Notes - This is the last full chapter. Just the epilogue remains. I had three possible endings in mind, a tragic one, a mysterious one and a happy one. I hope you enjoyed it.

The Yfelwood, Cerveth 21st, 1407

Dagar cleared his head after the vision from Sercë, begging for his help. Mercatur and Oswy did the same, blinking hard and taking deep breaths. Dagar was excited about the prospect of saving an elven princess and he was eager to get inside of the caverns. Mercatur held him back. "I got a bad feeling about this. This place feels…wrong."

Oswy nodded. "I have to agree. This place makes my hair stand on end. I can't explain it."

They heard some footsteps approaching and they looked over to the scarred ranger walking towards them with his palms held out, a sign of parley.

Mercatur's axe was instantly in his hand as Oswy drew his longsword and Jaabran, his scimitar. "Hirgrim? Parley?" the mercenary asked as Dagar moved in besides them, ready to fight.

The ranger nodded. "I'm unarmed. If I wanted you dead, I have fourteen rangers hidden around here," he said and then lifted his hands up. The men of the Cultirith stood up from bushes and carefully concealed cover, holding their bows low and non-threateningly. "I just want to talk."

Dagar blew out a breath of relief and then looked to Mercatur. The Mercenary gave him a wry expression, the edge of his mouth curled upwards. "Lord Rhudainor," he said with a nod and gestured the young man to take the lead.

Lord Rhudainor tightened his stomach for courage and stepped forward, the others making no protest. "My name is Dagar. What do you wish to speak about, good ranger? We are listening."

"I'm done with this disaster. I even sent the troll on his way. All we want is to return home to Dol Cultirith. I offer a truce. We had no part in the sack of Maig Tuira. That was all Lumban. You know us, Mercatur," he said, gesturing towards the mercenary. "We fight for Cameth Brin, but we do so with honor. We don't execute captives, and we don't murder women and children. What say you?"

Mercatur put his hand on Dagar's shoulder and nodded. "He's telling the truth. I've fought with them and against them and they've never betrayed their word."

Dagar looked back at the ranger. "What do you want in return?"

"You've captured all of our stores at the Tirthon, and we have no food for the long march home. We are good hunters but the battle has scared off all of the game for miles. Would you be willing to share? We would not forget such kindness."

Without waiting for a consensus, Dagar nodded. "Done. Can you give us any information about what is happening inside?"

Hirgrim gestured back to his men, and they slung their bows and walked into the clearing. He pulled a pipe from a sack. "I can. Let us sit and we can speak more comfortably." He came forward as he packed the pipe with a pungent weed. "This blend comes from northwest of here. The little people…the halflings…they grow it. I can assure you that it is the finest in the region." He sat on the ground, surrounded by the Cultirith.

Dagar was not entirely sure whether to trust him, but he trusted Mercatur's word, and he sat down with his party. Hirgrim lit the pipe, inhaled deeply and then handed it to the young man. Dagar took a puff and started coughing. It was like his lungs were on fire from the earthy flavor of the tobacco.

Hirgrim laughed and slapped Dagar on the back. "Welcome to Rhudaur, my friend. Everything is stronger and more caustic here. But, that we share a pipe is a sign of trust. I have no wish for further violence."

The young man coughed again and then took another puff. He handed the pipe back to the ranger as he pounded his own chest with his fist. "Nor do I. Khe khe khe," he said with a couple more coughs. "What can you tell us?"

Hirgrim took a long puff and then handed the pipe to Mercatur. "About a dozen went inside a half hour ago, led by the mage, Ethacali. He was chosen by the Lord of Angmar to lead the expedition. I wasn't there, but a year ago he dug up those creatures called Blood-Wights. Two of them were on the battlefield but I think there may be more in the caverns."

"What exactly are they? I mean they flew, and they ripped people apart and drank their blood."

The ranger nodded. "You just described them. The men from your waenhosh went in with Ethacali…the ones who were left, I mean. Nasen and Penda and maybe one or two more, I don't remember exactly."

Dagar had a flash of anger. "Nasen? The traitor!"

"The two Blood-Wights that were with us, Naranantur and Skrykalian they were called, they butchered one of Penda's men and the lady bit off another's hand. It was beyond anything that I've seen. I mean, watching a beautiful woman walk around naked was fine, but I'd be a fool to get too close."

Mercatur grunted. "I don't really care what they are. The bitch killed Gamrid and I'm gonna get payback." Jaabran nodded in agreement.

