Tall, majestic, Elrond and Glorfindel swept silently along the corridors like luminous wraiths until they came to the Rooms of Healing. Elrond hesitated with his hand upon the door, steeling himself for what he knew was behind it.

There are elves here who looked to me for help. What did I give them? Nothing. There are elves here who love and trust me, who obey me without question. They would do anything for me. And what have I given them in return? Nothing. I cannot even release them from fatigue with the light of day when it comes and claims them in the night.

This elf lord of divine ancestry, with the blood of all the elf and human kindreds flowing through his veins, very nearly withered under the gray cord of futility that tightened around his heart. When a hand clasped his and held it tightly, Elrond looked into the face of Glorfindel. They spoke no words, but both knew what the other felt. Elrond found the strength he needed in the ivy green eyes of his closest friend. Slowly, he pushed open the door and they stepped together across the threshold.

The Rooms of Healing held a cocoon-like atmosphere. Silence hung in the air like drapes of Spanish moss. There were windows, but all were heavily shaded. In former times the sun used to stream in through them, gently nudging exhausted or sick travelers out of their slumber. Now, the only light came from dim, sparsely placed lanterns.

Somberly as mourners in the rain, Elrond and Glorfindel slipped past the alcoves which held sleeping elves on soft mattresses- elves that seemed to sleep the sleep of the dead. Never moving, pale as if carved up from the very stone floor of the room, they lay. All were perfect, smooth, marble figures. Perfect and smooth except for the barely discernable pin-prick wounds on each elven throat.

A caretaker appeared. She led the elf lord and his companion to the back of the room, where the most recent sufferer lay. It was hardly necessary. From miles away on a moonless night Elrond would have known the still body before him for Narwen, the fire-maiden.

"Her name is Narwen, my lord," the caretaker murmured in a low voice.

"Yes, I've been told who she is. Amazing. Never was elf or mortal so aptly named."

It was true. The figure on the bed was rather plain by elf standards and small as well. But, fire-maiden was her name, and she bore it well; for her hair was of a color never seen before or since among the race of elves. With all the bright furor of molten rock it spilled across her chest, along the ravines of her shape to her white ankles. Orange-red, indeed, as flames the gently waved cascade illuminated the soft darkness around Narwen. Every hair on her small body was of the same color, even her fine eyelashes and eyebrows. Across her skin and on her glorious hair, this elf's own luminescence teased the shadows in an incendiary dance. She burned the sight of those who looked too long. Elrond stared, forgetting to breathe so hypnotized and mystified was he.

"My lord," the caretaker politely broke the trance. Elrond blinked and turned away from the bed, still seeing the fire-maiden's incandescent form burning before his eyes.

"Tell me, why have I not seen her before? I know every guest under my roof, but she is a stranger to me." The caretaker seemed a bit thrown off by such an unexpected line of questioning.

"Well, master Elrond, she only arrived here last week and had not been brought before you."

"Still, why have I never come across her in the hallways or anywhere at all in this house?"

"I don't know very much about her, no one does apparently. From what I can gather, she's a bit reclusive. I think she has spent most of her time in her room with various books from the library."

"Oh. Was she travelling with a party?"

"No, lord."

"She came here alone?"

"Yes. It's quite unusual considering how young she is, barely 400. I think she's an orphan. I heard someone talking about it when she was first brought to the Rooms of Healing."

Elrond stood silently for a full minute, considering this new information. Then, he bent over the prone, fiery figure and turned her head gently. As expected, he found the two pin-prick marks on the left side of her neck. When Elrond drew back from Narwen he felt a silly impulse to look at his hands and make sure they hadn't blistered at the touch of this fire-maiden. Well, he had come, he had seen. She suffered the same as every other elf and there wasn't a damn thing Elrond could do about it. Just as he faced Glorfindel to say some words to that effect, the caretaker stopped him once again.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but I think there's something you should know. I didn't notice it with the other elves because they weren't close enough to any windows. A tray I was carrying caught on the curtain yesterday while I tended to this girl here and, well, let me show you. You remarked the victims of this sickness demonstrate a sensitivity to light, yes?" Elrond confirmed what she said. "Very well. Watch."

With that, she lifted a lantern from its hook on the wall and brought it down so close to Narwen's face, Elrond was almost afraid it would burn the girl. The figure on the bed did not react despite the lamplight's strongest efforts to beguile her eyelids open. She remained still and impassive as a corpse.

"You see that?" the caretaker asked. "Nothing at all. Now watch what happens when I draw back the curtain." She did just that. A beam of sunlight momentarily blinded the small group after they'd been standing in darkness for so long. The white ray lit upon Narwen's brow. For a moment, there was absolute stillness. Then, her mute elf form sprang straight up with a scream like a rabbit caught in a snare. Writhing with pain she cringed into the shadows against the cool stone wall, desperately trying to escape the light. Quickly, the caretaker shaded the window. The clawing maid almost immediately fell prostrate on the bed, as unconscious as before.

Glorfindel shared a shocked glance with Elrond. Both felt their blood frozen by the anguished cry and their breath stolen by her pain. The caretaker's quiet voice broke upon them.

"You see, it's not just any light these afflicted elves are afraid of. Only sunlight causes them pain." Elrond nodded in comprehension, sincerely commended her for making such an important observation, then hurriedly left the Rooms of Healing.

He and Glorfindel both felt the eerie sensation of having alerted something, something they would have preferred to remain dormant. Both felt they were, from that moment, under the close scrutiny of some malevolent spirit.

When the two elves were once again in Elrond's private chamber, he confronted Glorfindel.

"My friend, would you say my judgement is hastily passed if I tell you to go right now and prepare the Lady Arwen for her flight to the safety of Lothlorien?"

