Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[mark12_30]

MINAS TIRITH

The morning sun glimmered on the northwesternmost edge of the fourth circle of Minas Tirith. Cold mountain winds snapped the clothing hung in the rearmost recesses of the estate. From the clotheslines, a servant-girl carrying a wicker basket of clean laundry walked past the stables and toward the house. But she veered , drawing closer to the smithy whence sparks snapped and bellows blew, and blades hissed as they were quenched. She stood a moment and watched while several hammer blows fell. They rang loudly but she did not wince.

The young blacksmith turned to stoke the fire, and greeted her with a smile. "I almost have it, " he said. "All but the-- ah-- the sixth verse from the end. Do the waves splash or wash?"

She smiled, shifting the basket from left to right. "Neither:

When dawn came dim the land was lost, The mountains sinking grey
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed Their plumes of blinding spray."

"Heaving waves that tossed... You could have sung it for me, " he reproached her with a smile.

She smiled and turned towards the house.

He picked up his hammer again. "I'll sing it for you tonight, after dinner. I'll have it by then."

She laughed. "I'd best hurry, if I hope to be back in time to hear you sing it! Today is market day, and there is no small pile of things to wash."

As he worked, he sang, the gentle tune contrasting strangely with the blows of his hammer. And the same strains, shredded and whipped by the cold mountain winds, flew from the house into the neighboring buildings. Brother and sister, separated by chores, echoed each other throughout the day. Neither knew it. But one with keen hearing standing betwteen the smithy and the house would have heard two voices, singing at different times, the same song.


An Elven-maid there was of old, A shining star by day.
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold, Her shoes of silver-grey.

A star was bound upon her brows, A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs In Lorien the fair.

Her hair was long, her limbs were white, And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light As leaf of linden-tree.

Beside the falls of Nimrodel, By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell Into the shining pool.

Where now she wanders none can tell, In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel And in the mountains strayed.

The elven-ships in haven grey Beneath the mountain-lee
Awaited her for many a day Beside the roaring sea.

A wind by night in Northern lands Arose, and loud it cried,
And drove the ship from elven-strands Across the steaming tide.

When dawn came dim the land was lost, The mountains sinking grey
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed Their plumes of blinding spray.

Amroth be held the fading shore Now low beyond the swell,
And cursed the faithless ship that bore Him far from Nimrodel.

Of old he was an Elven-king, A lord of tree and glen,
When golden were the boughs in spring In fair Lothlorien.

From helm to sea they saw him leap, As arrow from the string,
And dive into the water deep, As mew upon the wing.

The wind was in his flowing hair, The foam about him shone;
Afar they saw him strong and fair Go riding like a swan.

But from the West has come no word, And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk have heard Of Amroth evermore.

[mark12_30]

Market Day (one week later)

In contrast to the bright morning air and the early smells of the marketplace, an odd musty smell reached her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and rearranged the napkin over her bread-basket. As she walked away from the market, her eyes checked to and fro for the source of the musty smell.

The windows were open at the Inn! There had been no activity there for so long. Her brother would be thrilled! And then she sighed, and shook herself. She had to find him first.

Perhaps he was at the inn! Her steps quickened, and she approached and tried the front door. It was shut. Puzzled, she went to an open window, and cautiously peered inside. An elegant woman stood facing the dark fireplace with a mug in her hand.

Clasping her hands around her basket-handle, she bowed her head slightly. "Beg pardon, my lady, and a good morning and good health I bid you. I am looking for my brother; perchance have you seen him?"

"I could better answer your question if I knwe who he was, " the lady replied. "Come in."

She stepped gratefully inside, glancing around taking in her surroundings, and set her basket down.

"Tell me about this brother you are looking for."

"His name is Fingon but all call him Mellondu. He is a good lad, hardworking, and always responsible, even though he is quiet and dreamy. We are apprenticed to the same family here in the city. I was apprenticed first, of course, five years ago, and he was apprenticed three years later. He has learned metal-smithing; and sometimes he learns a little carpentry from our Master's neighbors."

"That sounds like a good combination," Estelyn said. She considered the young woman and did some guesswork; apprenticed five years ago-- probably at age fifteen. That made her twenty now, and her brother perhaps about seventeen or so. "And what about you? What skills are you learning?"

"Oh, " she said with a little laugh, "Embroidery of course, and sewing, and cooking. And cleaning." She sighed. "I would like to learn to do the books, but I do not know my numbers, and I keep hoping that they will teach me runes. They have not. Not yet."

"I see. Go on, " Estelyn said. "And what is your name?"

"Finduilas, my Lady, but no one calls me that. They call me Mellonin."

"Finduilas and Fingon are noble names. Your parents like history?"

"Yes. Our family was important, generations ago. But not now. Noble names are now all we have. That is why Mellondu and I prefer our nicknames."

"Mellondu, Mellonin. So he is Friend-dark, and you are Friend-white?" Estelyn pondered the girl's dark hair and dark grey eyes, and waited for a more logical explanation.

Mellonin considered the depths of her teacup and answered, "He's very moody. But of course, he is never rude, or impolite, or careless. Just sad, and quiet. My parents said that he is gloomy and I'm the cheerful one. So, Darklove and Lightlove. It started out as a joke, of course. He isn't really dark. Just sad."

"I see. And why are you looking for him?" Estelyn prompted.

"Two nights ago, he did not come home, " Mellonin replied. "Our Mistress was very worried, and our Master was angry and said he must have had too much to drink and fallen asleep somewhere, and that he'd be back at dawn with a headache. I did not think he would drown in his cups, but I held my tongue." She fidgeted with her teacup. "But then the next morning, he did not return, nor last evening. Nor this morning either. And no one in the marketplace had seen him, yesterday, nor the day before. I've been asking, and no one has any news."

"What does he look like?" Estelyn said.

"Well, people say he looks like me, only an inch taller, and a finer, thinner face."

"Ah. You resemble each other quite closely?"

"I wore his clothes one day, and fooled many people."

Estelyn's eyes sparkled. "Indeed. And did he wear yours?"

"No, my Lady!" Mellonin replied with a shocked giggle. "No, he didn't!" She decided that she liked this Lady. She raised her eyes, shyly, and searched the Lady's face, softly lit by the growing daylight on one side and firelight on the other. "But my Lady, what would you do? Where would you look for him? I've already asked all his friends that I can find. He misses the Innkeeper here, I know. He used to come here and listen to songs and tales. That's why I had hoped you knew of him."

"No, I don't know of him, " Estelyn replied. But perhaps you will learn of his whereabouts here at the Inn. "

Mellonin considered this as she gathered her basket, thanked the lady, and departed. She mentioned it to her mistress that evening, who went away looking thoughtful.

************
Mellonin slowed as the inn came into sight, and paused to catch her breath. She gazed at the sunset, sad and happy at the same time, and wondered why; wondered why she felt hopeful, when her brother had not been heard from in four days.

She looked down at the letter in her hand, and puzzled over it again. It had been written late last night. The Master and Mistress had been closeted away yesterday, and mum today; the Mistress tight-lipped and angry, the Master absent-minded and nervous. The forge-workers had been puzzled, and even the animals had been ancy.

At sunset they had ordered her (washed and combed and in her best dress) back to the Inn, bearing a mysterious letter and a basket of gifts. She puzzled over them. Jars of honey and jam, a spiced ham, a bottle of very good wine, and a round of cheese. Still mystified, she approached the door, and softly entered.

She was not unattractive, and the mistress had ordered her to look her very best. All eyes followed her. They puzzled at the basket she carried and the letter in her hand. She blushed under their stares, and scanned the people. At one table sat an old man and a young man; she nodded nervously to them. At another table sat a woman and ... was that an elf? And there was something very strange about the woman, also.

And at another table sat the Innkeeper, Morien. Not seeing Estelyn, she approached Morien.

"She'll be right back," Morien said. "Have a seat." He pulled at his ale.

She would rather have stood, but neither did she dare disobey him. "Yes, sir." She sat bolt upright, clutching the basket in her lap.

"You could relax," Morien growled at her.

"No, sir," she replied.

Estelyn returned, and Mellonin hastened to her, taking refuge in her kind glance. "Please, my Lady. My Mistress sends you these foods and my Master sends you this wine, with their compliments. And they have written you a letter, my Lady."

Estelyn raised one eyebrow, and suppressed a giggle. The twinkle in her eyes set Mellonin at ease. Estelyn accepted the basket, opened the letter, and read it as Mellonin waited.

"And what do you think of this?" Estelyn asked her.

"My Lady?"

"Don't you know what this letter says?"

"No, my Lady."

"Come with me." Estelyn led Mellonin to an empty table and motioned her into a seat. Lowering her voice, she motioned Mellonin to lean close, and softly she read the letter to her.

"To the Most Esteemed Royal Princess and wise Loremistress Estelyn Telcontar, greetings and salutations. We wish to express our most profound and humble gratitude for your kindness to our beloved servant Mellonin, whom we cherish as our own precious daughter...." At this Estelyn glanced at Mellonin, who looked rather surprised. Nodding, Estelyn continued. "We estimate that we shall never be able to repay our debt of gratitude for your kindness toward our beloved servant... ... feh... blah, blah, blah. Anyway, the important part is this, down here." Estelyn pointed towards the bottom. "Remaining at the Inn, she will of course be better able to inquire after news of her missing brother. We have contacted her parents and they are agreeable to our plan. Therefore, should you find the plan agreeable to you, please accept our offer of her apprenticeship and service for as long as you enjoy her services or at least until the fate of her brother can be ascertained. She has few belongings and will be able to gather them quickly at whatever time you see fit. We are grateful to entrust her to one so learned, wise, kind, generous, trustworthy... blah, blah, blah."

Estelyn lowered the letter, and considered Mellonin. "You didn't know about this."

"No, Lady."

"What do you think of it?"

Mellonin sat back. Much of the letter confused her; three points were clear in her mind. One: they claimed to cherish her as their own daughter; that, she doubted. Two: At the Inn, she would be more likely to hear news of her brother. That she believed. And third, her parents approved of the mysterious plan.

"What plan, my Lady? Do they mean that I should work here at the Inn?"

"They are offering your service not to the Inn or the Innkeeper, but to me," Estelyn said.

A slow smile spread across Mellonin's face, and Estelyn watched it deepen and brighten until the young woman shivered with joy.

"I should like that, my Lady," Mellonin replied, "if it is agreeable to you."

[mark12_30]

littlemanpoet

A young man walked through the doors of the inn, his eyes wide, his expression rapt. His hair was red and settled on his head like a mop. He walked up to the bar, looking around, taking in his surroundings as if he would memorize every inch of it.

Once he got to the bar, his face screwed up with a comical frown, and he fished in his pockets. His brow rose in surprise, and he pulled out a handful of coins, staring at them, studying the face of the King on the front, and the tree and seven stars on the back.

"May I help you, lad?"

The young man's eyes shot up. "Yes! I'll take one of the stoutest you have."

mark12_30

Here it was midmorning already, and she was already looking forward to a good night's sleep. Next time, Mellonin promised herself, I won't stargaze quite so long. She drew the back of her hand across her eyes, took a deep breath and stretched tall, and reminded herself to smile.

She hesitated, watching the young redheaded man at the bar, and waited while Morien poured the ale and the redheaded man tasted it, and gave a nod of approval. Then she stepped closer. His intense gaze unnerved her a little, but she composed herself.

"Good morning, sir, and welcome to The Seventh Star." He nodded over his ale; she continued. "When you are rested, I would like to hear what brings you to The Seventh Star. Perhaps you are newly come to the City?"


littlemanpoet

The young man was most pleased with the stout ale. The lady's question was forthright, but asked in a way that for courtesy could not be equaled, as far as he could tell.

"Yes, I am new to the city. First thing this morning I found myself at the front gate, not knowing where I was, or who, but knowing this is not where I am from. Yet I was amazed and glad, because this place is a wonder!"

He smiled over his ale, his delight written on his face.

"This is The Seventh Star, you say? And these coins have seven stars on the back, and a tree. Who is the King on the front? And what city is this?"

mark12_30

Her consternation that the redheaded man did not know the name of the city he stood in was exceeded by a well-composted stench. She snatched a corner of her sleeve and put it over her nose, and then glared at Rog as he hurried past. THen she studied the redhaired man again. He seemed gentle despite his wild eyes; but his questions unsettled her. "I wish the Lady Estelyn were here. She would know what to ask, and what to do," Mellonin thought. "But no doubt she would tell me to do my best..."

Once she could breathe without gagging, she pointed to the coin and said, "The King is Elessar, well beloved and just. The seven stars and the one white tree are part of Gondor's insignia. And the name of the city is Minas Anor, the tower of the Sun. But all this you would have learned from the guards at the gate; did you not pass through the gate? Forgive me, but with hair like yours I cannot imagine you would have passed unnoticed. You say you do not know who you are nor where?" Se frowned, and glanced at the Innkeeper. He was busy pouring a drink.

Studying the redhaired man, she thought hard. "Were you injured? Do you feel well? Do you have a headache, or were you drinking a little too much perhaps? Or by chance are you feverish?"

