Varsis’ sapphire eyes kept close watch on Erelith. The months felt interminable, even in his immortality. There was much about Erelith he still wished to know, but hesitated to push her for more information. He could not idly stand by and waver such events had occurred without feeling a sense of guilt. Varinus’ life was a hard cost to the eldest boy, but he would not let more families be torn with such a loss. He had a certain fondness for Erelith, however, he refused to admit it openly.

Erelith dismounted, the deepening slope ahead lush with trees. She led her stallion, Morenil beside her carefully up the incline. He tossed his head restlessly at the waning daylight. It was something neither beast nor mistress were fond of, though she felt far safer traveling beneath. The light of the sun had stung her eyes greatly at first, but quickly adapted herself to the warmth. Her sight still remained better attuned to the light of the moon, as was Varsis’. She barely breathed a word to him since they had left The Hollow, the silent tension mounting between them. Erelith could do nothing but let her words and the branded Mark of Meren impose more upon her thoughts.

‘I regret that I did not bear such information sooner,’ she began. ‘Yes, I am the daughter of Meren, but I implore that the punishment of his transgressions are not set on me. I have not wronged you, Varsis, son of Varinus. I did not present a danger in those first moments I knew you, and I doubt that I should do so now. There are far worse things to fear in this world than me.’

Not soon after she had revealed this information, she had made arrangements to leave. Erelith cared for each of the Sedryn brothers dearly, a sense of family she had not experianced before. She could not let more attacks on The Hollow continue without being plagued with further guilt. A rustle in the nearby brush brought Erelith back to her senses; she stopped and stood motionless. Varsis dropped into a defensive crouch, both scimitars now resting lightly in his hands. Erelith slowed and quieted her breathing until it was almost silent even to her keen ears. They were close and not alone; she could hear their movements and foul stench from over the ridge. Varsis suddenly exploded into action, leaping toward the brush. He drew his already injured arm back, lunging the other as hard as his strength would allow it. It plummeted straight into the chest of the now dead Worg. It’s rider struggled to free himself from the constraints of his dead beast, but Varsis was far too quick. He leapt again and pulled his blade from the lifeless form, and stuck the rider to meet the same fate.

The sound of multiple growls ensued, alerting both Moriquendë. Not just one appeared now, but several. He glanced toward Erelith, and at their odds. Had he taught her well? Now was the true test. The Worg Rider in the distance grinned wildly, feeling the two Dark Elves were surely outnumbered. Varsis’ blades seem to glow eagerly with white fury. Erelith’s dark eyes gleamed with an abhorrance for her new opponent. The lead rider edged closer, beast snapping viciously with a salvating maw.

‘Give usss to her,’ his voice hissed, confident they could not fight the odds.

Varsis’ brow creased in confusion.

He said he wants you to hand me over. I've got more than a few things to reply to that. Erelith voiced, mouth unmoved. Her form went bounding down the slope with great speed, and all the wrath of a raging river to welcome her enemies. Erelith planted a foot on a rock that jutted out, and pushed off with the other. She landed atop the rider and his beast, sinking hear leading scimitar into his heart, and her other blade into the beast. The rest of the assemblage watched the Dark Elves for a moment, closing in a circle around them, but not quite daring to attack.

‘Give usss to her,’ one of them called out.

‘I shall tear you from limb to limb if you get within the reach of my blades,’ Erelith replied threateningly.

‘So be it,’ was the answer.

Now! Erelith shouted inside Varsis’ mind.

Both Moriquendë exploded into action once more, blades leading the way. Erelith carried on her spin, whirling both blades as she went. Her next enemy came in with the intent to lop off her head with a rather unwieldy club. She blocked the blow with both her scimitars crossed defensively in front of her, kicking her opponent straight between the legs. While he was still registering the pain of that blow, Erelith put a blade through his chest. She whipped around to find another orc nearly atop her, knowing she would not have a chance to parry the blow, as swift as her reflexes were. From behind came the thrust of Varsis’ shimmering blade through their stomach.

You steal all the fun, she murmured mockingly.

Unwilling for that to happen, Erelith launched her assaults faster. She slashed the abdomen of another enemy, then took out two more simultaneously, slashing their throats with her scimitars. Varsis’ blade blazed through the chest of another she was about to kill, and she moved quickly from the lifeless form thudding to the ground. She leapt between the middle of two rather large and threatening Uruk-Hai.

