Heart of Flame: A Tale Of Sauron

Return of the Prince

The southerly winds wildly tore at the land all day. Luimëníssë and Idril helped tie down boats and fold sails at the water's edge. As the storm clouds pulled over the pine barrens, they took down fishing nets hung out to dry and hurried inside. 

"This is a strange storm," Artanis commented, peering out the windows of the healing house towards the turbulent sky. "It's unnatural."

Írissë sat on her cousin's work table in the back, sharpening her hunting knife. "Do you believe this is of the Enemy?"

Galadriel twirled a strand of shimmering hair around her finger, tapping her foot. "No. This storm is coming from Doriath."

"Doriath?" Luimëníssë rose from the hearth where she'd built up the fire. "Do you believe this is the work of the Queen?"

"Melian?" Artanis shivered. "Perhaps."

"Is she unhappy? Is this storm meant as a warning to the Enemy?"

"I am only conjecturing."

Írissë hopped to her feet and paced. "If she wants to do us some good, then she should talk to that husband of her's and convince him to hold a meeting with us. So we can prepare as a united force against the darkness."

"We need to learn how to unite ourselves first," Artanis added dryly, staring into the flames. "Without that, we are crippled as a people."

At midnight, the winds ceased. Luimëníssë was helping Artanis care for a couple restless patients. One hunter hacked up what looked like blood. As Luimëníssë gathered some clean cloths, the blustery force of the storm died. Like a candle being blown out.

The silence was deafening.

Luimëníssë approached the doorway, an empty bowl held lightly at her hip. The three ellith went pale with anticipation. Even their patients had ceased their moaning and coughing. The room, the whole of the camp, every one of the Eldar paused in a moment of listening.

"What's that?" Írissë breathed from the hearth, a hand resting on the knife hilt at her waist.

The swoop and rush of wings. Giant wings. 

Artanis' hands went to her mouth, her eyes widening in understanding.  "An eagle."

The camp emptied out into the night as a call went up from the guard post by the lake, silver horns blaring into the darkness. The winds had dispersed the deadly smog, the sky clean of clouds with only a blackened orb of the new moon. Against an encompassing sheet of stars, a shape swept over the water.

The silhouette of a massive bird gracefully slid over the calm surface of the water, only slowing it's speed as it approached the camp. The elves were silent as the eagle gently landed on the rocky beach, as easily as a moth on a leaf. 

Artanis fell to her knees, her hands raised in a position of worship. The Noldo maiden who had been too proud to prostrate herself on the Holy Mountain of Taniquetil was now struck dumb in holy awe of this bird of Manwë. 

"The Valar," Artanis whispered as Luimëníssë joined her on the chilled ground, grasping her hand. "They have not forgotten us."

The giant eagle's sentient gaze rested on them like the wisest of fathers. It dropped a wing, showing what it carried on it's back. Two beings. 

"Father!" Fingon called out hoarsely. "Finrod, someone help!"

Elves rushed to help their leader's son. Fingolfin was first. He let out a shout of joy that startled them all. 

"Bring him, bring him down!" 

Artanis and Luimëníssë pushed through the crowd and watched as they carefully handed an emaciated, half clothed body down to the waiting hands of Finrod, Turgon and Fingolfin.