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b2memB2MeM Challenge: Aredhel meets the dwarves for the first time while residing in Nan Elmoth. She receives the biggest surprise when the bearded dwarves all remove their cloaks and coats to reveal that each one of them are women.
Format: chaptered fic
Genre: humor, horror, friendship, zombie AU/Walking Dead fusion
Rating: Teens
Warnings: Gore, violence, body horror, character deaths
Characters: (for Part 1): Aredhel, Eöl, Lúthien, Galadriel, Egalmoth, Idril, Meleth, Wilówë (OC), Morispiní (OC), Nellas, Telchar, six dwarf OCs, and Amras.
Pairings: background Telchar/Delunis (OC), Nellas/Amras
Creator's Notes: There are at least three parts planned: A Grey Matter, White Lies, and Blackout. Unfortunately I only got the first one done for this month. This is meant to be one story, but due to length I have to split it into two parts.
Although I have this set as a Walking Dead fusion, there are homages to other zombie movies.
This story does borrow some of my own headcanon and 'verse stories as depicted in some previous fanworks (such as A Reunion in Dor Dínen), but it's not necessary to read them to understand this fic.
Proof-read by myself, so there may still be typos throughout.
Summary: Aredhel runs across trouble after leaving Gondolin. Luckily, she is prepared.
Code Red:
A Grey Matter
With speed like lightening flew the arrow, evoking a groan from the walker upon impact, but Aredhel did not stop to make certain her shot had gone through the head. She spun around and jabbed her dagger through the eye socket of another, and with one heavy boot she kicked off the third approaching her, spinning out of its way and raining down on it the thick heel of her boot till its skull cracked, blood and brains spilling over the grey ground.
From the distance she saw more sluggishly making their way towards her, drawn by the sounds. She grabbed the dagger and yanked out the arrow, then dashed deeper into the forest. She located her horse Nimanor, and after hopping on, she cried out for her to make haste just as the growls of more of the accursed undead were heard.
She pushed Nimanor to go faster. Just as she began to believe she was well away from the danger, suddenly a walker appeared from the bushes; Nimanor neighed loudly as she reared up, sending Aredhel crashing to the ground.
Fighting the sharp pain shooting up her arm, she rolled away from Nimanor lest her hooves came crushing down on her. Spitting out dirt, she scrambled to her feet in time to witness that Nimanor was far out of reach, galloping down the path in frenzy.
“Foolish steed!” Aredhel cried before beheading an approaching walker just in time. Blood gushed from its aorta, splattering her white dress. She kicked it off hard enough to topple the other walker behind it. One slash later, and another walker went down, its skull pierced with her dagger.
The blood soaking her dress was starting to weigh her down, and without a moment’s hesitation she tore off the front of her skirt. More were approaching her at every angle, but she had little arrows left, and half were virtually unusable by this point.
Taking one look at the nearest tree, she decided this would be her only chance. As she climbed up she could hear the walkers' growls as they sought to grab her dress. She yanked away strips of hem they could reach while struggling not to fall.
A pressure which had been slowly building in her bladder was reaching its peak, and Aredhel had to draw in a deep breath and press her thighs together to steady herself.
This is perhaps not the best time to be in need to relief myself, unless if I can get a good aim at these bastards from a high branch, Aredhel thought, and she chuckled at the mental image for but a moment, for the act threatened to make her lose control.
The tree was so tall that she was certain she could reach the very top and be safe from the gnarling monsters beneath her. She could stay up there the night or perhaps climb from one tree to the next to locate that dratted Nimanor.
Just as she was feeling optimistic about her prospects, her foot missed a spot, slipped, and down she went.
"No!" she cried, knowing how very well one small mistake would be enough to end one's life. She had seen it with her own eyes before, countless of times.
She sealed her eyes shut the very minute she hit the ground. By some miracle she did not wet herself, but she had no time to be grateful for that. The walkers behind her growled and sneered, jaws snapping at her heels, but she could not back down now. She scrambled back up and kicked away at one before the rippling pain shot through her, tearing out a sharp curse that rang throughout the forest. One ankle had been twisted, and thought she fought to keep her balance she fell back against the tree, almost knocking herself out cold. She fell to her knees, watching the walkers, ever growing larger around her. Her heart hammered in fright.
Suddenly there was a glint of metal, and a walker's head toppled to the ground, followed by another, and two more. Soon all the bodies which surrounded her had fallen to the ground, blood gushing out in spurts, tainting the sweet earth below a deep red.
There was a figure now standing before her, though they were not alone, as two walkers stood behind them. But they were no threat as they had neither arms nor bottom jaw.
