Chapter 1
The Ruin of Eldrithèm
2933 TA. February 18th.
West. Eriador.
The Blue Mountains. The Forests of Ered Lindon.
The Kingdom of Eldrithèm
"Hold your ground, do not suffer them to pass!" King Riwal Slengebor commanded.
The battle admits enkarēin and orc raged on, neither side of the mind to yield. Alas, numerous lives were lost as the humble kingdom and its immortal beings were besieged in the night, unaware and unprepared they were; without provocation and without warning the orc incursion befell them.
Upon the staircases they rose like a black flood, threatening to drown many of the enkarēin warriors. Despite the considerable loss of life, the orc endowment lay not in brute strength as King Riwal's men, yet vast numbers. Tediously they cut them down, their blades driving through the bodies of the fell beasts. Carcases lay splayed amidst the walkways, scarcely bringing them to a crawl. Both races forged ahead, coming together in a vicious clash.
From above the treetops rung out a blood-curdling scream. King Riwal's Queen. His head snapped in the direction of his wife's grave cries, "Esola... my love!" He gasped. Turning from the battle, he flew across the platform or "High-Pass'' and to The Kings Tree. His breathing ragged, and his heart hammered wildly in his chest, as he held fiercely to the hope that he would reach her in time.
To the tree he came, he climbed, and he climbed, his feet scarcely touching down upon the wooden steps. The love for his family came to be his driving force, bestowing to the king a surge of great speed.
"Eru le do thoil, coinnigh slán mo pháistí agus mo bhean chéile!" ﴾please Eru, keep safe my children and wife﴿ He implored breathlessly.
Therein what seemed an aeon, he stood upon the threshold of his bedchambers. His hands wrenched tightly the handles of the doors, alas no amount of struggling availed to Riwal. They were barred. Once more, from deep within the walls of the king's chambers, came the cries of his queen.
Hellbent he was upon entering the room, growing increasingly embittered with his futile attempts to gain entry. He planted one foot upon the ground, grasped the door frame, and thrust his other foot forward with all the might he could muster. He slammed it into the door with a thunderous yell... hoping to unhinge the door from its frame. The door gave, yet only slightly.
"Damn enquioa wood!" He cursed beneath his breath.
Once more he dispatched a swift kick, and another, and thrice again... at long last he was rewarded for his unyielding efforts with the downfall of the door. Upon entering the room he found himself face to face with his afflicted wife, and two fell orcs.
Esola was stiffened into a corner, forbidden any chance to flee. Her gaze briefly broke free from the horrid beasts that held her at bay, and fell upon her husband, relaying a desperate, horrified plea for aid.
"Riwal!" she cried.
The king took up his sword and, with a thunderous cry, he drove his sword deep into the spine of one orc. With the tip of his blade protruding forth from its chest, a plume of ebony blood spurted throughout.
Regrettably, the king had left himself exposed, focusing his efforts upon the now deceased orc. The latter let out a shrill screech before plunging its ugly dagger into the king's right side.
"Riwal," Esola cried, her hands violently quaking as she brought them amidst her lips in horror.
The king gnashed his teeth. His eyes welled shut as he endured excruciating, mind-numbing pain. Adrenaline surged through his veins as the unbridled instinct to survive set in. He reached behind, forcibly tearing the weapon from his form. He let out a strangled growl in pain. Turning on his heels, he drove the same dagger in between the eyes of the last remaining orc. The creature fell to the ground, joining the other. The chamber, forthwith, was safe.
Esola and Riwal fell into each other's arms, clinging desperately to one another. He captured his wife's lips in a searing kiss, then rested his temple upon her own.
"Esola mo grá, where are the children?" ﴾my love﴿
"Sariël, Solan!" She gasped. Swiftly she came across the room and to the large chiffonier residing against the wall. She took hold of the cumbersome piece of furniture and brought it away from whence it stood, revealing a veiled door behind it. With haste, she wrenched the door open. There together they were, her daughter and son. "My children, come out!" She commanded, her tone comforting, yet firm. She embraced them both, kissing them thrice. Relief washed over her like the waters of the sea. They were all of them alive!
"Esola," Riwal began, "You can nary remain here... forthwith, make haste, take the children and flee!"
"What? Riwal no! Ne'er shall I abandon my husband to death and torment!"
