The sun glimmered off the recently bloodied sword--now clean--that rested on his shoulder as he walked idly down the path, the day's heat biting warmly at his tan skin. Despite the bloodshed several hours behind him, despite the drying gore splattered on his clothing and the cuts and bruising on his face, he whistled a tune as the wind gleefully ran through his long, bound dark hair, because the path he walked on led to his destination.

Home, he thought, to my love; Erie.

His gray eyes wandered west; in the direction of the rest of his patrol. The wearied soldiers would be going to the council to witness today's events.

Strange they were, Easterlings. More than usual had invaded the border of his territory, coming from the direction of a rising sun. Two of his patrol had been gravely injured, leaving thirteen to kill the rest of the Easterling warriors. All but one, one to run back and tell the tale. Frankly, he should be before the council witnessing, along with his fellow warriors, but his Captain gave permission for him to head home.

To Erie, his wife. And his newborn child.

A baby girl, he thought, the corners of his elven mouth turning up as he imagined her bright, bright gray eyes and her infectious joy—

He froze, feet coming to a sudden halt, making the dust rise in a plume of protest.

In the direction of his abode, a column of smoke was rising towards the cotton sky.

The warrior took off, fearing the worst and sheathing his sword. He ran in time with his panicked heart.

And then he skidded to a halt, barely having broken a sweat, before his home. A mountain of tree branches, green and not-so-dead, were aflame, emitting a cloud of billowing grey.

His home was untouched.

He breathed deeply, his racing heart struggling to slow. Going in a wide circle around the burning foliage, he entered his home—

Erie was sitting at the dining table, skillfully sewing a garment for Alyndra; their child. She sat rigid, hair tucked behind her ear, as she bit her cheek. Her hand, slipped; something it never did.

Her husband closed the door—and she stood up fast. Her wide eyes took in his. Then, she forced a smile and strode to him.

"Alagosson," she said, taking his jaw in her trembling hands, "what have you done with your face?"

"'Tis nothing, only a skirmish with Easterlings on the border." Her searched her face, noting the lines etched into her brow, the earlier slip of hand, her rigid stature. "What is wrong, my love?"

Again, a forced smile, her gray eyes conveying anything but. "Why nothing, my heart. Only glad to see you home." Her eyes darted to the side and Alagosson followed her gaze to the common room, then back to her. Her nimble hands tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear as she met his eyes once more, so much terror and agony pooling in those gray irises of hers, it almost made Alagosson take in a startled breath.

Alagosson clutched her hands tightly, his heart beginning to race again. She's acting, he thought.

So, he'd play the part with her.

"And I as well." He clutched her close, feeling her body safely against his, and looking around the kitchen for signs of trouble. "Ellarian, where is Alyndra? Does she sleep well?"

"In the clutches of a fitful sleep," she answered, her voice shaking. "With dreams holding monsters and terrors."

He glanced down at Erie, true fear beginning to cage his heart. She clenched her teeth, her dark brows contorting into panic. "Alagosson--"

His wife suddenly clutched him close and her soft lips brushed his ear in a whisper, as light as falling snow, but terror shaking as an autumn leaf. "An elleth has her--in the sitting room--she threatened to kill Alyndra."

Erie reluctantly let go as Alagosson pulled back, a glint dancing in his eyes. He unsheathed a dagger from his waist and pressed the hilt into her hands. "Run to the council, summon reinforcements."

"No," She shook her head, tears in her lashes. "I won't leave you."

He nodded resolutely. His wife was strong, she could hold her own in a battle. He had made sure of that.

And it was only an elleth. But would an elleth really harm another elf? Would another act of kin-slaying really happen again?

Alagosson pressed his lips to Erie's briefly. "Stay here, but should anything happen; run."

Then, he unsheathed his sword and eyed the main-room. He could only see half of it, for the wall obstructed the whole view—

An elleth with long firey hair stepped around the corner, her head tilted downwards to gaze at the slumbering babe in her arm.

"Who are you," Alagosson growled.

The elleth shifted, the pink swaddling blanket bright against her dark, almost black, green cloak. "Such a beautiful child."

The foreigner raised a pale hand and gently swept aside the blanket as to get a closer view of the babe's face. "I had a child once, long ago. A boy. And such a strong one, with a heart that was too gentle."

Alagosson set his jaw, eyes locked onto his only infant. "Return my child to me."

"You won't want me to." The elleth finally looked up, her eyes glinting sharply. An intelligence sparkled behind those eyes, calculating gears turning constantly. The intensity of what laid behind her irises gave Alagosson pause.

But he stepped forward and a muscle twitched in his jaw. "Hand my child to me."

The elleth shrugged and walked over. He braced himself for an attack. But then she stretched out her arms and placed Alyndra in his arms.

Alagosson's knees buckled.

Alyndra was soaked in blood, her neck cut all the way to the spine. Sinew and tissue and blood.