She gleamed, this is more like it. Erelith was forced to parry two coordinated blows. The Moriquendi ducked as one tried again to swoop her head off, taking the opportunity of their open defenses to shatter the kneecap of her adversaries. She straightened as they stumbled backward from the blow, scimitars readied to welcome the Uruk-Hai once more. Attempting to launch another attack they came in again, but hindered by the injuries Erelith had caused, they merely fell over one another. The next Orc that came parried her first blow, and anticipated that the other would follow. It never came, and Erelith forced her opponent’s wrists to such a degree that it left them completely disarmed. It was then she made the permenant dent in his chest. When she straightened again she could note that the remaining enemies were scattering.

Hunt them down. She callled out to Varsis to chase, before setting off after them as well. Morenil returned to her, dark coat glittering from the growing shadows. He tossed his head confidently as his mistress whispered words into his ear. He picked his feet up in haste, charging in after as if the wind itself graced the stallion’s hooves. Erelith held tight, cutting down an Orc to her right, then to her left. None could withstand the formidible blades of these two elves.

Erelith came down to swing her scimitar once more, but halted at the sight of the fair-colored hair. This was no Orc enemy, but an Elf. She moved aside and dismounted, sheathing her crimson weapons. We are lost she thought. What are the chances of such a meeting? Her speech in the elven tongue still remained limited. Still, she greeted the stranger best she knew.

‘Suilad,’ she voiced roughly. Varsis returned and dismounted as well, Caewyn arching her neck in a downward fashion, as if to await his approval and praise. He stroked her white neck and she nuzzled with a nipping bite in return.

‘Good girl,’ he put softly.

‘…and what of me?’ Erelith turned now, quirking up and raising a snowy brow toward Varsis. She jested with him, but kept mostly a serious face.

‘Hmm,’ he seemed to ponder for a moment. Pretending his mare had given the correct answer, he replied, ‘I didn’t think so either.’ Before Erelith had the chance to reply to his words, he turned to the stranger.

‘Mae govannen,’ he greeted.

Not far from the harbours which marked the uttermost West of the land of Arda, empty wilderness hid the secrets of an ancient time. Hid from unfriendly eyes the cowardice that had made a people so great. A lone Elf trudged upon a lonely path outside her home. In the mounting dusk, her lean figure could barely be descried by anyone who chanced to look upon her, in the shade of a canopy of trees. She carried a woven basket half-filled with wildberries collected in the woods. Undisturbed and at ease, Tîwele strolled the stray paths, singing softly-- her voice took flight upon the gentle breeze: a lullaby that once her mother had sang her, a very long time ago.

Behind her, a chestnut mare ran free, silky mane and tail caressed by the wind like ever-shifting ocean waves. Her mistress watched her prance playfully, then pause to gaze back at her, her clear eyes speaking only of the unrivalled devotion she carried towards Tîwele. Watching Laeren for a moment, a contented smile played across Tîwele's lips. This was the first taste of joy she and Laeren had experienced for countless weeks: glad was she to feel the wind grace her hair, a river of molten gold tinged with the light of shifting silver, and to walk the land at will, wherever she willed. The mere idea of wandering free was a sweet enough temptation, but this was simply a whisper, a mocking shadow, of what could be. She knew such joy would not, could not last.

Doomed souls, they were, she and Laeren, that to walk outside the city's borders was itself a rare beauty. She felt as though all her life, she had dwelt in isolation from the world, if not from life, as though the youthful candour of childhood she remembered with such nostalgia was a dream that one could never awaken from; it was nothing more. Her heart longed to flee its caged cell, longed for a day which all this would change. I do not hate my father, she murmured fiercely, a meagre attempt to convince herself. Only his ways. He is otherwise noble and wise. Yet, I have witnessed the change. Shifted has he from the judicious ruler he once was, ever since my mother's disappearance, and not for the better. He does not shelter me from danger, but rather, my heart's will from myself. In the attempt to bind myself to him lest he loose another, he deprives me of the essence of life. What is life without its thrills, its joys, grief, loss itself? Oh, Elbereth, he loved her deeply, but these boundaries have dealt me a deep wound. As Tîwele's thoughts turned to her mother, she found that her image of her was beginning to fade, wavering on the brink of memory, yet never distinct. She sighed mournfully.

Tîwele placed her laden basket carefully by the edge of the path, and approached Laeren where she stoode, silent now, intense eyes watching her mistress.
'Come, beauty,' the Elf whispered when the mare came near, reaching a hand to the trusting animal's muzzle. Letting Tîwele slip her other hand in her soft mane, Laeren followed her mistress beneath the shade of the cluster of trees where Tîwele had stood before.