"Athair!" Sariël cried, a contorted mask of unbridled fear and sorrow now splayed across her face.
"'Twas ne'er a request! We are well nigh overrun, we possess the strength to defeat these creatures yet nary the numbers. They are akin to a tide upon the shore. We are able to push them back, alas I know not for how long. My men grow weary with each passing second!"
"Where are we to go?" Sariël inquired.
"Make for the River Lhûn, you shall ford and from there the Shire!"
"The Shire?! With the Hobbits?" Esola replied.
"They are a peaceful folk and shall keep a weather eye upon you. The Green Elves are settled within our lands, your passage shall be watched and you shall remain safe!"
"If we are so safe, praytell where are they, Riwal?!" Esola probed.
"I DO NOT KNOW!" He roared, his embitterment mounting. He let fall his weary eyes and expelled a heavy breath. Finding his calm, he began once more, "Forgive me Esola, I have nary the answers you seek. Yet this I can say, we are alone in our battle and I would see that what my heart loves most is kept safe. I would put as much distance as imaginable amidst you and this filth. I swear it to you... I shall come for you!"
Tears began to well in her eyes, the resolve to depart from their home, and her husband whittled away at her heart. It ached and yet she knew well what she must do. She found the undertaking quite assuredly to be the most formidable thing she ever need do.
"I shall take leave of our home." Esola agreed.
"Gramercy mo grá! Fly, afore 'tis too late!" ﴾my love﴿
Riwal cradled his beautiful wife's face in his hands, kissing her ardently one last time. He then gazed upon his son, bestowing him a soft smile. "Give due diligence to your sister, my son. You are a man forthwith and heir to our kingdom. I am certain you will do great things!" He kissed his son's head and spoke only this, "Go!"
Esola grasped Sariël's hand, then followed Riwal to the opposite corner of the chamber, where he revealed another veiled passage. As they entered, Sariël swiftly turned on her heels, coming to face her father, a river of tears flowing freely from her eyes. "Athair, I implore you... say naught that you shall send me from your sight!" She wept.
"Sariël," He breathed, cradling her face between his hands, "This thing I do, I do wherefore I love you!" His auroran eyes became filled with tears, and albeit a smile graced his lips, they as well began to quiver as he spoke. "Nay greater gift has Eru bequeathed upon me than you, my dear Sariël. A father is nary an anchor to hold us back nor a sail to carry us there, yet a guiding light whose love shows us the way!"
He turned over her hand, placing within it a luminous, fluorite stone. Thereabouts the measure of her palm. Her gaze was glassen amidst her tears, yet she could see that upon the stone was an engraving. In the tongue of the elves were his words he had spoken only moments ago. A curious thing, for she reckoned the script to be penned in Neamhaí, their native tongue, not Quenya.
"Beidh mé riamh leat Sariël!" ﴾ever shall I be with you﴿
Suddenly a black arrow came whizzing past their heads, lodging itself into the wall beside them. Each of them turned to see a small horde of orcs through the window, ascending the staircase to the bedchambers.
"GO!" Riwal commanded, shoving his children and wife through the narrow passage.
"Athair, prithee... please... athair!" Sariël cried.
He shut the door and turned to face the coming threat. His strong hands drew his sword, grasping tightly to the hilt. With his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched, he breathed only these words...
"Lig dóibh teacht!" ﴾let them come﴿
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Two hours later...
Their journey to the river had proven a success, yet one that was scarcely easily accomplished. The passages leading out of The King's Tree were easily navigable. Albeit, making their way past the orcs unseen proved to be tasking. The Kingdom of Eldrithèm was forthwith overrun, what was to come of it none knew, yet hope remained within the heart of the Enkarēin Princess.
They sat together, Esola, Sariël, and Solan for a time before any found the words to speak. What could be said or done? Nothing. Their hierarchy mattered not when it came to orders bestowed by the king. His words were etched in stone. Go. Albeit they did as was commanded of them, they each shared in a synonymous sense of utter disparity and fear for their husband, father and kingdom.
Sariël broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper. "Where now shall we go?"
Esola replied, "We shall travel the path leading east to the Far Downs. Pray you we make it that far!"
"What... what of athair?" Sariël mewled.