And then with a sudden hope she interrupted him even as he began to answer. "Do you know what happened to Mellondu? Have you seen him? Do you know where he has gone?"

littlemanpoet

He listened to the young lady's answers, and her questions. Elessar. Gondor. Minas Anor. The names resonated deeply within him. He wished he could remember why. The young lady's questions were disconcerting, and apt. Had he in fact started at the gate? Or had it been a different gate he had come through? Or had he passed through one gate, thinking it to be another? He wished he could remember. Then she startled him with an entirely unrelated question: "Do you know what happened to Mellondu? Have you seen him? Do you know where he has gone?"

"I'm sorry, lady, I do not know who this man Mellondu is, so I cannot say whether I have seen him or not. Is he a friend?"

"Melonnin!" called a man's voice, and the young lady left him to obey the man's orders. So she was in employ at this Inn. Melonnin; a gentle name. He took another draft of his ale. It seemed to be morning here, but it felt to him like late afternoon. He wondered what that meant.

Morien was the man's name, and he clearly had authority in this Inn, considering that the barkeep settled another stout ale just like the previous in response to Morien's gesture. Morien asked him if he was new, and he answered the man honestly, of course. Morien frowned and sat down next to him as the young man sipped the foam of the top of his stout.

"I do not mean to be difficult, sir," the redheaded young man said. "I wish I could remember much at all!"

"Do you remember your name?" Morien asked.

"Not even that, sir, though it occurs to me that the name I once had was given me for my hair, so if you were to call me 'Red', in whatever tongue, it would serve as well as any other, I suppose. But tell me, if you please, who is this Elessar, and what is his story? Melonnin holds him in high esteem!"

mark12_30

Visitors settled in, rooms squared away, introductions complete, Mellonin returned to the common room, and surveyed it. Then she turned, and retreated to the bookkeeping room, and stood at the doorway.

There was only one pen and the supply of parchment was small. She did not relish the thought of explaining to Morien why his pen or parchment was missing.

Perhaps she had not gathered everything she needed from her former master's house, after all. This time, she could not return late. She turned, and headed for the common room.
Morien was walking past, muttering about letters and wine. She halted him, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Please, sir, I need to make one more trip to my old master's house to ask for some other things, so I must do it while they are awake. Sir, the Inn is busier at night then at mid-day, is it not? I will be needed this evening. May I go now?"

He waved her on. "Don't be too long." And he continued on his way. She watched him go. And then she snatched up her cloak and hurried back to the forges and her old home.


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

With another awkward bundle in a brown cloak, Mellonin came in through the kitchen door, and sprinted up to the third floor, to her little room by the chimney.

She laughed with relief, and laid the bundle on the bed. Her previous mistress had been willing for her to have her brother's things, but the previous master had not. The mistress had won.

She spread her brother's cloak on the bed, and removed each item, studying it. Two pairs of brown breeches; two shirts, one green and one white. No boots; he only had one pair. No belt, no knife, no tunic; Mellondu only owned one of each, and had been wearing them the night he disappeared.

She paused. Why had he not been wearing his cloak? Had it been a warm evening? Yes, it had. And now it was growing colder, and he did not have one. She frowned.

One pair of breeches was rolled up in a very heavy bundle. The old master had been especially loath to part with Mellondu's hammer and tongs, but they had been a parting gift from father. She hefted them, as she had so often before. She had tried her hand at the forge, twice, when both the master and the mistress had been away. She had not lasted long, but she had managed to start one knife. Mellondu had finished it while she watched. She leaned the hammer and tongs in the darkest corner of the room and returned to the bed.

The white shirt she had folded; the green shirt she had rolled. She unrolled it now to reveal a pen and a bottle of ink. The other shirt was folded around five sheets of parchment. Three were blank. The other two had tables, drawn with an inexperienced and uneven hand. One table was for cirth, the other for tengwar; metalsmiths had to learn them for forging weapons, and Mellondu had just begun to study them. She ran her fingertip over each table in turn.

I can do this, she thought; Mellondu is wiser than I am, but I'm not stupid. I can learn these. The Lady Estelyn expects me to, I've always wanted to, and this is my time.

She turned and surveyed the awkward little room. It was gloomy unless she left the door ajar, but she could do that long enough to study. She would review these tables every day. Perhaps someone at the Inn could help her, too.

She laid Mellondu's clothes across the bed, and thought about a belt, a knife, a tunic and boots. The tunic was the most easily solved. She had four dresses, and the skirts of all of them were forest green; her lips tightened, and she reached for her needle and pocketknife, but then remembered that she was expected downstairs. She faced the three dresses hanging up on the wall, chose her least favorite of the three, and tossed it on the bed beside the breeches. She would have a tunic before long.

She guessed she could find, or make, a belt without much difficulty. She had her own pocketknife until she could get or make a man's knife for herself. The boots were the worst problem, but she could not solve that today.

Humming, she went back downstairs. In between chores and greetings, she looked about for runes or tengwar wherever she saw them, and tried to interpret them as best she could.


littlemanpoet

Red listened to all the people who had arrived in the last few minutes, and was quite confounded with the sheer multiplicity of them. Some of the names resonated deeply, as had the name of the king, Elessar. Red wondered why some names did so and others did not.

This place was more dangerous than where he had come from. No, he corrected himself as a strand or two of thoughts slipped and shifted into place, the danger was more straightforward than where he came from. Red decided that it would be wise to become proficient in some weapon or other. He turned and faced Melonnin, who seemed none too sure that all was now well in the common room.

"Pray, tell me, Melonnin," he said in a voice he hoped only she could hear, "do all peop- er - folk carry weapons here? Do you? Would I be wise to?" She opened her mouth to answer when a couple called her over. She gave him an apologetic expression and hurried off. Well, this is frustrating! he said to himself. Next chance he got, he would tell her that he had been given employment by the innkeeper, Morien. He hoped she would not be angered by that. Melonnin seemed a friendly sort, someone who could help him find north and south in this land, as it were.

mark12_30

Mellonin answered several summons, the last of which was from Morien. "Red, the new lad will be staying out in the loft. Make sure he has enough blankets, " Morien ordered.

She went upstairs, got several blankets, and slipped out the kitchen door and deposited them on the third rung of the loft-ladder, stroked the noses of several inquisitive horses, and then she returned to the common room and approached the redheaded man.

"Red, is it? Because of your hair?"

Red nodded.

She smiled. "Red-haired-man. Well, Raefindan, I left you some blankets on the loft ladder. And as to your question about weaponry-- yesterday I wouldn't have seen a need. But after today: yes, I think you should have a knife at least. If my brother was here I'd ask him to make you one. Well, Raefindan, or Red if you prefer, welcome to the Lonely Star and good luck. I'm a grizzled veteran of two whole days. I hope you enjoy working for Morien." She smiled. She was tempted to add a wink, but thought it would seem too forward. She began humming the Lay Of Nimrodel, and went to check with Morien for something more to do.

An elven maid there was of old,
A shining star by day...

[mark12_30]

mark12_30

Where now she wanders none can tell,
in sunlight or in shade,
For lost of yore was Nimrodel,
and in the mountains strayed.

One of the silent grey servants brought out a tray of just-washed mugs; Morien caught up a towel, and motioned at him to put the tray on the bar. Morien dried a mug and put it back on its shelf.

Mellonin hummed another couple of lines, and then said, "I wonder why people disappear. "

Morien, busy drying mugs, listened with a bartender's patience.

"It amazes me that people can just disappear without a trace. Even an elf-maiden betrothed to a king. How could they just lose her like that? You'd think somebody would have learned what happened to Nimrodel by now, wouldn't you?"

Morien dried another mug, and Mellonin considered him, and glanced at Red before she continued. "I wonder if Red is lost, and has someone looking for him. And I wonder where he got lost from. Maybe he lives right here, but he just can't remember. I wonder if Mellondu has just forgotten who he is, and is wandering around the city. Or maybe in the Pelennor, or beyond."

"Maybe. I take it no one has told you any news?" Morien dried another mug.

"No, " Mellonin said. She turned to consider the common room; it was bustling, and many of the people seemed to know each other. But none of them knew her brother.

Morien paused, and then handed her the towel. "Here, I don't know why I'm doing this. Finish up."

"Yes, sir." She dried the mugs one by one, and put them away.


littlemanpoet

Raefinden. His nerves tingled to the sound of that name. There was something positively smashing about it! Positively smashing? Now, where on earth did that term come from? He knew he had reconnoitered it to his own working vocabulary quite some time ago, but he had absolutely no inkling from where.

So much was happening so fast in the common room of this Inn, it was hard to keep track of it all. So many people. Um, folk. It seemed to be the appropriate way to express oneself here. The rather grand elf lady and her three children, and the court she kept - if it could be called a court; she did seem rather queenly after all - were apparently headed for some place called Harad. It sounded desert-like. Yes, he was certain of it. How he knew, he could not say.

Red, or Raefinden, as it pleased him to name himself, decided that it was high time for him to busy himself in some way to pay for his room. He got up from his table and walked over to Morien.

"Sir, I would be most gratified if you would find some means of emp-" he stopped. The innkeeper looked at him blankly, as if trying to make sense of his grammar. Take care of your speech, Red he said to himself. "Forgive me." He bowed. "Please give me work, to pay for my room, sir."
littlemanpoet

Whatever else was true, Red was sure that he had not spent much time in his forgotten past doing much by way of hard labor. His back was screaming! He was on his knees, scrubbing the wood floor in one of the inn's rooms with hot, soapy water, using a very sturdy wooden brush.

When he had asked Morien for work, this was not what he had been thinking of. Rather, something more on the lines of reorganizing the scrolls alphabetically, or sweeping the floor in the common room, or waiting tables even. This was hard work. Morien was getting his room paid for, no danger!

Red left the brush in the puddle on the floor, and leaned back, still on his knees, pressing both hands into the small of his back. The ceiling was crawling with spider webs that needed removing. He would have to tell Morien about that.

Just then he heard a muffled noise from the hallway.

mark12_30

The muffled noise in the hallway repeated itself, sounding suspiciously like a snort. Red turned, baffled, and peered out the door, careful not to overstretch his back while doing so.

From behind her basket of linens, Mellonin burst into peals of laughter. "Forgive me--" she gasped, "I am sorry. I'm sure you are doing your best. Forgive me."

His surprised expression faded into a resentful frown, and she immediately composed herself, and entered the room, placing her basket on a part of the floor that was still dry.

"Raefindan, you're obviously of noble blood. Your hands are far too soft. Whatever else you may have forgotten, working with your hands isn't one of them; you never learned it in the first place," she said, more gently now. "Look at you... you need something to kneel on; didn't you think of that? And you might want to wrap your hands."

Red shook his head. "Never mind my knees. My back is what really hurts. And I don't think I have that much noble blood, either."

She smiled. "Which began to hurt first, your knees or your back?"

He scowled at her.

"Your knees hurt first, and you tried to favor them. And then your back began to hurt."

He stood up, painfully. "All right. I'm clueless. Tell me."

Now it was her turn to frown. "Clueless?"

"It means-- well, it means that I'm confused, I'm sorry, and I'll listen to what you have to say."

She nodded, and let it go. "Here, no one will miss this." She folded up a blanket and handed it to him. "Wait here." She returned with some strips of cloth. "For your hands." She then picked up her basket of linens. "I must get several rooms ready. I will return as soon as I may." Raefindan began wrapping his hands, and Mellonin slipped out.

As she worked, she puzzled over the new stranger. With his soft hands, he couldn't be anything but royalty. Clearly he was not from Minas Tirith; even if his mind had become addled, and he forgot where he was from, others would have recognized him if he had been from this city. But neither Rohan, nor Dol Amroth, nor Dale had any red-headed royalty that she had ever heard of. All the mannish royalty she knew of was either golden haired or dark.

How did he come by the red hair? Did he have dwarf blood? She shuddered at the implications; but no. It was obviously a foolish idea; he stood straight and tall and rather slender, and was clearly, purely mannish. He just had red hair.

And completely soft hands. "Not even weapon-calluses, " she muttered. "Nothing. What did he do? Where is he from?"

She wondered more and more if Raefindan's mystery might not be somehow connected to her brother's disappearance. If he could appear, could her brother disappear? But if Raefindan couldn't tell her his own story, how would she learn, how would she guess if there was any connection?

littlemanpoet

Raefindan hoped that Mellonin didn't take his facial expressions to heart. He liked to exaggerate his expressions now and then. He would have to show her just how exaggerated he could be some time, when she knew him better. But now he had to ask himself how he knew that about himself, and he again came up with no answer. Royal blood? He thought not. Most assuredly not! More likely he was the court jester, or whatever there was akin to that wherever he had come from. Hmm.... clueless. He knew the word was one that came naturally to his mind. Should I be more careful that my words reflect this place? He felt that he should, but that he would probably let some things slip. He shrugged.

He knelt on the blanket Melonnin had provided, and grabbed the brush around his cloth-wrapped hands. Yes, he could feel the difference. He could put more of his weight into his brushing. And now he grimaced as the pain moved into his shoulders, arms, and wrists. He figured that it was as it should be, for he was finally doing it right. He straightened, looking at the floor as if he had seen a ghost there.

"Well, by George, look at that!"

Raefindan could see how much cleaner the spot was where he had just worked on, compared to the areas he had been slaving over. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh no. Now I'll need to go back over the rest of it. I'm going to die before I get this done!"

