Chapter 1

Chapter 1

            The forest was eerily silent. Not a whisper of wind rustled the boughs of the sturdy trees above; nor did a single insect buzz or drift between the bright flowers that grew at the tree basses. Nothing filled the silence. No birds sang sweet notes to the sky and no animals rustled within their shallow burrows or tall green undergrowth. It was as if nature was unwilling to break the heavy silence that lay upon the forest.

            And then there was a scream.

            It rippled throughout the silent air, like a knife cutting through flesh. So savagely it did break the silence of the great woods. It was a wail far worse than the sound of a wounded animal, so broken and filled with utter despair, pain, and grief. The heart-breaking screams slowly morphed into desperate pain-filled words.

            “Amlarvil! Amlarvil! Please wake up, my darling! Wake up!”

            The middle of the forest was a bloody battlefield. Elven and goblin bodies were strewn across the path, the slain corpses of horses mingling in with their masters. A small group of six elves were huddled silently in the center of the massacre, standing silently around two figures fallen to the earth. One was holding the other in a tight embrace, sobbing as he rocked the other back and forth. The woman was unmoving in his embrace.

            Thalion, king of Mynithal the Great Woods of the South, sat beneath the silent strong trees sobbing into the pale silver-blonde hair of his wife. A bloody silver short sword still yet held in her pale lifeless left hand, the crimson and black blood contrasting sharply with the pale skin of her body. Silver-blue eyes stared sightlessly into the baby blue sky through the trees above them, filled with pain and fear even after death. Amlarvil, Queen of Mynithal was dead.

            Just that morning Amlarvil had decided to take a ride into the forest, Thalion and their youngest at her side. However, before they could depart one of Thalion’s advisors had intercepted him with an urgent letter that had required his attention. With his attention placed upon trying to find an excuse for himself, the headstrong Amlarvil had gone out ahead, riding with their child and guards into the morning mist. Thalion had been able to escape his advisor ten minutes later, and those ten minutes had made all the difference. The simple ride outside the castle had turned into a deadly trap for the queen and her guards, as they were attacked by the fierce and bloodthirsty goblins. They had arrived only in time to see their queen struck by a goblin’s cruel unforgiving blade. When Thalion had reached his wife she was already dead upon the forest floor.

            The king’s guards were as silent as the forest around them. They did not move nor speak as their lord whispered and pleaded for his wife to wake up, to come back to them. They could see their lord shattering before their very eyes. Not one of them dared to interrupt, their own hearts cracking at the sight of their dearly beloved queen. They could not even bring themselves to move to bury their felled companions or burn the foul creature’s corpses who did this to their friends. Quiet as the woods around them they stood protectively around their king. If a second wave of the monsters appeared from the forest around them they would protect their lord and king. If more had come upon them they would not have lasted long in the state that they were all in. The pain and grief numbed them all as they stood in their protective circle around the sobbing elven king.

            Slowly the king’s begging faded into whimpers, sobs, and whispers. Thalion could feel the body of his dearly beloved wife slowly go cold in his arms, her warmth fleeing just as her life had, leaving a blank numbness in all those present. Thalion wished she would just wake up and tell him what to do, how he was to live without her in his life.

            After hours of the numb silence Thalion looked up. Through his pain and grief his crystal blue eyes were wild and dangerous. His pale lips slowly moved, the cause of his break in grief coming from the name that rolled off his tongue and out his lips. “Lenwë.”

            “Lenwë.” As he repeated the name the six warriors looked to their king not knowing what to say.

            “Where is my son!” croaked Thalion, looking around the bloody, corpse-littered clearing.

            “Where is Lenwë? Where is he?” His voice was growing in volume as he spoke drawing all the others to look around the crimson stained clearing. Not one could see the youngest prince and all their eyes widened as the shocking truth truly set in.

            “Ruven! Jhaartael!” said Thalion hastily, “hurry to the palace, gather our best trackers! We must find him.”