"Certainly not, Lord Elrond," Glorfindel whole-heartedly agreed.

"Good. You and whatever steadfast elves you choose shall accompany her journey. Go."

So Glorfindel departed, and Elrond felt relief come to him for the first time in many days. His daughter, the Evenstar of her people, as dear to him as Luthien to Thingol, would be safe from the ravages of this unspeakable malignancy that threatened the sanctuary of Imladris.

Elrond stood alone in the blue cast of twilight staring after his daughter and her companions, though they were already far removed from his sight. The mist shaded their footsteps and the trees muted their lively elven voices. He stared toward the mountains, toward the pass he knew Arwen would have to go through to reach Lothlorien. Elrond was lost deep in thought, struggling to hurl something from his heart, a gnawing thought that he'd made the wrong decision.

Don't be a fool. Would you have your child raving like that other poor girl? But, the danger. The mountains are not safe for anyone now. They never have been. Celebrian. Stop it! She is gone. Glorfindel and two score other elves are with Arwen, she is well protected. Yes, but there were four score elves with Celebrian. Stop it! She is gone. The evil things are gathering to Mordor, they will not heed Arwen. Celebrian did not have Glorfindel. She is well protected. She is gone.

"Fool!" Elrond whispered viciously to himself. "Letting your fears rule you, you fool." He grew quiet, then sighed deeply and muttered, "It may not matter at all, and you know it. Sending her from one haven to another will not matter if all the havens are destroyed. And even if they are not, I shall still lose her. Either way this war ends, I shall lose her." He lifted his head once more. It was now dark enough to see Elbereth's stars and he vaguely wondered if the Fellowship, now three weeks departed, was looking at the same stars now, or if they'd already been captured and killed. Perhaps the war was already lost. "Being melancholy won't help," he reminded himself. Elrond made his way back to his room, suddenly feeling very old as something mortal and tired stirred in him. Yes, he was descended from mortal man, and therefore felt what none of the Eldar could feel: age. Though he did not grow old, he sometimes felt the weight of his many years and his many griefs weighing upon him, threatening to stoop his timeless elven shoulders.

He did not notice the black crow perched on a branch that watched him with human intensity.

That night, only the watchful moon saw as a red mist spiral silently out from the trees. Only the wakeful eye of night bore witness as this mist crept with all the stealth of a hunting snake to the wall of the last homely house. And no one except the bodies of heaven saw this mist rise like a cobra, creep up the wall like a vine, and slither through the window of master Elrond's room.

Nestled deep in slumber's embrace, the lord of Imladris became aware that he was not alone. He struggled to wake, to open his eyes, but something sat heavy upon his lids. There was a cloud across his comprehension. Sleep was gone, but wakefulness refused to stir. He found himself drifting in that moment, the moment all beings feel when they know they are about to wake, but have not broken sleep's grasp. There was not a coherent thought in his head and he drifted in darkness.

Suddenly, Elrond became aware of a red mist, surrounding him, caressing him, clasping him close. It was a wicked demon's embrace, beckoning his thought into dark corners he hadn't known existed within his own mind. He fought the temptation to bury himself under these beguiling cobwebs, to explore every sick perversion and black moment with zealous desire.

Something that felt like a pleased, gently mocking laugh vibrated against his conscious thought. There was a small sting on the left side of his neck and he knew no more.

Elrond woke to hushed voices and vague black shapes hovering all around. Full awareness slipped away from him quick as an elusive eel. Only short snatches of dialogue pierced his comprehension.

"This epidemic will surely take him"

" has hit him so much harder than the others"

"there is no cure"

" close the curtains."

With agonizing clarity, Elrond realized the mysterious disease had gripped him with a vengeance not felt by any one else in Imladris. A prayer to Iluvatar to preserve all those in this sanctuary should he perish flew with greatest urgency from Elrond's heart just as he slipped through the fingers of consciousness once more.

Night. It registered in his mind. Elrond suddenly felt wakeful and opened his eyes. A strange relief washed over him when he looked through the slightly parted curtains and saw that evening's mantle was cast across the burning eye of Heaven. The darkness soothed him like a healing balm, held him close as a lover. His heart rejoiced in the shadows and would not let him be still.

The lord of Imladris cast off his blankets and stood next to his bed. All the lamps were gone and the candles burnt out. He marveled that his vision was suddenly so sharp in this blackness. His glance found the nurse's form reclining in a chair against the opposite wall. He recognized her, knew her to be dedicated to her craft, and wondered that she could sleep when her lord lay deathly ill. Slightly disgruntled at the thought, but nonetheless thankful, for it gave him the opportunity to move about unhindered, he slipped silently through a door onto his terrace which overlooked the flowing Anduin.

The weakness of his condition finally forced him to sit down on a finely carved wooden bench. He leaned his head upon the sill of the terrace and gazed up at the waning moon. Sleep nearly claimed him once more when a voice drifted out of the stillness.

"My lord," it said simply. He straightened and turned to look for the source of the voice. His mouth dropped open. He wanted to ask what she was doing there, how she had gotten in.

"You," was the only syllable his lips would allow to pass.

"Narwen."

"I know."

Elrond was astounded. She created her own glowing silhouette against the velvet cloak of night. Her eyes, which he had never seen open, smoldered black and bright as coals. Steady as a candle flame the fire-maiden approached him, her ember-bright hair fluttering wistfully just at the tops of her ankles. She stopped within arm's length; only then did the gaping lord find the words he wanted to ask.

"Why are you here?"

"She bade me come to you."

"How did you get in here?"

"She cast a spell over the nurse and entreated the lock to open."

"Who is 'she'?"

