur but my fears were unfounded. We simply must hear this tale in person one day."

The young woman clapped and bounced up and down and her mask fell off. The bard scooped it up and handed it back to her and he gasped. "Oh my…Oh my, Your Grace, Princess Nirnadel," he said with a deep bow and flourish. Faeliriel's face registered shock, and then she did the same. The Princess extended her hand, and he kissed the ruby ring on her finger. "I apologize. I thought you were the Lady Galadel Tinare. Forgive me, Your Grace."

"There is nothing to forgive, my good bard. We would know your name, but We know that such a thing is not allowed at our masquerade. Perhaps one day We shall know it. We suspect that it is nearing time for the festivities. Just look at the wreaths of holly and ivy. We love this time of year. Our royal father has so many presents for us. We simply cannot contain our excitement. But We must say, dear bard, that your telling of this tale was the highlight of our evening. We will remember it for all of our days." She turned and Haedorial retied her mask and they went to the grand hall where jugglers and entertainers played before the guests and music filled the halls.

Haedorial and his wife took the stage and then horns blew out a pomp and flourish, and all in the room bowed or knelt. A herald pounded his staff on the floor three times. "All bow! Announcing the entry of our great and wise King Ostoher and his lovely and wise Queen Miretar!"

The two bowed low with a grand flourish as Princess Nirnadel went to rejoin her parents and two older brothers, her mask securely in place. "Greetings good King Ostoher! We are ever so grateful for your gracious invitation to play before this esteemed audience! We bring to you selected excerpts from the Lay or Leithian, the ancient tale of Beren and Luthien. We wish you a joyous Yüle! Now…please…allow us to entertain you!"