The figure in the middle wore a long black cloak over some sort of black armor, and a hood covered his face. One hand gripped the chains that connected to collars around the walker’s neck. In his other hand he held a long black sword.
"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked and removed his hood. He was a tall elf, grim-faced and dark-haired, and skin a solid brown like the tree behind him.
Avari, Aredhel thought immediately. Though he had just saved her, she was on alert. But studying him, how the hollow cheeks and bags under his eyes indicative of not having properly slept or ate for months, he seemed to be no threat. She neither hated nor feared Avari, as she knew of at least one in Gondolin.
“My ankle will heal,” Aredhel said as she got to her feet, “though it better not be slow under these current conditions.”
“Aye,” the elf agreed. “I am Eöl of the Kinn-lai tribe, and who may you be?”
“Aredhel of the Noldor,” Aredhel said brightly, already feeling her ankle healing.
“A Noldo,” Eöl said, his eyebrows raised.
Aredhel smirked. “A descendent of the great king Finwë.”
“Ah, a relation of the House of Fëanor. I confess I do not love your people for their ill deeds, my lady, as much as it is believed we both hail from the peoples of the Second Wakers.”
“They are not all awful, but I understand some of your resentment,” Aredhel said conversationally. “There are actions I too do not agree with my cousins either.” She tapped the body of one fallen walker with her boot. “Any ideas where they came from? When I was given leave to partake this journey, no one mentioned dead walkers.”
“None of my or others’ theories have been proven,” Eöl said. “Some of my people suspect it came from the race of Men, as they are sickly and die too soon. So odd their illness could pass to us.”
“I’ve only heard of them,” Aredhel said, “though one of my cousins said to have met them. They sound fascinate, but a pity their coming here brought with them an illness, if this is true. Our differences aside, I would not like to think this was some curse laden on us all for my people coming here.”
Eöl nodded in agreement. “That was another theory, but you do not look diseased.”
“I appreciate the assessment.” She noticed then, faded on his skin by now, were ceremonial paint, and her mind reeled with what sort of festivals and ceremonies the Kinn-lai held. Stay focused, you foolish elf.
“If you do not mind the slight change in subject, you spoke of having been with a party?”
“Yes. We carried the flags of the Fountain, the Golden Flower, the Heavenly Arch, and that of the King, my own house. Did you happen to see any of those images?”
“A golden flower and fountain?” Eöl said. “Not today, but I have seen them pass by here a few times before. Unlike your cousins, they never showed sign of wishing to assail me or this land. I believe their names were…, er, Ecthelion and Glorfindern?”
“Ecthelion and Glorfindern are dead,” Aredhel said. “Or to use the latter’s correct name, Glorfindel. He was the first to fall after we were attacked. I saw him ripped to shreds by these creatures. Ecthelion fell into a river while fighting a whole army of them, but I doubt he survived. My third escort, Egalmoth, and I first sought refuge in one of my cousin’s lands, but it was only to find a whole horde of them feasting on Celegorm, which may please you to hear. Unfortunately half of the walkers took note of our presence and came after us, thus the fate of my other cousins I do not yet know. Egalmoth and I were separated as we ran. I fear for his safety. He’s a mighty strong fighter, but our enemy are many.
“Who are your companions?”
“Forgamdir and Hargamdir,” Eöl explained. “They were once fellow smiths with whom I worked with in these woods, but after the sickness stricken them…they tried to attack me after they turned, but I had not the heart to kill two of my closest colleagues and friends. I noticed the walkers do not take notice if they do not pick up your scent, so I kept Forgamdir and Hargamdir beside me but took away all manners in which they could hurt me. I do feel safer with them around.”
Aredhel nodded to the two elves. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen. You have a smithy here?”
“Yes, for this is Nan Elmoth and I am its lord,” Eöl said. “I will take you there if you wish.” His eyes studied the broken and overused arrows protruding from Aredhel’s quiver. “And if there is anything you require, do not hesitate to ask.”
Aredhel dusted the gravel off her dress and straightened herself proudly. “I require a toilet. And new weapons.”
Eöl nodded. “The plumbing in some of the houses still works.” He tugged at the chains, and Forgamdir and Hargamdir followed. Aredhel stayed close, protected by the stench of the former elven smiths. Very little sunlight peeked between breaks in the layers of leaves overhead, but though she would normally find this charming in its mystery, it only made her more unsettled with the thought of what danger could be lurking in the shadowy underbrush.