"You know." Narwen stated quietly as she reached out one white hand to indicate the small pin-prick wounds on the left side of his throat. Elrond shuddered. Something he'd tried very hard to forget reared to life before his mind's eye.

Last night a woman, blood red, all the world was blood red. White teeth bared at my throat. Wolfish hunger.

He shuddered again and clenched his fists to fight the remembrance back into the oblivious world of forgotten nightmares.

"Don't be afraid. She didn't mean to hurt you. She sent me to help you, to give you back some of the strength she took." The elf maid gently pried his fingers loose. She held his hands in hers for a single breath. It seemed then as if she woke from a trance while holding this mighty lord's hands in her own. It only lasted for the time it takes a thought to fly across the mind, before her own will was thrown down and the trance resumed. But Elrond caught it.

"What sort of spell has she cast over you?" Narwen replied with an uncomprehending stare. She stepped back slightly and regarded her lord as a diver would contemplate the leap off a tall cliff. A zephyr rose from the woods below, swirling her hair with its guileful gusts, making it dance across and cling to her own form so that Narwen shone like a flickering spark. Elrond watched, hypnotized.

She leaned into the breeze, tilted her head, and allowed the wind to reveal the newly reopened wounds on her throat.

"Take all that you need," she whispered. "But, she warns you not to take too much, or it may kill me."

Incredulous, Elrond nearly shouted for the nurse to help this delusional child. A sudden change stopped him. His world shifted, his mind twisted into a new shape at the sight of this girl's bared neck. A hunger, he knew it was the same hunger he'd seen in those other eyes the night before, banished every thought except satiation. He saw through the elf girl, every vein in her body leapt to his ravenous gaze and begged for him to discover them like gold in the hills. Black desire and blind rapture seized him, thrilled him, coerced him to their waiting outstretched arms.

With the devil's strength, Elrond stood and enfolded the fire-maiden in his mad embrace. The top of her head barely reached to his chest, but he bent and put his lips to her exposed nape.

The wounds that had remained sealed now opened at his touch. The blood flowed freely for this lord of elves. He feasted on this maiden with all the vigor of a starving thrall upon a fine banquet. He reveled in evil and pain, as her hot blood burned a path down his throat.

He heard her sigh and felt her arms reach up to clutch his shoulders lightly. Slowly, beauty reappeared in Elrond's world again. As if waking from a nightmare to find a dream stretched alongside him, he felt the woman in his arms. His lips left her neck to search for her lips. Elrond felt tears slide a sparkling path from his eyes to where his mouth joined Narwen's. Hardly able to stand, he guided both of them onto the bench, still locked in that tearful embrace.

Elrond pulled away from Narwen, laid his head against her delicate collarbone, and sobbed. He hadn't held a woman or been held since Celebrian left him. Visions of his wife, his mother, his daughter all spun across his imagination. He cried for Elwing, his mother far away in the paradise of Valinor. He sobbed for Celebrian, his wife who, captured and tormented by orcs, was unable to carry on and departed centuries ago into the west. But most bitterly he wept for his beloved daughter, Arwen. If the war was lost, all Middle Earth would be lost and all those in it, including her. If it was won, Arwen, in whom the likeness of Luthien had been born again, would make Luthien's choice. Thus did Elrond's grief tear through him: that his only daughter should choose to belong to the second children of Iluvatar. She would not go with him to the immortal shores of Valinor. He would never see her again until the day her soul departed the living realm and passed through the halls of Mandos before journeying to the unknown destination of mortal spirits. Only then, when his treasured daughter died, could Elrond look on her again. And then, he did not know if the souls of elves and mortals mingled even after the world was ended. Elrond's countless tears fell with the knowledge that his daughter may be lost to him for all eternity.

The grieving elf lord tightened his arms around Narwen, desperate for someone to hold as he would never hold his child again. He felt her gentle hands stroke through his obsidian black hair, and he loved this little maid. He loved her because she was there, because she hadn't left him yet like Elwing and Celebrian and Arwen.

Without realizing it he whispered, "They left me."

"I will never leave you." Narwen lifted his face so he was forced to look into her eyes. He saw no enchantment there, the spell was gone and she gazed on him with complete awareness of all she did. Astonishment overtook Elrond as she lowered her face and kissed him of her own accord.

He held her close to him, and so they stayed while the moon set and the stars watched over all with glittering tranquility.

Elrond woke to hushed voices and vague black shapes hovering all around. Full awareness slipped away from him quick as an elusive eel. Only short snatches of dialogue pierced his comprehension.

"This epidemic will surely take him"

" has hit him so much harder than the others"

"there is no cure"

" close the curtains."

With agonizing clarity, Elrond realized the mysterious disease had gripped him with a vengeance not felt by any one else in Imladris. A prayer to Iluvatar to preserve all those in this sanctuary should he perish flew with greatest urgency from Elrond's heart just as he slipped through the fingers of consciousness once more.

Night. It registered in his mind. Elrond suddenly felt wakeful and opened his eyes. A strange relief washed over him when he looked through the slightly parted curtains and saw that evening's mantle was cast across the burning eye of Heaven. The darkness soothed him like a healing balm, held him close as a lover. His heart rejoiced in the shadows and would not let him be still.

The lord of Imladris cast off his blankets and stood next to his bed. All the lamps were gone and the candles burnt out. He marveled that his vision was suddenly so sharp in this blackness. His glance found the nurse's form reclining in a chair against the opposite wall. He recognized her, knew her to be dedicated to her craft, and wondered that she could sleep when her lord lay deathly ill. Slightly disgruntled at the thought, but nonetheless thankful, for it gave him the opportunity to move about unhindered, he slipped silently through a door onto his terrace which overlooked the flowing Anduin.

