Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[littlemanpoet]

The oily merchant turned scarlet in his wrath. He turned on the mercenary leader. "You cannot just give them up! This is about justice!"

"These are Elves, fool. They have won this battle. There will be another chance. Later." He turned his horse and kicked its sides, galloping away. His men followed quickly after. The fat and thin merchants watched the oily one, glancing nervously at the Elves.

"Blast and smite it all! I will have you yet, you little scoundrel!" The oily merchant turned his horse away and the other two followed.

"These two need to ride," said Amroth. "What are your names?" Raefindan, Ravion, and Erundil introduced themselves, as did Aeron and Gwyllion. The two Elves naming themselves Erebemlin and Taitheneb; the men were Liornung, Ædegard, and Nethwador. "I am Amroth."

"Amroth?" Raefindan asked. "But you died at sea." Now, how did he know that? "Or have you been reborn?" And how did he know of that possibility? From books! That was it! He had read about this Amroth! He kept that to himself for the moment.

"We will talk of such things later," Amroth replied. "Raefindan, take Aeron, and Ravion, take Gwyllion."

"I'm not riding with him!" Aeron shouted. "He betrayed me!"

"What? How?" asked Amroth.

"He let them have us without a fight!"

"You were greatly outnumbered. He did wisely."

"I don't care! He should have done something! At any rate, I'm not riding with him."

"Erundil?" Raefindan asked. "Will you take Aeron?"

Erundil nodded. Aeron and Gwyllion clambered on their respectively assigned mounts, and they headed back to the two women; who were nowhere to be seen.

"They were following us, were they not?" asked Liornung. None answered him. Erundil called Ravion to the front of the group, and asked the others to stay back as they traced the ground they had passed over. It was a short while later that Erundil raised his hand.

"They stood here last!"

Ravion came over. They studied the area together and reported back to the others what they had discerned. The two women had been walking, but had fallen to the ground. Their were tracks of four others, seemingly barefoot, and smaller than men. The footprints were heavier going back to the swamp than coming.

Erebemlin had them show him what they had found, and studied the ground himself. At last he rose and said, "There was an Elf with the four smaller ones. His fëa passed here."

"The one who opposes us!" cried Amroth. "To the swamp!"

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung's brow was drawn and his face was dark. When the others spurred their horses towards the swamp, he lingered a few moments longer, and his eyes were fixed on the spot where the two maids had stood. What foul creature had taken them he could not say, but anger rose up within him against the scoundrels, and his fist opened and closed, and he sat tense and stern.

"Curse them!" he muttered. "Curse them!" Upon the last word his voice broke, and his hand went to his eyes to stem the tears that threatened to rise. If anything had happened to the maids there would be such a play of anger and sorrow that had never been heard in song, and the Ballad would be written to wrench the heart of man with grief, and inflame it with anger.

His heels came against the sides of his steed, and the bay horse sprang forward in nervous tension, swift and prancing at the sense of his anger. Liornung rode to the group and onwards towards the swamp.

[Imladris]

Gwyllion closed her eyes and leaned against Ravion. At the very last she had felt a golden strength come to her mind, a comfort that whispered to her not to be afraid. Even when the cruel blood had flowed from her gash it had not faltered, but had sought to comfort her. She wondered if Aeron had felt the same thing.

It was then that she realized that she was in the presence of evles -- elves! She glanced askantly at them. They were so beautiful...and noble. How had they come among them, simple thieves as themselves?

[Orual]

Ravion rode gently for Gwyllion, keeping a firm rein on Gond, though he knew that his horse would sense the need for gentleness. The girl, while seeming relaxed, stared around herself at the Elves that the company had fallen in with. She was leaning against him, supremely trusting and confident, and Ravion could not sense any trace of fear in her--her run-in with the merchants was not forgotten, surely, but recovered from. She was, perhaps, in awe of the Elves, but she was certainly not frightened.

He felt her sigh deeply, her shoulders rising and falling slowly. He smiled a little, though the ache that still gripped his heart seemed to keep his lips from moving too far. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Quite better!" Gwyllion replied, sounding remarkably chipper. "Do you know, I only cried a little bit when I got cut?"

Ravion's smile grew a tiny bit. "I noticed that." He sounded light, but truly, he was quite relieved by Gwyllion's relatively mild reaction. It showed growth, and it showed that she was becoming accustomed to the sort of lifestyle she would be leading.

He saw her watching the Elves, her eyes, keener than one might think, scanning them deeply. Ravion looked at those eyes, and fancied that she could see right through them, her penetrating gaze rooting out even the deepest secrets of the Elves. He nudged Gond on a bit, staring squarely ahead of himself, but not really seeing the ground. He would leave the observation to Gwyllion.

[littlemanpoet]

As he rode along with the rest of the party back toward the swamp, Raefindan was having difficulty keeping all the new names straight. The Elvish names were especially difficult. Herb Emblem? No, that was too like a name from his past. Ted Enid? Same problem. He would have to pay more attention the next time their names were used. In fact, all the names here were strange. Nether Door? Sounded more like a place than a name. Leonard? Ardis Leafa? That one actually sounded nice. Bella. Now, there was a name he could understand! And then this other one, Addle Guard? What kind of name was that? He must have it wrong. For that matter, the names of his own friends were unusual. Shouldn't Mellonin by Melanie? Gwyllion ought to be Gwendolyn, shouldn't it? Aeron should be Aaron, and Erundil would serve better as a, well, another Aaron, but with Dill on the end. Such strange names. What a pickle.

He found himself riding next to one of the young men from the Elves' group. His hair was dark blonde and long, and braided in the fashion of some northern people from his own memory's history.

"You are from Rohan?" he asked the other.

"Aye. Edoras. We have traveled from there to Lorien, then through the swamp along the Anduin, then here." He extended his right hand across his body toward Raefindan. "I am Ædegard. I did not catch your name well, friend."

Raefindan shook Ædegard's hand, and he spoke his name again; then his eyes flew open with sudden recognition. "Edgar!"

Ædegard shook his head. "I do not understand."

"Your name would be Edgar where I come from."

Ædegard's brow rose briefly. "Your name sounds like the Elvish."

"That it is, and is not my true name. I do not know my true name. I have lost my memory. The first thing I can remember clearly is standing before the gates of Minas Tirith, some few weeks ago. There I met Mellonin in the city, serving as an innkeeper's helpmaid."

"And I met Mellon in Edoras; though now I have learned that his name is Mellondu. Such a strange business! But you said that my name is known to you, after a fashion. Maybe you are from the north."

"Yes, I am from the north of where I come from, but it is a different place than this."

"It must be far distant, then. There are red headed men among the Rohirrim, but they are rare, usually in the west, near Dunland."

"I am not from there."

Herb Emblem gestured for them to be quiet, for they were entering the swamp, following the trail of those who had taken the women.

For that matter, thought Raefindan, what of the name they've given me? Ray would be a shorter, easier handle. Suddenly, a lightning bolt of memory struck him. Not Ray, but Roy. That's my name: Roy. No wonder Raefindan felt so comfortable, as close as it is. Edwards! Ædegard would recognize it if I changed it just a little, to Ædewards. A second lightning bolt of realization hit him. Ædegard and I are of the same folk! But our speech is different. His is older. How do I know that? He saw himself in a large room, sitting at a chair with a single board at his right, which was attached to the chair. There was a lined sheet of paper on it, and he held a pen over it. I learned it in school!

His horse's hoof sunk into the mire up above its knees, and whinnied desperately. He tugged on the reins and the horse's head yanked to the right, the horse's feet followed, back to the narrow path.

"Raefindan!" Herb Emblem hissed angrily. "Watch the path!"

He nodded. "Sorry!"

[mark12_30]

***OOC: this goes after A&G's rescue and before the discovery that Argeleafa & Bella are taken.**

Erundil had been pursuing them on foot, and was now breathless and exhasperated. As they galloped up to him, Erundil called to Ravion. Ravion swerved, and stopped. "Take this horse! I will ride Gond." He leaped off Argeleafa's horse and handed the reins to Erundil, and swung towards Gond.

"You could have invited me to the party, " Erundil snorted.

"Not enough horses, " grinned Ravion. Erundil tried to cuff him but could not reach. They mounted hastily and galloped to catch the rest.

*************


Nethwador stared at the redhaired man a little, and at the darkhaired man a lot. Despite himself, he resented the order that Bella give up her horse to the redhaired man, who clearly did not know how to ride very well. And he wondered whether the darkhaired man knew Bella. They might be from the same tribe, he thought. Would the darkhaired man capture Bella's attention? Her affection?

Time enough to worry about that when she was found. His heart sank. How often would he have to choose between his loyalty to Amroth, and his love for her?

Teeth set and face clouded, he rode unnoticed behind Amroth, casting glances back towards the darkhaired man. Ravion rode with eyes straight ahead, and did not notice.


*****

Soft words passed between the two elves, heard only by their quick elf-ears.

"The trail holds fewer footprints than it did. We have lost some of them."

"I feared as much. Amroth does not know?"

"His mind is closed; ask him."

Taitheneb slowed, and spoke clearly. "My lord, the footprints are not as many as they were."

Amroth nodded. "Argeleafa is not with them. I have felt this. She is behind us."

"My lord, shall we split up?"

"No! That is his desire. We have split up too much already, and our two ladies are lost. We shall not be divided again. We shall find Bella, and return for Argeleafa. She will not be far from the one who defies me."

Taitheneb and Erebemlin exchanged glances. "Who is it, that defies you, my lord?"

"He mocked me aboard ship-- mocked me and mocked my grief. He tries to hide from me, from us all. But betimes the outreach of his anger gives him away. The darkness of his heart spills beyond his grasp."

[littlemanpoet]

He had not shown it to Raefindan, but Ædegard was enraged. Someone had taken Leafa hostage; an enemy of Amroth, by the looks of it. Ædegard loosened his sword in its sheath. He would kill anyone who so much as plucked a hair from her head against her will.

He overheard Amroth's words. "We shall not be divided again. We shall find Bella, and return for Argeleafa. She will not be far from the one who defies me."

I will not leave her unlooked for. He pulled his horse to the side of the path and let the others by. Raefindan stopped and eyed him curiously.

"You are unused to sword and bow and arrow, friend," said Ædegard. "I'll take the rearguard."

"My thanks." Raefindan's horse moved ahead. Ædegard let him go around a brambly bend, just out of sight, before he turned his horse about, seeking out the path the Elves had been talking about.

It was early afternoon and Ædegard's stomach growled. They had not stopped to eat since Amroth had urged them to their eight league gallop. And they all were overtired; except for the women, according to Raefindan, for they had been taken by this enemy swamp Elf, and made to sleep. If so, Leafa might be the harder to move, and so the easier to find. At least, he hoped so.

What are you? Oh no. He was asking himself strange questions now, so tired and hungry. I am a man of Rohan, and I seek my beloved and betrothed Leafa. Well, fine, now he was answering himself too. I will find her and make that swamp elf pay.

A half hour later, he sat astride his horse at the edge of the swamp, convinced that there was no path branching off the one he had come down. There was nothing that looked remotely like a path! But the Amroth had sounded so certain, and Elf Lords should know these kinds of things. Ædegard wished he had one of those Ranger fellows with him. Determined to find whatever passed for a swamp path, he turned his horse about, and moved slowly down the way, searching carefully from side to side.

Tharonwe

Two of his servants were with the blonde maiden, two with the brunette, and one with him as he moved farther into the swamp with the maid dressed as a man, who had a nasty cold, and was the sister of Amroth, though human. It was odd. Amroth was himself human, beyond all belief, and still he hankered for Nimrodel! He would not have her, and Tharonwe would make sure of it.

One of the eight men had turned his horse around. Tharonwe searched him out carefully. What are you?

I am a man of Rohan, and I seek my beloved and betrothed Leafa. I will find her and make that swamp elf pay. Tharonwe grinned. The man thought that he was talking to himself. So it went most often with humans. So the blonde maiden was the betrothed of this Rohirrim. Tharonwe would cloud the man's already tired mind and body, and lead him down a wending way. It would be so simple. Divide and conquer.

Raefindan

Raefindan tried to be quiet. His mounts gear rubbed and chafed and clinked. Why didn't Ædegard's mount make any noise? So quiet he was! He turned to ask Ædegard his question only to discover that he was not there. How long could it have been? He had been watching Gond's tail ahead of him, mesmerized into a kind of half wakefulness, so he was not certain. It could have been five minutes, or an hour.

"Ravion!" he called in a whisper. Ravion looked back. "Ædegard's gone! I don't know how long!"

Ravion passed the news up the line. The Elves stopped. Amroth and Herb Emblem looked very wrathful indeed. The other Elf came back down the path to Raefindan. Tate Enid, or something.

"How long has Ædegard been gone?"

"I don't know. I lost track of time. How long have we been moving on this path?"

"Nigh to an hour."

"Then he has been missing for almost an hour! Why would he do that?"

"I know not. He is no coward. A moment." Tate Enid closed his eyes and his face calmed. After a moment, he opened his eyes. "Ædegard seeks his betrothed, who was captured by our foe."

"He's in trouble alone. That Elf means business. You're an Elf. You can find him. Will you?"

Tate Enid shrugged. "I will speak with my lords and do as they bid." Tate Enid went back up the path toward Amroth and Erb Emlin.

This was not good. Just when Amroth had said to keep from being divided, Ædegard runs off. Did he think he could save his beloved, on his own? What was he thinking? He hoped Tate Enid would be sent to find him.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Nothingness.

Darkness enveloped her and squeezed tighter and tighter about her lungs. Bellyn panicked inwardly, her subconscious thoughts blazing in dreams and mindless wandering. Still her face and body remained relaxed as in sleep.

--

Her eyes fluttered open…or did they?

No…

She knew she was not awake. The scenery was too perfect for her to be awake. The grass shone magnificently with the dew of early morning, the colors of the sky and of the ground damp and dreary. Dream-Bellyn stood lonely on a cliff flanked by a thin veil of mist and a rocky ledge with a drop-off leading straight down into some churning sea. Sunlight proved sparing, and only the grey clouds gave company to the lone being on the cliff.

Dreaming? She wondered. Yes.

She could feel the warmth of a summer sun on her skin, but Bellyn did not see any sun. She could see the green grass beneath her feet, but Bellyn felt nothing holding her where she stood. It was a most awkward feeling, being there but being gone at the same time. Bellyn felt squished as if she were in a crowded tavern, but looking around she felt lonely as if she were the last person in Middle Earth. The sense of weightlessness washed over her mind; she wanted to cry for help, but no sound could escape.

The scenery changed, and suddenly Dream-Bellyn stood between two rocky ridges. The ravine was deep and dark, blackness mixed with greys and the brilliant warmth of sunlight had immediately left Bellyn. The paths on the left and right of her stretched onward into nowhere, seemingly infinite. Then a sound!

Crying? Again she wondered.

Walking off down the left path, she came to a small opening in the ravine-tunnel. Off to one side sat a woman with golden hair, pale as the early morning rays of a newborn sun. She curled up against the wall of rock with her arms around knees bent against her body. After Bellyn had watched her whimper, the woman looked up, startling Bellyn back a few steps. Her eyes burned like fading stars, stars that were once much brighter and happier.

Again the scenery changed. Dream-Bellyn sighed, wishing that someone…

Nethwador!

…wishing that someone might save her soon...

[mark12_30]

Taitheneb rode forward and spoke to Erebemlin and Amroth in a low voice. "My lords, Ædegard has ridden back along the trail."
Erebemlin's face showed nothing.
Amroth's face was also impassive, but he raised an eyebrow because Taitheneb clearly had more to say.

"The Raefindan wishes us to track and find him."

Amroth's answer was swift. "Nay! Nor shall he leave. We ride forward til we have found Bella. Taitheneb, take up the rear of the column!"

Nethwador watched Taitheneb ride to the rear with some concern, but was satisfied when the elf brought up the rear of the line. He met Amroth's eyes, and Amroth nodded at him.

"She is near, Nethwador. We will find her soon."

Nethwador frowned, unable to understand his words, and the king's mind was closed. But Amroth held his gaze til Nethwador was content. Nethwador glanced at Erebemlin next. The tall golden elf gazed at him with just a hint of warmth in his cool gaze. Nethwador watched him for a moment, and then returned his eyes to the king.

He misses Lady Bella too. He will not falter til we find both Bella and Argeleafa.

They pushed on. Amroth and Erebemlin were in the lead. Nethwador followed them, then Liornung, Erundil with Aeron riding behind him, and Ravion with Gwyllion. Raefindan and Taitheneb brought up the rear. The horses were exhausted, and all three elves were asking their mounts for their last remaining strength. The men could not ask, but the horses gave it nonetheless.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan

"We must stay together." Taitheneb's words were straightforward and simple. Raefindan appreciated that. Ædegard had taken his fate into his own hands, then. It was critical that those who remained together, stay that way. Very well. Raefindan would not stray from the purpose of the group. If he had been the leader, he would have said the same thing. He sighed.

Nevertheless, he could not set aside the feeling that something ought to be done. But how? Jorje nosed ahead of his horse among the bushes. What if he sent Jorje back? No, what could that do? Get Jorje lost. The dog was looking up at him. Raefindan smiled.

"Did you know that I was thinking of you?" he whispered. Jorje's tail wagged and his mouth opened in a big grin. He whispered again. "Would you go look for Ædegard if I asked you to?"

I would permit it.

Raefindan shook his head. Had Jorje put those words into his mind? No, that didn't make sense. He looked behind him and saw Tate Enid regarding him with look of amusement. That was you? He mouthed, pointing to his head, feeling idiotic. Tate Enid nodded.

Taitheneb.

Taitheneb. Ah. Apologies.

Accepted. The Elf smiled.

Raefindan smiled and turned frontwards again. Jorje was pacing by the side of his mount. "Jorje!" he whispered as loud as he dared. "Go find Ædegard!"

Jorje watched him as he paced next to him, seemingly spellbound. And not understanding what in Middle Earth Raefindan was talking about.

Try saying, "Tirril! Find Ædegard!"

Tirril? Jorje had stopped in his tracks and was watching Taitheneb with singular attention. Tirril. So the dog had two names. Jorje Tirril. He could pass for an Englishman. A what?

What is this Englishman?

I don't know. Something where I come from?

Tirril awaits your command.

Raefindan nodded. "Tirril! Find Ædegard!"

Jorje watched him for one second longer, then ran back down the trail as fast as though a juicy steak had been thrown that way. In moments he was out of sight.

Jorje Tirril

Red man used one of the words old Bargil had taught him! Find. But he didn't use it right. It didn't hold the aroo. He liked Red man's word that meant him, it was warm and friendly, but not aroo. The El man was different, hot and cold in the same place at once. He knew hot and cold nearby, when he put his nose to the riches that wafted, but this El man was nose and riches at once.

Tirril

The aroo! The El man knew aroo!

"Tirril! Find Ædegard!" said Red man.

Aroo! Tirril remembered the smell of the new man. Must find new man! The scent was not here, but Tirril knew it. It was back many pawprints. He would find new man. Tirril ran.

[Imladris]

Aeron glared at Raefindan and shook his head. Nobility....Raefindan spoke of it and had none of it. Ædegard had the nobility though, Aeron suspected, since he had gone after his beloved against all odds.

Aeron nodded. But no, Raefindan and the others (and it was a disappointment that this was coming from elves) considered him as a deserter...how was he a deserter? They were more concerned about sticking together instead of trying to rescue both women. Why? Wasn't that what nobility was? Dying for those you love?

Aeron shook his head.

[mark12_30]

Dead faces leered at her, rotting hands reached for her. Tentacles brushed her. Foul breath wafted against her face. Her stomach turned.

It was hard to breathe. So often it was hard to breathe... she gasped, coughing, fighting for air. Something struck her. She turned her face, gasping; still there was no air. Dead faces under the water wafted rotting, trailing flesh, and it stank; she gagged again and again.

Enough. Enough! She fought harder, scratching, kicking. The air still eluded her. Fog surrounded her; walls hemmed her in; a dungeon door closed, and she was underground, underwater, under the sucking mud. There was no air.

There was no air.

Her surroundings faded slowly 'til she knew no more.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwe

Taitheneb. Tharonwe had not heard of that Elf. He must be a young shoot out of Lorien, less than a thousand years, likely. The human boy, Ædegard, was a fish caught on his line, and the best they would do was send a dog to find him and bring him back. Tharonwe was best with sight and hearing and thought, not smell; but his servants had excellent noses. He commanded them to draw both human and dog away.

But that was apparently all the dividing of their forces that could be achieved. Tharonwe could not detect any threats laid down by Amroth and the other one, so it must be that they were followed by cowards whose fears overcame loyalty. At least this Ædegard was no coward. A Rohirrim. It would be a good death, so those folk said. It would be a shame that none of his folk would know of his fate; no song would be sung for his heroic death, just a mournful lament for his loss. Fair and well. It was time to call the servants holding the other two women back to him. Divide and conquer had been played out; now it was time for strength in numbers. He made his call.

Jorje Tirril

His paws ate up the trail as he nosed for signs of Ædegard's big one-toe dog. Jorje was used to them, his old waroo had had his very own, as had the rest of the pack. When waroo's days of smelling had come to an end, waroo's one toe dog had been given to a new pack member, and Tirril - for that had been his name then - had been claimed by the strange new waroo of the two legs. But the new waroo was mean. Tirril had run away, had scrounged for himself until red man. Red man was a good waroo, except that Tirril's name from red man had not been aroo. Jorje. He had tried to make it become aroo, but it was not second smell yet. Now it didn't need to anymore; red man now knew aroo, and Tirril was happy.

There was the one toe's scent. Tirril slowed and made sure to keep the scent. It kept to the main path. Woof! No! Tirril stopped. The scent was warmest just off to the side. Yes, there was another path this way. Not as well used. But Ædegard's one toe had gone this way. Tirril ran.

Tirril halted. A new scent. Human female and something else. The something else made him retch. It was foul, not rich like dung. This foulness was of a different kind of rot. But it was growing faint. Tirril ran on. Many paws later, Tirril saw Ædegard's one toe dog ahead, long before he smelled him. This swamp was so thick with odors that an animal scent was dampened. No two leg though. Tirril sniffed around. The one toe looked at Tirril and he snuffled and knickered. Tirril had heard his old two leg pack call it that. One toe was scared, had smelled and heard the foul things too. They sniffed noses. Stay together, Tirril snuffled.

The one toe followed Tirril as he ran down the path, nose to the mucky ground, hard after the scent of Ædegard. It was not right that Ædegard left his one toe behind. And it was not right that the man had passed by the female human smell, for Tirril knew hunting; Ædegard was hunting for the female human, and had lost the scent, which meant that Ædegard was lost. Tirril would have to find him. The big eye in the sky was only a few sniffs above the edge of the world. They ran on.

[mark12_30]

The company trotted wearily on, stumbling, heads occasionally nodding, into the Entwash. Raefindan glared, hating the place. The will of the elves dragged them onward.

Aeron fidgeted and glanced at Gwyllion...she looked tired.

"Are we going home?" she asked.

"No, of course not," said Aeron loftily. "We have to plod through this swamp, find this elf, and wait for Ædegard to meet his death." He threw a dirty look at the rangers and the elves.

Gwyllion blinked. "Oh...but I thought it was bad for us to split up."

"Well, considering that the party was already split up when Ædegard left, it doesn't make much difference does it?"

Taitheneb frowned, but waited. Perhaps the young man had concerns of his own; the world of men was so new and strange, and sad.

"I'm sure they have their reasons for not following that man," said Gwyllion with a yawn.

"Something about following orders, " muttered Ravion, but Aeron ignored him.

Gwyllion continued. "Do stop fretting about it...you're just a boy."

"And you're just a girl," Aeron said irately. Rolling his eyes, he said to nobody in particular, "Could Gwyllion and I have our own horse? Currently we're being tossed about as a piece of luggage...I suppose because we're rotten dirty little thieves..." Aeron was cut off by a soft growl from Erebemlin. “Swamps have ears, young fool."

Aeron rolled his eyes and hissed, "If Gwyll and I had our own horse I wouldn't need to shout."

Erundil said, "Gwyllion can take my place...I will replace her on Gond."

“Quickly,” said Erebemlin.

Aeron flashed a grin at the ranger as he lifted Gwyllion and settled her in front of Aeron.

"You are in such a black mood Aeron," Gwyllion whispered.

Far in the distance, two dark figures could be seen carrying a burden.

There was a shout from the Easterling boy. Erebemlin hushed him, but Amroth’s eyes burned. Echo wearily tossed his head, gave a weary grunt and stumbled forward. The horses rallied and gathered themselves, and followed Echo—all but Aeron’s mount.

Ravion turned around and shouted, "Hurry up Aeron -- it is not safe to lag!"

"We can't! The horse is too tired...we don't want to hurt him! We'll catch up to you when we catch up to you," Aeron shouted back.

“Nay,” shouted Taitheneb. “Take the girl aside to safety!”

Aeron grinned, his eyes sparking with delight. He wheeled his horse aside, and pulled the reigns tightly as he watched the group of men and elves gallop towards the dark figures...

"Why are you stopping?" asked Gwyllion.

"To make sure they forget about us and leave us far behind," said Aeron softly.

Gwyllion narrowed her eyes, and said, "What do you mean forget about us?" The horses charged into the distance, and Aeron was and Gwyllion were left alone. Aeron turned the horse.

“What are you doing?” Gwyllion asked.

"Listen Gwyllion," said Aeron shortly, urging his horse into a gallop following Ædegard's trail, "I'm tired of being around these 'noble' rangers who don't act nobly. I'm going after the man who ran off a little while back."

"He is a stranger to you," Gwyllion protested. "Why are you going after him?"

"Because it's dangerous in the swamps, Gwyllion," he snapped. "Besides, it's good form that he's going after his lady love."

[Imladris]

"You do realize that you are being a fool trying to track the man in the swamps?" Gwyllion remarked, stretching lazily.

Aeron sighed. She could be so difficult when she didn't want to do something. "I don't understand you," he said. "Why do you not want to split up? They haven't treated us well, Raefindan virtually left us in the hands of that vile merchant, and Ravion left us too -- allowing you to be captured by that swamp elf," he added in a fierce whisper.

"I happen to like Ravion and the others," said Gwyllion softly, turning around to smile at him. "I don't know why Raefindan let the merchant capture us, but I am greatful that the elven lords rescued us."

"Yet even they won't go after Agard...Idegard...whatever his name is!" Aeron snapped. "They say they don't want to be separated, yet they won't go after him and try to overtake him! They say he deserted when he merely wanted to rescue his lady love! How is that bad?"

Gwyllion's smile faded and she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, Aeron," she whispered. "But they are elves...surely they know what to do?"

Aeron scoffed and looked towards the murky, green slimed ground. Yes...he could vaguely see the outline of a hoof. "We'll catch up to him," said Aeron easily. "And then we won't be alone in the swamps."

There was harsh, sharp whistle and a soft plopping noise. Aeron frowned, and glanced around. "What was that?" he whispered to Gwyllion.

She made no answer, but merely sagged forward, and would have fallen off the horse if Aeron hadn't grabbed her. A thin dart was buried in her skin -- a trickle of blood dribbled down her neck.

Aeron's heart stilled, and he jerked around. There was another whistle, a bite of pain. As his vision blurred, and clouded, Aeron saw black shapes ripple towards him. He tried to shout, tried to spur the horse forward, but his legs were dead -- or were they merely asleep?

A dark tentacle wrapped itself about his neck, dragging him into watered darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwyllion

The grass was green, they sky clear of all clouds...why was she skipping, dancing over the lawn? Where was Aeron, where was the horse?

The birds sang sweetly -- it had been long since she had heard such singing. As she danced, she saw two women. One was huddled to the floor, oblivious to the the singing birds and the golden sunshine. Her golden hair fell wildly about her shoulders, tears stained her face, madness flushed her cheek.

Why would one cry in such a lovely place?

There was another lady who stood looking on...who was she?

Gwyllion stared at the other woman, she raised her head. Her face was pale, her cheeks were hollow, her eyes dark as they locked onto Gwyllion's.

Sad darkness poured into her, stained her memories with a dirge of tears, changed her eyes to see shapes of twilight, the grass was a weary path, birds sighed wistfully as a lady wept. "Does she not know that I miss my lover too?"

Gwyllion buried her face in her hands and wept -- wept for the strange lady who stood veiled in dying twilight, garbed in silent tears...

[littlemanpoet]

If you value the life of your sister and friend, you will stop where you are, and come no closer.

Raefindan heard the words in his head, as clear as if they had been spoken aloud, and he knew who spoke them.

"I know this voice!" said Amroth, harshly. "Tharonwe!" Amroth's lips tightened; Echo's head dropped, and the group halted. His and Erbemlin's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.

So I am called by those who seek to besmirch my honor.

"You have none, skulker! 'Tis mere cowardice that prevents you from showing your face!"

Nay, 'tis wit. Do you think me a fool to stand before three Elves without defense? That would be no fair fight.

"The swamp elf," Raefindan said, looking all around him. He could not see the speaker at any distance. "Where is he?" Next moment, he saw in his mind, Mellonin, alive and awake - and bound and fearful. The swamp elf stood next to her, and there were foul looking, lank haired and diminutive humans in loin cloths, their teeth sharpened to points; they eyed Mellonin hungrily.

Amroth said nothing. Erebemlin spoke. "Release the captive." Amroth waited, his eyes cold and dark.

I do not think you are in any position to give me orders, Lorien Elf. Tharonwe raised a sharp knife to Mellonin's face. The little men licked their lips hungrily.

"You have never taken orders, faithless one. For that you shall answer, " said Erebemlin.

Beware your words, for the sake of this sister and friend. Thraonwe's knife inched closer to her face.

"To whom is this one sister?" asked Amroth.

"She is your sister," Ravion said with some vehemence. "Do you not know her?"

"She is no sister to me," Amroth replied dismissively.

"Your faces could be mirrors!" Ravion said, his voice rising.

In Raefindan's mind's eye, Tharonwe turned to Mellonin; tears ran down her face. Did you hear, my sweet, how he disowns you? Her eyes closed tight with the pain.

"The body you wear, lord," said Erbemlin.

Yes, Mellondu, young Gondorian blacksmith, you have been occupied in the same fashion that the former Dark Lord sought to occupy your homeland. Is your will your own, or are you at the mercy of your own dark lord?

[littlemanpoet]

Jorje Tirril and Ædegard's mount (whose given name was Brade) trotted down the path made by the human's footsteps. It curved hither and yon, but ever remained on solid ground. The man must have a good nose to keep his feet on such a sure trail. But if he did, he would have smelled the fouls and the woman, and he hadn't. So maybe something else kept him on the trail, something not aroo at all, but eerm instead. Jorje's hackles rose in fear. Something eermy lay ahead of them, and he had just begun to smell it. It was the foul retchy thing again, only a lot stronger.

He snuffled to Brade that they needed to hurry. It was a good thing that one toe's could really run when they had to. They ran. It was easy now to follow the scent, and Jorje retched as he ran, but run he did, retch or not.

It was colder and wetter here, and there was a building with dripping stone. It was dark here, even though one eye in the sky was still a sniff up. The man's feet went through that eermy, hackly door. Jorje went down on his belly and eermed, real quiet, he couldn't help it, the sound just came out of him because it was such an eermy place. But red man had sent him to find Ædegard, and he would find him, even in this eermy place. He crawled through the door. Brade stayed outside. Jorje couldn't blame him. Besides, Brade made too much noise, even in the mucky swamp.

There were foul eerms in the distance, and they snuffled to each other. Amid all the retchy smell, Jorje could smell the man. He sniffed, carefully, to smell what they were about. And his nose served him well: they smelled like they were ready to feed, and the only thing they had to feed on was the man! Jorje's hackles rose higher, in anger now. The man was pack! This eermy pack sought to eat his pack! He bared his fangs and growled low, and the sound that came out of him would have scared him if it had come from any other. They turned to him and made all kinds of strange noises, sort of like what red man's pack did, only their noises were all way back in the throat, as if they were trying to growl without a doggish throat. It was silly! They couldn't growl right! Jorje took courage and he dove, his mouth snapping every which way. He pounced and ran, snapping, snapping, until he came to Ædegard. Hands grasped at him and he snapped at them, and the hands drew back; he even got a finger of one of them, but the taste made him retch. He stopped snapping and yelling and growling long enough to lick Ædegard's face, and the man's eyes opened . . . at first just a little, then wide with alarm. He scrambled to his feet while Jorje yammered some more.

"Let's get out of here, Jorje!" said the man.

Jorje followed his packmate out of the stoney place, and Ædegard stopped dead before Brade, as if stunned. But only for a moment. He jumped on Brade's back, and called Jorje after him. Jorje ran after. He didn't need aroo from Ædegard, not for this. Off they ran amid the fog, the one eye in the sky just a sniff or so above the edge of the world. Jorje could hear the eermies running squishily after, but they were leaving them far behind. Jorje grinned as he ran, happy that he had done what Red man had asked.

[Imladris]

Hope was gone, hurled away as a vile thing in the wrath and sorrow of betrayal. Amroth would not come, and they were both separated. Nimrodel wept -- why could she not weep? Her tears were dry as she yearned for her beloved.

A golden cloud skipped, danced within her thoughts, glimmering as a silvan star in her blackness. An echo of laughter whispered tantalizing of innocent joy, fluttering out of reach. Yet, as the lamps of Varda are snuffed by darkness, as the mantled sky becomes burdened with grief, her sorrow tarnished the gilded cloud, dimming the glimmering of her light.

Mithrellas reached out and whispered, "My grief is not yours. Why do you weep?"

"For you..."

"I would know your name."

"'Tis no secret, Lady. I am called Gwyllion.

"You may call me Mithrellas."

[Orual]

Ravion's green eyes narrowed and he felt his face flush with rage. His left hand clenched and unclenched as his right hand fiddled with his sword hilt. Who was this boy to deny his sister? The grief on Mellonin's face, the tears running down her cheeks, the tightness that the abandonment of her brother brought to her shoulders...it tore at Ravion. He looked at the boy, whose seemed outwardly so much like Mellonin. Her handsome face, Ravion thought, sat ill on her brother. The grey eyes, so lively and earnest on Mellonin, seemed only cold without her spirit behind them.

"That he would deny her now!" Ravion whispered, terribly fixated on the image of Mellonin's grief-stricken face, unable to tear his thoughts from her. "That he is not moved! He must not be her brother indeed, but some imposter. Surely he could not stand to see his flesh and blood in such a state."

His right hand clenched the hilt of his sword. He felt like he ought to strike out at someone, to find some way, through steel, to ease Mellonin's pain. But strike at whom? The swamp elf? Even if he were to show himself, it would be madness, and more likely to get Mellonin injured than to help her. The boy? Irrational, and Mellonin may never forgive him if he hurt her brother. He released the hilt.

Would that it was I that she sought! Ravion tried to remove the thought from his mind and keep his focus on the present crisis. But it was a difficult battle.

[mark12_30]

Amroth did not move. He gazed straight ahead. Beside him, Erebemlin and Taitheneb sat like statues, listening to the king's mind.

I befriended her. I guarded her. I watched her. I wooed her. I received her troth-pledge. I have waited for her and sought for her, replied Amroth. What have you done? Have you treated her as you have treated this mortal girl? Poisoned her? Misled her, isolated her, lied to her, tormented her? I know that you have lied to me, and misled me; and now you have this woman at your mercy-- such as you have. Were I ever to consider releasing Nimrodel from our vow, should I yield her to one such as you? Should I allow her to consort with such poison?

Erebemlin could see the swamp-elf's face tighten, and the knuckles of his knife-hand turned white.

Amroth's thoughts turned to the girl. He could taste her fear, feel her tears. This is the respect that you show womankind? To bind them, threaten them, hold them at knifepoint? You threaten death to one who can be no threat to you. You have no mercy, no compassion, no conscience. I shall never yield to one such as you. And I will die a thousand more deaths before I yield my Nimrodel to you.

Taitheneb, listening, heard the girl weep; heard the Merlocks slavering. Surely Amroth would take some step to preserve the girl's life? He waited for some sign, some signal. He and Erebemlin tensed, ready for a joint assault on the mind of the swamp-elf.

Even if you silence the elf, those with him can hurt her. What are you thinking?

Erebemlin started; Taitheneb paled. Amroth's eyes had clouded, his gaze faltered. "My lord...?"

Amroth did not move. The elves' minds wavered.

He has never hurt Nimrodel; he will not hurt her now. Yield to him! Free my sister now.

Never hurt her? Mortal, does a thousand years of madness mean nothing to you? Can you not see death as a gift?

What, will you spend my sister's blood on this?

Would you have me spend the long ages of Nimrodel's life?

You are mad.

Had you seen the ages pass as I have, you would not think so.

As you cherish Nimrodel, I will risk no harm to my sister.

Silence.

Free my sister!

As he torments your sister, he has tormented Nimrodel for a thousand years. I say again, death is a gift.

Not one I want for my sister. Have him release her.

He asks too much.

Yield! Give him what he wants!

Never.

Yield to him!

No.

Beads of sweat formed on Amroth's brow, and Erebemlin watched wide-eyed. Taitheneb, with an effort, pushed back at the swamp-elf; but his will was fading. Amroth swayed, clutching at Echo's mane, and bowed over his horses' neck.

Ravion spurred forward. "Tell them to spare her!"

Erebemlin and Taitheneb turned, pulling at their king's mind, trying to gain a foothold for him and bring him back; but they met only Mellondu.

"Tell him to spare my sister, " said the blacksmith through clenched teeth.

[alaklondewen]

"Tell him to spare my sister.”

Erebemlin’s heart fell as he looked into the blacksmith’s grey eyes. “No,” he whispered involuntarily. No, he could not go against his king. No, the young mortal could not suppress the mighty Amroth, not now…they were so close.

“Tell him.” The blacksmith remained resolved. His face hardened with determination.

“No, do not fall for the lies he feeds you.” Erebemlin leaned forward and searched Mellondu, hoping for a sign of Amroth. Let her go for something greater.

I will not accept her death.

Taitheneb continued to press against Tharonwe, but the dark elf was stronger, older, and the younger faltered.

Do not listen to the Lorien elf. He cares not for your dear sister.

Erebemlin tried to reply, but the blacksmith had shut his mind. “We are so close to finding her…please.” He spoke quietly trying to reach the young mortal’s heart, but Mellondu stared directly ahead and replied not.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The scenery behind the pale-headed woman changed, and Dream-Bellyn looked about with wide eyes. Beneath her feet lay muddy grass and trampled flowers. Above her head, thundering grey clouds threatened to downpour while light mist glided gently down to the spongy ground. Bellyn looked back to the sad, weary lady. Off in the distance behind the strange woman Bellyn could see rolling fields of wheat beneath a shining sun.

I would much rather be there, thought Bellyn. When she looked into the lady's eyes and saw her horrified glance, however, Bellyn changed her mind.

She appeared clearly to Bellyn, but cold and distant as if lost within her own hopes and her own intangible ambitions. On the woman's face sadness mixed with some kind of suppressed anger and strain at the harshness of an inner battle.

Then, for just one single moment, the pale face softened. The lines of hard truth disappeared temporarily, revealing the youth and empathy that seemed to have hidden too often behind frowning wrinkles of despair. Her captivating eyes blinked once, twice, and in seconds the oddly familiar face was once again stony and cold.

'Agony,
Can you cleanse this misery?
For never again will I breathe
The air of home...'

Dream-Bellyn was the one to blink this time, as the Gondorian woman listened to the soothing voice coming from the pale-haired lady. The tune was simple, but it continued to vibrate within Bellyn's mind even when the singer had stopped singing. The melody and lyrics made Bellyn sick to her stomach. Her voice is lovely, but is this how I will end up? Is this how Argeleafa and I will meet our end? A bundle of sorrow, bound and broken to our dreams...Bellyn contemplated, hesitating for a moment as she wondered what she should do. The dreamer ultimately decided to sit down next to the crouched woman. If I spoke to her, would she answer? Bellyn wondered.

'My name is Bellyn...' the dreamer spoke to the frail, huddled mass next to her. Bellyn knew that she did not need words to understand the other woman's pain.

[Imladris]

Gwyllion shifted uneasily on her feet.

Why have you come here? Mithrellas asked as she eased herself to the ground.

Gwyllion smiled a little and settled herself near the elf lady, and stared at her. She was so beautiful, her dark hair glinted in the faltering sunlight, and her long fingers stroked the grass idly. Yet....she was like a...like a wilted flower...or a burdened tree...Gwyllion frowned. She was so sad... she shuddered as she remembered the elf's grief that had washed over her when they had first met.

Why have you come here, Gwyllion? Mithrellas asked again.

I don't know Gwyllion whispered, struggling to remember what had happened to the horse and Aeron. A pain...a pain brought me here in sleep's dark arms...I think.

Mithrellas's eyebrow arched a little. You are not awake.

Was she awake? Gwyllion didn't think she was, but she wasn't sure. She did a half nod, a half shake of her head. Am I?

Mithrellas smiled, but it vanished as quickly as a stray rainbow flits between the dew splashed leaves. You are asleep -- you tripped gaily through a dream and I saw you and staid your parting from my wandering thoughts.

Gwyllion tried to understand -- yet doubt clouded her. Dreams were not real, else Aeron would be dead. How could this elf -- this Mithrellas be real? Are you real? she murmured at last, afraid of what the answer would be.

I am as real as the song of birds, as rippling brooks, as butterflies dancing in the treetops Mithrellas whispered.

But it was just a dream....how could dreams be real?

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung's hands closed tight together, and his face was grim and full of anger. There was the sister, that he did not know, and though he could not see her he knew that she was afraid. Were Bellyn and Argeleafa somewhere, likewise weeping, in grief and fear? Ædegard, the brave man, had gone to seek his beloved, and would not leave her behind. Liornung hoped with all his heart that he would find Leafa and rescue one, and that neither one would come to any harm. And he hoped, he hoped with all strength hope could be hoped, that Bellyn would be saved and unharmed. And this woman, this sister, the woman he did not know. He hoped also for her safety. And a question ran in his mind: Why? Why was there such evilness in the world? Why was it necessary for this woman to be filled with fear and grief? Why was it that Bella and Leafa must be gone? Why was not the world good? He had spoken it to Ædegard once in the days when they first travelled together, and it burst now from his lips in a passionate whisper. "Alas for the sorrows of the world!"

There she stood in grieving fear
and gravely they with faces dark;
stained on her cheek a single tear:
of her frightened pain a mark.

They were the words to the Ballad. Never before had the words come to his mind, yet now they came to him clear. She, the fearful woman, and they, the company of rescuers, he at least who was thrown in agony at the thought of her peril, and the peril of the other two maids. Words from earlier in the Ballad came to him, though he did not bid them. They simply came, in the place of his thoughts, and the clear notes, full of woe and also anger, rang through his heart.

Fair Leafa with her golden hair
and trothed to Ædegard the brave;
and young Bella, ever fair
were taken to a peril grave.

Oh, would that they were safe! Would that Ædegard would bring Leafa back! Would that he, Liornung, could be at Bella's side now, taking her to a place of shelter, and to Nethwador who loved her.

Bellyn there was loved by one,
Nethwador, the name he had
and his heart, now she was gone,
full deep with ire, and sorrow sad.

To the swamp they made their way
to find the frightful, wicked foe,
and swore to make the evil pay
if they found the maids had suffered woe.

Ædegard then turned and left
to find his love, young Leafa fair
for she was left of help bereft
until to save her he did dare.

The strains of a weeping fiddle rose above the song, high, piercing, and lamenting. A flute sounded softly and swelled gently in low grieving. The music was like a stream of tears, and the voice faded. Higher the fiddle went, and softer the flute, and then the one dropped and the other raised until they were mingled together in the same key of painful lament. And then another fiddle came, playing slow harmonies, and for an instant the two fiddles touched each other in song before they broke away and left to their separate mournings. A horn call sounded then, full of majesty and bravery, for not all was sorrow, and Ædegard rode after his love, and the men were straight and tall and willing to lay down their lives for the maids. And also there joined in a third fiddle, its music soft and gentle for the maids ceased not in their purity, innocence, kindness of heart, sweetness, and beauty. Then a last instrument joined in, one that played the notes of the malice and wickedness that was in the hearts of the foe, and it chilled the heart for its pure evil.

The music rose higher and higher in sound, full of all things... evil, lamenting, bravery, love, loyalty, and sweetness. Liornung closed his eyes as the music swept over him in mighty waves, overwhelming him, and he dropped his face in his clenched hands.

[mark12_30]

He felt Amroth slipping away. He knew the fear of the elves. He saw Echo's ears flick backward, and his eyes showed white. His own Celegoer Beorneth stamped, and tossed his head.

Nethwador spoke half in his own tongue, half in garbled elvish. "Why must he choose? Why must we save Nimrodel or the sister? Why cannot we save both?"

Taitheneb had no time to answer, and Erebemlin barely heard Nethwador's thought or speech.

"If the bad elf will hurt Lady Bella, then let us kill him now, " Nethwador said.

Erebemlin paused, and considered turning the boy loose on the swamp elf, but thought better of it. Wait.

"If he hurts Bella, I will kill him, " said Nethwador.

Taitheneb turned to Erebemlin. "We are more than they."

Erebemiln said, "Til their darts find us."

Mellondu's mouth tightned. He reached for the reins, but there were none. Confound the elf... how do you turn this beast with no reins, Mellondu thought, and thumped his heels into Echo's sides. Echo snorted and jigged. Mellondu thumped him again, but Erebemlin's thoughts rang clear. Halt. Echo trembled, crouching, ready to spring.

Mellondu's cry echoed. "Release my sister! Free my sister alive and unharmed!"

So, replied the swamp-elf. The wiser of the two has spoken.

Mellondu curled up as if he had been struck, and Amroth's thoughts cut through. No. We do not yield.

Echo sidestepped and churned as Mellondu writhed, now clinging to the mane. "No!" He cried. "Free her. Free Mellonin!"

"Aye, " said Ravion. "There is no time. Free Mellonin!"

"Wait!" ordered Taitheneb.

Nethwador's thoughts and words came out in a jumble. "Why must we wait? Ædegard has gone to find Argeleafa; let us fight for Bella, and this girl too? If this cruel elf hurts her, will he hurt Bella? I will kill him if he does. And if the nasty teethy men touch Bella, I will kill them all. We must kill this swamp-elf! I want him to die!"

He drew his knife, and Celegoer gathered himself.

Erebemlin met his eyes. Wait.

With an effort, Nethwador obeyed, and Celegoer calmed.

Erebemlin spoke to Echo and to his own horse, and rode up beside Echo; he considered lifting Amroth onto his own horse, but Mellondu clung to the horse desperately. Erebemlin leaned on his hands, crouched on hir horse's back, and stepped lightly over to Echo, settling himself behind his king. Mighty arms circled the blacksmith. Echo calmed. Erebemlin reached one hand and placed it on Amroth's sweat-drenched brow.

"We don't have time for this, " said Ravion. "Free the girl. Free Mellonin!"

You will abandon your quest, and leave Nimrodel to me. You will not seek her again.

"Nimrodel!" spat Ravion. "Leave the history, and give us Mellonin. Return her to us or we will come and get her."

Not if you want her to live, replied the swamp-elf.

Taitheneb met Erebemlin's eyes, and knew that he had not found what he sought. The blacksmith hung limp in Erebemlin's arms, and Erebemlin's face was stony cold.

"He is near death. This body is not strong enough for the king."

Ravion's eyes grew wide. "Body... King." He shook his head, and looked to Raefindan.

[littlemanpoet]

Jorje Jorje smelled blood as he ran. He had not smelled it before. Where was it coming from? It made his stomach growl, and he had not had much to eat for some time. He slowed and sniffed more closely. Oh no. Not good. It was Ædegard.

Ædegard

Brade was running well for Ædegard, which was a good thing. Ædegard was having trouble with the reins. They kept slipping from his left hand, which seemed somewhat achy. They had almost come to the main path again. He picked up the reins again. And they dropped again. What was going on? His left hand felt slippery, and it was throbbing now. Why did it hurt so badly? He picked it up again. It fell away again. Now his wrist burned. Brade came to the main path and Ædegard urged him on in the direction of the others. He picked up the reins again. No. He hadn't picked them up. His wrist burned. He looked at his hand and wrist. He swooned and lost his grip on the reins with his right hand.

He blinked. He was on his back. Jorje was licking his face, and whimpering, sniffing at his left hand. His vision threatened to go black again. His hand. His left hand. It was not there. He remembered the ugly little men and their pointy teeth.

"No!" he moaned. Tears came to his eyes. "My hand!" He forced himself to a sitting position, using only his right hand, and then looked at his left again. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. Ragged and pulpy. He sniffed. He needed to get going again, before the ugly men came again. Brade was standing nearby. Ædegard got to his feet and staggered to Brade, Jorje whimpering at his side. He saw the bloodstain on Brade's side, where he thought he had grabbed hold of the bridle in his effort to climb up. How had he done it? How had he not felt the pain then? He understood that he had been too excited, too eager, too active to feel the pain, as if battle vigor was on him. Well, it was far gone now. He struggled up with his good hand, and managed to climb back into the saddle. The continued, Ædegard clenching his teeth against the pain.

Soon, Ædegard saw a horse standing in the path ahead of him. It was the thief boy, sleeping on the neck of his mount. Oh. There was a dart still stuck in his neck. Ædegard had Brade sidle up to the thief boy's mount, and he shook the boy with his good hand. The boy's head came up blearily.

"Gwyll?" he blinked, looking around.

"Nay, 'tis Ædegard," he said through clenched teeth.

The boy blinked again. "Where is Gwyllion? Sh - she should be on the back of my horse."

"There is no one there."

The boy frowned and blinked some more.

"There is a dart in your neck. Here, let me take it out." The boy nodded and winced as it came out in Ædegard's hand.

"Thank you. Did you find your betrothed?"

"No," Ædegard shook his head wanly.

"Friend, you look pale." Ædegard raised his left arm. The boy blanched. "I see."

"Come, let us go back to the others. I should not have left."

"But what about Gwyllion? And your betrothed?"