“Oh! Smart thinking,” she said as they neared the village. Lining the borders were long spears bolted to the ground, the sharp points pointing out. Any walker who came by would drive right into the points, and indeed there were currently a couple stuck to the poles. Forgamdir and Hargamdir paused and turned to the nearest one, an exchange in groans and moans ensuing.
“Do not converse with strange men,” Aredhel advised wisely, poking their backs till the two resumed following Eöl.
The village of Nan Elmoth was tiny but homely, clearly an industrial village to serve for King Thingol of Doriath. It was once bustling with work: smoke of the smithies filling the air, a canopy over sounds of people at work on the looms, whirls of pottery wheels, appetizing smells from the bakeries and cafes which still faintly lingered. But now it lay completely bare. The doors of the small houses were left wide open, jars and vases tipped over, some broken, the beautiful intricate design of the Avarin culture shattered.
“We urged everyone to evacuate to Doriath for safety,” Eöl explained. “Only the smiths remained to continue forging weapons, but they too fell. I’m the last of them.”
Aredhel crouched to study one of the broken vases, wondering what the colors and symbols meant for them, if there was a story behind them. There were once several tribes here, she realized, noting the different designs, one of which she recognized as belonging to the Hwenti. A vague scent of special herbs met her nose, and she envisioned their daily life, their cuisines, the elves laughing and dancing to music at night to unwind from the day’s hard work.
How very different and yet familiar the designs looked to her, and she thought of her mother Anairë, a very spiritual woman who taught Aredhel a different story of the stars and the creation of the universe. The thought of her now bowed in prayer, so far away from Aredhel trapped in this vast battlefield, brought out a sadness. She wished she had spent more time with her mother when she had the chance. At least, she hoped, Valinor was safe from the spreading disease.
“Lady Aredhel?” came Eöl’s soft voice, shaking her out of her reverie. He indicated to a house. “The plumbing here functions.”
“Thank you,” she said, straightening up and wiping all grief from her face. “The dam was just about the break!”
Feeling better at having relieved herself, Aredhel washed at the nearby basin when Eöl called her again.
“There is some salted meat and berries if you wish,” he said, sliding a plate unto a table in the kitchen. “I’m afraid there’s not much here, as Doriath is rationing their lembas, and beasts flee upon seeing the walkers.”
“It is a feast for kings and queens,” Aredhel said, studying the thin strips with hunger. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was from the journey and the battles, and just now she also became aware how awful she smelled.
Eöl bowed. “I do hope you do not mind squirrel?”
“I hunted and feasted on stranger things in the lands of the Valar!” Aredhel laughed. She removed her quiver and satchel and placed each on the bag beside the plate. She took a quick sniff under her arms and made a face, then without thinking pulled her dress over her head. She heard Lord Eöl give a tiny embarrassed yelp and turn away, and she laughed again.
“We were created by the purity of Eru the One and yet we treat our holy bodies as shameful objects,” she said.
“It is impolite to see another in this manner, as we are neither family nor married.”
“Get used to it if we are to team up for this bizarre battle,” Aredhel said. “I prepared a dress for this in case should I find myself in a battle, as this one easily got torn and messy. I made it myself for such an occasion.”
Eöl just nodded his head, still not glancing at her until he heard her give a cry of delight at the dress. Grinning, she placed her hands on her hips.
“I call this Code Red,” she said proudly. “Unfortunately, I do not think the pants are strong enough to protect me.”
“In my dresser you will find something to wear, made of metal that will protect you,” Eöl said. “It is the same as what I am wearing right now.”
“Oh, so this is your house!” Aredhel said as she ran to the bedroom. She located the dresser, but became disappointed when she pulled out one of the tiny black pants.
“These can’t even fit a child,” she thought. She tugged on the waistband and was shocked to find it stretch easily. She could slip right into it, and the metal shifted and stretched to take in her entire form. Testing her thigh, she was satisfied with its unique strength. No arrow would pierce it, much less a walker’s bite.
“I can probably stretch this even further,” she mumbled to herself and slipped it up far under her dress, over her waist, carefully tucked each breast inside, and pulled it up all the way to her neck. It didn’t feel like she was wearing anything at all, and the pants at least did not feel like it would cause a problem in movement. Most importantly, she was rest assured her heart and vital organs were well protected. Eöl also had black boots made of the same material, which Aredhel helped herself to.
“Do the others wear this armor?” Aredhel called out to Eöl as she made her way back to the kitchen. Eöl was tinkering with a strange new weapon he had been working on.
“Not everyone,” he said. “Galvorn is not in abundance, and it is…difficult to extract.”
“Such a pity,” Aredhel said. She noticed then a small painting of three elves, one of whom was Eöl, looking not so exhausted, and two others she thought she recognized.