The weakness of his condition finally forced him to sit down on a finely carved wooden bench. He leaned his head upon the sill of the terrace and gazed up at the waning moon. Sleep nearly claimed him once more when a voice drifted out of the stillness.

"My lord," it said simply. He straightened and turned to look for the source of the voice. His mouth dropped open. He wanted to ask what she was doing there, how she had gotten in.

"You," was the only syllable his lips would allow to pass.

"Narwen."

"I know."

Elrond was astounded. She created her own glowing silhouette against the velvet cloak of night. Her eyes, which he had never seen open, smoldered black and bright as coals. Steady as a candle flame the fire-maiden approached him, her ember-bright hair fluttering wistfully just at the tops of her ankles. She stopped within arm's length; only then did the gaping lord find the words he wanted to ask.

"Why are you here?"

"She bade me come to you."

"How did you get in here?"

"She cast a spell over the nurse and entreated the lock to open."

"Who is 'she'?"

"You know." Narwen stated quietly as she reached out one white hand to indicate the small pin-prick wounds on the left side of his throat. Elrond shuddered. Something he'd tried very hard to forget reared to life before his mind's eye.

Last night a woman, blood red, all the world was blood red. White teeth bared at my throat. Wolfish hunger.

He shuddered again and clenched his fists to fight the remembrance back into the oblivious world of forgotten nightmares.

"Don't be afraid. She didn't mean to hurt you. She sent me to help you, to give you back some of the strength she took." The elf maid gently pried his fingers loose. She held his hands in hers for a single breath. It seemed then as if she woke from a trance while holding this mighty lord's hands in her own. It only lasted for the time it takes a thought to fly across the mind, before her own will was thrown down and the trance resumed. But Elrond caught it.

"What sort of spell has she cast over you?" Narwen replied with an uncomprehending stare. She stepped back slightly and regarded her lord as a diver would contemplate the leap off a tall cliff. A zephyr rose from the woods below, swirling her hair with its guileful gusts, making it dance across and cling to her own form so that Narwen shone like a flickering spark. Elrond watched, hypnotized.

She leaned into the breeze, tilted her head, and allowed the wind to reveal the newly reopened wounds on her throat.

"Take all that you need," she whispered. "But, she warns you not to take too much, or it may kill me."

Incredulous, Elrond nearly shouted for the nurse to help this delusional child. A sudden change stopped him. His world shifted, his mind twisted into a new shape at the sight of this girl's bared neck. A hunger, he knew it was the same hunger he'd seen in those other eyes the night before, banished every thought except satiation. He saw through the elf girl, every vein in her body leapt to his ravenous gaze and begged for him to discover them like gold in the hills. Black desire and blind rapture seized him, thrilled him, coerced him to their waiting outstretched arms.

With the devil's strength, Elrond stood and enfolded the fire-maiden in his mad embrace. The top of her head barely reached to his chest, but he bent and put his lips to her exposed nape.

The wounds that had remained sealed now opened at his touch. The blood flowed freely for this lord of elves. He feasted on this maiden with all the vigor of a starving thrall upon a fine banquet. He reveled in evil and pain, as her hot blood burned a path down his throat.

He heard her sigh and felt her arms reach up to clutch his shoulders lightly. Slowly, beauty reappeared in Elrond's world again. As if waking from a nightmare to find a dream stretched alongside him, he felt the woman in his arms. His lips left her neck to search for her lips. Elrond felt tears slide a sparkling path from his eyes to where his mouth joined Narwen's. Hardly able to stand, he guided both of them onto the bench, still locked in that tearful embrace.

Elrond pulled away from Narwen, laid his head against her delicate collarbone, and sobbed. He hadn't held a woman or been held since Celebrian left him. Visions of his wife, his mother, his daughter all spun across his imagination. He cried for Elwing, his mother far away in the paradise of Valinor. He sobbed for Celebrian, his wife who, captured and tormented by orcs, was unable to carry on and departed centuries ago into the west. But most bitterly he wept for his beloved daughter, Arwen. If the war was lost, all Middle Earth would be lost and all those in it, including her. If it was won, Arwen, in whom the likeness of Luthien had been born again, would make Luthien's choice. Thus did Elrond's grief tear through him: that his only daughter should choose to belong to the second children of Iluvatar. She would not go with him to the immortal shores of Valinor. He would never see her again until the day her soul departed the living realm and passed through the halls of Mandos before journeying to the unknown destination of mortal spirits. Only then, when his treasured daughter died, could Elrond look on her again. And then, he did not know if the souls of elves and mortals mingled even after the world was ended. Elrond's countless tears fell with the knowledge that his daughter may be lost to him for all eternity.

The grieving elf lord tightened his arms around Narwen, desperate for someone to hold as he would never hold his child again. He felt her gentle hands stroke through his obsidian black hair, and he loved this little maid. He loved her because she was there, because she hadn't left him yet like Elwing and Celebrian and Arwen.

Without realizing it he whispered, "They left me."

"I will never leave you." Narwen lifted his face so he was forced to look into her eyes. He saw no enchantment there, the spell was gone and she gazed on him with complete awareness of all she did. Astonishment overtook Elrond as she lowered her face and kissed him of her own accord.

He held her close to him, and so they stayed while the moon set and the stars watched over all with glittering tranquility.

Her nobility became clear to Elrond. She understood the intricacies of reigning over a kingdom, knew what it felt like to look after an entire race of people. He suddenly saw her as a ruler, as a monarch lording over her red-haired culture. When she turned her imperious gaze on him, Elrond bowed his head. He was shocked to hear her laugh.