He looked over his shoulder, hoping nobody had heard that little bit of melodrama. Melodrama. Now, there as another word he knew, and knew what it meant, but was sure it did not fit in this land and place. What would Melonnin say about it? 'Melo' would be related to 'friend' in the elvish speech here, he considered as he sloshed the brush in the bucket again, and 'drama' had no place in any bit of the elvish speech that he knew of.

"And how, Raefindan, do you know that?" It was as if he knew this place from wherever he had come from. How? He did not know, and wished he did. He grimaced again, stopped to crack his back, and fell to his assignment yet again. And he would have to find out who 'George' was now, too.
mark12_30
Mellonin looked in on Raefindan, and he looked up at her with a weary smile.

"Much better," she said. "Morien will give you dinner after all."

The look of dismay that crossed Raefindan's face drew another giggle from Mellonin, and she entered, and put her empty basket down. "No, I don't think he's really harsh enough to refuse you food. But he wants us to think he is."

"He didn't strike me that way, " Raefindan replied, scrubbing.

"I suppose not," Mellonin mused. "Perhaps I'm thinking of my old master instead. But anyway, you'll be done in time for dinner at least. Have you remembered anything?"

Raefindan looked down at his red hands. "No. Not even who George is. Any news of your brother?"

She shook her head ruefully. They exchanged wry looks, and with a shrug and a sigh he turned back to his scrub-brush. "I'll sleep well tonight, after this. Maybe by morning I'll have remembered... something. Or perhaps at dinner you can ask me questions, and maybe that will jar my memory and I'll remember. Would you like to try that?"

She brightened. "All right. Yes." Feeling a little more hopeful, she went to fetch a broom and sweep the stairs and the hallway.

littlemanpoet
It was late and the commons was almost empty. All of the guests had been served and left for home or to bed. Raefindan sat at table with a bowl of stew in one hand and a dark brown ale in the other. He placed both before him and heaved a sigh. He stretched his back once, and then set to. In moments half of both drink and stew were gone.

Mellonin came by with her own bowl of stew and a cup of clear liquid. "You've gained yourself an appetite!" She sat in the chair next to him.

"How could I not? I haven't worked that hard ever in my life." Raefindan met her eyes as she ate her stew. He could tell she what thought. "Yes, I know I'm soft by the standards of this place, but from where I come-" he lapsed into silence, staring a moment into his cup before returning his gaze to her. "- I think - I'm considered about average."

She swallowed. "How can that be? Who does your labor if all of you are soft as you?"

Raefindan frowned, perplexed. "I don't know!" He dipped his wooden spoon into his bowl of stew again, and lifted it to his mouth. "We don't have wooden spoons at table." He put the spoon in his mouth.

"What then?"

"Metal," he said, chewing.

"Metal? What is that?"

"A kind of ore from the ground. Like iron for swords, only made into spoons."

Mellonin looked at him in disbelief. "Is metal so common where you come from then?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

[mark12_30]

mark12_30

Raefindan looked up as Mellonin savored her drink. "Mettle spoons. It reminds me of Nettle. Nettle spoons... Ouch. That sounds like a very uncomfortable way to eat."

He decided to change the subject slightly. "I remember that I didn't walk very long distances the way people here commonly do. Somehow, traveling was less time consuming. I'm not certain how or why."

"You rode horses." Mellonin shrugged.

"Not normally."

"Mumak?" she said, alarm in her voice.

Raefindan laughed. "No. No Mumakil."

She relaxed. "But where did you ride to?"

"Classes."

She frowned.

And so did he, putting his head into his hands. "I don't understand. I can't remember."

"Eat, " she said. "How about some more soup?"

He sighed. "Please."

She got up to fetch a round of seconds, and he stared at the table.

littlemanpoet

"I'm sorry, Melonnin," Raefindan said. "I thihk it's high time for me to get some sleep. I'm sorry about the soup, but I've lost my appetite. I haven't touched it. Please feel free to put it back in the pot."

Raefindan started heading towards the stairs.

mark12_30

"Raefindan? Weren't you sleeping out in the loft?" Mellonin called after him.

Groggily, he swayed back down the stairs, one hand to his head. "The loft. Of course." He headed out the back kitchen door. "Quieter out there, " she sighed, and retired soon afterwards.

[mark12_30]

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-14-2003 08:53 PM:

The slender, darkhaired, grey-eyed young man stood in the street, watching a small horde of Rohirric children engaged in a snowball war. Their laaughter was soft and distant as if he was in a dream. He wondered where he was. And he wondered why he was here. It did not seem familiar at all. He decided to ask someone. But first, he thought, he would join in the festivities.

He knelt down in the snow and scooped up two handfuls. Contrasting thoughts of forge-fires and bellows and dire heat made him laugh as he molded two snowballs, mushy and soft. He came into the circle of frolicking children, and tossed one of the soft snowballs near several of them but not hitting any.

"Get him, Hamanullas!" cried one of the children, and another child immediately plastered Mellondu in the nose with a very hard snowball. In moments, Mellondu was the target of every child's aim, and his green tunic became whiter and whiter. He fought back with snowballs that were very soft, and he was careful to always aim at their feet.

Posted by Imladris on 12-14-2003 09:22 PM:

Fellwyne leaped from her window and landed with a muffled plop upon the soft snow. Of course she missed her feet and landed upon her bottom, but it didn't really matter after all.

The ten year old girl rubbed her bare hands briskly and plastered her black, loosely curled hair with snow. Without a parting glance at the house and with a malevolent laugh at her knitted mittens and scarf that were still left neglected in her room she dashed (more like stumbled through the white drifts) through the snow and neared a group of children who played with laughing vigour.

The children threw whistling snowballs through the air. One caught Fellwyne upon the ear. With a disdainful sneer, the girl wiped away the remnants of the ball.

A lone man stood by himself the target of every child. With a shrill shriek, Fellwyne skipped towards him and allied herself with him. He will not stand alone! she thought fiercely as she finely molded a snowball and hurled it into the midst of children. She noticed that he aimed at their feet, well, she would not be kind. Noses were the prime target.

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-14-2003 10:20 PM:

The darkhaired young man looked down at the feisty, blackhaired girl. "Your aim is very good, " he said, wincing as a snowball hit him on the neck. "Thank you for joining me."

"Why are you aiming at their feet?" she challenged him.

"Because I'm the tallest. What's your name?" he said, trying to shake the snow out of his shirt.

"Fellwyne. What's yours?"

"I-- well-- call me Mellon."

"Friend? What kind of a name is that? Ooo! Got him!"

"Nice shot!"

"What's your real name?"

"Everybody calls me Mellon. Sort of."

"You're strange." She threw another snowball. "Missed! I'll get him this time!"

She did. "Impressive, " said Mellon. "I'm glad you decided to be on my side."

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-15-2003 07:36 AM:

More children joined the fray, and soon the fight had four groups. Mellon was glad that the pressure had abated; he was cold and getting colder. Fellwyne continued on as an army of one while Mellon stepped back and shook the snow out from under his tunic.

He slapped his pockets. Good; he did have some coin. He would look for some hot food at an open Inn. He wondered if he had enough to buy a cloak.

Posted by Bêthberry on 12-15-2003 09:23 PM:

The grey-haired woman limped a bit more with winter stiffness, and pulling her little cart was harder in the loose, slippery snow, yet she too was caught up in the infectious spirit brought by the new-fallen snow.

She was too old to play, but she could make sure that everyone had warm, dry gloves, scarves, cloaks and sweaters. She had accumulated a largeish pile of handmedowns and second hand goods and often in the winter she found there was a need among those who had not foreseen cold times or troubles. Today, however, it was the little fingers of children that would benefit from spare mittens in her waggon.

And a strange young man who the children called by the unusual name of Mellon. He seemed to shiver as the play went on, his green tunic inundated with incoming volleys.

"Hey there, fellow. You have the look of a future snow wraith about you, so covered you are now. Would you welcome a spare cloak? I have some old ones here you might wish to try."

Ruthven wrapped her woollen scarf more tightly around her neck and pulled her toque down over her ears. Yet her honest gruff manner was accompanied by a genial look and the fellow warmed to her at once.

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-16-2003 12:28 AM:

Mellon turned to the kind woman.

"Yes, please, Miss Ruthven, and thank you. You are very kind. A cloak would be most welcome." She was already reaching out to him with the heaviest she had.

Relief shattered his defiance against the cold, and she tsk-tsked as she watched shivers convulse his slender frame. He cocoooned the cloak about him and clearly was not quite satisfied, wanting to burrow deeper into it. Ruthven tsk'ed again. "I'll not ask how you came here without a cloak, lad."

"Bless you, madam. And thank you again."

"Mulled wine can be had at the Inn, lad. And tea. And there'll be a fire going." She nodded in the direction of the Inn.

He could rejoin the children after a mug or two. Emdir had distracted the shieldmaidens, he noticed gratefully. He headed for the Inn, promising himself that he would return as soon as he was warm and dry.
Posted by littlemanpoet on 12-16-2003 02:50 AM:

Ædegard tried to open the front door. It did not budge! He pushed hard, and it gave a few inches. Snow spilled into the cottage. Snow! Four feet deep! Maybe it was a drift in front of their place. He pushed again, and had enough room to squeeze through. Walking would not work. It was either shovel it, or tunnel through. A big smile grew on his face. Ædegard loved making tunnels in the snow! The hard part was starting it, because he didn't want Mama to have to change the thresh before the door. So it would have to be throw the snow up and over, and maybe with luck he would give someone a surprise shower! Not likely.

He spent a half hour digging. He found that the snow was soft enough that he could take it from in front of him and plaster it to the walls of his tunnel, strengthening them. It was quite dark after a half hour, and time he dug upward. To his surprise, his head popped through before he had reached waist height.

"Hey look! Over there! It's Ædegard! Hit him!" Next thing, he saw nothing but white, then black and cold. Ouch! He ducked and wiped his face from the snowball. He knew that voice. It was Evrett! Ædeward worked furiously, making a pyramid of snowballs at his feet. Then he took one, and slowly, carefully rose, until his eyes were just over the lip of his makeshift fox hole.


Posted by mark12_30 on 12-16-2003 03:28 AM:

"Something hot, please, ma'am." He shivered as he headed for the fireplace.

"Anything in particul--" she said to his retreating back, and then shrugged. "Soup and toast, " she ordered, and set about making him some hot tea.

"Many thanks, " he said, hanging his cloak near the fire, and sitting as close to it as he could. The shivering did not slow down until Bethberry arrived with his tea. He turned frequently, and then shrugged, removed his drenched tunic and hung that before the fire as well.

The soup and toast arrived, and he set to with a will; his shivering finally stopped, and his shirt began to dry.

"You're new around these parts, " Bethberry said.

"Yes, ma'am, " he replied.

"What part of Gondor are you from?" she asked. She was somewhat dismayed by his blank stare.

"I'm a blacksmith, " he replied hesitantly. "People call me Mellon."

"Sounds like the cold has you in its grip." She refilled his tea. "Would you like more soup?"

He hesitantly nodded, squinting; she wondered at his lapse in manners, until he turned aside and a sneeze roared from him. Another followed. Bethberry called for more soup, and refilled the teakettle.

"Yes, please, mba'amb, " came the belated, stuffed-up mumble. He inched still closer to the fire. The children were expecting his promised return, he reflected; best not to get too comfortable here. Perhaps after some more soup...

He turned his other side towards the fire, and drank some more tea.



Posted by mark12_30 on 12-16-2003 01:06 PM:

It only took a half an hour for the cloak to dry, and another fifteen minutes for the tunic. He was warm after three bowls of soup and forgotten quantities of tea. And the children were waiting.

He stood, and brought a generous portion of his coin to the Innkeeper. . "Thag you, bi lady, for takig such good care ob be. "

"This is more than the food was worth, " she replied, frowning.

"I mbay be back, I exbect," he said.

"You're not going back out into the snow?" she said. "Have you remembered where you are from?"

"Goddor. I'm a blacksbith," he replied cheerfully, wrapping himself against the cold. At least, thought the Innkeeper, he was belting his cloak tightly against his body; he wasn't that addled.

"Well, here. Since you're coming back, have a scarf." She handed him a tattered scarf someone had forgotten, and that she had been holding for Miss Ruthven.

"Oh, thag you, bi lady. Thag you very buch."

Scarved and cloaked and sneezing, he happily returned into the glistening whiteness outside. Little had changed. Children abounded; the tall Rohirric lad was there too. He walked towards the melee.

"Hey! Watch where you're going! You wrecked my fortress!"

"I'b bery sorry, " Mellon replied. Immediately he set about patching the broken walls, while the lad fought against his numerous attackers.

"You are bery well defedded, champiodd, " Mellon marveled at the tunnel and the walls. "What is your dabe?"

"Eh? What's that?"

"What is your ndabe? Mbide is Mbellodd."

"Oh. I'm Ædegard. Gah!" he dodged an incoming snowball, and it hit Mellon instead, who was immediately grateful for the scarf.

"Would you like sombe mbore allies?"

"Eh? Sure, ah, Mr. Bellod."

Mellon stood and cried aloud. "To mbe, shieldmbaidedds of Rohadd! To mbe! For Rohadd add for Goddor!"