“They are the elves I grew up with,” Eöl said, tracing her gaze to the painting. “My oldest friends. My mother made this before we parted ways. Meleth and Rôg, I knew them.”
Aredhel gasped. “I thought I knew them! They live in Gondolin now, my home. I would take all your people there. The walls of my brother’s land should protect us from any danger.”
“They reside in Gondolin?” The look in Eöl’s eyes sent an ache in Aredhel’s heart; they glanced out in the distance, a yearning bubbling up through his tired body. “My friends. So they must be safe, I’m assuming? Had the Noldor welcomed them warmly?”
“There were no dangers when I left, and no. Admittedly there was some suspicion, for Rôg claimed to be of our kin but none knew him before, and some were hostile to Meleth, but they are loved and respected now. Rôg even is the lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, and all go to Meleth to heal hurts.”
Eöl smiled warmly. “Bless them both.”
“Come with me, then. You will unite with them and be safe.”
“But I can’t. Do they not say whoever goes in never come out? I have other friends and family here.”
“I left! Besides it may not be safe out here for the longest time.”
Eöl shook his head. “And what of dangers within? I sent the others to Doriath, and I made weapons to deliver to them monthly, but communications have run dry in recent weeks. I am concerned for them, so I would like to go there myself soon.”
“I will go there with you, then,” Aredhel said, sensing defeat. “I don’t much fancy the idea of traveling alone back to my home. I did not think I would ever say this, but the thought of walls appeal to me greatly at this hour.” She nibbled the tip of the meat strip. From here she could see Forgamdir and Hargamdir standing idly right outside like horses with their reins tied to a post. She could ask for one of them to accompany her back to Gondolin, but Doriath was closer, and Aredhel much liked having someone who could still communicate.
“Once you are done, I will show you the weapons I have been building,” he said after a time.
He next led her to the smithy connected to the largest building of the small village. Aredhel’s eyes widened the moment she stepped inside. Every inch of the place had been hollowed out of all furniture and decorations, and in their place were large stacks of arsenal of every kind.
On one wall were once displays of all jewelry the Avari had made, but each one had been taken down and the gems and gold and silver reused for new weapons.
No wonder he’s so tired and thin! Aredhel thought. He must have taken apart every piece of the village for this task.
Eöl could not help a small smile as he watched Aredhel take in the collection with wonder. He stuck out his thin chest just a little in pride.
“Take whatever you need,” he said. “There is enough for yourself and all of Doriath. I ask nothing in return.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Aredhel threw out her arrows for a new set, the arrows strong and hard in her hand. Among the collection she found a black-bladed knife with a silver handle and a set of throwing knives.
“How will you take these all to Doriath,” she asked, “if you are the only one that remains here?” She imagined Forgamdir and Hargamdir hailing the entire load with straps attached to their backs as they were mules, and she tried her best stifle her laughter.
“Ah.” Eöl grinned. “Elf and Man may be affected by this illness, but there is one people that can withstand them, and they are marching here right at this moment: the race of Dwarves, children of Mahal. They too are my colleagues and closest friends.”
Unable to hold back, Aredhel exploded with excitement. “You kid me! I have only heard of them! My cousins have been trying for years to gain their friendship.”
Eöl chuckled. “I suppose I am the reason the dwarves do not take the Noldor as friends.”
“Well then, they have not yet met me,” Aredhel said, her mind reeling with excitement as she gazed out to the fence.
*
“Come in, quick!” Meleth’s voice reached Idril, who took another glance over her shoulder, surveying the street, before slipping into the healing house.
“How is he faring?” she asked in a whisper, motioning to the elf atop the bed.
“I’m afraid he is slipping. His infection had spread and rejected my treatment. The first time I have seen an elf succumb to illness so quickly.” Meleth studied the man with pity.
Idril nodded. “So sad such a small injury is consuming him!”
“At the least he should not turn into one of them. He was not far outside of Gondolin when he got the injury, but still, I wish to observe him.”
“Do you have some doubt?”
“Lady Idril, is that you?” the elf called weakly from the bed.
“I am here, yes!” Idril’s voice rose up a notch, adopting a more singsong tone. “Brought you your favorite treats from the stalls of the Golden Flower Bakery! Lady Malleth’s famous recipe!”
The elf smiled weakly. “So kind, my lady, so kind. And what of your famous poems?”
Smiling sadly, Idril went on to recite one of his favorites. The afternoon passed, and still he did not even move to touch the bag of treats she left at his side. Idril’s words brought a smile that did not reach his eyes, but he kept still and listened. When she was done, Idril returned to Meleth’s side, and the two sat in silence for the remainder of the day and did not stir even as the elf drew his final breath.
