The huge dragon rider was larger still as she crabbed up along the wall and seemed able to cling there in her blood-stained leathers and horn-spiked armour. "It will soon be possible for me to swat you like a bug, fool woman. Flee. Flee from my might." Around them, a filthy ring of orcs squealed and cried out in excitement.
Lusis stepped back in front of the divot in stone that now held the curled and senseless figure of the Lord of Rivendell. Elrond was, himself, so gilded and serene in slumber and none dared harry him.
And she would die or keep it that way.
Lusis stood before him. "Coward, come at me."
The woman's pointed teeth bared. She shot from the wall. Her hand balled into a fist. It made a scraping sound through air until red fire lit up around her knuckles. Lusis knew that this blow would destroy the dwarven portico and everyone sheltered in or along this expanse of wall. At one time in her life, she might have grabbed Elrond and dove for freedom, but now she could not forget the feeling of withstanding nothing more than a winter storm. And so Lusis set herself. She made a great upward circle of her arms and the sword she held, and at the apex, she let the tip find the knuckles of that incoming strike. She growled, "And I will stand."
Golden light flared.
The dragon-rider, now as large as a worm-head dragon, froze. Her red and black mottled lips parted in surprise.
A thunderclap of noise flattened all in the halls. It threw down dragons, and left only a pillar of white light standing at the rails above the Counting Room.
In the huge dragon-rider's arm, there appeared a glassy crack.
The sound of glass whining became, for an instant, the only noise in Erebor.
Then the huge arm shattered up the middle. The impact ran up further than the shoulder of the dragon-rider. It shattered much of the horned mask so that most of it fell away. Bone had shattered and many in the ring of orcs were impaled with shards of it. Blood painted surfaces in all directions, but nothing could stain where the yellow light still slowly withdrew itself down, further and further, until it retracted into the lone starpoint in the base of the throat of the Yellow Istari.
Lusis frowned at the face of Eboa, Nema's servant. "You are nothing but wind."
The dragon-rider fell over screaming. She crashed onto the orcs to her left, killing them, and writhed in pain. But the massive injury was healing, as torturous as that seemed to be.
"I can't kill her," Lusis realized in horror. She glanced to her left, at the way out, and saw that dawn was coming. And so were Eithahawn and Osp, with a number of elves – Ewon among them – and Steed, bloodied but strong, with Jan Kasia of the Council.
Eithahawn's lips parted in horror. His graceful hand swept up, and the volley of arrows directed at him from Drivenn's forces bent themselves in air. They slammed into the injury in the dragon-rider's arm, and the healing slowed.
Osp's lips moved. Lusis couldn't hear him over the screams of the dragon-rider, Eboa.
"No, Bee!" Lusis shook her head and saw that her hair was comprised of ringlets of yellow. Something in her had changed. And, Fires, it hurt, it threatened her consciousness, just bringing her sword up to ready, as nothing had ever exhausted her before. She panted, "Go, Bee. And take my good friend Eithahawn. I very much want you to run away and hide right now!"
Osp's lips made a frustrated line. He swept aside his cloak at the hip, took up a cylinder of blue, and bit away the long line of tapering cord at the top. He used this fragment of twine to bind the cylinder to an arrow. Eithahawn took down his white bow and accepted the arrow, and, as he knocked it on the white-blond arrow string, Osp snapped his fingers so that a spark lit on the cylinder.
The arrow shot through air, fierce and true.
It plunged into the healing arm of massive-Eboa.
And that arrow and arm exploded in a rain of bone, bits, and twinkly blue sparkles.
The whole of Erebor resounded as if a bell struck, with all inside.
Only Lusis' light, Eithahawn's barrier, the pillar of white at the rails, and the huge red scales of Bess Bowman withstood the blast.
When the roaring cleared, Lusis looked up again.
Eboa's arm and shoulder were gone. She lay, pumping out blood, and shrieking.
"Friend-Lusis, fireworks," Osp shouted above the tang of burning flesh and hair. "Jan Kasia's storehouse had box on box of them."
Fireworks. Lusis thought exhaustedly.