'Look, Laeren,' Tîwele pointed towards the evening sky, shrouded with a glimpse of the darkness resembling night. The first stars had begun to flicker as pinpricks of light. 'Truly, it has been long since I have been granted the chance to gaze upon the heavens at night; near as they are, yet so far away. Beautiful, nay?'

Laeren's answering whinny of wholehearted agreement spoke of their enduring bond, one which the Elf treasured, at that moment, more than all else.

Heavy iron-shod footsteps at a quicken pace pierced the peace, accompanied by laboured grunts and snarls. Tîwele, placed on her guard, realised that these were telling of a band of inhuman creatures, some breed of beasts, perhaps, or hunters of man-flesh. She searched frantically for her sword: Naurhimë, a foe of fire, but realised with dismay that it was still stowed away in her closet within her bedroom chamber; somehow, she had not anticipated meeting mercenaries of enemies this distant from the growing shadow that was said to be massing in the East. Unarmed, Tîwele felt suddenly vulnerable in the empty wilderness. Her sole purpose had been a simple stroll at dusk, to breathe again by releasing herself from that mind enclosed cell, before facing the dreaded fortress walls that feigned home for as long as she could remember. She reached forwards to stroke Laeron's mane tenderly, for comfort, wondering whether other evils more terrible roamed the encircling lands, brooding with malice. Realising that for many years, she had dwelt behind protected borders, completely oblivious to the occureces of the rest of Arda, she did not like to now under whose orders these warg-riders had been sent.

A long ago conversation with her father stirred in her memory. What concerns the rest of Middle-earth does not always concern us. If all the world winks into the depths of shadow, this realm is one that will stand in glory, always. As a child with only innocence as her gift, she had accepted this wisdom, trusting an elder's words to be true. But now, she questioned her father's wisdom. Had she always had unconditioned faith in her father? Or had merely been blind trust? Honour, power and with it, the endless thirst to preserve his kingdom, were these not always among the things he lusted for? Evil overshadows us, she thought. Evil that clouds even fearless, good-willed hearts; evil which may change all as we know it. I should not so readily trust this country's defences, especially after the fall of Gondolin... Treachery, deceptions cloaked in sweet illusions inhabit this world, and entrap those who do not remain on their guard.

As these thoughts occupied her, she realised that the warg-riders were no longer heading in her direction. Instead, they had paused several feet away; she was safe, for the moment, concealed in the safety of encircling tree branches. The clash of blades, scimitars, and the foul stench of bleeding warg beasts disturbed the air, so that Tîwele, watching the skilled defences of two elves as they parried and delivered blows to drive their adversaries back, wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight of the Uruk-hai. Some foul breed of orc, I doubt not, she thought. Amidst the endless growling, and the yowling of injured beasts, the two elves fought systematically, almost in unison, that Tîwele had to marvel at their ability to subdue these unknown terrors. As the Uruk-hai had all but been eliminated, the remaining wargs, now riderless, fled howling into the wild.

Tîwele stepped forward, casting the female stranger a bemused expression at her surprise upon identifying her as not Uruk-hai, but fellow Elf. She inclined her head with a friendly smile in answer to her greeting. 'Mae govannen,' she returned. The words that materialised on her tongue sounded familiar, as if they were in some remote way connected to the tongue she was accustomed to speaking. Some related variant of Elven-tongue, she guessed curiously. She remembered hearing wood elves speak such a phrase, and decided these travellers to be Elves, aside from their poise and talent in combat moments before.

Those vicious monsters had dared assault travellers outside the borders of Órelindë. Tîwele smiled grimly to herself as she pondered the violent end the creatures would surely also have met had the skilled archers of her people been roaming that evening. Now however, she felt naught but graciousness towards the two strangers, too tired was she to suspect that they posed any danger to her. She smiled in acknowledged of the male after their brief exchange of jests. She noticed a shift in the female's eyes, yet said nothing.

'Tîwele Elensar,' She extended a hand. 'What brings two elves here to this part of Arda?'

The sun's light was beginning to seep beneath the hilltops. Turning now to the two strangers, she invited them to sit with her as they watched the last rays of day dissolve beneath the rim of the horizon, content to let the three horses wander free nearby.

What do we tell Tîwele? Erelith whispered inside his mind. Her black eyes darted nervously up, and she shifted uncomfortably. Her fingerless glove displayed a jagged cut from the previous battle, and she hoped to conceal the branded scar just beneath the dark leather. Her heart pounded silently inside her chest, the resounding thump of it growing louder over the conversation. Her mind could not explore the endless possiblities of what might happen now if her identity was revealed.