            Grief was clear in their lord’s eyes as both looked to one another. It was as though they had been stabbed in the heart and realization hit them hard.  Lenwë, the twelve year old elven prince and youngest child of Thalion had ridden out with Amlarvuil and the guards that morning. Yet, he was not here now, not among the many corpses littering the wood. Only one terrifying thing could be gathered from this; the goblins had taken him, for reasons they knew not. Not a one of the warriors could fathom what would happen to their king he were to lose his youngest along with his beloved.

            Noticing his two guards hesitance Thalion spoke with renewed strength, a spark of the true leader he was showing through his grief. “Ruven! Jhaartael! Why do you hesitate? You must hurry to the castle and get the trackers. We must follow those goblin’s trail with all due haste.”

            Ruven and Jhaartael reacted quickly, leaping onto their steads, only to glance back to their lord who was still grasping his wife. With a new hardened resolve they strode out into the forest, horses galloping fast, sensing the distress of their riders. The prince had to be found. There was no telling what the goblins would do to the poor child, so innocent and young to know anything of the wretched world that he had been born into.

            Thalion looked away from the fading warriors backs to his deceased wife, his grief and pain flashing with new found power as though it was a physical wound upon his chest. The tears ran rivers down his cheeks dripping onto the young immortal face of Amlarvil. His hand brushed up to her brow and closed her unseeing lifeless eyes.

            “Worry not, my love, we will find him. I promise this.” he whispered to her body with a voice so strained with pain.

            Slowly the king’s guards looked away once again turning to face the gruesome sight of death around them. They silently sent a prayer to the gods asking for the young ones safety, as well as for safe passage to the after realm for their queen and comrades. As one they moved, only one goal in mind as the numbness repossessed them at seeing their powerful lord so broken and helpless before them. They needed to have a burial for their felled comrades who died to protect their queen.

            The forest was still silent as it had been before Thalion spoke. It brought the elves no comfort; it was only to remind them of all their loss. It was as though the trees and animals too grieved for the lost queen held within Thalion’s quaking arms as he still whimpered to her. “We will find him, my love. I promise it, I promise. I can’t lose him as well as you my dear. They won’t have him. I promise...”

…

The young elf was riding through the forest as he sat upon the saddle with his mother. The guards followed behind them. The green wood had been quiet, but it was nothing to a child in the wonder of a horseback ride. The ride had been quiet. Lenwë had never been a talkative child of sorts, always by himself or among the trees. It had all happened so quickly though, three of the guard had dropped suddenly when the goblins and trolls ran out at them. The young prince could not understand how the dark creatures had snuck up on the elves. His brother, the second prince Vehiron, had told him that the trees would warn them should any danger come near. The trees were silent, however. Not a whisper of the trees had reached his young elvish ears and the dark ones slipped by their hearing to attack so ruthlessly.

“Run my queen,” one of the guards had yelled as a precisely aimed blow to the back felled him. Lenwë saw the blood come away with the troll’s blade and coat the monster’s face before his mother had covered his eyes. Beneath him he had felt the horse run even faster, his mother urging the animal to take flight for them.

The horse had suddenly collapsed under them; a pained, heart-quenching noise escaping it as it fell to the ground in a heap. Both Lenwë and his mother flew off the painted mare with little to no grace into the dirt.

Still the trees had not said a word, their voices were gone as though they never did speak to the elves. It only made room for more questions to arise in the little elf’s curious mind, why were the trees not speaking to the elves that they loved?

The elven queen had been on her feet hastily, pushing her youngest protectively behind her. Never had the Elleth carried a weapon upon her person, never the need to in their peaceful kingdom. In here moment of desperation she reached out and took the blade of a nearby fallen comrade. She held it in a defensive stance as a bloodied goblin approached the mother and son.

Lenwë watched as it all played out. His mother blocking the creature’s attack was the last he saw of her as he was whisked away, a pair of goblin arms wrapping themselves about his small midsection. Another hand had covered his mouth to assure he couldn’t scream out.

The elfling withered and wriggled to try to escape the filthy creature’s grasp. He was biting at the hand over his mouth. All the creatures followed them, like a swarm of bees to nectar.

They were many leagues away now, far from the safety of the ancient tree’s depths, the goblin’s and troll’s squadron footsteps thundered throughout the valley. The sound echoed about the stone cliffs, making them as loud as a ten league army. The smell of death followed them as they marched forward in a rhythmic pace. Step by step they approached their destination�"the hill of darkness, Eryn Vorn.

