S.A 2060
Orneth awoke from her slumber after several days, her body wracked with pain and anguish. But above all, she was consumed by a cloud of shame and humiliation.Demdor, who had tirelessly tended to her, sat beside her, his eyes heavy with sorrow. Orneth weakly uttered, "Falchiel..?" to which Demdor nodded in response. "She's fine, but she broke her leg. It could have been far worse. She's with Falchon now," he said, hoping to assuage Orneth's concerns.Taking a deep breath of relief, Orneth asked about Thandir. "He's with Oldaer. Thandir was brave and kept Falchiel away from the battle," replied Demdor. "But they're both a little traumatized. Thankfully, they're young and resilient. I have hope they'll recover soon."
Orneth's gaze shifted to Demdor, who suddenly seemed uneasy. "And Giril?" she asked, her heart heavy with dread. Demdor looked away, and Orneth knew what that meant. "No...no. Please tell me it's not true," she pleaded.With a heavy heart, Demdor confirmed the worst. "I'm sorry, Orneth. Giril didn't make it. We took her to Himring Island and buried her beside her betrothed, Haldanáre. It was the right thing to do."
Orneth wept silently, unable to believe the enormity of her loss. Demdor gently told her, "You lost your left eye and left hand." Orneth was speechless, her world shattered beyond repair. Demdor's tone shifted, and his words stung like a blade. "You knew Côf Lingwimo was a place Lord Naerchanar found to keep Lady Manyamë safe from Falquando. We never spoke of it aloud, with the understanding that it was a silent pact to protect both Manyamë and Falchon from him. But somehow, you got deluded by him. He would never have found this place without your help." Orneth's stomach twisted in knots as she realized the gravity of her actions. She sought Demdor's eyes, but her field of view was limited. He met her gaze but avoided it just as quickly. She knew that she had made a terrible mistake, one that had cost her dearly.
Orneth closed her eyes and swallowed. "I did not know he was Falquando. He called himself Raynamo, a watcher from the border of Lone-lands. He saved me in the woods when I had taken a little detour home. He exuded a warm glow that enveloped him. He did not look or act like a henchman. When Manyamë described him in her diaries, I imagined him to be a strange monster."
Demdor's expression remained solemn as he spoke, "What about his questions regarding this place? His physical resemblance to Falchon? His sudden interest in you? Did it never occur to you that you needed to be cautious?" Orneth shook her head, "In hindsight, I probably should have been wiser and more level-headed. I was quite melancholic when Manyamë and her family left. His friendly demeanor quickly earned my trust. I should have known better." Taking Orneth's right hand, Demdor spoke in a comforting tone, "I have a feeling it was no coincidence that you encountered him in the woods. He probably already knew who you were and had his spies follow you. You were just a small part of his cunning game. When he could not locate Falchon or reach him in the conventional way, he targeted you and acquired the information he required. You were the perfect target."
Orneth's eyes became blurred with tears, and she felt defeated. Demdor looked at her with empathy and said, "You did not encounter a monster; instead, you met the one he once was in the days of Gondolin - a soldier and a noble gentleman. Memories are potent and can linger long after one has fallen to the dark side. He evoked that memory to seduce you." Orneth's eyes were brimming with tears, "Demdor, I truly had no intention of causing any harm. My ignorance and naivety were my undoing. I should have been more vigilant and perceptive, but I trusted him." Demdor gently brushed his fingers against her burning cheek, offering a reassuring touch. "Do not blame yourself too harshly. The world we live in is treacherous, full of deceitful enchantments and cunning ploys that even the wisest can fall prey to. Even the history of Eldar and heroes is marred by similar tales of betrayal." He paused, his gaze piercing through her. "But if there is any solace to be found, it is that you struck the first blow. Your dagger was the decisive blow that felled him."
Orneth gazed back at him, shuddering at the memory, "But it was his own dagger, Demdor. He had given it to me in the woods." Demdor's expression turned to one of confusion. He stood up, bending down to place a tender kiss on her forehead before departing.
Orneth turned her gaze away, the words offered no solace to her. Ending someone's life, even a villain's, brought her no sense of satisfaction or joy.
Instead, her thoughts were consumed by Giril. The beautiful, red-haired maiden who had been Orneth's loyal friend for so many years. Giril, who had always been there to lift her spirits and bring a smile to her face with her warmth and humor. Orneth's heart ached at the thought that she would never see her friend again.
It was Orneth's fault that Giril had fell. Giril had valiantly tried to rescue her from Falquando, but her arrow had provoked him. And it was Orneth's fault that Falquando had even come to Côf Lingwimo in the first place. His ways had distracted her from his true intentions, and she had unwittingly led him straight to Falchon. Orneth knew that it was Falquando's own blood that he sought, but did he also desire Falchiel's?
The weight of guilt and remorse weighed heavily upon her. How could she face Falchon, knowing that she had played a part in bringing his nightmare to his doorstep? How could she ever console Falchiel and Thandir, who had witnessed things that no child should ever have to see? Would Oldaer ever forgive her, knowing that Giril's death was a direct result of Orneth's actions? And could she ever forgive herself for her trusting nature and desperate search for love and kindness?
Orneth felt consumed by her own self-loathing and the loss of her left eye and hand felt insignificant in comparison to the guilt she felt.
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