Part Two
Format: chaptered fic
Genre: humor, horror, friendship, zombie AU/Walking Dead fusion
Rating: Teens
Warnings: Gore, violence, body horror, character deaths
Characters: (for Part 1): Aredhel, Eöl, Lúthien, Galadriel, Egalmoth, Idril, Meleth, Wilówë (OC), Morispiní (OC), Nellas, Telchar, six dwarf OCs, and Amras.
Pairings: background Telchar/Delunis (OC), Nellas/Amras
Creator's Notes: There are at least three parts planned: A Grey Matter, White Lies, and Blackout. Unfortunately I only got the first one done for this month. This is meant to be one story, but due to length I have to split it into two parts.
Although I have this set as a Walking Dead fusion, there are homages to other zombie movies.
This story does borrow some of my own headcanon and 'verse stories as depicted in some previous fanworks (such as A Reunion in Dor Dínen), but it's not necessary to read them to understand this fic.
Proof-read by myself, so there may still be typos throughout.
Summary: Aredhel runs across trouble after leaving Gondolin. Luckily, she is prepared.
A Grey Matter
With speed like lightening flew the arrow, evoking a groan from the walker upon impact, but Aredhel did not stop to make certain her shot had gone through the head. She spun around and jabbed her dagger through the eye socket of another, and with one heavy boot she kicked off the third approaching her, spinning out of its way and raining down on it the thick heel of her boot till its skull cracked, blood and brains spilling over the grey ground.
From the distance she saw more sluggishly making their way towards her, drawn by the sounds. She grabbed the dagger and yanked out the arrow, then dashed deeper into the forest. She located her horse Nimanor, and after hopping on, she cried out for her to make haste just as the growls of more of the accursed undead were heard.
She pushed Nimanor to go faster. Just as she began to believe she was well away from the danger, suddenly a walker appeared from the bushes; Nimanor neighed loudly as she reared up, sending Aredhel crashing to the ground.
Fighting the sharp pain shooting up her arm, she rolled away from Nimanor lest her hooves came crushing down on her. Spitting out dirt, she scrambled to her feet in time to witness that Nimanor was far out of reach, galloping down the path in frenzy.
“Foolish steed!” Aredhel cried before beheading an approaching walker just in time. Blood gushed from its aorta, splattering her white dress. She kicked it off hard enough to topple the other walker behind it. One slash later, and another walker went down, its skull pierced with her dagger.
The blood soaking her dress was starting to weigh her down, and without a moment’s hesitation she tore off the front of her skirt. More were approaching her at every angle, but she had little arrows left, and half were virtually unusable by this point.
Taking one look at the nearest tree, she decided this would be her only chance. As she climbed up she could hear the walkers' growls as they sought to grab her dress. She yanked away strips of hem they could reach while struggling not to fall.
A pressure which had been slowly building in her bladder was reaching its peak, and Aredhel had to draw in a deep breath and press her thighs together to steady herself.
This is perhaps not the best time to be in need to relief myself, unless if I can get a good aim at these bastards from a high branch, Aredhel thought, and she chuckled at the mental image for but a moment, for the act threatened to make her lose control.
The tree was so tall that she was certain she could reach the very top and be safe from the gnarling monsters beneath her. She could stay up there the night or perhaps climb from one tree to the next to locate that dratted Nimanor.
Just as she was feeling optimistic about her prospects, her foot missed a spot, slipped, and down she went.
"No!" she cried, knowing how very well one small mistake would be enough to end one's life. She had seen it with her own eyes before, countless of times.
She sealed her eyes shut the very minute she hit the ground. By some miracle she did not wet herself, but she had no time to be grateful for that. The walkers behind her growled and sneered, jaws snapping at her heels, but she could not back down now. She scrambled back up and kicked away at one before the rippling pain shot through her, tearing out a sharp curse that rang throughout the forest. One ankle had been twisted, and thought she fought to keep her balance she fell back against the tree, almost knocking herself out cold. She fell to her knees, watching the walkers, ever growing larger around her. Her heart hammered in fright.
Suddenly there was a glint of metal, and a walker's head toppled to the ground, followed by another, and two more. Soon all the bodies which surrounded her had fallen to the ground, blood gushing out in spurts, tainting the sweet earth below a deep red.
There was a figure now standing before her, though they were not alone, as two walkers stood behind them. But they were no threat as they had neither arms nor bottom jaw.
The figure in the middle wore a long black cloak over some sort of black armor, and a hood covered his face. One hand gripped the chains that connected to collars around the walker’s neck. In his other hand he held a long black sword.