She hadn't seen fireworks in years.
They remained amazing.
Her step faltered.
Then Eboa's flesh twisted and twitched… and began to reform itself.
Lusis shut her eyes.
The light that pressed through her lids, coming from the right, made her open her eyes again. Eboa's arm was now fresh and new mottled grey and white, to the reforming elbow. The witch lay panting, and grinning. "Istari of the North, I am unstop-"
The pillar of light became a forest wind. It sprang up from the smooth dwarven floor, and arrived like a shower of weightless pollen, to Eboa's chest. That light coalesced into the Elvenking, and his long coat and white-blond hair sailed around his lissome body.
Here was everything Nema had tried to own and contain, that none could claim. One glowing hand held Lossivor, white blade down. He gracefully raised up the hilt and brought the tip of the sword to bear on the small mirror at the base of the woman's neck.
Eboa gasped in dismay, caught in disbelief.
The tiny mirror cricked. A crack sounded through it.
The light went out of the dragon-rider.
She was still.
The Elfking stepped away from the dragon-rider's grey withering. He walked backwards with Lossivor at the ready until his extended arm met the fineries of his foster-son. Eithahawn caught the clothes of his tall adar. He hid his face against the King's shoulder in relief.
Soon, there was no longer a massive woman blocking the hall, but a small one, dead, with her body in a quickly wasting ruin. She began to crumble to dirt.
Legolas stepped over her like she had never been. He opened the arm not carrying his war-bow, and looped it around his father. Legolas landed home with a thud, his forehead flat against his father. His hand made a fist in his foster brother's coat. They stood, unmoving, until the Elfking surrendered to encirclement. The tip of his sword clacked the good marble floor of Erebor.
No one dared to speak.
Or Lusis couldn't hear them. She felt wind rushing through her hair.
Argus Samas and his men flooded into the hall and chased down fleeing orcs and turncoat Forces. Several of her troop came running, only to stop when they saw the bloody mess of the passage to the royal dwarven hall.
She wasn't sure how she'd gotten to her knees.
Her sword was lying beside her and glowing at the edges, as if lit by an inner sun.
Sure hands caught her as she tipped over.
Lusis looked up into the burnished fire of Elrond of Rivendell, as bright and steady as ever a flame of an elf had been. His caring face bent over her. He whispered words to her as he turned her to fall against him. White light seemed to swallow her whole.
The King was a bright fire in the upstairs windows of Jan Kasia's main building.
He was in the formal meeting room, where business of the Lake Township Council was generally conducted. Winter sun flooded him as he paced. His body lit up, silver. He wore no crown. It sat at the head of the table, where the great wooden chair, hand-crafted by master woodworkers among the elves, was pulled back, and… all but abandoned. He was comfortable in this company. Comfortable enough to be the elf he was. On the table, above his paperwork, sat the war circlet.
He was so striking in the sunrise that a lull had broken out in the room.
Contentment stole around the table and into all the spaces where elves stood, and a brief moment of completeness. The men there watched their King and felt secure.
The King's head tipped up at the coming of dawn. Then his silver eyes averted, "Dorondir
."
"Apologies, my King. I did not expect a summons to such as this," Dorondir said. His expression, when he straightened from his bow to look at his King, was as uncluttered and bright as the sunrise itself. He stepped into the room and inclined his head to Lusis. She sat opposite Eithahawn, to either side of the King's grand and empty chair. "My thanks to the Council of Lake Township, and the assembled, for your patience."
Dorondir came to a rest beside the table, in elven style, in easy view of the highest ranking individuals in the room. Save the King, who, today, couldn't seem to be still.
"Where were you?" The King asked vaguely.
"With Merilin's section, my Lord." Dorondir was equally imprecise. The spy reached up and, as surreptitiously as he could, squeezed droplets of water out of his dark hair.
The King pretended at a lack of curiosity. Lusis managed not to laugh as she shot a glance at the Awnsons and Redd. They were no less amused.
"Be aware, you will be required at many such in the future, Dorondir. You are not as remiss in knowing, as I am in telling."