Hirgrim shook his head and made a slicing motion with his hand. "Not so fast, you two. I wouldn't mess with her myself after seeing what she did. First, she gets inside people's heads. She knew Penda's men would try and attack her. She told Penda afterwards that she could read his mind and I believe her. Second, I'm telling you that she was forced to attack by the mage. He has some kind of rune of binding on the two of them. I saw her beg him to not force her to fight. And when she brought your commander to him, she begged him not to make her kill. She doesn't want to be here so I think it may be possible to get her on your side. I'm just saying to keep that in mind."

Dagar nodded along with the story. "We will, good ranger and thank you. Please await us close by. When we return, we will go back to the Tirthon for your supplies."

"Agreed. You are a good man, Lord Rhudainor. I am glad that we did not have to fight. Honestly, if it weren't for Mercatur here, I don't think I would've trusted you at first. I saw Cagh leading the Siol Nȗnaw away. I'm glad he made it out too."

They stood and shook hands as everyone around took a puff from the pipe. The Vulseggi began to move towards the cavern entrance and Dagar noticed that the mercenary looked pensive. He pointed at Baga. "You're still hurt. Just coming with us was an act of bravery, good Baga and you have earned respect. Wait here with the horses and guard the camp. We'll be back as soon as we can."

The teen made an awkward bow. "Yes, Lord Rhudainor."

There was a gentle stream next to the cavern entrance. If this were not a den of evil, it would be quite beautiful. Once inside, the walls were coated with crystals of different colors, some black, some red, some clear. Mercatur and Jaabran dug a few out. "Might be worth something," Mercatur said, stuffing them into his pack. "Old habits die hard." They continued west until they came to a long stairway down. Mercatur, Oswy and Jaabran led the way with Dagar and the rest of the Vulseggi behind. They passed into the black marble foyer and then followed the tracks through the dust on the floor. Two sets of tracks were barefoot. That had to be the Blood-Wights.

They followed another stairway down, their lanterns flickering in the gloom, casting about eerie shadows. Dagar's fear was palpable, and it felt like he could cut it with his smallsword. How would they fight a mage down here, much less those Blood-Wights. He hoped that Hirgrim was right and that they could be reasoned with. If it meant that the Tirthon and its people would be safe, he would fight or negotiate...whatever it took to make sure that Mirthi and Cicrid came to no harm.

They continued down the long hallway, where it grew ever colder. Dagar could already see his breath, steaming out of his mouth. They passed three rooms to their right, and he could've sworn that he smelled roast chicken with herbs and garlic and heard the clinking of pots and pans. He heard a woman whisper in his ear. "You are getting close now," the voice said. He knew that it was Sercë and he hoped that she was unharmed. Hirgrim had warned them about the Blood-Wights, but he was uncertain if she was one of them. "Help me, Dagar. I am trapped in the sanctuary ahead. The mage means to sacrifice me to his necromancer and my sister is helping him. Please hurry."

Mercatur turned back. "Was she in your head too? Are there more than the two Blood-Wights that we saw? Whatever Hirgrim said, if they try anything, I'm sticking my axe in their heads."

They crossed the threshold into Blogath's sanctuary, and their lanterns grew dim, flickering in protest of some foul magic. The feeling of weight and oppression grew, and it became hard to breath or even focus. Dagar also felt lightheaded, and his mind was drawn to the room to their right. He glanced into the large room and the dust and debris seemed to shimmer. He saw flashes of a vision where four elves sat at a table, dining and toasting with crystal goblets. He saw the Blood-Wight, Skrykalian, now dressed in a sky-blue gown with silver trim. She wore a brooch of mithril that was shaped like a swan. The elf looked positively radiant and elegant, a woman of refinement and nobility. He wondered if Skrykalian was anything before she was a Blood-Wight. He was sure that Haedorial would know…if he ever got the chance to speak with the bard again. Right now, he was not entirely sure.

Skrykalian picked up a flute from the table and began to play, a lively, jaunty tune that was sublime, worthy of the Nightsingers. Was this what it was like to be an elf, an ancient being in a world long forgotten? He felt for her. If there was any way that she could be saved, he would try.

Jaabran touched him on the shoulder and the vision faded. "Are you alright, Lord Rhudainor?"

Dagar took a sharp breath and focused his eyes on the Haradan. "What? Yes…I'm fine. And call me Dagar…please. I'm not used to being Lord Rhudainor. I am not the brave lord and knight who rode to battle earlier. I'm just an accountant and a mediocre bard."