"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked and removed his hood. He was a tall elf, grim-faced and dark-haired, and skin a solid brown like the tree behind him.
Avari, Aredhel thought immediately. Though he had just saved her, she was on alert. But studying him, how the hollow cheeks and bags under his eyes indicative of not having properly slept or ate for months, he seemed to be no threat. She neither hated nor feared Avari, as she knew of at least one in Gondolin.
“My ankle will heal,” Aredhel said as she got to her feet, “though it better not be slow under these current conditions.”
“Aye,” the elf agreed. “I am Eöl of the Kinn-lai tribe, and who may you be?”
“Aredhel of the Noldor,” Aredhel said brightly, already feeling her ankle healing.
“A Noldo,” Eöl said, his eyebrows raised.
Aredhel smirked. “A descendent of the great king Finwë.”
“Ah, a relation of the House of Fëanor. I confess I do not love your people for their ill deeds, my lady, as much as it is believed we both hail from the peoples of the Second Wakers.”
“They are not all awful, but I understand some of your resentment,” Aredhel said conversationally. “There are actions I too do not agree with my cousins either.” She tapped the body of one fallen walker with her boot. “Any ideas where they came from? When I was given leave to partake this journey, no one mentioned dead walkers.”
“None of my or others’ theories have been proven,” Eöl said. “Some of my people suspect it came from the race of Men, as they are sickly and die too soon. So odd their illness could pass to us.”
“I’ve only heard of them,” Aredhel said, “though one of my cousins said to have met them. They sound fascinate, but a pity their coming here brought with them an illness, if this is true. Our differences aside, I would not like to think this was some curse laden on us all for my people coming here.”
Eöl nodded in agreement. “That was another theory, but you do not look diseased.”
“I appreciate the assessment.” She noticed then, faded on his skin by now, were ceremonial paint, and her mind reeled with what sort of festivals and ceremonies the Kinn-lai held. Stay focused, you foolish elf.
“If you do not mind the slight change in subject, you spoke of having been with a party?”
“Yes. We carried the flags of the Fountain, the Golden Flower, the Heavenly Arch, and that of the King, my own house. Did you happen to see any of those images?”
“A golden flower and fountain?” Eöl said. “Not today, but I have seen them pass by here a few times before. Unlike your cousins, they never showed sign of wishing to assail me or this land. I believe their names were…, er, Ecthelion and Glorfindern?”
“Ecthelion and Glorfindern are dead,” Aredhel said. “Or to use the latter’s correct name, Glorfindel. He was the first to fall after we were attacked. I saw him ripped to shreds by these creatures. Ecthelion fell into a river while fighting a whole army of them, but I doubt he survived. My third escort, Egalmoth, and I first sought refuge in one of my cousin’s lands, but it was only to find a whole horde of them feasting on Celegorm, which may please you to hear. Unfortunately half of the walkers took note of our presence and came after us, thus the fate of my other cousins I do not yet know. Egalmoth and I were separated as we ran. I fear for his safety. He’s a mighty strong fighter, but our enemy are many.
“Who are your companions?”
“Forgamdir and Hargamdir,” Eöl explained. “They were once fellow smiths with whom I worked with in these woods, but after the sickness stricken them…they tried to attack me after they turned, but I had not the heart to kill two of my closest colleagues and friends. I noticed the walkers do not take notice if they do not pick up your scent, so I kept Forgamdir and Hargamdir beside me but took away all manners in which they could hurt me. I do feel safer with them around.”
Aredhel nodded to the two elves. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen. You have a smithy here?”
“Yes, for this is Nan Elmoth and I am its lord,” Eöl said. “I will take you there if you wish.” His eyes studied the broken and overused arrows protruding from Aredhel’s quiver. “And if there is anything you require, do not hesitate to ask.”
Aredhel dusted the gravel off her dress and straightened herself proudly. “I require a toilet. And new weapons.”
Eöl nodded. “The plumbing in some of the houses still works.” He tugged at the chains, and Forgamdir and Hargamdir followed. Aredhel stayed close, protected by the stench of the former elven smiths. Very little sunlight peeked between breaks in the layers of leaves overhead, but though she would normally find this charming in its mystery, it only made her more unsettled with the thought of what danger could be lurking in the shadowy underbrush.
“Oh! Smart thinking,” she said as they neared the village. Lining the borders were long spears bolted to the ground, the sharp points pointing out. Any walker who came by would drive right into the points, and indeed there were currently a couple stuck to the poles. Forgamdir and Hargamdir paused and turned to the nearest one, an exchange in groans and moans ensuing.