"I'm sorry. No one's done that for me in such a long time." He looked up again to see her smiling like a delighted little girl. "I suppose I'm just not used to it anymore. There was a time when I would have struck a man who neglected to show me such respect." With that sentence, the queen quickly replaced the smiling girl. It slowly began to dawn on Elrond that this woman bore as many facets and faces as the jewels she wept.

"I was only eighty-five, hardly a full grown woman, when my father died. He was killed in an unexpected orc raid upon one of our borders. No one ever needed a reason to despise Morgoth, but for the death of my father I bore him special hatred. Blatant as Feanor I was with my contempt for the master of Angband. Being my father's only heir, I ascended the throne of the Carafingwaith.

"Let me say again, I am not boasting when I tell you I was the most beautiful of my people. I only say it because it is true. I came to be known as Aglarwen- the glorious maiden. My people loved me dearly and I loved them. They loved me because I embodied the best of our race: skilled, wise, noble, fearless, lovely. The Carafingwaith became mightier than ever under my reign. None of Iluvatar's second born could match us. As I said before, He held us more dear than any of the others and we were His most faithful worshippers.

"There came a time when I realized the need for an heir. Of course, to beget an heir I needed a husband. I married in my one hundred twentieth year. His name was Forla. Ours was a happy marriage and we loved one another dearly. It wasn't long until I bore a son. We named him Coralal."

Elrond recognized the maternal tenderness which now softened NoireRae's expression. Celebrian had looked exactly the same when she first held their children. In that instant, forgiveness spilled unlooked for from Elrond's heart. He forgave this woman all the blood he knew she'd drained, he forgave the terror she brought to his household. He forgave her because she had known the love of her husband and the love of her child. He forgave her because he already perceived she had lost all and was alone in this world.

Another beautiful, shining, tragic facet.

NoireRae picked up her story again.

"I did not know, no one knew then, that the end of the Carafingwaith was drawing nigh. My son was in his sixtieth year, still a child practically, when a terrible foreboding started to consume me. It grew and grew with each passing year until I prayed in anguish for Iluvatar to relieve me of it, to tell me what it meant.

"He told me, but not in a vision or in a dream. I finally understood everything when my husband was killed by marauding orcs on the borders of the kingdom, just like my father. When I saw his dismembered body, spat upon and carved with foul words by wicked hands, I knew the days of my people would pass and Morgoth would destroy us if we did not stand against him."

Click, click. Two bright red rubies fell from NoireRaes pallid cheek and found each other in the palm of her porcelain hand. They lay like drops of freshly pricked blood. Carefully, Elrond leaned forward and scooped them away. With delicate compassion in his movements, he used the sleeve of his robe to wipe the remaining tears from NoireRae's face before they fell.

"Thank you," she muttered and offered a small smile. "Keep that sleeve nearby. There's no telling how many more of these gems will fall before the story ends. Who knows, you may have a whole hoard of rubies before the sun rises." That sarcastic, indomitable sense of humor made Elrond smile back. She took a deep breath and continued.

"I wasted no time preparing for what I knew had to come. I ordered all the able-bodied men and women to prepare for war. You look at me strangely. Yes, among the Carafingwaith the women fought alongside the men. Women battle just as fiercely for their homes and families. My son, ninety by that doomed hour, led the old, the young, and those women who were pregnant or already had children, away into the west. I commanded him to take our people over the mountains and seek friendship with the elves, to be sure our race would survive should our warriors fail in battle. I do not know, never have known, how Morgoth discovered the route the refugees followed. None of the red-haired people, the most powerful and beautiful of the Edain, ever made it into Beleriand. All were captured by the cruel hands of the Dark One's waiting minions in the mountain passes."

Three more tears carved a path down the fallen queen's cheeks. Elrond caught three more rubies as they hung suspended from her jaw, rose petals tossed upon sea foam. His own heart twisted as, unbidden, images of pale captives bound with heavy, black iron chains arose before his mind's eye. He envisioned the Carafingwaith, proud and tall, beaten and imprisoned, their long lost tears melting the mountain snow. The snow that matched their smooth moonbeam skin so perfectly. He saw orcs molesting frightened children as mothers wailed and screamed and tore their scarlet hair, sending it to join the blood of their massacred elders on the cold ground. The swollen bellies of pregnant women slit wide and the defenseless unborn pinned against the ice by black orc arrows. He couldn't stop the thoughts from coming.

Elrond gagged and retched, desperately fighting back the onslaught of morbid nightmares. Steaming tears blazed from his eyes down his face. He felt strong arms supporting him.
"Are you alright now?" NoireRae's voice brushed his hearing like a soft feather. Elrond could not speak, but he nodded. "I'm sorry," she continued. "I know exactly what you saw. Those things came from me, not you." When he furrowed his brow in question, NoireRae continued. "You see, whenever I drink the blood of another being, my mind remains connected to theirs for a short time. I feel what they feel. Normally, I can control my own thoughts so my victims never detect my presence at all. But just now, my feelings were so bitter, they overcame all my barriers and invaded you. I'm sorry. Maybe I should stop."

"No!" The word shot out of Elrond more forcefully than he intended. "I must know now, I must know how this story ends." NoireRae looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She became distant and entered the realm of buried memories once more.

"As I gathered my army I was unaware that Morgoth had already made prisoners of my son and his followers. I was lost in the haze of impending battle, blinded by the flash of armor and swords, deafened by the twang of arrows leaving the bow. Everyone knew now that war was imminent. The Dark One's host was on the move and we prepared for their arrival on our fields.

"The day came. I stood at the head of my army, at the head of my people willing to let me lead them to liberation, or doom. A thousand ranks upon a thousand ranks of mighty, silver helmed, red-haired warriors faced a thousand upon a thousand ranks of putrid, stinking orcs and forsaken, evil men. My archers lined the walls of our great city, arrows pointed with deadliest precision at black orc throats, ready to spill black orc blood. My steed, a war mare with a coat of the rarest gold color, snorted and stamped, as ready for carnage as her rider.