Jaabran smiled. "Nonsense, Lord Rhudainor. You were brave and stout hearted in the battle. I'm not sure we would have won had you not defended the roof."

This comforted Dagar and they continued to follow the tracks to the right into a processional hall. There were signs of an ancient battle here, gouges on the walls and floors with a smattering of old bones. He heard another voice now, softer, barely audible. It was a different woman. "Turn back. It's a trap. She will kill you all. Turn back." Aside from the warning, her voice was melodious like the sound of a rippling stream. Could this be Skrykalian?

He reached out to warn Mercatur but there was a bright flash of light, and he winced, shielding his eyes with his hand. When his vision cleared, the empty chamber of dust and debris became a warm, inviting room, full of exquisite furniture, paneled in rich wood that was painted crimson with beautifully etched patterns in paisley, dyed in black and gold. He inhaled in surprise and saw that the mage, Nasen, Penda and his one maimed man and three orcs sat at an elegant walnut table. The legs of the table were carved to look like trees with tiny leaves that were all colored silver and gold, and the top of the table had the map of Beleriand carved upon it.

A tall, elven woman with angular features and short coal black hair, stood at the head of the table. Her nude body was muscular and toned and falcon wings were tucked in behind her. Her silver eyes practically glowed with power. Another male, with rippling muscles and a square jaw, stood beside her. It was easy to see that they were related. A hammer, forged of black metal, floated in front of him. Behind them were the two Blood-Wights at the Tirthon. This was the first opportunity that Dagar had to see them up close. Naranantur was lean and had a face that exuded confidence, almost haughtiness. His black sword floated near him, reflecting the lights in the room. Skrykalian was only slightly shorter than her brother. Her body was lithe, like a dancer's and her face, soft and heart-shaped with high cheekbones, framed by straight, raven black hair. She was easily the most beautiful woman Dagar had ever seen. The air around them shimmered as pulses of energy surged from the one with falcon wings.

Dagar shook and his legs felt weak, his mind clouded and fuzzy. "Sercë?" he asked, even though he knew it was her from the vision at the entrance.

She smiled and gestured to the table and eight chairs appeared around it. "Yes, thank you for heeding my call for aid. You are most kind, good Dagar. Please, all of you, have a seat. You are my guests. How I have longed to entertain again."

All of them marched mechanically to the table and sat down. Dagar felt as if he were a marionette on a string. He looked across the table at Nasen and glowered. The traitor would pay. If not by his hand, then someone else's. Still, Nasen, Penda and the other man wept silently, their whole bodies quivering in terror. Growing up, he had never seen them cry or be frightened and that worried him.

Skrykalian glided around the table, moving sensually. She brushed Dagar's cheek and leaned into his ear. "I tried to warn you. Why didn't you turn back?" she whispered seriously, then smiled at him and continued on.

Sercë clapped her hands, getting everyone's attention. "Eyes here!" she called, and the captives all turned their heads as one. "Very good, my children. I want you to be comfortable in your new home. You may call me Blogath from now on…or mother."

Skrykalian turned on her elder sister and scowled. "You sound like Thuringwethil. Do you hope to make a new family like she did? What has become of you?"

Blogath sneered and her teeth became fangs. "Silence! Should I give you to these men as the Lord of Gifts intended? They would all die happy with the scent of an elven princess on their noses."

"We have come full circle, Sercë. You are now the monster who made us into monsters. I will have no more of your evil," Skrykalian said and turned away.

"Do not turn your back on me, dear sister!" Blogath called and closed her fist, stopping Skrykalian in her tracks. She gestured with her other hand and the blank runes of binding floated out of Ethacali's pouch and floated to her. "I am…transferring ownership," she said. "This will require a blood sacrifice." She began to walk around the table, letting her finger brush along every captive, drinking in the sound of sobbing. "Let's see…the little mage needs his three shamans to bind me. Without all three, he lacks the power to do so." Her hand became a claw, and she drew a talon along Grashur's throat. The orc's eyes widened, and he began to gurgle as black blood ran down his chest. Blogath leaned over him and began drinking the flowing liquid. She stood back up, her eyes red and her mouth and neck soaked in blood as Grashur slumped over, his final breath leaving him. "Ah, bitter like all orcs, but still energizing. And that was your most effective shaman, leaving the lickspittle and the one with treachery in his heart. And now, you lack the power to challenge me," she told Ethacali.