            They themselves were an army of demons. Their talon-like claws cutting into the earth as they walked, bright crimson elven blood coated them like a second skin. The goblin’s own grey dark skin blotted out by it. The few trees�"if they could be called that anymore�"left in the valley were dark and twisted almost like spires instead of trees.

The light, the light! Kill it! Kill it! the corrupt trees hissed in discontent. Not a single of the demons could hear their treacherous words, but one among them could. His small form was shivering, from both the cold and fear. Fear for whether the creatures�"for he knew not what truly they were�"would listen to the evil trees. His luminescent skin the only glow within the throng of trolls and goblins, the small boys natural glow a stark contrast to the ashen bloodied sky around him. Lenwë the youngest prince of Mynithal, was deathly afraid of what was to come.

“Quit wrigglin’ ya tree rat!” yelled out the repulsive goblin in charge of his care. It had been hours since they whisked him away, yet Lenwë refused to just give up on escape. The young elfs spirit was bright and perhaps stubborn to a fault�"it being the cause of his recent troubles with the dark trees and monsters.

Lenwë slipped from the clawed grip to the soiled earth and jumped up quickly. It was his chance to go, to escape! Another troll grabbed him from behind, but the little elf wasn’t losing hope. Not that easily.

“Just you wait! Mother will get Father and they’ll come and save me! They won’t leave me here!” he screamed.

The sea of monsters erupted in laughter. They had stolen him from his mother, but in a uncommonly nice gesture, made sure to not let the child see her death.

“Little fool, yer mothers dead!” spat out one of the yellow-eyed demons. “No one shall save you now.”

A dark dread fell over the atmosphere as though a storm was brewing just around the corner. Lenwë looked about him determination burning deep within him as a tear slowly made its way out his small pale cheek.

“Y-you’re Lying!” the young elf said. More demonic laughter filled the space as they fitted Lenwë with a collar around his throat.

“Won’t be trying to escape anymore rat.” said the impromptu leader fastening the last buckle.

“No!” Lenwë shrieked.

He struggled with the leather, his tiny hands not doing much against the rough leather. One of the goblins griped his hands, its claws digging into his flesh before it tied his hands behind his back firmly. Before the young elf could struggle any further he was tossed back upon the goblins back.

 The endless march continued on the sky darkening as they went. The effect of darkness affected all the things around it, even the sky. Ahead it was grey and behind it was blue. There was no green lush wildlife on the horizon only a black spire erupting from the ground the closer they became.

            …

            The fortress was bustling; human men going to and fro between the goblin commanders. In the distance he could hear the footsteps of his army approaching. Vorkalth left the entrance of his tower smirking; his pale ashen skin contrasted greatly to the dark ground. His package would be here soon, he could see the soul’s glow on the horizon.

            On the crest of a hill stood Cailean; a man of mixed descent finally arriving after his message it seemed. The man was distant, looking out of connect with reality and Vorkalth scowled. His darkness didn’t affect this measly man. Slowly he approached his contact, his long robes swaying with the movement. His army had arrived.

            “Magnificent isn’t it, Cailean? The natural glow of elves,” Vorkalth said breaking the silence around the quiet man.

            The armies of goblins were constantly squinting when staring directly at the elf, their eyes not accustomed to the brightness that was the elf’s soul. Time seemed to slow as the as they came closer.

“Why did you call me here, Vorkalth?” asked the man, his arms folding together as he stared out at the small army squad. Vorkalth smirked at the man.

“Oh…” Vorkalth’s smile broadened, “We have ourselves a prince, fantastic!”

Cailean looked away from the dark elf standing beside him. The troops in lead were close enough to identify and among them was a struggling elf boy hung off a goblin’s shoulder like a rag doll. A chain could be seen hanging from the blonde’s neck, a ring of red around the sensitive skin from all his thrashing. The man instantly recognized the boy.