"The sight of those rotten creatures profaning the land of the Carafingwaith with their sickening presence ignited my hatred for Morgoth anew. I drew my sword and lifted it high in the air for all of my brave, fearless people to see. My horse reared and lifted a war scream to her stallions in the cavalry. I blew the horn of my country, a note that truly shook the earth and made the walls of my own city tremble. Or perhaps it was the galloping of scores and scores of armor-clad horses desperate to crush the enemys bones. It might even have been my own blood pounding in my ears, I don't know. But the world quaked as I and my glittering army lunged for the enemy's very heart."

Elrond felt his own blood racing as NoireRae stood and relived that moment. Without warning, every candle and lamp in his room burst alight and blazed furiously, as furiously as she felt the beat of hooves on grass, felt the sword in her hand deal death to those who fled before her. As the raging flames threw new light and dark across her body Elrond saw the warrior.

Another facet.

He saw the terrifying, vengeful queen. He saw his room transformed into the inferno of her hatred. Elrond stood in an attempt to calm her before the entire sanctuary of Imladris changed into a smoldering furnace. Her wild eyes grasped his meaning. The flames disappeared so quickly as to throw Elrond off balance and nearly send him reeling in the sudden dimness. She caught him by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry. When I've told you more, about how I came to be what I am, you'll understand why its so difficult to keep in control of my emotions."

As Elrond regained his balance, he realized for the first time how tall NoireRae was. She was fully as tall as an elf and only a few inches shorter than himself. For the first time, he also became aware of the unnatural strength she possessed. Elrond felt it in her lean, taut arms, in the pressure of her hands.

For such a volatile creature to have such great power is a fatal combination. I have no doubt she could kill me in an instant.

He pushed the thought away, hoping the desire to end his life would never enter NoireRae's mind. He escorted her back to her place on the end of his bed and asked her to continue.

"My army plowed through the rows of foul creatures. We sang songs of victory as our axes and swords cleaved skulls, as the arrows of the Carafingwaith struck our enemies like devouring locusts upon helpless crops. The legions of Morgoth cowered in terror. They ran blindly only to be stomped and bloodied under the hooves of our great horses. I rallied my troops around me once more, certain that victory was ours."

NoireRae choked and could say no more for many minutes. Elrond saw another ruby bounce from her knee and tumble onto his bed. He removed it and put it aside.

"Oh Iluvatar, Eru!" The words made a sound of tearing seams as they ripped themselves from her heart. "Why did you abandon us in that hour? Why? When victory smeared our armor and swords, why did you forsake us?" The red-haired queen, the glorious maiden sent her cry to the shivering stars.

Elrond took her hand and held it tightly. "Listen to me, queen of the Carafingwaith," he commanded, "Eru, the almighty, never forsook your people or you. But the Ainur, the offspring of his thought, have free will, just like all of Iluvatar's creations. Morgoth chose a path of destruction and Iluvatar could not stop him. Whatever horrible fate befell your people was not Eru's desire, but purely the evil thought of the Dark One. The Carafingwaith fought bravely against him. You should be proud of your people, for none ever turned to darkness. They died the way they lived, in the light and love of Eru."
NoireRae looked at him with her glistening brown eyes. She found serenity in the cloud-grey gaze of Elrond Half-Elven.

"I know," she said. "It has taken me centuries to realize and accept that. I have continued my struggle against darkness ever since. But, because I am a creature formed from perversion and malice, I will only know I have succeeded in my task when I can at last release myself from this world. Until then, I am bound by my honor, my love of all Iluvatar's creations, to stay here and undo all the evil I have the power to end." She fell silent for a moment. Then, she sent a smiling reproach to Elrond. "You've let me get ahead of myself in my story, Master Elrond. There is much still to tell." So she began again.

"The orcs fled, the men of Angband lay dying. It was then the battle turned against us. At that moment, Morgoth unleashed his deadliest creations."

"Balrogs," Elrond gasped.

"Yes." Impossibly, NoireRae seemed to grow paler than before as the word passed her lips. "Fully a hundred of them. You know the panic induced by just one balrog alone. Can you imagine what the Carafingwaith felt when we saw five score of those fearsome things swooping down upon us with their wings that killed the sun and their burning whips lashing like hot irons from the air? The horses threw their masters and killed many with their sharp hooves as they whinnied and tore away. Men's shields could not protect them from the blistering heat of the Balrogs' whips. Yet even then, Lord Elrond, even then, in the face of painful death, my warriors rallied round me when I called. We stood united even under Morgoth's horrible torment from above. Can you imagine my people, Lord Elrond? Can you imagine such a marvelous people, afraid, but fighting through fear. Can you name another people as noble and brave as those lost heroes of the east?"

NoireRae shook with every desperate word. Elrond found himself once again besieged by her memories. He saw, as if from a distance, an endless black cloud of soaring figures with tendrils of flame unwinding beneath them. He heard the cries of tortured men and women, the crazed screams of unmanned horses. Yet in the center, a silver star rose from the earth on her golden horse. Her voice rolled over the yells and chased away the pain of a losing battle. The thousands of frightened crimson heads held themselves high at her command. A tide of shining armor, shields, spears, and swords surged against the black horror from above. The flight of demons accepted the challenge and plunged downward, whips ablaze. The vision left Elrond as quickly as it had appeared.