The mage's breath came in sharp gasps as he tried to fight her will. "The Witch-King will come for you," he said, still unable to move his jaw. "You would be wise to release us."

She laughed sarcastically. "Do you think that I am afraid of your Lord of Angmar…Er-Mȗrazôr, the errant prince of Númenor? He was not yet born when we were ancient." She put her hand on his face, cradling it gently. "And you, Ethacali, the Dark Mage of Rhudaur, you have failed him. He would feed you to the wargs or cast you into the dungeons of Carn Dȗm. You would never see your beloved again. You should have listened to my sister. It is best that you stay with me now, my child. I will care for you and raise you as my own."

She drew her closed fist in and Skrykalian seemed to be pulled by an unseen force. "I have not forgotten you, my treacherous sister," she said and then gestured to Athrug, the other orc shaman. "I see in his mind how he lusts for you. I will give you to him first."

The younger sister thrashed about, gnashing her teeth. "Kill me and be done with it!"

Blogath laughed again. "Oh, you cannot die, dear sister. You are a wight, remember. We are already undead. Those treacherous men killed us millennia ago and yet, here we are. Even after our own kind sealed us in this tomb, we yet live and breathe and feed."

Skrykalian snickered this time. "Yes, I remember. Blood feeds us, but our blood powers others," she said and then bit down on her wrist and put it in Ethacali's mouth. He drank of her blood and his body glowed. With a grunt, he stood up, shaking off Blogath's power. A pulse of energy shot outwards from him, and it knocked the captives out of their seats and threw Blogath against the wall.

The mage turned back to the captives, now sprawled on the floor. "Run! All of you run!" He looked at Dagar and Oswy. "I'm sorry for what I did," he said and then thrust his staff into the ceiling as he handed the tome to Skrykalian. The stone above them crackled and rumbled and flakes began to fall. Dagar and the rest ran for all they were worth as the ceiling collapsed, one huge chunk crushing Penda. Skrykalian and Naranantur flew by, picking up as many of them as they could. As they passed the threshold of Blogath's sanctuary, dust blew out onto them as loud, crashing sounds filled the corridor.

Skrykalian landed and set Dagar and Oswy down. The young man coughed from the cloud of dust and waved his hand back and forth in front of his face. His throat and his eyes felt coated in grit and he blinked numerous times. The Blood-Wights held up their hands and the dark hall glowed with magical lights. When he could see again, he noticed that the corridor was dilapidated as it was before. He did a quick head count; all of the Vulseggi were here, as was Mercatur and Jaabran, along with Nasen and the wounded friend of Penda's. He looked up at Skrykalian, who was much taller than he. "You…you saved us. The mage? What happened?" He looked back and noticed that a translucent barrier blocked the way back to Blogath's sanctuary. It must have been Ethacali's final act.

Her wings folded back into her body, and she gave him a bittersweet smile. "I could sense that Ethacali would rather die than be trapped here for the rest of his life…or be turned into a monster like me. My blood gave him the power to resist and to choose his own fate. You are innocents, caught up in his and my sister's machinations," she said and then stumbled as if dizzy. Dagar caught her, feeling her bare flesh against him, her lithe body using him as a crutch. The scent of her was intoxicating, like a rose after a rain. His mind began to wander, and he gulped hard. "Thank you. I am weakened from giving Ethacali my blood." Her skin was now pale and cold to the touch. She looked at Mercatur and Jaabran. "I am truly sorry for your friend and for your cousin. Ethacali forced me to attack, but I relished the blood. I have no desire to kill anyone who does not deserve it but Sauron made me slaughter hundreds in sacrifice. I am a monster, and I offer you my life in exchange for those that you lost," she said and faced them, spreading her arms wide. She looked them in the eye but there was fear in her.

Mercatur drew his axe and then snorted. "But you'll just come back in a number of years, right?"

She nodded. "If it would give you satisfaction, I offer no resistance. And it will still hurt."

The mercenary grunted and put his axe away. "No point to it. You saved us back there so I'll call us even."

Dagar sighed in relief. "Enough blood has been shed today," he said, looking at Nasen and his man. "You betrayed my father and I. Had you just talked to me, I would've stepped down. I never wanted to take over for my father. You earned it while I wasted my life and money in Tharbad. Until I joined the Nightsingers I was nothing…a stupid kid with stupid dreams. I will let you live, but I never want to see you again." Nasen nodded silently.

Naranantur held out two of the blank runes. "I got these on the way out, sister. The runes of binding. We are free," he said as the papers burst into flame and crumbled into ash in his hand.