Dorondir simply inclined to this.
The King turned his back and his voice was indifferent, "Let us feign that I have patience for these matters on a day such as this."
Muffled sounds of amusement filtered through the room.
The King said, "Report."
First, Inilfain Tatharion – Steed the Ranger – stood.
His Buckmaster Chief watched him carefully. He was lauded as a hero from the work he'd done in the besieged Township, and because he'd slain so many orcs and goblins on the way to open the Vaults. He'd been in the vanguard of Samas' forces in the early going, and saved many fleeing people. But Lusis knew he was deeply ashamed that the actions of some in his august family had caused death and destruction in this place. He burned with anger at their betrayal and she, perhaps better than anyone, understood how that felt.
He said, "My King, there simply is no sign of Ellethiel Tatharion. With the great skill of an experienced Ranger, and a part-elf, she has melted into the wild. She was last rumoured in the foothills of the Grey Mountains, but there are many rumours. This one states she travels with a large band of…." his voice tightened and the Elfking's head turned a fraction. "Of Tatharion traitors."
The room was silent. Noise from the building below filtered in – business as unusual down there, even with rebuilding and the Council and Elfking's expansion plans underway.
The pacing spectacle of glimmering threads and dark, floating hair stilled. "She has no people. She is no longer welcomed by her kin. The Keep and its Rangers, even now, pass to her brother, Elivor, who won it from her Men by force of battle. And we may call her Ellethiel alone, Inilfain, for she has given up the good name," said the Elflord of Rivendell. Like Thranduil. He returned to stalking the wood panel wall, his gold and russet clothes aglow with bright threads and smoky quartz. Near the center of the table, the august elf paused for a measuring look and his hands clasped behind him as he said, "She is my kin as well."
Chairs in the room creaked as the human contingent, mostly unaware of this fact, turned to look between the pair, needlessly confused on how that worked. Elves could breed with humans, their fellow Children of Eru. They just seldom did.
Steed inclined himself to the Lord. He couldn't manage anything further on the matter.
Lusis rolled her tight shoulders. It did nothing to discharge the nervous tension. She exhaled, "There is less to go on with Kirnor Buckmaster. It is almost midwinter and he has been neither seen nor reported."
The King commented. "We lack the intelligence needed to determine whether his involvement with the foul dragon-rider was a matter of agreements advocated by Kirstman Buckmaster… or not. But it is impossible to eschew the suspicion. Buckmaster Keep is proving… problematic to the Mirkwood."
Kasia frowned, "Speaking of which, your human holdings can't be considered to fall under the term the Mirkwood. For proper representation a term of consolidation should-"
And the Elfking turned his august head. "Forgive me. I was under the impression you did not want the wood to grow thick and dark in the streets and open places to the shores of Long Lake."
Jan Kasia's brows rose, "No, of course… are… are you saying you're capable of doing-?"
Redd glanced suddenly aside at Lusis, his cheeks gone pale. "Lusis, the Northern Convergence."
She glanced aside at him. "Ragnar Ayesir, Raud Fell, and my father… all members of the Northern Convergence." Lusis paled and pressed her hands to her face. "Gods."
At the window, the Elfking took a step in her direction.
Dorondir's voice was soft, "My King, the Northern Convergence is long established. Their movements are largely transparent in the North, but also not under surveillance. The group would be exceedingly difficult to reconnoiter." He turned to look at Lusis again.
"Samas?"
Samas shook his head. "Lusis is the only one who could-"
"Out of the question." Remee seconded and stood up from where he sat along the walls. Elsenord bared his teeth and tugged his brother back to his seat. Then, nervously, both young men looked to see what Lusis Buckmaster's reaction would be.
Her lips pressed together into a line. "Let the King plan. Rule nothing out until he is done," she glanced at her brothers and frowned, "And until I am decided."
On the benches along the walls, Remee made a discontented grumble and Elsenord looked up at the ceiling in silent thanks. She hadn't outright said she'd go after the Northern Convergence.
Lusis watched him do this. She saw the spirit of her father's steadfastness in him.