Several shrill voices cried in response. But the young boys pelted him, and he sat back down in the fortress, appreciative of its solidity. "This is abazig, " he muttered. "What did you mbodel id after, Helmb's Deeb?"



Posted by mark12_30 on 12-18-2003 01:58 PM:

In quick succession, six more sneezes erupted from Mellon. He was cold and wet again. The battle had raged on for quite some time. Ædegard had proven a capable leader, and the shieldmaidens had proven themselves doughty in battle.

It was time for him to prove that he had the wits to come in out of the cold. How his sister would have laughed, he thought, as he excused himself from the children; they hardly noticed, having rallied behind Ædegard. Ædegard nodded, and said, "Before you get really badly sick, hmm?"

With a sinking feeling that it was a bit late to prevent that, Mellon headed back to the Inn.

As he walked through the door, the innkeeper tsked at him, sounding just like Miss Ruthven had. "I've kept the teakettle hot. I assume you'd like some more soup?"

He nodded, and then regretted it, putting a hand to his head.

"Don't dally with that soup," the innkeeper admonished the staff, and muttered,
"Young fool. Why do teenage males always think they are immortal and invinceable?"

[mark12_30]

Posted by littlemanpoet on 12-22-2003 04:38 PM:

Ædegard dubbed one of the shieldmaidens as the new leader with a pile of snow on her head, and fled before he could be dubbed back again, and made for the inn.

He was cold and wet and needed something hot, and could stand to be dry. He could go home, but a good spiked hot cider seemed more to his liking. The others thought him a lad of perhaps fourteen years or a little less, perhaps, which was fine in the middle of a snow fight. That he still lived at home was his business, and that the fuzz on his face was still quite soft, the same. He was old enough for a stiff one.

He walked past a snow fort three children were building and defending against Felly and others, and somehow managed to escape their notice. He entered the inn and noticed the parents of the kids building the fort, and more of their children. And there was Mellon.

Ædegard waved to Mellon and went up to the barkeep, and orderd a hot spiked cider, and went to sit at Mellon's table.

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-22-2003 06:17 PM:

Mellon peered into Ædegard's mug, and raised an eyebrow, and then leaned forward and gave a sniff. "The Inkeeper sold you that? You're older than you look."

Ædegard took a pull at his mug. "You're not from around here."

"True enough. I'm a blacksmith from Gondor, if you must know, " he said hoping Ædegard would be satisfied with that.

"You said that already. But you look lost."

"Well, " said Mellon, "I suppose I am rather confused."

Ædegard waited.

"I can't remember much, " Mellon said.

Ædegard raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I-- I can't remember anything. Except that I'm a blacksmith, and that I lived in the city."

"Minas Tirith?"

Mellon blinked. "Is-- is that its name?"

"Osgiliath?"

"I-- that sounds familiar, but--"

Ædegard sat back and contemplated Mellon. "It's a good thing you're among friendly folk, " he said. "The elders can send word to Gondor next time someone rides that way. Somebody must be looking for you."

"I suppose that would be wise. But, Ædegard, I'm not sure I want to go back to-- to Gondor. At least, not where I was from. But I don't know why. Do you know a place called Edhellond?"

Ædegard's eyes narrowed. A fugitive? he wondered. "No, I've never heard of Edhellond; where is it? What is it?"

Mellon shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But I think it might be to the south or to the west; somewhere near the sea. I don't know why."



Posted by Bêthberry on 12-26-2003 05:55 PM:

A voice, hitherto unheard in the game, rang out, strong and clear.

Cold be hand and heart and boneand cold be snow upon the stone.Yet vanish now in bright sunsong:Let orcs melted beand balrogs quenched in that deluge.Thus evil be its own defeat. And now we gamers have a treat.

It was Bethberry, singing and laughing as nonsensically as ever did old Tom. When she was finished, she bent low over Ruthven's cart and picked up a volley of snowballs, releasing them faster than Fatty Bolger could run. And her aim was true.

Then Ruthven gasped in surprise as some of the children tumbled into the wall of their snow fort, tumbling it down and all over the old woman, who fell herself into the snow. She rolled over and over, then spread her arms in the snow, making snow Ainur. It was a theme which unfolded to reveal more, as the children joined in the harmony and created their own melodies.

For her part, Bethberry chuckled watching the old woman, who she had never seen look more spry.

"You will be wanting something to warm you now for sure," she said to her friend, offering a hand to lift her up.

"Mellon, Ædegard, children, everyone, come. There's eggnog and mince tarts, hot cider and chocolate, sweet, exotic oranges, gingerbread cookies and shortbread, waiting for all in the Horse. Warm your bodies a bit and then return to the play, for the snow is soft and light and will last for many a day."

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-28-2003 12:50 PM:

Mellon hefted an orange, and juggled it in his hand; then he carefully sniffed it several times, and closed his eyes.

Ædegard watched him, as Mellon seemed to drift far, far away, leaning his forehead against the fruit.

"What is it?" said Ædegard.

Mellon started out of his reverie. "They name it orange. I remember how it tastes. Betimes Edhellond sent us crates of them, upriver, as a gift."

"At Minas Tirith?"

"Nay, in Lorien. One morning I brought one to Nimrodel." His voice faded to a whisper.

"What?"

"She laughed, and thanked me with her usual sweetness... far sweeter than this, " he mused, glancing at the orange. "And then I sang for her, and she danced by the stream, and then we shared it."

"So Nimrodel is a girl, not a stream?" puzzled Ædegard. "I thought it was a tributary to the Celebrant which flows to the Anduin. And I thought you said you came from Gondor, not Lorien."

Glassy-eyed and breathing hard, Mellon rose to his feet, took a few steps, and gazed at Ædegard. "I'm not.... I am not from Gondor."

"You're not seventeen, either. And it would also seem you're quite a liar," said Ædegard. His newfound friend was rapidly losing appeal.

"Wait, Ædegard, " said the Innkeeper, who had overheard. Ædegard sat back with one raised eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.

"Sit, Mellon," Bethberry said.

Still breathing hard, and still glassy-eyed, Mellon said, "Lady, I am glad to befriend you, but I need not sit."

"You said 'Mellon' was a nickname. It will do for now. Please, sit down."

Standing straight and tall, he locked eyes with her for several moments. Slowly he turned, looked back at the chair Bethberry was gesturing towards, walked with rigid back and square shoulders to it, lowered himself into the chair, and met Bethberry's eyes.

She smiled reassuringly at him. "You said you sang for Nimrodel. How old are you?"

His eyes grew cold, one eyebrow went up, and his voice hardened. "Fifty centuries. Mortal, why do you mock me?"

She reached forward and laid her hand on his brow. "Fever." Ignoring the flash of anger in his eyes, she called for water. "Ædegard, he is not lying, he is delirious. Do not doubt your friend so."

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-29-2003 02:19 PM:

Felly and Eruvalde both approached with pitchers of water. "Mellon, what's wrong? Don't you feel well?"

Mellon, still straight and tall in the chair, turned slowly towards them, and his face softened. He smiled. "Hello, children. I welcome you and I thank you." Slightly bowing his head, he accepted each pitcher in turn, setting them each on the table. Bethberry paused, and watched him interact with the children.

"Mellon, don't you feel well?" said Felly, and drew close. Mellon stiffened again, and they studied each other.

Ædegard snorted. "He is not himself, to say the least," he warned the children. "Be careful."

The icy glare which Mellon turned on Ædegard made Bethberry more uneasy still, but when Mellon turned back to the children, his smile was warm and his voice was soft. "Such kindness at an early age bodes well, both for you and the world of men. I am pleased, and I thank you and your fathers for your gracious welcome."

Bethberry shot Ædegard a warning glare, and then took a full glass of water and stood before Mellon.

"Please, My Lord, of your courtesy I ask you to drink." Bowing her head, she offered him the water.

He nodded to her without a touch of disdain, took the glass and drank. "I give you thanks, Madam."

"My Lord, " she continued, "would it not please you to rest? Our furnishings are humble, but the rooms are quiet and you should sleep well."

"My weariness does indeed burden me. Madam, I will rest." With a nod, he drained the glass, set it on the table, rose, and waited for Bethberry to lead the way.

Ædegard shook his head in disbelief, Felly's eyes went wide, and Eruvalde reached towards Mellon with deep concern. "Don't you feel well, Mellon?"

"Little friend, " Mellon replied, with a gentle laugh. "I do feel surprisingly weak. But do you not know my name, little one? And yet, since you have so adamantly claimed my friendship--" his eyes sparkled, and he nodded at Felly too-- "I release you from the use of my title. You may call me Amroth. My friends you shall be, and remain."

Ædegard snorted again, and Bethberry turned fiercely on him. "You will treat the Lord of Lorien with honor and respect, " she hissed through chenched teeth. His jaw dropped. Bethberry turned back to Mellon and bowed. Motioning Felly and Eruvalde to take up the pitchers and the glass, she led the way. The feverish young blacksmith from Gondor followed, tall, regal, silent and serene. Felly and Eruvalde brought up the rear carrying their pitchers of water. They went up the stairs.

Ædegard sat back, waves of indignation, disbelief, and laughter washing across his features. He did not leave, but sat watching for Bethberry's return.

Posted by Imladris on 12-29-2003 07:42 PM:

First it was Mellon, the elvish word for friend, and now he was Amroth, an elven king of old. "Do you miss your lovely lady?" Felly asked as she pattered in Mellon's wake, the pitcher of water clenched in her little hands.

He turned, startled, and saw the little girl following; and then he smiled, but replied gravely: "Indeed, Little One, I do miss my lady Nimrodel."

Despite the smile sorrow haunted his eyes, yet nobility there was also, a mien that quite impressed Felly. Whoever would have thought that a blacksmith could look like an elf-lord of Lorien? Yet as the girl stared at him in awe, a sudden change came across his face: bitterness cast his shadow.

"Poor Nimrodel," Felly added, trying to remember the elven maid. "Her voice was like falling silver, a star was bound upon her brows," Felly's voice faltered and she racked her brain. "A light was on her hair," she whispered, "and her shoes were silver grey. Into the mountains she had strayed, and where now she wanders none can tell, for lost of yore was Nimrodel." Fellwyne's voice sank as she stopped. It was all she remembered, besides the fact that Amroth had leaped from the helm of the grey ship into the sea. She closed her eyes, felt the salt spray on her lips, the tug of the wind upon her hair. She was no longer a little girl of Rohan, but an elf upon the grey ships across the sea, watching the grief of Amroth, Lord of Lorien, from afar.

He looked at Fellwyne's sadness, and nodded. "I never should have left her, Little One. And now she is lost. I must find her and I will search ceaselessly until I do."

Fellwyne fell silent as snatches of a distant song whispered to her softly:

From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As arrow from the string,
And dive into water deep,
As mew upon the wing.

Her eyes widening in horror, she started, and dropped the pitcher that shattered before her very feet. She looked from the young man to the shards and back again, and her little face went pale.

[mark12_30]

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-29-2003 08:14 PM:

Bethberry reached quickly for Mellon's hand and said soothingly, "Come, my Lord, and rest. " Hearing the pitcher crash, others came to sweep up its shards; Felly looked down at them, and then at the blacksmith as he turned and continued up the stairs.

She shook her head. He was darkhaired and young; he had the rough hands of a blacksmith. But he had changed.

She walked around the shattered pitcher, and followed them up the steps.

Ædegard stepped forward, his eyes ginting and cold, and spoke. His words were half inquiry, half challenge. "Mellon? Are you all right? Was it the eggnog?"

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-29-2003 08:48 PM:

The blacksmith paused and turned, and glanced back at Bethberry. "Is it the custom of your town to address all elves as 'Friend'? I did not drink the eggnog. Nor is that what has weakened my body, but long travel from far to the south. I have come many miles with little rest."

"From the south, my Lord?" said Bethberry. "Not from Lorien?"

"I had departed Lorien, and went south to Edhellond to secure westward passage aboard a ship. My Lady Nimrodel was to journey south when the ship was ready. But alas, she came not. The ship was tossed seaward by a storm, and I swam from it. It seems strange to me that I do not remember finally making the shore, nor do I remember much of the journey here. But that matters little. I must journey to Lorien and find her, or news of where else I must find her."

Thoronmir's eyes grew wider and wider, but a sign from Bethberry silenced his incredulous queries. "Oh. Right. I see," was what he said instead.

Bethberry, having apparently decided enough was enough, regained Mellon's attention and led him upstairs. She showed him a room, and he surveyed it with a nod of approval, and a very slight bow of thanks. Without any indication of offering her any money or form of payment he turned towards the desk and chair, and Bethberry knew she had been dismissed.

He heard her leave, and breathed a soft sigh of relief. But the children were still there. Felly and Eruvalde waited quietly, gazing up at him with round eyes.

The little handmaidens would have pleased Nimrodel, he thought, with their sweet, gentle ways so like hers. Then he smiled, sensing that they could both be wild and wilful as a storm. Like Nimrodel again.

He took another moment, closing his eyes, thinking of Nimrodel, casting his mind northward to the stream she had loved so much; he could not feel her presence. Lorien was strangely quiet as well. He searched carefully but met no minds that he knew. Perhaps the innkeeper was right; perhaps he was more weary and in need of rest than he understood.