"We need the others if we are to get them back." Ædegard started back, the boy watching him from behind. Jorje kept pace with him, looking dolefully at Ædegard.

Raefindan

"He is near death," said Erebemlin. "This body is not strong enough for the king."

Ravion's eyes grew wide. "Body... King." He shook his head, and looked to Raefindan.

Raefindan had watched and listened in silence, feeling very much out of depth. The Elves seemed determined not to deal with this Tharonwe, no matter how many lives it cost. That seemed as foolish as it was heroic to Raefindan. Ravion and Ædegard had wanted to fight. That seemed just as foolish. Worse, in his mind's eye, Raefindan saw Tharonwe and Mellonin joined now by Bellyn, and Argeleafa, and their captors.

It seems that the Elves rule you against your will, humans. Will you let them cost you so many lives? See here that I do not jest. Tharonwe's knife went up, and suddenly there was a red line extending from Mellonin's brow to her lip, just inside her eye. She winced, and her tears blended with the red. The red line thickened and spread, and Tharonwe touched the pooling blood, and let one of the ugly little men smell it. They became more excited yet, fawning on Mellonin's arm. You must overcome these intransigent Elves if your women are to be saved.

Ravion looked to Raefindan. It would not do.

"Take me in exchange for the women," Raefindan said.

Ah, a new type of bargain. And why would I do that, young red man who does not belong to this world?

Raefindan's head jerked from the shock. He did not belong?

Red man, or should I call you Roy Edwards, you are from a time that has not yet come, and will not for thousands of years. You should not be here. How is it that you are here?

"I don't know! Take me! Take me and kill me if you must! Just let the women go!"

[Imladris]

Aeron shook his head, trying to clear the vaporous fog that clouded his mind. Where was Gwyllion? What had happened to the man's hand? Leaving the group was probably not one of his most brilliant ideas -- yet it was good to know that they had met up with Ædegard...too bad he hadn't been the one to rescue him from whatever it was that mangled his hand. Gwyllion would have been transported into one of those tales she loved so much...of course, she probably wouldn't have cared for the mangled hand part...but...