            …

Lenwë’s struggling hadn’t ceased. The boy could feel the collar cutting into him, the slight sting of raw skin making the child’s eyes water. The goblin’s grip had yet to lessen, his knife-like claws drawing blood from his abdomen. The pain made it hard to focus. Beyond the raging noise of the goblins, trolls, and men he could hear dark, deep voices above all else. 

“This is why you called me here?” Cailean said unpleased. “This is but a boy; you can’t expect me to kill a child. I am not like you.”

“If I wanted the child dead he wouldn’t be alive now, assassin,” said Vorkalth. “I want you to train him.”

Train? thought Lenwë.

“Why? Elves are gentle in nature. They are not cold-blooded assassins!” Cailean said looking to the miserable child.

“Yes. Train. Unlike my predecessors I shall not depend on other hired assassins, I shall have my own, an elf being the prime candidate for they are even more silent than you could hope to be.”

“And why should I?  I could just decline.”

“Then we shall do it on our own,” Vorkalth said an evil gleam in his eyes. What he said held the promise of blood and torture; as were the dark ways of Eyrn Vorn’s training.

Lenwë shuddered at the ashen-skinned elf’s tone as the goblin finally threw him to the ground. It was a long fall for the small boy, who was only a small four and a half feet tall.

“Don’t harm the boy too bad, Zarreasz. We’ll need him later,” said the dark elf.

 Lenwë slowly lifted his head, his golden hair parting to frame his small face. His crystal blue eyes were burning with unshed tears�"he was terribly scared of the people before him. Something about the man though made him pled for help with his eyes. The tan man with the slight dusting of a beard didn’t seem as terrifying as the ashen skinned one.

“Fine,” answered Cailean, “I shall give you an assassin, Vorkalth, but it will be done on my terms. You will not interfere.”

The ashen skinned elf scowled, but nodded as he slowly dropped down to the elfling’s level. His grey hand tangled within the boy’s long silky hair.

“A beauty you are with hair like the finest silk,” Vorkalth said. “Don’t scar him too badly, Cailean. That would be a waste.”

Lenwë jerked away from the dark elf’s touch; it was icy like the depths of the dank caves within the green forest. He didn’t like Vorkalth. Something about the man seemed evil to the elfling. It felt as though darkness was coming in all around him�"from the ground and the trees and mainly the tower before him. Vorkalth was too close for the elf’s comfort. Lenwë wiggled a bit and when this came to be of no use he stilled his movement.

“Yes child it is useless to�"” Lenwë spat upon the dark elf’s face. The spittle ran down his cheek slowly�"Vorkalth wore a disgusted face.

“Insolent child,” he yelled slapping Lenwë hard on the cheek. “Take it out of my sight!”

The goblin released the hold he had upon the boy’s shoulders, an uproar of laughter flowed through the crowd that had gathered. Lenwë fell face first in the trampled mud. His already grimy self became caked with sticky clay.

The child thought the goblins were going to take him away again. Somewhere he wouldn’t be able to escape or clean himself at the very least. The yellow eyed creatures however walked away, spitting on him as they went.

“Follow me, child,” the man before him said.

Cailean, Lenwë thought his name was, turned and walked away. Not once did he glance back to see if the small elf was following. Lenwë, terrified, followed the man. The man wasn’t as intimidating as the others nor was he as dark in spirit.

The corridor they entered was dark; the only light came from the torches that lit their path. Lenwë’s steps were tentative, softer than most elves even, as he walked. The hall was as cold as ice or deep snow in the winter of the forest. Lenwë shivered only half due to his chill as salty droplets fell from his eyes silently.

“Child, silence yourself and stop crying. That will be your first lesson,” said Cailean.

Lenwë tried, but it only became worse. His home was long out of his sight. The bright forest replaced with such an oppressive atmosphere. He was lost and cold. After all he was just a child.

Cailean stopped moving and the little elf ran straight into Cailean’s legs falling onto his bum. Lenwë sniffled and rubbed the snot from his nose as he tried to not burst into tears. The flames flicked in the little air sweeping through the hall around them. Cailean looked down upon Lenwë and upon seeing his distraught manner something within him broke. It was as though he was looking down upon his own child…the child he had lost.