Posted by littlemanpoet on 12-29-2003 09:33 PM:

When Bëthberry returned from above, Ædegard looked up at her. "You call me his friend? I barely know him."

"He needs a friend."

Ædegard regarded Bëthberry ruefully. "I take your meaning, innkeeper. I'll stay a while."

Bëthberry smiled. "Heed his words, Ædegard. More is afoot here than simple fever, I deem."

Ædegard shook his head. "You mean that he is also Amroth? He is no elf, this Mellon, just a sick young man in a strange fever."

"No," Bëthberry answered, "there is a doom playing out in this. I feel it. Be his friend, Ædegard. He will need a sturdy friend where he is going."

Ædegard frowned. "Where he is going? I cannot leave my father all the wheelwrighting. He is lame."

"You are not the only wheelwright in Edoras, Ædegard."

He glowered at her. "I could use another spiked cider, madam innkeeper. I've some brooding to do."

Posted by Imladris on 12-30-2003 07:11 PM:

A waif of a smile played about Fellwyne’s lips as she watched the young blacksmith of Gondor, the one who fancied himself to be Amroth. She mused: what would an elvin king drink? Wine, perhaps? What was the closest thing to wine? Cider, naturally. With a flounce of her flaxen curls, she dashed off to the kitchen and begged the cook for a goblet of cider. The little girl received it only in a common wooden mug, but if Mellon could think himself a king, then he could imagine this simple cup to be a golden chalice.

There he was: lofty upon his simple throne of wood. Erect he sat: straight and tall, not suffering himself into the ease of a common laymen, nor the slouch of a wearied farmer. She heard his rebuke to the man who dared to Amroth a friend, and Felly could feel her cheeks grow warm with pride as she remembered the privilege he had granted her.

Dropping to one knee before him, she lifted the cider to him and said, “Milord -- Amroth, take this drink: it might aid in refreshing you from the journey south.” Kissing his hand, she rose to her feet and stood a little to his side, her hands clasped loosely behind her back.

“Tell me, Little One,” the blacksmith said, “how do you know of Nimrodel?”

“Forever she lives in song,” Felly replied softly. It was impossible to be noisy or boisterous in his presence, for his kingly aura forbade it: Fellwyne had felt it when the pitcher had crashed to the floor. “One day, a wanderer from distant lands came to us for shelter. In return he would sing for us and he sang to me the song of Nimrodel. I have never forgotten it.”

She glanced at the lord before her, and she breathed sharply. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mellon could always be like this? It was like a game in a way: Mellon was Amroth, lord of Lorien, and Fellwyne was like his handmaiden for a time, she thought. But it was better than a game, for he thought truly was Lord Amroth. Yet it would indeed be a cruel fate for Mellon; ever searching for his elven love who was only a mere phantom.



Posted by mark12_30 on 12-30-2003 08:09 PM:

Looking into Fellwyne's eyes, he found more comfort and acceptance than he could remember finding anywhere in... in a long time. His brow furrowed a little. All the rest of his memories were elven-clear, going back in time for five thousand years. Why couldn't he remember anything between his desperate swim to shore, and leaving the seven-tiered Gondorian city of Minas Tirith? The entire journey was hidden from him, as if by shadow that he could not penetrate. It was most disconcerting. But not as disconcerting as being unable to find Nimrodel.

A kiss on his hand startled him out of his thoughts. He looked into the cup he now held, and saw cider. With a smile, he raised the crude wooden mug to his lips, and drank it, savoring the friendship of the child as much as the drink.

They spoke of Nimrodel together; it pleased and satisfied Amroth that someone had been blessed enough by her beauty to sing of it even in the lands of men.

Eruvalde stood aside, listening, and Amroth smiled at her, and then at Fellwyne. "My little friends, leave me to my rest. I must regain my strength before I journey north. But come again ere I depart. You are a comfort to me, and a respite from grief."

The girls shared a delighted smile. "We will, " said Fellwyne. The girls departed, and he rose and shut the door behind them.

Only now that he was alone would he succumb to the exhaustion of his body. He leaned his forehead against the door, fighting the aching weakness with a sense of disbelief. Never before had he felt his body shudder from simple weariness, and he blamed it on the journey from Edhellond to Minas Tirith that he could not remember. He was grateful the Innkeeper had offered him a place to rest.

He turned the bedclothes back, and gladly removed the coarse Gondorian clothing and the heavy, awkward boots. The mannish clothes had served him adequately during his journey. He had wished more than once for the outer royal garb he had shed when the long swim became wearying. But no matter. Lothlorien would clothe him soon enough.

He cast his mind northward one more time, searching all along the banks of her stream. Where was she? Other strange minds touched his, a guard and a few border patrols, and he sensed surprise in some of them. He did not linger with them. Thrusting all else aside, he chose to sleep. His dreams were many and his rest was deep.



Posted by mark12_30 on 01-04-2004 07:53 AM: Between dreams, he rolled over and sat up for a moment. He still felt weak, but he had heard a horse enter the courtyard of the Inn. He reached out with his mind, but did not find anyone he knew.

The common room was busy with children happily drinking eggnog. There were shieldmaidens here and there. Hamanullas and Fellwyne and Eruvalde...

He frowned. He didn't remember ever being introduced to the small mannish girls. And why did he think of them as shieldmaidens? They were mere children. He raised one hand and rubbed his temple. He was weary still, and strangely warm in the chilly room.

Baranin's voice rang out in lilting laughter, and Ædegard was telling a funny story, and Silwen and Felly were laughing. Bethberry was giving orders that the horses' child-rider be taken care of.

Rest. Why could he not simply rest in his memories, as he always had? But his body was still very weak. He hesitantly lay back down, rolled over and was soon asleep. But now the voices form the common room wove themselves echoing in and out of his dreams.Posted by littlemanpoet on 01-28-2004 12:48 AM: Ædegard noticed the westering sun outside, as well as the new snow laden clouds descending out of the north, racing toward the sun. He drained his drink and excused himself from the table.

He went to the bar and told Bethberry help, "I must be off home now. I ask that you send word when Mellon - or Amroth, if you like - wakens and moves about again. I would speak with him again."

With that, Ædegard put on hat and overcoat and bracing himself against the rising wind, left the Snowed Inn and tramped on home to make sure his parents were well.

Posted by mark12_30 on 02-01-2004 09:16 PM:

Mellon-Amroth slipped deep into dreams, and stayed there. Sometimes he struggled, fevered and frightened; and other times he lay serene and still, a ghost of a smile playing about his face. The days slipped by in dream after dream.

Bethberry often intended sending word to Gondor, but whenever a messenger was headed east, they left without her message. Sometimes she was silenced by a sense of foreboding; sometimes dreams of her own silenced her; sometimes trivial or everyday circumstances made the message falter.

Aside from Bethberry, Ædegard and the children, most people forgot the dreamer was there.

[mark12_30]

mark12_30
Mellonin rolled over and sat up, squinting at the dust in the sunbeams, and stretched, and rubbed her eyes. She dressed quickly, hoping that the grey serving staff had the teakettle on. Snatching up her pen and parchments, she rolled them together, and then placed the newly mixed bottle of ink (made from the blackest soot she could find in all the Seventh Star kitchen) into her apron pocket. Then she paused. What if the cork wasn't tight? She removed it, and carried it carefully upright down the stairs.

No one had arrived yet, but the grey serving staff did indeed have the teakettle hot. She thanked them, and brewed some, and sat down to study her runes. When she finished the tea, she stood, and walked slowly around the Common Room, rune by rune sounding out the signs. When Morien came downstairs she was engrossed in the label of a bottle of wine. He cleared his throat, and she guiltily put the bottle away.

"Well? What did it say?"

She blushed, picked the bottle back up, and stuttered, "The finest shimmering harvest from Dor-En-Ernil on the bay of Belfalas."

He snorted. "Well, it's good, and good enough, but I won't say I've never had better. Good morning, lass," he said, nodding at the waiter in grey, who placed a steaming plate of breakfast before him. Her set to with a will.

littlemanpoet

Raefindan walked into the commons, rubbing his forehead as if trying to remove cobwebs of sleep from his mind. He made his way to a table on legs that did not wish to work right and rested an elbow on the table and used his hand to prop up his head.

"Good morning! Are you well?" It was Melonnin.

"I'm not sure. Bad dream."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Are you hungry?"

Raefindan nodded. He looked around; it seemed quiet. "If you have a moment...?"

"I think I can spare a little time. I'll be back with some food and tea."

She soon returned. He was hungry, and ate a few bites and sipped his tea before he began.

"I was someone else, a prince of some seaside fortress city. I was walking in the woods nearby, and saw an Elven woman who was lost. I took her to safety and I learned her tale from her. She - she was beautiful! I - I -" Raefindan broke off, a weight of sorrow pulling at the edges of his mouth. He face Melonnin, his eyes filling. "I fell in love with her." He looked away and stared at his bowl of porridge. "She did not reject me, so I don't know why I feel as if she-" he shook his head. "-died." He wiped at his eye. "I do not know who she was, but it felt as if what I dreamed was real. I dreamed someone else's life, I think." He turned to Melonnin. "Have I gone daft or worse?"

littlemanpoet

Mellonin said, "Maybe it is your past you dream of?"

Raefindan nodded. "Maybe. Or yes and no. I don't think that I lived near water where I come from. And the two Elven women, I had never seen before. But that she died - or someone died - maybe that did happen." He allowed a rueful smile. "George or no George."

mark12_30

Mellonin studied Raefindan. "You do not seem to me like one who has gone... daft, " she said slowly. "You seem sad, but not moonstruck."

"Moonstruck..." He shook his head, and ran a hand through his fiery hair. In moments, his eyes glazed.

Mellonin glanced at his bowl of porridge, knowing that the workday would begin sooner than Raefindan wanted it to.

"Raefindan?"

He frowned, wishing she had left him in his reverie.

"A busy day will help you to forget your bad dream."

"It wasn't all bad, " he replied.

There was something about this that reminded her of Mellondu, if only she could remember what. Now it was her turn to frown.

"You two think too much, " said Morien. They both jumped; perhaps he was right...

"Red, you can scrub the empty room across the hall from where you were yesterday. And Mel, didn't you notice we've had breakfast arrivals?" He returned to the bar and began preparing pots of mulled cider.

Raefindan shoveled porridge into his mouth, grimacing with the effort it took to swallow, but knowing he would rue it later if he left any now.

Mellonin touched his sleeve. "I will visit when I may, " she said, and swept toward the breakfast customers, smiling and chatting. Raefindan finished his porridge, and with a last shudder brought the bowl to the kitchen and climbed the stairs gritting his teeth.

mark12_30

She sat at the bar for a moment, just a moment, and rested her forehead on her hands. The dizziness persisted. Folding her arms, she laid her head on them and closed her eyes. Her head hurt and she suddenly regretted her breakfast.

A customer called, and with a glance at Mellonin, Morien tended to the customer himself. Mellonin was left sitting alone at the bar.

To the north, snowflakes eddied and swirled, smoothing the details of the land. The golden leaves of Lorien hung heavily under its weight. The leaves stirred in the wind, but the wet snow clung and did not fall. Amroth paced the forest, searching, hunting, feeling that she was always just over the next hill or around the next bend. Desolation crept in with the wet and cold; he shrugged it off, pressing deeper into the forest.

In the south, the grey sea surged and sighed. The air was warm; the breeze whispered of peace, of calm, of hope that had been. Memories of the sun were sweet and gentle, but the sun was hidden, and the northern sky was dark. Imrazor searched the woods, calling, calling. No one answered. Ever and anon, he looked over his shoulder to the sea; if she had taken that road, she was lost to him forever. He turned back to the woods. Where was she? He crested another rise, and called again. His words were lost in the fog.

In the north, a storm rumbled, whipped by a wild wind. All but imprisoned by glistening ice, a small cascade of water yet sang as it tumbled over cold stone. Liting, lyrical, the stream sang on and on, lost in the tearing wind and rumbing thunder. Few heard the song, and those that did heard only the echoes of an old melody, and heeded only the memories of that which was past. No one heeded the despair that was present.

Fog. Ice. Darkness. Despair, echoes, silence. Mellondu's breath came in short gasps. He gazed into a stream, and golden and brown locks of hair swirled in the water. At the seaside, women's voices echoed in his ears, whispering, singing, pleading. He searched for them, calling, running. There were no answers. He was drenched with sweat. He ran on. Or was he swimming? He could not breathe. He cried out; was it fog, or darkness, or water, or storm that took away the sound of his cry? Or had he made no sound at all?

"Are you all right, Mel? Mellonin?"

With a start, she woke, and looked around, wildeyed. "Mellondu?" she whispered.

"You look pale, lass," Morien growled. Then he leaned closer, whispering. "Don't you go getting sick here in the common room in front of all these customers."

"My brother, " she whimpered, and lurched to her feet. Her wide eyes strayed to the staircase. "Raefindan--" Then she swayed and clutched at the chair with one hand and at her stomach with the other.