Aeron yawned widely. Where was she? That swamp elf -- had he taken her again? A clear ray of panic pierced through the fog. If -- and this was a very high if -- if she was kidnapped again, the elf surely would not harm her in any way. Elves just didn't do that...of course, he hadn't exactly been acting like an elf. No. Aeron shook his head. No. He wouldn't kill her...she had probably just slipped off the horse any way. They would find her sleeping upon a bed of grass, a crown of flowers on her hair.
~~~~~~~
Mithrellas

This Gwyllion doubted that she was real...why? Mithrellas began to pluck wildflowers, deftly weaving them into a woodland crown. Did you travel here alone?

Gwyllion shook her head. No. I travelled with many others -- a ranger and a woman -- and my brother.

You love your brother?

Yes.

May I see him?

Yes.

Mithrellas reached into Gwyllion's mind, and saw a tall, skinny boy, black hair plastered against his neck. He seemed weary --like a clouded glass -- what had happened to them that they were separated now?

Separating herself, she glanced at the flower wreath in her hand, and dropped it onto Gwyllion's head. Fancy yourself a woodland queen.

Do you travel alone? Gwyllion asked softly.

Mithrellas laughed aloud. I am as alone as a serving girl dusting her mistress' portrait, as alone as a girl peering into a rippling brook and catching the bent reflection of star, or as a girl running after a dancing linden leaf.

[littlemanpoet]

What need have I of you, Roy Edwards of an age long hence from this? You should not be here.

"What do you want?"

Lord Amroth's mad quest to be ended.

"It will not end," said Erebemlin.

Tharonwe frowned in displeasure. Alas for this fair maiden. You see, I can no longer countenance such intransigence, and someone must suffer for it. Tharonwe's knife flicked up to Mellonin's tearstained face and a red line appeared from her brow to her lip just inside her left eye. Mellonin cried out and jerked her head back from the knife. The red line spread and opened into a frightening gash. Blood pooled and mixed with the tears streaking down her face. Tharonwe raised a long finger to the deep wound and dipped his finger in to the first knuckle. He lowered his finger to the raised noses of the merlocks. They hungrily pawed at Mellonin's leg. She whimpered fearfully.

Ravion growled something that Raefindan could not quite interpret as speech.

"Do your worst, Tharonwe," said Erebemlin. "We will not be dissuaded from our quest."

Ravion eyed Erebemlin with poorly disguised contempt and rage, but he said nothing.

I almost believe you. But here! More captives come! Raefindan saw Bellyn and Leafa, bound tightly and borne, like logs to be burned, on the backs of many merlocks.

Nethwador rose in his saddle and scanned the bogs intently, peering over and around every hummock within reach of vision. His brow furrowed deeply, Liornung said, "If they are harmed..."

Tharonwe unbound their legs so they could stand, and stood them near Mellonin. Tharonwe wakened them. I fear that they are not as well as they were before you left them all alone in the open wild. Alas, these friends of mine are ever hungry, and I cannot stay them entirely from their appetites. He moved to Argeleafa and lifted her hair from her head to reveal her left ear. It was not there. Blood streaked her neck.

"Foul miscreant!" Liornung cried. "And what of Bella?"

Her captors were apparently not so hungry and did no nibbling.

Four more merlocks waded chest deep through the muddy water, bearing Gwyllion on their shoulders between them. Her legs dragged in the water. As the merlocks came up out of the water, her legs came up out of the water, revealing that there was nothing below her left knee. Blood oozed from the mangled wound.

Raefindan closed his eyes and tried to force the image from his mind. He looked pointedly at Ravion, who was looking at him out of haunted eyes; Raefindan was sure his appeared the same.

I fear she will never walk properly again. 'Tis a shame.

"Erebemlin!" cried Ravion. "This cannot go on! Do you want them devoured before our very eyes?"

"Ravion," Erebemlin said, betraying no expression than his wrath for Tharonwe, "if we give him the one thing, do you think that he is finished? Whether this fair faced orc wins much or little from us, they shall be devoured. Why would he stop his merlocks?"

So that was what they were called, thought Raefindan. Merlocks. It was an evil name. He feared to be among them, for then his own fate seemed sure, but he could not allow it to happen to Mellonin, Bellyn, Leafa, and Gwyllion. As it was, Mellonin would wear a terrible scar for the rest of her days.

"Take me in trade for all of them, Tharonwe. There must be some use you could find for me."

Indeed I think that there is a way. We shall make this trade. I am convinced that these Elves would prefer to watch my merlocks feed than accede to my request. So come.

"Where do I go?" Raefindan asked.

"No, Raefindan!" Ravion said. "We need you!"

"Friend, I do not know how, but somehow it seems that this will be for the best, for all of us. Please, let me go."

Raefindan didn't know where his words had come from, and he scarcely believed them himself, but there seemed to be something stronger in them than his own voice. It seemed as if the stars, still hidden by the descending sun, had revealed themselves to his mind, and he took courage, he knew not how. Ravion watched him, saw the determination, and peace, in his face. He sighed, his shoulders fell, and he nodded.

"So be it. Go in hope, friend."

How quaint. I am almost touched. Roy Edwards, you will walk along the path you have been following until you are out of sight of your party, then you will follow as I lead you in your mind.

Raefindan dismounted and walked away from the group, taking nothing with him. He tried to keep the blessing of the stars in his mind, but fear grew in him, as did chagrin. Fool, Edwards, do you really think you can pull off some kind of coup out of this?

[Orual]

Ravion's stomach turned and his wrathful eyes filled with tears as the horrible image of Gwyllion refused to fade from his mind. This wretched elf, if elf he truly was, knew exactly how to twist the knife so as to cause the most pain. It was his fault that Gwyllion had come along. He should have left Aeron back in Gondor--he was only a boy, not suited for dangerous travels. And Gwyllion, poor little moonstruck Gwyllion, so innocent and still so perceptive...all of this pain, it was his fault. It was because of him that she would never walk again. It was because of him that all of these ills had befallen her...and Mellonin...

One tear spilled down his cheek, cutting a streak in the dirt and grime that matted his beard and covered his face. He closed his eyes fiercely, but Gwyllion's mangled leg dwelled in his mind still. It took all of his willpower, all of his Ranger's training, not to let out a tortured sob. He could not have been more anguished had it been his own leg missing, his own face sliced. He had led these girls only to pain, torture, and it was not impossible to imagine that death was imminent in their futures.

And now Raefindan's resolute back was facing him as he went toward his own fate. What was this? This red-haired man, so new to battle, so untrained and untested, walking proudly to save his companions while Ravion, Ranger that he was, stayed behind, frightened and weeping?

His father would be ashamed.

Ravion clutched the necklace that hung around his throat, feeling his father's name engraved on the back. The touch that had brought him so much comfort now burned him like a poker. What was he to do? If Gwyllion and Mellonin were to be returned, someone would have to care for them. More tears spilled over. But how would he ever be able to look Gwyllion in the eye again? Could he ask forgiveness this time, and at all expect it to be granted him? His companions had been too gracious to him. He was a traitor, a coward, a wretch, no better than Tharonwe...

"Ravion." Erundil's gentle voice broke into Ravion's thoughts. "You blame yourself," the older Ranger said quietly.

"Yes," replied Ravion simply.

"Do not so. We cannot see all possible ends to our actions. You thought to do good, I am sure, and good may yet come out of your actions."

Ravion laughed bitterly. "You can explain that to Gwyllion, if we ever see her again."

"It is not your fault," Erundil insisted.

"I am to blame!"

"You could not have known."

"I should have guessed! I should have assumed! I should not have brought children on a mission such as this. I should not..." Ravion broke off, and, kneeling on the ground and doubled over, allowed the sobs that had been threatening him wrack his body.

[mark12_30]

Let the mortals deal with-- and for-- the mortals. Taitheneb, I need you here now.

Yes, Silmaethor. A ripple seemed to go through the group as Taitheneb's thoughts narrowed to Erebemlin alone. He rode to his side.

Erebemlin held Amroth tightly. Do not leave us. Do not leave us. Wait.

...Silmaethor? Taitheneb waited; watching Erebemlin, but no orders came. Hesitantly, he reached for Amroth's brow, and closed his eyes.

Twilight surrounded him; the air was warm but stale. He walked in the greyness, searching. He found, not Amroth, but Mellondu, struggling down a dark path. As he approached, the boy faltered, and fell to his knees.

My sister. I am weary. All is dark. Where is my sister?

She yet lives. Courage! Taitheneb knelt beside him.

So weary. Why... Why did he do this?

Taitheneb grieved at the boy's sadness. One day you will know.

Nay, Taitheneb, I know now that he would not rest in his search. But... I do not.... understand.

Follow me. I will lead you back. Taitheneb offered the boy his hand.

But I am... weary. Tired. Mellondu's hands found the grey grass, and he lay down and then he looked at his empty hands.

Do not yeild to despair.

Why not? It is something to hold.

Your sister needs you.

Lightlove yet lives?

Yes, thought Taitheneb, silently thanking Raefindan that it was true. She lives, Mellon, she lives. Come. We will return to her as soon as we may.

Take good care of her. The boy began to fade.

"No!" cried Taitheneb aloud. "No, Mellon!"

Dark... Dark... Tired...

Erebemlin joined them, tall and shining. Taitheneb's hopes rose for a moment; but the boy turned from the bright elf saying, No more of this. No more of you and your king.

Hear me, boy, said Erebemlin, and his thoughts rang like steel. Stand. Do not yield. Stand!

It is too late.

Do not yield! Stand! Stand!

Mellondu laughed, a weary grunting rasp.

Erebemlin's face grew pensive, and he came closer, speaking softly now. You have hidden my king. You have free will, and so you have decreed, young mortal. I would that you had not done so.

You do not think it wise, Mellondu replied.

Erebemlin dropped his gaze, and was silent. Despair prowled at the edges of Taitheneb's mind. He could hear Erebemlin's heartbeat, and his own heartbeat, but the boy's was fading.

Do not yield to despair, Taitheneb said to the boy.

I want to, replied the boy.

Erebemlin knelt and took the boy's face in his hands.

If you leave Middle-Earth, other hearts beside the king's will also break. Do not leave us.

I am not a horse to be ridden, replied Mellondu.

No, said Erebemlin. There was a long pause before Erebemlin spoke again. No. What you say is true. But now, little mortal... Mellon--

Were Silmaethor's eyes glistening? The mighty warrior dropped his gaze, and bowed til his forehead softly touched the boy's.

Mellondu, you are our only hope. Do not fail us. Do not fail me.

Taitheneb held his breath, and then softly added, Nor your sister.

Mellondu spoke no word, but put one hand on Erebemlin's forearm. Silmaethor straightened, and for a moment all was still. Then Silmaethor lifted the boy like a child, turned, and quietly carried him out of the shadows; Taitheneb followed.

Their eyes opened. They wondered what had happened around them, but for the moment they hardly cared; somewhere, deep within the boy, their king was still with them. Yet there was someething different, too, about the way Silmaethor held the boy. Taitheneb kept silent, and enjoyed watching Mellondu slowly open his eyes.

[littlemanpoet]

While the party waited, Ædegard and Jorje came back amongst them.

"You are pale," Erundil said. "Are you well?"

"Well enough." Ædegard attempted to dismount and fell to the ground in a swoon, lying face down. Erundil came to him and turned him over, his eyes opening wide. "Ravion!" he called, turning. "Come look at this!"

Ravion came over, looked, and swallowed hard. "Tooth marks to the wrist. It must be cleaned." Erundil and Ravion busied themselves with healing ministrations for Ædegard's left wrist.

Much later, as the sun was extinguishing below the horizon, Mellonin and Leafa came into sight, frantically carrying Gwyllion between them, her arms hanging limp. Their faces were stained with tears, and they kept looking back in fear. Bellyn came running up behind them around a stand of dead cattails, holding a knife; she wore scratches on her arms, face, and legs. Merlocks were chasing them, the nearest a mere swipe of a claw behind Bellyn's heel.

[Imladris]

Mithrellas glanced back at Nimrodel, who was rocking violently back and forth, her golden hair caught in the wind. A shriek echoed in Gwyllion's dream world...the grass melted away like snow before the morning sun, the song of birds was cut short, the blue sky faded revealing scurrying clouds that fled before bladed wind.

Mithrellas clutched at Gwyllion, trying to keep the shreds of the dream together -- trying to keep Gwyllion. A torrent of pain and fear washed over her and Mithrellas gasped. Elbereth! she cried, climbing to her feet. Flames of fear and pain burned in Gwyllion -- A Elbereth Gilthoniel o mene palan-díriel le nallon sí di-nguruthos A tiro Gwyllion, Fanuilos!

A cold hand drew near, and snuffed spirit's fire. Gwyllion had met her doom.

Gwyllion

Gwyllion awoke screaming, writhing in pain as she saw one of the ugly short men...she couldn't feel her leg..

Panic leaped like a monster, clutching her heart in fear. She struggled, struggled wildly trying to escape. How could she run with one leg? The blood...she gasped and retched.

Then she saw Mellonin...her cheek was torn by a knife's cruel edge. "Mellonin!" she screamed, trying to crawl towards her. There was another, but she did not know who she was. Aeron wasn't there? Why? Hot tears bathed her cheeks..."Mellonin!"

The pain...she struggled to stay awake. Aeron...where was he now? She wished that they could go back home to Gondor...back to father...

Dirty hands clutched at her, forcing her to the ground. One grasped her hair, pulling her head back. A sordid, short, ugly man, his leering face contorted with anger, lunged towards, a knife gleaming in his hand. Gwyllion screamed...this was not how she imagined she would die.

Aeron

Raefindan was gone when Aeron and Ædegard caught up with the elves. They had not found Gwyllion. Aeron even now realized that it had been foolish of him to think that he would find her in a grassy glade crowned with flowers. He even wondered if such grasslands existed -- they had been in this dratted swamp for so long.

Gwyllion would be alright. He smiled...they would have a good laugh about it when she came back, or when they found her nestled among the cattails. The smile faded and he gnawed his lip as the sun began to set. If that elf had lied -- his hand clenched into a fist.

Then he saw them: four girls: one brandishing a knife to keep the merlocks at bay, two others stumbling as they carried his sister. Aeron's heart grew cold as he saw the limp body of his sister, one leg missing. No. She was not dead. The pain had cast her into sleep.

The merlocks crowded behind them, and one of the merlocks lashed out, snagging the dark haired one with a blood stained claw. They would kill her with their leering hungry faces. With a shout, Aeron whipped his small dagger from its sheath, and drove his heels into his horse's flanks, trusting that the animal would find the surest route through the treacherous mire.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung had kept a watchful eye on Ædegard since he had returned. True, he mused in response to the thoughts that pulled at his mind. They had not been on good terms at the first, but they had grown in friendship since their first meeting. True again, Ædegard had been their leader, if anyone had been a leader, from the start. Yet despite Ædegard's leadership, the fiddler was older (by a few years), and likely more experienced. He had met those younger than himself by only a few years before, and each time he had assumed the role of an elderly wiseman with good counsel. He had helped many a lad in trouble: shy lads in love to bold lads in debt. He had developed a keen interest in the welfare of all human beings, and a very paternal sense towards any and every young man (or woman, for that matter). When Ædegard had returned with his hand gone and the blood flowing, Liornung had instantly set an attentive eye to him. For one thing, Ædegard was wounded and probably in (at the very least) a little bit of pain. For another thing, it wasn't impossible that he might be wondering what Leafa would think.

Liornung recalled the time he had met a young man who was strong, handsome, fairly well-to-do, and in brief everything a young lassie would want in a man. As a matter of fact, a girl already wanted him, and he wanted her. She was pretty, and had classic Rohirric features with a touch of her own individual charm. They had known each other for years, and the girl wanted nothing more than for the man to hurry up and ask her to marry him. Liornung entered the village the day before the young man intended to propose marriage to her. That day they became fairly good friends, and the man chose Liornung to confide in (though, of course, not in the same way the lassies confide, if one has a sense of the difference). And on that same day the young man had taken a tumble from his horse and broken his foot.

Broken his foot! What a simple, absurd little thing to worry about. And just barely broken, too. The lad would be better in no time at all. He was simply unable to walk for a time. But it set him into fits of agitation. What would his lass think? Marry a man with a broken foot? What did it matter if the foot would heal sooner or later? Maybe it would be crooked for all time. So much for proposing to her the next day! Could he (Liornung) imagine him (the young man) asking the girl to marry him when he was lying in bed with his foot padded and propped up? Well, Liornung could imagine it, and it was absurdly amusing, but he had the good sense not to laugh, and he sat and consoled the fellow. As it happened the girl didn't care very much, though she did laugh, and they were happily betrothed, and married not too long after.

But, there! If a man was worrying that a girl wouldn't marry him over a broken foot, what might Ædegard be thinking, with his hand gone? Sweet, gentle Leafa, made for nothing but love. Liornung knew she wouldn't care in the least. But Ædegard might worry. And Ædegard was worried enough already with her gone, and worried with the pain of his wound. So Liornung left the healing matters to Ravion and Erundil, but he watched Ædegard carefully, and kept his fiddle close at hand, in case his friend might want a song to distract his mind from weary things.

A cry was raised from someone in their group, and heads turned to a sight that made Liornung spring to his feet, and made his heart beat madly. Leafa, that gentle Leafa, was running towards them, alongside the weeping woman, and they carried between them a limp figure. And, oh! there was Bellyn behind them, wielding a knife and fighting off creatures like nothing Liornung had seen before. A shudder went through him, and the colour was completely lost from his cheeks. For a moment he was still, and then he took one step forward, his weapon in his hand.

And somewhere in the depths of his heart he could hear the strains of a fiddle sounding a battle cry.

[Orual]

The sun was low in the sky, matching Ravion's spirits. He knelt by Ædegard, cleaning and binding his wounded wrist slowly and methodically. Ædegard would not be another casualty that he could add to his generous pile, not another disaster that he could attribute to his works. Ædegard's wrist was actually one of the nicest healing jobs he had probably ever done.

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Erundil's head snap up, and only a split second later he heard a rustling in the distance. He tied off the bandage on Ædegard's wrist and stood, peering toward the horizon.

"It is Mellonin," Erundil said, shocked. "And Gwyllion!"

Ravion threw his medicinal supplies onto the ground and tore his sword out of his scabbard. "They are being pursued!" he cried. "They cannot hold out!"

"What pursues them?" Erundil asked, squinting and straining to see, his hand on Ravion's arm.

Ravion shook his head. "I cannot tell. But let me loose--I must help them. I have failed them once! I will not so again."

He brandished his sword and, without a battle cry or any sound at all, charged towards the women and their attackers.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

'You are Bellyn...' the dream-figure said in a thoughtful, melancholy tone. Dream-Bellyn nodded. Her brows furrowed together as she felt someone - or something - gripping her shoulder...but nothing was there behind her. She ignored it for a moment, for the dream-lady had opened her mouth to speak again. 'I am...looking...for someone. I lost my way, a long time ago, I lost my way. If you find who I search for, could you tell him something for me? Tell him I do not forget my quest...'

Bellyn nodded again, and closed her eyes, feeling once more the sensation of a tug at her shoulders. She doubted that she could ever find the person her new acquaintence was looking for. When Bellyn opened her eyes she opened them to new, more terrible surroundings. She had woken from her nightmare...
--

Sitting up, Bellyn could see strange little creatures to her right, and two women at her left. Bellyn stood as quickly as she could, though she felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. The little creatures hoarded around some crumpled pile - Bellyn dared not guess what it was. One of the women was oddly familiar -

"Leafa!" Bellyn called groggily, too frightened to look back towards the creatures she had glimpsed. They both turned, but they went right past her and towards the group of gnawing beings. The one Bellyn did not know kicked away the things, and began dragging a human from the wreckage! Bellyn gaped at the sight, watching the unfamiliar woman kick and scream at the creatures while Argeleafa helped to heave away the fourth woman.

She ran to the women, who were hustling quickly away from her. Not from me...Bellyn thought. Turning, she could see the little people chasing after the group of women. "Leafa! Leafa! Leafa!"

Argeleafa would not turn. Bellyn despaired and continued to run after the women. The one that she did not know turned around quickly, and handed a bloodied knife into Bellyn's hand.

"Take the back," said the woman.

Eyes wide, Bellyn did not need more explanation, nor would she receive any from the one who had given her the weapon. Argeleafa and her new companion continued to pull the seemingly dead lady with them.

Turning, Bellyn saw the tiny, crawling things coming after her. The path seemed narrow enough, so Bellyn hoped she would not have to fight too much. I do not know how to fight, I do not know how to fight, I cannot! I cannot! Bellyn was screaming on the inside, but on the outside she could do naught but wait for the ladies ahead to lead the way and the attackers behind to clear the way.

Swatting at the beings with her knife, Bellyn was clawed at and bitten, but these wounds received no more notice from the victim than a slight gasp before swinging the knife once more. Not long ago I was sitting in a nice old inn with a warm fire nearby...Bellyn thought meekly. Seeing the cold, damp swamp around her and the knife in her hand made her cringe. This is the journey I thought I wanted, the world that I wished that I could see.

Bellyn did not know how long she could keep it up. Her system worked fine enough: she would run as long as she could before she caught up with the women ahead. Then she would slash at the first creatures behind her before running to catch up again.

Dashing through the swamps with a knife in her hands was certainly the last place Bellyn thought her journey would lead her to.

[Imladris]

Weeds clutched with their sickly fingers at his mount's flank, thorns raked his leg -- behind him he could hear Ravion pound behind him.

In moments he caught up to the women. Gwyllion was slumped between two of them, half her left leg missing (it looked as if it had been chewed off -- Aeron stifled his stomach's uneasy lurch)...her clothes were torn, her cheeks pale, as if all life had been sucked from them, a red blotch stained her blouse -- a red stain

Time slowed, the dagger faltered in his fingers. His breathing was squeezed by a throttling fist of fear and anger. Gwyllion wasn't asleep -- she was...de -- NO...injured. Not dead. Her head lolled backwards....her eyes were still open.

He locked his eyes on hers. And then he knew. They were fixed. Lifeless. Even the reflection of terror was beginning to fade like morning mist. They were just...eyes. Shallow. Dim. Dead.

"NO! You filthy little --" he screamed, a torrent of curses flooding from his mouth upon the elf's head. He tumbled from his horse, trembling with rage. The golden haired lady stumbled and limped feverishly onwards. A merlock, splashing through the swamp drew ever closer to the woman.

Aeron dived as well as he could in the sloshy ground towards the girl, brandishing his dagger in front of the merlock. The merlock's face was twisted in cruel arrogance, he licked his lips like a hungry cur. Aeron dodged the Merlock's graps, and plunged his dagger into it.

[Nurumaiel]

Argeleafa's feet were weary, and oh! such a fierce pain was in her head! Yet fear prompted her to struggle on, her trembling arms striving to hold the girl above the ground. She did not know the woman who ran with her, but mingled with her tears of fear and pain were tears of gratitude, that she did not have to run alone. Just barely could she hold the girl with a companion helping her; how much more difficult would it be if she were alone? It would be impossible. And also she was grateful for Bellyn, who, at her own cost, more than likely, though Leafa could not see, was keeping the horrible creatures away.

Blood was flowing down her neck, yet she hardly noticed it. She could hear cries, but dimly, through a wild roaring. Her eyes were blurred, and not only from tears. Her feet were barely stumbling on. Fear of the pursuers, and determination to bring the girl and herself to safety, lent wings of an odd sort to her feet. Wings just strong enough to lift her feet above the ground so she did not fall from exhaustion, but hardly strong enough to make her fly. How her side ached from running! She hardly noticed it for the pain in her ear. What had happened to her? Why did her head ache so furiously? Ache? Nay, it was burning, burning with a horrible fire.

Dimly, so very dimly ahead could she see the forms of men. Oh, would that Ædegard was there to help Bellyn fight off the creatures, and then take her and comfort her! And would that Liornung was there with his strong, noble heart! But she could not see. Things were growing dimmer. What if the figures ahead were not men, but more of the creatures, and they were running into a deadly fate?

Her stride became uneven, and her left foot gave a sudden twist. Nearly she fell, but in desparation she steadied herself and ran on. Her gait felt unnatural now; her left foot sunk low when it hit the ground, and sent pains running up her. She did not care.

They came slowly closer to the dim figures awaiting them.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan did not have far to go before he came to Tharonwe and his minions, and the captive women. They did not see him. Tharonwe was untying their bonds. One of the merlocks snarled up at Tharonwe in some garbled tongue that Raefindan could barely make out as speech. Tharonwe answered back in similar noises, apparently ordering them away from Gwyllion, for they backed away. The lead merlock snarled angrily and grabbed Tharonwe's knife from his grasp. Tharonwe did not try to take it back. The merlock went to where Gwyllion lay, and stabbed her in the chest. Blood pumped out around the blade.

"No!" Raefindan started to run.

"Stay back, Roy Edwards!" Tharonwe gestured. "This is not your fight anymore."

Raefindan (he had a hard time thinking of himself as Roy Edwards) stopped and watched, feeling more than useless, as Mellonin her face opened, blood flowing in streams down her neck, took charge. Mellonin and a blonde Rohirric girl carried Gwyllion between them, a dark haired young lady wielding the knife and bringing up the rear. The merlocks gave chase and were soon gone.

"Welcome, Roy Edwards," Tharonwe smiled thinly. "Come walk with me. We must away from here before the merlocks turn on us as their next meal."

Raefindan followed Tharonwe down a path that he would not have noticed. He cared little where his feet landed. Other things were far more important at the moment, such as the evil this swamp elf had visited upon his friends, Mellonin and Gwyllion.

"You went back on your word!"

"I did no such thing. I deem that you speak of the merlocks' pursuit of the ladies. The trouble is that I promised them at least one of the maidens for their feasting, while on the other hand I promised all four in trade to you. In order to meet both promises, I needed to let ladies and merlocks fight it out between them, which you witnessed."

"That is too despicable for words, swamp elf."

They had reached ground which was not soggy, though their surroundings were still gray and wet.

"You wrong me! And who are you to speak, you who wished for your love to stay alive just to keep you company, even though to do so meant unending pain for her."

Raefindan stopped in his tracks. "Stay out of my head!" He knew that it was the only way this swamp elf could know any such thing; he had himself forgotten until Tharonwe had reminded him. Angela.

"Ah yes. You remember now. It seems that it was your loss that made it possible for you to dream of Mithrellas, with yourself as Imrazor. But the question that has most intrigued me is how you came to be here, and now, at all. What can you say for yourself?"

Raefindan had no idea. Was he dreaming all of this? How did he have "memories" of a time that would not occur for thousands of years?

"I don't know."

"Indeed. I intend to find out. It is part of why I made the trade." Tharonwe said much else, and Raefindan listened; there might be something useful to be learned for the sake of his friends. Tharonwe planned to use Raefindan's dreams to persuade Mithrellas of Tharonwe's worth as mate for Nimrodel. It made Raefindan sick to think of himself used in such a way, but it was worth having saved the lives of at least three of the women. He just hoped he didn't cause more trouble than good by what he did. In fact, he considered, he was going to have to be very careful indeed, if he did come from the future. Any action of his could change things from the way they were supposed to be. He should not be here at all, as Tharonwe said, but that could not be avoided. Maybe it could be rectified, but how? He had no idea.

[mark12_30]

She was so limp.

Mellonin hoped that Gwyllion had fainted; hoped that she would wake again; hoped that they would survive these slavering, drooling pursuers. The girl beside her bled; her own face hurt, and the girl behind them struggled on, slashing and running, slashing and running.

Mellonin heard fewer of the snarling voices. She risked a glance over her shoulders. One of the swamp-men had fallen from the dark-haired girl's knife, and now half of the pursuers were clustered around him. "Brave girl!" she cried. But that was all the breath she could spare, for the other half were still chasing them. Turning forward, she ran on. The goldenhaired girl beside her was struggling hard but doggedly kept up.

She heard hoofbeats, and flinched. Not the merchant and his henchman! Her head jerked up and she looked; a strange horse was galloping towards her, ridden by a wild young... "Aeron!" Behind the horse came a man on foot, sword drawn. But Aeron rode up, and looked down at their burden, gazing into Gwyllion's eyes.

In vain Mellonin hoped for some response from Gwyllion. Behind her she heard the darkhaired girl fighting desperately, and she wanted to help her, wanted to -- to do something; but all she could see was Aeron, his eyes, his twitching face, his hand as it clenched and unclenched. He screamed, cursing, and leaped from his horse. A merlock came, and died on his knife; Aeron joined the girl, and fought beside her. More merlocks died.

More men were coming; Mellonin looked up.

"Ravion?"

He came on foot, passed Mellonin, and joined Aeron and the darkhaired girl. Blood ran, and in horror and fear she watched, but it was not Ravion's blood that stained the ground. Dark corpses lay on the ground. More merlocks came, and more died; more horses were approaching, and arrows whistled past. In the confusion she knew only that Gwyllion was dead, and that she and the two other women were not; not yet.

Strange voices cried Rohirric names; a dark boy crying "Bella, Bella!" leaped off of a lanky chestnut and hacked into merlock after merlock.

"Nethwador!" cried the goldenhaired girl. "Liornung... oh, they have come!!"

Three remaining Merlocks turned and ran. One by one they fell with arrrows in their backs.

The ground was slippery with blood. Mellonin looked around in a daze. Ravion was wiping the blood from his blade. Where was Raefindan? Aeron had returned to her side, and in a broken voice was talking to Gwyllion. Mellonin looked down at the girl she still held clutched in her arms. Her eyes were wide; her face white; her breast, drenched with blood. Mellonin began to weep, and her knees gave way.

[Orual]

Ravion barrelled towards the monsters behind the women, muttering Rohirric and Gondorian battle prayers. The hilt of his sword felt hot in his hands, and he gripped it tightly to give him strength.

"Ravion?"

His eyes met Mellonin's, but he only let them linger for only a brief second. He could not allow himself to be distracted. Unfortunately, he already was.

"Aeron! Flank them left." Ravion did away with the merlock directly behind him in short order with a vicious swipe of his sword. The merlock did not even have time to cry out. "Watch their claws!"

"Ravion! What of Gwyllion?" Aeron cried, dodging a blow from a merlock. His youthful face was contorted with worry, and blood tinged his cheek red. Ravion could not tell to whom the blood belonged, but hoped that it was a merlock's.

"She will not be well served to have these monsters let free around her, Aeron! Do away with them, and you will be taking care of her!" Ravion shouted.

The battle seemed a whirlwind of sword thrusts and blood, with Mellonin always just out of his eyesight. He came out of his trance when he received a deep cut to his left arm. His only thought was that it was not his sword-arm, and that he was grateful for that.

Finally, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, he looked around himself and saw that all of the merlocks were dead. His sword dropped to the ground, and he bent over double, catching his breath and attempting not to be sick.

He straightened up after a moment, picked up his sword, and began cleaning it. The dark blood was already beginning to dry, and he took his skin of water and wet the rag he was using. He could feel the gash on his arm bleeding, and the open air stung it. A sudden rush of air startled him out of his second stupor, and he opened his eyes and saw Aeron with Gwyllion--and Mellonin, weeping. He stumbled over to her and fell to his knees.

"Mellonin."

My love.

"Mell--"

Speak to me.

"Mellonin."

I do not know if my heart can stand before your silence.

He put a gentle finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. Tears streamed down her face, their salt surely burning her own cut. He wanted to put his hand to the wound and take it from her, put it on his own face, stop her pain, whatever the cost. All he could do was what his training had given him, though. He took out a clean rag and squeezed the sap from a few leaves, mixing it with water. He pressed it to her face. She recoiled briefly, then let him be. Her hand met his at her face, and the same lightning passed through him that he had felt that long night ago at the Seventh Star.

"Ravion," Mellonin said quietly.

Yes. Ravion said nothing.

"Gwyllion...tend to her." Ravion looked at the siblings, and started. He had hardly noticed. What was happening to him? A Ranger always cares for the most badly injured first. He could not even tell if Gwyllion was alive.

He turned to Aeron. "Aeron. Gwyllion...is she..." He could not bring himself to finish the question, but left it open.

[Imladris]

Aeron let his dagger drop and dashed to Mellonin, who stood beside Gwyllion, who was sprawled prone on the floor. He dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms. His sister...Gwyllion. He rocked back and forth, trying to stop the hot tears that clung to his lashes. "Gwyllion...why...why..." he choked.

She was stabbed...he hoped that the merlock who had slain her had been killed, preferably by his hands. Her fear of blood...what must she had thought when she saw her life blood pouring from her leg...the terror the fear. He hugged her, and rested his chin against her head.

"Gwyllion," he whispered, "do you remember when father left us? And how you loved him so much that you thought he'd come back? When I stole my first ring, and we celebrated with creamy milk and cheese in the finest inn? Gwyllion, why did you have to die? You could have had such a life...full of joy...and song. I was going to give you a harp...so that you could sing songs and tales..."

He heard Ravion behind, asking Gwyllion to do something...didn't he know?

"Aeron. Gwyllion...is she..." his voice trailed off, as if he too feared the dreaded truth.

Aeron bit his lips, and picked his sister up. "What do you think?" he asked...his voice cracked and hollow.

"We'll have to bury her," said Ravion quietly.

Aeron tried to breathe. He tried to nod. The hot tear fell down his cheek.

[mark12_30]

"Are you hurt, lady?"

Erundil stood before the darkhaired lass. She was still brandishing her knife, a little wildeyed. She gazed at him uncertainly.

"Bella," said a voice beside him, and a lanky boy wearing elvish clothes stepped past him. She lowered her knife, and her eyes closed; the boy swept the knife aside, and grasped her shoulders. She opened her eyes again.

"Mellon."

"Bella, " he answered, and then looked up. "Erebemlin! Bella..." There followed a jumble of elvish and eastern speech, and Erundil frowned.

Erebemlin stepped forward, glanced at Bella's ugly but minor wounds, and comforted Nethwador. Her wounds will heal. Others did not fare so well. Take her further and let her rest.

Erebemlin and Liornung were walking towards Argeleafa; Nethwador saw the blood on her pretty face, and began to worry about her too. But he had his orders, and he turned to Bella with a mixture of worry and joy.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung went to Argeleafa, and he knelt before her, and softly he pushed the hair away from where her ear used to be. He said nothing to her, but his eyes, gentle and compassionate, looked into hers, and his hand lingered on her cheek. The tears fell down her face, and she was trembling and pale.

"Oh, Liornung," she said, her voice just a murmur. "I am so tired. I wish I could lie down and go to sleep." Her head dropped wearily in his hand, for a few moments, and then she looked up again. "Liornung!" she said, and her voice, though hoarse from loss of breath, was a cry. "Where is my Ædegard? Why is he not with you?"

"Don't fear," he said, his voice thick and trembling with emotion. "I will take you to him." Then he swallowed, and drew a breath, and straightened himself. "But, my little Leafa, you are hurt. Let Erebemlin tend to your wound. I will return shortly."

"Will you leave?" she said, and the tears began spilling over faster.

"For a short time," he said. "I must see if I am needed anywhere." He stood, but she fell forward and caught his hand.

"They do not need you," she said. "What can you do? They need healers! But I, Liornung, need you."

"You need Ædegard," said Liornung, "but maybe you need me, as well. Yet at the present moment you need Erebemlin most of all. I must go and see if my presence is needed elsewhere."

"I need you here, Liornung," she pleaded. "I am so afraid."

He bent down and kissed the hands that were clinging to his own. "Little Leafa, you need not fear. Have courage, and make the sacrifice. I must see if I am needed more. I will return to you within a minute."

Argeleafa sank back down and wept, but she was resigned.

Liornung went to Ravion, who stood by the silently weeping boy and his sister. Softly the fiddler touched the man's shoulder, and said in his ear, "Sir Ravion, I have not great talents in healing, such as you and the Elves, for I am a simple fiddler, yet a lone traveller in lands both tame and wild must learn some skills of healing, to care for himself and others in need. My skills I offer are not much, but if you are in need of any humble and small assistance, I sit by the golden-haired maid."

He turned then, to go back to Leafa, but he paused behind the boy who wept over his sister's body. He lay his calloused hand upon the lad's head, and ran his fingers through the dirty hair, and the tears filled his own eyes. He stood a moment more, and then he returned to Leafa.

Alas, then, for the sorrows of the world.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard heard shouts and cries and howls through the fog of his fever. What was happening? He saw swords rising and falling, gore flying. A battle! He struggled to his knees and reached for his sword; it was not there. What had happened to it? He felt something at his left hand. It was Jorje's nose, sniffing and licking daintily at the bandage covering his wrist.

Where is my hand?

Oh, aye, he had lost it. My hand! No! How can I be a wainwright? With the fresh realization, his eyes and ears cleared and the sights and sounds made more sense. Bellyn and Leafa were with them again! Who had saved her? them? He would have to thank him. He struggled to his feet, Jorje at his side. The young boy Aeron was kneeling, holding his sister in his arms; he was crying.

Do not cry, call for a healer.

Or was it too late for a healer? He stumbled to Leafa, who was being cradled in the arms of Liornung. Good man. He held her gently, and she wept. He stopped a pace from her and fell to his knees.

"Leafa! You are safe!"

She raised her tear stained face to him. "Ædegard!" Liornung helped her up and she fell upon Ædegard with fresh weeping. He stroked her hair, felt an ear beneath his hand; but not two ears. He looked at the palm of his hand, and it was covered in blood.

"What has happened to you, Leafa?"

She sobbed. Ædegard looked to Liornung, who tapped his left ear with his left hand. Ædegard raised her hair, saw, and closed his eyes tightly. No. The swamp elf would pay. He felt his eyes well.

"Ædegard! Your hand! Oh, my poor, poor-"

It was a great relief to have her in his arms, have her caressing his forearm so carefully, gently. He was kissing her hair, her head, cradling her. But he knew that his plans were all for nought. He could not keep her, for he could not do the work he had inherited from his father; not with only one hand. He was finished. He would be reduced to begging for his bread. He could not keep her. He would have to tell her, soon. But not yet.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn had never been so happy to see Nethwador's familiar face. He helped Bellyn to her feet, and led her away from the battleground. She felt groggy and dizzy. As she walked Bellyn stumbled like a man returning home from the tavern after one too many drinks. Nethwador sat her down on a dry patch of ground nearby to the mourning companions, and proceeded to plop down next to her.

"Bella!" He piped, wiping blood from the only scratch on her face, just along her cheekbone. Her other wounds had been sustained mostly along her arms, especially the one that had held the offending knife against the attackers. Her heart still beat rapidly; she could feel it thumping against her ribs. Bellyn still despaired. She desperately wished to return to the safety of her dreams. The dream...Bellyn thought quickly, her eyes widening as she looked down at her bloodied hands. Not my blood...she realized. The blood of the girl.

Bellyn shuddered.

She wondered at the fate of their journey. The Gondorian wondered why it had not been her ear, or her face; she wondered why the girl-child had to be the one to die. How can I feel as if I have braved the most frightening thing in the world? How can I feel as if I understand their pain? Bellyn wondered, feeling ever-guilty that she had escaped with minor cuts and bruises.

Bellyn sniffed and watched the wreckage of the fight before turning to face Nethwador.

"Nín celair tirn...hebim band..." Bellyn murmured in reply. The language her parents knew - the language they might have spoken together. It sent shivers down her spine. 'My brilliant watcher...keep me safe'. Did I say that right? Bellyn wondered. Would it matter if I did? Would he understand? Worrying over her broken Elvish words, Bellyn's brows furrowed and she frowned for a moment, looking down at her lap. Then she sighed, and smiled, looking up at Nethwador. "Thank you, Mellon."

She leaned over and wrapped her arms around Nethwador's shoulders tightly. Bellyn wondered if Nethwador was surprised; she could not see his face, for her head was nestled over his shoulder. It is really over. It is all over. Everything. The evil has gone for now.

[mark12_30]

He blinked. Her head was against his shoulder. Her arms, slippery with blood, were wrapped... around... Around me!

His heart leaped and thundered, and he wrapped his arms around her in return. He held her tighter, tighter... she gasped and flinched. Red-faced, he released her; she reached one hand to the other arm. He saw through her slashed and torn sleeve that she was freshly bleeding.

A rising torrent of apology poured from him. She guessed at his meaning, and smiled at him through teeth that were clenched in pain, which deepened Nethwador's embarassment and half panicked him.

Erebemlin had told him to let her rest. What could he do? He knew so little about this; he touched the blood on her arm.

Water! It always started with water. He would wash the blood off. He leaped to his feet, and whistled for Celegoer, who came trotting over. He siezed his water bottle, drained it over her arms, looked about for more clean water, saw none, leaped onto Celegoer and galloped off. Bella sat with teeth clenched and arms dripping. He returned, water bottle full, and sloshed it over her arms again, drenching her sleeves; but there was blood on them still. He mounted again and galloped off.

She tried not to laugh, but could not help herself, and as he galloped back to her again, she choked between laughter and tears of pain. He sat by her again, and she took his hand. "Just stay with me, Mellon."

He washed her arms again, carefully, making the water last this time. By the time the bottle was empty, her arms were mostly clean. She took his other hand then, and holding both his hands, leaned her head against his shoulder again.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her again, but instead, he gazed down at her face, so near his. But her sleeves were drenched and the rest of her damp or wet; soon she began to shiver.

This is all wrong. I've only made things worse. And then he remembered that Taitheneb was waiting with Amroth. Taitheneb would know what to do.

He stood, pulling her to her feet. He drew her over to Celegoer, and motioned that she should mount. She struggled onto the horse, and he mounted behind her. Soon they were dismounting near Taitheneb, and Nethwador's broken Eastron-Elvish poured out of him. Taitheneb nodded.

We will care for Lady Bella. Find wood and build a fire. I will watch the lady.

Bella watched as Nethwador mounted and rode off again, and then she turned to Amroth. "What ails Lord Amroth?"

Taitheneb watched Amroth sleep for several moments, and then he said only, "Lady, if you would sing for him, it would ease my heart."

When Nethwador returned with firewood and kindling, Bella sat beside Amroth, wrapped in everything the elf had at hand, and singing. Nethwador hastily kindled the fire, and heaped on the wood; then he rode off to find more.

[Orual]

Aeron lifted Gwyllion's body and pressed it to him. He bit his lip. "What do you think?"

Ravion bowed his head. He had heard that voice before. He had used that voice before. When his best friend, Dalros, had died in battle, he had used that voice. It was empty and broken, reflecting a soul that was suddenly missing a piece. Ravion knew that it would be long before Gwyllion's place in Aeron's heart healed.

"We'll have to bury her," Ravion said softly. Aeron just knelt there and trembled with grief. Ravion did not say another word, did not touch him...it would only bring worse pain. He stood up and backed a few steps away. Aeron needed his room.

A man--Liornung? yes, that was it--came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sir Ravion, I have not great talents in healing, such as you and the Elves, for I am a simple fiddler, yet a lone traveller in lands both tame and wild must learn some skills of healing, to care for himself and others in need. My skills I offer are not much, but if you are in need of any humble and small assistance, I sit by the golden-haired maid."

Ravion nodded his thanks, and smiled weakly. If only his skill were as great as Liornung seemed to give him credit for. Perhaps he could have helped Gwyllion...helped Ædegard more...helped the girl with the missing ear...helped Mellonin. Oh, perhaps he could have helped Mellonin more. His eyes filled with tears again. Mellonin.

He walked over to her. "Mellonin...how do you fare? Your cut is deep. Let me see to it. Are you in much pain?"

[mark12_30]

Mellonin looked up at Ravion through her tears, and saw his eyes glistening. Was she in pain? Could he tend to her? "Yes," she said.

She hardly moved as he washed her face again, and her eyes watched him. She did not flinch from his touch.

She did as he asked her, finally holding a cloth against her cheek. He sat back on his heels and considered her. "You are weary, Mellonin, and soon you will be cold if you are not already. How I wish we could get out of this swamp."

She waited.

He stood. "Come. Can you walk?"

The look in her eyes was his answer.

"Wait, then. I will bring Gond. Wait."

She said nothing, although she wearily wondered how he expected her to disobey. She felt sleepy. Fool, haven't you dreamed enough? She fought to stay awake. Near her, Aeron still held little Gwyllion. The poor thing. How she would have screamed if it had been anyone else's blood.

Before long Ravion returned with Gond, and he and one of the Rohirrim helped Mellonin onto the horse. Ravion led Gond along the same trail that Nethwador had ridden away on, and soon they came in sight of a fire. As they arrived, however, Mellonin had swayed in the saddle, and as they stopped, she slowly folded forward over Gond's neck. Ravion took her near shoulder, gathered the sleeping woman into his arms, carried her to Nethwador's fire and lay her down beside it. Nearby, Amroth slept, and Bella sang over him while Nethwador tended her wounds under Taitheneb's direction.

Ravion put two blankets over Mellonin, on the side away from the fire, and tried to make her as comfortable as he could. He stood beside her, hesitating, but then looked up at Taitheneb. "I may be needed back yonder, " he said. "Will you call me, if she wakes?"

Taitheneb nodded. I will. She is safe for now.

Ravion mounted Gond, and went back towards the battleground.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin stood upon the battlefield and watched the young human couple embrace. He let them be momentarily, but he knew the merlocks would shortly be finished with their meal on the young thief’s first kill and soon would be on their heels once more. “Ædegard, I must finish tending the young woman.”

Ædegard nodded and pulled Leafa from his chest, meeting her tear-filled eyes before letting her go to the elf.

“This will be brief.” The elf told her as he took her slender hand and lowered her to the ground. Pulling back her long, blood-matted hair, Erebemlin exposed the nasty wound. The flesh was mangled and torn around the opening where her delicate ear once sat. The young woman searched his face, and he met her gaze without the revulsion she seemed to expect. The elf had seen horrors beyond this and he would not let Argeleafa feel as though she was disgusting.

Erebemlin wet a cloth with a mixture he had made with the crushed leaves he pulled from the pouch that hung from his waist. As he touched the cloth to her wound, Leafa pulled back with a small cry. The elf turned quickly to Ædegard, who immediately knelt beside his betrothed and let her lean against his body. The young woman closed her eyes tightly, and Erebemlin entered her thoughts and soothed her mind. Be at peace, my lady. The elf, then, quickly cleaned the wound and bandaged it, so that the woman’s blood loss would be minimal.

“Thank you, sir.” Argeleafa smiled shyly as Ædegard helped her to her feet.

“You are welcome, lady.” Erebemlin nodded his head. “Now we must get off this battlefield and get further down the road.” The elf nodded in the direction from which merlocks came and continued. “They are temporarily distracted, and they will not be as hungry, but I would not have us waiting on them to return. There is enough meat here for them that we need not give them anything fresher to choose.” With a whistle, Erebemlin called to the four horses a few yards away. “Ædegard, take Argeleafa with you and make toward the fire.”

As the elf helped the couple onto their mount, one of the rangers, Ravion, rode from the direction where the others rested. “Master elf, may I be of any assistance?”

Erebemlin nodded. “Yes, we will need the girl’s body taken back to the others. Everyone must be gathered and taken to the fire, then we must move on before the light has move too far from the sky.”

[alaklondewen]

The sweet, soft sound of Bellyn’s voice fluttered in the ears of those who had congregated around the fire. Such terrible events had found the travelers, and the song she sang touched even Taitheneb who had heard the silvery voices of the bards of Lorien.

The young blacksmith murmured in his sleep and began to turn over. Taitheneb reached out and touched his forehead, whispering softly over him. Pausing, the elf searched for Amroth, calling his name, and even though Taitheneb could still feel his presence, the king remained silent and did not respond. Lowering his head, disappointment burned in the elf’s stomach, and he looked toward the battlefield, hoping to see the Silmaethor returning.

[littlemanpoet]

They made good time while Amroth's party attempted to heal and regroup, still wandering around the field of battle. Tharonwe did not try to pry into any of their minds. It was unnecessary. The merlocks who had died would feed those who still lived, for days, even weeks - for the merlocks did not care how decayed their food was. It turned Tharonwe's stomach to think of it, and he had endured the disgusting practices of his former servants because they were that which was ready to hand.

Now he had one servant, a human, clearly out of his element, though he tried admirably. Surely the swamp was out of his element, but Tharonwe was thinking of something more all-encompassing. There were images and thoughts lurking in Raefindan's, that is Roy's memory, that were frankly bewildering. There were bright colored carts on wheels that needed no horse, as if they had minds of their own to move here and there; except that humans controlled them from the inside, and they moved as fast as the clouds. Such a device would be quite handy. More so would be the shiny eagle-sized birds these humans made for themselves, that somehow needed no bird to tow them through the sky. And they flew as fast as the Eagles.

There must be something in this Roy's vast storehouse of memory that Tharowne could turn to his purpose, without having to build a huge fortress in which to house the iron furnaces and human-made trolls with arms and grabbers that obeyed the least command of these humans.

And there was something shouting out its absence in Roy's memory.

"Raefindan, there are no Elves where and when you come from."

"They have all gone into the West, I guess."

"No, that cannot be, for as humans of your time and place have learned the west is just one more place in Arda, and the seas have been bent and the Elves sale away from the planes of Arda altogether."

"That way is no longer known among us."

"But not all Elves go that way, and some never shall. I never shall. I care not for it. Where, then, are the Elves?"

"They are no more."

Tharonwe stopped. Could it be true? Could it be that he had no future?

"That cannot be. There must be something you do not know." Tharonwe marched even faster, forcing Roy to stumble to keep up, his feet getting muddy and cold: the water in the swamp was close to turning to ice.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"He does not look the same," Bellyn murmured, after she had finished singing her soft melody. Taitheneb turned from where he faced the battleground, and for just a moment his brows furrowed, confused, and he looked down to where Amroth slept. Bellyn frowned. "Well, he looks the same, but he seems different. There is something different now. Is that strange?"

Taitheneb did not say anything, and Bellyn sighed as she looked down at Amroth. She gently pushed a strand of hair from Amroth's face.

"When I was asleep, I had a dream," Bellyn began, explaining to Taitheneb. "There was a fair-haired lady, and I spoke with her for a while. She said that she was looking for someone. She said that she had lost her way, but that she did not forget who she was looking for. Nothing seems to make sense anymore. It always has to be hard to figure out."

What was the song she sang? Bellyn wondered. She wanted to remember it, repeat it, sing the lullaby again.

"Agony,
Can you cleanse this misery?
For never again will I breathe
The air of home...

From this sandy edge,
The rolling sea breaks my revenge.
With each whisper,
A thousand ways I hear wrong.

I'm coming home..."

As Bellyn's voice trailed off, the gentle breeze whistled softly over the swamps and the hills and the companions that wandered the spot of land.

[Imladris]

Aeron held Gwyllion in his arms: her legs dangled stiffly and her head lolled back in a ghastly way. He dropped to his knees a few feet from the fire, and turned his back on it. He didn't want to talk to anybody. Why had she died...why she of all the others?

He wiped his hand across his eyes impatiently. If...if he hadn't gone of on his own...if...he hadn't been a stupid boy, she just might have survived. But..what if she had been doomed to die? What then? Whose fault was it then?

He layed her gently down, and took a rock and began to scrape at the earth. It was cold...frozen like ice. She had to be buried. They couldn't leave her outside. Alone. For the Carrion. The rock dug into his palms as it scrabbled vainly at the dirt. Blood began to seep from his skin.

[alaklondewen]

Taitheneb studied Bellyn’s face for several moments. A lost woman…could it be that the young woman dreamed of Nimrodel? The elf knelt beside her, looking deep into her eyes. “My lady, I would have you tell Erebemlin of your dream.”

Bellyn nodded and lowered her eyes from his intense gaze.

Hoof beats drew their attention as Erebemlin and the men from the battlefield rode into the circle of the makeshift camp. Taitheneb rose and met his friend and leader. “We need to move on quickly,” Erebemlin spoke softly.

“My lord, the horses are very weary. They will be unable to carry us far.”

The elder nodded, lowering his head in thought. “We shall not go far, but we must go nonetheless. The creatures have enough to eat, but we must be out of eyesight.” Erebemlin paused as he looked at the boy, Aeron, and the corpse he coddled, and then turned his eyes once more to Taitheneb. We must find a place to bury the girl…out of the swamp. In the meantime, the body must be covered. Take a blanket to him, if you will. He may wish to do it himself, but you will be better tuned to him…I think.

Taitheneb nodded and, after pulling a blanket from his roll, he went to Aeron and offered to cover the body of his sister.

Erebemlin, in the meantime, gave the rangers the orders of getting everyone up, and Nethwador soon returned with more firewood. Good, young brother, but do not place them on this fire, we will use it tonight, but we must go. Put the fire out and tend to your lady, making sure you are ready to move as quickly as possibly.

[mark12_30]

Nethwador watched, waiting for one of the Rohirrim to protest that tho horses (and then folk) were too weary to move. But he saw Bella's eyes turn back to the battlefield, and saw the weary fear in them. He reached his hands to her, motioning her to mount behind him on Celegoer.

The Rohirrim exchanged weary glances, but Ædegard stood and called his bay. The group straggled to their feet, murmuring apologies to their horses.

"We may at least walk, those of us who are able?" asked Liornung.

Erebemlin nodded. "The injured will ride."

Argeleafa, Bella, and degard were helped up onto horses. Erebemlin prepared to lift the sleeping Amroth, glancing back at Ravion. "You will carry his sister?"

Ravion nodded; Erundil met his glance and nodded too.

Erundil helped Ravion lift Mellonin onto Gond and then mount behind. Erebemlin lifted Amroth onto his horse, balanced him, and leaped up behind him, catching him as he swayed.

Aeron glared. "And Gwyllion? What of her?"

Taitheneb walked to his side. "I will help you. Come."

Erebemlin rode to the head of the column, and the company filed behind; they stopped, waiting for Aeron and Taitheneb to take care of Gwyllion.

[littlemanpoet]

"We will stop here," Tharonwe said.

Five thousand, six hundred and seventy three. Raefindan stopped and looked around him. He had been paying no attention to his surroundings for a long time, for thousands of paces. His vision had been focused on the footsteps of his captor; he placed his feet in precisely the same place, step after step. At first it had been a matter of survival, but had turned into a kind of game. He would start his count over every time he failed to place his foot precisely in the footprint of his captor. At first he had had trouble getting past twenty. Then fifty paces trumped him over and over. Just once, he missed one hundred paces. After that, the count had continued uninterrupted. He had cast himself into a kind of enchantment that gave the merest nod to the weariness in that dragged at every cell in his body. The spell was broken. He was a human being again.

They were in a stand of trees, near a stream. Surrounding them were plains as far as the eye could see, shadowed under the night sky.

"Here." Tharonwe handed him a swamp leaf, folded into a packet. Raefindan took the packet and opened it. Waybread. He ate it quickly. It warmed his middle, and its virtue spread throughout his body, taking the weariness away. Maybe Tharonwe was not a good Elf, but an Elf he was.

"Thank you."

"I need you alive. That is all. Sleep. I will watch."

Tharonwe would not need sleep; at least not the kind Raefindan needed. He lay down, curled tightly into himself, and fell asleep.

Angela sat at the top of the dune, looking out to sea. He climbed the dune eagerly, the sand giving way beneath his feet. He slipped down the slope, farther from her instead of closer. He redoubled his efforts. The dune grew. She sat farther from him than ever. The sand slipped from under his feet. He slogged against the sand, but felt himself going backwards instead of forward. Finally he stopped. He called her name. She turned. It was not her. Her hair was dark as night. There was another with her, one with blonde hair. Angela? Her hair was too long, falling to the ground where she leaned heavily, swaying as with grief. The dune changed to a grassy sward surrounded by tall shapely evergreens. He stood at the edge. The dark haired woman saw him. "Imrazor?" "No. My name is Raefin-" No. "My name is Roy." "No, you are Imrazor. You have found me at last! Come to me!" He walked toward her, but the ground spread between them like a carpet, separating them more and more. The dark haired woman reached toward him. "Imrazor! Why do you flee?" "I'm not fleeing. I can't reach you." He looked down and saw that he was walking backwards. He stopped. No, he hadn't stopped. "I can't stop!" "Imrazor! Do not leave me!" "I'm not Imrazor, I'm Roy Edwards." "Why do you grieve me with the alien name, Imrazor?" "I have a message for you, Mithrellas." So it was Mithrellas. He wondered how he knew that. "Is it for Nimrodel?" "Yes." "It is from one who is with me. He seeks Nimrodel." "What is his name, Imrazor?"

Raefindan woke up, turned over, found that his legs were uncovered up to the knee, and covered himself. He looked for the Elf. Tharonwe stood at the edge of the stand of trees, looking northwards. Raefindan dozed.

[mark12_30]

Taitheneb helped Aeron lift Gwyllion onto a horse's back, and then held her there while Aeron mounted.

Nethwador watched them, thinking that Aeron looked both angry and sad; then the company began the weary walk southeastward. Nethwador tried several times to look over his shoulder at Bella, until she lay her head on his shoulder. Then he sat stock-still.

They walked for two hours. They were still in the swamp when they stopped, but they found a slight rise with some dead trees nearby. The hill was almost too small for the group but they huddled tightly around it, and built the fire in the middle. Laying Mellonin and Mellondu near the fire, they made beds for Argeleafa and Bella. They turned the horses loose to graze. Then they composed Gwyllion's body, taking time to shroud it well; Aeron looked on as Ravion and Erundil finished tying the shroud. Then they huddled together around the fire. Taitheneb and Erebemlin stood watch, one to the southeast, one to the northwest, while the men-folk fell quickly into a deep slumber.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwe probed Raefindan's dream.

He was standing before a fortress. There were no windows, and no slots for archers toward the roof. There was a door directly in front of him. He walked up to it and passed inside.

It was not a fortress. The noise was deafening and he put his hands over his ears. There were many people standing by a dais that was as long as the chamber, which stretched the length of the edifice. Everything was flat and dead and noisy, and along the dais, strange things were moving, a little bit done to them by each successive person.

Tharonwe searched Raefindan's mind and could not find the names for the things linnked to what he saw; except for one phrase: automobile manufacturing. Such a strange speech. Not a bit of the phrase had a thing to do with Raefindan's own tongue, which meant that it was to his tongue as was Sindarin to the speech of the Numenoreans.

At any rate, it was not what Tharonwe was looking for. He probed the mind of the dreamer to see what else lay there, something he could use for his purpose.

[littlemanpoet]