"That time was intentional." NoireRae's voice cut into his spinning head. "I wanted you to see. No one else will ever know of that battle. There is no one to remember." She closed her eyes and sat still as heavy air in summer.
In that moment of stillness, she suddenly looked very old to Elrond. A sort of kinship with this solitary soul awoke in the lord of the secret valley. Her deep love and understanding of her people mirrored his own for the elves of Imladris. She was alone and forlorn as a weathered tree on a hilltop. There was nothing to protect her, nothing to shield her. She stood utterly alone. Yet Elrond still did not know entirely why.

"What happened to you and your army?" he questioned gently.

"We were defeated, of course. It takes nothing short of a Maia to stand up against a balrog. What hope did a handful of puny mortals ever have, no matter how powerful or noble or beloved of Eru?

"Morgoth did not want us dead, however. No, he had more sinister things planned for the Carafingwaith. We were captured and imprisoned in the deepest dungeons of his stronghold. Many passed to the arms of Eru there, slowly languishing to corpses in the dank, dark cells. Morgoth made sure that I stayed alive however. His malevolence towards me equaled my own towards him. He would have his chief pleasure in defiling the greatest queen of the greatest people.

"I was brought before him. He offered to spare my people if I would humble myself to his service. It was my weak spot. I nearly gave in. But even naked and in chains, I found the strength to realize he was a liar. I could never debase my courageous people by willingly becoming his slave. I spit at that evil being.

"And so my torment began. He made me watch as one by one he killed each of the red-haired people. Then he made me watch as one by one he resurrected their dead bodies and changed them into perversions from his own mind. The spirits were gone, true life was no longer there, but he filled their brainless corpses with a lust for blood. The beautiful Carafingwaith became the undead, Morgoth's most insidious demons. He unleashed the walking corpses upon the world. They stole the blood of unsuspecting men, only so they could wake with the moon to steal blood again. And all those they drained who died by night became undead as well. Their spirits fled, but their bodies continued to walk the earth in search of blood. Like most of Morgoth's foul creatures, the undead could not stand the light. It hurt them badly. They slept in crypts and caves when the sun arose."

Another vision assaulted Elrond. This time it was of darkness. Suddenly, the dark was rent with pale bodies and pale moans. He saw people. Yes, they were the tall Carafingwaith, he recognized them. They crept through the dark, furtive as foxes, sniffing for living blood. The scene changed and there before him stood one of the undead all alone, holding a writhing victim by the throat. The twisting prey stilled and the pale blood-drinker threw it aside, licking the dripping blood from his lips like a sated cat. Elrond's eyes widened as he watched the dead victim rise and begin to sniff for blood to replace what the other had stolen. The image disappeared as NoireRae continued.

"The Dark Vala killed me as well, but he would not let my soul fly to the oblivious stars. No, through black magic and evil purpose he detained me. My body he changed as he had the others, making my teeth sharp and my desire for blood strong. But he gave to me special powers, in mockery of my royal status. I have the ability to change shape, but only by night. I can become mist, a wolf, a bat, a spider, or a crow. To me he also gave the ability to connect with the minds of my victims so that I would feel the pain I caused them. He wanted me to suffer the way I made them suffer.

"There were times when, for sheer perverse pleasure, Morgoth would slam my soul back into my impure body. I became his favorite distraction, his greatest weapon. I was his whore."

Elrond held still as a man confronted with a venomous snake. Hardly breathing, he watched as NoireRae's hands contorted and twisted the sheets of his bed. There was a pop as her nails pierced the fabric and cut clean through to her palms. Bloody crescents upon the creamy sheets oozed into his sight. Elrond looked up to see her soul bleeding down her cheeks, rubies that fell and matched the red blood perfectly.

"That was the end of the Carafingwaith. Morgoth damned every last one of the greatest Edain. The glorious red-haired people hid from the sun and slunk under the light of the moon. That was the end of the Carafingwaith, but my story goes on.

"You were still young, master Elrond, when the Valar finally battled that monster and thrust him into the great void. I was already thousands of years old. His hold over me ended when he met with defeat. Not sure where else to go, my spirit returned freely to my body, but my body would not freely accept my spirit. So it has been for these thousands of years since. Your soul and body are one, but mine are constantly at war and I must struggle to hold the two together. The evil of Morgoth is still present in me and I fight it at all times. Sometimes I lose the fight and I find myself taking pleasure in other people's pain. You felt something akin to it that night I sent the girl to you. You reveled in your own revulsion. You enjoyed taking from her." Elrond swallowed despite his dry mouth and changed the subject.


"Why did you not depart for the Halls of Waiting and from there to the resting place of mortal souls?"

"Be patient, I am coming to that. Of course I desired to. I almost did. Yet, I realized there was still much evil in the world that only I could undo. The undead continued to stalk victims in the night.

"I have spent ages hunting down each and every one of the walking corpses and their spawn. I have wept for every blood-drinker I tore to pieces and burned, though I know none of them were alive or aware like me. The last one, the very last one, I tracked to this valley and destroyed." NoireRae paused and Elrond watched another ruby disappear into the folds of her skirt.

"It was Coralal. It was my son."

A moment of intense sadness hung between them. Elrond could not stop the pity that filled him. This woman had destroyed her only child. And in doing so, she had saved the hidden valley from a mindless demon. She had taken the blood of many elves, but no lives. She had saved Rivendell from becoming infested with the undead.

"When I ended his lifeless existence," she continued, "I thought my task was over and I could finally release myself. But it is not so. There is still much good I can do and I must do. The War of the Ring has just begun." Elrond jumped and looked at her with wide eyes.

"How did you-?" She cut him off with a sly smile.

"I have many ways of finding things out, my lord. I speak the language of animals. Your walls are not guarded against birds and beasts." Elrond stared at her a second longer, then smiled slightly in defeat.

"Well," he asked, "what do you intend to do with your knowledge?"