“Cry not poor child,” Cailean bent down to the elf’s level. “Tell me what is your name little prince.”

“L-lenwë, s-sir,” Lenwë stuttered in reply.

“Well Lenwë,” said Caliean. “Do you mind me calling you little prince?”

“N-no.”

Another cold wind blew by. The grey corridor was drafty. It was a miracle the flames were even still breathing and alive.

“Alright then little prince,” said Cailean. “I bet you didn’t know I had a son just like you once did you.”

“No sir. What happened to him?” said Lenwë. His stutter was no longer apparent. This man didn’t seem as nasty as he originally appeared.

“Bad things,” Cailean’s expression turned dark. “But that’s why, little prince I shall not let anything befall you as long as I am with you here.”

“Okay.” Lenwë beamed.

For a teacher he seems pretty fun, thought Lenwë. Back home all his elvish teachers were strict, formal, and punctual, much unlike this man it seemed.

“Follow me little one.” said Cailean as he began to walk again the small elf walking upon his heels.

Just around the corner the sounds of ruthless goblin training could be heard. The clanging of metal on metal and the thud of arrows hitting targets thundered through the air ferociously. These sounds terrified Lenwë. He jumped behind the kind man grabbing onto his dark cloak as he went. Ahead of them was a courtyard. The goblins were training men with sun-deprived skin. Their sharp blades slashed through the air sloppily and continually cut the men training. Not a single pair of trainers were using wooden swords; this was not like Lenwë had always seen his brothers using during their training in the castle.

Lenwë gasped and looked hurriedly away. One of the men training had collapsed upon the ground a deathly sound escaping his lips. There across his throat blood spilled and he died soon after.

“That is life here, child. You will have to get used to it quickly,” said Cailean.

Lenwë uncovered his head and saw red. Red, bright crimson red filled his vision as he saw the dead body against the cold hard ground. His childish eyes had never seen much death and for the first time he understood what it truly meant to die. The aura of the man had disappeared completely�"he was once again one with the Alishtine [SH1] awaiting rebirth or eternal punishment for any crimes he may have committed.

“You can feel it can’t you, the loss of life.” said Cailean, glancing down to the staring child.

“Y-yes,” whispered Lenwë.

The elf looked away; his eyes looked hollower now than they ever had. Was this what had happened to his mother? he asked himself. Had she died with such a horrific facial expression or had the goblin lied to him?

Before Lenwë knew what was happening he was being ushered into a room. Behind him he could hear the telltale click of the door closing. Before him there stood a simple room. One not decorated with much of anything. In the corner was a small cot; it looked only large enough to hold one small being within its thin sheets. Across from it was a slightly larger cot, perhaps the size of an adult or someone slightly smaller. The only other item was a small table standing in the center of the room fighting for space with a small simple chair. Nothing else was in the grey brick and mortar space.

A small window was in the wall by the smaller cot, a thin stream of grey sunlight came through its grimy window panes. Lenwë swiped his index finger through the grey dust. It covered his finger and the particles made the child sneeze. Behind him he could hear Cailean chuckle in amusement, by he couldn’t care less. Determined the child swiped his small hand through the window quickly. Particles flew into the air and clung to the cloth around them. The dust’s tiny hands grasped and refused to let go making Lenwë once again sneeze like a ferocious toräl beast. Cailean was openly laughing at the child’s antics now.

Below the window was a small isolated courtyard and in the center stood one dark twisted tree. Like the others Lenwë had seen on his way being dragged to the fortress, it too had a twisted trunk. It’s limbs scarcely held leaves, what leaves it did hold were hardly alive.

“That is where I shall be training you,” Cailean said from behind him. The man was pointing past him, past the twisted tree and toward the grass field area.

“Can I talk to it?” asked Lenwë.

“What?”

“The tree, it may know why the others were so mad,” said Lenwë.

Cailean only looked to the boy, curiosity running through his veins. “You speak to the tree’s little one?”

Lenwë nodded his head, his eyes fixated upon the dark tree.

“More talent than I thought,” Cailean said to himself. “You will only harm the tree young one. Your glow is too bright.”

Lenwë turned to his new teacher. “Can you teach me to hide it? That always works in the stories.”