The morning came cold and damp. The fire burned low. Ædegard sat up. Argeleafa and Bellyn lay huddled tightly against each other for warmth, still sleeping. He wished it could be him next to her, but it would not be seemly, not even in these dire straits.

His hand hurt. How could it? It was not there.

Taitheneb sat by the fire, adding a log. He looked up and gave Ædegard good morning. Argeleafa gave a start and sat up. Bellyn stirred but remained asleep. Ædegard went over to her.

"Good morning," he whispered. "How do you fare?"

She shook her head. "What did you say?" Her left hand went up to her left ear and she winced. He was speaking on her left side. His throat tightened and his eyes became wet. He blinked them dry and crawled to her other side.

"How do you fare?"

"My head hurts."

"I am sorry." He raised his left hand to hold her right, but his stump merely glanced off her forearm. It sent pain shooting up his arm. He winced and doubled over in pain, hugging his left arm to his abdomen. She lay her hand between his shoulder blades, as if she could rub away the pain from there. It was soothing, and little by little the pain lessened to a constant throb. He reached his right hand over and she put her right in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the smooth, pale skin between the blue veins.

"I am sorry. Sorry for not thinking of you when we rode off to do battle, leaving you behind to be captured. I am sorry that you have lost your ear. I am sorry that I have been such a fool as to lose my hand for no better reason than a cocksurety that I knew better how to save you than any others."

"Oh, Ædegard." Her smooth voice sought to comfort him, but he shook his head.

Someone else stirred. Nethador. Ædegard looked over to him. The Easterling boy sat up. Ædegard pursed his lips, and with a sudden resolve released Leafa's hand. He went over to Nethador, who tensed. Ædegard fell to his knees no more than a yard from him. Nethador bridled as if expecting to be punched. Ædegard sighed, saddened that such an action was the first thing Nethador expected from him.

"Nethador, I am sorry that I wronged you. I have been a fool. I have seen evil, and you are not evil. Forgive me." Ædegard dropped his head before the boy and tears flowed down his face.

[mark12_30]

Nethwador stood watching Ædegard for several moments, and then he took two steps back. His eyes flicked to Bella, who was still asleep. Then he looked at Argeleafa.

She was smiling, just a little.

He tipped his head, and she nodded.

He began to approach Ædegard, and then sidestepped; but Ædegard did not move. Nethwador was ready to shy away like a horse, but Ædegard remained still. Bella stirred, sat up, looked around, stood and came quickly to Nethwador's side.

"Forgive." She placed her right hand on Ædegard's right shoulder, and looked up at Nethwador. Ædegard placed his good hand over hers, and looked at Nethwador.

Still suspicious, he glanced several times from Ædegard to Bella, but she murmured to him as if soothing a horse, and he calmed bit by bit. Slowly Nethwador's right hand reached to cover both of theirs.

[alaklondewen]

The ground was frozen, and Erebemlin watched over the young blacksmith, who was shivering under his blanket. The elves had taken turns at watching the camp during the night, and Erebemlin guarded Mellondu’s mind, giving him a dreamless sleep.

A few of the humans began to move about, but Erebemlin paid them no more attention than a momentary glance. He kept his eyes on the blacksmith. Amroth had yet to return, and the elf wondered if he could return. If the king remained silent, Erebemlin would have to decide what course to take next. How would they continue on this journey? Would they follow Tharonwe? The darker elf was not too far that Erebemlin could not sense him.

Taitheneb gently nudged Erebemlin from his thoughts and motioned toward the humans. Nethwador had his hand on Ædegard’s shoulder as some bond was being made, but the elder elf just nodded that he saw them but gave the younger no reaction.

Mellondu began to stir, and the elf placed his hand over his forehead.

[mark12_30]

Opening his eyes, Mellondu did not move, but lay staring wide-eyed at Erebemlin. He could sense the elf's presence combing through his thoughts; but for several moments it was less an intrusion than the sense of being ignored. He waited, hearing his own heartbeat pound. He felt weaker than he could ever remember. Many heartbeats passed.

Finally Erebemlin seemed to turn, and greet Mellondu the sick boy. "You are awake."

Mellondu wanted the strength to answer, but could not find it. The elf waited, and then gently touched the edge of his thoughts.

My sister.

Erebemlin's eyes sparkled, and flicked away, and back. She lives; she is here with us. The other did not fare so well.

Other? What other? Bella? Argeleafa?

Gwyllion.

Mellondu did not respond at first, and then said only, I want to see her.

Mellondu is not your true name, Fingon. And your sister is Finduilas.

I must see her.

She is asleep. But Erebemlin knelt, and picked up the blacksmith as he had been a child. Mellondu hardly had the strength to hold his head up; but Erebemlin carried him quickly to his sister's side, and sat the blacksmith beside his sister, his mighty arms around the blacksmith's shoulders. Wake her not, Fingon.

Not far away, Ravion sat up, and watched uneasily. Nothing had been said aloud. He stared at the blacksmith, and made as if to rise, then sat back down. Mellonin paid him no heed, but gazed and gazed at his sister. She looks so peaceful.

Her face may decieve you.

What do you mean? Mellondu sensed Erebemlin departing his thoughts. Not long afterwards, he returned like a warm summer breeze.

Your sister's dreams are troubled.

Mellondu was displeased. By a tall goldenhaired elf-king? He will not aid her, that is certain. Nor will you.

Indeed I shall if I am free to. You wrong me, man-child.

Mellondu did not respond.

He became aware of another man nearby. Ravion knelt across from him, on Mellonin's other side, studying his face .

[Orual]

Ravion knelt by Mellonin, putting his cupped hand gently to her cheek, careful not to touch her cut. She slept quietly, peacefully. He hoped that it would revive her, that it would help heal her. She had much to heal from, apart from her physical injuries.

Thinking of that, he shrugged his shoulder, testing out his range of motion with the bulky bandage that he wrapped around his own slashed arm. He looked around the camp and lowered his arm. He had come off so much better than others, especially little Gwyllion.

Tears still stung his green eyes when he saw the child's body, wrapped though it now was. He would have traded himself in for Gwyllion, had he been given the choice. He was sure that Aeron would have done the same. Any of them would have. But it was the most innocent among them who had died.

He looked up, and saw Mellonin's brother across from him. He watched the boy's face carefully. He was so much like his sister in appearance; oddly so, for a boy. He was quite pretty, much like Mellonin was handsome. Mellondu looked up and met Ravion's gaze.

"Thank you," Ravion said. The words slipped off his tongue before he had time to think.

Mellondu tilted his head. "For what?"

"For the decision you made. To save Mellonin. I think it was the right one. We have suffered, but that is true of all decisions...there is suffering." He looked down at Mellonin. "And usually those who suffer are those who deserve it least." He sighed. "She will recover, I think. But it will not be an easy road for her. She is a survivor, but the wounds in her heart will take long to heal, and they will leave deep scars. I hope that she can move past them. It can be hard." He swallowed hard, shut his eyes tightly, then looked back up.

"She missed you dearly," he said.

[Imladris]

Aeron curled himself on the cold ground with his knees to his chin and his arms clamped around his legs. The air was so cold, but he didn't want to get a blanket. Who cared if it was cold? The seasons came, the seasons went....soon it would be warm again.

He heaved a sigh and watched with morbid satsifaction his foggy breath waft over the grass like dragon smoke.

Dragons...there was a ring with a silver dragon somewhere back in their hovel. Eyes of emerald...scales of ruby. It had been Gwyllion's favourite.

Gwyllion....he scrunched himself into a tighter ball.

Gwyllion was dead.

He curled tighter, and let the tears fall quietly.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan was lying on the cold ground. He shivered. And ached. He couldn't feel his hands. He forced himself up and blinking, looked around. Ah, yes. The sward of trees. It was a cold, gray morning. There was the Elf, standing not far off.

"I give you good morning, Roy Edwards. You are very ill of mind, I would have you know."

Raefindan shook his head and cleared his throat. "Good morning to you too, Tharonwe."

"Do not call me that. It is a name given by those who wish me ill. My true name is Maegeleb. Sharp Silver, in the Common Speech."

"Maegeleb, then. What do you mean, I'm ill of mind?"

"Everything in your mind is broken to pieces. Nothing is whole. On one hand you have all that which you can see, hear, taste, touch, or smell; on the other, you have separated out all else. Yet your mind is sectioned off in unlike any Elf or Man I have ever met. Why is this so?"

"You're asking me? I've never looked inside my own head!"

"Ah, not true. You are constantly looking inside your own mind. 'Tis one of the strangest things about you."

Raefindan grimaced and closed his eyes tight. It was too early to be talking about such things. Of course, this Elf wouldn't see it that way; any and all times were good for talking to anything. "Doesn't anybody else look inside their own minds?"

"They think thoughts to themselves, but you think about youself thinking, and that is something I have not seen anyone else do."

Raefindan nodded. "It is a bane of the future, Maegeleb. We call it being stuck in our heads."

"Quite an apt expression, Roy Edwards. It is time we were up and moving. My enemies are aware of where we are and the direction we are taking. I would put greater distance between us and them. Here is something to break your fast."

Maegeleb handed him another swamp leaf packet, turned, and started southwards. Raefindan got up with difficulty, shaking his sleepy legs, and followed, munching on the Elven waybread. It gave him the strength of mind and body he needed, which brought back some thoughts that had been held at bay by weariness and the task of watching Maegeleb's steps the night before. Gwyllion had been stabbed in the chest, and blood had gushed from the wound. Mellonin and two other women had rescued Gwyllion from the merlocks, but Raefindan was sure that she was dead. He shook his head. He should not be here with this Maegeleb; he should be with Aeron! He hoped that someone there might make a point of easing the boy through his grief.

Elves, whatever your names are, please care for Aeron in his grief! Raefindan had no idea if any such mental message might work, or even if it could, whether those Elves were paying any attention to him. Maegeleb did look back, a wry expression on his face. Then he turned his face southward and did not look back or stop until the sun was high in the sky.

[mark12_30]

She missed you dearly.

Mellondu looked up, and studied the ranger. How would he know? What did he know? How close, how much time had he spent with Mellonin?

He had touched her cheek. Was he looking for fever? Or had it been a caress?

"What did she say?"

[alaklondewen]

Once Erebemlin saw the young blacksmith was up and moving well on his own, he rose and strode several yards away from the campfire. Closing his eyes, he opened his mind in search of Tharonwe and his captive. He could sense their movement south and wondered how far they would get before this camp would be ready to travel again.

Just as he stepped back to rejoin the other, a voice, a thought, touched his own. Elves, whatever your names are, please care for Aeron in his grief! Erebemlin stopped. This must be surely be the red-haired man. The elf tried to answer his plea. He is in good care. How fare you? Are you safe? But the thought was gone, and Erebemlin received no reply.

Turning, the elf slowly walked back to the fire, wondering at the thoughtful and selfless words of the man. He asked not for his own safety, the elf thought. What a noble man indeed.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard had begun to fear that Nethador would push him away or worse. He was grateful for Bella's aid, comforted by the press of her chilly hand on his shoulder, under his good hand. It came as a relief when Nethador placed his hand on top of his own. To his surprise, he found that Nethwador's hand was warm. His own were .... no .... his own was cold from the chill in the air. He raised his head and dared to look Nethwador in the eye, and saw that the boy's face worked with a mix of hope and fear and doubt. Ædegard smiled for him. A fleeting smile passed across the boy's lips, then the Nethador jerked his hand away, seeming to be still unsure of Ædegard. It would have to do for now. What had passed between them was more than he had dared to hope.

"Thank you, Bella," he said through a tight throat, and released her hand. She smiled for him, and he stood to go back to Leafa. He noticed Ravion kneeling over Mellondu. He was awake! Ædegard looked to Leafa with wide eyes, telling her with his glance how his heart rose. She smiled but remained where she was. Ædegard went to Ravion and Mellondu.

"What did she say?" Mellon was asking Ravion, staring at him with fevered eyes.

"Good morning, Mellon! How do you fare?"

Ravion's mouth had been open to reply, then he turned to Ædegard, looking at him almost with relief.

"Good morning, Ædegard," Mellon said. "I fear I am not well."

"You have been pushing yourself too hard, my friend. I am glad that you are yourself again."

[mark12_30]

Mellondu looked up at Ædegard, and there was a twinkle in his eye. "What do you know of myself, friend? All you knew was one small glimpse, given you in a snow-keep. Helbs Deeb, as I recall."

Ædegard laughed, and then his smile faded. "It is well I played in the snow when I did; I doubt that I shall again."

Mellondu smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Has the road so matured you beyond all play?" He warmed to the jest. "Alas then for the bold and stalwart shieldmaidens, thus bereft of fearless leader and fair-faced lord. Will you leave them each with a coldly broken heart?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Ædegard left Bellyn and Nethwador, and as he walked away Bellyn turned to Nethwador with a smile on her face. His eyes still followed the back of Ædegard, and Bellyn put her hand on his shoulder.

"It is a good thing you did, Mellon," Bellyn murmured. She had gotten used to the idea of him not understanding her words, and had gotten even more used to speaking to Nethwador anyway. Bellyn almost felt like it did not matter that their language was not the same. "Thank you for being understanding."

Nethwador smiled goofily, making Bellyn laugh. Bellyn looked over her shoulder, seeing Ædegard speaking with an awakened Amroth. Nethwador will want to see him, said one part of Bellyn. The other told her to give Ædegard a minute alone with his friend, before the excitement of Nethwador.

"I had a dream last night, Mellon," Bellyn said to Nethwador with a sigh. "Stone and dust, rock and darkness...the woman was there again, calling out for her lover. I did not understand her sadness...much like you do not understand my words, I suppose."

Bellyn wondered why things seemed like they were over, though she knew they were not. They still had to find Nimrodel, find Amroth's love. They had left the man, the red-haired man, the one Bellyn had never met. I should have liked to meet him, though...Bellyn thought. He saved us. Why do we leave him? They did not leave us when the evil one had us captive.

"Mellon, your friend wakes," Bellyn said to Nethwador after a long pause, turning him on his feet to see where Amroth had woken.

"Bella!" Nethwador said, happily pointing to Amroth. He went speedily off to see him, and Bellyn watched with a weary smile on her face.

Things change too quickly, I fear, Bellyn thought sadly.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard smiled. "I am no lord, just a poor wainwright." He looked at the place where his left hand should be and began to raise it, but did not wish for Mellondu to pity him, and he lowered it again. He had been about to say that he would not even be a wainwright anymore, but a beggar. He did not want to add that to Mellondu's heavy Elven load.

"The hearts of the shieldmaidens must be broken at any road, for I am betrothed." He glanced to Leafa and Mellondu followed his eyes. Had Mellondu not known?

"Tell me, Mellondu, if it is not too much to think on-" he paused, hoping not to offend. "-when the Lord Amroth rises in you, do you sleep? Do you let him rise? Or does he hold you down?"

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung's arms were folded; a self-satisfied smile was on his face, and he looked as though he was proud of some great task he had achieved. Leafa's eyes were wide and full of joy, and she could not refrain a small burst of a laugh when she saw the look on the fiddler's face. "Oh, Liornung, what causes you such satisfaction with yourself?" she said.

He remained silent for a time, absorbed in his thoughts, and then he shook himself with a laugh lower but longer than her own, and the laugh was full of amusement, but also of deep wonder. "Why is it that men form alliances in the midst of war?" he said, only partly addressing her. "In battle, when you would think that only hate and hardness would prevail, good-will arises."

"The foes press on from every side," said Leafa, "and the two men, caught in the circle formed about them, are slowly pushed towards each other, until they stand side by side and fight."

Liornung laughed again, louder this time, and Leafa was amazed at the youthfulness in his voice. Always before he would laugh like a full-grown man, but now he laughed like a boy who has not yet seen the pass of childhood, and she realized again that he was not as old and fatherly as sometimes he might seem. "What a verse it will make for the Ballad," he said. "Ædegard and Nethwador begin to show some signs of friendliness towards each other. Leafa, my dear, we may be pleased with ourselves."

"With ourselves? What have we done, Liornung?"

"Ah, my little one, it seems to you that it was all the doing of Ædegard and Nethwador. I will admit they took the most important step: one extended a hand of friendship, and the other took it. But when you think of how we encouraged them! We were friendly towards Nethwador and accepted him as part of our company, and so we showed him that we were his friends. And, by the same friendliness to Nethwador, we instilled an idea of friendship in Ædegard. I feel immensely proud."

"You may feel proud, Liornung," said Leafa, with a smile, "but I feel as though I have had no part in bringing about such good." And her eyes turned adoringly to Ædegard.

Liornung smiled. "Of course," he said, softly so she would not hear, "only he."

[mark12_30]

Mellondu pondered Ædegard's questions, and felt Erebemlin listening eagerly.

Well should the elf seek the answer; Mellondu sought it himself.

He thought back to his early dreams, the wonder, the longing, the passion, the beauty. The romance.

In the city, Mellondu had seen Queen Arwen many times, and each time had been amazed, and deemed her matchless. Yet now in his dreams, a golden nightingale had nearly challenged the beauty of the queen. A voice like falling silver, white limbs, hair like the sun-- he had worshipped her, this nightingale, this golden reflection on the tossing sea of his dreams. He longed for nightfall that he might dream of her agan. And then he heard the voice.

I must find her. Aid me in my search; I must have your aid. Will you help me find her?

Find her? Find this angel, this nightingale, this dream of dreams? See her, listen to her voice-- perhaps even hear her sing? Amroth barely finished his question before Mellondu's eagerness answered him.

All else had been forgotten. Mellondu let himself be swept along by the king's passion, his memories, his hopes, his dreams. More and more, Mellondu made the king's quest his own. Finding her filled his thoughts, his dreams, became his every breath. Awestruck by the king he yielded to his every whim, beside himself with wonder and half sick with the sad, longing, desperate emptiness of it all. He had come to accept the sickness as part of the quest. Was it lovesickness? He did not ask. The king was sick too, between longing, and obsession, and dissatisfaction with all else that was not Nimrodel. Together Mellondu and Amroth poured themselves out in the search for Nimrodel.

Then Tharonwe had threatened his sister. He had felt Tharonwe tearing at Amroth, felt Amroth's rage at Tharonwe, and Mellonin had been a playing-peice in the balance; nothing more. All the beauty, hope and longing, the dreams, the trust, the hero-worship-- it all shattered when Amroth failed to fight for Mellonin, and the shattering reached to his very soul. Despair hammered at him, bitter with betrayal.

Mellondu shuddered.

Ædegard still waited for his answer.

Mellondu said, "I loved what he loved. And I loved him, as a friend, as a lord, almost as a brother. I trusted him. I wanted to find her more than anything. "

Ædegard glanced at Erebemlin, who waited, watching.

Mellondu dropped his gaze, and studied his sister. "It all seems so empty now, " he murmured. "She's hurt. She doesn't belong out here, in a swamp, with vermin and predators and swords and arrows and darts. She does laundry, for pity's sake."

"Peace, Fingon, " said Erebemlin. "Do not grieve what you cannot change. And do not regret your love of the king."

"I do regret it, " Mellondu replied bitterly. "I was a fool."

[mark12_30]

Nethwador stood off to one side, watching, listening, waiting. Everyone looked so worried and upset. Mellondu was back again, so that meant Amroth was hidden. He will be back. They worry too much.

Taitheneb turned with a half-bemused glance, and his face softened into the barest hint of a smile.

Nethwador was tempted to laugh out loud. Nothing could darken this day. Bella had smiled at him, had spoken to him, had touched his arm. Yesterday, she had laid her head on his shoulder. Life was good.

He turned. She was watching him. He smiled at her, turned away, but then glanced back again.

Mellondu could wait; they were being far too gloomy for a glad morning such as this. I will see to Bella.

Taitheneb held back a chuckle, and nodded. The lad's joy was easily caught, and Taitheneb was glad of it. When Bella has time, perhaps she could sing.

[littlemanpoet]

The morning mist lay thick about the swamp. Thus, the party heard feet approaching from deeper in the swamp but could not descry to what or whom the feet belonged. Jorje stood on all fours and sniffed the air, then padded quickly toward the sound of approaching feet, stopping just at the edge of their camp. Erundil rose, facing the sound, his hand moving swiftly to his belt knife. Erebemlin and Taitheneb stood also.

"Who goes there?" Erundil called.

Through the mists came a bent figure, wrapped in a cloak that seemed either dark green or brown depending how they looked at it. In the claw-like left hand was a staff that rose a foot taller than the hooded figure; it was being used like a cane. The figure stopped just beyond the rough border of the camp. Leafa huddled in closely to Liornung, fear in her eyes. Her thought was shared by most if not all: is this a merlock, or their leader?

Jorje came up to the figure, which reached its wrinkled right hand down to his nose. Cautiously, his tail down, he sniffed; then his mouth came open in a grin, his tongue loosened, and his tail wagged happily.

"What be you a-doing out here in the cold, unfriendly moors," came an old, quavery voice, "far from tidy home and warm hearth?"

"Name yourself and show yourself," Erundil said, still cautious despite Jorje's obvious welcome.

The figure chuckled and through back its hood. An old woman grinned at them, her hair long and white, her cheeks red as apples, her eyes glinting with mirth, sometimes seeming blue, sometimes hazel, sometimes green.

"I am called Marigold. You are in my realm."

Erundil looked to the Elves and the others, confused, then turned to the old woman again. "We thought it was the realm of Tharonwe."

"That lonesome stripling of an Elf?" She chuckled again. "He has done little to harm my realm, so I have let him be."

"Are the merlocks yours?" Erundil asked.

She looked at Erundil and the others as one who pities those who do not know what they are speaking of. "Nay, they are not mine, nor I theirs."

Ravion spoke next. "There is a monster in the deeps out there. It almost killed some of us. If this is your realm, how can you let it live there?"

The old woman gave them the look of pity again. "Many creatures of Middle Earth are tainted; yet Middle Earth is still their home. Who are you or I to remove one from the other? But come! My cottage is not far from here. There are coals in the hearth, and four warm walls to keep out the cold and the mists, and there is good bread baked just this morning. I have been waiting for you, yet you have not come. Come now!"

With that the old woman passed through their small camp, and moved slowly down the path that led out of the swamp; Jorje pranced at her heels.

[mark12_30]

Warm bread. Their spirits rose even in the mist.

"Well, " said Bella, "I hope she is as nice a grandmother as she seems."

"Naneth, " said Nethwador, readying Celegaer.

"Mother? She seemed older than that, don't you think?" Bella mused.

"Naneth, " said Nethwador again, a gentle light in his eye.

"The dreary wild oft hides the fair hind. Or gazelle, " said Taitheneb.

"Gazelle!" snorted Ravion. Erundil laughed.

Erebemlin said nothing, but helped Mellondu mount Echo. Liornung helped Aeron with Gwyllion's body; Taitheneb helped Ravion lift Mellonin onto his horse. They broke camp swiftly, and hurried after the cloaked woman.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin rode silently at the rear of the procession that followed this...woman? The elf knew not what words would describe her, and he wondered at his inability to sense her presence so near them in the swamp. How had he missed her? He tried to touch her thoughts, but her mind was closed to him.

The path they tread steadily became more solid, and suddenly the morning’s fog parted. Before them stood a small wooden cottage with a thatched roof. A warm glow illuminated a small window on the wall that faced them. Erebemlin could see the mantle of what surely was the fireplace and the source of the flickering light. As they got closer to the home, he noticed rich mosses and plants that covered the ground on either side of the path. At first they appeared chaotic in their pattern, but quickly, the elf realized they grew in an intricate design...waves that crossed and re-crossed, almost like braids, and forced the eyes forward in motion toward the cottage where they did not stop, but came up from the earth and enveloped the earthy home. Taitheneb had noticed the intriguing beauty and turned to catch the expression on Erebemlin’s face. The elder elf shook his head with uncertainty and shrugged his shoulders. He certainly looked forward to sitting with this strange woman, and learning more of her ‘realm’.

Following the path, she led them around the left side of the house. Here they found a small porch where dark green vines grew up and wrapped around every board, creating what felt like a canapy instead of a roof. The old woman opened the door and the light and warmth that filled the inside seeped onto the porch and touched the visitors. They could smell the warm bread.

"Do come in," she called from inside.

[Imladris]

Aeron glanced dully at the welcoming cottage, wishing with all his might that he was far far away. Life just was not worth living. It was pointless. What would he do if he want back to Gondor? Steal? Why? Learn a trade? He laughed outwardly at that. Who would take him -- a known thief.

He slumped into a chair and ignored the piece of bread that the woman held out. What was her name? He shrugged. It didn't matter, not in the long run at least. Nothing mattered in the long run. Everybody died, some sooner than they should.

Why had Gwyllion died? Had she been doomed to die? It wasn't fair that he couldn't have saved her no matter how hard he had tried. He wished that it had been him back there...

It should have been him...it should have. He had brought her there. He had brought her from Gondor. He had been the one who had killed her.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard did not know how it chanced, but he was first to enter the cottage of the old woman; except for the dog, Jorje. Ædegard held Leafa's hand in his good hand, and she followed him, staying close behind him. It was cozy and warm, and smelled of freshly baked bread. Ædegard felt the warmth enfold him like a soft blanket; the cold left his bones. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Ædegard!" Leafa whispered urgently, nudging him. He turned to her; her eyes were big as sky blue saucers, and she pointed. Ædegard looked, and saw a woman standing before them. Her face was the same as that of the old woman's. Her daughter? Her hair flowed in yellow, brown, and even green waves over her shoulders, shining in the light of a hearty fire. Her dress had the sheen of willow leaves, green and gold, and as she moved it shimmered like the sun on windblown willows. She held a large wooden tray with bread, still steaming. The others hand entered and were all gaping at her, except for Aeron, whose eyes were downcast. He went to the nearest chair and sat down, and the woman handed him some bread; he did not see, but she looked upon him with pity.

"Are you the daughter of Marigold?" Ædegard asked.

The woman laughed but shook her head. "I am Marigold. I wander often as the old woman, but this is the form I wear most times. Come in, come in! Be at rest! Eat and be filled!" Then she became grave. "And bring in the youngest one. She should not rest outside."

"But she-" Ravion began.

Marigold shook her head. "Bring her in. She does not belong outside." She set the tray on the board and bid the rest of them to eat.

Ravion nodded and took Erundil with him, and between them they brought the body of Gwyllion in with them. She came to them and held out her arms to them. Bemused, they placed the body in her arms, and she carried it as if it weighed no more than a toddler. She took Gwyllion to a bed near the hearth and laid her out. She kissed the dead girl's forehead, and it seemed to Ædegard that Gwyllion was merely sleeping.

Marigold turned to them and said, "You have been wounded in body and heart, and need rest. Take rest here, all of you, and receive what healing you may." She began to sing, and the song reminded Ædegard of cozy nights at home with his family; or of soft afternoons sitting by a calm stream in the warmth of summer. He sighed and ate, sharing his bread with Leafa. To him, Leafa seemed a cousin of this woman, for her face glowed with quiet joy, and her eyes were alight. And he thought that maybe it did not matter that he had lost one hand. Maybe there would be a way to have Leafa to wife, and to thrive and have children, and to make a life after all. He smiled at Leafa, and she returned his smile, looking at him in a way that made him feel as if they belonged together.

[Orual]

Ravion sat on the floor by the fire, drawing his cloak around him despite the warmth of the cottage. He felt like he had an iron weight on his heart, and that would take more than a lovely shapeshifter to lift. While Marigold was an unexpected occurance, he did not feel uneasy around her. He trusted her, and did not worry for his safety or the safety of any of his companions. He wondered if he was not going just a bit insane.

He looked over at Aeron, who was huddled in a chair. His eyes were downcast, and alarmingly dull. Ravion did not suppose that Aeron was seeing anything around him: perhaps he was seeing Gwyllion. At that thought he glanced at Marigold, and wondered why she had wanted Gwyllion's body. He had seen no harm in it, but thought it odd. Perhaps, though, she could help them give Gwyllion a proper burial. Maybe that would lighten Aeron's heart some. A proper burial was a proper good-bye, and it would fulfill his duty as her brother.

But it would not bring her back, and it would not take away the sorrow.

Ravion stood slowly, feeling very old all of a sudden, and walked over to Aeron. Reaching the boy's chair, he sat again on the ground, and did not look at him. He kept his eyes on the ground. "You should eat something," he said quietly.

Aeron kept silent.

"You have been through much. Suffered much. Your body is as weak as your spirit feels now. If you do not eat, you will fall ill, and I do not fancy carrying you everywhere. You are no light load."

Ravion's attempt at levity was met with stony silence. The Ranger sighed heavily. "Aeron, I am sorry for your loss. I know that it does not help, but I am sorry. Deeply sorry. I mourn with you, and though I cannot comprehend your grief, in whatever small way I can I share it with you."

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung sat, his heart beating more fierce than it had ever before, even more than when they had walked the Golden Woods of Lothlorien. Could it be that they had climbed from the midst of peril and woe into the homey cottage, to sit and it whilst this fair maid tended to them, so young and beautiful, yet so kind and compassionate, as if she were an elderly mother? Was this not a sweet dream to refresh him while he lay weary upon the battlefield? It could not be real.

"Will you not eat, Liornung?" Leafa spoke softly from where she sat with Ædegard.

He shook his head. "Nay, I could not eat at this time. Soon, perhaps."

"Then will you not sing us a song of these wonders? You did so aptly in the Golden Woods."

"That I cannot do, for words are lost to me. And this fair and motherly one has sang for us; I could not best her, and I tremble to lift up my feeble voice after her pure, sweet one."

"But you must say something, Liornung!" said Leafa, with a laugh. "You look as though you are dreaming, and I hardly recognize you. You seem too young now, when before you were always like a father to us."

"Let me be young then, little girl," said Liornung, likewise laughing. "You have no need of my care when fair Marigold is tending to you. I can cast aside my duties as 'father,' as you say, and be youthful. Would that Good Secgrof were here, to sit by this fire, and also fair Blostma, to dance to this song, her golden hair shining in the lights, and her gentle eyes beaming with joy and peace."

And, with a sigh, he fell to eating.

[mark12_30]

The smell of bread wafted out to the elves' nostrils, and tempted them; Erebemlin helped Mellondu dismount from Echo, and together they turned to help Taitheneb with Mellonin. Weak as Mellondu was, he held Taitheneb's horse. There was little need, but the elves were glad of his willingness.

Taitheneb met Mellondu's eyes. "Should we not wake her? This is a fair place."

"It is odd that she has not woken already, " Mellondu said.

"Perhaps, " Erebemlin replied. "She knows that Gwyllion is dead, but in her dreams that death is woven into something else."

"She dreams! What does she dream of?" said Mellondu anxiously.

"Dark things, " said Taitheneb. "Come, Erebemlin, let us wake her."

Taitheneb laid his palm over her forehead, and closed his eyes. Erebemlin walked into her dreams, and searched; a dark fog hindered him. He called her name. Mellondu could hear him whispering. Strain showed on his face.

"Finduilas."

Mellondu waited. The elves strove through the mists, calling, but Mellonin did not wake.

Finally Erebemlin opened his eyes, and turning to Mellondu, said, "Come. I will lead you into the cottage."

"But Mellonin?"

"She will be well. Patience."

"I want to talk to her, " Mellondu replied.

"You will. Patience."

They entered the cottage, and Erebemlin helped Mellondu sit down at the table. Erundil passed the bread and Mellondu began to eat.

Erebemlin gestured to Ravion. "Come."

Mellondu watched as Ravion stood, face blank with surprise, and followed Erebemlin wordlessly out the door. Mellondu twisted, watching; but behind him, Marigold rose, and her dress rustled as she walked past and followed Ravion. She stood in the doorway. Her song changed. Deeper and richer she sang, like deepening shade under a great tree, like dark earth just turned by the plough; and the earth seemed to respond. Ravion's gaze went from Marigold to the elves to Mellonin-- Mellonin raised one hand to her eyes, and the cares faded from her face. She woke peacefully.

"Mother?"

Ravion reached for her. Erebemlin took her from Taitheneb, and stood her between him and Ravion. She looked to Ravion with a childlike wonder and said, "How did we come here? This is lovely. How long have I been dreaming? Was it all a bad dream?"

She turned to Marigold. "You sang with my mother's voice. Yet you are not my mother."

Marigold tipped her head a little. "Your mother would be glad of our meeting."

"Yes, she would." Mellonin reached for Marigold, who embraced her as naturally as any mother greets her child, and turned and led her into the cottage.

Ravion and the elves followed them in, and Ravion returned to Aeron's side. Aeron looked up, and watched as Ravion sat down again. Then Aeron's eyes returned to the floor. Ravion waited.

[Imladris]

"You can't share griefs, Ranger," Aeron mumbled, his eyes glued to the floor. "Nobody can share them, because you didn't know her. Nobody knew her. Many would say that she was better off dead, which is probably true, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it," he rambled. "I want to say that this is all father's fault, for leaving us. If he hadn't left, I wouldn't have become a thief. If he hadn't left Gwyllion would have been happy. If father hadn't left we wouldn't be here right now because you wouldn't have caught me." Aeron stopped, a tear trembling on his eyelash.

Ravion said nothing.

"But no matter how hard I tell this to myself," Aeron continued in a tight voice, "I know that it is not the case. The wise men speak of Doom...I have heard of Doom. It is a dreadful thing that no one can escape. My father was doomed to leave, I was doomed to be a thief, it was my doom that I had to mess up and drag Gwyllion to her doom, but she could not escape death no matter how hard anybody tried because it was her doom to die..." his voice trailed off, and he buried his head on his knees and cried.

[littlemanpoet]

Marigold sat Mellonin by the fire, and still singing, opened a cupboard and pulled an earthen jar from it. She brought it with her and sat next to Mellonin. When she spoke, her words still carried an echo of her lilting tune, like slow moving, reed strewn waters.

"Let me see to the wound on your face, dear one, or else it will leave a scar." She dipped her hand into the jar. What came out in her hand was mud. So it seemed to Mellonin; her brow furrowed in worry. "This will cool the wound, and deaden the pain. Fear not." She raised her mud covered hand and waited. Mellonin nodded and held still. Marigold pressed the mud into her wound, from brow to lip.

"I - I - cannot feel my face!"

"Fear not! Sleep a dreamless sleep tonight, and in the morning we shall see. Lie back." She rose and brought bread to Mellonin. "Eat, my dear one. Rest and be at ease this night." Mellonin looked up at Marigold as if with a child's trusting eyes, and nodded, and ate.

Marigold was humming again, and went to Ravion and Aeron, whose head was buried in his knees, muffling deep sobs. She knelt before the boy and waited. Slowly his heaving shoulders subsided and he rose up a little, and saw her kneeling by him. He looked at her through half closed eyes, his face suddenly closed and distrustful.

She looked at him kindly and said, "Will you go with me to your sister?"

"What use? She is not there. She is dead."

Marigold took a golden flower from her hair. Aeron had not seen it there before, but it lay in her hands, as real and fragrant as if it had just been plucked. "I plucked this marigold today. It still holds a little of its life and much of its fragrance. It reminds me of the fields of marigolds that flourished in the marsh this past summer. Is it not beautiful?"

Aeron nodded dully. He had a notion of why she was talking about the flower this way, and what she might say next, and did not want to hear it; but deep down, he needed to hear her words, with a need he could not name. He waited for her to say more.

"Today your sister's life was plucked like this marigold. I have done what I could to keep her fragrance strong. Is she not beautiful?" Aeron looked, and nodded slowly. The tightness around his eyes loosened and the hardness in his face softened, ever so little. "Will you go to her with me?"

[mark12_30]

Mellondu gaped in disbelief as Mellonin walked right past him, not seeing him, and followed the shapechanger to the hearth. He stirred, but Erebemlin warned him with a raised hand.

So Erebemlin called the ranger to Mellonin's side, but not Mellonin's own brother? Mellondu's patience ran out, and he drew breath for a sharp retort. His anger only grew when Erebemlin's voice sounded in his mind. Patience. Let the River-Daughter care for her.

Mellondu's eyes flamed, and his fists clenched. Who are you to part me from my sister? But as he half-stood, he swayed, and the room spun. He clutched at the table.

Young mortal fool. Persist and you will need healing next! Can you not let those whose need is greater receive theirs?

To his surprise, the tall elf's arms surrounded him, lifted him like a child, and carried him to the hearth. He looked down at Mellonin; her eyes were closed, and her face showed blissful peace. Erebemlin set Mellondu carefully down beside his sister.

Would you like to watch over her as she dreams? I do not think her dreams will be evil; not this time.

Taking another deep breath, Mellondu hesitated, and then grudgingly thanked the elf. You annoy me. But I think you mean well.

Erebemlin did not answer, but only turned to watch Aeron and the River Daughter speaking.

[Imladris]

Aeron glanced at Gwyllion...her face was pale....lined with the fair lines of death. She was beautiful, as Marigold had said. Beautiful with Death's beauty...

Marigold leaned over the body, and tucked the flower into her hair. He would find her with a wreath of flowers in her hair, nestled in a grassy dell... the dream echoed in his mind as he stared at the golden flower.

Aeron gasped a little and plucked the flower from her hair. "Yes, but like this Marigold," he said dully, twirling the stem between his fingers, "she is still dead. And there is nothing that you can do about that. No matter how beautiful she is, I would rather her alive. I would trade this beauty if only she would become alive again."

[littlemanpoet]

Marigold looked at Aeron sadly, and passed a hand through his wild hair.

"I know that you would die in her place. It is well that you love her so. Love her still! And cherish her memory!"

She is not far.

Marigold could feel the light touch of the boy's sister on the cold marshy breeze; it had been that which led her to them. Some purpose lay in that. These were words she could not say, so she spoke not of it. This boy would have to learn its meaning as he could. Dreams lay thick as a many layered weaving around these folk, dreams she could almost see and hear; but they were not hers, and once they left her, those dreams would depart with them. She would do what she could for them.

"I have a boon to ask of you, Aeron." She used his name, having heard it from the young Ranger. He looked up into her eyes. "Though her ghost has left the body, her life was sweet and good, and full of love, not least for you, and I would be grateful if her body's presence could bless my home. And you could stay here for as long as you like, and if you choose to go, you could return as often, as for as long as you wish. Would you permit your sister to be buried here?"

[alaklondewen]

Near the fire, Erebemlin stood tall and silent. His eyes studied the River Daughter as she ruffled Aeron’s hair. She was quite beautiful, and unlike any creature the elf had seen before. Within her small form she contained a great power, yet she was soft and caring. Tilting his head slightly, he watched the flickering light reflecting in the many shades of her long hair. The elf slowly exhaled the breath he had not realized he had been holding, and Marigold turn momentarily and met his gaze. She smiled warmly before turning back to Aeron. Heat quickly rose into Erebemlin’s cheeks. His hand covered his mouth as he cleared his throat awkwardly and swiftly sat at the table beside Taitheneb.

Taitheneb grinned at the elder elf, delighted to be in this beautiful place and finding his embarrassment slightly amusing. The younger elf sliced a piece of warm bread, placed it on a small saucer, and then slid it over the table to Erebemlin, who nodded in gratitude and began to eat, keeping his eyes lowered and away from the River Daughter.

Erebemlin internally kicked at himself for becoming so easily embarrassed. He had lived too long and fought in too many battles to let himself become flushed in anyone’s presence. Stealing a quick glance at Marigold, he stood suddenly. “I’m going to step out for air,” he told Taitheneb without looking at him. Taitheneb just smiled to himself and watched Silmaethor stride out to the porch.

[mark12_30]

Nethwador had shared his bread with Bella, but still eaten all he could hold. He smiled at Bella, and then gazed fondly at Marigold, and thought about the sudden turn of events.

Amroth had been kind to him, and a lord and master. And Bella-- well, he could talk all day about that. But Marigold-- she made him comfortable. Peaceful. On the edge of a wild swamp he felt safe. After being hungry and cold, he was warm and fed. After wandering, he was secure.

They had only just arrived, and yet, he almost felt that he never wanted to leave.

Would Bella stay here with him? Could they live together with Marigold, safe and secure and warm and happy? The Merlocks were nearby, but Marigold knew about them. Tharonwe was nearby too, but Marigold did not fear him. Was there a safer place in the world? Certainly there was no safer place in all the swamp.

How to care for his horse here? And Bella's horse? Would they be happy? There were fields to the south; he knew, from pictures in the minds of his friends. Perhaps the horses could roam there during the day. He wondered how far the fields were.

His full stomach made him sleepy. He wanted to go to the fire, and lie down. But he wanted to stay with Bella. And he wanted to talk to Marigold, to sit near her, too. All of them together by the fire would be nice. But Mellondu's sister and her dead friend were by the fire. And there was the boy, sulking. THe boy was sad about Mellondu's sister's friend.

Taking a deep breath, he took a meal-sized chunk of bread, got up, walked to the sulking boy, and pushed the bread into his hands. The boy glared at him, and then at the bread. Nethwador walked toward an empty corner of the hearth; he could sit with his back against the warm stones of the chimney. Perhaps Bella would come sit with him. He stood by the fireplace, and turned to her, and spoke. "Bella?"

She looked sleepy too. She stood, and drawing her cloak about herself despite the warmth, she came to the chimney. He sat down with his back to the stones. She sat nearby, not too close for modesty but not too far for friendship. Nethwador was content.

A green shadow rustled hearby, and they looked up. Marigold gave them each a cup. Inside was a dark, thick drink. They looked up at her, wondering.

Her eyes twinkled. "Blueberry. You'll both have purple teeth, but pay that no heed. Drink, and rest."

They leaned back against the chimney again. They sipped at the cups, and smiled at each other; it was true. They drank and giggled their way to the bottom of the cups, and then with Marigold nearby, leaned back against the warm stones, and drifted into a sweet, dreamless sleep.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan

Raefindan dreamed again.

He stood again at the edge of the vale of Nimrodel and Mithrellas. The dark haired one's head came up; she seemed sorrowful. She recognized him.

"Imrazor!"

"Why do you call me that?"

"That is your name."

He shook his head, but let the matter stand. "What saddens you, Lady?"

"Death has claimed a lovely child."

Gwyllion. The loss of the lively, joyful, moonstruck girl, struck him full in the heart. Raefindan squinted his eyes shut. Tears leaked through the corners of his eyes. Something soft struck his body. He opened his eyes to see that he had fallen to the turf. A shadow was cast over him; he looked up. It was Mithrellas, her face full of care. She was fair beyond words, and looked nothing like his Angela, his love, who was lost to him. Too many deaths. He turned from her, shaking his head, and looked to the blades of grass beneath him.

"I have a message for you," he said to the grass.

"Speak it, my love."

Raefindan shook his head again, and looked up to her, drying his streaming cheeks. "There is one who loves Nimrodel. I speak not of he who was lost to the sea. His name is Maegeleb."

"Sharp spirit?"

"His love is centuries old. He desires to end the grief of Nimrodel, to bring her joy to make her forget her years of sorrow."

The vale blurred and faded and vanished.

Tharonwe

Maegeleb took Roy Edwards from the vale before Nimrodel's servant maid said too much. He opened memories of warfare. They were not Roy Edwards' own memories, but things he had read of. There were trenches and blasted earth, mud discolored to green and yellow mire. The air bled yellow like the stench decay in the merlocks' marshes. Soldiers ran from the yellow air, their faces hidden behind strange masks; and those who wore no masks, choked and fell in yellow spew and mud. The air was poisoned. The words that came with these memories were The Somme and poisoned gas and world war one. This might be useful. How was the poison made? Curse it. Roy Edwards did not know. Maegeleb would have to search the longer.

The others had come from the swamp, Tharonwe knew, and had found a place to stay the night, some home whose owner he could not see, nor hear, nor probe. Maybe it was an old shack where no one lived. Some of them seemed to be ready to stay there for the rest of their lives. Well and good. In the morning he and the young red head from the future would put some more leagues between them.

[littlemanpoet]

The stars were out. Marigold saw the humans to sleep and went outside. It was cold but Marigold needed no cloak, and wore none now. The two Elves stood beneath the stars, their breath steaming before them so that they seemed like horses eager to run with the wind on the open plain to the south.

"Eärendil sails bright above this night, does he not?" she said.

Erebemlin and Taitheneb turned to her as if woken from a dream, and acknowledged her presence.

"The humans sleep dreamlessly this night," Taitheneb said.

"'Tis one gift I can give them."

"Lady," Erebemlin said, "you are a mystery. Your mind is closed to us, your place here has gone unnoticed these last few days, right beneath our noses; 'tis as if you are not really here."

"Do you believe that, Silmaethor?"

"Nay. The air you breathe turns to mist as for anyone. But - if I may be so bold - and please do not be offended - what are you?"

"I am Entwash's daughter. Ulmo is my father."

Erebemlin looked stricken the moment he heard her words, and Taitheneb no less so. They fell to one knee. "You honor us, Lady."

Marigold laughed lightly. "Do me no obeisance, I am just a humble river daughter, doing the little bit of good I can in my small realm." As they rose to their feet, her head tilted. "But tell me, Erebemlin, why do you, one of the first born, feel shame?"

He shook his head, confused. "I know not of what you speak, Lady."

"You watched me before, when we were within, and I knew it, and returned your gaze but a moment, and you seemed ashamed."

Taitheneb smirked and looked to the stars, wandering off a ways. Erebemlin noticed, and his brow furrowed. He looked out to the swamp as if he would find his answer there.

[Imladris]

"I think," said Aeron thickly, "that I would like for her to be buried here...amid the beauty of the things she loved." He nodded and wiped his tears away. As Marigold drifted to speek with the elves, Aeron twirled the flower in his hand and sniffed deeply. Yes...she was beautiful...just like the River Daughter had said...

Vaguely, in the distance...he wondered vaguely who Ulmo was...

[Orual]

Ravion lay on his back by the fire, staring at the ceiling. He could see the flames out of the corner of his eye, but he still felt cold.

He rolled onto his side and looked at Mellonin, who had fallen asleep. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it was a sad smile. Somehow, even in this safe haven, he could not come by any joy. In some way he realized that he was pushing it away, not allowing it in. This was his punishment.

But he was allowed some small happiness, like watching Mellonin sleep. She was so peaceful when she slept. She was facing away from him: he could see her back rise and fall evenly, her soft, dark hair falling across her shoulders. How long would it be before he was courageous enough to tell her how he felt? He was a Ranger: he had seen battles and injury and death. He had felt the heartbreak of a dying friend. Why did he cower before the rejection of this young woman? Why was he so afraid?

He shook his head ruefully and turned back towards the fire. Perhaps the flames would hold the answers he sought.

[mark12_30]

Mellondu's sleep was uninterrupted, but it was visited: very briefly visited, by two visitors.

One was his sister. She smiled at him, and embraced him, laughing. He jested briefly with her; she teased him a little, and then peace descended again, but it was a happier peace and a deeper rest than before. He was content.

Mostly content.

Far away, miles and miles... beyond the White Mountains, he heard the dim echo of a silver voice. In his dreams he turned toward it. The song, lilting and wandering, wafted in and out of his hearing. His heart ached. He tried to ignore it, to shrug it off and push it aside, and return to the peace of his sister's company.

It echoed still, dim and far-off. Almost he could ignore it. But not quite.

*****

"Mother."

"Yes, dear."

"If I were to... to leave my mistress and master, and..."

"Hmmm?"

"Well, and go away with someone else--"

The silence was suddenly loud and echoing. Her mother sent a piercing glance her way, and then the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her old eyes.

Her father spoke. "The redhead or the ranger? Not that scruffy boy."

"Gracious, no!" protested Mellonin.

"Ranger, " nodded mother, and turned to her sewing again. Her father stared into the fire. Mellonin saw their eyes twinkling and said no more.

[alaklondewen]

The swamp held no answers. Erebemlin tried to pierce the thick fog with his gaze, and yet found no words to answer Marigold’s straightforward question. The elf was a strong warrior, who had always faithfully served his King and the Lady who followed. In battle he fought with an unfaltering confidence, and he was able to guide and lead others easily. However, these qualities did not aid in his uneasiness in discussing his feelings. Marigold had caused him to react in an emotionally driven manner...embarrassment, and he was ashamed. How could he tell her why he felt that embarrassment, for he knew not himself.

He could in feel the River Daughter’s eyes on the back of his neck. Turning slowly over his shoulder, he was surprised to found her with a gentle expression. He had almost expected ridicule, but instead there was a sparkle in her eyes. "This is a beautiful place, my lady..." His voice was low and he spoke slowly trying to gather the right words. "...and I am truly sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable by watching you." Marigold opened her mouth to protest, but Erebemlin continued quickly. "I have not seen a....lady...such as yourself before." The elf lowered his eyes and glanced back toward the swamp for a moment. "I am sorry."

[littlemanpoet]

Marigold stepped up beside Erebemlin and watched the night by him. At length she said, "Are you sorry that your eye finds beauty in Arda? Do not be sorry, but glad that you have seen that which your heart seeks."

He looked at her suddenly, his eyes like twin flames. She smiled and returned his gaze.

"You are fire in a shell, Erebemlin; is the shell made of stone, ice, or flesh?" He shook his head and opened his mouth as if to answer but she continued. "I am earth and water. I can be frozen, or burnt, or broken. I would none of them. If you would be thawed this instant, what would you do to earth and water? Do not answer now. Think upon it as you aid your lord. When you have achieved your quest, maybe you will pass this way with an answer."

She returned indoors and served the needs of those within. She thanked Aeron for his permission to bury his sister, and then sang a lullaby to them all which was haunted with dreams of a full belly and a quieted heart where hope could dwell. The Elves she left to their own thoughts.

[mark12_30]

Hope. She could taste it.

She tensed, and hesitated to open her eyes; what if it was a dream?

What if it wasn't?

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Wrapped up beside her, he slept quietly, eyelids twitching, breathing peacefully. She gazed at him. He looked... old. Old and tired. But he was well; he was well... wasn't he? She drew near him with sudden worry, gazing closely at him. Then she turned, and her eyes found the woman in shining green.

"He is weary. But do not fear; he finds rest even now. Your brother is well."

"Is he?"

"Yes, he is well. "

A single tear glimmered on her eyelid, and she sat up, and carefully stroked Mellondu's hair. He stirred.

"Shhh, sleep. You are weary, Darklove. Rest now."

His hand reached up, and clasped hers. "Darker than you know, Mellonin. And more weary than you know. Watch over me?"

"Twit, " she whispered. "I pursued you all this way, only to neglect you now?"

"Do not, " he murmured. "How my heart would break."

She sat by his side, and stroked his hair; he laid his head upon her knee, and fell back asleep again. She stroked his hair and then hesitated, and sniffed her hand with a wrinkled nose; he needed a bath. Giving her head a little shake, she wiped her hand on his cloak, which wasn't much cleaner, and then decided she didn't care how dirty he was, and went back to stroking his hair.

The fire crackled behind her, and she was glad; glad of the merry sound, and the warmth. Slowly the thought grew that she was being watched. She turned, and looked over her shoulder towards the fire.

He was there, feet towards the fire, but looking over his shoulder at her. He had done it; the ranger had kept his promise, and she and her brother were together again. She smiled at him, grateful, happy, content. She turned a little more towards him, and bowed her thanks, and looked up again. He watched her still, uncertain. She smiled, and turned back toward her brother. Mellondu's breathing was deep and quiet again.

She raised her head and looked around once more. Gwyllion slept nearby, and Aeron as well. Even Jorje was happily panting by the fire. Raefindan must have stepped outside.

She was happy enough to hum a tune.

[Orual]

Ravion sat by the fire and watched Mellonin talk about her brother with Marigold. She seemed so happy, but so weary. Like all of the emotion that she could hold in her at one time had been drained out, and she was trying to work up the strength to be happy again.

She looked over at him, and smiled. Her dark eyes danced, and he felt all of the gratitude that she held toward him for helping to recover her brother, all the relief, all the happiness. He could not work up a smile in return, but watched her anxiously. Could she see what he was feeling? Could she read his face? Would she be able to tell what he wanted to say to her, but did not have the courage to say?

Then she looked away. And he knew she had not seen.

And he knew it was time for him to take a stand.

He stood and walked over to her, then crouched by her. She was humming. A part of his heart warmed at the sound, while the rest of him was knotted in nervousness. "Mellonin?" he said softly. She looked up at him and smiled, tilting her head questioningly. She meant for him to go on. This gave him some courage to ask his next question:

"Do you have a moment?"

Stupid question! Ravion could have hit himself. Of course she had a moment. What else was she doing? Humming? But now the question was asked, and he must wait for her answer.

[mark12_30]

Softspoken, and so polite, and so careful. And so unlike me. Mellonin looked up at the ranger, and was too happy to be worried about much. Perhaps it was the sound, nearly dreamless sleep... or had she dreamed something, something about her parents, asking them something... No matter. Ravion was waiting for his answer; she gave it.

"Good friend, of course I do. And I am so glad you returned. Thank you for finding my Darklove and bringing him back to me-- safe and sound, weary though he be. And for bringing us to this haven. It is lovely here; it feels like home, although it would be harder to imagine two houses more different than Marigold's and my mother's. Is mother Marigold your friend? She is lovely, and she sings just like my mother sometimes, and at other times she sings as sweetly as the queen, wouldn't you say? And the house is tiny, yet we all fit inside, and I'd wager that if we brought an army, there would be room still for one more. Have you ever tasted such bread? Was it the bread that made my sleep so sweet? Did you dream? I hardly dreamt at all."

She caught her breath, noticed Ravion's wide eyes, and a little laugh escaped her. Mellondu looked up at her with one half-opened eye, and murmured, "Hush, little squirrel. Your chattering would frighten an angry crow."

"Hush yourself. You should be sleeping. Must I sing you a lullabye?"

"Please, " murmured Mellondu, settling back again.

"Won't you sit down, " Mellonin said to Ravion.

[Nurumaiel]

"Liornung, still you are silent," murmured Argeleafa in his ear, for he had not spoken a word since he had finished his meal. "Are you still awed by this place?"

"Yes," said Liornung, and he looked to her, for he had not known that she, too, was still awake, "but that is not the reason for my silence now. I was thinking of a place somewhat like this, with a cheerful fire and people resting, talking, and finding peace. There was a kind innkeeper there with a loud voice, and an old man who sent me forth to find a ballad. Yes, Leafa, 'twas Good Secgrof. There was also a girl, fair of face, with golden hair that would fall down her back. Or sometimes she would tie it behind her so it would not be in her face as she worked, but still it would slip loose and little strands of gold would fall about her flushed and rosy cheeks. Sometimes, also, when important company was expected, she would comb it until it shone brightly, and then twine it about her head in braids."

"Are you speaking of the girl Blostma, the innkeeper's daughter?"

"Why, yes, I am," said Liornung. "She's such a fine girl. She's pretty, and hard-working, and kind to all, and I do not doubt that she has faults somewhere within her, but I am blind to them."

Leafa sat back, biting her lip thoughtfully, and she gazed at him with an expression as though something very odd had occured to her. He sat with folded arms, looking into the fire, a smile on his face. A smile came to her own face, a playful and pleased smile, a smile that was knowledgeable, as if she knew all and understood, and she glanced at Ædegard. Then she leaned towards Liornung, and whispered a question in her ear. She could not resist a merry laugh when he coloured deeply, and shook his head, saying, "No, Leafa! Me? Why, never!"

"Never, Liornung?" she asked, mischief in her voice. "Why, you are a young man yet."

"I find pleasure in singing old love songs, and helping the lovesick lads and lassies realise that they do love, and I love children much, and I think they love me, and I think fondly on how much my mother and father loved each other, but, Leafa, it is a subject where I am a spectator, and a singer of what happens. I'll never be more than one who looks on."

"Hmm!" said Leafa, with a toss of her head. "We shall see!"

[mark12_30]

Ravion looked at Mellonin, and she smiled up at him. But glancing suddenly beyond him, her face flickered into concern, and his words stopped on his lips.

"Aeron is so sad; so sad. Has-- Oh!" Distress crossed her face, and her hand flew to her liips, and tears started to flow. She whispered, "Oh, Ravion. It wasn't a dream, was it? Gwyllion-- oh, poor Aeron. Ravion, how heartless I've been."

Ravion sat back on his heels. If her humming had baffled him, her tears were worse. She was as steady as a whirlwind among rocks in autumn... He opened his mouth to speak.

But Mellondu stirred, and looked at her through narrow, sleepy eyes. "Heartless? Mellonin...?"

"But he -- he-- told me I was stupid to hope, and that you were dead, and he--"

"Mellonin, did you lose your temper?"

"He deserved it. He was cruel. He-- he said you were dead--"

"He was nearly right. Twice." Mellondu sat up, and looked his sister in the eye. "Did you lose your temper?"

"Stop acting like Father."

"He is not here to correct you and so someone must." Mellondu rubbed his bleary eyes, and then looked at her. "You said you were cruel. What did you say?"

She looked away, and he grew more stern.

"What did you say?"

"I just .. I told him that he... I-- "

Mellondu took her face in his hands, and went almost nose-to -nose with her. "What... did... you... say."

Ravion looked on, wondering again at the change in Mellonin; from tearful to withdrawn. He doubted that she would answer. And then just as suddenly, she took a sharp breath and words tumbled out of her. "I called him an insect. I said he was worthless without his sister. And then I called him-- selfish, filthy, brash, self-serving and-- and loathsome. "

She stared straight ahead.

Mellondu thought it over, and then replied, "You said he was worthless without his sister?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Mellondu nodded towards Gwyllion's body. "And now his sister is dead." His eyes returned to Mellonin. "What is the boy to think?"

She shrugged, irritated. "He never listened to me. He never listens to anyone."

"And yet something in your heart pities him."

"He's pathetic."

"Is that all?"

"No."

"What else?"

She began crying again. "He loves his sister."

Mellondu shook his head. "If you had known that his sister would die, would you have said such a thing-- that he was worthless without her? Would you have laid such a curse on him if you had known it would come to pass?"

"I didn't mean to curse him." She hid her face in her hands.

"But you did, and he is broken by it now. You spoke a terrible curse, and now how can he ever be freed from it?"

Ravion wondered why his forehead hurt, and then he realised his eyebrows were as high as they could be. He rubbed his forehead. "Mellondu, what do you mean by a curse? How did Mellonin curse Aeron?"

Mellondu, who by now held his weeping sister, looked up at Ravion. "My father always says that angry words are hidden curses. But he also says that my sister cannot hide them. Her temper has hunted her all her life. "

Ravion nodded. "But a curse? Surely mere angry words..."

"There is no such thing, " replied Mellondu, "as mere angry words. Look at his face."