Skrykalian stood straight again. "Our elder sister and brother are not dead but merely trapped within. And though Ethacali's designs were evil, he died fighting evil. I will…have a message sent to his home in Logath. Now, let us leave this place." She led the way but looked back at them. "And by the way, you may now call us, Finculion and Alquanessë, our real names before Thuringwethil stole them from us. We were of the Noldor of Beleriand, thousands of years ago, from the House of Fingolfin. Maybe one day we will find our way back."

As they exited the caverns, Dagar was never so happy to see the rising sun and to breathe fresh air. A little while ago, he was sure that they would all be killed and drained of blood, left as shriveled husks in a dark tomb. Along with Hirgrim and the Cultirith, they returned to the tower as Nasen and his man went south. Wiglaf and Aldhelm met them at the shattered palisade gate, eyeing the rangers and the Blood-Wights suspiciously. "We have a truce," Dagar told them. "Hirgrim asked for parley and gave us valuable information on the vale. In exchange, I agreed to return their stores that we captured after the battle. They will return to Dol Cultirith in peace." He then gestured to the Blood-Wights. "And these are…Finculion and Alquanessë of the Noldor. We also have a truce with them." He gave them a bow and flourish.

Wiglaf nodded. "Very well, Dagar," he said and pointed to the sacks and crates that they had recovered after the battle. "I'll send some men to help." The hallweard then looked at the Blood-Wights. "You…umm…don't want any clothes? It…uhhh…must be cold."

Alquanessë shook her head. "No, I'm just fine as is. All of my clothes rotted away eons ago. And then the drinking blood thing…it ruined everything I wore so I gave up."

Mercatur chuckled. "Don't change on my account, lady. Just looking at you brightens my day." He then put his hand on Wiglaf's shoulder. "You should know that I gave my lands and title to young Dagar here. He is now Lord Rhudainor. With time, I think he will make a fine head of the house."

Wiglaf bowed to Dagar. "We are honored, Lord Rhudainor. We thought ourselves dispossessed but it is good to know that our house has a future again." He gestured back to the tower. "But I am afraid that the Tirthon is no longer defensible. The copper plates are destroyed or damaged. The kitchen is a loss and the walls are crumbling. It would take years to repair, and we don't have the manpower. I would suggest that we move to the Harnalda Tower and offer our services there. We could blend in but continue to be autonomous."

Dagar smiled. "I may have a better idea, good Wiglaf. Good Mercatur was kind enough to give us a manor house and farmland near Thuin Boid. I think it would be a good idea to resettle there. If you would accept, I would be honored to have you continue as the Hallweard of House Rhudainor."

"But of course, my lord. Everyone here who was sworn to Marendil is sworn to you now. Even Nig and Cisgid are willing to work for you. You'll be close enough to help your father and, I daresay, you will have the means to help your mother."

Dagar turned to the mercenaries. "Would you consider staying on at the house. You're more than welcome."

Mercatur shook his head. "Nah, I think we've had enough of Rhudaur and Rhudaur has had enough of us for a while. I think we're going to try our hand in Cardolan. There's enough work there for mercenaries."

Lord Rhudainor turned to Finculion and Alquanessë. "And where will you go?"

Alquanessë cocked her head as if thinking and put her finger to her lips. "I honestly had not thought about it. We never even hoped to be free," she said, sniffling and wiping her nose with her arm. Dagar handed her his now filthy silk handkerchief. She made a sour face but dabbed her nose. "Thank you. I think we'll just take it a day at a time. Our mother, Irimë, is still out there and I wish to make amends to my dear friend, Morelen. We also recently learned that our true father is Maglor, a bard of much renown. And, there is still the cure to decide upon," she added, holding up the tome.

Dagar splayed his hands with a grin. "You can always stay with me until you decide."

She started to refuse but stopped herself, narrowing one eye. "You know…I think we will take you up on that. After all, we are homeless now and what do you humans say in the cities when you're homeless…will work for food."

Dagar laughed, stunned by the demon's sense of humor. But the laugh faded when he realized that their food was blood. "Oh…no…uh."

Alquanessë giggled, putting her hand over her mouth. "No…no, we eat regular food too." She pointed to a woman and girl running towards them. "Well, you best pay attention to them now. We'll see you for dinner…regular food. Anything that tastes like chicken will do."

Dagar wrapped Mirthi and Cicrid up in his arms as they arrived. "I am such a lucky man."