Cailean was shocked. He had never heard of a child, elvish or not, so insightful. Yet, here was this young prince repeatedly doing that. Simply being able to communicate with nature was rare even among the elves, but to think so in depth. If Cailean hadn’t known who the child was he would have thought he was older.

“Yes I can, turn around.”

Lenwë turned on the cot; it creaked and cracked from a long period of no use. The smell of dirt and dust once again permeated the air as the little elf sat with his legs crossed before the older man. Lenwë’s eyes sparkled with the need to know and he was bouncing up and down with impatience, his golden hair swaying with the movement.

“Close your eyes, young one,” and Lenwë did as he was told.

“Good, now this is the hard part” said Cailean. “search deep within yourself and look for the light, it will be a stream of bright light. Imagining a river may help.”

Not two seconds later Lenwë replied, “I- I see it.”

“Alright, now you have to suppress this. It makes you vulnerable and weak so make it be quiet however you have to.”

The child’s face wrinkled in frustration, his little light blonde brows leaned inward in his confusion. For minutes he looked like this�"deep in his own concentration he hadn’t even noticed Cailean lean down to his level in worry. The trick was not hard to learn but the man was worried one so young would have trouble completing the task. Cailean was reaching out for one of his slender shoulders when his face evened out into a peaceful expression and he opened his eyes slowly. Lenwë’s crystal blues were gone. Before Calien was an elven child with bright red eyes.

…

            Everything was quiet, that was the first thing Voronwë noticed. For weeks they had searched the forest and not a soul was found. The goblins were staying in Eyrn Vorn it seemed. That is until two days ago. The squad they had found was large, over fifty men in strength. His small elven squad of twenty didn’t seem to have a chance, but it was as though the goblins weren’t trying to win and not a single elf was fatally wounded.

            Voronwë and his men had almost taken it for a victory until a goblin, with blood oozing from his eye, laughed and said, “Don’t ya want ta know wha’ happene’ to your little prince?”

Voronwë had almost lost it. If it hadn’t been for Jhaartael, his lieutenant, the goblin would be dead. Jhaarteal was the one who had begun the search, had his lieutenant thought the goblin knew something?

Now they were dragging the filth back to the city for questioning. ­­­­ Voronwë would do whatever it took to find his brother. They had bound and gagged the goblin and let his wounds fester in their journey. The elves felt no need to help one who had taken part in their king’s misery. In consequence the goblin he looked terrible and smelt it as well. Soon they had reached the city.

They had to slow going through the cobbled and dirt paths within Mynithal. The goblin they drug behind them brought attention to their small squad. People looked down upon the creature. Some even dared to spit upon his fitly body, not caring that they themselves only brought themselves to a level of the enemy. The elven citizens held a great disregard to the life of the goblin, just as the goblins did the elves and free peoples. The goblin, with limited reactions due to the restraint put upon him, only glared at them all through his one good eye.

One by one the elves that made the unit dispersed. They were not needed now that they were so deep in the city. The goblin stood between them all, only enough of the soldiers stayed to guard all sides of him. It was an extra precaution the elves took. The goblin’s yellow eye darted from one place to the other, observing the massive room with fast darting movements.

Voronwë had never brought an enemy through this section of the palace before and truly the spacious setting was unfitting for filth and grime covering them all. The throne room however with all of its audience, would keep his father from outright torturing the dark creature for the information he would want to know.

            They approached the throne and he bowed quickly to his father. Thalion scowled, not pleased at the presence of one of the creatures that had killed his wife and took his youngest son.

            “Father,” said Voronwë, “They attacked on the south side of the forest. He is the only one left alive …..he mentioned Lenwë.”

            The rest of the squad had slowly backed away and out the room as their king’s eyes filled with anger. They knew they were not needed any longer. Voronwë and Jhaartael were the only ones to remain standing in their positions beside their prisoner as Thalion stood. His movements were like a snake�"graceful and deadly. In the blink of an eye his thin rapier was drawn, slicing through the cloth gag the soldiers had put on the goblin.

            “What do you know of my son?!” Thalion growled.

