S.A 1351
"Who is there?" Orneth lifted her torch, illuminating the darkened cell where a voice had called out to her. She peered inside and caught sight of an ellon, clad in a tattered, once-blue hauberk. Despite his gaunt appearance, his eyes shone with intensity. His long, dark hair was unkempt and caked with grime, and red scars crisscrossed his wrists. Bruises and blue marks marred his arms and legs. Orneth felt a pang of sympathy for the elf before her. "Who are you?" she inquired softly. The ellon shielded his eyes from the glare of her torch and replied weakly, "My name is Haldanáre. I hail from Glâd Ereg, beyond the city walls." Orneth studied him more closely, noting his fear and exhaustion. "Are you a Noldor?" she asked, surprised. Haldanáre looked taken aback, but nodded. "Yes, I am," he replied. Orneth's brow furrowed in confusion. "But surely your heritage does not warrant imprisonment?" she queried. Haldanáre shook his head. "I was a soldier during the First Age, serving in Himring under the Lords there. I was also one of the few survivors from Beleriand," he explained. Recognition dawned on Orneth's face. "Himring. Were you part of the assault that led to the fall of the havens of Sirion?" she asked, her tone hesitant. Haldanáre looked down, his expression pained. "Well, perhaps I would not use those words, but...yes," he admitted. Orneth felt a twinge of regret for her tactlessness. "You were a loyal soldier, doing what you were asked to do," she consoled him. She glanced around, hoping to spot any other prisoners. As she did, Haldanáre spoke again. "I am here because they consider me dangerous. But I am not. There are others here as well," he said, gesturing towards a cell on the opposite side of the hall.
Orneth nodded gravely, her heart heavy with the knowledge that the elf before her had lost everything in service to his people. She took a step back and began to make her way towards the other cell, determined to uncover the truth behind their imprisonment. As Orneth approached the cell, she noticed a small, curled up figure in the corner. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was a female - a very thin and frail one with dark, wavy hair cascading down over her face. "Who are you?" Orneth inquired, but the elleth remained silent.
Suddenly, a voice from the shadows spoke up. "She will not respond," it said. Orneth raised her torch to reveal an ellon, tall and muscular compared to others of his kind, with striking gray eyes and a fierce, angry expression on his face. "Why are you here?" Orneth asked, to which he replied with a heavy sigh. "I was looking for her. She is touched by the shadows." "Touched by the shadows?" Orneth repeated, confused. "What do you mean?" The ellon responded, "Just stay away from her. Stay away from us all. You should leave, fair maiden." Orneth was not one to back down easily, and asked, "What are your crimes?" The ellon hesitated before responding, "We have just encountered something we never should have encountered." Orneth pressed further, "I don't understand. Who are you? Who is she?"
"She is my mother," he revealed. Orneth was taken aback by this revelation - the frail elleth in the corner was the mother of this tall, imposing figure in front of her. She couldn't help but ask, "May I ask what her name is?" The ellon regarded her with suspicion. "Manyamë. I am her son, Falchon," he said. Orneth stepped back, trying to process what she had just learnd. Suddenly, a name came to mind - "Manyamë from the house of Mannamo?" she stuttered, recalling information from the city books that Simawen and Marlio had found.
He looked at her, his face a mask of weariness and exhaustion. She could see that he was pale, and his eyes were shadowed with dark circles. His voice was strained as he spoke, "I only know her and my father. I would rather not speak of him. Who are you?" Orneth responded, her voice filled with urgency and concern, "My name is Orneth. I once knew Manyamë, and I am looking for her. We were best friends in the Havens of Sirion." Falchon looked at her with an intense gaze, his eyes filled with a sense of warning. "You must leave," he said. "This is not a place for a maiden like you. We are villains. All of us." Despite his words, Orneth couldn't help but feel a sense of pity and sympathy towards him. He had his mother's refined beauty, with perfectly shaped bone structure, but he looked weary and tired, as though he had been through more than his fair share of hardship. What struck Orneth the most was the similarity between Falchon and Marilo. They had similar features, as though they were related, and this realization made her heart skip a beat. She took a deep breath and stuttered, "I am a good friend of Lord Naerchanar. He knows I am looking for Manyamë. He cannot be aware that you are here. This is a mistake. He will help me free you." Falchon's gaze hardened as he looked at her. "You are mistaken, Lady Orneth," he said. "He was the one who captured us and jailed us." Orneth could feel frustration rising within her. "No, that is not true!"
Falchon interrupted her, his voice filled with bitterness and anger. "I know him," he spat. "He may not be a bad person, but his methods are ruthless. He thinks he is saving us by protecting us from ourselves. He has his reasons. That is why we are here." He paused for a moment before uttering the name Lord Naerchanar with disdain. "You cannot save us, Lady Orneth," he said. "I have one piece of advice. Leave this place and go home. This is not the place for you." Orneth looked into his eyes and saw a red shimmer within them. It was as though there were dancing shadows within his gaze, and she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and a little afraid. Despite this, she stood her ground and said, "I will leave, but I will try to convince Lord Naerchanar that you are not troublemakers." Falchon shook his head, a look of resignation on his face. "Go home, Lady Orneth," he said. "It is for the best." With torch in hand, Orneth took a quick glance at the figure in the corner. "Manyamë, if it's truly you or whomever you may be, know that you do not belong here. I will seek aid and return." But before Orneth could make a move, the small figure rose with an unnatural speed, making her way towards Orneth, her white dress trailing behind her. The sight of her grey eyes, icy and cold, made Orneth freeze in terror. In an instant, Manyamë had taken hold of Orneth's hands, her grip tight as she spat out the words, "Save me!" Orneth felt a sharp sting in her heart and an overwhelming pull towards Manyamë. Her eyes gave her visions, filled with desperation and violence. Suddenly, Orneth heard the frantic cries of Falchon and Haldanáre in the distance, shouting, "Do not touch her! Run!" The tension in the air was palpable, and Orneth knew that something sinister was afoot.
Orneth bolted out of the room, her heart racing with fear and confusion. The haunting images that had flashed before her eyes were etched in her mind, a painful reminder of the darkness that lurked in the shadows of this place. She couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being watched, that danger was lurking around every corner. In a panic, Orneth scrambled towards the small window, desperate to escape without being seen. She squeezed through the narrow opening, ignoring the scrapes and bruises on her arms, and jumped down onto the soft earth below. She couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her. Did she really find them? She had to inform the family as fast as possible to find out the best choice of action. To even talk to Naerchanar she felt was no use. As she went back to the spot where Demdor was. She couldnt see him. She felt alone and suddenly more frail than ever. She made an attempt calling him. "Demdor, Lord Demdor!! Can you hear me. I am back!!!" But her excitmenet she felt that was mixed with a tad of disccomfirt was short-lived. Suddenly, a hand gripped her shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down her spine. Before she could even turn around, she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head, and everything went black. The last thing she remembered was the sound of her own screams echoing through the night.'She could finally catch her breath and try to make sense of what she had just witnessed. But her moment of respite was short-lived. Suddenly, a hand gripped her shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down her spine. Before she could even turn around, she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head, and everything went black...
All pictures are AI-generated from Microsoft Bing DALL·E