"But, " said Ravion, "he is brash. And he is selfish. He's been filthy more than clean, and --"

"You need not defend my sister, " Mellondu replied coldly. "Rebuke should come from wisdom, not from hurt. The well-used colt has better ears than the ill-used colt. And I deem, both have better ears than one called Worthless."

Mellonin curled up against her brother, and quietly wept; for her treacherous temper, for poor dead Gwyllion, and for brooding Aeron. After a while, Ravion stood, and walked back to the hearth, and sat down. Mellonin wept til she was still, and then slept. Mellondu slept again as well.

Ravion wondered whether Mellonin knew that Raefindan was gone.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard

His feet moved without his volition down the trail as he led his horse through the swamp, searching for his betrothed. Merlocks had taken her. The bridel was in his left hand, the horse's plodding muffled in the damp soil. The plodding sound ceased. He no longer felt the bridle. He looked back. His horse was gone, bridle and all, and so was his hand. As he watched, his forearm was snatched by unseen claws, and was pulled away. More claws grabbed his elbow.

His mother leaned over his bed. "Peace, be at peace," came her mild, soft voice, quiet and reassuring. Her face changed and she was Marigold, smiling reassurance.

The swamp was gone, and he was on the open plain, two stout horses pulling the wain he rose in, and Leafa sat beside him, beaming, holding something to her breast in thick blankets.

Jorje

The big fire warmed him where he lay. This place smelled good and right. Jorje closed his eyes and sighed a deep, contented, full bellied sigh.

Scents all around! Woody trees and fresh grasses and cold water, a rabbit trail here, a gopher scent there. He was running and his master ran behind him, barking in that happy way the masters had. There was the Mother, standing by the river, watching him run, smiling. He had been running fast already; now he ran faster, fast as the wind, his tongue lolling, the wind flapping his ears. He could run all day.

Aeron

He walked down the swamp trail, looking for Gwyllion. She was nowhere to be found. He had been searching and searching. Finally he stopped and hung his head in despair. "Gwyllion, where are you?" He raised his head and called. "Gwyllion! Where are you? Where have you gone? Don't leave me!"

A breeze stirred the misty air, and a shadow passed before him. He looked. It was her! She was walking away from him on a pond, her back to him; her feet did not disturb the water. He could see the mist through her, stirring in the breeze. She stopped and looked back.

"Come."

"I can't! I'll fall in and drown!"

She said nothing more, turned, and continued walking away.

"Gwyllionnnn!"

"Come," he heard, as a distant echo on the wind. He looked at the pond and saw his own reflection there.

"I will join her," he said, and stepped into the water. The swamp changed, and he was in a meadow, surrounded by trees, whose leaves whispered in the warm breeze. Two women sat on the grass in the middle of the meadow. Gwyllion stood beside him. She seemed so real!

"Go to them," she said. He reached out to touch her instead. She disappeared.


"No!"

[Nurumaiel]

The wind was blowing gently and the long grass waved back and forth, brushing her ankles. Her skirt billowed behind her as she ran, straight into her father's strong arms. He laughed and kissed her as he lifted her up. "My little, charming, sweet, delightful girl," he said. "What's this I've heard? You're to be married, eh?"

Suddenly she wasn't a little girl anymore. She was a young woman, standing straight and tall, her dress waving about her slender form, and her hand was on her heart. Her father was gone, but standing before her now was another man: tall, handsome, and his eyes shining with love for her. She stepped to him, eagerly, but he drew away, a look of sorrow passing onto his face as he extended one hand... but there was no hand there. She gazed down at it, thoughtfully, and then she bent and kissed the empty sleeve.

And then she felt a weight upon her, and her back bowed under it, and she realised that she was older and the heaviness that bore her down was the weight of many years. She was walking over the grass, and calling a name. Little children flocked to her, clung to her skirts, asked her questions and prattled away to her in their small voices. Another voice spoke from behind her, saying her name in tender tones, and she turned lovingly. She could not see his face, for it was hidden in shadow, but she knew she loved him anyway.

And then all was black, and she saw and felt nothing, save for the sweet scent of flowers, and she was happy.

And then Argeleafa awoke.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard awoke. He had dreamed, but could not remember anything from them. He sat up. The fire was low in the grate. He looked around. Marigold was not in. Everyone else was still asleep. He rose from his makeshift bed and stretched, keeping quiet so as not to rouse the others. He carefully made his way through the tangle of sleepers and opened the door. He stopped cold.

It was cold! And white. Snowflakes were falling on a mild breeze. The first snow of winter. He went back inside and put on his coat, then went outside and closed the door behind him, walking up the gentle slope leading from the cottage and away from the marsh. His booted feet left tracks in the deepening snow, so far up to his ankles.

He heard a muffled noise, not unlike noises he had heard in the craftsmen's huts in Edoras. He followed the noise and after a little while, found Erebemlin and Taitheneb laboring over a growing hole in the ground, shovels in their hands.

"Good morning!" Ædegard said. "Where is Marigold?"

"Yonder," Erebemlin said, nodding west with his head.

Ædegard made his way in the direction the Elf had indicated, and soon came upon the lone figure of Marigold, her back to him and her arms raised to the air as if directing the very winds and snow through the air. He stopped and watched. Her movements seemed less fluid this morning, and she seemed bulkier and heavier. She turned and faced him. Hers was now the face of the old woman, her cheeks as bright red as apples.

"Good morning!" she said. "Let us go in and wake the others and make breakfast."

[mark12_30]

Snow swirled around him; all was under a thick. soft blanket of white, white like her arms. For a moment he was puzzled; would she fade into the snow, and be invisible? But no, he would see her dark hair, and her eyes, her grey eyes. And she would answer when he called.

He walked, calling.

Trees passed; rolling hills, soft valleys, more trees. Then a ravine. To his ears came the brittle silver tinkling of an imprisoned stream. He turned aside, and followed the ravine. All wore white. The ravine tumbled deeper, among rocks and broken earth. Sand and loose stones slid under the snow, and he stumbled often; but the marks of every fall were soon covered by the fast-falling snow. He struggled on. He was growing cold. He reached to his side; his bottle was empty. The cold seeped into his bones. He pressed on.

He reached the bottom of the ravine, and the ground became level; to his right, he saw the little waterfall that he had heard singing. Beneath a layer of ice, the water trickled; the ice crackled and creaked and snapped, but did not break. He walked toward the little waterfall.

The ground creaked beneath his feet; he halted. Surely he stood on ice; all around him was flat. He knelt, and brushed at the snow. The ice was clear. Below him the pool was deep; but he saw her. Her dark hair flowed in the gentle stream from the waterfall; her skin was white, so white, cold and white. She moved in the water, and her grey eyes looked up at him, and then looked past him. She smiled, and called. "Maegeleb. You are here. You have come."

Amroth paused, and wondered at the name. Sharpsilver. He frowned; she had never called him that before. Regardless, she was still separated from him; he had not come this far only to be robbed of her by a sheet of ice. He raised his fist, and smashed through the ice. He heard laughter behind him.

His golden hair streamed behind him as he sank impossibly fast; he became aware of a weight, and turning, saw that an elf stood on his shoulders. Cold water filled his lungs, and he turned; Nimrodel reached, glad and smiling, above him, and he saw arms embrace her; arms that were not his own. The harder he fought, the deeper he sank; a new, different weight clung to him, and he looked down, and saw the dead body of Mellondu. He looked up, and saw Nimrodel, in the arms of his foe, smiling and glad. They left the water and walked onto the snowy bank. Dazzling white, and crowned by the falling snow, they turned and looked down at him; a flicker of sadness crossed Nimrodel's face, but Maegeleb shushed it away. "Fear not, my love, 'tis but a dream. All will be well."

Amroth held Mellondu's body in one arm, struggling toward the surface, but instead he sank deeper. But no matter how far he sank, he could still see Nimrodel, smiling at Sharpsilver. As if from miles away, he heard the falling silvery crystals of her voice, and each word pierced his heart.

"Mellondu, she sings for him."

The dead boy's eyes met his own, and together they sank into darkness.

[littlemanpoet]

As Ædegard followed Marigold into the cottage, he heard moaning from near the hearth.

"Go to the one called Mellondu," Marigold said as she moved to her kitchen.

Ædegard did as she said. Mellondu was the one who moaned. He was sweating and his face was pale, as if he was still feverish. Mellonin slept in his arm, and seemed to dream, for her brow was furrowed and her mouth worked silently. Ædegard touched Mellondu on the shoulder.

"Mellondu!" he whispered. He did not respond. Ædegard shook him lightly.

"Hm?" His eyes fluttered open and he squinted unseeing a moment. Then his eyes focused and his face settled into a grim smile. "Ædeward. Good morning."

"Good morning. You were dreaming, I think."

Mellondu shook his head and frowned. "I had an awful dream. Cold, cold water. Brr!" He shook his head violently, which jostled Mellonin and she woke, rubbing her face, which was stained with hours old tears. She rubbed at her face.

"Good morning, Mellonin," Ædegard said. Then he noticed something. "Mellonin! Your face!"

Mellonin's face crumbled into sorrow. "That swamp elf, he hurt me."

"No! Mellondu! Look at her!" Mellondu turned and squinted at his sister's face, but she covered her face.

"No! I do not wish to be a spectacle."

"But Mellonin!" Ædegard said. "The wound is closed! All that remains is a line the color of - of - a newborn's skin!"

Mellonin took her hands from her face. Her eyes were wide. "Marigold! She put mud in my wound!" She touched the line on her face where the wound had been and found it smooth beneath her fingertips. Her eyes went even wider.

"It was not just any mud, then," Mellondu said.

Mellonin was looking about the cottage at the others. "Where is Raefindan? Has he been outside all night?"

Ædegard looked at Mellondu, who seemed as curious of Raefindan's whereabouts as his sister. "He has been taken captive by the swamp elf. We have not seen him since you returned to us, Mellonin."

[mark12_30]

Mellonin looked at her brother, and he raised one eyebrow.

"No. I wasn't. I didn't, " she said, once again on the verge of tears.

"All right, then. Look, I'm sorry. Who was he?"

Mellonin turned to look at Aeron, and then Gwyllion, and she began to shake, fighting the sorrow, and losing. "How far does a curse go?" she said, her voice squeaking.

"But you said you didn't lose your temper with the redhaired man."

"Raefindan, " she cried, turning on Mellondu. "His name is Raefindan!"

"All right, " Mellondu replied. "Nevermind. It's all right."

Her eyes kindled, and she said, "It is not all right. He is my friend, and he is captive!"

A rough hand closed around her arm, and a familiar voice said, "Do not fear for him."

She looked up into Ravion's face. Mellondu frowned, worried and not a little suspicious.

"Why?"

"He went of his own free will. He struck a bargain... for you."

"For me?"

"For you."

Mellondu shook his head. "Mellonin, why did you ask about a curse? What did you say to him?"

"Nothing." It was not what I said, but what I thought. 'Raefindan, my adopted brother, and most loyal ally in my search for the younger blood brother. Raefindan will not leave me.' But he has left me; only in a way I cannot resent. And now I have gained my own brother back, and lost my adopted brother. Did the curse against Aeron come back to me, too? She met Mellondu's gaze and replied, "He was like another brother to me, faithful and true."

Ravion gripped her arm tighter. "He still is, Mellonin. And we will find him, and free him."

She turned her gaze on Ravion. It all felt so familiar... the smell of warmth from the fire, the smells of food, and the promises of the Ranger to find her lost brother. She relaxed, gazing into his eyes, wanting to believe it. Her Mellondu was here, with her, solid and real and breathing, no dream, but flesh and blood. And Ravion-- his hand held her arm, and she gazed at him, wondering. His face was haggard, his eyes looked tired, confused yet determined, wavering yet resolute. She looked up at him, her shaking subsided, and she waited for him to speak again.

[mark12_30]

Nethwador watched the goings-on, wakening slowly, sniffing the baking bread and the occasional fresh air when the door opened and snowflakes blew in, only to sizzle on the hearth.

Bella was nearby. She had been dreaming, but now she slept quietly. He watched the glow and flicker of the firelight on her face and hair, and waited for her to wake up.

He was happy.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Snow! Bellyn thought as she stirred. She did not open her eyes yet, but she basked in the warmth of the room around her. Bellyn could sense the snow; there was something about it that made it so easy to wake up and know that the white powder was there. He brothers always teased her when she would tell them that. Bellyn knew it was true, though, because the air would become soft and still all around outside, and the sky would be silent all but for the little flakes careening gently out of the sky. There was almost a scent to the snow, though it was a smell that Bellyn could not yet describe.

Bellyn opened her eyes gently, and saw Nethwador first. "Good morning," Bellyn murmured softly as she sat up from her blankets and stretched out her arms. She caught sight of the window and saw the little snowflakes flying about, and smiled. "Yes, Mellon, what a good morning it is!"

Looking around the room, Bellyn wondered when they would leave, and how the group might continue. Part of her did not want to ever leave the comfort of Marigold's house, but the stronger piece of her heart wanted to finish the task that they had started what seemed like ages ago. She almost wearied of wandering and never getting to where they were headed. Bellyn turned to Nethwador.

"I wish we both spoke the language of the elves better," Bellyn said to Nethwador off-handedly as her thoughts shifted. "Then we could speak to each other, and we would understand each other. We...I...I could know where you come from, how you feel." Bellyn paused. It was not usually hard to tell how Nethwador felt about any certain subject - Bellyn added the example because she realized halfway through her words that she did not really need to be able to speak to Nethwador right then. His eyes spoke volumes.

Maybe Bellyn just felt better by talking and knowing that Nethwador would listen.

[Orual]

Ravion kept his hand on Mellonin's arm for perhaps a moment too long. His calloused fingers against her smooth skin, his fire-warmed hands against her cool arm...he did not want the contact to end. But finally the comfortable moment had become awkward, and he withdrew his hand.

"No one could stop him, Mellonin. He did what he had to do, what he could do." He almost said what any of us would have done, but that would have been a lie. He had not moved. He had not made any sacrifice, had not made any attempt to make a sacrifice like Raefindan's. "I have no doubt that he is well. Raefindan can fend for himself."

"But the swamp-elf--" Mellonin protested.

Ravion cut her off. "Raefindan knows what he is doing. We must not diminish his sacrifice by assuming that he did it blindly."

"But if he did...?" Mellonin asked quietly. Her dark eyes were somber and sad and clouded with worry. She broke eye contact with Ravion and looked at the ground.

His heart ached inside him, and he reached out to her. Again he touched her arm, but simply lay his hand on it, rather than taking hold of her. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable--at least to him. "This is a familiar promise," he said with a small, wry smile. "But if it is in my power, I will find Raefindan." He tilted his head slightly to the side. "It pains me to see you like this, Mellonin. I ache to see you so unhappy."

[mark12_30]

I ache to see you so unhappy.

What was the feeling that surged inside of him? The ranger had done nothing wrong, nothing. What cause did he have to be angry with this ranger, who cared for his sister and wanted her to be happy?

If you touch her again I will break your arm. Mellondu felt his lips tighten into a hard line. Mellondu's hand grazed the ranger's wrist, and his eyes flashed a warning.

The ranger twitched one eyebrow, and withdrew his hand.

"It's time for Mellonin to return-- to the city, and to our parents, " Mellondu said.

Ravion turned slowly to face the boy. "Perhaps you should learn more about this man before you forsake him," he said.

[Imladris]

Aeron sat in Marigold's dwelling, staring deep into the fire, wondering about his dream. What had Gwyllion meant by saying Go to them? He shook his head.

A tear slid from his eye and down his cheek. He wondered if he would dream of her again...and why had he dreamed of her? Still...it would be good to see her again, even if it was only a dream.

[littlemanpoet]

After breakfast, Marigold came over to the fire where Aeron sat, and settled her old bones down beside him. She said nothing for a long time. Aeron stared into the fire, and scooted an inch further away from Marigold.

"Have you made your choice yet, Aeron?"

What choice? Aeron could not remember.

"Will you stay or go? Have you made your choice?"

"No."

"Think on it a while then." She was silent a long while again before she asked him another question. "Would like to help ready your sister's body for burial?"

Aeron shook his head violently, but said nothing.

Marigold rose and set Erundil and Ravion the task of making a coffin. She had the aid of Argeleafa and Bella in preparing the body. They took Gwyllion into another room, and brought her back some time later, her old dirty shift exchanged for a gown the color of sun drenched wheat.

"Is there a sheet to wrap her in?" asked Leafa.

"She needs no more cover than that," Marigold replied. Leafa lovingly combed her black tresses and Bella cut her nails.

Aeron watched, fascinated, and wiped at his eyes more than once.

At last, the readying was done, and Gwyllion lay near the fire again, alone with Aeron. He stared at her face, her hair, her hands resting at her sides, the flatness of her gown where one lower leg was missing, and back to the face, seeming as if it only slept. When her eyes blinked open, Aeron sat mute, and staring. When she turned her head and saw him staring, she smiled.

"Silly boy," she said, "did you think I'd leave you?"

His mouth dropped open, his heart leaped, and his eyes watered. She sat up and looked around, then at the gown she wore.

"Where are we? Who gave me this gown? How are the others?"

"Gwyllion? You're alive?"

"Silly boy."

"Aeron!" The voice echoed. It sounded like Ravion. "Aeron! Wake up!"

Aeron opened his eyes. Gwyllion lay on the hearth bricks.

"Aeron," said Ravion, "it is time for the burial." Aeron moaned. Ravion knelt beside him. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Aeron gulped down the painful lump in his throat. "Is there anything that is not wrong?" His words came out angrily. "My sister is dead."

"I am sorry. The readying is almost complete. Marigold sent me in. She asked for you to go to her while Erundil and I lay her in the coffin."

Aeron got up and walked stiffly out of the cottage. Marigold was surrounded by the others. He stopped when he reached the edge of the gathering, but she motioned to him to come to her. Reluctantly, he trudged through the beaten snow and stood beside her.

Ravion and Erundil carried the coffin between them, slipping a little in the snow. Aeron was afraid they would drop the coffin, and his feet itched to run to their aid, his fingers itched to hold the coffin steady. But they did not drop it, and finally they laid it carefully beside the square, gaping wound in the earth that the Elves had dug.

"Have you made your choice yet? Or would you wait until after the burial?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Marigold asked the young man called Aeron questions while the rest stood by in the snow. Bellyn stood close next to Nethwador; she could see his face out of the corner of her eye even as she watched the snow fall. Her heart fell just as the flakes fluttered down from the sky, watching the burial that could have easily been hers if fate had been kinder to Gwyllion.

She could only see the pain in Aeron's eyes as he spoke to Marigold. Bellyn ached that she could not help, even though she did not know Aeron or Gwyllion. She hated seeing tears that she knew she could not turn to laughter. Bellyn wished she could say that she knew Aeron's pain. After all, Bellyn still remembered the death of her mother; the heartache still enveloped her family. Yet there remained something in Aeron's eyes that told Bellyn there was a different hurt at work in the snowy field that day.

"I regret that I still do not know our new companions well," Bellyn murmured to Nethwador softly. "Perhaps then it would mean more that we mourn Aeron's sister. Perhaps then it would mean something."

[Imladris]

Aeron frowned, torn between staying with Marigold and leaving. "I...don't know..." he said slowly, sorting his thoughts. "I fear that if I stay here, I will not...I will not do all that I can do...yet it is so peaceful here..."

Aeron's eyes drifted across the people gathered there, wondering who the women were...he knew he had heard their names but he could hardly be expected to remember. They had been captured, just like Gwyllion...and Raefindan had given himself up...to help save them and Gwyllion. That had been very noble of him, Aeron thought.

"I think that I will go with my companions to rescue Raefindan," said Aeron. "Besides," he said, "I am bound to Ravion if I call correctly...thief's honour," he added glancing mischievously at Ravion.

[littlemanpoet]

Marigold watched the boy. The light had come back into his eyes, if dim. He was more hale than he had seemed, then. Good.

"'Tis time to speak of the memory of the young maiden Gwyllion. I shall be last to speak."

The snow fell silently around and on them all. For a long time, no one spoke. Marigold watched as the snowflakes rested on the hair, faces and shoulders of the humans, melting slowly; on the Elves's faces it melted quickly, such was the fire of their hearts. On the maiden who lay before them, the lid not yet closed over her, the snow did not melt, but became a white crown upon her hair, a shine like tiny stars on her face.

Marigold saw a faint outline that was not seen by the others, of a young maiden with black hair, standing by the coffin, bending over it, peering at the form within. The maiden turned to her and she smiled. The falling snow before and behind the maiden hid the returned smile, but not the purpose in that faint face.

They will be letting you go. The boy is ready, Marigold said in her thought.

I must stay with them, watch over him. None other can guard him as can I.

They will do their best.

None shall see as true as I, and therefore none shall see as true as my brother. He will pierce all the illusions of evil.

So let it be.

The image faded as, at last, one of them spoke.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin felt the heavy silence, and at first no one spoke. Even the snow seemed to be listening as it slowly, ever so slowly fell, lingering on Gwyllion's hair and face.

Mellondu watched her, and she avoided his gaze. What should she say? She had thought the girl mad, at first; then silly; but Gwyllion had been brave and cheerful, and Mellonin had grown fond of her; quite fond.

She glanced over at Aeron, suprised that he had decided to search for Raefindan, but glad of it.

She dreaded to speak, remembering her angry words with Aeron in the past. She further dreaded admitting to Mellondu that she and Aeron had come to blows. Would no one break the silence?

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Everyone remained quiet. Not one of the company looked ready to speak. Bellyn knew it did not have to be her to speak first...

Yet the awkward silence bothered Bellyn.

So, she stepped forward before any other. Eyes followed her as she took one tiny step closer to the dead body. Bellyn did not meet any gaze. Instead she glanced downward at her own feet, her hands clasped together behind her back.

“I did not know Gwyllion,” Bellyn started with the obvious, her eyes flicking upward now and then to Marigold standing next to Aeron. “Things could have been different, though. It could have been me lying there – maybe it should have been. Or it could have been Leafa…” Bellyn risked a shy glance at her new Rohirric friend. “It could have been Mellonin.”

Bellyn shifted, hoping that the other mourning members of the party were not annoyed with her senseless rambling. Bellyn looked at Gwyllion, so innocently lying in the snow, her dark hair stark against the gentle white powder ice.

“She looks like mother,” Bellyn whispered, aloud but almost to herself as she sniffed and let her voice squeak. “And it’s not fair, Aeron,” Bellyn lifted her head and looked right at Aeron. “I know it is not fair. Know that I know that.”

[Orual]

Erundil

"I knew Gwyllion, though not well," Erundil said quietly. He felt everyone's eyes on him, though he kept his downcast. "I was given the task of making her coffin, and the honor of carrying it.

"Her innocence surprised me...and her childlike wisdom touched me. Her eyes saw that which ours could not. She lacked a veil that we all wear, a...a barrier between our minds and the truth. She saw everything so simply, so honestly. I know that with her passing, we have lost that sight..."

Erundil felt a catch in his throat, which shocked him. Ravion's strong hand gripped his shoulder, and the older Ranger looked to his former protége for succor. "I have no more to say but farewell, Gwyllion. Sleep peacefully." Erundil walked away from the grave.


Ravion

After relieving Erundil, Ravion knelt by the open grave. He brushed an errant lock of hair from Gwyllion's pale face, and took a deep breath.

"I knew Gwyllion," he said, and was not ashamed that his voice broke. "I knew her. She was sweet and innocent, childlike and good, but also more. I learned much from Gwyllion. Erundil spoke of the unimpaired sight that she had: that is right. She saw things that we did not.

"And she was not just a child. In a very real way, she was more of an adult than any of us. Often it was that I treated her as no more than a child, but it was my mistake. I could have listened to her more. I would have learned.

"But it is not her insight that I will miss. Not only." Ravion stood up. "She was a friend and a companion. I have never known another like her, and do not think I ever will again. I will miss her as a whole: as the young woman I will carry in my memory." He took a small handful of snow and sprinkled it gently by Gwyllion's body. "Agannâlô burôda nênud. The shadow of death is heavy on us. Êphal êphalak îdôn hi-Akallabêth. Far away now is She-that-hath-fallen. Sleep peacefully, Gwyllion. You will be missed."

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard did not step forward, but cleared his throat; the others' eyes turned to him. His mind went blank, except for the panicked question, What do I say?. He said the first thing that came to him.

"I did not know her. I wish I did. I have a sister at home who is not of my parents' blood, but has taken the place of one lost to us at birth. As for me, she is as much one of us as my parents and me. If -" his throat caught "- if she were ever lost to us, it would be a grief beyond bearing." He glanced at the bereaved boy. "Aeron, I wish that you had been spared this loss, but it was - was -"

Ædegard had been about to fall back upon the rutted words of his forefathers about the vicessitudes of fate, but they sounded offensive to his inner ear. A new thought came to him.

"It was not fate that brought about this death," he said, he voice strengthening. "No, it was brought about by the evil deed of a blackheart." Ædegard took one step forward and lifted his stubbed left arm. "By the blood spilt in the loss of my hand, I swear that I shall seek payment in kind for the loss of Gwyllion, your sister. It is my oath that the swamp elf shall die for his deed, by my remaining hand if need be."

He did not look at any but the boy, whose eyes had kindled. He stepped back to his place again.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung saw that Leafa grew apprehensive at her betrothed's words, so he hastened to speak.

"I did not know Gywllion, nay, no more than I can know her now, gazing up her sweet, innocent face. Yet I cannot help but love her as I see she was so loved, and I cannot help but love those who loved her so well. Mortal speech fails in such a moment and grows awkward... I have said nothing, and I can say no more now."

But he did not fall completely silent, for he raised his fiddle and began to play a sweet, slow, sad tune, and he sang the words of a song that was unknown to those about him, and hardly known to himself.

By a river, flowing, sweeping
stood a party, sadly weeping.
A gentle one was laid to rest
and grieved by those who loved her best.
Yet not all was dimmed by tears
and felt the passing of the years;
despite all that might be gone
still the river shimmers on.

And the river flows on
down through the valley
and the river sparkles clear.
And the river flows on
down through the valley
and our sweet girls lies here.

Who would think 'twas not the end
as lost life will not soon mend?
Yet a whisper ever on
said the maid was not yet gone.
Be the memory but a part
each still holds her in his heart
and be years short or be years long,
like the river she shimmers on.

And the river flows on
down through the valley
and the river sparkles clear.
And the river flows on
down through the valley
and our sweet girl lies here.

And, so singing, he stepped forward and kissed the brow of the ever sleeping girl.

[mark12_30]

Mellondu watched Ædegard and Liornung, and cast numerous glances at his sister. She showed little sign of speaking; he wondered why.

He stepped forward and looked at the dead girl, glistening with snow-crystals, and spoke softly.

"I still have a sister, alive and well. But it might have been otherwise; I might have been bereft, and not your brother."

He studied her, the white ice-princess, trying to paint her picture in his mind so that it would stay. He studied her face, her hair, her hands, her figure. He studied the snow on her eyelids. For a moment he saw her as if beneath a frozen sheet of ice; but he shook himself, and the vision passed, and she lay glistening in the cold open air.

He wondered what could be done for the boy. And then he wondered why the girl had come in the first place. She had not known Mellondu; neither had the boy. What had made them come with his sister to look for him?

He would ask his sister at another time.

*****

Mellonin stepped forward, and walked to the dead girl's side, and knelt down. Mellondu waited nearby, and heard his sister whisper softly.

"I am sorry, " said Mellonin, "sorry that you fell, sorry that you were caught up in this. I am sorry that they took... that they hurt you so. And I am sorry that I hurt you. And your brother. Little Gwyll, you were always kind. Perhaps in that kindness-- can you forgive me? I do not think your brother can. But perhaps you can forgive me on his behalf. I should not have spoken to him in my anger. I-- I know my temper... that is-- I am sorry I hurt Aeron. Can you forgive me?"

She waited, watching the dead girl. Mellondu thought that she was waiting for an answer.

"Can you forgive me, Gwyllion?"

Mellondu stepped forward, and put a hand on his sister's shoulder.

"Gwyllion, please."

Mellondu put his arms around his sister's shoulders, and raised her up, and he led her back to where she had stood before. He noticed Ravion's eyes following them.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard looked around the circle of mourners. The Gondorian girl, Bellyn, had spoken, then Erundil and Ravion, then he had sworn his oath, Liornung had sung his beautiful lament, then Mellondu and Mellonin had spoken, the latter in words Ædegard had not been able to make out. That left Leafa, Nethwador, the two Elves Erebemlin and Taitheneb, and Marigold ... and Aeron. Surely the boy had some words about his sister?

Ædegard took Leafa's hand in his and squeezed it. She glanced up at him and he saw the doubt and pain in her face. He nodded once by way of encouraging her to speak, and she frowned, her lips twisting.

Ædegard sighed. He would not push her needlessly. He looked to Aeron. The boy looked as if he had no intention of saying a thing. He just stared at his sister's body, on which the snow was beginning to gather. If someone did not speak soon, Marigold had better, before the body was buried by snow instead of in the earth!

"I - I-" Ædegard turned. Leafa was struggling to speak! "I did not know Gwyllion. I wish I had. I - I will miss her." Leafa folded into Ædegard's chest, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped her in his handless arm, wishing he could stroke her hair . . . remembering that he his missing hand would pass over the place where she missed an ear. He could feel her sobbing quietly against him. The Elf would pay.

One of the Elves stepped forward and spoke. "'Twas a strange task the Lady Marigold put us to, digging this grave-" Hard, unfeeling words, thought Ædegard. Leafa's sobbing ceased. She turned her head and watched the speaker. It was the taller, more lordly of the two Elves, Erebemlin. "-but the one we most needed to do. May she sleep well until the world is changed." Erebemlin stepped back again.

Ædegard shook his head, bemused. Taitheneb took his elder's place. "We have been shielded in Lorien for many lifetimes of Men. Shielded from death. It was good for my lord and me to dig this grave, to feel the nature of this one's death as well as we are able. For this I thank the Lady Marigold." Taitheneb turned his gaze toward Ædegard. "The man of Rohan has sworn a dire oath. I wish that he had not. Dark are the roads leading from sworn oath to future deeds. Darker still are the deeds that must be done to seal the oath. Darkest of all may be the consequences of oath accomplished. I pray that it is not so for you. But I fear. I fear." Taitheneb looked away, returning to his place.

Ædegard felt as if he had been released from some spell, or at least from the powerful eyes of the Elf. Elves! They should stay in their woods! Ædegard shook his head, then looked to Aeron. Was the boy going to speak, or not?

The snowflakes continued to cover the body of the girl.

[Imladris]

Aeron shifted uncomfortably at the words of the elf. They had been said with quiet regret -- as if the elf knew that something very ill had happened when one had sworn such an oath...

He looked at Gwyllion, his unease at the words of the elf momentarily forgotten. The snow was making a white coverlet for her...stepping forward he said, "I thank you all for your kind words..." he stopped, wondering what to say. It would be bad form to tell them how much he still hurt inside, how much he missed her. How he wished that she was immortal like the elves...then remembering that even an elf would have died in her situation. He sighed and concluded, "I think that Mellonin blames herself too much."

[littlemanpoet]

"It is a true heart that thinks of another at such a time," Marigold said warmly. Aeron looked up at her in surprise, then returned his gaze to the body of his sister. He stood over her for long moments before he returned to his place. None later asked him of his thoughts as he stood there; it was a sacred moment not to be tarnished by speaking of it.

At last, Marigold spoke.

"Gwyllion lived true and loved well. Neither her life nor her death have been vain, for she has touched each one of us here, and will yet do so."

Marigold moved slowly toward the body and knelt slowly, her white hair coming loose from her hood and swaying over the face of the girl.

"Rest well, my young one."

She took a small knife from a fold in her cloak and cut free a lock of Gwyllion's hair. Marigold rose and came to Aeron. She took a broad leaf, still green, from within her cloak, and placed the lock of hair in it, and folded it. She held the leaf out to Aeron.

"Take this and keep it with you as a remembrance and link to your sister Gwyllion."

Aeron took it from her hands and held it in both his hands.

Marigold nodded to Ravion, Erundil, Erebemlin, and Taitheneb. They approached the body and placed the lid over the coffin, then carefully lowered it into the grave. Then Marigold directed each one there to toss soil onto it as a gesture of farewell. She called them back inside, except for the two Elves, whose task it was to fill in the grave.

As he returned with the others, it occurred to Aeron that there was no marker for the grave, and he wondered why.

[alaklondewen]

Each of the elves took a turn slowly shoveling the soft earth over the snow dusted coffin. It had been many years since they had seen this sort of personal death. There had tended the corpses of orcs, which oddly enough had been on the day this strange adventure had started, but this was a single young mortal who it seemed touched those who knew her. It was interesting, Taitheneb reflected, how her death even touched those who did not know her.

Yes, I suppose... Erebemlin chose his words carefully. All death would touch those who must face it after such short lives.

Taitheneb nodded and placed another heap of dirt atop the grave. Do you pity them?

Erebemlin was taken aback by the question, and he leaned on his shovel, raising his eyes to meet those of his inquisitive companion. I pity their lack... of appreciation...for the beauty of the earth around them, but... Again he paused in contemplation. No, I would think that with their short lives they would treasure it all the more.

Maybe, was Taitheneb’s only reply. Maybe.

The elves continued their duty as their breath steamed the air before them and the snow fell lightly.

[littlemanpoet]

Once the Elves had finished the burial, Marigold served the party a luncheon of rabbit stew thick with potatos and beans. Then they prepared their horses and packed their belongings, ready to cover some miles before sunset, though it had not been seen all the day..

Finally they were all mounted on their horses. The snow had ceased. Marigold came out last from her cottage; she was again of fair form. Erebemlin watched her for long moments, and finally pulled his gaze away.

"Farewell, friends! Fear no evil.
May oath end in blessed deed.
May loyal friends find love once lost.
May grief foreswear numbing despair
and cleave to wisdom borne of sorrow.
May you become one in wit and will.
Farewell, friends! May the road return you!"

She waved and as she did so, the clouds broke and the sun shone brightly on the snow, a glittering sheet of crystal. Erebemlin shouted the command and the horses were soon in a canter moving south.

[mark12_30]

On his right, Echo cantered steadily. The horse lacked the resolve Nethwador was used to seeing in him; his ears flicked, his eyes wandered. But he followed Erebemlin's mount, with an occasional glance at Nethwador's lanky chestnut. Mellonin now rode with Mellondu, and Echo proved worthy for the task this afternoon at least. It remained to be seen whether a longer journey would tire him. Mellonin clung to her brother's back, sometimes burying her face in his cloak. Her riding skills were minimal. She was surprised by Mellondu's easy seat. However she might slip or slide, Mellondu firmly anchored her to Echo's back.

Mellondu knew, however, that while he sat well enough, he had little idea how to guide the horse. Amroth had always done so. And by now, Echo was little used to rein or heel. He would ask Ædegard, he decided; the fellow was kind enough.

To Nethwador's left, Bella rode easily. He smiled at her often. Sometimes she smiled back; once she winked at him. His heart bounded, and he winked back. She blushed.

If ony they could have remained with Marigold; to have a mother and a wife, both... he sighed. And then he shook himself. Wife? Bella was not his wife yet. What would he need to do, to gain her as his wife? With the Wayfarers, there had been rules; the Rohirrim had different rules, and the Gondorians had other rules still. Which rules would she expect him to abide by?

And even if he metthe demands, would she accept him then? What of her own heart? Time enough to think of that later. He missed Amroth's presence. But Taitheneb was kind, and had helped him in the past. Perhaps he would help Nethwador again.

For now he enjoyed the snowy ride, away from the Merlocks, the swamp, and dear Marigold. He looked ahead to the rolling hills of Gondor, now sparkling white, and wondered what the next day would bring.

[littlemanpoet]

Maegeleb stood over the sleeping Roy Edwards, the one his enemies called Raefindan - red headed man. He watched the young man's dreams. Maegeleb had sent Roy's mind to the vale of Nimrodel and Maegeleb again, pleased with the growing sympathy of Nimrodel's maidservant, and thus of the Elf Lady herself. Well and good.

He searched the young man's mind again, looking for the stuff of the future. He had found that the best way to do this was to allow him to dream as his mind wandered in sleep, and in that way Maegeleb happened upon things that he would not have looked for. Such as this strange tube, long as an Elven arrow. It spit out a piece of stone with an accompanying sound like a clap of thunder. He searched Roy Edwards' mind for more about this, and learned of black powder, and triggers, and rifling, and little holes for the stones in a shiny plate, which slid into place when the tube was cocked, and with careful aim, the stone shot from the tube faster than an arrow, and as true to target as any Elven shot. He had found it. He would have to find the things he needed to make one. The design was simple.

Raefindan awoke and was upset. The swamp elf was standing nearby, looking north. The ground was covered with a couple inches of snow. He remembered his dream, and was more certain than ever that he had to find a way back to the future. Maegeleb was turning him into a dangerous library of facts that could be used to harm his friends, and not only them. All Maegeleb had to do was put together the assembly line he had seen earlier with the rifle..... Raefindan shut his eyes and grimaced, and tried to force himself not to think of it. Anything else! Mithrellas. Dark hair, raven blackm and her face as beautiful as ... well. ... an Elf!

"What is this assembly line?" Maegeleb asked. "And what might it have to do with .... what did you call it? Rifle?"

"Never mind." Raefindan was hungry, and his muscles were tight. Cloak or no cloak, his limbs ached with cold.

"Ah, I see. I could build many rifles on this assembly line, create an army." Maegeleb grinned.

Raefindan sighed.

[alaklondewen]

South. Erebemlin could sense the young man’s thought in the South. The red-haired man was at least still alive, and the elf wondered what dark contrivance Tharonwe had for the young man. Something concerned him even more than this however, and that was the bizarre images he came across when he touched on the edge of the man’s thoughts. They were only fleeting, but they piqued his curiosity nonetheless. Erebemlin was unsure how to put them into words as he had not seen such people or things before. Did the man just have a superb imagination?

Aeron flinched, jerking Erebemlin’s attention back to the situation at hand. Apparently, the boy had nodded off and woke with a start.

The monotonous rhythm of the ride allowed the Elf to let his mind wonder once more, but this time it went not to the South and the red-haired man...but North, to a River’s daughter in a cozy cottage. A fire was burning bright within the fireplace, and a warm glow lit the room. A light melody could be heard dancing in the air. The rustling of leaves now drew his attention, and he saw her standing at the door. The winter air was surely cold as it blew around and tossed her hair, yet she wore no cloak and did not trimble. Erebemlin could feel his heart begin to pound, and started to look away, but he heard her voice, so musical and strong, with in his mind. Should your path again cross mine, I would be glad. The cold air that surrounded the party suddenly did not feel so cold to the tall Elf, and he smiled to himself.

[littlemanpoet]

"Tell me," said Maigeleb as they trudged through the snow ever southwards, "what is this thing called hypnotism?" The Elf walked ahead of him, as usual.

Raefindan had been aware that the swamp Elf had been sifting through his mind most of the time he had been with him, and it had been so this day as well. There was no use fighting it. He had tried and only became weary and easier prey to deeper probing. Better to be used like an encyclopedia than a psych patient. Raefindan had found that he could view that which the Elf sifted, and in this way had become reacquainted with much that he had forgotten. He knew now who he was, where he came from, and the last thing he remembered from before having arrived before the gates of Minas Tirith ... however that had happened!

"You don't need to ask, you can look in my head and see for yourself."

"Such ire! It does not become you, Roy Edwards."

"I suppose that you would be more friendly to someone who invaded your brain?"

"Invaded, hmm." Roy watched images of invasion file through his mind. "Ah. I see. Please do not think of yourself as my prisoner, Roy Edwards, but as my .... how was it? .... aide. Yes, that was the strange word. My assistant. That was it."

"I'm your captive and you use me as you will."

"You are so .... hmm ... irascible! Such an apt expression. It has the meaning right in the sound of it, does it not?" Roy did not respond. "But about hypnotism. It is not unlike osanwe, except that the one holds the other's will in hand. But surely there must be a better way to bring it into being than having the .... patient, I think you call him, be a willing party. There must be something in osanwe that would make this work."

"So you'v'e given up on the rifle production?"

"I gave thought to it, but I would not murder the land, as your kind have done, and this hypnotism seems so much more ... you have a word for it that seems so appropriate .... elegant. Yes, that is the word. Amost Elvish, it sounds in your barbaric tongue."

Roy shook his head, wondering if there was some way he could get away from this Elf, and if there was some way he could spare Middle Earth of his presence and get back home.

"No, I will not allow it," Maegeleb said. "You are too valuable to me."

There might be another way, Roy thought.

"The moment I am aware that you intend to end your life, I will stop you. So think no more of escape."

Roy sighed and wondered how the others fared.

[Orual]

"Can you feel it?" Ravion asked quietly to Erundil, riding behind him.

"Feel...what?" Erundil replied, as though startled from deep thoughts. Ravion glanced behind at the older Ranger, who looked troubled.

"Gwyllion's absence. I know you did not know her well, but can you feel that something is missing?"

"Of course," Erundil said, quickly and surely. He looked at Ravion. "Yes, I feel it. But not as acutely as he." Erundil pointed out.

Ravion followed Erundil's finger to the mount that Erebemlin and Aeron shared. "Oh," he said softly. "Yes."

"Try to help him in the days to come," Erundil said. "You have felt this pain before. For him, it is a new and strange wound, and it hurts all the more for its unfamiliarity."

"I think that Marigold may have helped him," Ravion suggested.

"Yes, but he is still hurting," Erundil said. "You've experienced death. Help him through this."

"You've experienced it, too," Ravion said. He wished that Erundil would drop the subject. He had no help to give Aeron. All of his pain was still inside of him. Aeron would not do well to learn from Ravion.

Erundil said nothing more.

Ravion rode in silence, contemplating Erundil's words. But what had Ravion to teach the poor, grieving boy? To ignore the pain? To try to pretend it never happened? That he had never had a sister in the first place? It would be no favour to the boy to let him swallow the pain and keep it in until he became bitter and hard and icy like Ravion. Until he dreaded sleep because it was the only time when his pain came back to the surface, to haunt his dreams. Until it took so much effort to reach out to Mellonin that he could hardly tell whether or not the tightening in his chest was going to kill him before she answered him...

He looked again at Aeron, and shook his head. Ravion was no expert in the care of grief. He could only pray that the boy would learn to let go.

[mark12_30]

Whiteness, shining, bright, clean, pure. Like her love. She miled, and reached down to trace in the snow with her finger. White crystals gathered on her finger, and she brought it to her mouth with a smile.

She spat. Ash! Bitterness filled her mouth. She stood, indignant, and once again looked round. All around her lay grey ash as far as the eye could see.

Alas for the joy I have lost. Alas for the bitter life I live. Alas for my love. Once, my love, you were kind; long ago. But my life has become bitter. Bitter. My hope lies in ruin; ruin and ash.

She bent down, and wrote in the ash with her finger.

[mark12_30]

Amroth by himself had hardly been a burden; but Amroth had fed Echo with his own fire, and with the departure of his master's friendly thoughts, the fire left him too. As Echo wearied, he lagged; and finally he stumbled, not out of weariness, but carelessness. Ahead of him, the elves with Aeron, and Ravion and Erundil pulled well ahead. Behind him, the riders of Rohan sent Mellondu puzzled glances.

"Send him forward, " called Ædegard. "He has leagues in him yet. Send him on."

Mellondu turned a pleading glance toward the proud rider. "And just how, " he replied, "do I do that?"

Ædegard burst out laughing. Liornung and Bella and Argeleafa looked over, some surprised, Liornung worried; but Mellondu dropped the reins and spread his arms wide, with a good-natured, helpless laugh of his own. "Please, someone have pity on me, and tell me how to make this beast obey?"

Far ahead, the elves and rangers turned in surprise as a loud burst of rohirric laughter glittered over the frozen plains. Moments later, the riders of Rohan had rallied around Echo. Bella took one of Echo's reins; Liornung and Argeleafa rode to Echo's near and off side; and coming up on Echo's flank, Ædegard gave a stern warning, and then the flat of his hand landed, smack, on Echo's rump.

They caught up shortly thereafter. The rohirrim did not stray from Mellondu's side til they made camp; nor did Mellndu care for Echo alone, not that night, nor many nights thereafter.

[littlemanpoet]

"You see, Raefindan," said Maegeleb, who still walked ahead of him, "it is not so with Elves as with Men. We do not need the - what is your word? Ah, yes - mechanisms that you need. Once we know how something is done, we can achieve it by the power of our will, especially that which has to do with thought."

"Aren't we special."

"Roy Edwards, I am disappointed. Where is your nobility? Where your sunny disposition, as you call it?"

"I am your slave. They are the only things that could escape to freedom."

"You are not yet my utter slave. But that shall be rectified. Now." Maegeleb turned and faced him. Roy felt his mind invaded. Then nothing.

"You are asleep. Open your eyes. Good. Tell me your name."

"Roy Edwards."

"Where are you from?"

"Erie, Pennsylvania."

"What year is it?"

"Two thousand four."

"Do you know where you are?"

"No. Yes."

"Tell me where you are."

"I am in Anorien of Gondor."

"How did you get here?"

"I don't know."

"Walk in a circle around me." Maegeleb watched as the redheaded man did as he was told. This is good. Very good. Men will be easily turned. Elves, not so. But so many Men against two or three Elves? Maegeleb smiled. And Nimrodel herself? She and her serving maid can be made to believe whatever I wish. His smile widened and his eyes burned with a feral brightness.

[mark12_30]

As they made camp, Ædegard explained much regarding horses and their habits to Mellondu. Ravion cared for Gond, chatting with Erundil, and occasionally speaking with Aeron. Meanwhile Mellonin was left alone with her thoughts, which did not make her happy.

The pair that caught her attention was the Wayfarer lad and the Gondorian lass. Why the Gondorian lass walked with the Rohirrim she did not know, and what interest she found in the young wayfarer puzzled her. She watched them for a while. As they cared for their horses, Bella saw Mellonin staring. Bella smiled, and Mellonin smiled in return.

They joined her when their horses were settled. Mellonin studied the Wayfarer lad, puzzled by his easterling features and his elvish dress. Bella spoke. "You have met Nethwador."

Mellonin nodded. "Hello."

"Mae... Gonvannen?" he replied.

"Sindarin. Very nice. I did not know the Wayfarers spoke our tongue."

"Nay, but the elves have taught him a little, " Bella answered. "Nethwador was taught by the plains and the wild, else."

"I thought the Wayfarers were a tribe, " Mellonin frowned.

"Amroth said he found Nethwador quite alone, but for his horse, " Bella answered.

Mellonin studied Bella next. "I have heard others mention Amroth, but Mellondu will not speak of him, " Mellonin said.

"Oh, if only Mellondu would welcome Amroth back. I do not know what will become of him now, " Bella said.

"Where did he go?" Mellonin asked, puzzled. "Did my brother send him away?"

"Mellon Amroth!" said Nethwador.

"Your pardon?" Mellonin wondered.

"Yes, I am afraid that he did, " Bella replied. "I think your brother was quite angry with Amroth, for your sake. I am not sure that I understand why."

"Wasn't all that talk about the mad blacksmith related to Amroth? But my brother is not mad, as you see; he was merely lost. What did it all mean?"

"Perhaps, " said Bella, "you should sit down."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Mellonin brushed snow from a log and took her seat there. Bellyn sat next to the young lady, and Nethwador stood by, watching.

“You asked what it all meant,” Bellyn reminded Mellonin. When she nodded, Bellyn sighed and glanced over her shoulder at Mellondu-Amroth. “Maybe I am not the best person to ask, because it still confuses me some as well.”

Mellonin said naught, but followed Bellyn’s gaze to where her brother spoke with Ædegard. Bellyn recognized the look in Mellonin’s eyes. She knew of the worry and doubt. Bellyn hated how often she had felt helpless since leaving home – she felt a lonely onlooker who could no sooner help her friends than help herself.

“I could tell you all I know, though,” Bellyn said, hoping to relieve Mellonin from some of the invisible weight on her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Mellonin murmured softly, turning back to look blankly at Nethwador as she waited for Bellyn to speak once more.

“When I left home, it was with Liornung, and indeed to search for some mad blacksmith,” Bellyn started, sifting through her memories to decide which would be most important to Mellonin. Still unsure, Bellyn ran a finger through the layer of powdery snow on the ground. “On the way we met Ædegard, and we quickly found the mad blacksmith. The one you call Mellondu – the one who is your brother. He called himself Amroth when we first met him.” Bellyn paused, trying to figure where she should continue.

“I do not understand,” Mellonin cut in.

“Amroth…Mellondu…they are the same, I think,” Bellyn tried to keep her voice calm for Mellonin’s widening eyes. “One and the same, and yet not so. Amroth seeks his betrothed; Amroth seeks Nimrodel. Mellondu…I know not why he has returned.”

“Returned?” Mellonin questioned.

“I think Mellondu searched for you,” Bellyn answered. “Then his quest became Amroth’s. He came back when we were taken – taken by those things, those merlocks. I know not why he pushed away the mind of Amroth.”

“What are you trying to say?” Mellonin asked again.

“Mellon Amroth!” Nethwador repeated.

“Your brother was never crazy or mad,” Bellyn murmured. “But he was lost. He was lost to Amroth – lost to the strength of Amroth. I know not when Amroth will return. Now that your brother is found, it is Amroth who is lost, I think.”

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung was smiling as he absently listened to Bella's tale. He knew it already, but he enjoyed to here her sweet young voice relating what had happened, and how. Her tones were mostly indifferent, as if she had not experienced all that she was telling, but when she spoke of the merlocks there was the slightest little catch in her voice, and he saw that that memory was still near to her.

Yes, he listened to her, but not keenly. His attentions were fixed mostly upon Nethwador. He was watching the young wayfarer boy, and trying to pretend he wasn't. What devotion the silent boy had for that slim young girl perched upon the log. He looked at her adoringly, longingly. Would he be made happy? Would he gain the desire of his heart that only Bella could give him... Bella herself?

"You tell the tale well, sweet Bella," said Liornung, when she had finished. "It is always a welcome thing when I can sit and listen, rather than speak myself. It's a rare day when it comes."

"I fear I haven't explained clearly enough," said Bella.

"You explained it better than I could," said Liornung, "and the thing itself is so wondrous that even a master of tales could not make it wholly clear." He smiled, first at Bellyn, and then at Mellonin. "It does my old eyes good to see you two fair maids sitting together. You, Bella, have been caught up between the Rohirric and the wayfarers, and it has been a long while since you have seen one of your own kind."

"I did not mind it," said Bella. "What did it matter to me if you were Rohirric? You have been as good and loyal to me as any of my own kind."

"Maybe so," said Liornung, colouring under her kind words, "but you cannot say it is not sweet for you to meet another from Gondor. And I, Miss Mellonin, am pleased to meet another. I have learned from sweet Bella more than I have from others in all my travellings, that Gondorians are fair and kind. I have no doubt of finding you so also, and, ah! but it is a fine thing to see our company growing greater... I hope we shall also grow greater in friendship."

He spoke slightly absently, for he was again thinking of Nethwador, and this time with a face lacking in some worry. Bellyn did not seem to mind that the members of the company Rohirric, Gondorian, wayfarer, or Elf... perhaps there was some larger hope for Nethwador than it had previously seemed.

[mark12_30]

Liornung's gaze rested often on the easterling in elvish garb, and Mellonin watched with interest. But she was the more confused, as he kept insisting "Mellon Amroth."

"What do you mean by that? Do you mean that my brother is Amroth, or that Amroth is Mellon?" she asked.

"Nethwador mellon Amroth."

Mellonin only looked more confused, and Bella spoke. "His Sindarin is lacking, but his friendship with Amroth was not. He speaks of his own heart."

"You knew him?" asked Mellonin.

"We all did. But please, " said Bella, "let us not continue to speak of him as if he were dead!"

[littlemanpoet]

The sun had set hours ago. The fire crackled and flamed brightly. The stars watched them from high above, giving little guidance.

Ædegard sat beside Leafa, and she beside Liornung. Between betrothed and father she sits. He knew that Liornung was not her real father, of course, but it seemed that she always looked to Liornung for safety and protection. What did she look for from him? Hope of a future? Such a thing was not to be. He knew all over again that he could not keep her, could not provide for her. His oath had stripped away all misty dreams and brought home the stark reality. Handless, he was worth nothing, except to take vengeance for them all on the swamp elf. He reached for Leafa's left hand with his good one. Her hand was cold. He would have chafed some warmth back into it, but how could he?

"Leafa, I ...." Now that it was there to say, he found that he could not bring himself to it. Be a man! "Without two hands I cannot be a wheelwright. 'Tis what I learned to do. Once this quest is over, I will have to go beggaring until I can learn a new trade."

She watched him with wide open eyes, uncertainty growing on her face. She said nothing.

"I would not trammel you with a cripple, dear Leafa. I should not take you to wife."

Hurt came to her face straightway; then suspicion. "Is this because of your oath?"

He shook his head. "No. I have thought this way ever since I lost my hand, though I began to hope vainly while we were in the house of Marigold. I swore my oath because it seemed needful and right. Since then I have seen my situation more clearly, and have come back around to my first, true thought. I can never be the husband you need."

She frowned and became cross. "Because you miss a hand?"

At that moment, Taitheneb and Erebemlin rose as one, looking off to the south. "Who goes there?" they cried together.

From the distance Ædegard heard a voice cry, "It is I, Maegeleb! I bring Raefindan with me! I come in peace, to give myself into your hands."

The Elves stared at each other for a brief moment, then each took bow in hand and nocked an arrow.

"I see you!" Erebemlin yelled. "Stop there and let the red haired man come to us. You will come when I say you may."

Ædegard's heart thudded and his hand went to the sword hilt at his side. The time for vengeance was upon him.

[Nurumaiel]

Argeleafa heard the cry of the Elf, and she saw Ædegard's hand move to the hilt of his sword. Her heart leapt in fear, and she made a gesture as if to catch his arm... and then she stopped. He would disregard her pleas to discard his foolish oath for revenge, and merely cause distraction. And... he would not marry her. Tears rose to her eyes, and her heart ached and pounded with the volley of emotions that assailed her. He would not marry her. But why did it matter? He would die soon, seeking for his revenge. Yet she would have rathered he die as her betrothed. She could remember that they had promised to one day be wed. Now she would only recall that, a few fleeting moments before his death, he had told her he would not marry her.

He would not marry her.

How could it be? She repeated it again, and again, and yet again, but she could not understand it. Her eyes fixed upon his face. So strong, so handsome... and, at one time, so full of love for her. Did he love her still? But what did it matter? He would not marry her. She recalled the first wild thrill of her heart when she knew she loved him, and the deeper thrill when he knelt before her and asked her to one day wed him. Since then she had dreamed of such happiness, of a future spent with him, until she died, died happy as his wife.

She stood and withdrew from the circle about the fire, barely conscious that the men had grown tense and prepared for battle. Ædegard did not notice that she was no longer at his side. And if he had, no doubt he thought it was because she was retreating to a safe place with the other women. Retreat? It was her only thought. She must retreat from this nightmare, wherein Ædegard sat, ready to fulfill his oath. Not Ædegard her betrothed, but simply Ædegard.

She turned and slipped into the shadows. She did not care where she went, as long as she could run away, flee from this night that was torturing her, and ease the dull pain in her heart for just a little while.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Panic rose in Bellyn’s heart, and her heart likewise jumped to her throat as much of the company stood simultaneously to answer the new threat. She almost felt as if she had missed something; she wondered why Ædegard reached for his sword, why the angry fire returned to Nethwador’s eyes. Argeleafa fled, and Bellyn thought once to follow her, but did not want to seem again the helpless, cowardly nuisance she really was.

Her mind worked swiftly as she caught the array of words between the two Elven factions. Why does the Elf come forward now? Why? Bellyn felt a fiery anger aroused, much like the distrust and chaos she had seen in Nethwador when they had first met. Perhaps Ædegard was right to give oath against the Elf called Maegeleb. Still the situation worried Bellyn – she wondered for the reasons of Maegeleb to release the red-haired man freely.

“This is not right, Liornung,” Bellyn murmured softly. “The one who killed Gwyllion would not do this freely without a devious plan in mind. The Elf that maimed Mellonin and Leafa -”

“Bella, where is Leafa?” Liornung asked. She saw the blade at his belt and did not like the thought of Liornung using it. Still Bellyn shrugged – she had seen her friend flee, but had thought little of it.

“I do not know!” Bellyn replied, upset that she might have ignored Argeleafa at the wrong time. Mellonin had not left as Argeleafa had done. She remembered all too clearly what had happened when the women were left to wait for the men – the image of the merlocks still clung close to Bellyn’s memory. Now Bellyn worried for Argeleafa, in the dark by her lonesome, or even worse, in the company of the devious Maegeleb once again. Even if Argeleafa had not meant to wander far, she would not be safe alone.

For a moment it struck Bellyn how important her comrades had become in the recent weeks. She would do anything for Nethwador, Liornung, Amroth-Mellondu and Argeleafa – even Ædegard, who had so often seemed more aloof than anything else. Bellyn realized that she would also do almost anything for the Elves, Taitheneb and Erebemlin. Even the new companions touched her heart.

She saw the boy - Aeron - run off into the night. Why does he go? Bellyn wondered. Does he fear the Elf? Surely he does not. If I search for Leafa, I may get lost…Bellyn thought, seeing nothing but black outside the sphere of light created by the fire. If I stay here, I am only a burden in battle. I cannot leave Leafa out there alone. Or Aeron, wherever he went.

Without further thought, Bellyn turned and left the sphere of firelight in the direction that Argeleafa had taken as exit. She fumbled aimlessly while her eyes adjusted to the dark.

"Leafa? Leafa!"

This is definitely not good...

[littlemanpoet]

Roy walked toward the fire and the group that had been sitting around it. The two tall Elves had risen first, arrows nocked and ready. One of the young women rose from her seat and disappeared into the darkness beyond the camp; another followed quickly after.

"I'm all right!" he said. "I haven't been harmed."

By now all the others had risen. He watched their faces to see their reactions. Wide eyes met him in one face after another. Some questioned, some rejoiced. One was fierce ... Ædegard.

"Allow me," said Erebemlin, who had Roy stand in place, and looked deeply into his eyes, at his face. Finally the Elf shrugged. "He is well," he announced to the others.