"I intend to help you win this war in the only way I know how."

"And how is that?"

"By draining Sauron's army." Once again, Elrond gaped in astonishment. "Well, I don't really know how much good I'll be able to do. Time is short and Sauron's might is strong. I cannot survive on the blood of orcs, it is too squalid even for a creature of the dark like me. Fortunately, Sauron's army is not dependent on orcs. I was passing through the valley of Rivendell on my way to the land of Harad. I plan to wreak havoc on the Haradrim. They are an uncouth, sinister people and I know Sauron intends to use them against his enemies. For the right price they won't hesitate to serve him. If by depleting their numbers I may deplete the Dark Lord's army, I intend to do just that."

"It will be most helpful indeed," Elrond nodded. "But tell me now, why did you choose to stay in my house and feed on my people, as you obviously have done these last few weeks?"

"For that I am ashamed." NoireRae dropped her head slightly. "As I said, my struggle against the evil inside myself is constant and sometimes I lose. It was pure gluttony that made me stay. I must survive on something, and elf blood is a delicacy I've not had many chances to purloin. I was careful, however, not to take too much from each victim. Until I came to you." Her tone took on a sudden dark hunger that made Elrond shiver. Her eyes, when she cast them at the nearly healed pin-prick marks on his throat, betrayed the evil she spoke of. That lust for blood was present, and NoireRae fought it down as Elrond watched.

"You are descended from Melian the Maia. Your blood has a magical, divine quality I've not tasted before. When I came to you the night before last, I intended to rob you of no more blood than I had any other elf. My teeth slid into your skin, and swallowing that divine ancestry made me feel alive again."

Her eyes rolled and her lips came back. A growl issued from deep in that ashen white bosom and her head tilted in ecstatic remembrance. Unaware that he did it, Elrond slid away from her slightly and wrapped his hand protectively around his own neck.

"Ah, for that moment, my body and soul united again. The one rejoiced at the return of the other and I felt alive. I could stop forcing them together and simply exist. That was why I took so much of your blood. My joy was so great I couldn't tear myself away. When I realized what I'd done, I hid with the rising of the sun and waited for night so I could destroy you if you died. I was resolved never to let there be another blood-drinker in this world to spread the curse to others. But, you surprised me. You didn't die. Elves are difficult to kill. I was still afraid though, afraid you would perish."

"And so you sent that little maid."

"Who, the bright-haired runt? Yes, I still retained power over her. I opened her wounds once more, because you have not the teeth to pierce a throat. I exercised some magic on the nurse and put her to sleep. The locks gave me no trouble at all. I simply showed that girl the way. She surprised me too. Almost threw my hold off her before she'd ompleted the task I sent her to do. I released her from my influence after you'd strengthened yourself sufficiently. I think you noticed it, didn't you? She stayed of her own accord." NoireRae smirked. "From my vantage point perched in a tree you two made quite an interesting pair. The little runt's hardly more than a child by elf standards, is she not? Robbing the cradle are we, Master Elrond? Are you sure you want to do that? You have to bend down so far to touch her lips with yours."

The elf lord blushed deeply and glared at the maliciously teasing woman. The impulse to slap the smirk from her insolent red lips nearly overtook him. Her expression changed rapidly from tease to surprise. She shook her head as if clearing something away.

"Forgive me, please. Wickedness expresses itself in many ways. I didn't mean it. Please, please, forgive my impertinence."

Her eyes begged so honestly, Elrond immediately forgot his anger. His glare softened into a smile.

"Tell me one more thing," he said. "Why is it the nurse and caretaker found me alone and in my bed this morning?"

"Oh, that's simple. After you two dozed off on the terrace, I carried the little runt back to her bed and then I carried you to yours so no one would ever know what happened."

"You carried me? How could.... Oh. Never mind." Elrond cut himself off as he remembered the unnatural strength he'd felt in this woman earlier. She smiled at him. They both turned their heads to the open window when a rooster's cry wafted in, heralding the approach of dawn.

"Well," NoireRae stood. "The sun will be up soon. My repugnance for it has become less and less over the years and it doesn't destroy me as it would another of the undead, but I avoid it when I can. It makes me weak. I think I should be going now, back to the cave I've been hiding in. I will bother your people no more." She turned to go.

"Wait!" Elrond stopped her. "Will I see you again?"

"Why would you want to? I have brought illness to the elves of Imladris and I am dangerous."

"I-I would not have you depart for Harad so soon. There is much I wish to learn from you." Elrond paused in contemplation for a minute. "And yet, neither would I have you preying on the people under my care." He creased his brow and sighed, searching for a compromise.

"What would you do, Master Elrond? Sacrifice goats on a hilltop?" The playful humor was in her voice again. He looked up and shrugged his shoulders defeatedly.

"You're right. I cannot ask you to stay. It was foolish of me."

"No, it was what I hoped to hear. I will stay. I can survive on the blood of creatures other than elves and men. I will stay and I will tell you everything you want to know."

"I will happily record all you have to tell about your lost civilization and everything you reveal to me about your cursed existence. I will see to it the Carafingwaith are remembered and Morgoth's bastardization of them is not forgotten."

The rooster's cry interrupted the conversation once more. NoireRae and Elrond bid each other goodbye. Then, amazed, Elrond watched as her crimson curls swirled about her face and her black dress lifted. All changed to smooth black feathers, tipped with red, and there stood a crow upon his windowsill. She cawed at him once, then took wing and disappeared into the pre-dawn stillness.

Exhausted, Elrond fell back on his bed amidst cream colored sheets, ten crescents of red blood, and ten glittering red rubies. Sleep happily bore him away to a land of dreams, far from blood or battle or sadness.