Customer's heads were beginning to turn. Morien gestured at a few of the staff; one of them stepped to the bar while Morien took Mellonin's elbow and firmly escorted her out of the common room.

mark12_30

Morien escorted Mellonin to the doorway of her room. She followed his gesture and went to the bed and sat down. Morien kept going down the hallway, to the linen closet where he fetched several folded blankets. Returning to Mellonin's room he looked in. Mellonin was already curled up under her blankets. He leaned into the room, and draped the folded blankets across the headboard.

He turned, closing the door behind him, and went to find Raefindan, who with hardened eyes and set jaw was scrubbing another floor.

"Mellonin looks awfully pale. Get her a bucket. Make sure her floor stays clean, and try and get her some fresh air without giving her a chill."

Raefindan nodded, wondering why Mellonin was sick, but he got up, and found a bucket and brought it to her room. He knocked hesitantly. No answer. He knocked harder and was answered with a muffled "Go away..."

"I was told to bring you a bucket, Miss Cheerful," he retorted.

"Leave it," came the muffled answer.

He opened the door, and slid the bucket along the floor towards the bed. She pulled the covers up over her head and disappeared completely.

For the next three days, very little was seen of Mellonin. She complained of fever, aches, pains, strange dreams, and the smallest of noises sounding like thunder. Although the grey-clad wait-staff met her needs, Raefindan checked on her every day and asked how she was feeling.

She was hardly sociable, or even civil. Raefindan came to dread his visits as a chore. But he persevered.

littlemanpoet

Over three days, Raefindan adjusted to life at the inn. Morien pressed him to step in for Melonnin in the commons, which he enjoyed much more than scrubbing floors.

The only thing he did not enjoy were his dreams. They all followed the same theme. He was glad they did not come every night. He had found his dreams persuasive and bothersome enough to ask Morien if he knew anything about people named Amroth, Nimrodel, Imrazor, and especiallly Mithrellas. For the people in his dreams spoke these names.

Morien told him of the legend of Amroth and Nimrodel, in which Imrazor and Mithrellas played a role. It all made sense, except for one thing: why was he dreaming this legend? It boggled his mind.

The two most bothersome things about his dreams were that he was Imrazor, and that he was falling in love with Mithrellas, who, for him, was somehow more than the Mithrellas of legend, but how he could not put into clear thought. It was not exactly as if she herself one thing in his dreams and another in legend. Rather, in his dreams, his response as Imrazor was out of keeping with the legend, as if he foresaw her death, or remembered it somehow.

He checked in on Melonnin several times a day, hoping she would be better. He hoped that she would be able to tell him more than Morien could. He didn't know why that might be so, but so it was.

[mark12_30]

mark12_30

She rolled over with a groan, and sat up, peering into the shaft of sunlight that Raefindan had just let into the room. "Must you? Oh, it's you."

"Good morning to you, too."

She sniffed, and then mumbled "Thank you."

"How about some fresh air?"

"Please."

He stepped out and returned a moment later. She had risen and hastily donned a tunic and a cloak. "Oh, dear, I certainly need a bath. No, don't get too close."

He snorted. "Why do you think I wanted to open a window? I have questions to ask you. You can answer them through the washroom door if you like, but I need answers."

"That would hardly be modest. But I can bathe in the stables."

"That's modest?"

"If I hang enough horse-blankets and you promise to be honorable, yes."

"You're incorrigible."

"In-- Incorr--" They turned towards the back stair and headed down for the stables.

"Incorrigible means that you are terribly annoying and stubborn! Now tell me about Nimrodel. And Amroth. And--"

She gasped, eyes wild with hope, and Raefindan turned a hard stare on her.

"Mellondu! You have dreamed about Mellondu!"

"What? Your brother? No, I haven't--"

"Yes you have!" she accused, siezing his arm. "Tell me! Hide nothing from me!"

littlemanpoet

He wrinkled his nose. "I will, but first you need to get cleaned up. And you need to tell me about your dreams, too. I insist, you first. Be a dear."

"Be a deer? But I'm a human. What do you mean, be a deer?"

Raefindan shook his head. "Not deer as in animal, but dear as in a kindly, caring - oh, never mind! Do you wish for me to wait outside, or do we go to the stables?"

mark12_30

Mellonin considered Raefindan, and with a sigh, regained her composure. "For three days I have dreamt of my brother. Mingled with my dreams of him, have been dreams of Nimrodel and Amroth. They are woven together, somehow, like one of the banners in the Great Hall. I do not understand it."

She could go back to the Inn, she reasoned, or she could wash here on the stone floor; they had arrived at the stables. It was early enough that there weren't many about, and she wanted the fresh air anyway; she chose a place to hang four blankets for privacy. Raefindan lent a hand.

"The dreams of Amroth are restless, full of searching. The dreams of Nimrodel are drenched in despair. And the dreams of Mellondu are dark, and confusing, and... sad."

She filled a bucket of water at the well, and brought it to the stone floor, and chose the cleanest rag available.

Raefindan blinked. "Don't you want some hot water?"

She laughed, a little, as she went within the curtains. "Of course I do. But there isn't a fireplace out here, and I don't have all day... Ugh."

He turned his back to the curtains, and stood guard as she scrubbed. She talked on, rambling for quite a while about fog and snow and forests and darkness and locks of hair swirling in the water, and Raefindan rubbed his forehead as he struggled to follow it all.

"What I don't understand, " she finished petulantly, "is what all these dreams about Nimrodel and Amroth have to do with my brother. They lived a thousand years ago. Amroth is dead. They're both dead. What does that mean? That my brother is dead too?" She bit back the temptation to cry that had been eating away at her for three days now. "I've never been to Rohan, or to Lothlorien, or even to Belfalas or -- well, I have't been down the river beyond where it bends around south of the city. But in my dreams, I think that is where I have been. I am not sure. I have seen rolling plains filled with horses, and I have seen golden trees in the snow, and I have seen.... I think in my dreams I have seen the sea." She fought for composure again. "But I don't understand in all of this where Mellondu is. If you have been dreaming of Amroth and Nimrodel, then you must understand where he is. That must be why you came here. Tell me, do you not know where he is?"

Raefindan shook his head. "Mellonin, I am sorry. No, I don't know where he is. My dreams ..." he shook his head. "No, I haven't dreamt about your brother. My dreams have been very different. What do your dreams tell you about a man named Imrazor?"

"Imrazor?"

"Or Mithrellas."

"Isn't that a woman's name?"

"Yes, of course."

"You said what do I know about a man named Imrazor--"

"I take it you don't know about either of them."

"No. What do you know about them? ...I'm almost out of water. I need anther bucket, please."

He looked around, found another bucket, and went to the well, and came back. Her teeth were chattering.

"Mellonin, you've been sick, and here you are taking a cold sponge-bath in a stable in early winter. I hope you don’t get worse."

"A little water never hurt anyone, " she replied through still-chattering teeth. "I'm almost done."

"I still don't have any answers, and it'll be time to go to work soon. Morien knew more about Mithrellas then you do, " Raefindan replied.

"Well I'm sorry, " she snapped. "You haven't been very helpful about my brother, either."

"Hey, take it easy, " Raefindan said.

"I haven't taken anything!"

He put one hand to his head. "Don't be upset. What is the matter with you? You weren't like this before!"

Dripping, but dressed and cloaked and fully modest, she reappeared and began taking down the blankets. He helped her fold them.

"I don't mean to be rude. I am worried about my brother; I have done so little to find him. I have enjoyed working here at the Inn, and he is out there somewhere, lost, maybe hurt. Maybe dying for all I know. I must find him!"

Raefindan nodded, but said nothing. They put the buckets and blankets back where they belonged, and headed back to the inn for a hot breakfast and a day's work.

The morning's porridge held little appeal, but it was hot, and neither complained. Between mouthfulls, Raefindan said, "There's something else I don't understand."

"Mmmm?"

"Why do you think that taking a sponge bath out in the stables was more modest than taking a proper bath in the Inn?"

"What's a sponge?"

He sighed, and wearily stirred his porridge. She dropped the question.

"Sorry. In a proper Inn, it would hardly have been mannerly for a man to stand outside the door while I shouted about my dreams from the bath, would it? But in a stable yard, early in the morning, no one will care."

"Stables have ears too, " Raefindan said wryly. The barn had not been as empty as Mellonin had supposed, and he had been glad that he had stood guard for her. “Maybe this stable is different than the one you were used to, “ he replied. “Can we meet for lunch too? Maybe then we can get to the bottom of some of these dreams."

Mellonin agreed. They finished their porridge, and got to work.

littlemanpoet

Lunch time could not come soon enough for Raefindan. Melonnin's company was the only reprieve he had from the drudgery, which he was certain he was not used to, what ever iot was he had done wherever he had been before he lost his memory.

And then there were the dead ends of his own thoughts. On one hand there were the dreams of Imrazor and Mithrellas. On the other was his failed memory. His throat caught whenever he thougth of Mithrellas; there was a connection between his dream and his past, and he could not piece it together. Why can't I remember anything before I showed up here?

It was exasperating. Which is a word nobody around here uses. That was another thing. He had many words in his head that Mellonin and the others simply did not comprehend, always taking them at the face value meaning, which led to all kinds of strange misunderstandings. What's a sponge? He laughed to himself as he rubbed the same spot on the floor for what seemed the hundredth time.

At last it was time for lunch, and the guests had been served. Raefindan knew to wait for his lunch until after Mellonin had served all the guests. They sat at table eating what was left of the mid day cold roast and brown bread.

"You spoke of Amroth as restless and searching, of Nimrodel as despairing, and of Mellondu as confused." Raefindan paused to drink some water. "Imrazor's dreams are filled with wonder at having to wife an elf as beautiful as Mithrellas, who bears him children that take after her in beauty; but every dream ends in loss, for she has left him, and he is heartbroken. It is as if she has died, for she might as well have, since she wants nothing so much as the sea and her friend, Nimrodel. For me, Mellonin, it is like having something I was supposed to have had, and was denied. I do not know how that is. What I can tell you is that the loss in the end is bittersweet either way, for there is some recompense in the dreams, with Imrazor's children, and in my past, I think, in some way I cannot remember."

"Reckon pence? What is that? It sounds like counting money."

Raefindan shook his head. "I am sorry. I mean to say that it is like receiving payment for having suffered."

"Have you suffered, then, Raefindan?" Melonnin's tone was soft.

"So it would seem, though in what way I cannot say. If I could only gain my memory back!"

"Maybe a way will be found in the dreams."

"One can only hope."

"Did you ever recall who Jorje was?"

Raefindan laughed. "You remember that. By George, I think you've got it! No, I don't remember who George was. But I don't think it was important. It would be like saying, By the sword of the King! or something like that."

"Maybe this Jorje is the king where you come from."

"Why not?" Raefindan laughed again. Mellonin eyed him over her plate of food, wondering just how sane this young man was.

[mark12_30]

Mellon

Night slipped by, and morning approached, but the Inn was still dark and quiet when the young blacksmith from Gondor rose, gathered a towel, a change of garments, and slipped out of the building. He went to the nearby river, washed himself and the clothing that he had slept in, dried and dressed in the clothing that he had brought, and hung the rest on nearby branches. Then he stood, silent and still, gazing northward, and waited and watched while the sun rose.

As the town began to stir, the young blacksmith watched the Inn, and when it became busy again, he approached it. His refined manner belied his rough hands. His neglected, shaggy hair was now combed back, held by a thin leather band; by the blacksmith's mien the headpeice might have been golden. He entered slowly, and looked for Bethberry; not seeing her, he quietly stepped out again, and waited, gazing ever northward.



Mellon-Amroth
Eothain stirred in his dreams, his eyes darting from side to side beneath their lids. His lips moved a little, and he murmured slightly.

As he dreamt, a tall elf-lord faced him; regal, golden-haired, powerful, and perhaps a little frightening. Eothain 's lips tightened, and he stood taller, stiffening. You need fear no man, he thought to himself.

"A good morning to you, " Eothain said.

The elf-lord nodded slightly. "The dawn promises to be bright; may your future be like it. Tell me, where is Bethberry? I require her presence."

Eothain 's eyebrows went up, and he shrugged. "She should be up at dawn, " he said.

"Bring her to me when she has risen, " the elf-lord replied.

"Very well, " Eothain answered, glad that Bethberry was a generally agreeable sort. The elf-lord faded from view, and Eothain struggled out of the dream and into the dawn.

Frowning, Eothain rolled over and sat up. It was morning. He got up, dressed hurriedly, and went to find Bethberry. He could not find her. He knocked on the door to her room, and there was no answer. He went to find Aylwen.

"She has left me in charge, " Aylwen replied. "I do not know on what business she travels, but she has indeed departed."

Mellon-Amroth

Eothain went looking for the tall elf-lord, but found only ayoung Gondorian man ligering outside. "Where is the Innkeeper?" he asked Eothain.

Eothain shrugged. "She is gone; on travel, they say. Where is the elf-lord?"

The young Gondorian man raised an eyebrow, but otherwise made no sign, holding Eothain's gaze.

"Answer me, " Eothain said impatiently.

The man frowned, his eyes hardening. "Your impertinence does your town little honor," he said, and after a moment he dismissed his displeasure. "It matters little. I must find a horse. In whose care was the Inn left during the Innkeeper's absence?"

Eothain 's jaw dropped. "What do you need a horse for? And why do you think we'd give you one?"