“Do not converse with strange men,” Aredhel advised wisely, poking their backs till the two resumed following Eöl.
The village of Nan Elmoth was tiny but homely, clearly an industrial village to serve for King Thingol of Doriath. It was once bustling with work: smoke of the smithies filling the air, a canopy over sounds of people at work on the looms, whirls of pottery wheels, appetizing smells from the bakeries and cafes which still faintly lingered. But now it lay completely bare. The doors of the small houses were left wide open, jars and vases tipped over, some broken, the beautiful intricate design of the Avarin culture shattered.
“We urged everyone to evacuate to Doriath for safety,” Eöl explained. “Only the smiths remained to continue forging weapons, but they too fell. I’m the last of them.”
Aredhel crouched to study one of the broken vases, wondering what the colors and symbols meant for them, if there was a story behind them. There were once several tribes here, she realized, noting the different designs, one of which she recognized as belonging to the Hwenti. A vague scent of special herbs met her nose, and she envisioned their daily life, their cuisines, the elves laughing and dancing to music at night to unwind from the day’s hard work.
How very different and yet familiar the designs looked to her, and she thought of her mother Anairë, a very spiritual woman who taught Aredhel a different story of the stars and the creation of the universe. The thought of her now bowed in prayer, so far away from Aredhel trapped in this vast battlefield, brought out a sadness. She wished she had spent more time with her mother when she had the chance. At least, she hoped, Valinor was safe from the spreading disease.
“Lady Aredhel?” came Eöl’s soft voice, shaking her out of her reverie. He indicated to a house. “The plumbing here functions.”
“Thank you,” she said, straightening up and wiping all grief from her face. “The dam was just about the break!”
Feeling better at having relieved herself, Aredhel washed at the nearby basin when Eöl called her again.
“There is some salted meat and berries if you wish,” he said, sliding a plate unto a table in the kitchen. “I’m afraid there’s not much here, as Doriath is rationing their lembas, and beasts flee upon seeing the walkers.”
“It is a feast for kings and queens,” Aredhel said, studying the thin strips with hunger. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was from the journey and the battles, and just now she also became aware how awful she smelled.
Eöl bowed. “I do hope you do not mind squirrel?”
“I hunted and feasted on stranger things in the lands of the Valar!” Aredhel laughed. She removed her quiver and satchel and placed each on the bag beside the plate. She took a quick sniff under her arms and made a face, then without thinking pulled her dress over her head. She heard Lord Eöl give a tiny embarrassed yelp and turn away, and she laughed again.
“We were created by the purity of Eru the One and yet we treat our holy bodies as shameful objects,” she said.
“It is impolite to see another in this manner, as we are neither family nor married.”
“Get used to it if we are to team up for this bizarre battle,” Aredhel said. “I prepared a dress for this in case should I find myself in a battle, as this one easily got torn and messy. I made it myself for such an occasion.”
Eöl just nodded his head, still not glancing at her until he heard her give a cry of delight at the dress. Grinning, she placed her hands on her hips.
“I call this Code Red,” she said proudly. “Unfortunately, I do not think the pants are strong enough to protect me.”
“In my dresser you will find something to wear, made of metal that will protect you,” Eöl said. “It is the same as what I am wearing right now.”
“Oh, so this is your house!” Aredhel said as she ran to the bedroom. She located the dresser, but became disappointed when she pulled out one of the tiny black pants.
“These can’t even fit a child,” she thought. She tugged on the waistband and was shocked to find it stretch easily. She could slip right into it, and the metal shifted and stretched to take in her entire form. Testing her thigh, she was satisfied with its unique strength. No arrow would pierce it, much less a walker’s bite.
“I can probably stretch this even further,” she mumbled to herself and slipped it up far under her dress, over her waist, carefully tucked each breast inside, and pulled it up all the way to her neck. It didn’t feel like she was wearing anything at all, and the pants at least did not feel like it would cause a problem in movement. Most importantly, she was rest assured her heart and vital organs were well protected. Eöl also had black boots made of the same material, which Aredhel helped herself to.
“Do the others wear this armor?” Aredhel called out to Eöl as she made her way back to the kitchen. Eöl was tinkering with a strange new weapon he had been working on.
“Not everyone,” he said. “Galvorn is not in abundance, and it is…difficult to extract.”
“Such a pity,” Aredhel said. She noticed then a small painting of three elves, one of whom was Eöl, looking not so exhausted, and two others she thought she recognized.
“They are the elves I grew up with,” Eöl said, tracing her gaze to the painting. “My oldest friends. My mother made this before we parted ways. Meleth and Rôg, I knew them.”