Jan Kasia did something unusual of humans in such a meeting. He got up from his chair, stretched himself, and started moving around the crowded room. He went to the sideboard and poured a cup of ice-water before he exhaled. "Whatever you're thinking of doing regarding this… this Northern Convergence thing, all this talk reminds me we're sorely lacking a Master of Forces yet again." He drained his cup and set it face-down on the table. "I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse."
Cardoc Wence, who had interviewed and selected Gurn Drivenn, said, "It should not, again, be my decision, my King." He nodded at the table and joined his hands before him.
The Elfking noted, "You will offer the post to Elsenord Buckmaster."
Elsenord and Lusis glanced at one another in surprise. Elsenord put up a fingertip, "What?"
Jan Kasia noted, "You did acquit yourself well, Buckmaster, when you marshalled the Forces who held the way to the Vaults. I cannot offer this post to Lady Helin-"
The tall, glorious elf woman who stood like a statue beside the door noted, "I am not a Lady."
Kasia did a double-take at that but quickly shook the confusion away. "And since I cannot thank… her with Mastery, I would certainly reward either yourself or Ranger Samas."
Samas shook his head, "You should accept this accolade, Elsenord. Consider the position well, friend. I am busy enough running the Shadow Men."
This was what the Forces called their new-fledged organization of spies, learning at the knee of the tall, dark elf who, currently, had made himself unnoticed while standing just off-center of the room.
"I… I will consider it," he decided, rose and then bowed to Thranduil. "Thank you, my King, and to the Master of Boats. I am humbled by this offer. I was simply doing what messenger men do. I was delivering citizens, in safety, to the Vaults."
Lusis smiled at this, and the Rangers around her made muffled sounds that build up to hands pounding on the tables in salute to Elsenord. A great cheer went up and Elsenord grinned. Remee got to his feet and nudged his brother's shoulder a few times before they both retired to their chairs.
"That's to us all," Elsenord said and then, as the Rangers quieted, "and to Lusis Buckmaster." This made the humans erupt into noise again. The Elfking faced dawn, and the rest of the elves, even Dorondir, endured. Only Elrond seemed truly charmed.
The King moved through rays of sunlight
that painted him rose, lilac, and pale gold, and the room began to quiet at the sight of him. His gaze passed over the table, dismissively. "Drivenn?"
From his seat, Argus Samas pulled a face, "Elfking, the last time any of our Men engaged the soldiers of Drivenn, they were going to the South." He tapped paperwork in an envelope, "I have maps of sightings. What I don't have is any idea what might be gained for them riding in that direction, unless they have a particular desire to live in swamps and ruins and roaring volcanoes."
"What is his accent, young one," asked the King.
Samas' brows drew down, "I couldn't place it."
"Gondorion," Elrond's long coat and embroidered robe of leaves swirled around him as he came to a stop again. His smoke-coloured eyes betrayed some grudging admiration. "Ah, Thranduil, you have a point. One can speak Sindarin like an edhel of Rivendell rather than of the Greenwood."
"When one wishes to be invisible, one goes where one cannot be seen or heard." Dorondir noted with a small nod. "They will vanish into the fabric of Gondor."
The King noted. "As if I were to vanish amid a collection of Sinda." He tugged his pale hair and his eyes widened a moment, "So many long straight backs and white-blond heads." His brows rose, "One can but imagine Avonne."
Jan Kasia wasn't the only Councilor to laugh at the Elvenking's sudden aside.
"Adar, attend to the time."
The Elfking sucked a breath of air and exhaled a flood of quiet Sindarin. Then his head cocked and the King glanced at his foster as he did so. "Odd. I could have sworn I had two… of you."
"Apologies, adar." Eithahawn dissembled, with downcast red-gold eyelashes and a bow of his golden head.
"Long practice has trained you to… apologize for him. To note that it has become reflex, though. I believe Legolas would be pleased." He looked at the windows and mastered his flaring temper. "Where he here?"
Eithahawn glanced up and suppressed a smile.
The Elfking shot him a longsuffering look. He also asked Dorondir, "And the Aglareb?"
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