Aylwen Dreamsong

Afternoon had faded into night, and night had faded into a bright morning with no consequence, only indifference. Aylwen had stayed in the main hall the entire night. She'd taken the keys and was finishing papers at one of the tables the night before, and as the hours had worn on Aylwen gradually became more and more tired. Before long, Aylwen had fallen asleep at the table with a candle still burning and her coffee still steaming.

When she awoke the next morning, it was to the chatter of little birds outside and the recently risen sun streaming through the window into her eyes. Her coffee was cold and the candle had burned out silently, leaving beads and drizzles of wax on the table. Aylwen groaned and cleaned up the messes just as the maids and patrons began waking up and leaving their rooms. Eothain was one of these workers, and he came down quite feverishly as he stopped only to ask Aylwen where Bethberry was.

"She has left me in charge. I do not know on what business she travels, but she has indeed departed-" Aylwen supplied, wondering about the urgent tone in Eothain's voice. Aylwen was about to ask if she could do something in Bethberry's stead, but Eothain was off and outside the second Aylwen took a pause for breath. Aylwen stopped before bothering to speak and sighed instead, getting back to work.

Things were indeed becoming quite strange around the inn, or so it seemed to Aylwen. A fire burned the stable to the ground, Bethberry had up and left with little prior warning if any, Eothain was beginning to act strange, and all in all things were not normal around the White Horse.

The volunteers that had helped the day before to start rebuilding the stables started getting ready to continue their job. One man left to go find Talan, but Aylwen insisted that the builders go on without him, just in case he'd be gone for most of the day or if the man could not find Talan. Taren was hesitant, imagining the arguments and debates that would ensue without Talan to guide and lead, but dismissed this and went out to help build.

littlemanpoet

Ædegard walked into the inn and headed straight for the innkeeper at the bar. He didn't exactly want to be there, but he had made a promise. "Mellon will need a friend." Why me? was the question that kept playing through his mind. I'm just a wheelwright. Sure, Mellon was friendly enough during the snowball fight, but his illness and the strange things he had been saying had set Ædegard's teeth of age. Promises were to be kept, however, so he leaned on the bar, wondering what to think of everything.

"Good morrow, Aylwen. Do you know if Mellon is awake? Does he remain ill? I-" he looked away and coughed, embarrassed "-I am asked to look after his wellbeing."

Aylwen Dreamsong

"Good morrow, Aylwen. Do you know if Mellon is awake? Does he remain ill? I -- I am asked to look after his well-being," Aylwen looked up at the man before her, lifting a brow in confusion. Things were getting strange around the Inn, and they got stranger every time Aylwen stopped to point it out to herself. But the Assistant Innkeeper pushed these thoughts away for a moment and put her attention back on her inquirer.

"Excuse me? What are you talking about? Mellon?" Aylwen spoke for clarification, and the man rolled his eyes at her discreetly. Aylwen continued on anyway. "Please explain and maybe I will be able to help you find this...Mellon."

"There is a young, sickly blacksmith of Gondor upstairs. Bethberry said she was taking care of him!" the man exclaimed frantically, and Aylwen struggled not to smile at his tone. Then Aylwen calmly explained that Bethberry was out at the moment. The man rolled his eyes. "That's not the point. I just wanted to know where Mellon was and if he was still sick!"

Aylwen sighed and checked the listings of rooms for a Mellon. Sure enough Bethberry had left a little note about which room Mellon occupied. Aylwen led the man upstairs and to the room, using the keys Bethberry had given her earlier before she'd taken off. Unlocking then opening the bedroom door, Aylwen and the man looked in to find no sign of any occupant. Aylwen sighed and led the man back downstairs.

"Maybe Eothain knows where Mellon is," Aylwen consoled to the man, who didn't really seem to care about . Aylwen went to the front door and opened it to the fresh morning. "Yes, Eothain knows everyone..."

The man who'd asked for Mellon gasped and whispered lightly, "Mellon!"

Yes, things have become thoroughly confusing here at the White Horse, Aylwen thought, and not for the first time.




Mellon- Amroth

The young blacksmith surveyed the group, and turned to Aylwen with a nod. "Greetings, madam; may your joy outshine the rising sun." He then looked at Ædegard, and the right corner of his mouth curled upward in a slight smile. "Again we meet, Ædegard."

Ædegard coughed. "Mellon-- how did ... how are you feeling?"

The smile broadened. "I am feeling well... Friend, " replied the blacksmith, and his eyes twinkled merrily. "And you? How are you feeling?"

Ædegard blushed. "I'm fine. Listen, Mellon. Do you remember where you are from? Have you remembered your name?"

"Ædegard, my Friend, I had not forgotten it; not today, not in many centuries. But it seems that many others have. I had often heard the memory of men was not like the memory of the elves. Nevertheless, Amroth I was, and Amroth I remain, whether men remember it or not." Despite his wry tone, he smiled. The young man did not trust him, but he liked Ædegard nonetheless. He wondered why.

Aylwen curtseyed, looking uncertainly from Eothain to Mellon. "Good morning, Amroth... sir, " she said, hesitantly.

He returned his gaze to her. "Where is Bethberry? I desire to speak with her."

"She has departed, lord, " replied Aylwen, "and I am left in charge of the Inn."

"Bid her farewell for me; alas that I did not waken ere she departed. Nevertheless: I require a tireless mount; pray see to it, lady."

Aylwen's jaw dropped.




Aylwen Dreamsong

"Wait a minute. The Elf-Lord is tall and yellow-haired. I've seen him. This-- this upstart is not the elf-lord. He's up to something; he must be. He's just trying to steal a horse." Eothain cried, and Aylwen sighed before looking over at the man called Amroth...what a name...and smiling kindly.

"It does not matter if he were trying to steal a horse or not, Eothain." Aylwen murmured softly, looking over her shoulder at the construction going on behind the group. "For we lost all horses belonging to the Inn during the fire two days previous. If Amroth should be requiring a horse, he shall not be getting it from us, I fear..."

Eothain smiled a satisfied grin for a moment.

"That does not help me much, Miss," Amroth persisted, glancing at Eothain but otherwise ignoring the stablehand. "Perhaps you can redirect me to someone who might have a horse that I might use."

Eothain opened his mouth to protest again. Aylwen hushed him and turned to Amroth. "I shall see what I can do." Aylwen led the men inside and to the counter where the ledger was. She flipped through the pages. "Perhaps one of our patrons would be gracious enough to lend you their horse. Perhaps you could see another stabler in town. However, if a tireless mount is what you are seeking...I apologise sincerely, for you will not find it here."



Mellon-Amroth

The young blacksmith nodded to Aylwen, and turned to Eothain.

" This morning you saw an elf-lord in your dreams, did you not?" Pressing into Eothain's mind, Amroth gazed at him, and thought, "You see, young one, it is indeed I. "

Eothain took a few steps backwards, eyes widening.

Amroth began to release his mind. "You see that I bear you no ill will. But do not mock where you have no understanding, young one. Perhaps my looks belie my age? Yet I knew your ancestors in their ancient homes, along the banks of the river." He withdrew sadly from Eothain's mind. He turned to Aylwen. "Lady, if there are no horses to be found hereabouts, then I must proceed northwards on foot, and all the sooner. For I have need of haste." He bowed, and gestured towards the river. "The garments loaned to me by Lady Bethberry hang upon the banks. Give her my blessing. And now farewell."

And with that, he nodded to each in turn, and with shining eyes and head held high, walked northwards.

Ædegard said, "Wait. No supplies? No food, no blankets, nothing? You are crazy. Mellon, wait. Mellon?" He hesitated, watching the young blacksmith walk away.

[mark12_30]

First post: Ravion
The back-alleys of Gondor were mottled with small puddles from the last rain. The heavy tread of thick boots punctuated the otherwise quiet atmosphere, which could be construed as either tranquil or gloomy, depending on your disposition. Ravion took it as gloomy.

"Ravion!" The man looked in the direction of the call, and saw a young boy running up to him. "Ravion! Where're you headed? You look like you're in a foul temper." The boy paused. "Can I go with you?"

Ravion raised an eyebrow at the boy, who was, like many of the children who followed Ravion, a street urchin, perhaps an orphan. Ravion didn't ask many questions--in fact, it occurred to him just now that he didn't even know the boy's name. "I'm going to an inn to drink, and you may not come with me," he said. The boy's face fell, but Ravion held firm. "I have had a remarkably long day, boy, and I don't need you hanging off of me with a sad face to make it any longer. Here's some money--now leave me be!" The boy's face lit up as he grabbed the money and ran off. Ravion sighed deeply and continued walking.

He didn't have any clear idea where he was going, just that he was planning to go somewhere and have a drink or two before going to bed. He had told the boy the truth: it had been a long day. He had just gotten back to Gondor from a long journey to the north, past Rohan, where he had heard tell of a small band of orcs. It turned out that the rumour was nothing but that, a rumour, and there were no orcs to be seen. So tired, frustrated, and grumpy, he had returned to Gondor, with nothing but a few tales to tide him over. Odd ones, to be sure, but nothing that could relieve him of the disappointment.

As a 'leftover Ranger', as he put it, a Ranger without much meaningful work left to do after the War, he pursued any word he could pick up about bands of orcs, or any other threat to the safety of Middle-earth. Fortunately for the people of Middle-earth, but somewhat less fortunately for Ravion, word was getting harder and harder to find. It used to be that all you had to do was tilt your head a little and the sound of trouble would fall right into it, but that wasn't true anymore. Now you had to go out and actively look for it. It wasn't like that when his father was alive.

His voice still caught when he spoke of his father. His father, who had fought and died alongside King Elessar, his brother Ranger. His father, who had done more in that one, final battle then Ravion could hope to do in a lifetime, now. Angrily he kicked at a building, stubbing his toe violently and quickly wishing he hadn't been so rash. He bit down hard on his lip, limping on down the street.

What place was this for a Ranger? What world? What was left for a young man who knew nothing but war, when only peace remained? Was there anywhere left to go, any cause left to represent? Was there anything left but bitterness and frustration?

Feeling quite wretched and still very much in pain, Ravion stumbled along. Even from a distance he could feel the warmth and comfort emanating from an inn down the road, drawing him towards it. He needed now more than ever to rest. Perhaps he could check his foot, see if he'd broken anything...maybe get a room, just stay away from his home a while. His empty, sullen, quiet home. There was no life in it, only silence, and that was no way to live.

The Seventh Star, the sign proclaimed, was the name of the inn. A good name, Ravion decided. Promising. It was worth a look, not to mention the fact that it was right there, and he was tired, hungry, thirsty, and in pain. The case for the Seventh Star was getting better and better.

Ravion stepped in and let the warmth that had been promised from down the street seep into his body. He looked around for a moment, then, reassured that there was no danger--he had not yet shaken off his Ranger's first instinct to assume somebody was going to kill him--he went to the bar and ordered a drink.

Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

[mark12_30]

Aeron's first post

Aeron pushed himself against the Inn’s barn, trying to huddle in the shadows. His stomach contorted into a twist of hunger, and he gasped. Cautiously, he peeked around the corner. They have not found me -- yet. He remembered the baying hounds, the sound of tearing cloth as he scampered through the forest like a hunted cony.

A weak smile flitted across his face and he rummaged in his pocket for something: a thing of beauty, a thing of worth, a thing that was priceless. It was a necklace: the chain was fine gold inlayed with beads of pearls. At the end was a scarlet tear: a ruby that hung heavily from the chain. He clenched it in his dirty palm and grinned. He had been careless, and how he was fleeing for his life from the wealthy merchant he had stolen it from. Leaning against the barn, blowing his black bangs from his eyes, he caught sight of a rope stretching from a cottage window to a dying oak. Breeches of varying sizes hung from it, white blouses fluttered listlessly in the whispering breeze.

A keen glint flickered in his brown eyes, and he slipped from the shadows and jogged to the to the clothesline. With a furtive glance, he pulled a pair of trousers and a white, roomy shirt from the line and crept back to the stables. After hiding the clothes in a bundle of straw, he grabbed a wooden bucket and made his way towards a pump. He filled it as fast he could and, with as little sloshing as possible, carried it back to the barn. Tearing his clothes off, he poured the water over him, scrubbing his skin vigorously with his knuckles as he did so. That ought to keep the hounds off my scent… he whispered as he washed the grime from his body. Shivering, his teeth chattering, he changed into the freshly stolen clothes, transferred various belongings from his old clothes to the new, strode back to the line, and replaced his torn, ragged clothes. As soon as he saw they were hanging safely on the line, dangling as if they had been there as long as the others, he wriggled his eyebrows at them, grinning. “You’ll be in good hands now. Some dame will patch them with loving hands and you will no longer have to brave the terror of forest thorns.” With a mocking snicker at his farewell, he strolled lazily down the dirt way, keeping a sharp eye out for a thing to eat.

Whistling a Gondorian marching saw, he observed each passerby minutely. He had never before been the town of Minas Arnor, the Tower of the Sun. He scratched his scalp absently: it itched, as if a million little legs tripped merrily along it. He must remember to have his sister, Gwyllion look at it. Ah, little Gwyll…she would be happy about the necklace and bury it somewhere in the weed ridden yard. Or under the rotten floor boards of their humble hut. He wondered where else she hid his loot -- what she did with it. With a broad smile he shrugged it off. As long as rich merchants strutted the streets of Gondor, they would not starve. As long as farmers raised their chickens and their cows, they would be in no lack for meat or frothing milk. He smiled, chuckling quietly.

