The Second Fellowship: The Stone of Might

Chapter 16: An Unexpected Revelation

A/N: Sorry if this gets a little confusing! And please, please, please comment and vote! When I see 'Five votes' or 'Seven comments' I get so happy you have NO IDEA! 

Chapter 16: An Unexpected Revelation

Tirnel POV

I was sitting beneath a tree, staring out into the sky. Oreth and Alden had wandered off some time ago, and Caranel was strolling beneath the stars. I was in no mood to follow them. Opposite me, the others looked just as glum. I was less tired than I had been after the battle, but still did not feel up to running. We’d just have to wait out the night, and then move on.

Bria was slumped next to me, face buried in her furs, and suddenly I felt the urge to talk with my new found friend. As soon as I tapped her on the head, she came awake, mumbling about long lost treasures and battle through fire.

“Do you want to walk?” I asked, disturbing the silence.

She nodded, and I swung my bow and quiver onto my back just in case. I hadn’t touched my long, thin knife since I’d stabbed it into Naegung’s throat. It still lay untouched across the clearing, and would have still been gore stained if it hadn’t been for Boron noticing and wiping it up.

Bria slept with her axe tucked in her belt. She had no need to collect anything, and when I’d put on my cloak, we began to walk at a leisurely pace across the dell.

Once we’d gone just out of earshot of the others, I began to speak.

“Did I ever tell you why I hated you? Why I still do, in my heart, loathe most of your kin?”

She looked slightly stunned, as if this was not what she’d been expecting.

“I ought to tell you,” I continued. “Even if it would make no difference to you, it would take a great burden off my mind to relate the tale.”

She nodded, and slowly turned, seating herself on an upturned stump. I stayed standing.

“I am not purely of Imladris. My heritage is, by some standards, mixed. My father, Elben was born and raised in Rivendell, yes. But he journeyed far, a diplomat, some may say, with other Elven citadels and those of men. He met my mother, in Mirkwood. She was a healer, and she loved all that lived and breathed, and all that did not. Many a day he saw her walking among the trees, trying to bring back the warmth and light they once had. Gwilithil was her name, and she was fairer than the rest. They fell in love instantly, and wed soon after.

“I and Faineth were raised in the court of King Thranduil. We played there, we laughed there, I grew up there.  My mother had been a friend of the king’s, and we were always welcome in his court. My parent’s attended his parties and balls, though Ada always found them too unruly.”

I smiled at a sudden memory of my parents returning, Ada complaining about the high spirits of Silvan elves, and Nana laughing. But, having lived through what came next, it was tinged bittersweet.

“I would talk with the king’s son, as well as others in the court, and Faineth always had some new playmate. With my mother’s influence, my father rose quickly in Thranduil’s favour. It was the king, in fact, who suggested we go for a trip to visit Lord Elrond in Imladris. We agreed, knowing that we would be welcomed gladly. Besides, Nana, Fai and I still hadn’t met my father’s family.”

I paused, taking in a deep breath. Bria locked eyes with me, raising her eyebrows as if to suggest I carry on. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and continued.

“I was sixty, and Faineth was about ten, I believe. We travelled by horse from Mirkwood to Lorien. Our steeds were fast and strong. I sat behind my father, and Faineth behind my mother. We were so, so happy. Excited to meet someone new. Eager for the journey. We had only just reached the Misty Mountains, two or three days from Lothlorien, when we were ambushed. By dwarves.”

Bria sat back heavily, exhaling. She started to speak and I cut in, quelling my approaching tears.

“My mother had around her neck a stunning necklace, cut from the finest jewels, a chain of mithril. My father had given it to her on their wedding day. She loved it as dearly as she loved him. On the back were words. My father’s name, her’s, mine and my sister’s. Elben, Gwilithil, Tirnel, Faineth.

“The jewel was beautiful, and it glistens so brightly in the sunlight that it burnt my eyes, I remember. It caught the eye of a party of passing dwarves. They were all fully armed, strong and stupid. They attacked us as soon as they saw the gem. They took us by surprise, we were so fixed on getting to our destination. They slew the horses first, our brave steeds collapsing beneath us. We fell first, my father and I, and I hit the ground so hard I lost my sight for a minute. When I came to, I could see but everything was blurry. I couldn’t move, trapped under the corpse of a horse. My mother and father were fighting, though my naneth had no weapons. My father released arrow after arrow, but there were too many dwarves.

“Then I saw Faineth. She was running towards me, arms outstretched away from the fighting. I watched, helpless as an axe embedded itself in her upper leg and she crumbled down, unconscious. There was blood everywhere, and I threw up, screaming.

“My father fought so valiantly to save his love, but she died screaming, impaled upon the weapon of a stocky, axe wielding male. He ripped her precious necklace from her neck, and the murderers escaped. My father was distraught. He screamed at the sky, at the disappearing dwarves, at me. And when he saw Faineth, he stopped. Suddenly, Elben’s priority was to save his children. We walked for miles, hungry and terrified. He carried Faineth all the way. She had a beautiful wooden flower tucked behind her ear, my mother had made it for her. That flower we lost. That flower I found, hundreds of years later.

“As soon as we reached Imladris, my father shut himself away, unable to bear it. He got better, yes, but not entirely. Faineth took years to recover, and even now she still limps. I was fitted with these glasses, and I seemed fine. But I have never been fine. I was old enough to remember the terror in my sister’s eyes, the words that died on my mother’s lips, my father’s wretched screaming and the long walk across cruel Caradhras. I remember it all, every day.

“And still I have not told you why I hate your family in particular, of all the dwarven. As those that slew my mother and took my family apart fled with my mother’s jewel, I heard one call to he who had killed her. ‘Brod!’ he cried, ‘Brod, we must go!’ Your grandfather, Bria. Your grandfather slew  my mother.”