‘We’ve business with Lord Elrond,’ Varsis stated, giving a vague explaination. It was true, in a way. The male Moriquendë was quite good at perfecting his ruses when need be, most fortunately on Erelith’s part. As Tîwele invited them to watch the sunlight dissapate, Erelith and Varsis grimaced at the harsh light, but did their best to try and conceal this matter. He would not give away their previous journies so easily, at least not unless this was noted by Tîwele. Varsis and Erelith had spent most of their travels by a moonlit sky, when their keen sight was of best use.

‘I am Varsis, son of –’ he paused, remembering those last moments on the battlefield, ‘…Varinus. My companion is called Erestel.’ Varsis hoped that Phaedrus’ lessons in language were well enough, he could only do so much talking for Erelith before suspicion was aroused. ‘An odd chance of our meeting,’ he commented. ‘Are you headed someplace too, Lady Tîwele?’ He inquired. Nothing of her clothes or appearance stated outwardly that she had been on the road as they were, or that she was of commonplace as Varsis.

Varsis…Erelith began anxiously inside his head. I wish to leave. Soon. This meeting makes me troubled. My glove was damaged in our skirmish, I do not desire to tarry here any longer than need be. There is a fair chance that I could not conceal it the longer we remain here. Erelith tensed her jaw, but attempted to appear at ease around the stranger. Tîwele Elensar did not appear from nowhere…I should think that I will follow her trail when she leaves. Perhaps we can salvage supplies enough for… for once, Varsis wanted to silence Erelith speaking inside his mind so that he could listen to Tîwele, but was unable to do so without the revelation of her ability. Once the last light of the sun left the land in a grey color, the howling of wolves ensued.

‘I fear that it is no longer safe for you here, Tîwele Elensar,’ he stated with haste. ‘You should depart so that you are put in no further danger on our account. Erel—Erestel and I have experianced much on this road, and can deal with the simplicity of a few wolves. I believe they’ve caught wind of the fallen Uruk-hai along the trail behind us. Go!’ He finished reassuringly, cutting off any further chance for Erelith to speak. Her skills in socialization lacked, and was often blunt and impatient with strangers. His hand wandered over to one hilt almost instinctively, and went unnoticed by his conscious mind. However, the white sheen it soon let off caught his immediate attention.

Erelith had already drawn her bow with two arrows strung and readied. Carefully, she followed their movement, and in one fell move sent the white arrows soaring across the air and straight into the heart of the beasts. Varsis drew his blades from their sheaths with the knowledge that even the best of shots would not stop the Worgs. Their paws dug into the ground, coming up fast on where Varsis had rooted his feet. A pair of large fangs protruded from outside the area of their mouths, mixed with vicious hunger. He stood there openly, as if daring the beasts and their riders to come closer.

He swung his first blade upwards as the first one came upon him, bringing it down swiftly on the second beast. He tore his blades through the beasts so quickly, it seemed that nearly immediately they squealed over and fell to their sides. It left their riders struggling and trapped. Before either enemy could react, the Moriquendë had already reached for his second blade and stabbed it straight through the first Uruk-hai’s chest. He groaned in pain, and the other one made it free before he was as dead as his counterpart. Varsis moved only quickly enough to dodge the angered knife.

Erelith grabbed the second Uruk-hai by his shoulder, shoving her fist into his jawbone. It knocked him over on his backside again, and she gained some momentum, turning around and slamming her foot into the side of her foe. He started to soar toward the nearest tree, but she grasped their wrist and pummeled her enemy into the tree preemptively. In some great feat of strength she held him inches from the ground, turning their own knife onto themselves. Her dark eyes searched that of her opponent, a low, primitive growl emerging. She slammed them against the tree once more. Her rival fell, slumped into unconsciousness. Erelith bent over and dug the knife deep into their heart.

‘Again, I apologize for the near death experience,’ Varsis voiced tensely.

Erelith had executed her enemy, but at what cost? Shooting the arrows tore the remaining lining in her bracers and thusly revealing not only the severe burn from it, but more promenantly the Mark of Meren detailed into her forearm.

Her dark eyes watched Tîwele with caution, and disbelief. If her story stood true, would she not have been as worn as Erelith appeared? Her own clothes were torn, and even she admitted it might be nice to have a warm bath. Both Varsis and Erelith suspected a cover up, but said nothing of it.

This Tîwele Elensar would not hold her secrets for long.