So much blood.

He stared soundlessly at his child, not even six months old. Seven decades of trying to conceive a child, and their miracle was taken away.

The blood soaked though the blanket, the warmth touching his chest.

His baby's blood.

Alyndra...

Dead.

Erie ran up behind her husband, "Alyndra, let me hold her, let me—"

She screamed, then collapsed into hysterics.

Rage began to build up inside him. Cold, cold rage. He gently lay Alyndra in his wife's arms and rose.

He shook in rage, shook as he took his sword again in his hand. Words, shouts, threats couldn't get past all the burning fury and guilt and grief building and building and--

The elleth rose her chin, "your child is dead. This sword killed her—"

Screaming, Alagosson attacked in a fury. He was a warrior, he was standing champion for the quinquennial swordsmanship trials. No one could best him.

Especially when enraged.

But the elleth reached out a hand, and out of the shadows of death, a sword appeared in her hand—black as guilty crimes and glinting as Tulkas' arrogant eyes.

Their swords clanged.

And yet, as Alagosson struck out, she matched his strokes parry for parry.

Impossible. His eyes darted from her sword to her lithe, cloaked body. To the fact that she barely seemed taxed.

Yet Alagosson was forced to take a step back. And then another. And another.

And then the elleth gave her wrist a twist and his blade clanged to the ground, and so did his knees.

"Yes, I do believe you will do," she purred. "Excellent."

She raised her sword—

Erie stepped between her husband and the elleth, dagger raised.

"You—you—" Erie stammered, eyes red and sorrowful fury livid.

"No!" Alagosson reached out to push her away--

"Valiant effort, but not enough." The elleth, with red hair flaring, swung her black sword.

It happened so fast, the sword flew through the air, hardly making a sound as it cut through flesh and bone.

Erie's head thudded dully on the floor.

Alagosson stopped breathing as his wife's head came to a rolling stop before him.

And just like Erie's head being severed, so was his fury. In its place; sorrow, shock. Grief.

"Losing loved ones hurts, does it not? An aching chasm yawning before you, the black depth luring you forward. But something keeps you from throwing yourself down--revenge. Hope. Your family coming forth from death." He felt her steps through the floor until they stopped before him. He saw the blurred edge of her shoes, but he couldn't tear his eyes from his wife's head. From her blank, still red eyes. He couldn't comprehend the silence of death.

"It was not me, Alagosson, who slew your family. It was Mandos, it was the Valar who took them away from you. They control this sword, not me. This sword--" she held it in front of her "--was made by them. They have control over the souls this blade took. They have hold over the souls residing in this blade"

Not her, the Valar...

"If you come with me, I will help you free your family's souls. And then they will live again."

His beautiful wife. Dead. His miracle baby, gleeful and promising youthful beauty. Dead.

"Come with me," the elleth repeated, striding past him to the door. "You have no one else in this world now. Except for me. Only with me can you have your family once more."

Alagosson stared, taking in his wife's life blood spilling across the floor, the blood of his one and only love. The warm blood that reflected back his bloodied face, his ragged hair. The grief.

"I'm you're only hope."

"No," he whispered, the word falling from his mouth dully.

"Come with me, fulfill the duty I am giving to you, and I will give you back your family."

The fiery elleth took a strong step forward. "I swear it."

He looked up, gazing wide at the elleth. Tears streaked his cheeks.

"This sword holds all the souls it has taken. I can give life to them--I know how. But you must swear an oath to me and complete the duty I am giving you. Only with your oath can we free the souls in this blade."

Numbly, he stood. Numbly, his eyes left the head of Erie's and met the dancing eyes of the elleth. "How. How can my oath—"

"I cannot do this alone. Your oath and skill in combat and strategy would provide me with what I need. In return, I will help you. Do not think of your family as dead, think of them as waiting." She paused. "Waiting for you to free them from the cruel prison the Valar trapped them in."

Alagosson could barely breathe. Alyndra's blood felt cool on his chest, his wife's warm blood soaking through the fabric on his knees.

His fellow elves would dishonor him. He had failed in protecting the ones he was rightfully charged to protect. He would have no salvation or comfort from them.

He would have no wife to give him strength.

No child to give him joy.

No family by his side through the long ages of the world.

That empty chasm yawned wider.

He had failed. He was left honorless in his failure. In the death of his love, in the death of his child.

Failed in his role as warrior, husband, and father.

And this oath; a chance to protect his waiting loved ones. To regain happiness and honor. To prove he could be worthy of the ones he lost.

He swallowed hard.

"What duty would you have me follow?"

"Serve me completely."

Erie's severed head. Alyndra's slashed throat. His family; gone.

Alagosson nodded in his grief.

And followed her out the door.

~~~
Any thoughts?

Novaer, mellyn,
See you Dec 24,
~phoenix~