"May I then come among you?" Maegeleb queried from behind him.

Erebemlin again raised his bow and arrow. "Come slowly and with your hands held out to either side. Make any move and you will have an arrow through each eye, I promise you."

"Such vehemence does not become you, my friend," said the swamp elf, who nevertheless obeyed.

"Call us not thy friend, fiend," Erebemlin answered. "You have done us nothing but ill until now, and I wager that will not change even though you are under our eyes at all times."

"Thus am I rewarded for returning your own safely to you," said the swamp elf in wounded tones. He stood one stride in front of the Elves. Erebmlin instructed Erundil to bind the swamp elf's hands behind his back, though not over-tightly.

Roy took no more thought for his former captor, but searched out those whom he knew. Ravion offered him a welcoming smile. Mellondu looked at him mildly. Mellonin folded her arms tight across her middle, the whites of her eyes reflecting some bedevilment of her thought. For all that, her face was whole! The boy Nethwador knew him little, and showed little regard for his return, which was no other than he would expect from a stranger. Aeron looked at him gravely, which was not like him; but then he had lost Gwyllion.

"I am sorry for your loss, Aeron." The lad nodded once; no more.

Roy looked to Ædegard and saw again the fierceness in his eyes. The Rohirric man's lips moved, but Roy found it hard to believe the words that came next.

"Untie him and hand him a sword. 'Tis time for me to fulfill my oath."

"What oath?" Roy asked.

"To exact vengeance upon this swamp elf for the loss of my hand, Leafa's ear, and Gwyllion's life." He looked around him. "Leafa? Where is Leafa?"

[Nurumaiel]

How far she had run, Leafa did not know, but she realised that she could run no longer. Her legs trembled and collapsed beneath her, and she crouched on the ground with her face in her hands. Yet no tears came. Why did they not come? They would make things easier, they would relieve the pain in her heart. But her eyes were dry and there was naught but a steady ache. It was tearing her to pieces, it was killing her. Why didn't it kill her? Oh, would that she could die and escape this living nightmare!

Ædegard did not love her. He could not love her. If he loved her would he not marry her? He said it was because of his hand, but that was all nonsense. Why should his hand matter? Why? This was not how love in the stories went. In the stories all would have come all right, despite a loss of hand or foot. Would she go to him and tell him she could not marry him because her ear was missing? It was too absurd. A faint laugh broke from her lips, but she checked herself immediately and wrenched her face from her hands.

No! She would not let her emotions conquer her so. If the unceasing ache in her heart was terrible, to succumb to laughter was horrid. She would hurt and she would cry, but she would not laugh. She must be brave, for his sake. If she could not become his wife she would at least be worthy of what she could not be.

She stood on trembling looks and looked about her. A shudder passed through her, and she realised that she did not know where she was. The darkness loomed, enfolding its cold black arms about her and murmuring terrifying secrets in her ear. It came back to her with clarity that sent a hot stab of fear to her heart. She had fled the camp, and the Elf, that evil Elf, had been in the darkness when she left. What if he found her? What if the merlocks were with him.

Leafa suddenly realised that she was alone with the dark and whatever was lurking within it. There was no rock or tree where she stood. She had nothing to put her back to, nothing to cling to. Yes, a solitary rock would be a comfort. She could crouch beside it, feel its cold touch on her skin. It would shelter her. But here she sat in a wide open space, or so it seemed. Wasn't it? She felt about in the dark. No, there was nothing there, but darkness and emptiness. She cowered down and put her hands over her head, and her heart beat wildly.

A footstep sounded close by. Leafa's heart stopped at the touch of fear's finger... an icy finger, not the finger that had quickened her breath. She was stilled, and tensed. She dared not breathe... she could not breathe. The Elf was there, in the darkness. Could he see her? Did not his footsteps sound closer and closer?

Leafa sat, tense and full of dread, not daring to move. If only he did not see her... if only Ædegard were near to protect her!

[littlemanpoet]

"Young fool!" said the swamp elf Maegeleb. "I had naught to do with the loss of your hand. You blundered down the path that led to the stronghold of the merlocks. I do not go there. I would be a fool to, for there they are stronger than I. You lost your hand out of your own foolishness rather than any ill will of mine." The swamp elf turned to the Elves. "Do not unbind my hands, nor give me a sword. I would not have this welp's life on my hands, for if you put a sword in my hand, he will surely die."

Ædegard felt his breath leave and not come back. His sword fell and its tip split the ankle deep snow.

"You lie." The words came out choked and uncertain.

"Think you so? Then go back to the merlocks' lair and test their hunger without me there."

It was so. Ædegard knew it in his bones. He had been a fool, thinking he knew best how to save Leafa only to get lost and be himself the cause of his own loss. Not only did he miss a hand, but he was a fool. All the more reason to free her of him.

"Leafa," he said to the ground, "see you why I must not take you to wife?"

"She is not here!" came Liornung's voice, "nor is Bella. Where have they gone?"

"Did anyone see them leave?" Erebemlin demanded. All those that remained shook their heads. Erebemlin's eyes kindled. "Too many callow humans are among us. Better they go back to their homes and leave this quest to those whose heads rule their hearts! Ravion! Erundil! Taitheneb! Find the two women! Speed you!" They split up the circumference of the camp between them and left the ring of firelight. Erebemlin turned to the one he knew as Tharonwe. "You, sit. I do not know what ill you would breed among us, but I trust you not."

"I will not raise a hand against any among you," Maegeleb said, his face sobre.

"Be silent!" Erebemlin shouted. "I would have no oath or promise from you. Sit and be silent." He turned to Raefindan. "Tell us what passed between you and him while he held you captive."

One thing Roy was sure of, he needed to interact with these people as little as possible. The more they knew of where he came from, the more his knowledge would infect and pollute this time and place - worst of all, them. He had to keep that from happening.

"We walked south," he said, "and he learned much of me; where I'm from." And when. "He used me to speak to Mithrellas, who believes that I am Imrazor; which of course is not true; I do not know why she thinks that. Maegeleb seeks to supplant Amroth in the affections of Nimrodel."

"That much we know already," Erebemlin replied. "Is there anything else?"

Roy thought hard. At last he shook his head. "No. There is nothing else."

"Then take your rest." He handed Raefindan a leaf packet. "Eat."

Ædegard sat and watched the fire. He dared not look at any others, for surely they knew him a fool; he could not bring himself to see their knowledge in their eyes. Erebemlin was right. He should return to Edoras. Bethberry's faith in him was misplaced. The sooner he returned, the better, not least for Leafa.

[Imladris]

Mithrellas twined the green grass around her fingers wishing that she could see her beloved again, feel his touch again after these many years of caring for a mad woman. But she could not leave Nimrodel in her madness. She thought of what Imrazor had told her -- that another loved Nimrodel....what was the elf's name? She did not remember...

She felt herself slip into the pleasant feeing of a golden forest glade, with the warm sunlight glimmering and mingling with the green leaves...and suddenly she felt more than saw a voice whisper, "It is you lady!"

It Gwyllion! The young human girl. "It is I," Mithrellas said, smiling. "Though I grieve for you...taken from your mortal body..."

Gwyllion laughed softy, but said nothing. Mithrellas wondered if her heart was as merry as she wished Mithrellas to believe. "Why do you not follow in the paths of those who have passed before you?"

"I am bound," said Gwyllion softly. "A lock of my hair is twined around Aeron's neck. I cannot leave him..."

Mithrellas frowned, wondering why Aeron did not let the dead be. "Does this arrangement please you?"

"I think it does," said Gwyllion slowly. "I live in both the physical world and the spirit world now...I see both worlds as if they were draped in heavy mists. The sounds of the worlds come as if they cross a deep void and sometimes I hear the roar of the western sea and that always cheer me when I long for completeness..."

Mithrellas remained silent....Gwyllion's situation was not unsimilar to her own. Both bound in unhappiness to the ones they love. "I do not like that you are unhappy."

"Me? Unhappy?" Gwyllion laughed and Mithrellas could have sworn she saw a maiden of swirling mists glimmer in the sunshine of the glade before vanishing. "Only sometimes, dear lady. Aeron would be lost without me. He is already full of grief...he is like a boat tossed upon the waves, not knowing where he goes or what he thinks..."

Tears slid from Mithrellas's eyes as the vision slowly faded and she found herself once more wide awake upon the hard ground. It was not right that Gwyllion should be so bound....she was like a formless wraith.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Treading slowly and clumsily through the snow, Bellyn could hardly feel her feet. She wondered if she could find Argeleafa, or if perhaps it was a lost cause and she had only created more worry for the rest of the company. Bellyn could not be certain, and she continued to fumble along in the dark.

Far along her way, when she felt as if she had been gone for ages, Bellyn could hear her footsteps being echoed. Someone was near, she could feel it; the sound of light footsteps was not her imagination. Bellyn whipped around, and her heart leaped up into her throat. Her thoughts went immediately to the Elf, Maegeleb. What if he has done something terrible again? Bellyn wondered. Her breath stilled, she waited for another sound to warn her which direction the other being moved.

Bellyn took three steps, hoping that her move would be echoed. There came no sound. Perhaps he knows my thoughts? Bellyn thought, alarmed. She tried to quell all thoughts, afraid that Maegeleb might infiltrate her mind and soul. He killed Gwyllion! Surely he would kill me as well...

Then Bellyn's eyes widened - What if he has already taken Leafa?

"Leafa?" Bellyn called. Her shout trailed off into a whimper. There was a shuffling sound. I should not have spoken! Now he knows where I stand! Bellyn realized this, and she wondered how she could act so stupidly and irrationally. The being in the dark shuffled again.

"Leafa?" blundering around with her hands outstretched, Bellyn whispered the name over and over again. "Leafa, Leafa...Leafa? Lea-"

She had no chance to finish the name. Bellyn tripped over something on the ground and rolled over onto her back and into the snow. She thought it might have been a large rock until she heard a yelp erupt from where the figure had knelt. That voice is so familiar...

"Leafa!" Bellyn realized, hope in her heart.

"Bella!" Bellyn knew the voice well. She had found Leafa. Fumbling around, the two finally found one another in the darkness.

"Leafa, I thought that you were the Elf!" Bellyn laughed, a half-hearted, anxious laugh that revealed her remaining fear that Maegeleb might still find them. "Why did you leave?"

[mark12_30]

She approached him slowly. Hearing her soft steps in the snow beside him made Raefindan look up.

"Mellonin."

"Raefindan. It would seem I owe you my life?"

She could not help but smile at the expression that crossed his face. She sat beside him, stealing a glance at the swamp-elf. Raefindan saw her shudder.

"It's all right, " Raefindan assured her. "You are in no danger from him now."

She hesitated, then smiled. "Very well. Of all of us, you would know. You were brave to do what you did. Thank you."

She watched him and wondered why he did not answer. Then hastily she covered his hand with hers. "It is all right, " she said. "You have been through much. It is good that you are here, and you are well. It is better than I dared to hope. I am content."

Raefindan smiled at her, a distant look in his eyes. Then he glanced around the camp. "Erebemlin sent the two rangers and an elf. Where is the wild boy in elvish dress?"

"Nethwador?" Mellonin glanced around, and then sighed. "His horse is gone. Well, since the danger is here with us, I will not fear for him."


*****

Celegaer paced steadily through the snow. Nethwador dared not cry aloud til he was well clear of the camp, but traveled in ever-widening circles keeping the camp on his left.

[Nurumaiel]

Leafa clung to Bella, shivering and trembling. "Oh, I thought that you were the Elf, as well," she said, attempting a laugh. "I was so frightened. But it is better now that there are two of us." She gave a half-hearted smile, and suddenly she turned away and put her face in her hands, bursting into sobs. Bella's hand fell comfortingly on her shoulder and remained there until she had ceased crying. She looked up, brushing tears from her cheeks, and her smile was more genuine this time. "Forgive me," she said, "but it was such a relief to cry."

"Has anything happened?" Bella questioned. "Of course you need not tell me if you do not wish..."

"No, no," said Leafa, "I wouldn't mind telling you, Bella. Nothing very terrible has happened. But..." She dropped her head wearily and paused for a moment before continuing. When she spoke her voice was very low, but even that could not hide the trace of tears in its tone. "Ædegard says he cannot marry me."

"Oh..." said Bella, her exclamation beginning in a gasp and ending abruptly, as if words were not enough. She looked in mute sympathy at Leafa, who glanced up with a bitter little smile. "It's not so bad as it was a few minutes ago," she said, "though it is still terrible. Weeping has helped me. And now is no time for our thoughts to rest on my sorrows. We must find our way back to the camp, though... I'm afraid to see him... I might start crying again." A tear sprang to her eye, but fiercely she brushed it away, and stood, straining her eyes in the darkness to get some sense of her bearings.

"I don't know where we are," she said at last, spreading her hands out. "I paid no heed to where I went, and the darkness prevented me from noticing anything that would assist us in finding our way back. What would you suggest, Bella? Should we try to retrace our steps and find our way back to the camp, or should we wait her and hope that they will stumble upon us... before... something worse does?"

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

"Nethwador?" Mellonin glanced around, and then sighed. "His horse is gone. Well, since the danger is here with us, I will not fear for him."

"Nevertheless," said Roy, "too many of our number have wandered off. Incidentally, where is Jorje? I haven't seen him with anyone."

"Jorje!" Mellonin's eyes went wide. "I have not seen him either! Not since we left Marigold!"

"Marigold? Who is that?"

"She was an old woman who lived just outside the Entwash swamp. Well, she was not just an old woman. I wonder if Jorje stayed with her?"

"You stayed with this old, not old woman?" Roy asked.

Mellonin looked at Roy a long moment, then laughed quietly a moment, shaking her head, looking to the snow covered ground. "We do not know what she is. I think, did she say, mayhap, she was a Riverdaughter? I know not."

Roy stared into the fire.

"What are you thinking, Raefindan?" Mellonin asked.

"That I should go to her and Jorje and recuse myself from this quest."

"Re.... coos?" Mellonin shook her head. "To chirp like a pigeon over again? I do not understand you."

Roy allowed a small smile and faced her. "It is one of the reasons I should go to this Marigold. It means to remove myself, for my presence is unhelpful to the quest."

"Unhelpful! How can you say that?"

Roy regarded Mellonin with eyes as sad as she had ever seen from him. "I cannot tell you. If I did, it would make things so much the worse."

[alaklondewen]

This was madness. The company was finally on the right track…they find the lost man, capture his captor, and the incompetent mortals scatter like gnats. Erebemlin glared at the swamp elf. What evil will he work among the weak minded? He thought, keeping his mind closed to the other elf. Tharonwe had come to them too easily, too soon, and although he appeared docile, Erebemlin knew danger still lurked within the walls of his being. He wished, at this moment, that Amroth would return. His kingly wisdom was needed.

~*~*~

The darkness that lay over the plains that night were thick, and the moon’s light was hidden behind the gorging snow-filled clouds. Taitheneb stepped gracefully atop of the snow-covered ground with leaving only the slightest footprint. Straining his ears he listened for the young women, but unfortunately he heard naught but the soft voices from the camp. He wondered what would have made them leave the safety of the fire’s light, especially after all of the events of the last days. Do the human’s learn nothing? Their actions were foolish, much like Erebemlin has said in the past. Taitheneb wondered if he should have listened to the Silmaethor instead of pitying him.

As he thought this, the sound of a horse’s breath came from his right. The elf squinted into the darkness and could see the creature and his rider arcing around toward him. Taitheneb stood still, waiting silently until the horse was near.

Young brother, why do you roam so far from camp?

The horse came to a halt, and the young rider moved his head from side to side staring uncertainly into the night. Taitheneb moved so that he could be seen by the boy, and repeated his question. As he came closer, the elf caught the troubled, hurt expression on Nethwador’s face. His dark eyes glistened with moisture. What troubles you, Mellon? As the elf touched the boy’s mind, the only image that came to him was the young girl and the name…Bella.

[mark12_30]

Tharonwe: "You forget the keenness of Elvish ears, Roy Edwards."
Mellonin: "He is Raefindan."
Tharonwe: "Nay, that is the name you gave him. He is called Roy Edwards."
Raefindan straighten where he sat and said, "Maegeleb, do not-"
Tharonwe: "He is from the future, dear Mellonin; he will not be born for thousands of years yet."
Raefindan: "Say no more, Elf!"
Tharonwe: "He dreams us." At this, Tharonwe's face took on an ironically amused expression. "Is that not the greatest necromancy you have ever heard? He dreams us. What think you of that, dear Mellonin?"


********** mark12_30's post*********

With a snort Mellonin tossed her head, shaking the wisps of dark hair out of her eyes. "I think you lie, Swamp-Elf. Why should I believe such tales from one so bereft of honor? Raefindan, heed him not."

She stood and studied the swamp-elf, and her lips twisted as she fought the temptation to spit. Finally she tossed her head again, and then extended her hand to Raefindan. "I want you to properly meet my brother, Mellondu. Come now."

Raefindan seeing this spark of the old Mellonin returning, smiled despite himself. Mellondu heard his name, and smiled wryly. He knew who Raefindan was, but there had been little time for courtesies, and they could not move on til the others were brought back to camp. Despite Raefindan's newfound shyness, Mellonin would not be gainsaid, and the three sat in a little circle. Raefindan need not have worried; Mellonin's chief concern was that Raefindan be pleased with her brother, and she told many tales of his goodness, kindness, loyalty, and gentleness. Mellondu and Raefindan listened, Mellondu chuckling now and then.

Mellonin resolutely kept her back to the swamp-elf. But Mellondu and Raefindan kept an eye on him, and Erebemlin noticed. The towering elf turned a cold glance on Tharonwe, and muttered, "Thankfully not all these mortals are witless fools."

Mellonin's tales continued til they were interrupted by her own yawn.

Erebemlin spoke. "Tomorrow we must ride south. More horses are needed, but til we find them, we must take turns running alongside. Sleep now while you may."

Mellondu glanced at Tharonwe, and Erebemlin nodded at him. The elf would stand watch, then.

Mellondu rolled over, and thought it strange that Erebemlin stood guard at his feet. It made him uneasy, at first, and he wished more than once that the tall elf would stand somewhere else. But weariness caught up with him now and again; he dozed fitfully.

Mellonin stretched out on Mellondu's left, and Raefindan on Mellondu's right. Nearby they heard Ædegard breathing softly, Aeron snoring, and Liornung muttered the words to some old song in his dreams. Erebemlin stood staring at Tharonwe, who smiled, and lay back to watch the stars. So the darkness passed, with little rest.

[Orual]

Ravion followed Erundil as he hacked through the winter's dead branches and brush with his sword, cutting a path for them. "Do you see anything?" the older Ranger asked quietly, and the chilly wind almost carried away his voice.

"I see nothing," Ravion said dully, wrapping his cloak around him. "And night is falling fast. The young women could be anywhere; would that someone had seen them leave!"

"If someone had seen them leave, we would not be here at all," Erundil replied curtly. "And if all had gone as I would have preferred, looking back on things, I probably never would have come to tell you about the blacksmith. So we cannot all have our ideal circumstances."

Ravion stopped short. "Are you blaming me?" he asked.

"What?" Erundil had not heard him over the wind, which had picked up. It bit through Ravion's cloak, but he hardly noticed.

"I said, are you blaming me for all of this?" Ravion kept pace with Erundil, glaring at him. Erundil stopped for a moment, then sighed and continued on.

"We can argue after we find the ladies," Erundil said wearily. Ravion opened his mouth to let out a retort, but closed it. Erundil was right: the important thing was finding their missing companions.

"Bellyn?" Ravion called. "Argeleafa?"

Erundil joined in his cry. "Bellyn! Leafa! Are you there?"

"Bell--" Ravion began, but Erundil clapped a hand over his mouth. Ravion frowned, confused, and Erundil lowered his hand, motioning for him to be quiet.

"Do you hear it?" Erundil said quietly. Ravion shook his head and squinted. "On the wind. Voices."

Ravion nodded slowly. "I hear it."

"Can you track it?"

Ravion nodded again, shrugging his pack back onto his shoulder. "Follow me." He took off at a run, Erundil following him closely.

The girls' voices were becoming more and more clear through the wind, and Ravion knew that he was going the right way. Perhaps finding Bella and Leafa would be, in some way, a balance for his earlier failures.

"Bellyn?" he called. "Leafa!"

The voices stopped, and Ravion kept coming, Erundil right behind him. "It is Ravion! Can you hear me?"

[mark12_30]

Far, far away, he heard a voice calling. He could not reply.

"My lord."

He knew the voice... did he not? His hair strayed in the current, sometimes covering his eyes. He could see, dimly, but he could not breathe, could not move his arms or legs, could not turn his head. He was cold, very cold. He lay on the bottom, buried in mud, only his face showing.

"My lord."

I can hear you. Why can I not see you?

"I am here, my lord. I will not leave your side."

Erebemlin! Friend, why do my limbs move not?

"Courage, my lord. Courage. "

If he closed his eyes, the mud only grew colder. He stared, trapped and unmoving in the sucking grip of death. He longed to give in and die indeed, but the voice of his friend stayed him, and he listened again.

Beyond Erebemlin, he heard a thin sound... a mocking laugh. The warm south wind was somehow icy cold; he was drenched to the skin. The ship surged from the storm... he was stiff and unmoving and could not respond; he fell. He looked up through the water as he sank, and saw his love on the deck, and the mocking elf-sailor standing beside her.

He sank like a stone to the muddy bottom... cold, ice-cold mud. It wrapped around his feet, his body, sucking him down til only his face felt the current. His hair moved in the water, waving to and fro over his eyes.

"Courage, my king."

His lips tightened into a hard line. His will grasped Erebemlin's presence, and did not let go.

[Nurumaiel]

Leafa, sitting with her hands clasped in front of her knees, trying to refrain from shivering, stiffened, and stood. She put one hand in the air. "Listen!" she said, and strained her ears. She heard the wind blowing, but that was all. She sat down again and bowed her head. "I thought I heard voices," she said, "but it seems I did not."

There was a silence, and then Bella cried out: "I hear voices as well, Leafa!"

"Is it the Elf?"

The two of them stood listening, and at last Bella let loose a relieved laugh. "No, it is not. I think it is one from our company," she said. She turned her eyes to Leafa. "Would you risk it? Should we call to them?"

"I think they are calling our names," said Leafa, as if in avoidance of the question. She paused for a moment, and then she nodded. "Yes, let us call to them," she said. "If it is the Elf, he would surely find us anyway. But if it is not he, they might pass us by for our lack of reply."

And so the two began to call to the voices in the wind for aid.

+++++++++++

Liornung sat up, and folded his arms. He had slept soundly for some time, trusting that the men of Gondor would find the two lassies. But he had dreamt of them, and had become restless. He began to regret that he had not gone in search of them himself. But, of course, that was folly. He was no skilled tracker, and would be a hindrance. It was merely his love for the two girls that brought on his regret.

He stood up and wandered a little way from the group, stopping for a moment to take up the case containing his fiddle, and gazed towards the east. It would not be long, he hoped, before the sun rose. It would be an easier task to find the maids then.

He took his fiddle from its case, and looked thoughtfully at it. How old and battered it was becoming! There were scratches and dents upon it. He had owned it for many a year, and often he considered laying it aside in some safe place and taking up a new one. He could give it to his nephew in Edoras, who had a deep interest in music. And he could get himself a new instrument, clear and shining, with no marks of wear and weather.

He put the bow very gently to the strings, and played a quiet note. Then he laughed softly and shook his head. No, of course he would not give this fiddle away for a new one. No more than he would exchange Leafa or Bella for another young girl.

"You have been with me too long, dear friend," he said. "You have worked your way into my heart, though you are a creature with no life in you. Nay... no life? Sometimes I think you could play of yourself. You have wisdom that even I have not. Long after I have forgotten the tunes from distant lands, you still remember them. When my fingers set upon you they are bewitched and move at your command. Often I have heard it said that with you I cast a spell over the people to make them dance and weep, but it is you who cast the spell on them, and on me. You have been comfort in sorrowful times, and my laughter in the joyous."

He played a few more notes, very softly, conscious of the sleepers a little ways behind him. The melody that gently strained out was a strange one, not of Rohan. As his fingers moved lightly here and there, the words were recalled to his mind, and he remembered the one time he had seen the sea. The music he played now contained those sights and thoughts, those wonderings. In the tune there was the pounding of waves against rocks, the cry of the gulls overhead, the spraying foam, the salty breezes...

"Darkness steals o'er the day
and chases merry clouds away.
The gulls above do glide and fly
and o'er the sea their lonesome cry.

"A cloud of thunder rides swiftly there
and brings a chill bite to the air.
A lightning flash, and then again;
and upon the sea a drop of rain.

"The waves did rise, the gulls did flee
and left the storming speedily.
O'er the sea, from the cry
a gull gave one more rising cry.

"A battered ship leapt on the foam
and struggled on to reach the home
where children laugh and fires roar
and spinners spin a tale of lore.

"A flash of lightning comes again
and in the sky a crack does rend.
The ship moves on; its timber groans
and all the men heave frightful moans.

"'Our home, our land, we'll see no more!
and reach the much sought after shore.
Our wives, our babes, for us will weep,
for we will sink into the deep.'

"'Come up, fear not! My men, be brave!
There is still hope to beat the waves.'
The captain stood, fearless and tall,
and they gazed upon him, one and all.

"'There is still hope, though it seems gone
and the sea does sing a dismal song.
But 'tis not our last song, this I know,
'tis not a tale of lasting woe.'

"'Though to your heart the fear does creep,
and your hearts, like the waves, do leap,
your deathbed will not be the sea;
hark, my men, and list' to me.'

"And even as the captain spoke
the clouds above his head were broke
the sun came out, bright and fair;
a cool breeze ruffled through the air."

Liornung stopped his quiet song, and looked discontentedly at the sky. It was still dark, and the men of Gondor had not returned. Was it so hard to find the maids? Then how far had they wandered? Where could they be? Morning was so long in coming! If the sun would but rise, Ravion and Erundil would have their task made easier, and the maids would be brought sooner back.

But still the darkness went on.

[littlemanpoet]

"With the three of you talking, only the dead could sleep," Ædegard growled to Roy, Mellondu, and Mellonin.

"Then plug your ears and sleep," Mellonin retorted. "Oh!" Her hand went to her mouth. "I am sorry."

The two caught a smirk on Ædegard's face in the dimming firelight. "Yes, this hamfist is a bit large for plugging an ear. I'll have to have you yank on mine ear to grow it large enough." He sat up and joined them. "Sleep stays far from you too?"

They nodded and stared at the fire.

Roy could not help himself, though he had resolved to speak as little as possible to the others so as to avoid influencing them with the future he brought with him. "Why, friend, are you so bent on leaving?"

Ædegard sighed. "I am no use to this group. I am too much the fool."

"We are all fools in our way," Roy said.

Ædegard looked at him in surprise. "You include yourself, yet you are the least foolish among us!"

Roy allowed a half smile. "It would be arrogance to withhold myself from the charge, for I know better. So foolishness is no reason to leave us."

Ædegard shook his head. "What would you have me do then?" He looked at each of them. Raefindan seemed unready to answer of a sudden. Ædegard looked to Mellondu and Mellonin, searching them for an answer.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin watched Ædegard, and a frown formed on her brow. Mellondu waited, and Mellonin shrugged.

"What shall any of us do? I sought my brother; he is found. And then I sought Raefindan; he also is found. I am content." She looked from Raefindan to Mellondu, and back to Ædegard. "And you? In the depths of your heart, what brought you so far from home? Why did a wheelwright of Rohan ride to Lorien and thence to the Entwash, and now into Gondor? I have no answer for you, son of Rohan; my own heart calls me home. " She turned and looked southward, then looked to Mellondu. "How glad mother and father shall be to see us again."

"Indeed, " he said quickly, with a smile that faded when she looked away.

Mellonin looked to Raefindan. "You will return to your labor at the Inn, will you not? " Without waiting for an answer, she clapped him on the shoulder. "And then I shall have both brothers, the younger and the older, the old and the new! And our parents will have a new son, if they so choose; for you would make any mother and father proud. But fear not, for if they do not adopt you, never the less I shall keep my bond. My brother you shall be."

Raefindan's jaw muscles worked, and she clapped him again on the shoulder, and turned to Ædegard. "Yet perhaps that is my answer to you, " she said with a shy smile. "Perhaps if there is no brother for you to adopt, perhaps-- well, perhaps, " she said with a soft laugh, "you should build a family in the more traditional way. There, now, I have spoken well beyond what is seemly! Yet you did ask." She giggled and blushed, and then talked faster still. "And you, Mellondu, no doubt you shall be eager to settle down, after this long journey. Yet you have a while to wait, before you may wed. Men must wait so long! Yet I doubt you shall lack for admirers. There, I am talking overmuch again! Hear me prate! I shall blush about this in the morning, no doubt."

And with that, she placed a finger over her lips, then drawing her knees up to her chin, she hugged them, and fell silent.

[littlemanpoet]

"I shall blush about this in the morning, no doubt," Mellonin said, then fell silent, hugging her knees, closing in on herself.

Any other time Ædegard would have chuckled. You should build a family in the more traditional way. That was the very thing he could no longer do.

"You do not understand, Mellonin. I have been trained a wheelwright from my childhood; with but one hand I cannot do the work. I cannot keep a wife if I cannot do the work. Do I need to speak it any more plainly?" His voice had become sharp by the end of his words.

"Do you love Leafa?" Mellonin said into her knees, staring at the struggling flames.

"It matters not! Love does not put food on the board nor clothes on the back. Do you not see that?"

"The greatest is love," Raefindan murmured, himself staring into the fire; then he shut his mouth tight.

Mellonin looked at him with open curiosity. "Greatest?" she asked.

"I know not," Raefindan replied curtly. "It was a chance utterance. Think nothing of it."

"But it is a seemly thing to say, and think," Mellonin said. "I do think I like it. Who told it to you? Or did you make it up just now?"

Raefindan spread his hands wide and said nothing.

Ædegard looked him in the face. "Are you saying that I should take Leafa to wife no matter that I have lost a hand?"

"I say no such thing. I will say this, though. Why do you leave her no choice in the matter?"

Ædegard looked at Raefindan as if struck by a new thought for the first time.

"I know not." He turned and stared into the fire.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Liornung?" Argeleafa called out first, shaking in the cold.

"I regret not remembering the names of our new friends," Bellyn admitted when Argeleafa stopped to take a breath.

"As do I, Bella," she agreed, shifting through the snow.

"Liornung!"

"Mellonin!"

"Nethwador!"

"Ædegard!"

"Well, I suppose we shall call the right name sooner or later, Leafa," Bellyn pointed out with a laugh. Then she stopped, and listened once more to the wind. "Leafa, do you hear that now?" Her voice came scarcely above a whisper, and Argeleafa paused for a moment, letting out the breath she thought to use to shout a name.

"Hit miss..." Whatever called to the two ladies shouted something incomprehensible. "...shoo near be?"

"What?" Bellyn wondered aloud, her brows furrowed as she strained to hear the shouting. Argeleafa put a hand on Bellyn's shoulder, and both were silent once again.

"It is Ravion! Can you hear me?"

"Ah! Bella! It is Ravion!" Argeleafa squeeled with excitement, and grabbed Bellyn's hand. "Which direction?"

"This way," Bellyn smiled in the dark, sprinting as fast as she could in the direction of the voices, pulling Argeleafa along with her. They ran against the wind, following the sound. Bellyn was so happy to have been found, she took no care to slow down when the voice became louder and closer. Before too long, Bellyn bumped into something - someone - and nearly fell to the ground, and would have fallen if Argeleafa had not caught her.

"Ravion?"

"Bellyn?"

"Leafa?"

"Wait!"

Four voices spoke simultaneously. Bellyn felt warmth and happiness bubble over in her heart, and she nearly jumped for joy when she heard the slightly familiar voices.

"They have found us, Leafa!" Bellyn said, hardly containing her happiness. Bellyn fumbled through the air to find Ravion, or whoever had found her and Leafa. When she finally found someone (it might have been Argeleafa - Bellyn was not certain), she wrapped her arms around it and gave a quick, tight embrace. "You have found us! We are not lost! Are we? Do you know how to get back to camp? Thank you!"

[Nurumaiel]

"There is the camp up ahead!" cried Bella, laughing with relief. She caught Leafa's hand and quickened her pace.

Leafa walked with her eyes cast downwards. Now that she had returned, she wished she had not. Ædegard would be waiting to greet them. Ædegard who was a member of their company... not her betrothed. And they would ask her why she had gone. She could not tell them, she would not tell them. She could not tell them that her heart had been shred to pieces.

Liornung, who was standing on the outskirts of the camp, was the first to reach them. He caught them up in his arms, and kissed the hair of each. His fiddle was under his arm, and Leafa felt a tear spring to her eye at the sight of it. No more would she dream and hope when he sang his songs of happy lovers.

"What joy to see you back again!" he said. "I shall certainly write a song in honour of the occasion. Nethwador and Ædegard will be more joyous than I, if it is possible."

At the mention of Ædegard's name, Leafa's face paled slightly, and Liornung did not miss it. He grew more sober, and took her hand gently. He smiled at her in an encouraging fashion, and then likewise took Bella's hand, and led them to the others.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard stood as Liornung led Leafa and Bella toward them. Raefindan, Mellonin, and Mellondu stood as well. Ædegard took a step forward. Leafa looked very pale; he could tell that much even in the dim light of the fire.

"Leafa!" he said.

She glanced at him once, as if startled, then returned her gaze to her feet. Her cheeks were wet with tears and the sadness of her face pierced him. He closed the space between them, but did not touch her; at this time he was sure that he had no right.

"Leafa, I ...." Ædegard had been about to say that he was wrong, but the words stuck in his throat. "... I thought that I could not earn my bread as a wheelwright, because of my hand, so...."

"...You cannot keep me," she finished.

"No, no, no. That is what I thought. But I - I gave you no say. And that was - - - that was wrong. I see that now."

She looked up at him, seeming as if perched on the threshold of hope, not daring to step further.

"Would you have a man for husband who has but one hand?"

His question hung in the air between them, and Ædegard was suddenly aware of the listening ears all around them. He wished that he had spoken his words alone with her, away from all these witnesses. He sighed, waiting for Leafa's answer.

[Orual]

Ravion hung a little back from the company as they celebrated the girls' return to the camp. He diverted his gaze from Ædegard and Argeleafa's bittersweet and somewhat awkward reunion, not wishing to impose. As the others welcomed the young ladies back and expressed their relief, Ravion sunk into the shadows, sitting well outside the light of the campfire.

He fiddled with the pendant around his neck as he searched for Mellonin in the chaos. He wondered how she was, what she was thinking, if she wondered where he was. Probably not. She was probably absorbed in the girls' reunion, or speaking to Raefindan or her brother. Ravion cast his green eyes down to the ground. He had no right to be jealous! Envy was an emotion unbecoming to a Ranger. He had set out to help Mellonin find her brother. He had succeeded. She had found her brother, and his mission was finished. He should be happy.

"You should speak to her."

Ravion looked up dully at Erundil, whose brown cloak was wrapped tightly around him. The older Ranger was watching him shrewdly and knowingly. "You should not withdraw simply because you are afraid of rejection."

"I am not afraid of anything, Erundil," Ravion snapped.

"Then why do you hide? Go and speak to her. You will be glad you did." Erundil crouched by his former pupil. "Trust me. You have missed enough opportunities for safety's sake. Do you want to waste more?"

Ravion struggled for a response, then buried his face in his hands. "Leave me be," he said, his voice muffled both by his hands and by emotion. Erundil stood.

"At least come and warm yourself by the fire. You are icy," he said serenely, and left.

Ravion glared after him for a moment, then did as he said.

[Nurumaiel]

Leafa had been only dimly aware of the others surrounding and listening when Ædegard had begun to speak, and at his last words all faded, save him. Her eyes widened; her face paled; and she began to tremble slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but she found no words could come. He looked earnestly down into her face, hopefully...

Must she say no? Wasn't that the proper thing to do? He had drove her near crazy with grief, and now she should be angry with him. Now she should ask him if she was just a play-thing, to make joyous and sorrowful as a mood struck him. She should say she was certain that he would change his mind again, and again, and again. Isn't that what she should say?

She felt a presence at her side, and saw Liornung. The expression on his face was one of a satisfied smirk. She turned back to Ædegard, and she was smiling, with her eyes downcast. Angry at him indeed! Who said it was the proper thing to do? It was a lie, and if it wasn't... she would do the improper thing, because she loved him more than all anger and resentment. She found she still could not speak, so she did naught but step a little closer to him and slip a shy little hand into his, and raise eyes overflowing with joy to his face.

[littlemanpoet]

She slipped her hand in his, and looked up into his eyes, smiling in joy. He could not hold back the tears that came to his own eyes, and spilled. Embarrassed, he hid his face, hiding in her hair. Why? Why would you want to wed a man who cannot make a living? He did not give utterance to his words, but pulled her close, thankful to her for her mute answer, thankful to Raefindan for making him see wisdom for a change. He looked to him, and Raefindan winked. Ædegard smiled, and held Leafa close. He could find no words that could speak his heart, so he said nothing.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin smiled as the rider embraced the goldenhaired wayfarer girl. Meanwhile the two rangers were straggling toward the fire, Ravion looking stiff and weary as he sat.

The snow crunched under her boots as she walked up behind him. He half turned, his face pale with cold. She draped her blanket around him, and with a little smile, turned to find another. Mellondu rose and brought his own, eyeing the ranger with some suspicion. Mellonin took her brother's blanket and draped that, too, over Ravion's shoulders.

[Orual]

Sudden warmth brought Ravion out of his dark reverie.

"Mellonin?" he said softly, looking up at the young woman with a mixed expression of confusion and happiness and hope. The blankets were soft, warm, and heavy on his shoulders.

"You looked very cold," she replied to his unasked question. She smiled at him, and her sweet eyes smiled with her. Ravion felt his heart tighten for a brief moment.

"I was. I thank you." Ravion could see Erundil standing at a distance, a smug look on his face. The younger Ranger ignored his former tutor.

There was a bit of a silence, broken at length by Ravion. "How are you, Mellonin?" he asked suddenly.

She seemed confused. "How am I?"

"Now that your brother is back. What are you planning to do? Will you return to Gondor? You and your brother have much to catch up on, I would assume." There was a bitterness in Ravion's tone that he had not intended. He only hoped that Mellonin did not notice it.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin stiffened for a moment, and then knelt beside Ravion, and spoke.

"I have been less than grateful. I am sorry. I owe you much... Yes, we will return home, home to Minas Tirith. Will you not journey with us, and receive my parents' blessing? How glad they will be to have their son safely returned! Come, and share our joy."

Hoofbeats caught her attention, and her head turned as Ravion started to answer. She stood. "The elf and the wayfarer boy! They have returned." A snort from Celegoer was followed by words from Nethwador, half joy half scolding. THe wild edge had come back to the boy's voice.

"Peace, " said Taitheneb, and slowly the boy calmed. Nethwador touched Bella's hand, and stood trembling before her. "Bella, mellon."

She nodded, and took his hand, and drew him to the fire opposite Ravion. Together they sat down, and tangled whispers passed between them, some in Sindarin, some in the wayfarer's tongue, some in the common speech. Mellonin smiled. "Does he know what you are saying?"

Bella smiled. "Perhaps not, " she replied. Nethwador's dark eyes flickered toward Mellonin, and then back toward Bella. Liornung brought them each a blanket, and they inched closer to the fire, and rejoined hands.

Mellonin stood beside Ravion, who stared for a while at the fire, and then looked up at her.

[littlemanpoet]

Maegeleb had been watching the humans as they slept, himself under the watchful guard of Erebemlin and Taitheneb. He had used the time to look upon the humans' minds. The two guarding Elves knew what he did, but just as soon stop an Elf from viewing another's mind as stop a mole from digging. What could be done with these humans to ensure that he won Nimrodel instead of that other, now drowning, Elf?

Raefindan. Roy Edwards, the boy-man from the future. Who dreamed them all. It was a puzzle, really. If this Roy dreamed all of them, were they real, or just part of his dream? Maegeleb glanced at the two Elves, who looked at him askance, for they knew his thought as well, and were finding it alien, unsettling, and unbelievable. Let them think what they would.

Mellonin. She of the healed face and wounded heart. She had her brother back and refused to believe Roy dreamed her. She believed her role to be over, now that Mellondu was back. Little to be achieved there.

Mellondu? He kept the Elf safely buried, repulsed by that one's disregard for his sister. Maegeleb smiled slyly. He had not even counted on Amroth's hardness of heart and - what was that word from Roy Edwards' time - obsessiveness in regard to Nimrodel. So now Mellondu wanted the Elf to stay buried, but as long as that fëa was there, it might crop up; it was needful to banish it back to Mandos once and for all. How? He would have to give more thought to that.

Ravion. Confused ranger. Very maleable to his purposes. Get him riled.

Ædegard. One handed fool. Caught in the ways of Rohan.

Leafa. Weak, weak, weak. Easily led hither and yon.

Liornung. Dreamer.

Erundil. Dangerous. Schooled in the ways of field and fen, forest and beast, and of the human heart, by all accounts.

Bellyn. Stolid, no great help or hinderance.

Nethwador. High strung and distrustful.

Aeron. Listless and mulling over his despair.

Suddenly Maegeleb had the answer. Change nothing. The group was already beginning to pull away from each other, tending in their own directions. The only danger was that Mellondu and Ravion might come to blows over Mellonin. Let that not happen.

Morning came. Maegeleb was aware that the Elves had read much of his thought, as he had of theirs, and so he knew that Erebemlin had been trying to waken Amroth. He must lull the humans, or better yet, allow them to continue to lull themselves.

Maegeleb was satisfied.

[Orual]

The arrival of the elf and the boy, while an interruption of their conversation, affected Ravion little.

Come, and share our joy.

As Mellonin spoke with the others, Ravion watched her and pondered those words. Their sting confused him. Why should he feel stricken by such a gracious invitation? Mellonin was trying to be kind. Why could he not take her comment in the manner in which it was given? When he was a youth, Erundil would often tell him that one great failing in him was his inability to take a compliment. Perhaps his tutor had been right. But it did not alleviate the sting.

He raised his eyes to Mellonin's face: her eyes, glittering in the firelight; her sweet smile; her dark hair; her kind demeanor. He looked down, afraid that she would take offense at his scrutiny.

Come, and share our joy.

He felt the weight of Mellonin's gaze on the back of his head, and he turned to her. He stood and forced a smile that he hoped looked genuine. "Mellonin, I do share your joy," he said softly. "And I wish you to have much joy in the future. I will accompany you to Minas Tirith, but..."

He closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself, then opened them again. "But I am afraid that there, we must part ways. I do not wish to intrude upon your family's reunion. It is not my place."

He hoped that she would understand. He hoped that she would, in some part of her, realize that it was for her sake. He could not control his feelings, but he could control his actions. He was too volatile, too moody, too changeable for her. He had done his duty; he had found her brother. Now there was only one thing left to do--let her move on--and it seemed that this would be the hardest.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin watched him, her smile beginning to fade. She nodded reluctantly, and then took a deep breath.

"And then... from Minas Tirith, where will you go? What will you do? Some business or duty demands your time, of course, and I am being selfish." She laughed guiltily. "Yet that duty, too, you will finish, and then you will return? Surely, you will come visit, whenever you may. Do, Ravion. You must. Say you will." Her grey eyes sparkled with mischief, and a touch of guile.

"Indeed, Ravion, you must, " echoed Aeron, with a hint of his old smirk. "Deign not to deny She Who Must Be Obeyed."

Mellonin stiffened, and said nothing, but turned on her heel, and walked away out of the firelight. Erebemlin spoke. "Stay, woman, you have walked far enough. We grow weary of herding such aimless sheep."

Aeron smirked again, and turned to see Mellonin's reaction; but she took a deep breath, and walked back to the fire, standing and staring into it with crossed arms. Mellondu, seeing her fury, sighed, raised an eyebrow, and lay back down. He would be glad to be back home-- at peace.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard

Ædegard woke with the sun. He would have mended the fire, but that was proving unnecessary these days, with the Elves never sleeping. How could they get by that way? He walked away from the camp to relieve himself. Oh, to be an Elf. Nay! He would have none of it. He was happy to be Rohirrim, happy to have troth with a Rohirric lass as beautiful and sweet-hearted as Leafa. Ar-ge-leafa. The name was slightly odd, perhaps archaic. Ar meant honor or worth; ge usually meant action in the past; leaf was clear enough; and a was feminine. Best as he could make it out in his own rough way, her name seemed to mean something like Leafed honor, or Worthily leafed; silly; he shook his head in frustration, then thought once more: lass of the best leaves. Yes! He liked that one. It fit her.

When he returned to camp, Leafa was sitting near the fire, warming and chafing her hands. He sat down by her right side.

"Good morning, lass of the best leaves. How did you sleep?"

A smile grew on her lips. "I slept well, though not as long as I would have wished." She turned to him. "My Da called me that."

"Then I was right! 'Tis the meaning of your name, I think."

"And yours? What does Ædegard mean?"

"Lucked spear, or lucked warrior."

"Oh!" Leafa looked somewhat discomfited.

"Fear not, dear Leafa," Ædegard said in humbled tones, "I am no warrior, and fool to think I could have been. I am a one handed wainwright." Leafa relaxed. He brightened. "But with you by my side, I could become a three handed wainwright! I could teach you the craft. Why did I never think of it?" Leafa was looking even more discomfited than at first. "But I should ask you. Do you think you would like to learn something of the craft?"

"I - I do not know. I know nothing of such things. I fear I would be a burden to you."

"You, a burden to me? Never. Not ever. You are the warmth of my heart."

Leafa smiled at him gratefully, and lay her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her, which did not work as well as he would have liked, since it was handless. Leafa did not seem to mind that; and Ædegard was grateful in his turn.

At length he said, "I have been thinking, Leafa, that my part in this quest may be finished. I do not know for sure. What think you?"

[Nurumaiel]

Leafa looked here and there, and seeing that no one else was very close by to them, turned her face back to Ædegard with a rather puzzled frown. She did not answer immediately, but continued to look up into his face, and after a moment her frown changed to a little smile and she dropped her eyes. How blissful it was to have his arm about her, and his eyes gazing down at her so fondly! Perhaps she had merely dreamed that he had said he could not marry her. It seemed so distant and vague now.

"I do not know," she said, straightening her face and recalling her mind to the matter at hand. "I am not one who loves wandering, such as Liornung, and while I am very fond of the company, I feel uncertain at times. Not of their loyalty, but... I feel uncertain especially when I am near the Elves. I fear I am nothing but a burden to them. I feel that they disapprove of all my clumsy ways."

She paused and blushed, glancing in the direction of the Elves, and hoping they had not heard what she said, though she had said nothing unkind. She had never felt very strongly that they disapproved of her before, but after she had fled from the camp and caused the men to ride out to find her, she had cringed whenever she noticed the Elves looking at her. No doubt they wouldn't have done what she did, even if their hearts had been broken. She had caused so much trouble, and...

"You found me amidst the wayfarer people," she continued. "Liornung was very good to me and took me away from them so eventually I could return to a life in a home, rather than wander about. My father loves to wander, and he also has a great love for the winds, the grass, and the trees. The wilderness, he says, always calls to him. He tells me the first song he really heard and thrilled to was the song of the winds playing against the harp boughs of the trees, and the gentle rustlings of the leafs. That, he says, is one of the reasons he named me for leafs.

"My mother and I are of a different sort. She followed him when he left with the wayfarers because she loved him; I because he was my father and I too loved him, and because I had nowhere else to go. I know no one back at my home, and certainly no one at Edoras."

She raised her eyes to his face. "The matter stands here," she said. "I feel I cannot marry you without my father's permission, which means we should have to wait some time until he decided it was best for his family to return home. And so if we returned to Edoras, or wherever it is you live, we would have to wait some time to be wed. Meanwhile I should have nowhere to stay, for I know no one. The only one I know who can take care of me until I enter your home as your wife is Liornung, and I do not think he will be returning until this quest is over.

"I do not say," she added earnestly, "that I cannot return now. I merely say that there are some obstacles to hinder us. But I will do what you deem advisable."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

She knew that the Elves scorned them for leaving the camp. It had been written in their eyes when she and Argeleafa returned. Bellyn could read it in their faces - their distaste and annoyance. What had Bellyn done but followed her heart to help find Argeleafa? What had Argeleafa done but acted on her feelings? Did not the Elves feel sorrow, or loss, or anger? Bellyn fumed inwardly at the hypocrisy of the Elves. Their loyalty to Amroth went deep...Bellyn knew it well. Was it not the same thing to be loyal to a king as to be held loyal to a friend? Bellyn knew the Elves would have done the same if Amroth had left the company.

Her anger was calmed as she sat by the fire.

They held hands.

Bellyn wondered at how quickly things had changed. Had not it only been weeks since the group had found Nethwador as a savage, beastly creature? Now he sat calmly, and closer to Bellyn than she had ever been to anyone, except her mother many long years earlier. She had never felt more comfortable with anyone. Bellyn felt nothing but kindness and security from Nethwador. She liked being near him, but it was an unexplainable feeling. Her hands were cold, though she felt warm and content, under her blanket and next to Nethwador.

"And what shall we do, dear Mellon, when this journey is over?" She said to him in a whisper, looking at all the members of their rag-tag company. What a mission, to bring forth so many people of different backgrounds. Bellyn had not thought too often on where she would go when the journey ended. Now she wondered, for the evil Elf had made it clear that the journey could be halted at any moment. How long could they travel, hoping against hope to find Amroth's lost lover? "Where shall we go?"

Still, Bellyn remaind calm. Their hands remained interlaced.

Soon the company would need to continue. Bellyn had no doubt that they would find Nimrodel...eventually.

[littlemanpoet]

Leafa raised her eyes to his face. "The matter stands here. I feel I cannot marry you without my father's permission, which means we should have to wait some time until he decided it was best for his family to return home. And so if we returned to Edoras, or wherever it is you live, we would have to wait some time to be wed. Meanwhile I should have nowhere to stay, for I know no one. The only one I know who can take care of me until I enter your home as your wife is Liornung, and I do not think he will be returning until this quest is over. I do not say that I cannot return now. I merely say that there are some obstacles to hinder us. But I will do what you deem advisable."

Ædegard marveled at her good sense, for she had thought of things that he had not even begun to consider. "You amaze me."

She blushed deeply, but did not look away, and smiled. "I do not know what you mean."

"Everything you have said to me rings with wisdom and rightness. Of course I will ask your father for your hand-" he paused, frowning. "-in marriage. If he will have me."

Ædegard looked wistfully into the distance, biting his lip, his brow suddenly furrowed.

"What is it, Ædegard? What is the matter?"

He turned to her. "Do you really think your father would let you marry a one handed man?"

[Nurumaiel]

Leafa looked at his worried face and flung back her head to laugh. He turned to her in some surprise, and she slid her hand through his arm, the arm that was missing a hand.

"If it were any other father, I should have to gaze up at you tearfully and say we could never be wed," she said. "But it is my father, and I haven't any fears. If he is the kind of man who will forget everything at home to tramp along with a few wayfarers for a few days, I have no doubt that he will also let his daughter marry a one-handed man, thinking it quite a novelty."

She laughed again, and then her eyes grew softer and her voice milder.

"Besides, he is like me... he does not care if a man has one hand or not... he loves the noble heart best of all."

She looked up at him with shining eyes for a few moments, and then straightened her face and spoke in a more serious tone.

"Now, what do you think would be best... should we return, or should we continue on? I will abide by your decision, for I trust you."

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard was surprised by Leafa. He liked it. She had not been so free with him as she was this morning, and he liked what he was learning of her. It was not lost on him that the moment he had treated her like someone whose thought he valued, she had blossomed before him like a sun-drenched rose.

But she had asked him for his decision on the matter, and he was not at all sure what to choose.

Go to her father! The thought was strong and demanding. Yes, he wanted to take her and rush off to the eaves of Fangorn to track down her father and get his permission to marry her. Why not? The quest was complete, was it not? Or was there some other thing that had yet to be done? He did not know, could not think of what it might be.

Heed his words, Ædegard. More is afoot here than simple fever. There is a doom playing out in this. Bêthberry's words! He had forgotten them, and now they had come back so clearly. There was a reason why Mellondu had come to Edoras on that particular snowy winter day, a reason he had become sick at the White Horse, a reason the ghost of Amroth had found its way from the halls of the dead into Mellondu's body. What that reason was, Ædegard had no idea.

What doom other than a crazed ghost? Leave well enough alone. After all, what difference could a young one-handed Rohirrim make that these Elves could not do better? Besides, Mellondu seemed to be himself now. Perhaps the ghost of Amroth had strayed back to the halls of the dead. Maybe not.

Be his friend, Ædegard. He will need a sturdy friend where he is going. She had said that too, and he had promised to be his friend.

He faced Leafa, who had waited patiently, watching his face as he mulled.

"It depends upon Mellondu. I took up this quest for his sake. If he deems that it is done, then we can go. If not, then I owe it to him to see this through. Does that sound right to you?"

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin peered over the smooth back of his tan mount as he packed his bags. Tharonwe sat on the other side of the fire breaking his fast with waybread. As he felt the other’s eyes upon him, he lowered the bread, looking up. Erebemlin’s gaze was as steel…sharp and penetrating. At first Tharonwe did not respond, instead he just stared back without affect, but then a mocking smile spread across his pale face. Surely, you do not think you can really finish this so-called quest of yours, do you?

You will not poison my thoughts as easily as the mortals, fool.

Oh, come now. I do not seek to poison…you know I speak the truth.

Erebemlin shut his mind to the swamp elf, refusing to heed his words. He finally pulled his eyes from Tharonwe’s and instinctively glanced toward Mellondu before tying the strap securely on the bag. Tharonwe did not miss the momentary look, and he took advantage of pressing the issue with the Lorien elf. “He will not return. It is foolish to hope.”

“Be silent, snake.” Erebemlin’s voice was sharp and reflected his growing annoyance.

Tharonwe continued…his voice was smooth and melodic. “Desist, young one. She has already rejected his affections.”

Erebemlin grimaced at being called ‘young one’, and he swallowed hard before responding. “Do you truly think she would turn from him to love someone as wretched as you?” The elf saw his words sting Tharonwe, and he continued. “You try too hard to end this quest…and that only confirms that you are crammed with doubt.” The Lorien elf turned his back on the swamp elf, without giving him time to reply, and called to the other travelers that it was time to depart. They would continue south…to Nimrodel.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin heard Erebemlin's firm command, and smiled as she turned to Mellondu. "What shall I do?"

"Ride with me. Echo will bear us both, " he replied.

She smiled. Her devoted little brother was back, and she felt safe again, as she had not felt since he had disappeared. She followed him to where Echo stood, and watched him put on the saddle and bridle. He mounted and she clambered up behind him, awkwardly shifting her pack.

Echo swung southward, and Mellondu knew that he responded to Erebemlin... or perhaps Taitheneb. Beside them the other lanky chestnut bore Nethwador and Bella.

"Perhaps, " said Mellondu hesitantly, "The Lady Bella could be moved to sing for us?"

Mellonin's eyebrows went up; she had always been Mellondu's favorite singer. But then she turned and gave Bella a sweet smile, and said, "Please do."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

She could hardly think of anything new to sing. Surely Liornung or one of their new companions would have a better song – a happy song. The only song she could think of was the one from her dream. It was hardly a cheerful song, and it had haunted her since the woman of her dream had sung it to her in a beautiful, melancholy voice. What would the new companions think of her?

“I fear I have nothing happy to sing,” Bellyn murmured softly to her friends. She looked over her shoulder to Liornung. “And I fear that I could not write a song like Liornung could.”

“That is well, Bella,” Argeleafa replied, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “We shall let Liornung sing us a song next.”

Bellyn smiled at Argeleafa, though she had hoped to shift the attention to someone else.

“All right,” Bellyn agreed, nodding. “I warned you, though. I have naught but sad songs left to sing!”

‘Agony,
Can you cleanse this misery?
For never again will I breathe,
The air of home…

Bellyn’s voice came softly, slowly, as she tried to recall exactly the way the song had been sung in her dream.

‘…From this sandy edge,
The rolling sea breaks my revenge.
With each whisper – a thousand waves
I hear roar.
I am coming home…’

She let the last word die on her lips, to be carried away by the careless wind. She felt better, releasing the tune and melody from her heart and mind. The song had been stuck in her head since she had dreamed of the fair-haired lady singing it to her.

“I feel, then, that it is Liornung’s turn to cheer us with a happier song,” Bellyn said, reaching for Nethwador’s hand and grasping it.

[mark12_30]

Somehow, thought Mellondu, that wasn't quite what I had hoped for. Far from cheerful or uplifting, Bella's song had been .... depressing. Mellondu sighed, and looked around. Liornung seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, and showed little inclination to sing or play. No cheerful tunes were coming to Mellondu's mind, either. He felt glum.

Mellonin tipped her head, pondering. "There's more than sorrow... perhaps not in the words, but ... I don't know. It's sadder than the words express."

Erundil's face went carefully blank. The girl's excitable, changable nature made him leery. Resisting the urge to shrug his shoulders, he stared ahead at the city.

"Still, " Mellonin continued, "it starts with despair, but then the poet says, she is coming home. So perhaps it holds hope. Or..."

Mellondu looked southward to the city, letting his mind wander. Would his forgemates be glad to see him?

"Perhaps, " said Mellonin, "the poet does not know whether to hope or to despair."

"Bingo, by Jorje, " said Raefindan.

Mellonin giggled, and then laughed gaily, and Mellondu heaved a sigh of relief. He let Mellonin's laugh trickle into his heart, and soon he chuckled with her. Raefindan chuckled too. Aeron snorted and muttered; the two rangers exchanged glances; Mellonin laughed and laughed. When her laughter finally subsided, she was silent for a while, and then said, "I miss Jorje."