"HUSH Sariël!" Esola chided. "I would have you speak not of him. My heart-" she swallowed thickly as tears welled in her eyes, "My heart cannot bear it!"
"Henceforth I am to ne'er wrought utterances of him again?!"
"Have you heard naught of what I just said? You shall be silent!"
Sariël stood bolt upright from whence she sat, her jaw and fists clenched with fury. Hot tears spilled from her eyes like raging rapids, her mother's command serving to further irritate her already agonizing pain. "Surely you may bind my hands yet nay shall you bind my lips!" She contended. She turned on her heels, stocking away from the small campfire they had erected. The cries that escaped her lips were a tortured medley of gasps and strangled sobs.
Solan brought his gaze away from his booted feet and to his mother, who's stare was fixed upon the dancing flames. He knew he dared not speak, yet in his heart he felt it necessary to come to his sister's aid. "I gather the pain that haunts you máthair, for 'tis in my heart and mind as well. Albeit I find little cause for us to descend into anarchy. Are the orcs not already upon our doorstep that we should attack our own?"
Esola laughed lightly, her eyes now wide with soreness, "You speak to me as though I am yet a child, you shall mind your tongue. I gather what lies upon our doorstep, if you recall I brought us out of it and to this place!"
"Máthair I-"
"Go! Fetch your sister afore her cries bring any further beasts down upon us!"
Solan was quiet. He stood from his seated position, turned, and left their small encampment to carry out the orders his mother had given. He was well aware of two things; one, his mother was angry, frightened, and hurt. Two, despite the already fragile state of their relationship with her, contention would prove to only be futile and would scarcely aid in matters.
Esola loved her children, in the aspect she presumed best. Alas, the hardship she endured at the hands of her own mother had not given her the tools required to rear her offspring in a healthy and nurturing manner.
Their grandmother was a bitter, old woman, yet few, the interactions they shared amidst themselves were scarcely joyous. Quite the opposite. The accounts Sariël had given to Solan were both heartbreaking and shocking. For reasons he could not fathom, the old woman had mistreated his sister and had gone as far as to strike her right in the very presence of their mother and her sister. Alas, they themselves denied any knowledge of the incidents, claiming to retain no memory of Sariël's mistreatment.
No tears were shed, no lament given upon the death of their matriarch. Not for the reasons of animosity, albeit for the simple reason that both Sariël and Solan hadn't the time given to erect a deeper, more intimate relationship with her. They were not close. He knew the repugnant interplay between his grandmother and sister was still etched within her mind. A stain upon the shore that could scarcely be washed away. He loved Sariël, and through his affection he had hoped she would find healing. Alas, none came. The turmoil did not end there. For as long as his memory would serve, he could recall both Esola and Sariël bitterly feuding. Neither saw fit to come to an accord in most discussions. Little things seemed to set them ablaze, like a wild-fire rolling over the western hills. Their relationship was a swirling vortex of entropy, leaving Riwal and Solan to pick up the pieces.
Sariël was unabashedly headstrong and independent, wanting for aid from others only when she had exhausted all other means. Perhaps it was their mother's unduly protective nature over them that had shaped his sister's disposition? Or perhaps it was the stubborn disposition of their father that she had inherited? He did not know. What he did know was this. Beneath that iron-clad will was a resplendent heart. Never had he witnessed such steadfast, unconditional love from another being. Whence the time came, whomever she chose as a mate, the recipient of her faith, hope, trust and love... surely could count themselves among the richest of men!
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He found her seated near the bank of the river; she rested in a seated position. Her legs were bent, and arms placed lengthwise across her knees. Upon her forearms, her temple came to be.
"Sariël?" He called, his voice kind and smooth.
"Go Solan, I do not care for your company!" She cried, her voice muffled as she spoke against her knees.
"I gathered you would see fit to disallow my presence, albeit nay do I come for your wants but needs."
"Very well, I do not NEED you!"
"Sariël, I beg you, do not unleash your fury upon me. Tell me, ever has there been a time when I have not fought for you?"
She was silent.
"I love you, and in her own manner as well does máthair." He said.
"Ha, ever have you possessed an incredulous wit about you!"
"Nay do I jest, I am quite serious! I am well informed of our máthair's demeanor. Evermore she is brash, juvenile and narrow-minded, yet she bequeathed to us the only love she knows to give. We must not fault her for the abusive nature afforded her from our seanmháthair."