Aredhel gasped. “I thought I knew them! They live in Gondolin now, my home. I would take all your people there. The walls of my brother’s land should protect us from any danger.”
“They reside in Gondolin?” The look in Eöl’s eyes sent an ache in Aredhel’s heart; they glanced out in the distance, a yearning bubbling up through his tired body. “My friends. So they must be safe, I’m assuming? Had the Noldor welcomed them warmly?”
“There were no dangers when I left, and no. Admittedly there was some suspicion, for Rôg claimed to be of our kin but none knew him before, and some were hostile to Meleth, but they are loved and respected now. Rôg even is the lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, and all go to Meleth to heal hurts.”
Eöl smiled warmly. “Bless them both.”
“Come with me, then. You will unite with them and be safe.”
“But I can’t. Do they not say whoever goes in never come out? I have other friends and family here.”
“I left! Besides it may not be safe out here for the longest time.”
Eöl shook his head. “And what of dangers within? I sent the others to Doriath, and I made weapons to deliver to them monthly, but communications have run dry in recent weeks. I am concerned for them, so I would like to go there myself soon.”
“I will go there with you, then,” Aredhel said, sensing defeat. “I don’t much fancy the idea of traveling alone back to my home. I did not think I would ever say this, but the thought of walls appeal to me greatly at this hour.” She nibbled the tip of the meat strip. From here she could see Forgamdir and Hargamdir standing idly right outside like horses with their reins tied to a post. She could ask for one of them to accompany her back to Gondolin, but Doriath was closer, and Aredhel much liked having someone who could still communicate.
“Once you are done, I will show you the weapons I have been building,” he said after a time.
He next led her to the smithy connected to the largest building of the small village. Aredhel’s eyes widened the moment she stepped inside. Every inch of the place had been hollowed out of all furniture and decorations, and in their place were large stacks of arsenal of every kind.
On one wall were once displays of all jewelry the Avari had made, but each one had been taken down and the gems and gold and silver reused for new weapons.
No wonder he’s so tired and thin! Aredhel thought. He must have taken apart every piece of the village for this task.
Eöl could not help a small smile as he watched Aredhel take in the collection with wonder. He stuck out his thin chest just a little in pride.
“Take whatever you need,” he said. “There is enough for yourself and all of Doriath. I ask nothing in return.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Aredhel threw out her arrows for a new set, the arrows strong and hard in her hand. Among the collection she found a black-bladed knife with a silver handle and a set of throwing knives.
“How will you take these all to Doriath,” she asked, “if you are the only one that remains here?” She imagined Forgamdir and Hargamdir hailing the entire load with straps attached to their backs as they were mules, and she tried her best stifle her laughter.
“Ah.” Eöl grinned. “Elf and Man may be affected by this illness, but there is one people that can withstand them, and they are marching here right at this moment: the race of Dwarves, children of Mahal. They too are my colleagues and closest friends.”
Unable to hold back, Aredhel exploded with excitement. “You kid me! I have only heard of them! My cousins have been trying for years to gain their friendship.”
Eöl chuckled. “I suppose I am the reason the dwarves do not take the Noldor as friends.”
“Well then, they have not yet met me,” Aredhel said, her mind reeling with excitement as she gazed out to the fence.
“Come in, quick!” Meleth’s voice reached Idril, who took another glance over her shoulder, surveying the street, before slipping into the healing house.
“How is he faring?” she asked in a whisper, motioning to the elf atop the bed.
“I’m afraid he is slipping. His infection had spread and rejected my treatment. The first time I have seen an elf succumb to illness so quickly.” Meleth studied the man with pity.
Idril nodded. “So sad such a small injury is consuming him!”
“At the least he should not turn into one of them. He was not far outside of Gondolin when he got the injury, but still, I wish to observe him.”
“Do you have some doubt?”
“Lady Idril, is that you?” the elf called weakly from the bed.
“I am here, yes!” Idril’s voice rose up a notch, adopting a more singsong tone. “Brought you your favorite treats from the stalls of the Golden Flower Bakery! Lady Malleth’s famous recipe!”
The elf smiled weakly. “So kind, my lady, so kind. And what of your famous poems?”
Smiling sadly, Idril went on to recite one of his favorites. The afternoon passed, and still he did not even move to touch the bag of treats she left at his side. Idril’s words brought a smile that did not reach his eyes, but he kept still and listened. When she was done, Idril returned to Meleth’s side, and the two sat in silence for the remainder of the day and did not stir even as the elf drew his final breath.
Part Two