"So do I, " replied Raefindan, but said no more.

The horses jogged steadly south, and the miles, like the hours, passed in bright whiteness.

[Imladris]

Aeron tossed a twig into the fire, a small frown on his face. Bella's song echoed in his mind, and he wondered what to do. The company wasn't at all pleasant, the elves were cold and distant like hard, beautiful gems; Ædegard and Leafa were to be married, that was good, he supposed. But where should he go? Everything was finished, all was said and done was it not? Well, save for the fact that Nimrodel was not united to Amroth...

And now they were heading to Minas Tirith -- that was not good. Aeron fidgeted uncomfortably in the saddle, looking behind him once and again as if expecting to see the dark form of the merchant trailing behind them. He could not go back to Minas Tirith. In fact, he refused to even without the problem of the merchant to be considered. Even though it was hard to admit, he would miss Gwyllion far too much in that home, he could not bear the pain of living in that old shack of theirs....he would not forget her by leaving, but he would not miss her so much either if he left and lived in another town...

Around him, the company had lapsed into silence, tired by the day's hard travelling. The elves stood silently on the fringe of the fire light, Mellonin and Mellondu were murmuring quietly to themselves, Ravion stood aloof, and Bella and Nethwador huddled close to the fire. Standing Aeron said, "I am going to get more wood for the fire."

He shambled away from the fire, easing himself from the fire's light. If they so much suspected what he was doing, they would catch him instantly, and drag him to that horrible city. He slipped into the shadows and crept away until he could not longer see the cheerful glow of the fire.

It was well that it happened like this, he told himself as he lurked in the shadows, shivering in the chill night. He had always been a tag along, an inconvenience...now they would be rid of him for good. He should have left long ago, he mused....broken oath with Ravion and fled with his sister... He laughed bitterly. No, he could not have done that. An oath was not mere words to be uttered in the wind -- even a miserable thief such as he knew that.

[alaklondewen]

Everyday we are coming closer to the white city, Silmaethor. Taitheneb waited for a reply, but did not receive it. Erebemlin knew exactly where they were and how close they were to Minas Tirith. After several moments, the younger Elf continued. Will we go into the city to replenish our supplies?

Nay, Nimrodel is not within its walls, so we shall not grace them either. Actually, Erebemlin was unsure what would happen when they came close to the city. Amroth’s mission must be continued, but if he did not resurface soon…the Elf knew not what the young Blacksmith would do. He wanted to stay clear of the city so the man was not tempted to return to his family and relinquish the quest.

“Has anyone seen, Aeron?” Bella’s voice interrupted the Elves private conversation, and they both turned curiously over their shoulders to face the fire.

“I heard him say something about getting wood, but…” Mellonin looked over both of her shoulders and squinted into the dark beyond the firelight. “That was some time ago,” she said after several moments.

Taitheneb raised his eyebrows and turned his eyes toward Erebemlin. The tall Elf tightened his jaw and audibly exhaled through his flaring nostrils.

“Should we look for him?” Leafa inquired innocently.

“No,” Erebemlin snapped, not necessarily at the young Rohirrim, but at the whole mortal race. “We have left the dangers of the swamps behind. If the foolish boy wishes to leave the group and cause trouble…leave him to it.”

[littlemanpoet]

As they rode south toward Minas Tirith, Ædegard thought back to his last conversation with Leafa. "It depends upon Mellondu. I took up this quest for his sake. If he deems that it is done, then we can go. If not, then I owe it to him to see this through. Does that sound right to you?" She had nodded mutely.

The youth, Aeron had been left behind, or perhaps left to wander ahead of them, for all they knew. They did not know where he was, and would not search for him. The Elf, Erebemlin, had made it clear that he did not care to have someone with the group who could not be there with all his heart. Ædegard sighed. It was time for him to speak with Mellondu. He urged his mount forward until he was riding by Mellondu's side.

"Mellondu," Ædegard said, "what of -" Ædegard frowned, having forgotten what he had been about to say. He knew what he meant to ask, but the words had slipped away.

"What of ...what?" Mellondu grinned. "Has love addled your brain?"

Ædegard grinned back. "Maybe. It is that of which I wish to speak. Where do you go now? What of -" he forgot again what he had been about to say, and struggled to put into words what had fled from his mind. "-what of that which we have been busy with these last weeks?"

[mark12_30]

Mellondu's smile faded, and his lips pressed together into a thin line.

"What of these last weeks?" He glanced down at Ædegard's hand even as Ædegard moved to cover it. Shaking his head, he looked to Minas Tirith.

"These last weeks. Busy? Busy leading my sister all over the west bank of the great river, in and out of swamps. Swamps haunted by dark elves and worse." He gave a snort of disgust. Mellonin tightened her grip around his waist, and he placed one hand over hers. "Nightmares sleeping, nightmares waking, and frightened parents worrying at home. Leafa, wounded. Your hand gone. And... the thief's sister, dead. Dead. And for what?"

Ædegard waited uneasily.

"I have wandered enough, and caused enough grief. It is time I went home, " said Mellondu.

Mellonin looked away, trying not to seem too satisfied or happy. Nevertheless his brother sensed her relief.

Minas Tirith beckoned, shining in the afternoon sun. One more day, perhaps two, and they would be home.

"You will come and meet my parents?" Mellondu asked Ædegard. "They have little room, but they would want to meet you, of that I am certain."

[mark12_30]

Mellondu waited for Ædegard's response, but the Rider seemed lost in thought, and the rythm of hoofbeats caused his own thoughts to wander. He let his gaze rove over the plains.

Behind him Mellonin sang softly.

Agony,
Can you cleanse this misery?
For never again will I breathe,
The air of home…


"Could you sing something more cheerful?" Mellondu said irritably.

"I like it. It's pretty, " she replied, with a tone of finality in her voice.

Usually he yeilded to that tone. But not today. "Please sing something else, " he said.

"Why?"

"I am not in the mood for that song right now."

"All right, " she said, annoyed. And for a while, she sang something else; but invariably, she wandered back to Bella's song.

The rolling sea breaks my revenge.
With each whisper – a thousand waves...

"So, " said Mellondu, turning to the young Wayfarer lass, "have you ever seen the White City?"

She shook her head, and muttered something inaudible.

The sun set, and they prepared camp. However Mellondu tried, he could not get Bella's song out of his head. He lay sleepless most of the night, glaring at the stars. When morning came he was exhausted. As he mounted and swung towards the White City, he muttered, "Once I find my old bed, I'm not leaving it. I will not leave the Pelennor walls!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tharonwe smiling, and he muttered again. "I'll be glad to leave that murderous rogue behind."

[littlemanpoet]

The winter sun was at mid-morning as they rode closer to Minas Tirith; they could see the highest towers far in the distance now.

"I did not mean to leave you without an answer for a whole day, my friend," Ædegard said to Mellondu the next morning. "I am eager to seek out Leafa's father, and truth be told, I had been hoping for your word that this -" he forgot once again what he had been about to say. "- that it was time go part ways."

Mellondu frowned. "If that is your will."

"Nay! I would be honored to meet your folks. Is that not so, Leafa?"

[mark12_30]

Nethwador glanced at Mellondu, who seemed particularly gloomy and irritable. How different he was from Amroth!

Perhaps Amroth will never return.

It was a sad thought. He disliked it, and tried to fight it. But it came to him again and again. Nethwador sighed.

He thought of Bella, and that cheered him. Her arms were around his waist. Sometimes she laid her head on hisshoulder, and then he trembled with joy. Bella was not irritable or gloomy; she smiled a lot. Her smiles were uncertain, but as sweet as ever. He turned to her for reassurance, speaking softly. "Nethwador mellon Bella. "

Bella smiled at him.

He spoke again. "Nethwador mellon Amroth."

Her smile faded. She whispered sadly to him. "Nethwador, what if Amroth does not return?"

His eyes grew wide as his stomach sank. Placing one hand over hers, he tried to shake off the uneasy feeling. What if it was true? What if Amroth did not return? Nethwador missed the King. He tried to remember what Amroth's company had been like. But the memory that came was the Merlocks. He shuddered, and gripped Bella's hand more tightly.

She must be kept safe. he had been terribly careless, leaving her. He would not leave her again.

[littlemanpoet]

Leafa had given her demur assent to Ædegard's query. From then until sunset, all of them traveled in silence except for mumured conversation between each pair on horse.

As the sun set they came into a new settlement a day's ride out from Minas Tirith. It was a little crowded place on the road between Minas Tirith and Edoras, just at the northeastern toe of the White Mountains. The gate they passed through named the settlement, Forodway, which was an odd admixture of Eldaran and Common, meaning North Way; which was true enough. There was an inn there, the sign over which bore the outline of four diminutive two-legged smiling figures, arm in arm and mugs in hand; about the outline was painted in white, "The Four Merry Halflings". They rode in, staked their horses before the stables, and went inside to a bustling, crowded common room.

[littlemanpoet]

"The Four Merry Halflings" was the name on the sign outside. Not a hobbit to be seen anywhere. Yes, it was a fete of praise toward the Four Famous Perinnath through whom it was said the War had been won, but it seemed somehow empty to Raefindan. Not that the room was empty. For such a small town, its status as a new crossroads village meant that there were passers-through constantly, on some king's business or for trade ... or thievery.

Roy sat at table with the other humans; the Elves did not deign to sit with them, choosing instead to remain under the stars. Erebemlin had said that he did not want Tharonwe at loose amongst the easily swayed crowd within. Maybe so.

Thinking of thievery set Roy to thinking of Aeron. What had become of him? And why had Erebemlin written the boy off? Because he is more trouble than the looking after him is worth. Those were not the exact words of Erebemlin, but it was his meaning. Raefindan thought it harsh, unmerciful, pitiless. Maybe Aeron deserved such treatment, but what of that? Had not the recent War revealed the merit of mercy.... even to one such as that Gollum creature?

And what difference have you made, Roy Edwards, since you joined this quest or whatever it is? He heaved a sigh. Too much difference, truth be told, and that was the problem. He was not of this place and time, and he needed to keep from influencing the others. He sighed again. Mellonin noticed.

"What is the matter, Raefindan?" she asked. "You have barely touched your food and drink."

"I am not hungry," he replied. He tried, and failed, to smile. He frowned and rose. "I'm going outside. I need some fresh air."

"Do you want someone to go with you? To talk?" Mellonin asked.

"No, thanks."

He left the common room and went outside. His breath made vapor on the air. He wondered where the three Elves were; but not so much as to go seek them out. The stars were cold and distant. It was disturbing how he could recognize them. Millions of years it takes to change the map of the sky, he considered. The restlessness within did not wane. He began walking, and found himself at the northern edge of the village, just inside the gate.

Jorje was a few days' ride that way, as was this Marigold they spoke of. He wished he could have met her, spoken with her. Maybe she could have provided answers, or at least clues, to his recent experiences.

A man came out of a booth sitting at the side of the road, and walked up to him, nodding amiably.

"Greetings, friend! Do you wait for someone?"

"Nay, friend. I was just walking, and found myself here."

"Staying at the Hobbit Hole?"

Roy grinned. So the inn already had a nickname. He liked the nickname better than the original. "Yes."

"Best be moving along back there. The night will be getting cold, I wager, and though safe enough in these days of the King, one never knows what rascals may be just beyond these walls after dark."

"Is it that late already?"

"'Tis close to the middle of the night. Most honest folk are abed already, though the same cannot be said for the many travelers who pass through; seems they take this place as a chance for their follies."

Roy smiled. "Well, I'm in no mood for follies this night. I think I'll make my way back to the Hobbit Hole and warm up a bed."

"Good night to you then."

Roy waved goodnight and made his way back to the inn. They had been shown their rooms early, and he knew which bed awaited him. He was soon in bed, and though he had not thought it likely, was soon asleep.

"You have come again at last!" The dark haired woman rose from the lawn carpet in the midst of the garden, and looked up to him, standing at the edge of the lawn. It was Mithrellas. "Imrazôr, what has kept you away?"

"I am not-"

She was suddenly wroth. "Do not say you are not he! I can see with my own eyes that you are! What has kept you away?"

"I do not know."

"Come to me!"

The love in her eyes should have drawn him to her, but he did not know her except in dreams. How could she mistake him for her love? Nevertheless, it could not do great harm to walk toward a dream ... could it? He approached her.

She looked into his face, her red lips curved into a smile. She extended her hands toward him, and not able to think of a good reason not to, he reached his hands up toward hers as he approached, and their hands clasped. The soft warmth of her skin beneath his shook him, for with her touch, memories flooded into his mind, and with them, his heart opened to her, for she was in the most precious of those memories.

She smiled. "You remember at last."

"I do. You are ... my love!" His words came out in a breath; but he was troubled, for he was aware of himself at once as Imrazôr, and as Raefindan, and as Roy Edwards. Had he been Imrazôr in truth? Or was this only a dream? If he had come back to life as Roy, then come to Gondor again as Raefindan, did he not have to be an Elf? Or was the Law all changed after the passing of the Ring? He shook his head, unable to do a thing with all the confused questions running through his mind. Of one thing he was suddenly sure. He did love Mithrellas, and was happy to be near her.

"Come this way, my love," she said, and led him to a clear pool, the moon shining bright and full above them; it had been a new moon as he had walked in the new town. He peered over the edge, and saw himself; not the face of Roy Edwards, or of Raefindan, which two were basically the same. He was Imrazôr.

"Then I must be dreaming."

"What of that?" she replied. "It does not change the truth of what is."

His eyes opened suddenly. It was quiet. And dark. The other men were sleeping in other beds in the room, some snoring gently. Dreaming does not change the truth of what is?" If that is so, then what?

[littlemanpoet]

The group had gotten up with the dawn, broken their fast, readied their mounts, and were trotting across the plain toward Minas Tirith before the sun had gotten much higher than the Ephel Duath.

Dreaming does not change the truth of what is. If that is so, then what? The question had been on Roy's mind all morning. Mithrellas meant that though I was dreaming that I was with her, it did not change what happened between us in the dream. And it had happened. Somehow he was Imrazôr; at least to Mithrellas. Well, no. Roy didn't accept relativistic nuances. Either a thing was, or it wasn't; one could not have it both ways just by choosing to believe or not. Mithrellas was real. And the memories that were still with Roy, of himself as Imrazôr, husband of his beloved Mithrellas, were real. So apparently he actually had been Imrazór. The thought crowded his head with cottony confoundment. It could not be! It had to be! How could it be? As easily plum the depths of unified field theory! Roy shook his head fretfully.

"What is the matter, Raefindan?" asked Mellonin, her arms wrapped around her brother; they rode just a little behind and to his right.

"Oh, I had a dream. I'm trying to make sense of it."

"Tell me. Maybe I can help."

Roy screwed up his face. "I need to think on it some more before I speak of it."

"As you wish." She looked disappointed.

Roy smiled. "I promise to tell you before anyone else."

She grinned and clapped Mellondu's belly since her arms were not long enough to reach around her brother and clap.

"Use me for a drum, will you," Mellondu grated amiably. "I have been within earshot of your promise, and so must claim first right with my sister."

"As you will, Mellondu," Roy smiled, and fell silent again.

If last night's dream was real, maybe I have made too much of Tharonwe's word that I am dreaming this quest with Mellonin and the others. What if he is as right as Mithrellas, despite his motives? Maybe this is just as true and real as last night's dream! In which case, maybe I am here and now for a reason; and if so, it must be the same reason as my dream of Mithrellas! The cottony confoundment gave way to sudden clarity, as if a thunderclap had provided an exclamation point to a downpour, leaving everything fresh, cleansed of all confusion.

Amroth and Nimrodel!

That is the whole reason why I am here! It must be!

"What?" Mellondu was looking at him, curious; Roy had been staring at him for the last few seconds. He urged his horse closer to Mellondu and Mellonin.

"Let me tell you about my dream." He related it to them.

[littlemanpoet]

After Roy had finished his tale, Mellondu scowled. "Tell me no more dreams," he said curtly.

"But it fits with the others!" cried Mellonin.

"I care not. All I want is home and hearth and father and mother and you, and friends. That is enough. Oh, and my forge."

"A forge and Jorje," Roy murmured. Mellonin snickered.

"What?" asked Mellondu.

"Oh, I miss Jorje. Why - no. I know why he stayed. He wanted to. I shall have to go see him, and this Marigold sometime."

-------------------------------

The day passed without much conversation or event, except that the group passed Ramath Echor at midday, and soon the first stream. Minas Tirith grew large before them. They came to the second stream, which formed the northern bounds of the former battlefield of Pelennor. The city rose tall before them, and they could make out the flag of Elessar flapping in a brisk wind from the north, high above on the level of the White Tree.

They turned right at the crossroads, passed through the Great Gate, and wound their way up the narrow streets, each one of them showing signs of the rebirth that Elessar had brought with his reign. Finally they came to the Inn of the Seventh Star, and halted. Raefindan looked to Mellondu and Mellonin.

"Will you go on to see your folk this night?"

[mark12_30]

Mellonin nodded. "Come with us, " she said brightly.

Mellondu shushed her. "They barely have room for us! And we shall not stay there long. Raefindan, I mean no offense, of course. But Mellonin and I shall sleep on the flloors as it is. You will do better to stay here, and have a bed!"

Mellonin's face fell. She could not deny it. "But you'll come tomorrow, " she continued stubbornly.

Mellondu glanced from Mellonin to the elf-lord, and back. Mellonin wondered that the elves had entered the city, after saying that they would not. Taitheneb gazed up at the Tower of Ecthelion. "Silmaethor, we could leave this wretch with the King."

Erebemlin said nothing; his thoughts were withdrawn, and he looked weary. The turn of a shoulder was Taitheneb's only answer, and Maegeleb looked satisfied.

"Do come in the morning, " said Mellonin. Mellondu led Echo to Ædegard, and said, "Thank you, friend. You have been most kind. He is an excellent horse."

Ædegard blinked. "Is that all?"

Mellondu shrugged. "Come and see me at the smithy whenever you like, " he said. He extended a hand to Mellonin, who took it. Looking over her shoulder, she said, "Do come by in the morning. Promise you will!" Mellondu quickened his pace, and the two hastened along the curving road out of sight.

Taitheneb listened as their footsteps receeded, and shook his head. Back to the smithy? It hardly seemed possible on the one hand, and on the other, it seemed the only thing to do. And the difference was... what?

Mind closed and lips in a straight line, Erebemlin was grooming his horse as if he would ride him to see the king.

Nethwador looked around the city; he was not sure he liked it. But Bella was nearby. All was well.

The others were all finished caring for their horses. Erebemlin's horse began to shine, and still he brushed and brushed.

Ravion and Erundil broke the silence. "Well, I could drink some ale." "As could I." The menfolk wandered into the Inn. Erebemlin slapped the dust out of the brushes, and started grooming his horse all over again.

[littlemanpoet]

Roy was quiet again that evening. The others seemed to subdued as well. Maybe it was that Mellondu and Mellonin were missing. In a sense, they were the two reasons the rest of them were together.

The Elves were taciturn to the last of them.

Ravion seemed to have gone into a deep, dark place within himself, having barely bid farewell to Mellonin. It was not lost on Roy that Mellondu was suspicious of the ranger and protective of Mellonin. But that was between the three of them.

Ædegard and Leafa kept close to Liornung and Bellyn, the latter of whom was constantly followed by Nethwador, almost doglike in his devotion to her.

Jorje. Roy missed Jorje. He was a good dog. Some of that dog sense might have come in handy in the last few days.

Liornung was the only one who was not so subdued that he could not raise his voice, and sang them songs well into the night.

Roy excused himself and went to bed.

He was in the sward again. Mithrellas looked up and saw him, and rose from Nimrodel's side as he strode toward her. He had seen Nimrodel sitting there, in the middle of the vale, the last time he had dreamed, but Mithrellas and he had been so intent upon each other that they had let her sit in her absorption. It would be different this time.

"How is she?" he asked.

She put her hand in his, and he was stunned by the contact, remembering afresh their married life together, the days and days of joy beneath the eaves of the forests that grew along the shoulders of the mountains. She shook her head sadly, but the smile did not leave her face.

"She is the same as ever." She looked into his eyes. "What of this Maegeleb you spoke of earlier? Why does he not come here with you?"

"I know not." He had forgotten about that one. Reminded, he was sickened by the thought of Nimrodel with that one. He opened his mouth to speak warning, but the warning died on his lips, for he had forgotten what he was going to say.

She placed her fingers on his lips. "Time enough for that. Come, walk with me, Imrazor."

He wondered that she called him that, and wondered more that he accepted the name so readily now. Why not? She had shown him his face, and it was that of her mate; and that was he. They walked slowly amongst the hemlocks and birches that stood sentry around that vale. Their fresh scent filled him, and became part of her presence with him.

He woke in the morning, having forgotten what had passed in the following moments of his dream, sure that it was good, sorrowful that the memory was lost to him. But for the remainder of that day, the image of her face and hair, the smile of her face and the love in her eyes, did not leave him.

[littlemanpoet]

After washing up and breaking his fast, Roy discovered that he was to be accompanied by Ædegard and Leafa, as well as Erebemlin. Taitheneb was going to stay with Tharonwe at the Inn, and had asked Erundil to stay with him. Ravion looked to be in no eager mood to go see Mellondu and Mellonin in their own home, sombre in his refusal to join them. Liornung and Bellyn chose to go accompany Raefindan, Ædegard and Leafa; and Nethwador was not about to be separated from Bellyn.

None of them knew where Mellondu and Mellonin lived, not from memory; they had directions from the proprietor of the Seven Stars, and with only a small bit of difficulty found their way to the home of Mellondu and Mellonin after a little more than an hour, half way to noon. Roy knocked. After a moment, the door opened.

[Nurumaiel]

As the door opened, Leafa, who was towards the back of the group, wondered rather anxiously when her own father would tire of the wayfarer life and return home. She could imagine now how she would bring Ædegard to see her parents... how her mother and father would be so courteous to him... yet they would be watching him so closely... and her mother would look at her every so often with a very faint shadow of sorrow in her eyes.

"It must be hard to be a mother, Liornung," she said, with a little sigh.

"I suppose so," said Liornung, and his tones were so absent that Leafa looked up in surprise. His eyes were fixed on the ground, but it was as if he did not see it, so vague were they. Concern was written across his face in no uncertain lines, and he was fidgeting restlessly where he stood. Leafa gazed wide-eyed at him, and at last he sighed and turned towards her. "Hello, Leafa," he said with a little smile.

She barely managed to smile back. Something was terribly wrong with him, and she wished she knew what it was. That troubled look in his eyes...

She lifted her shoulders slightly and dropped them again, feeling dejected now, and turned her attention back to the door.

[mark12_30]

He lay, shackled and bound, unable to move even his head. Gazing upward he saw branches, and he knew their form; he was lying on his own flet, a prisoner in his own home. Why could he not move? Why could he not turn his head? A slow but heavy wind blew steadily out of the east; it stank. Westward was the waterfall; he listened; he could not hear. Wait. From far off drifted a note, a sweet song. he shut his eyes, and listened. Nothing; the wind from the east drove the song away. Wait; there it was again; another note. She was there. She was singing. Again the slow, stinking wind stole away the beloved whisper of song; he gritted his teeth. He would not despair. She was there.

If only he could go to her.

Mellondu gazed glassy-eyed at the crowd beyond the door. He had slept deeply and woken exhausted, as if he had strained every muscle. His body ached. His head swam.

He heard Mellonin chattering excitedly, welcoming each visitor. The room filled and filled. His parents were kind, welcoming, a little overwhelmed, and Mellondu felt indignant; how did Mellonin think they would feed all these folk? Worry mixed with welcome in his mother's eyes, and his sister's thoughtlessness annoyed him.

Rohirrim and the red-haired man chatted and greeted, but Mellondu was uneasy. Suddenly, with a frown, he pressed through the crowded bodies and went to the door. Around the corner beside the door as if standing guard stood the tall elf. Mellondu's weary anger came to the fore.

"What are you doing here?"

[Orual]

Ravion sat by the hearth with his ale, staring sullenly into the flames. He was alone save for Erundil and Taitheneb, who had stayed to watch Tharonwe, he seemed to think, though he was not sure. He shook his head slowly, then gazed into his mug with disgust.

"You look contemplative." Ravion sighed deeply and turned around, fixing hostile eyes on Erundil.

"Shouldn't you be watching that swamp creature?" the younger Ranger snapped irritably, raising the mug to his lips only to put it back down again. He kept his eyes on the mug, though, unwilling to make any more eye contact with his erstwhile tutor. He knew that it would not deter Erundil, but he did not have to listen.

"I told Taitheneb that I was coming down. I will be brief, much to his relief and yours." There was an infuriating touch of amusement in Erundil's voice that rubbed Ravion entirely the wrong way.

"Then be brief and leave me to my contemplation," Ravion growled, still refusing to meet Erundil's eyes.

Erundil sat by Ravion, much to the younger man's dismay. "You should go to Mellonin."

"Be quiet."

"You should talk to her."

"Be quiet!"

"If you do not do it now, you will regret it."

Ravion jumped up, splashing his ale all over the hearth. He ignored the glares from the bartender. "What do you know about this? Nothing. You cannot understand."

Erundil gazed calmly at Ravion. "Perhaps not. I have spent too much time here as it is; but listen to this. You have succeeded in your mission--you did for her what you promised to do. You found her brother. Perhaps it is time to go on a mission for yourself. Find something for yourself, Ravion. Perhaps you have finally earned a little happiness."

Erundil went back to join Taitheneb, leaving Ravion slightly stunned in his wake. The younger Ranger watched Erundil's back until he was out of sight, then looked down at the ground. He was baffled by Erundil's words. He liked to think that he was right in saying that Erundil knew nothing, but...

But...what if he is right? What if I will regret not speaking to Mellonin?

Thoughts raced through his head at high speed, bouncing off of each other and filling his mind with meaningless noise. He grabbed his mug of ale, and set it down with determination on a table. Then he went up to the bar and put his money down on the counter...

...And ran out of the inn.

[Imladris]

Aeron crouched in the shadows peering at the glimmering white city of Minas Tirith. He had said that he wouldn't come back, but now he knew that this had been foolishness. Minas Tirith was his home, Gwyllion's home...he could not leave it behind.

He felt like a twig drifting aimlessly in a pond. He did not know what to do now after his wanderings. He was a thief, he could continue to steal, but why do that when there was no reason to do so? Gwyllion was dead. And, somehow...after everything they had gone through, returning to the life of a common petty thief would be like throwing a choice gem into the mud and then trampling upon it. He had seen true nobility in Raefindan and the ranger, he admitted grungingly.

With a dismal sigh, he rose to his feet and crept into the city, gliding amid the shadows. He did not know if the company had already come and gone, niether did he care. He thought that maybe he could rejoin, but he did not think he would be wanted...not that he cared a fig about that. At any rate, what would he do after Amroth and Nimrodel were re-united? The problem would only be delayed and he wanted it solved now. Helping two lovers reunite was hardly the answer to anything, he speculated.

He came across the Inn, and pressed closely to the side of one window, and peered in. He saw the ranger, Ravion, and one of the elves -- he forgot their names -- he was surprised that they could remember their own names considering how difficult it was to say them.

Suddenly, an awkward knot twisted in his stomach, and dropped to his knees in the shadows. He did not want to be seen -- he had run off...like...well, like a dog. But what did he have to do with them? he thought desperately. Why did he care what they thought...he shouldnt care. But yet he did...

Heavy footsteps pounded on the dirt, and Aeron glanced up to see Ravion run out the Inn, his fingers running through his black hair. He looked as if he was thinking about something important that he couldn't quite make up his mind about.

Now, what could be occupying Ravion so Aeron could not possibly imagine. Surely everything was alright with their company -- he couldn't possibly imagine what could be bothering them with barrels of mead and fine wine and a lovely night at their fingertips.

Rising quickly to his feet, Aeron tapped the ranger on the shoulder and said, "It's a good thing you didn't have anything remotely valuable on your person or else I would already be sneaking off in the darkness with it." A smile played on his lips. "Of course, even if you did I wouldn't -- if I did you and Raefindan and Mellonin would in all likelyhood pour another bucket of water over my head or ask me for my obedience instead of turning me into the authorities..." his voice trailed off and he grinned half heartedly at the ranger.

[Orual]

You are a fool to chase after her.

If I don't, I'll never know what would have come of it.

If you do, you'll know the heartbreak that will certainly come of it.

I must know.

You must suffer. You must always punish yourself.

I must know this!

Ravion's pace slackened under the weight of his thoughts, until he was barely more than jogging. He was not very far from the Inn, but he felt as though he had run a marathon. His green eyes darted all over, as though trying to catch sight of the decision that eluded him. Mellonin's dark eyes danced in his mind, but also Mellondu's hostility. Perhaps the brother was right to keep Ravion away...what did he have to offer Mellonin?

A tap on the shoulder startled him, and he reached for his sword before he saw the wan smile of Aeron. "It's a good thing you didn't have anything remotely valuable on your person or else I would already be sneaking off in the darkness with it." Ravion frowned, and Aeron smiled a little more. "Of course, even if you did I wouldn't -- if I did you and Raefindan and Mellonin would in all likelyhood pour another bucket of water over my head or ask me for my obedience instead of turning me into the authorities..." There was something very slightly sad in Aeron's manner that bothered Ravion, and provided a blessed distraction from his current troubles.

"Well met, Aeron thief-lord," Ravion said with a touch of a smile, extending his hand to the boy. Aeron looked at it for a moment, and then took it. "You look...well. I trust you have not come across too much trouble since leaving our company--though I do not doubt that if you wanted it, you could have stirred up some of your own." Through his sarcasm, Ravion was pleased to see the boy unharmed. He knew that Aeron could take care of himself, but while the boy was grieving over his sister, Ravion had feared for him some.

Also, it took his mind off of Mellonin for a while, at least...

[Imladris]

"You look...well. I trust you have not come across too much trouble since leaving our company--though I do not doubt that if you wanted it, you could have stirred up some of your own."

Aeron sniggered and then fell silent. He felt slightly awkward standing here in the cold night and wondering what was bothering Ravion. "All that troubled me were memories, and there is naught to fear from memories." Aeron stopped and sighed, before flopping down to the ground and staring at the stars.

"My sister heard that the stars had names," he told Ravion as he plucked a long strand of grass and began to chew it. "I never was much interested in that," he added. "All they are are jeweles in the sky, and the friend of elves."

Aeron stopped...he knew he was rambling and he hated it when people rambled. Rambling was nothing but the urge to talk. He never understood why people hated silence...silence was not a bad thing, not a thing to be avoided. Yet it did feel awkward all the same...

"So tell me, Ravion, what brings you out on a night like this, when there is a jolly fire in the Inn with sweet lasses bringing you delicious mugs of spiced wine?"

[littlemanpoet]

"What are you doing here?" asked Mellondu.

Erebemlin regarded the young human smith with a penetrating gaze. He was little more than a boy, but looked overtired and none too well at the moment. That was not the Elf's concern. Rather, this boy was the chosen vessel of Lord Amroth, blessed by Mandos himself to seek his love, Nimrodel. It was Erebemlin's duty to see that the quest not be waylaid by the fanciful whims, petty jealousies, or nearsighted sense of right and wrong, of a mere human boy.

"I am here to call you to your duty."

Overhearing Erebemlin's words, Mellondu's father and mother came close to see the one who made such a claim, and were surprised that it was an Elf, tall and lordly.

"Who is this, Mellondu," asked his father, "and to what duty does he call you?"

[Orual]

"You know that no spiced wine could be as delightful as your company," Ravion replied dryly. "And--" he began, but cut himself off abruptly. Aeron tilted his head and glanced penetratingly at the Ranger, who scowled. "And it is a fine night to be out, in any case," he ended a bit lamely.

"Of course," Aeron said, his tone mocking, nodding his head sagely. "A fine night."

"And my past experiences in inns have somewhat ruined my taste for them," Ravion added, glaring at the boy. Aeron simply grinned.

They stood in silence a while, Aeron shivering a bit, Ravion getting quite cold but refusing to shiver. It was then that Aeron said, quietly, "I hope you don't soak my head for saying so, but I think that you're missing a lass almost as much as I am."

Ravion whirled on Aeron, ready to let loose with harsh words and perhaps even a cuff, but all of his fury left him in a rush when he saw the rueful smile on Aeron's face. "Aye," Ravion said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I am missing a lass. Not as much as you are, I do not think, but I am missing her."

Aeron nodded again, and hugged himself closely to ward away the cold. He squinted up at the stars. Ravion followed his line of sight, and sighed deeply. The stars twinkled brightly in the chilly sky, bringing to mind romance and the future, as well as nostalgia and regret. They seemed cold and distant to Ravion. He took a deep breath, and tried to dissolve the shape of Mellonin's face that had suddenly appeared in the stars. He looked at Aeron, whose thoughts were clear on his face. "You are a brave young man, Aeron," Ravion said quietly. Aeron glanced at him. "Braver than I."

[mark12_30]

Mellondu shook his head. "No. No, I do not see that I am duty-bound to this, Erebemlin. I do not." He turned to his father. "Dreams are dreams. I gave them more weight than I should have. I am home; I should not have left you. I am sorry; sorry for the grief I caused you, and the worry, and the pain. I am not leaving you again. I am not abandoning my duty to you again. To my parents," he said, turning back to Erebemlin. "I lost sight of what matters most. I was a fool."

Erebemlin's eyes blazed. "You did not always think so."

"I have changed." Mellondu glared at the elf. "And you have no claim on me. I am not your king. I never was. I'm a blacksmith, too long away from my forge-- and my family."

Erebemlin's eyes softened, and he seemed to falter. "No claim?" he said quietly. "Perhaps you are right. At least, no claim that is truly important. Perhaps you speak the truth."

Mellondu nodded. But Father frowned. "Yet, you do consider that you have a claim, however small," Father said.

Erebemlin spoke slowly. "Small it is, I deem. Were it not for Taitheneb and me, your son would have fallen into madness and not returned. And had we not stayed the will of our king and made him rest, twice your son would have died of a fever. So I may claim his sanity, and twice over, his life. But alas, these are small things, and of little value. I would rather by far a claim on his honor. In sooth I have none. He has made me no promise nor vow, and so he is not beholden to me."

Father turned to Mellondu. "What say you to this?"

Mellondu caught his breath; the elf had trapped him and he knew it. No one in Gondor would consider that claim small-- Mellondu in debt for his mind and his life, not once but twice? His honor, should he ignore that claim, would be shattered. Yet there was more. He looked at the elf with mixed wonder and ire, for he had forgotten the hours he had dreamed with the elf's large hand on his brow; but he had not forgotten the elf's contempt for his mortality. His anger flared again.

"Til now you wasted no love on me, " Mellondu said. "If I owe you my life, then I shall serve you til you release me; honor demands no less. But if I could choose, I would choose a master who cared for his servant. You love your horse, at least?"

Erebemlin frowned. "I do not understand you, man. I have told you I have no claim on your honor. You have given me no vow."

"Yet you twice saved my life, and honor --" Mellondu clenched his teeth-- "demands that I repay that debt, to your satisfaction. Does it not?"

Erebemlin stood still and expressionless. Did men really hold their life and their sanity more dear than their honor? What honor had the boy shown thus far? Erebemlin thought of throwing the boy's offer back in his face; since the boy had no honor, his life was not worth much nor was his sanity, and if he had had any honor at all he would have served his king without pause. But Erebemlin said nothing.

Father sighed. "Master elf, please be so kind as to let me speak with my son in private. We will return to you."

[alaklondewen]

The sun was still low but brightening outside the window of the small room in the inn. Taitheneb sat in a high-backed chair beside the door, gazing unconsciously at the strip of sunlight coming through the drawn curtains. He had taken the duty of watching the swamp elf while Erebemlin attempted to sway the mind of the young blacksmith and the responsibility was unpleasant. Tharonwe’s eyes could be felt on the Lorien elf’s neck, but Taitheneb refused to acknowledge him. Dialogue did not work with Tharonwe. He just twisted words and attempted to dig into one’s insecurities.

He is not worth the effort, Taitheneb told himself more than once as Tharonwe continued to burrow his gaze into the younger elf, waiting for the Lorien elf to drop his guard long enough to enter his mind.

The door creaked open and Taitheneb looked up to meet Erundil’s questioning gaze. The elf nodded, insinuating that no change had come about while the ranger was absent. Erundil returned the nod and crossed the room to the window, pulling the curtain aside only enough to peer through the crack. The stream of light that crossed the room increased and lit the opposite wall, before the ranger let the curtain fall and sat in the chair beside the bed.

“Are you afraid that I might cause harm even to the morning sun?” Tharonwe sat cross-legged on the floor in the shadow of the tall dresser.

Taitheneb shot the elf a sharp look, narrowing his eyes, to quiet him. He then turned to the ranger and nodded toward the window. Erundil rose and opened the curtains, brightening the room and causing his own eyes to blink rapidly at the change.

Taitheneb saw Tharonwe smirk from the corner of his eye, but the younger elf bit his tongue. The awkward silence continued, and Taitheneb wished for the Silmaethor's return.

[mark12_30]

Raefindan watched as Mellonin's happy smile and perky chatter faded to a pale gaping stare. He followed her eyes. Erebemlin stood in the door, and Mellondu and his father were retreating to the back room; father looked very stern, Mellondu looked angry. Very angry.

Mellonin's mother stepped to her side, and slipped her hand through her daughter's arm. "Perhaps we should join them, " said mother. "Your pardon, good Raefindan; please, have some wine." Nodding gracefully to the Rohirrim and the strange wanderer-boy, she led her daughter after her son and her husband, into the tiny back room.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin looked into the small house and into the uncertain faces of the young mortals. His eyes followed the blacksmith’s mother and sister into the back of the home and then flitted back to the group of travelers who watched him questioningly.

Young Bellyn stepped forward, fiddling with her fingers anxiously. “Pardon, my lord,” she paused, looking down at her hands, then gazing up into the face of the Elf towering over her. “What is going to happen?” Turning over her shoulder, she searched the faces of her companions for support. “Will the quest be finished? Will we find ever Nimrodel or will this be the end of our journey?”

The Elf pursed his lips, unsure of the response he should give the young woman. He breathed in deeply, flaring his nostrils. Choosing his words carefully, he began, “I am not certain of the outcome, my lady. I do not understand the thoughts and actions of mortals, but…” Erebemlin stopped, furrowing his brows as his eyes alternated back and forth between Bellyn’s sparkling, hope-filled eyes. “But I have hope, my lady.” It was difficult to say what hope Erebemlin had. Was it hope for the return of his king, or hope that a young blacksmith would realize his destiny and choose to defend his honor, whatever that was to a foolish boy. The Elf was uncomfortable trusting the boy to make the right and honorable decision. Amroth’s flame was still within him, however buried. The boy had to feel it, but why could he not surrender to it?

[mark12_30]

Father gently closed the door behind Mellonin and mother. In the heavy silence, Mellonin's nervous fidgeting contrasted with Mellondu's sullen resentment. Father waited; mother's gaze moved across the room.

Finally Mellonin could stand it no longer. "What will you do?"

"Hush, Light-Love, and wait, " murmured mother.

Father gazed at his son. "Mellondu, the elf is cold, but I deem he lies not."

Mellondu's scowl deepened. "Confound him."

"Is it true, " said mother, knowing it was.

"Yes, " said Mellondu through his teeth. "And what else can I do? I must serve him, or lose my honor. And how would I ever regain it, save by serving him?"

"But we just brought you home, " said Mellonin.

"Surely the elf need not leave today, " mother said.

"But what if he never finds her? What if you never find her?" Mellonin cried.

They looked at one another; no one answered.

"Son, " said father softly. "Tell me; do you carry the elf-king even now?"

Mellondu hesitated, wrestling with his anger, unwilling to respond. Slowly he said, "Perhaps; perhaps I-- " His face went red. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Father's eyes went distant; his hand went to his beard, and he slowly turned, went to a chair, and sat in it, deep in thought. Mother turned to her son. "So it would seem that you serve not one, but two, " she said.

"I do not wish to serve either. Not any more, " said Mellondu.

"Are you free to choose?" said Mother.

Tears sprang to Mellondu's eyes, which he angrily dashed away. "It would seem not."

"Son, " said father, "How did the elf-king first come to you?"

Mellondu looked down. "In my dreams."

"And?"

"They were wonderful dreams, and I wanted more, " he said. "But now they are nightmares, and I have had enough; I have had enough." He fought back tears once more. "I just want to stay home."

Father stood and came to Mellondu's side, and laid his hand on his shoulder, saying nothing. Mellondu fought for his composure while Father waited.

"Father, " pleaded Mellonin.

"Hush, daughter, " said Mother, blinking back her own tears. They waited while Mellondu's inner storm lashed and battered him. Slowly, finally, he became calm. Father gave his shoulder a firm shake; Mellondu looked him in the eye, squared his shoulders, and nodded. The sun was westering; the family slowly walked back out into the front room. They looked only at the tall elf.

Mellondu faced Erebemlin. With a steady voice and clear eye, he said, "I will serve you til my life-debt is paid."

Mother tightened her grip around Mellonin's arm. Mellonin's tears would not stop, but Mellonin dashed them away, standing tall with gritted teeth.

[alaklondewen]

"You are a brave young man, Aeron," Ravion said quietly. Aeron glanced at him. "Braver than I."

Aeron drew his eyebrows together with puzzlement as he looked at the ranger’s face. Aeron did not think himself brave. In fact, he considered himself a coward. He had not been able to save Gwyllion. He had run from the group in the night without giving word to anyone.

“Nay,“ the boy’s face relaxed as he spoke, and a sarcastic grin spread across his thin face. “I am far from being braver than the Lord Ravion.” Aeron’s smile faded when the sadness in Ravion’s eyes did not change. “You know,” he started again as he rocked, wrapping his arms around his knees and looking back up to the stars. “I may not be able to find my lass, but you…” Aeron stopped himself and sighed before glancing back at the ranger.

[alaklondewen]

The humans talked nervously among themselves while waiting in the small Gondorian home. They engaged in idle chatter to hide the conflict and uncertainty that filled them all. Erebemlin remained distanced from them, unmoved, still standing by the door like a cold statue from ages past.

If he had wished, the elf could have sent his thought into the tiny backroom and heard all that passed between the boy and his family. However, he chose not to do this. He would wait until the decision was made.

He did not simply listen to the humans, but he let his mind wander to the North. A sweet melody filled his thought. It was a song of reeds dancing in a cool breeze along the river, the grasses swaying on the banks. Then, he saw the homely cottage, covered in vines and creeping plants that were rich in color and texture. He noticed the cottage door was open before he saw her step onto the threshold. His heart began to beat loudly in his ears. The wind ruffled her hair around her face and shoulders. The brown, green, and gold waves of her hair lit up as the westering sun’s rays streamed beneath the canopy of the porch. A smile formed along her mouth as she saw him and she stopped singing.

No, do not stop, my lady.

Her smile faded for a moment, yet her eyes twinkled still. You are troubled, Erebemlin. What ails you?

The elf did not answer immediately. He did not wish to show the beautiful lady how vulnerable he had become with Amroth’s departure, yet…when he looked into her eyes no judgment could be found and she appeared to already understand his weaknesses and his troubles.

You worry the boy will not choose to follow the path you have laid before his feet. Am I right?

Yes.

Are they not his feet to follow his own path?

Yes, but… Erebemlin started but stopped himself, filled with his own uncertainty. Instead he whispered to her, What of Lord Amroth?

I cannot answer that for you, but I see you have some hope…however small. Marigold smiled and held out her hand to him. Hold tight to that hope. The boy will choose the right path. Now we shall see whether the right path is the one you would have him choose.

Erebemlin wanted to touch her outstretched hand. His mind reached out to her…

The door in the back of the house scraped along the floor as it opened. Erebemlin quickly drew his thought back to the small home. The room fell silent. The humans looked uncertainly from the blacksmith to the elf as Mellondu stepped forward. “I will serve you til my life-debt is paid.”

The tall elf exhaled very slowly. “You have chosen well, young man.”

Mellondu clinched his jaw, then replied, “I will not have my honor destroyed.”

Erebemlin narrowed his eyes slightly and looked upon the young man with curiosity. What the elf thought to himself about the worth of the boy’s so-called honor, he kept to himself and only nodded in reply.

Mellonin sniffed as she brushed away a tear, and Erebemlin looked over the boy to his sister, then to the hurt and understanding faces of his parents. Tearing his eyes away from theirs, the elf turned back to the young blacksmith. “Rest while you may for we will leave the White City at dawn in three days.”

[alaklondewen]

Father placed his hand on Mellondu’s shoulder, squeezing it to convey the pride he felt for his son at that moment. Mellondu pulled his shoulders back and raised his chin a bit higher.

Even though lines of concern were written on Mother’s forehead and brows, she forced a smile and turned to their guests. “At least we have this night. Good Raefindan, and everyone, I do hope you will stay for a bit of supper before you go back to your rooms at the inn.”

Mellondu threw his mother a look of disagreement, but she did not acknowledge it. The boy gritted his teeth. How were they going to feed them all? He knew his parents had naught to spare for so many. In all honesty, he hoped they would leave. He was not in the mood for company, and he wanted the tall elf out of his sight.

“Oh, yes, please stay!” Mellonin pulled away from her mother’s hold and stepped forward, taking Leafa’s hand. She then turned to Liornung. “Oh, Liornung, you must sing for Mother and Father…and Bella! How I loved your song! Please stay!”

“I do not think they wish to…”

“Nonsense, Son.” Mother interrupted. “We would be honored to have to you as our guests. Besides, we have yet to hear the tales of your travels. What do you say?”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“That is very kind of you,” Liornung was the first of the group to speak. “I would love to stay for a while, to visit and talk.”

“So would I,” added Argeleafa, who smiled. Bellyn liked to see her friends happy; it had been a long journey and now they could rest for a while. “There are many of us, though. Will it be trouble to feed everyone?”

“Of course not,” said Mellondu’s mother, earning a look of dismay from her son.

“It is settled then!” Mellonin looked happier than all of them. “Come, sit. Leafa and Bella, over here…Ædegard…”

Mellonin and Mellondu were finally home. Bellyn wondered why she did not feel more at home. Though she had been born in Minas Tirith, she had not been back to the city in over six years. Bellyn had thought she would be fine returning to the city, but as soon as the company had entered the walls, memories had begun to flood back. She remembered so many things. She remembered the day she fell and scraped her knee, and her mother carried her home. On her third birthday it had been raining, and her brothers took her outside to dance in the puddles. Ever since she had been tall enough, Bellyn helped her mother every day to make dinner. Her father spent most of her youth traveling. Sometime when she was twelve, her mother and oldest brother grew ill. When her father finally came home, it was too late.

The memories made Bellyn sick to her stomach. She forced a smile. Mellondu’s parents searched for more chairs, and the visitors made themselves comfortable in their home. Bellyn and Argeleafa stood to help Mellonin and her mother prepare something to eat.

“No, no, sit,” Mellondu’s mother insisted, “I would love to hear of your travels.”

“I do not know the whole story myself,” Bellyn replied with a wry grin. “Let me help, and someone can tell the story from the beginning.”

“Or we could let Liornung sing us a song!” Mellonin suggested.

“Yes, he is very good at that,” Ædegard mused.

Sing something from some distant place, Bellyn hoped inwardly. She could not wait to leave Gondor in three days.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung had readily accepted the invitation, but his manner, while cheery and polite, was rather subdued still. Argeleafa watched him with the deepest concern, but he hardly glanced in her direction. For the most part he gazed out of whatever window was closest at hand, but his face, far from being peaceful and dreamy, was full of shadows.

Leafa moved closer to him, but he did not look up at her presence, or even seem to sense it. She hesitated briefly, but decided that she ought to try to speak to him again.

"Liornung," she said, sitting down beside him.

He made no answer.

She bit her lip, wondering if he had not heard her, or if he chose not to hear.

"Liornung," she said again, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He started, and looked up at her in surprise. "Why, Leafa!" he said, with a smile that was too strained for her comfort. "I didn't hear you come up. How you startled me!"

His voice was cheerful, to be sure, but it seemed so force. "Liornung, they want you to sing," she said.

"Do they now?" he said. "How kind of them. After dinner perhaps I shall sing." He smiled up into her face for a moment more, and then turned his face back to the window. When she saw the shadows returning, she hastened to distract his attention.

"Liornung!" she cried.

The urgency of her tone was unmistakeable, and he immediately looked to her again. She looked desperately into his eyes, and spread out her hands. "Won't you tell me what's wrong?" she said.

He opened his mouth as if to deny any worry on his part, but saw that she would not be put aside. There was a pause, and then he heaved a deep sigh and, getting to his feet, strode over to the window. He could see naught but his own reflection, and the reflections of the others, sitting and talking, or getting the dinner ready, all looking at ease and glad for a rest, safe for Leafa, who was still sitting with worry etched on her features. And his own self. He saw the haunted expression on his face and could not blame Leafa for her worry.

The reflections of the window seemed to fade, until they were moving about the room like so many ghosts, with echoing voices and laughter, and swift floating movements. The room seemed to reel, and the ghosts vanished, so he could see only his own face in the window, and the stars in the sky. And then everything cleared, cleared more than they ought, for the reflections were no longer hazy figures in the window, but sharp and real images that moved before his eyes. He did not recognise them at first, for he was seeking for Bella, or for Ædegard amongst them.

And then, slowly, his mind cleared, as the window had done, and the faces became familiar to him. He caught his breath, and at that sound they ceased in what they were doing, and turned their heads to him, smiling in welcome. He saw Master Ealdor, the innkeeper from home. The Inn was quite empty of guests, so Ealdor was sitting by the fire, laughing and talking with an old man. It was Old Secgrof, and he looked older and more worn than ever. Indeed, he looked as though another winter would bring not only the cold, but his death as well. And yet his face was cheerful, and he raised a hand in greeting to Liornung.

There was one more figure in the quiet Inn. She was sitting in a chair, a little distance from the fire, leaning back and watching Liornung with a little smile on her face. It was Blostma, the innkeeper's daughter. She wore an old faded apron over her gown, as if she had just come from the kitchen. Her foot was slowly beating out the time of some unheard song... some song she was waiting for him to sing. They were all watching him, just as they had in the days before he had left home. They would cease their talk, and watch him... and any moment one of them would ask him to play and sing. Blostma would ask, for she always asked, with a breathless tone of voice, and eyes full of eagerness. Did they delight in his music so much? Did it truly bring such joy to their hearts that they waited in such an anxious manner?

She was standing up. And now she would ask.

But she did not say a word. She simply came mutely to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He gazed at her, through the reflection in the window. There was a long silence, and at last she spoke.

"Liornung," she said.

He waited for the request, but it did not come. His mind was filled with bewilderment. Did she not want him to sing?

"Liornung," she said again, and shook him.

And when she did so, everything faded. The stars vanished into a blackness, and the blackness began to glow softly with a golden haze. Blostma was gone... she had dispelled herself into nothingness. For a moment there was only the blackness with its faint glow, and he was tempted to let it go no farther. He should like to remain in the blackness, and imagine that he would be back at the Inn again. If he left the blackness behind, he knew what he would find. And yet, with a sinking heart, he knew he could not remain. The glow grew stronger, and the figures began to take shape again. The hand still remained on his shoulder, a for a wild moment he thought that perhaps Blostma was still there. But when all reflections had returned, it was Leafa's worried face that stood behind him, and her hand that lay on his shoulder.

"Oh, Liornung, what is wrong?" she said.

He turned away from the window, and looked about the room, studying each face in turn. As he recognised each face, his own was filled with disappointment. Truly, Blostma, her father, and Old Secgrof had disappeared, to the other side of that blackness. But when his eyes fell on Bella that lingered there, and he smiled a smile full of sorrow.

"How I envy dear Bella," he said, "for she is home."

He patted Leafa's hand, and then slipped from her grip and returned to his chair.

[Orual]

"My 'lass', as you put it, is nearly as far out of reach--" Ravion broke off, seeing a hurt expression on Aeron's face. He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. "I am sorry, Aeron. That was unfair of me." Aeron shrugged.

They sat there, two silent figures with similar expressions of pain in their eyes, staring up at the sky. Looking out of the corner of his eye at Aeron, Ravion wondered if the stars held any more answers for the boy than they did for the Ranger. He found no solace in them.

He saw in Aeron's eyes a pain and confusion that was achingly familiar to him. He knew that the boy probably woke up at night and looked for his sister. Again he realized how brave Aeron was, to be able to compare his own loss to the loss that Ravion was inflicting on himself.

He stood up, and extended a hand to Aeron. Characteristically, the boy refused the help and stood up on his own. "It is late, Aeron," Ravion said. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will surely be another long day."

[Imladris]

That night, Aeron's sleep was restless, and he dreamed of his sister, Gwyllion. He remembered the murlocks, her blood that stained the ground, the wreath of flowers in her hair, how the fear had seemed to fade from her face when she had been brought to Marigold's dwelling.

It had been peaceful there, like a pool of sunshine in a glassy dale.

He awoke when the sun was still low in the sky. Quietly, he slipped from his bed and stole his way out the Inn towards the little hovel they had once called home. The place had a lonely feel, he thought as he stared at the crumbling cornerstones framed by drooping weeds.

As the first rays of the sun gilded the sky, he went into their mouldering dwelling and pryed up a loose floorboard to reveal a rather large and lumpy dusty velvet sack that tinkled with cold delicacy as he lifted it from the hole in the floor. He looked hastily over his shoulder as he crept back into the streets again. He was a thief after all...it would not due to be caught -- an urchin with a sackful of precious gems and gold coins...the only thing the authorites could do was to throw him into a jail cell.

Aeron flitted down the streets of Minas Tirith until he found an market place full of bustling women bartering for goods. Quietly, from the shadow of closely clustered buildings, he hurled the sack into the midst of them. Golden coins gushed and pattered to the pavement, rubies glinted in the sun and sapphires winked at the young ladies.

Aeron slipped away as the people gasped, and clustered around the wealth snatching it from the streets with greedy hands.

Thief's honour. That was what Ravion had said. And it was because of this honour that he had thrown the work of years into the streets. He had stolen them for Gwyllion and himself. Little Gwyl was gone, and he did not need the hoarded wealth. Let others have it who was in greater need of it than himself.

~*~

It was evening before Aeron returned to the Inn and slumped into a chair beside Ravion, who was brooding over a mug of ale. Aeron didn't say anything to him, deciding to wait in silence for the others to return.

[alaklondewen]

Even though his parents’ home buzzed with friendly chatter, Mellondu sat glumly, stewing over the predicament in which he now found himself. Glancing up, he found Erebemlin searching his face as if he already expected to see signs of the great Amroth. Mellondu clinched his jaw and looked back down at his hands. He hated this. He could still feel the Elf king within him, but he did not want to relinquish control…not again, especially after all that had happened.

The sound of his sister’s voice babbling happily brought Mellondu out of his thoughts. “…and that’s when we met Gwyl…”

“Mellonin, no,” the young man interrupted. His voice was sharp but low in volume.

The other travelers became quiet, and Mellonin looked indignantly at her brother. “Well, I would rather speak of her life than…” Mellonin stopped herself.

“It’s just too soon.”

Mother recognized the tension in the room and stepped between her children. “There will be more time for tales and song before this evening is finished. For now, let us eat.” She forced a smile and took Mellonin’s hand. “Come, Light-Love, help me serve our guests.”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The laughter and storytelling before dinner was served came out forced and half-hearted. Whatever silent burden hung over the heads of the travelers permeated into their conversations. When Mellonin’s mother began to serve the meal, the friends quieted and thanked her graciously. It was a simple bean pudding, sweetened with honey, but everyone knew that no food on the road could hold contest with a good, home-cooked meal.

Appreciation for the hospitality overflowed from the visitors. There were occasional choruses of “this is wonderful” and “thank you” during the meal, but otherwise the visitors hardly spoke.

When everyone had finished eating, Mellonin and her mother took the dishes. There were many offers to help them wash, but these offers were politely refused. Mellonin started to continue the story of their journey, but hesitated to speak at all of Gwyllion. Mellondu’s stinging gaze threatened more moody and angry words should the conversation take a direction he did not like. After what seemed like ages of awkward jump-start-stalling discussion and storytelling, Mellonin looked over to Liornung.

“Well, our new friends have traveled far as well,” she said, smiling faintly. Mellonin looked at her mother. “They have come from Rohan.”

Bellyn turned to Liornung as well, and saw that in his eyes were images and memories of Rohan; of his own home. Argeleafa’s eyes held the same nostalgic expression. Liornung began to recount his story, from the beginning: meeting Bellyn, catching up to Ædegard, trying to catch up to the ‘mad blacksmith’.

Bellyn realized as Liornung told the tale that it all began wonderfully and mysteriously. Bellyn had drawn and read and revised her father’s maps for years, and always desired to see what was beyond her home. She remembered looking out over the valleys with Liornung and seeing the colors of the sunset – at first, she had never wanted to go back to Rohan.

But Liornung’s story quickly progressed into darker territory.

“Well, then, we rode off, for we saw their company on the horizon,” Bellyn listened eagerly, though she knew the ending.

“It is getting late,” Mellondu spoke before Liornung could introduce Tharonwe into the story and speak of the kidnapping of the women. Both his parents and Mellonin cast him a reproachful look.

“That it is,” agreed Ædegard. He looked to Erebemlin, who nodded, face solemn as Bellyn had always seen it. Does he not smile? Bellyn wondered. The group stood from their seats and moved towards the door. “We shall take our leave then.”

“Thank you for welcoming us to your home,” Raefindan said, looking towards Mellonin and Mellondu’s parents. He opened the door and led the way out.