﴾grandmother﴿
"A paltry childhood is nay cause for a paltry adulthood, Solan!" She roared.
"I concur."
"Verily? For what my eyes can see, athair is blind to her antics, and you wrought justification for what she has done!"
His tone was smooth, and he spoke in a manner with which he hoped would aid in diffusing his sister's burning embitterment. "What more has she done?"
Again, she was silent.
"I gather she has spoken to you, utterances that have cut you deeply, utterances that have inflicted great pain and suffering. Sariël... Prithee, please tell me, do not shut me out!"
"Forget it."
He released a heavy sigh, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder. "I only desire peace, nay contention amidst you both. Ne'er do I claim sides."
"I gathered as much." She mewed.
"You have my love, deirfiúr!" ﴾sister﴿
"And you mine dearth-" She stopped. Her quick ears caught wind of subtle sounds, beyond that of their conversing and the running of the river. "Do you hear it?" She inquired.
"Hear what?" He whispered.
She was silent. Her eyes fell shut as she listened intently for further sign of what had approached. Suddenly, and without warning, the cries of their mother pierced the eerie calm of the night. Amidst came the sharp squall of orcs. Sariël's eyes flew open of their own accord, her gaze now transfixed with her brothers. They clambered to their feet and ran with a haste akin to the elves.
"Come, Sariël, we must return to our encampment!" Solan instructed, taking a firm hold of his sister's hand, dragging her behind him.
"Where do you presume I am running?" She replied, her tone filled with sarcasm.
They had not wandered far; it took only mere minutes before they returned, alas the sight they beheld was one neither could have predicted. There she was sitting, with her back to a tree, their mother. Hewn through by a blackened blade, they affixed her to the tree, her life ebbing away. Her eyes held no more light in them and from the corner of her lips came a thread of crimson. Her breathing was strangled as her lungs became filled with her own blood. Her gaze came away from the orcs that surrounded her, and upon her daughter and son, evoking a faint smile upon her lips.
There were four of them, fanged creatures with skin as black and cold as raven's feathers. Their eyes were slit and yellowed. They were small, bow-legged, with gangly arms.
Sariël and Solan were exceedingly capable of defending themselves as they studied under the accolade of their father. Their skill with a weapon had fashioned them into something deadly. Yet, one fact remained that could scarcely be ignored... Sariël was an enkarling of fourteen. A young one who had not come away unaffected by the day's traumatization. Each occurrence she had endured at long last came to a head, leaving in its wake a child, unable to move from her stance. Frozen.
Solan had weathered the day's storms far better. The reasons were unknown to him. As much as he remained a man in the eyes of his father, he had scarcely come of age, being no older than twenty-four. Perhaps it was his maturation, for enkarēin 's it came swiftly, or perhaps it was his mental shield? They were blessed with certain gifts; the males differing from that of the females. Solan possessed a staggering score of strength of the comhlacht and intinn, the body and mind; a brute-force of ten men and able to erect a mental shield, blocking those around him. Moreover, the perceptions of others could be seen in his mind's eye, and a strong sense of their emotions. The presence of others could be felt when in proximity, evermore so if that being were enkarēin . It was only during the bonding process, and when ensnared in a fearful frame of mind, that the males found themselves in a defenseless state. A well-kept secret they had retained.
"Sariël run!" Solan commanded, alas her gaze and stance remained unfaltering. Her mouth was agape in a silent scream, her eyes dancing wildly as tears spilled forth. She was in shock.
Solan stood at arms. From his hip he drew his sword and erected himself as a barrier between the enemy and his sister. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, and his breathing hastened. Albeit he knew himself to be stouthearted and strong, scarcely was he immune to the vestiges of battle. A recount of the day flashed before his mind's eye. A horde of orcs scurrying like beetles amidst his kingdom, their mother's dying form splayed before them, and his sister now far gone.
So much death. So much hate. So much devastation left in the wake of these murderous demons. Then it happened. With that final recount, all apprehension and doubt left him. His guise was now eerily calm and void of any emotion. A fearsome light sprung forth in his eyes, his lips pursed, and his fingers grasped tightly at the hilt of his sword. With his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched, he breathed only these words...
"Lig dóibh teacht!" ﴾let them come﴿
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