Thendryt

Traitors! Defilers!

A storm raged in his mind. He felt his blood boiling, he heard the voices from the past, their chattering, their screaming and shouting rising again, until they reached the gates of his Fëa. And all the time, he saw him in front of the eyes of his mind:

Dolthafaer had – foolishly, he now realized – believed that his troubles with Thendryt had come to an end.  Months ago, the Man had departed from the Valley and taken up his post in the Coldfells, where his madness had been allowed to run unchecked so long as it was against the servants of the enemy.  Out of sight.  Out of mind.  The thought that he might even find his end in those cold pines had been a comforting one.

At the Hithaeglir, Annúngil paid Thendryt little heed, too absorbed in his duties to mind his presence. However, it was more of a presence of absence. The man came and gone as he saw fit and his superiors commanded. When he was at the encampment, Thendryt kept to himself, as far as he could from the Eldar.

Why all this to-do? he asked Dolthafaer.

“What do you mean they’re not in the Vale?!” Thendryt’s voice was high, and most likely leaking out of Lord Elrond’s library.
“I think you understand me quite clearly, Thendryt son of Mors.” Elrond said with authority in his voice, yet he came across as calm and somehow caring.
“Well where have they gone?!” Thendryt roared. “And you, you must be able to explain something!”

The soothing sound of the Bruinen filled the evening air as Thendryt and Lilleduil continued to make their way back to Imladris. They slowed down as they reached the river.
Bovad eagerly reached down to drink, as did Braigsul. Thendryt’s face was facing the opposite way though, he kept his eyes on the looming mountains in front of them. He was uneasy, not knowing what awaited him when they’d return to the Vale.
“Shall we camp for the night, Thendryt?” Lilleduil asked.
Thendryt looked up towards the sky, it was getting dark.

Ost Ringdyr was over a full days travel by horse away from Glân Vraig.
Thendryt was riding slowly along the edge of a ravine. As the terrain became more treacherous, he dismounted and started leading Bovad.
The sounds of a voice brought him to a sudden halt. He drew his sword by instinct as he spotted the figure above him.
“A message, Man of the Warband, from Lord Dolthafaer!”
Female, had to be an Elf. An Elf with a bow, he noticed.
The arrow didn’t hit him, but was aimed at a tree a couple of meters in front of him.

A single torch burned outside the cell.
Thendryt followed the figure walking up closely, with a dark glare. He was sitting on the floor, with his back resting on the wall across the door. A week he’d been in there, his patience and personal hygiene slowly deteriorating. His hair was a mess, but the swelling had gone down.
“Thendryt? Would you like to get out of here?” He recognized the voice. “Unless you’re having a really good time, of course.”

Two Elven guards threw Thendryt headfirst into the wall of a small cell.
Thendryt grunted, reaching for the back of his head as the guards locked the door and walked away.
“A new face in this place? I thought I was going to rot down here alone.” A dark haired Elf was sitting by a small table next to him.

Lilleduil rode through the night and the all next day, stopping at intervals to rest Braigsul, who endured the journey well enough.  The next night they rested in a clearing beside a mountain stream and the following day found them entering the gate of Ost Ringdyr in the early afternoon.