“Yes, thank you very much, especially for having us to dinner,” added Liornung. A chorus of ‘thank-you’ followed from Bellyn and Leafa. Erebemlin gave one last lingering look to Mellondu before thanking his parents, and Nethwador followed Bellyn out of the home.

[alaklondewen]

Smoke and light poured through the door of the inn into the cold night air as the band of travelers returned from their visit with the Gondorian family. The common room was warm in contrast to the air outside. A warm fire glowed in the fire place lighting the face of the ranger who sat before it.

“Why Master Aeron!” Raefindan stepped toward the boy as Erebemlin finally noticed the young thief beside the ranger.

The Elf watched the humans greet the boy, but Erebemlin stood behind them, irritated that the foolish youth thought he could just turn up unexpectedly after running away like a child and then rejoin the company. The boy did not receive a welcome from the tall Sinda, rather the Elf returned to his room to speak with Taitheneb.

[alaklondewen]

Taitheneb could not help but show his relief when Erebemlin opened the door and entered the small room in the inn. “Silmaethor, have you brought news?”

Erebemlin eyed Tharonwe, who smiled mockingly at the tall elf, and then faced Taitheneb again. “Have you eaten your evening meal, mellon?”

“Aye, we had a meal brought to us here. A few pieces of bread and cheese are left if you would…”

Erebemlin held up his hand before his companion could finish. Shaking his head, he sat upon the bed and leaned against the wall, stretching his arms and placing his hands behind his head. Erundil shifted his weight in his chair, catching Erebemlin’s attention. “The other humans are in the common room if you wish to join them.” The elf glanced sideways at the ranger before looking back up at the ceiling.

“In that case, I will take your leave, Master Elf.” Erundil rose and crossed the room.

Taitheneb studied Erebemlin with a frown at his aloofness toward the man. “I thank you, Erundil.”

“As do I, Master Ranger,” came the patronizing voice of Tharonwe.

Erundil glanced at the elder elf on the bed, then the swamp elf, and nodded to Taitheneb before he slipped out of the door.

“Now, young one, what news have you brought us?” The swamp elf leaned back on his hands and tipped his head to the side.

Erebemlin closed his eyes and bit his tongue at being called young one. After a moment, he sat forward, facing Taitheneb. “We will leave at Dawn in three days.”

Taitheneb looked at him questioningly and then asked, “And which direction will we head, north or south?”

“The boy has agreed to finish the quest. We will pass through the Southern Gate.”

Taitheneb raised his eyebrows, and then laughed light-heartedly. “Why, Silmaethor, that is wonderful news!”

“Ah yes, wonderful news. You will be wasting your time on a hopeless quest.” Tharonwe sneered. “I am sure your Lord Amroth would be proud of your efforts. Of course, it is a pity he will never see it.”

“Quiet, Dark One!” Erebemlin glared at the swamp elf. “It is a pity you will never see the joy upon Nimrodel‘s face when she looks upon her love and my king.” The tall Sinda turned to Taitheneb. “I have thought much about what action we should take against this snake.”

Taitheneb nodded, having wondered what would be done as well.

“Tomorrow, we will bring him before King Elessar. The king will be better able to care for him, and then we can be rid of his presence...for good.”

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan sat at table listening to the others talk. Silence agreed with him, for the most part. He had much to think about. Such as the fact that he was Raefindan here. That was settled for him now. He had memories of being Roy Edwards in the future, and memories of being Imrazor in the past. Which was he? All three. But how? How was he as Roy dreaming himself as Raefindan, failing to wake up for weeks at a time? Was Maegeleb whom the others called Tharonwe correct? So far, no other explanation fit the facts as well. So how was he dreaming this? How was he, Raefindand, dreaming himself as Imrazor? Indeed. He had no idea. Well, he had an inkling. He chuckled to himself at coming up with that word, but held his peace.

So here, now, he was Raefindan. And he was determined to do all he could to help Amroth find Nimrodel. But why should it matter? Why did it matter? He did not know yet, but that would not stop him. No, it drove him on.

But why me? he asked himself. He could think of nothing about himself that made him specially suited to helping Amroth find Nimrodel .... except that he was Imrazor. ... or dreamed that he was Imrazor. Did it really make any difference which way it was? No, it did not, because his experiences as Imrazor affected him just as much as his experiences as Raefindan. And as Roy. But was that it? What use had the Powers for bringing Imrazor back into it? Ah, but he wasn't just Imrazor. He was indeed that man of Numenorean descent, half-elvish it was, who happened to have extensive knowledge of a certain set of books! But weren't they fiction? Suddenly his head hurt.

You are ill of mind, Roy Edwards, Maegeleb had said.

Raefindan shook his head ruefully. Anyway, he was forced by his current circumstances to regad those books as history unfeigned! So why did the Powers want him involved, knowing what he knew? He had no idea. But he was determind to find out.

"What cud are you chewing with such determination, Raefindan?" asked Ædegard.

"Hm?" Raefindan raised his brow and looked at Ædegard across the table, Leafa seated him his left, Liornung on her other side, with Bellyn across from him. Aeron and Liornung sat at another table. "Oh, dreams within dreams."

"You riddle as much as ever, Raefindan," Ædegard smirked.

"I fear to say too much that would do those within my hearing no good."

"You? You speak such wisdom!"

"So I try, Ædegard, so I try, but that does not keep me from being foolish betimes. But I am glad that we will continue the quest."

"Think you that Mellondu is ready? He did not seem so," Ædegard asked.

"I do not know," Raefindan said. "I surely hope so, or we will be battling against ourselves the whole way!"

[mark12_30]

The house emptied.

Father now had many more questions, and Mellondu and Mellonin answered him, taking turns. Father's questions made Mellondu uncomfortable, because he asked mostly about Amroth. Answers came from Mellondu slowly and haltingly.

As the house darkened, Mother touched Mellondu's hand. "Until you have been in love, do not judge a lover too harshly. If an evil one ordered me to forsake my husband, do you think I would happily concur, though another life was threatened?"

Father looked at the wall, saying nothing.

Mellondu shook his head in anger. "Mother, you could not just let someone else die." Mellondu looked from Mother to Father and back to Mother. "After all I had done for him, he would have sacrificed my sister? My sister!"

Mother's gaze softened. "It is not what I would wish, my son. But I could not forsake my husband, for I have sworn an oath to him, come what may."

The room fell silent, and slowly, one by one, they kissed Mellondu and retired. Mellondu stared at the ceiling for a long time, until slowly at first, tears began to fall. They fell long into the night.

[mark12_30]

Breakfast was bread and tea with cheese. Mellondu was silent, and his red eyes told the family what kind of night he had spent. No one spoke much during the meal.

After the meal, Mother drew Mellondu aside once more, and softly asked how he had slept. He shook his head.

"You are still angry with the elven king, " she said.

He nodded, and Mother sighed. There was a long silence before Mother spoke again.

"What if the tables had been turned?" Mother replied. "What if you had been ordered to forsake all your own loves so that an elf could live? Would you have done so?"

"Is that not what Erebemlin is asking me to do now?" Mellondu answered bitterly.

Mother hesitated.

"You are taking the elf-king's side against your own daughter, " Mellondu said.

"Not so, " said Father. "You fail to see who it was that wronged Mellonin. Let us say I order you to remain in the city. If I threaten to kill the elf unless you obey me, where is the evil? With you? With the elf? Or with the one who threatens to kill?"

"But I could save the elf if I obey you, " Mellondu countered.

"I could save the elf and you by honoring the will of each. No, son, the evil lies with the tyrant who forces the choice."

"Small comfort if the other dies, " spat Mellondu through gritted teeth.

"And that, " said Father, "is why we must fight evil. Do you not see? Many have died needlessly because evil held sway. Lay the blame where it belongs: with the servants of evil, not with those who strive against them."

"And if Mellonin had died because of Amroth's refusal?"

Father's face was like stone. "Then Tharonwe's evil would have earned my vengeance."

"After you buried your daughter, " said Mellondu.

"Enough, " said Father. "The evil one, this Tharonwe, is now captive, and no doubt his mischeif is at an end. Mellonin will be safe at home, while you are roaming we know not where to serve these elves. I must now hope that I will not have to bury you." Father came face to face with Mellondu and spoke quietly. "You began this. I blame you not for desiring adventure; many do. But now you have it; finish what you have begun. Leave your sister safe at home, go, and earn your freedom from the elves." Father's face softened. "And then I hope that you will also come safely home."

[alaklondewen]

The streets of Minas Tirith were busy with its people preparing for the new day. The air was calm and cool, while the bright sun showed promise of warming the cheeks and raising the spirit. Two silver haired men stood outside a small wooden house. One of the men swept the walkway that led from his door to the narrow street, while the other scratched his straggling beard and gave his sagacious opinion on the goings on of the city. “Mark my word, Mayhew, that old Willheim will have to pay a mighty dowry to marry off that girl now.”

Mayhew nodded sagely and, leaning on his broom, opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. For at that moment, three tall and graceful beings stepped from the bustling street and walked toward the men.

“Pardon, kind sirs,” the smallest of the golden haired elves stepped forward. “Can you tell us where we might find a guard of the city?”

Mayhew’s eyes widened as he gazed into the faces of the three elves. He awkwardly bowed and dropped his broom, resulting in a startlingly loud clank. As he fumbled to pick it up, he replied, “Why yes, Master Elf --Elves, sirs. You will find Maladan at the second gate. Just take this roa…”

“Nay, Mayhew, you forget,” the other man pulled himself up to his full stature and addressed the elves. “Maladan will not be at his station until after the dinner bell today. Erugil is on duty this morning.”

“Yes, I remember now,” Mayhew scratched his head and looked back to the elves. “Erugil has just been assigned to watch the gate, before that he…”

The tallest of the elves cleared his throat.

“Oh, yes,” Mayhew coughed nervously. “That small street right over there, across from Miriel.”

The other man stepped up and interrupted. “That would be her unloading the apples from Aeridil‘s, that is, her father‘s, cart. He brings his goods into the city every…”

Again, the tall elf cleared his throat.

Mayhew threw his companion a sharp glance then pasted a smile onto his face. “If you follow that street, sirs, you will come just south of the gate.”

“We thank you, sir,” the smallest elf nodded to the men and joined the tall one as they began to walk toward the street.

“Yes, thank you both,” the third elf raised one of his eyebrows and slyly grinned. “May the wind continue to pour from your mouths.” Bowing, the elf joined the other two.

“Thank…” Mayhew began but stopped short as he considered what the last elf said. “What did he mean by that?”

The other man scratched his beard and shrugged.

~*~*~
The sun was well over the lower wall when Erebemlin arrived at the second gate with Taitheneb and Tharonwe. A young man dressed in a uniform, bearing the symbols of the new king, stood beside the large gate. “What may I do for you, Master Elf?” the guard asked as Erebemlin stepped forward.

“We desire counsel with King Elessar. Will you take us to him?”

The young guard looked curiously around the tall elf at the other two immortals and then returned his gaze to Erebemlin. “Please, excuse me, I will return with an answer to your request in just a moment.” The guard disappeared through a door on the right and muffled voices could be heard.

An older man walked through the small door and greeted the elves. Erebemlin introduced his companions and himself. The guard instructed the elves to follow him. Erebemlin nodded and the trio followed the guard throughout the city until they arrived at the highest level where the white tower stood. Erebemlin eyed Tharonwe closely. The swamp elf had come along too easily, knowing he would be handed over to the king.

[Formendacil]

A realm as great as Gondor entails a correspondingly large amount of men and time to run it, efficiently and smoothly, to ensure communication between its far-flung peoples and to uphold the law amongst them, but ultimately all power and authority traces itself back to Minas Tirith, and to the King dwelling therein.

Elessar Telcontar, Heir of Elendil, and High King of Gondor and Arnor, was that apex of power. Though he had his steward, and his vassals, and his army, and all manner of servants, things had the tendency, when important, or unusual, or troublesome, to get sent straight to the throne.

And so it was that when Erugil, Captain of the garrison of the second gate, was met by three of the Eldar, wishing to see the King, he did not think first that perhaps some other might be better able to deal with the issue, but did as they bid, and went straight to the King.

Erebemlin, March-warden of Lórien, had beheld Elessar before, during the War of the Ring and earlier, and Taitheneb had been with him, but Tharonwë the Swamp-Elf had not.

Tharonwë had good reason to be impressed by the King. This was the foster-son of Elrond, the descendent of Lúthien Tinúviel, a Númenorean of full stature. And beside him sat his queen, Arwen Undómiel.

"Hail, my guests from the North," Elessar addressed the Eldar, rising from his seat to incline his head respectfully.

Hail indeed, a strange voice echoed in his mind. Beside him, Elessar saw Arwen's eyes dart to one of the Elves.

"The bond of friendship between my people and yours has grown in recent years, but visits from our Elven friends are few. What brings the Marchwardens of Lórien to Minas Anor?"

One is not a marchwarden, the mind of the queen gave him warning. His mind is closed, and I sense a darkness about him or about his past.

Elessar half-turned to give his queen a confidant, knowing smile. I know, she could read in his expression.

You are a knowledgeable man the Elf told him. Few differentiate between one Elf and another.

Few have been raised in Imladris, Elessar replied.

Then you will know that not all Elves are to be trusted.

From the glances that the two Marchwardens exchanged, it was clear to Elessar that he was conversing with the third Elf.

"Lord King," Erebemlin inclined his head slightly. "I am, as you say, a Marchwarden of Lórien. Erebemlin Silmaethor, I am called. This is my fellow Marchwarden, Taitheneb. This Elf," he gestured at Tharonwë and scowled slightly, "calls himself Maegeleb, and is the reason I am here."

This will be an interesting tale, I suspect, Arwen's amusement plain in Aragorn's thoughts. A twitch in his cheek and a twinkle in his eye suggested that he shared her sentiment.

"If there is a difficulty in which I may assist, then I encourage you to state your case," Elessar addressed the Elves.

"Our difficulty is simple," said Erebemlin. "This Maegeleb has been harassing and endangering the subjects of your realm. We wish to remand him to your custody."

And I wish to be set free, the Elf's voice echoed again, clearly coming from the Swamp-Elf Maegeleb. Do not trust all that these self-righteous Marchwardens say! Their vision is narrow. Maegeleb's thought bore the weight of... something. Desperation, maybe? Intensity? Truth? Beside him, Arwen eye's bored into Maegeleb.

Elessar leaned forward towards the Elves.

"Explain, if you would."

"Together with Taitheneb here, and a number of companions of your race, we were travelling through the swamps about the mouth of the Entwash," Erebemlin began to explain. "This Maegeleb dwelt there, and kept a number of fell servants. He attacked our company, taking our womenfolk prisoner. One of our company perished. He attempted to use the power of his mind to coerce and endanger us, and succeeding in kidnapping one of our number. He returned and surrendered himself to us, but we wish to be rid of him, and to see him punished for his misdeeds."

"Is this the truth?" Elessar spoke directly to Tharonwë, making eye contact. The Swamp-Elf stared back at him, attempting to look unafraid, yet humble; osanwë projecting a emotion of strong truth at the King.

"Silmaethor leaves out all the details, and gives a biased account," he told the King, "but it is correct insofar as it goes." Yet there is more to be said that I would say, were I permitted to speak alone!

My husband shall do as he desires, Arwen cut in coldly. Desist! Tharonwë's mind fell silent, respectful of the Queen's wishes.

Elessar glanced wryly at Arwen, questioning.

There is a darkness to him, her mind impressed upon him again, her mouth set with a hint of petulant concern. He may be more dangerous than he seems, she warned him. Elessar nodded slowly.

"I desire to know a good deal more," Elessar turned to Erebemlin again. "I do not doubt the truth of what you speak, but there is more to be told. Why were you travelling in the lands of Men? Who are these companions of whom you speak? Why were they with you? And I should like an fuller accounting of the events in swamp. What you have said has the ring of truth, but it seems but the barest account. If I am to deal with Maegeleb, I must know what bone of contention lay between you."

[littlemanpoet]

An Elf Princess married to a Man. It made Maegeleb's bile rise. Until he saw King Elessar. His hair bore streaks of grey, which suggested an Elven Lord many thousands of years of age. His mien was kingly like the Númenoreans of old. This was a very son of Elros Tar Minyatar. Maegeleb was impressed. Nevertheless, he was still a Man, and though his wife and others had apparently familiarized him with the ways and means of Osanwë, he did not have the use of it himself.

She did. He feared her. Wisdom was in her eyes. He could feel the gossamer net of her probings upon the edges of his mind. He dared not open, or all would be lost in a moment! There would be no hiding from these two. Maybe taken one at a time he could have stood a chance, but united they were fearsome as Elwë Thingolo and Melian of old.

His off-hand purpose to probe the king would have to be discarded; he had not counted on so formidable a wife. His original purpose, however, could most certainly be achieved. His crimes were heinous, he knew. He had concluded quite early in this interview that he would of necessity confess his crimes with all the remorse he could bring to bear, and express willingness to pay his debt in some way. But he knew that these two, or at least she, would see through any shallow playact. It would be necessary to see his own deeds as would Thranduil, Elrond, and all those others who did not really understand the torment he had endured.

Maegeleb stopped and took notice. Just then a fissure, 'infinitessimal' as Roy Edwards would say, had revealed itself, a crack in the mental defenses of these two: Arwen Undomiel was the daughter of Elrond, who had gone over Sea. She had chosen this Man instead of Immortality; and it was a pain to her. He would find some way, most subtle, to both prick and suage that wound at once, so as to seem compassionate. It would have to be done most carefully, and the benefits of such a ploy ... what would they be? Why, a failure of animosity between the Queen and himself. Not friendship; that he would not ask, but if played right, he could turn her sympathy to him, for after all, were not their plights somewhat akin?

But he said naught of it for now, biding his time. Let the younglings of Lorien speak first, play out all their cards while he held his back, waiting, biding.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin inhaled deeply and glanced at the swamp elf before turning back to King Elessar and beginning. “My lord, it is nigh on one week since my companions and I entered the swamp to seek for the young women who had vanished from our company. What we found was this elf and his Merlock servants. He held the women captive and proceeded to wound one before our eyes while threatening to kill her. The others his filthy servants brought forth, and they had begun already to devour one young girl who came from this very city. Alas, she was lost to us.”

Erebemlin paused to let this news settle. Taitheneb lowered his eyes, and the king furrowed his brows, motioning for the elf to continue.

“A member of our company, young Raefindan, a Man of the north, handed himself over to the beasts in return of the safety of the remaining young women. Tharonwë then fled south with the man. We tracked them for two days, until on the evening of the third night, the pair, elf and man, returned to us. Afterward, we continued our course to the south, to the Pelennor Fields, and finally, bringing him to the great gates of the city and to you, for we are far from our realm and wish to be rid of his presence.”

Elessar leaned forward, concern and curiosity written in his brow. “You have answered one of my questions, Erebemlin, but you have only mentioned one of your companions, this man from the north. Who are the others, and how did it come to pass that you are companions?”

Erebemlin did not answer immediately for how was he to explain this strange quest and how his king returned to him in the body of a young Gondorian blacksmith. “It is a strange tale, my lord,” the elf spoke slowly. “For I do not understand all of it myself.”

King Elessar glanced at the elegant Queen and sat back in his throne. “I would have you tell it regardless.”

“It was two weeks and two days into Rhîw that I had two visitors that came unlooked-for to my home in Lorien, the fair. Both were humans, young men. The first was a wayfaring boy, wild but loyal to the other. The second…” Erebemlin paused and glanced at Taitheneb who reassured him with a nod. “The second appeared to be a young man of Gondor, but he claimed to be…the Lord Amroth.”

The king raised his eyebrows and Erebemlin saw a small smile of amusement play across the Queen’s face. “He claimed to be Amroth? Amroth, King of old, who was lost at sea?”

Erebemlin’s face remained unmoved as though his features were carved from stone. “Yes, my lord.” The elf lowered his voice and continued. “What is stranger still is that I looked into his eyes and touched his mind…and saw that it was so.”

Elessar ran his hand over his beard, smoothing it thoughtfully. "This is strange news indeed." His voice was low as if half speaking to hmself and he spoke slowy. Erebemlin watched the king turn to his queen and it appeared that something passed between them, but the Lorien elf was not so brazen as to attempt to touch either of their minds. After a few moments passed, Elessar returned his eyes to the tall elf. "Please, friend, continue."

Erebemlin told the king and queen all that had happened from the day Amroth came to him until that very morning. When his tale was complete, Erebemlin watched as Elessar and Queen Arwen appeared to hold silent counsel.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

As the sun rose further into mid-morning in Minas Tirith, Bellyn would not be found in the Seventh Star. She left after picking at her breakfast meal, and she walked down past the fourth gate of the city, into the second tier of Minas Tirith. Bellyn knew what she was looking for, but the memories of the streets mixed and blurred in her mind, and she lost her way twice before reaching her destination.

Before her stood a wooden house, slightly dilapidated but in better condition than most of the homes that Bellyn had seen since arriving in Minas Tirith. It looked small, but in Bellyn’s memories it had perfectly fit three people; two loving parents, one small child. Now it only sheltered two.

Bellyn walked up to the door. She knocked. Her heart pounded, a loud drumming in her ears, as she heard light footsteps approaching the door. As it opened, Bellyn had to readjust her line of sight, for the person answering the knock could not have been taller than four feet.

“Hello?” The little boy questioned, his wide eyes matching the mahogany brown of his hair. Bellyn bit her lip; he looked so much like his father. He would not have recognized her, Bellyn knew it. She had left so long ago, when the boy had been less than a year old.

“Hello, my name is…” Bellyn’s voice trailed off as a second set of footsteps could be heard. “Rosa…”

“Oh my,” the voice was vaguely familiar. The woman now standing in the doorway let her hand fly to her mouth as she gasped. She then threw her arms out and enveloped Bellyn in a tight embrace. “Dear Bella, it has been so long! Come in, come in! Oh my! Bella! You have grown up!”

Bellyn followed Rosa into her home, and the little boy, Hallas, followed quietly. The house was smaller than Bellyn had remembered it, but then again, Bellyn was six years older than the last time she had been inside. Rosa led Bellyn to a seat at a large table in the front room, where it appeared that Hallas had still been eating a late breakfast. Rosa looked at Bellyn again, teary-eyed.

“You look just like…” Rosa sniffed, thinking of her late husband.

“It has been too long, Rosa,” Bellyn wanted to cry, she felt so overwhelmed. It had been one thing to enter Minas Tirith, to see all the sights, but quite another to see the family of her deceased oldest brother. “But everything looks the same.”

“How did you get here, Bella?” Rosa inquired, trying to busy herself by tidying up the dining table. “You still live in Rohan? Where is your father? What of your brother?”

“Father is out, mapping. He always is. You know that,” Bellyn replied. Rosa poured Bellyn a glass of water. Bellyn sipped before continuing her story. “Calen is still in Edoras.”

“Then how did you get here?” Rosa asked once more. Hallas had stopped eating, and instead stared intently at Bellyn. Bellyn ignored his gaze. He looked too much like his father.

“I met a man named Liornung. We followed a man named Ædegard, who was, in turn, following a crazy blacksmith who believed he was Amroth. Indeed, though, Mellondu is Amroth! Then we met Elves. We rode closer and closer to Gondor, searching for Amroth’s lost love. Then we somehow met up with Mellondu’s sister and a band of rangers and thieves,” Bellyn chose not to tell Rosa about the run-in with the dark elf of the swamps, but instead skipped forward in the story. “And here we are, still searching for Nimrodel.”

Rosa gaped at Bellyn. Hallas laughed.

"That is quite the story, Bella," Rosa scoffed.

"No, it is true!"

“True? An unmarried woman? Traveling with a band of men?” Rosa shook her head. “It is a good thing you are home, Bella. We have room here, you can stay until we get word to Calen to come take you home.”

“What?” It was Bellyn’s turn to shake her head. “I have to go on! I cannot stay here, Rosa, you know why. There are too many memories here. I need to go with them, and help Amroth.”

“What could you do to help? Bella, we cannot have you traveling with a group of men, it is not done. You can stay with us,” Rosa was adamant. Bellyn stood from her seat and walked around the table to where Rosa stood. She embraced Rosa and then kissed Hallas on the forehead before moving to the door.

“I will see you again,” Bellyn said before leaving the home of her brother’s wife. She walked quickly away from the house.

She passed the third and fourth gates once more, through the winding streets until she had once again found the Seventh Star Inn. She saw Liornung…she saw Leafa and Ædegard…she saw Nethwador.

“Three days truly is too long,” murmured Ædegard, just as Bellyn walked in.

“Did you see your sister?” Liornung asked in a low voice, and Bellyn nodded with a faint smile as she sat next to him.

“I am ready to leave, as well,” Bellyn agreed with Ædegard, who looked at her questioningly.

“Bellyn, you are in a safe place now,” said Ædegard, sitting next to Leafa. “You should stay here, where you can stay safe.”

“You could stay with your sister,” Liornung added.

Bellyn’s brows furrowed. They had traveled this far, and now they planned to leave her behind? They sounded just like Rosa.

“You want to leave me behind as well,” Bellyn murmured. “Because I am a lady. You have so much loyalty to help Amroth, but no loyalty to the women who have traveled so far with you? What about Leafa?”

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard

Indeed, what about Leafa? He looked into her eyes, drinking in the loveliness of her. She smiled a little back to him, but there was questioning in her eyes. She was as much a lady as was Bellyn. He did not want to leave her, but the quest still called, for Mellondu had said as much. So she must stay. Still, Raefindan had helped to open a whole new way to Ædegard's thinking by suggesting that he ask Leafa what she thought of a matter instead of making all choices and telling her afterward; when he had done so, he had found more reason to love her than before, for she was as wise as winsome! But some things did not change. Women should not be brought into the wild to face danger without cause. Surely there was guard enough in himself and the other men, but that overlooked the main thing. And the main thing was that unmarried lasses did not go adventuring with unmarried lads without older men and women to watch over them.

"Leafa will stay behind, I think, for there is none calls herself Leafa's guardian to watch her into the wilds. What say you, Raefindan?"

Raefindan

Raefindan shook his head, which felt cobwebby with all these old notions that he had only read of in history books. Still, there were no police in town after town to see to the law, so he could see why they would think the way they did.

"I admit that I am unfamiliar with these ways you speak of, though I've read about them. It is in my nature to ask for the thought of those who will be affected by these decisions we make for them. I think we owe their loyalty that much, even if the matter is settled." He looked from face to face. "Um, is it? Settled, I mean?"

[Formendacil]

Amroth returned? Can such things be? Elessar considered the story of the Elf before him, and the slight, ever so slight, gape in his wife's expression suggested that she too found it an incredible tale- hardly one to be believed.

Yet Erebemlin spoke with the ring of truth. There was no deceit in him that Elessar could sense, no trace of falsehood in his movement or in his face. Even were it not true, he felt it to be true, and Elessar believed the Elf in front of him to be formidable enough in intellect and memory not to be so deceived.

And who, indeed, would invent such a tale?

Glancing at Arwen for agreement, Elessar put that matter from his mind. He had been asked to judge the case of Maegeleb- Tharonwë, Erebemlin had also called him. His duty as King was to bring justice to the Swamp-Elf, not to judge the validity of Amroth's return. Arwen nodded, barely. His decision was balanced.

"I do not doubt your word, good Marchwardens," Elessar addressed Erebemlin and Taitheneb. "Your testimony to the events in the Marshes I trust to be sure. But I cannot, in faith, sentence Maegeleb here without trial and full investigation. I shall, therefore, in light of your testimony, hold Maegeleb in the custody of Gondor until such time as I have collected all available facts concerning this matter, and may judge them in court. As justice dictates, I shall then sentence him to the punishment he deserves, or release him innocent of the crime."

Maegeleb nodded, his face unreadable, but a feeling of relief and gratitude directed at Elessar. Justice would be served.

Elessar beckoned one of the guardsmen who attended the throne, and had him call for others of his company to lead Tharonwë away to the prisons.

"I am sure that you wish to depart, and seek to reunite Amroth and Nimrodel as soon as may be," Elessar turned back to Erebemlin and Taitheneb, "but I would fain hear of your plans henceforth. What of this Mellondu? Amroth and he coexist, you say. Whither does he- or they- dwell now? And is he agreed to continue to help in this quest? For it seems to me that when Amroth is spoken of, Mellondu has been forgotten."

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin studied the mortal king curiously. Could it be that this king of great renown and reputation was more concerned with the blacksmith than the great elven lord? Surely he was simply interested in what human had been chosen to house Amroth and ensuring that the quest would be continued. Surely.

The tall ellon began uncertainly, still attempting to discern Elessar’s intentions. “The young human lives in this city. I met with him in the home of his parents yesterday.”

Elessar nodded slowly. It seemed to Erebemlin that he appeared more interested after hearing Mellondu lived within his city’s walls. The king shifted his weight slightly in his seat and leaned on his elbow. “And during this meeting, did the boy agree to finish the quest?”

“Yes, he did, my lord.” Erebemlin paused and his eyes flashed as he began again. “The lord Amroth is still within him. I can feel his presence deep within, but I…” Stopping, the Lorien elf glanced at Tharonwë who had yet to be taken. Turning his eyes back, Arwen caught his gaze and he knew she felt his fear before he voiced it. “Lord Elessar, if I may, I would prefer to wait until the captive was lead away before I continue.”

Taitheneb caught Tharonwë’s eyes blaze and could feel his pleasure in sowing the doubt within the Silmaethor.

“I understand your concern,” Elessar spoke to Erebemlin but his eyes were on the swamp elf. “We will wait for the guards to arrive.” The king whispered something inaudible to his wife, and she nodded in reply. Facing the elves again, he stood and kindness shown in his eyes. “It is nearly time for the noon meal. It would be my pleasure if you would join us and we might discuss these matters in more detail.” Erebemlin and Taitheneb bowed in gratitude for the invitation.

At that moment, two guards entered the hall wearing the armour of the king. The first guard strode forward carrying binds. He reached toward the swamp elf, but Elessar stopped him. “I do not believe you will need those. Am I right, Maegeleb?”

The elf bowed his head slightly and replied, “I will go peacefully as I have nothing to hide.”

“So be it,” the king answered decisively.

The party watched as Tharonwë was lead from the hall with a guard on either side of him. Erebemlin cared not if the elf was bound. He knew the swamp elf’s dangerousness did not come from his physical prowess but the power of his mind. The Lorien elves could not help feeling relief when Tharonwë rounded the corner and was lost to sight.

“Now come,” Elessar held out his arms to show the elves the way to his dining hall. “Let us sit and talk.”

[mark12_30]

There were no shackles that bound him, so why could he not move? He could see nothing; feel nothing; hear nothing; touch nothing; smell--

His stomach churned. The smell-- a dusty smell of neglect, of mould, of lifeless rot.

In the darkness, he knew the silence that surrounded him; silence of stone rings, stone walls, stone circles, unmoving, unalive. All around him the dusty smell of age and decay wafted. Near, too near, was a sickly sweet smell-- death and more death. Tombs. The tombs of men; tombs of kings and soldiers and stewards; row upon row of rotting bodies lying in ring upon ring of stone.

He thought of the mounds of Rohan; simple mounds, in rows. Grass covered them; flowers grew upon them. Death within, but life without. No such green graced the stones that ringed him round. Heavy, heavy, weighing down his spirit even more than his body, the dull lifeless stone and the dust of age and decay stole even his breath. Soundlessly, he cried out. An answer touched the echo of his cry.

My lord, I am here.

Erebemlin!

Courage, my lord.

As quickly, the life-thoughts stilled. He sought them, reaching, grasping, groping. Stone closed ever closer round him. The dusty, mouldy smell of decay gave way to the sweet stench of rot, and he knew no more.

[Formendacil]

Dinner cannot be but a sumptuous affair in the hall of the King of Gondor. Even the simplest of fares are prepared by the finest cooks in the realm. So though Elessar and his queen ate but a light, cold meal with their Elven guests the quality thereof was incomparable to any other meal of similar foods that they might have found elsewhere in Gondor.

The interest in the food and polite small talk pertaining to the weather and to news of Lórien and the state of affairs in Gondor occupied them until Elessar pushed his plate away from him, finished save but for a few crumbs, and addressed Erebemlin.

"You were speaking, before Maegeleb was taken away, of Amroth, and how he dwells in this Mellondu. I believe, though you will tell if it is in truth or not, that you were about to share some misgivings about his presence in Mellondu."

"You are correct, Lord King," said Erebemlin. "Amroth is more remote. More difficult for me to reach. During our quest, he was in near-complete control of things, but since our encounter with Tharonwë... well, I fear that he has been suppressed by Mellondu."

Elessar frowned, and glanced at Arwen. She gave him an unknowing, troubled look.

"I would meet with this Mellondu, if I may," he said, turning back to the Elves. "If he is native to this city, then he is a subject of mine, and I would meet the man who has befriended a long-dead Elvenking. And, possibly, I may help you draw your king out of the deep place Mellondu has cast him into- or at least help you to better understand why he is there."

"Mellondu is, as you say, your subject," said Erebemlin. "He is yours to command."

"As you are Amroth's." Elessar nodded. "But I would command him with love, and not power- as Amroth commands you. And, I presume, as you command this quest."

"Amroth commands this quest, Lord Elessar, not I," Erebemlin was quick to reply. "And in some cases there are no bonds of love on which to draw."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“Settled?” Bellyn tried to keep her voice down. She stood from her seat and clenched her fists. She did not look like much of a lady worth protecting, letting a fit of anger take over her usually understanding disposition. “No, it is not settled! Liornung saw no harm in letting me go with him, nor did we hesitate to bring Leafa away from the wayfarers! If it is not proper…well…Erebemlin and Taitheneb are old enough to be guardians to ten or more girls our age! Not that they would want to…”

“Bella…” Liornung put his hand on Bellyn’s shoulder. Leafa sent a caring gaze Bellyn’s way. “No one wants to leave you and Leafa behind. But it is not right to take you both into danger.”

“What if we followed you?” Bellyn murmured, feeling defeated and tired of arguing. She knew that Liornung and Ædegard were right.

“We will come back,” said Ædegard, looking at Leafa with a reassuring glance while Bellyn sat down once more.

“I suppose Leafa could stay with me,” Bellyn folded her arms resignedly across her stomach. She slouched in the chair. “I am staying with my sister. We can wait, but for how long? We do not know how long you will be off, searching, following Amroth.”

[alaklondewen]

The Lorien elves bowed their heads to the king of Gondor, thanked him for his kindness, and departed the great hall. Elessar sent a guard of his tower with them as a guide in the city as they made their way to the blacksmith’s home. While they traveled, Erebemlin wondered if Elessar would be able to do as he said and possibly bring the elven king forth. The elf had more faith in the strength of the Queen for such a task. Yet, a mortal will understand another mortal better than I am able.

Taitheneb was sensitive his leader’s thoughts and was hopeful. “The king is wise, Silmaethor. Surely he will be able to reach the boy and persuade him to let Amroth free.”

Erebemlin did not respond immediately as he remembered the words of Marigold. Are they not his feet to follow his own path? The tall ellon lowered his voice, “The boy is filled with anger. I am afraid he will not relax his control for fear of the king’s power.”

Taitheneb nodded, his brow furrowed. “I wonder if he is able to let go of that control, and if he did…”

“What would the shape and fire of our king be?” Concern was written in the elder elf’s stern face. “Did you…” Erebemlin paused a moment, then began again. “Did you feel and hear the Lord Amroth while we were lunching?”

“Nay, mellon.” The younger elf’s eyes widened a bit with piqued interest. “What did you feel?”

Erebemlin remembered the despair in his king’s call and the darkness that overcame him. “It was as though his heart quailed.” Rubbing his forehead, Taitheneb could see the contact had been distressful for his elder. “I could smell death around him. The stench…and darkness…”

“My lord, why did you not speak up when you felt him?” Taitheneb was surprised Erebemlin would keep this to himself.

“What good would have come from telling the mortal king that I felt Lord Amroth descend into darkness?" Erebemlin began to raise his voice, then whispered through clenched teeth. "He would have just believed that Amroth had departed,” His eyes flashed with passion. “And I know he is still there.”

Taitheneb felt pity for the Silmaethor. He wanted to believe that Amroth would return, not for the sake of the quest, but to heal the heart of his friend and leader.

The elves walked in silence for the remainder of the journey down through the city until they, at last, reached the humble home of the blacksmith. Erebemlin strode forward and knocked on the small wooden door, then stepped back and waited for the inhabitants to answer.

[mark12_30]

Nethwador glanced from Bella to Liornung to Ædegard, and back to Bella, and fervently wished Taitheneb had been there. Anger sparked in Bella's eyes, because of something Raefindan had said. That didn't make sense. Raefindan was kind and good, from all that Nethwador had seen and all that the elves had told him. That Raefindan had angered Bella puzzled him deeply. He didn't want to dislike Raefindan.

Perhaps it was not what Raefindan had said-- perhaps it was what Liornung had said. But Liornung was even kinder than Raefindan.

Perhaps it was Ædegard who had angered Bella.

Perhaps.

He sat very still, and gazed at Bella, waiting, and watching, and wishing again and again that Taitheneb would return.

[mark12_30]

Father answered the door. Erebemlin's frame filled the door as he gave Father the King's message; the elf then bowed and said, "We will wait for you below." He bowed his head and departed.

When the door closed, Mellondu snorted. "Me. Me! Summoned to the presence of the King? Will that elf stop at nothing? Did I not agree to go with him on his mad quest? Why drag me to the citadel? Why involve the King? Does not the elf trust my word? Confound him! He has more regard for his horse than for a man!"

Mellonin paused at the door, hefting her bag to her shoulder. "I would sooner see the King, than Morien. You are lucky. Perhaps the Queen will be with him." Then she smiled. "For that, perhaps the Lady Estelyn will be at the Inn." She cheered visibly.

Mellondu growled, and paced like a wolf.

"Courage, son, " said Father.

Mellondu halted by the bedroom door, writhing within.

Mother paced softly to his side, and placed her hand on his arm. "You will find no rulers kinder than our King and Queen. Go with joy, son. Go with hope."

"He goes not alone, " replied Father, "for he was not summoned alone. The elf bid me come also."

Mellondu started and his face went white. Mellonin glanced at Mother, and nodded first at Mother, then at Father. Then she nodded at Mellondu. "Stop by the Inn afterwards, and tell me all! May the Valar shine on you." Just after the words left her mouth, she wondered if she had been wise to mention the Valar. Glancing again at her brother's fury, she turned and quickly departed.

Mellondu muttered through clenched teeth at the Valar. Father, straightening his tunic, said "Come. It will not do to keep the King waiting." He stretched his arm towards the door, and let his son lead the way.

[mark12_30]

Outside their apartment, down the stairs, and into the street, they found Erebemlin and Taitheneb waiting a stone's throw from the building. Erebemlin looked impassive as usual; Taitheneb nodded a greeting to Father and to Mellondu. Father bowed his head to each elf, and they turned to walk up the street. Occasionally they caught sight of Mellonin until she turned aside at the door to The Seventh Star, with a wave and a smile.

As the four continued, winding their way up the city in midday, curious eyes followed them-- old man, young man, tall impassive elf, younger friendly elf.

Father tried to make some small conversation with the elves, learning from Taitheneb that many elves had sailed, and Lothlorien was growing quiet and sad. After that Taitheneb fell silent; but Mellondu suddenly turned to Erebemlin and spoke.

"Why involve the King in this? And why could I not be trusted to speak for myself? Did I not agree to join your quest? Did I not agree to serve you until you deem that my life debt is paid? Why did you do this?"

Erebemlin shook his head. "I did nothing. This desire came from the King, and not from me."

Mellondu halted, his jaw working. Such a thought had not crossed his mind.

"The King wants to see me?"

"Nay," said Erebemlin, "the King wants to see Amroth. Whether he gets his wish is yet to be seen."

The anger on Mellondu's face drained away, replaced by weary ire. "I see, " he said, but the edge had left his voice. Father's face was like flint. Erebemlin marched steadily along. Taitheneb's face was turned away. A few paces later, Father asked the elves some question about archery, but after that the group fell silent. It seemed to Mellondu that only moments passed before they were at the doors to the great hall.

[mark12_30]

Word came to the prisons of Minas Tirith that a new captive was approaching.
The event, in and of itself, was not surprising. The small cells were
often full with those who chose to break the peaceful laws of the city.
Those individuals were usually petty thieves or drunken brawlers who were
held until sober. What had piqued the interest of Iorgil, the young
watchman whose duty it was to guard the prison cells this day, was that the
messages told that an elf was being brought to the prisons. The young man
had seen the immortal folk from a distance and had been in the presence of
the Queen, on a rare occasion, but he felt a mixture of anxiety and
curiosity about being so close to one. And what could an elf possibly do to
earn himself lodging in the White City’s prisons? That is what perplexed
Iorgil more than anything else did. Were not elves virtuous and upright?

Footsteps could be heard in the corridor and the young guard rose from his
seat to watch the cell door open. The dark-haired elf slowly entered and
then the door shut with a loud clank. Iorgil’s eyes widened when he saw the
noble being. For that was how the elf appeared to the young man…noble. He
was tall with slender, regal features and smooth, white skin. Iorgil
stepped slowly down the hall toward the cell to obtain a better look. He
could only see the back of the elven figure as the elf was surveying his new
surroundings, bending and looking beneath the bedding. The elf stood and
turned toward the cell door and the young guard caught his breath. The
elf’s perfectly formed lips were curled up in disgust and nostrils were
flared. Iorgil watched the shining eyes before him flash when they landed
on him and a sickly sweet smile form across the fair elven face.
~*~*~*~

[littlemanpoet]

Sickly sweet smile. Maegeleb quickly removed the expression from his face. This Iorgil was as readable as the largest sign posted on the greatest gate.

"So you are my jailer," Maegeleb intoned evenly, conveying just the right degree of nobility and benevolent disdain so as to communicate to this young man - very young man apparently - his comparable worth in the presence of an elf.

The young man nodded dumbly.

"Surely you have seen an elf before." You are in the presence of greatness.

"Yes, sir. I have seen the Queen."

"Of course." This elf before you is too great for your curiosity.

"Um, I must return to my duty."

"That you must." This elf cannot be guilty of whatever crime he is charged with!

There. Let those thoughts moulder and merge with the mullings of the young man. For now. That Roy Edwards' hypnotism, merged with osanwë, was a most effective means of achieving one's ends.

[littlemanpoet]

Formendacil's post

The first thing Elessar noted about his young subject as Mellondu and his father entered with the two Elves, was that the young man seemed rather bitter. Arwen looked over at him, clearly concerned about the young man's state of mind. A tightness around the mouth suggested that she did not think him at all at ease. Whether she felt Amroth, Elessar could not tell. The two men bowed before the King.

"My lord," Mellondu's father said, with a sweep of his arm in his son's direction. "I have brought you my son, Fingon."

"Also called Mellondu," said Elessar, with a brisk nod. "I am pleased to have you and your son here. What is occuring now will make a famous man out of your son, if the minstrels hear his tale in days to come. Neither the Queen Arwen nor myself would have these matters pass us by unnoted."

Arwen smiled at Mellondu and his father. "Even Kings and Queens of the Edain desire to meet heroes and figures out of great tales."

"But as I am not just a spectator of your tale, but also your King," Elessar addressed Mellondu's father, "I must concern myself: is it your will that your son should accompany these Elves, and share his body with Amroth, in the fulfillment of his quest?"

"It is," said Mellondu's father, sombrely, "my son's honour requires it, and both he and I are men of dignity, though our status may be humble. Mellondu goes with my grace and of his own decision."

"Then I am satisfied," said Elessar. "And what of you, Mellondu?"

"I understand you desired to see Amroth, my lord," the young man's voice was tense, and maybe somewhat sullen.

"No Mellondu," Elessar rose, shaking his head. He strode down to stand in front of the young man. "No, I wished to see my subject who has given so much in friendship to a legendary Elvenking."

"There is friendship no more," Mellondu said bitterly. Behind him, Elessar could hear a russle as Arwen rose to join him.

"We have heard how Amroth placed your sister in danger," she said to him. "But can you not forgive him of the events that day? Your sister survived unharmed."

"I see only that Mellonin was endangered," said Mellondu, stubbornly. "And that Amroth betrayed my trust."

"We are not a court to render judgement on Amroth's actions," said Elessar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erebemlin stir slightly. The Elf had not expected him to side, perhaps, with Mellondu against Amroth. "But there are times when we must forgive those who have wronged us. Even if they have hurt us deeply."

"Why does any of this matter?" asked Mellondu. "Why do you care?"

"I am the King of Gondor," said Elessar. "This is not just a charge to rule the people, but to care for them. Tensions between you and Amroth can rip you apart, Mellondu. He is still in your mind, even if you wish it not. You continue to grant him lodging, but it would be better if you did it ungrudgingly. The mortal body was not meant to sustain the conflict of two minds."

"Nor is an immortal body," said Arwen, cryptically. "Amroth is in great turmoil. From you, Mellondu, for suppressing him. And from his own anguish, which is confused and I cannot read it. If Amroth and you are to both see a happy finish to this tale, it falls to you to lead the way. Amroth, even in control of himself, has not the ability to see beyond Nimrodel. Someone who can see further is needed."

"I cannot forgive him, my lady," said Mellondu. "Someone who cares so much should understand that I love my sister."

Elessar and Arwen glanced for a second at each other.

"If we cannot sway your mind, Mellondu, then I believe we are finished," Elessar addressed the boy. "I beseech you to consider the words of your Queen, and make peace with Amroth- even if Amroth doesn't deserve it. Even Manwë gave Morgoth mercy."

"Lord," said Erebemlin, "there is a matter of horses..."

~:~

The visitors departed with a grant of two additional mounts from the king. Mellondu's father was holding his arm, and whispering something to him. Erebemlin and Taitheneb wore faces of mixed confusion. That Elessar was more interested in Mellondu than Amroth had not crossed their minds, it seemed. As the guests departed from earshot, Elessar turned to Arwen.

"Is there any hope that Amroth can find Nimrodel?" he asked. "Can he be restored to peace?"

"In Mandos, mayhaps," said Arwen, "but it will not be a happy road for Mellondu, I deem. And it may not happen soon."

"The grace of the Valar go with them," Elessar looked down the now-empty hall. "And grant that they return at peace."
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Last edited by Formendacil : 08-28-2006 at 10:47 PM.

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littlemanpoet's post

The Elves, and the family of Mellondu and Mellonin had gone up to the palace of King Elessar and Queen Arwen, and returned. Mellondu said little. Mellonin seemed as if she had many thoughts to keep her mind busy, but also seemed contented to remain in Minas Anor while the men continued the quest. This helped to settle the hearts and minds of Bellyn and Leafa. Nethwador did not seem very happy at all that Bellyn would stay behind, but was nonetheless willing to go with Amroth/Mellondu and the two Elves, whose aid he still required to communicate with the other humans.

So the men went about gathering supplies. Ravion was given charge of the details, and sent Ædegard, Nethwador, and Raefindan out to market for the necessary supplies. The King had taken an interest in their quest, and had offered gold toward their preparations, which quickened the preparations remarkably.

Meanwhile, the women made plans for lodging; Mellonin was given her job at the tavern again, at the behest of Estelyn; Leafa was also taken on by Lady Estelyn, and would be staying at the Inn. Bellyn chose to stay with her family.

By day's end the men were ready. All that remained was to bid farewell.

Bellyn & Nethwador

“I do not want to stay here,” Bellyn murmured from where she sat, in the main room of the Seventh Star. Nethwador stood next to her, and when she rose from her seat and shouldered the small pack which she had carried all the way from Rohan many days earlier, the boy looked at her with furrowed brows.

“Nethwador mellon Bella,” said he, fervently. He spoke this one phrase, which he had often said on the road, with a wonderful certainty.

Bellyn nodded. “I know. But you have to go. Because Nethwador is also the friend of Amroth…and Amroth needs you now.” Bellyn went to the door, Nethwador close behind. She opened the door and felt the harsh, crisp breeze hit her cheeks.

“I will see you again, I promise,” Bellyn said, turning to Nethwador. She said this, more of a reassurance to her own worried mind than for Nethwador. Bellyn took Nethwador in an embrace, a quick embrace; for she felt her eyes suddenly begin to water. Then she turned away, off down the road she needed to take to get to the home of her nephew and her brother’s wife.

“Nethwador mellon Bella!” She heard, from behind. Bellyn paused. She turned around and ran back to the door of the Seventh Star, where Nethwador stood, and she flung her arms around him once more. It was a tight embrace, and Bellyn did not know how long it lasted before she withdrew, smiled, and turned away once more down the street.

The walk felt longer than when she had visited her sister-in-law earlier. When she reached the door once again, she felt the wind running through her hair as she knocked. Rosa opened the door, and Bellyn entered, saying goodbye to nights under the stars and to the promise of a new adventure every morning.

Nethwador watched Bella go.

Taitheneb watched Nethwador. There had been many late-night discussions between the boy and the elf over the past two days. He felt the boy's heartache well enough without touching his mind. Perhaps he felt it more than he wanted to. But no; the boy needed a friend, now more than ever. He waited. Bella disappeared from sight. Nethwador seemed poised to run after her.

Taitheneb sighed; then he smiled.

The boy wavered, and suddenly ran out the door, rounding the bend in the road 'til he could see her once more. But he did not call her name; he only watched her walking, til she slipped out of sight once more. Again he ran after her; again he watched, til she disappeared from his sight. Several folk gave him odd looks, and a few soldiers frowned. Again he pursued her.

By the time Rosa opened the door for Bella, Nethwador was wearier than he could ever remember being. He saw her disappear within Rosa's house, and stood for a while. Taitheneb watched over him, and Nethwador clung to the elf's gaze. His heart had never been so heavy. Slowly he walked back. When he came to the door of the Inn, Taitheneb was waiting for him.

Taitheneb thought that now, perhaps, Nethwador understood Amroth a little bit better. Nethwador looked up, startled; there was more in that thought than Taitheneb knew at first.

You?

Yes, little brother. You understand Lord Amroth. And perhaps now you understand me as well.

They went into the Inn, and together they sat silently by the fire, long into the night, til all the other folk had gone to bed. Finally Nethwador, weary from heartache, fell asleep on the hearth. Only then, in the red ember glow did Taitheneb allow three tears to fall. One, he reasoned, for Nethwador. One for Amroth. One last tear fell because his long years apart from his own wife had not yet ended.

Then he stirred, stood, and added some wood to the fire, watching over Nethwador til dawn.

Ædegard & Leafa

Ædegard asked Leafa to walk in the garden beside the Inn. From there one could look out over the heights of the Third Circle to the vista of plains, river, forest, and mountains, the sickle moon rising above the Ephel Duath in a clear night sky.

"Maybe we will not be long, Leafa," Ædegard said presently. "Maybe you and I will soon be on our way to find your father."

Leafa turned her eyes to Ædegard, a low sigh escaping her. "I hope we shall find him," she said. "Rather, I hope we can. I could not say where he might be. He might even be here in Gondor while we speak."

There was a small pause, and during that silence Leafa was deep in thought. It was a sorrowful contemplation, for she was very much troubled, and at length she sighed again.

"Leafa?" said Ædegard, a loving concern in his voice which dispelled some of the chill in her heart. "What worries you?"

"It is my father who concerns me," she replied.

"You fear he will not give his consent?"

"Oh, no! I fear no such thing, and am almost sorry for it." She smiled when she observed the expression on his face. "Of course I would wish for him to accept you. And yet, at the same time I wish there were some chance that he would not."

Ædegard remained silent, but his eyes questioned.

"How may I explain it?" Leafa said. "His consent will be given without thought. He will not reflect on whether or not you are a strong and upright man, and whether or not you will be a good husband to me. Were you a low scoundrel his consent would come with no less reluctance. My father loves me, and at the same time, he does not care."

She turned and bent over some of the garden bushes to hide the tears that she could not keep from shining in her eyes. For a few moments she played with the leaves, breaking them off and letting them fall to the ground, while Ædegard looked on without a word.

"When Liornung offered me the chance of going with him and the rest of your group," she went on after a time, "I saw not only that chance, but also the chance to settle down to a quiet life when your quest was done. My father loves the life of the wayfarers, but I do not. Nor does my mother, though she follows him, for her love for him is greater than her wish for a peaceful life. He loves the both of us dearly, but not enough. The call to travel means more to him than the silent pleading of my mother's eyes."

She straightened up, and let a few more leaves fall to the ground. "But I hope that our union will be the means of his return. Perhaps he will come live near us, and quit his wanderings. I hope with all my heart that it may be so."
"As do I, Leafa," said Ædegard, with all gentleness in his tone, for despite all efforts, her tears had not gone unnoticed.

She turned back to him, and taking his hand, attempted a smile. "Yet why am I so gloomy at this time, when you are soon to leave? Your memories of me on the road should not be of a tear-filled and miserable girl."

She looked up at him, and he down at her, and they remained standing that way for some time. Time and again she tried to speak, to express her love, and her longings for his return, but she found it impossible. And so at last, she shook her head and laughed.

"I cannot speak," she said. "Words cannot suffice to tell all that is in my heart. I fear that I can make no passionate speeches fit for this time. I try to speak, but nothing will come." The merry flickering faded suddenly from her eyes, and was replaced with a tender and sorrowful earnestness. But Ædegard smiled gently.

"I need no great speeches, Leafa, my heart. Your eyes say all I need."

She smiled then. "Farewell, dear Ædegard. Return to me soon. I will wait for you."

And she bent and kissed his hand. He was startled by her gesture. He took her in his arms and drew her to him so that she rested her head on his shoulder, and they watched the moon.

"Farewell, my dear Leafa. Watch the moon, and I will be watching it too at night, and so we will know that our eyes are turned to the same light."

"I will."

It was long moments before they parted. Little did they guess how long they would be separated.

Raefindan

Raefindan strolled toward the home of Mellondu and Mellonin with the purpose of bidding farewell to his new friend and promising to keep a human eye out for her brother. It was a pleasant, well kept dwelling, as stone buildings in Minas Anor went (for he remembered that the old name had come back into usage by rule of the King).

He knocked on the door and waited.

Mother opened the door, and smiled. "Good Raefindan, welcome. Please, sit down." She faded into the back room, and soon emerged with Mellonin and Father.

"Raefindan. It was good of you to come, " said Mellonin.

Raefindan blinked at her newfound formality. "Mellonin?" He hesitated.

She smiled. "Forgive me. But I will miss you. I assume you have come to bid farewell. All is set for your departure, then, " she said, nodding, trying to sound as if she was not jealous, not envious, nor the least bit resentful to be staying behind. "Between Ravion and the elves, you will be very well guided. You will take up your archery lessons again?"

Raefindan smiled. "Perhaps I will not be the only one. Ravion was admiring Mellondu's fine bow. A ranger's bow, he said, of good workmanship. "

Father bowed slightly.

Mellonin hesitated. "Perhaps I will learn to shoot, while you are away. And then perhaps when you return..." Suddenly she laughed, and drew a hand over her eyes. "What am I saying. I will have plenty to keep me busy; the Inn is thriving, and I am busy all day long. Safe travels, Raefindan. May the Valar guide your path. Return home safely. All of you. I look forward to your return." She stood as if to leave, as the triple passions of mirth, grief, and desolation vied to rule her.

Raefindan smiled. Mellonin's hands were folded and fidgeting before her, and she did not know where to look. "I will watch your brother. Let hope be your guide, Mellonin. It will be mine. Hope does not fail -" he paused and grinned "-by gum and by Jorje."

"Gum?"

"Maybe I'll find a cat to name Gum. I do wish Jorje had stayed with us."

"He is happy where he is, I think," Mellonin said.

"Quite right. Well, I'll be off now. Keep hoping!" He waved as he went out the door.

"I will, by Jorje!" she called.

[Imladris]

Aeron had been quiet while those of greater importance than he talked and arranged the final plans for departure. He was here to serve Ravion. The doings of the elves meant little to him.

His fingers nimbly knotted the bags of food and medicines to the horse's back and he wondered how long it would be before he would come to this city again. If ever he would return. Did he want to return? Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't. When he saw the sunlight hit the top of the towers he would remember how Gwyllion would point at them and laugh, calling them stars that had drifted from the night skies and it was in moments like those that he wanted to stay. But othertimes, in the night when he was restless and couldn't sleep for memories, he wanted to leave everything behind.

He wondered if death would save him the necessity of making a choice.

Death.

He shivered in the sun. He felt an uncontrollable desire to go home. And home wasn't here and home wasn't there. Where was home?

He felt saddened that the ladies were staying in the city. They had been cheerful and their smiles were warm and gentle. He would miss them. It had been said that it would be safer for them to stay behind. Maybe that was so, maybe not. Aeron was under the impression that if the women wanted to come they should be allowed to do so. Death came swiftly...it would not do to have it snuff a half lived life.

He sighed a little, shouldered his pack, and stepped in Ravion's boot prints as he led them away from Minas Tirith.

[mark12_30]

Bitterness sometimes gave way to disbelief, as he followed in the footsteps of the tall golden elf. How could he be leaving his city? Again? Of his own free will? Time and time again, he was tempted to turn back. In front of him strode Erebemlin; behind him, as if mistrustful that his king's packhorse might change his mind and bolt homeward, followed Taitheneb. Three confounded elves in a row, as if they were on parade.

He twitched, and shuddered, and shook his head. I am a man, and no elf, he snarled at himself. Yet the image lingered, and in his minds' eye, behind Erebemlin he saw-- or did he feel?-- not a small slender man from a city of stone, but a tall, broad-shouldered, golden-haired woodland king. He shook his head again and again, but the image lingered on.

He spat.

Then he turned to look past Taitheneb. There strode the goldenhaired Rohirrim, and behind them, Ravion, and Raefindan, and the thief-- Aeron. All middling size; all refreshingly mortal. He nodded fiercely, and with lips pressed thin, turned back around.

The three elves strode on, with the men following behind, leading their horses away from the city.

[mark12_30]

**placeholder for last minute additions**

...and "To Be Continued" in Part Two (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=13213).

[mark12_30]

***bump***

[littlemanpoet]

*bumped*

[piosenniel]

For the time being, this game will be stashed safely in Elvenhome.

It may be resurrected upon request.

~*~ Pio