            “It’s ’bout time someone asked that.” The goblin laughed.

            “Tell me, goblin!” he yelled. Voronwë watched in silence, waiting to see what the laughing creature said.

            For a moment the throne room was silent. Only the goblin’s laugher filled the hushed quiet. It had been weeks since Lenwë had been taken and this was the first creature from Eyrn Vorn they had encountered. Voronwë had seen decent soldiers fall by the sheer sight of the dark creatures. He couldn’t imagine how his brother could survive among the creatures�"or if he was even alive and that was the last thing he wanted to know. Lenwë was the only one of the seven children to look so much like their mother. If the last part of their mother was truly gone their father would fall into grief and be bent on revenge.

            “Ha,” the creature’s laugh subsided, “your son is dead. It was a nice slow death too, the little boy was fun. We tortured him till he nearly drown himself in his pathetic little cr�"”

            Thalion sliced the goblins head clean off his shoulders in a great swing of anger. His chest rose and fell unrhythmically and fast. The black blood of the goblin ran across the floor and dripped off the king’s rapier. His eyes were clouded with unshed tears by the time he composed himself enough to speak. The whole room was filled with a deathly, overbearing silence.

            “Get this filth out of my sight,” said he before he stormed out of the spacious room.          “Jhaartael, can you�"”

            “Don’t worry sire I’ve got it,” Jhaartael said looking to where the king had left the room. “You have other obligations at the moment, I know.”

            Voronwë nodded. He was grateful beyond words for Jhaartael’s help and support when his father needed him most. Outside the throne room Voronwë couldn’t see his father anywhere. Not a strand of his light chestnut hair was in sight. Among the many decorations upon the walls of the corridor one door was slightly open and light was pouring through. Slowly and quietly Voronwë approached and what he heard through the cracked door broke his heart. His father, the mighty king of Mynithal, was crying. Voronwë had only ever heard his father cry a handful of times and he never did see him going to another. He was always alone.

            “Father,” said Voronwë, his voice was quiet hardly even that of a whisper.

            He entered the study slowly, cautiously, only to see his father collapsed against a wall with his head in his hands. Voronwë couldn’t even see his face. The king’s long hair flowed down over his arms. Voronwë bent down beside his father, his blue eyes searching his father’s frame.

            “Father,” he said, “speak to me. You can’t just kept your thoughts to yourself…not know. It won’t help anyone if you don’t talk about it.”

            Voronwë felt his father’s pain as he lowered his hands. The older elf’s green eyes were red, as though he had been crying for hours on end. Yet only minutes ago he had been in the throne room ruthlessly killing one of the races responsible for the kidnapping of his youngest son.

            “T-there is nothing to say, V-Voron, they are both gone,” cried Thalion. The tears were still streaming down his face and the torches lighting the room lit his face to make it seem ghostly.

            At first Voronwë didn’t know what to say. His father was normally the composed one counseling his children and now it was the other way around. He had to be strong; if not for himself, then for his father and siblings. Voronwë leaned over and pulled his father into a tight hug.

 “It will be okay father, I promise,” Voronwë said. Thalions head fell upon his son’s shoulder, their copper hair intermingling upon Voronwë shoulders.

“After all, Lenwë could still be alive.” whispered Voronwë.

“And if the goblins didn’t…didn’t kill him the darknes of the…place will. Y-you…you know what it does to an elf.”

Voronwë deflated. What his father said was true, hardly one of their elfs had ever came back from a place so filled with darkness alive. The ones who did were never the same, always afraid of the dark and what resided within. All of that would be ten times worse for a child unaware of such dark things within the world.

Voronwë’s attention was pulled away from his father when the door across him slowly cracked open. Not a noise made as an elf with light brown hair popped their head in the room. to reveal an elf with light brown hair. It was Vehiron; behind him stood his twin brother, Vamir. The two looked the same in appearance, but they couldn’t be more different. Vehiron was more of a bookworm and perhaps that was why they had made their way to their father’s study. Either way, thought Voronwë, This news will crush them.

 “We’ll make it through this…we have to.” said Voronwë looking directly at this twin brothers. In some way he knew they would, and in the process they would all be changed.