He ran is fingers through his hair, scraping the skin with his nails. Narrowing his eyes, he surveyed the fingernail: there was a small mound of dirt and dead skin, but it seemed to be moving…or something (maybe many things) were moving in the mound. With a shrug, he wiped the gunk onto his new trousers and continued on his way. He’d have to find a hat to add to his disguise, just in case one of his pursuer’s had followed him to the Tower of the Sun.

A girl, a basket of crimson roses hanging from her arm, was speaking with a jolly, red faced man. His ruddy cheeks were smudged with flour, and he leaned on a wooden roller. She was sneaking pieces of dough and popping them into her mouth, giggling all the while. Subtly he changed course and drifted towards her, snagging a rose as he passed by.

He laughed and twirled the green stem through his fingers, cleverly avoiding the thorns that protruded from the smooth, slightly knobby surface. A young lad strode quickly by, a simple hat upon his head. It was made of a soft brown material, but it hung low on his brow, as if he was hiding underneath its shadow.

Casually turning around, Aeron leisurely followed the boy down the straight streets of the city and wasn’t too upset when he turned aside at an inn called The Seventh Star. The lad went to a table where there were two others while he himself went to the bar, to see if he could get a bite to eat and mug of ale to drink. As he ate, he kept an eye on the table and the men that sat at it. He could have stolen any number of hats, but that particular hat was just the right shade of brown and it was always more fun and clever to steal from a person than from an establishments who sold hats.

“Your meal will be six pence, young sir,” the serving girl said, her red lips formed in the usual business smile.

Aeron cocked his head at her, rummaged in his pocket, and pulled out a handful of small coin. “Keep the change, lass,” he said as he leaned on the counter and smiled at her.

A flush washed over her pale features, and a light of reality glimmered within the smile. With a neat curtsey and a murmured thank you, she put the money in a drawer and stared at him. The smile had faded, replaced with a slight curve of her lips. Her eyes were wide and round and it was as if she was wondering why he had given her such a substantial tip.

At the annoyed call of another customer, the girl rushed away, leaving Aeron alone. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and he saw her leave for the kitchen with an exasperated roll of her eyes. As soon as the hallway had conveniently swallowed her up, Aeron glanced quickly to see if anyone was paying particular attention, jogged his empty cup with his elbow and watched with satisfaction as it clattered to the ground behind the counter. Launching himself over it, he kneeled jerked the door open, and grabbed the pouch of money. With nimble fingers he poured the coins from the pouch into his pocket. From the other pocket, he pulled a handful of pebbles and, with a stifled giggle, put them in the sack. With a gleeful grin, he put the pouch back. Standing up, he made his way near a table where the lad with the nice hat and the others were drinking and chatting. “Just a matter of waiting,” he whispered to himself. Stealing a hat had to be handled with a certain amount of delicacy after all.

[mark12_30]

First Post for Liornung

"'Twas a fine tune, Liornung."

The young fiddler turned to the man behind the counter and gave a little bow, mumuring his thanks and frowning thoughtfully at his bow. "I thank you, kind Master Ealdor," he said, "but I think that it sounded a bit odd. I fear that I have perhaps delayed overmuch in use of the rosin."

"Nonsense!" Innkeeper Ealdor cried, laughing a little. "You say it only to find fault with yourself, I know that much. Do you not think it would be wiser to simply accept that you had done a fine job, though in humble enough manner? Do not be so humble that you cannot see the facts as they stand before you."

The fiddler blushed at these words but continued to persist. "I do think it has been too long since my bow has last felt the rosin," he said again.

A young girl leaning against the door to the kitchen jumped forward with eagerness and touched the innkeeper's sleeve, saying, "Do not listen to him, Father, for I saw him just this morning sitting in that very corner, rosin and bow both in hand and in all truth he was not merely holding them to stare upon them."

"Miss Blostma, I fear you have me caught," Liornung said, bowing politely to her. "It does bother me to say from my own lips, however, that I played a fine tune and finer than many others before me. I think I shall content myself to merely think it." And then, sitting back in his chair and putting his boots upon the time despite the protests of the innkeeper's daughter, he began to play a soft, quiet tune, filled with such unspeakable sorrow and loss.

The inn there were inside could just barely be called that. Most simply referred to it as Ealdor's Inn, for it had no real name. It was a rare occasion when one other than a dear friend stepped into the inn, though it did sometimes happen. The inn was in a quiet corner of Edoras, and few people ever chose that inn to spend time in. Glancing around the dark room, dimly lit by the fire which threw strange shadows upon the faces of all, Liornung recognized everyone save a young woman sitting in a corner. She was staring into the fire, every so often tilting her head to the side a bit to gaze at him. She appeared quite lost and forsaken in the inn, and Liornung didn't wonder for it was almost certain nobody knew her and she knew nobody.

As he finished his tune he considered speaking to her and bringing her to know everyone in the room so as she should not feel so alone, but Old Secgrof called out to him, "Master Liornung, do you ever write songs?"

Liornung shifted his gaze from the girl to the old man sitting by the fire and, a playful little smile upon his face, replied, "Why, yes, I do, when there is anything noble enough to write about. I did write a song about the brave men who perished in a stable fire, but I was quite young then." The smile on his face growing wider, he added, "The leader of these brave men was my brother who in truth did not perish and was quite as young a lad as myself, but that would not have done for an epic tale." Old Secgrof chuckled a bit, and then he fixed and inquiring glance on Liornung. "I am under the impression that you have some special reason for asking this, Master Secgrof?" he asked uncertainly.

"Oh, not really," Old Secgrof said, shaking his head. "I was just thinking that some bard, or maybe even a wandering fiddler as yourself, should write about that crazy blacksmith."

"Crazy blacksmith?" Liornung frowned in thought. "I've heard no news of a crazy blacksmith. What is this you speak of?"

"A mad blacksmith," Blostma said, "is running north of here. The boys here in Edoras have been wishing with all their wills that they were older, for they think it would be an enjoyable sport to track him, especially as he's crazy and might be some danger."

Liornung touched the strings of his fiddle and gazed up at the ceiling of the inn. "It would be an adventure," he said. "It's been a long while since I've had an adventure. You say, Miss Blostma, that he's headed north from here? And you do mean Edoras by 'here' and not simply Rohan?"

"Yes," Blostma replied, looking a bit startled. "Surely, Master Liornung, you don't mean to follow him? It might prove most dangerous."

"I would like to follow him, but I might not wish to catch him. The following would be quite adventure enough, and perhaps I could find a few pleasant inns wherein dwelt those with willing ears for times further ahead." He put his bow to the strings again and was about to pick up another tune when Old Secgrof held up his hand to stop him.

"Master Liornung, I'm challenging you to follow the blacksmith and catch him, and when you've finished your adventure return here with your song," the old man said, his eyes locked onto the fiddler's.

Liornung was surprised. "Why, Master Secgrof, why does it mean so much to you?" he asked, hoping that his words did not sound too impolite.

Old Secgrof blushed a bit and stared at the ground, and then he murmured quite inaudibly. "The young man is crazy, that much has been said, and perhaps quite unable to defend himself against any dangers. He is heading into lands that I don't very well fancy, and I shouldn't like any harm to come to him."

"Master Secgrof," Liornung said in an awed voice, bowing quite low, "you have a most kind, compassionate, caring heart and alas that I do not have the same." He set his fiddle and bow against a chair and studied Old Secgrof's face for some time before speaking again. "You wish me to follow this young man and see he comes to no harm, if I do find him. Or persuade him to turn back, perhaps?"

"Whatever you might think is best."

"No need to look so ashamed, good master!" Liornung cried. "You are quite noble. I would readily do this if only to honor your most noble heart, but I do not know the lands well enough to track a man, and I am poor for following a map."

"I was no so serious about it," Old Secgrof said briskly. "You needn't worry yourself, Liornung. I'm sure the lad can take care of himself."

"But I cannot let one such as yourself worry so much about it. I have no knowledge of tracking, I cannot follow a map well and I only know these lands in the ways I travel them from inn to inn, I own no horse, but I will find some way to do it for your sake. I don't think I would mind going to those lands if only I knew the way. What an adventure it would be!" With shining eyes, he moved to the fire and sat himself down opposite of Old Secgrof. "You sit there, good Secgrof, and I shall sit here, and we shall think together and come up with some way to do this task."

[mark12_30]

First Post: Bellyn

Black faded into shades of grey that, in turn, smoothed into the beige-cream color of the parchment Bellyn was sketching on. The fiddler continued his tune, and Bellyn scribbled down the main outline of his body while he was still playing. Bellyn knew that if she wanted to get the proportions and body just right, she’d have to work fast before the fiddler stopped playing his lovely instrument. Of course the young man did not know about Bellyn’s drawing of him, and if he caught her staring Bellyn knew she’d blush crimson and crumple up the paper.

So, working quickly, Bellyn finished the outline of the instrument and man just as the last note began to ring and fade into the air. Bellyn sighed and put down her charcoal stick. The young minstrel began to playfully argue with the Innkeeper and his daughter about the performance. Examining at the drawing with slight disgust, Bellyn shoved it into the empty pack on the floor next to her feet, promising herself that she’d finish it later. Looking back at the table she occupied alone, Bellyn inwardly scolded herself for dallying and not doing her work. Maps were splayed out on the table in front of her, and a quill pen was left dry next to a jar of the finest black ink that Bellyn had made herself.

Bellyn returned her gaze to the fiddler, and was taken aback to find that she had caught the young man’s gaze as well. The fire flickered and lit Bellyn’s papers but she kept her attention on the minstrel, and Bellyn wondered what he was thinking so deeply about. Then his attention was called away as one patron of Ealdor’s Inn asked the fiddler about song writing. At this Bellyn turned away and went back to her papers.

Until part of the conversation being held between the fiddler – it seemed Liornung was his name – the old man, and the Innkeeper’s daughter caught Bellyn’s attention.

"A mad blacksmith," Blostma said, "is running north of here. The boys here in Edoras have been wishing with all their wills that they were older, for they think it would be an enjoyable sport to track him, especially as he's crazy and might be some danger."

Bellyn looked up from her maps for perhaps the hundredth time and smiled faintly, thinking that the boys of Edoras were certainly right in their desire for adventure. Bellyn, as an artist and a woman, had spent many years drawing and copying maps of places that her father the cartographer had been to. Yet Bellyn hadn’t left Edoras in many years, and even when she had it was not for adventure, it was not for glory.

"It would be an adventure," The fiddler, Liornung, said. "It's been a long while since I've had an adventure. You say, Miss Blostma, that he's headed north from here? And you do mean Edoras by 'here' and not simply Rohan?"

Bellyn became more and more interested with each passing moment. Oh, how she longed for a chance to be out in the world. Bellyn could recite any coordinates of any place in Middle Earth, and could recall lore of places long gone and countries faded and lost to the memories of normal men, but Bellyn had never been to any of them. Still, Bellyn knew what her father (who was away, like always) and brothers would say if she suggested or even hinted at her traveling off on some wild goose chase. Bellyn knew they would say naught for a while, then laugh, then ask if Bellyn had lost her mind.

For a few minutes the conversation became lost to Bellyn, and she began packing up her maps and readying for home. She wanted to speak to the fiddler, though, to find out what he knew or what he thought of the “crazy blacksmith” situation. Before Bellyn could stand from her seat or do anything, something else in the conversation caught Bellyn’s attention.

"Master Liornung, I'm challenging you to follow the blacksmith and catch him, and when you've finished your adventure return here with your song," The old man smiled slyly for just a moment, but then locked glances with the young fiddler.

Inaudible mumbling ensued, and Bellyn tried her best to listen and make certain that she did not miss anything important. What Liornung said next made Bellyn smile and made her glad that she was so well acquainted with the geography of Middle-Earth.

"You are quite noble. I would readily do this if only to honor your most noble heart, but I do not know the lands well enough to track a man, and I am poor for following a map."

I know the lands well enough! Bellyn cried to herself, excitement beginning to show on her pale face and color beginning to come back to her freckle-dusted cheeks. And I am the best at following a map, even if it is one of the few things I am good at!

"You sit there, good Secgrof, and I shall sit here, and we shall think together and come up with some way to do this task."

The young artist knew it was time for her to speak, and she knew it as well as she knew the exact distance from Minas Tirith to the lands of ancient Lothlorien. Bellyn grabbed her pack of maps and slung it over her shoulder before leaving her spot by her table and shyly walking up to the fiddler Liornung.

“You do not need to think for long,” Bellyn began, getting Liornung and Secgrof’s to turn and look at her. “I can help! I’m a cartographer,” Bellyn knew it was a bit of a lie, for she had never really been anywhere, but she told herself hesitantly that knowing where everything was on a map was almost as good as having been there anyway. “I’m a cartographer, and I know all the lands of Middle-Earth! I can help you track any man you must find, Master Liornung!”

[mark12_30]

Late, with a head full of weary and upsetting dreams which she could not sort out, Mellonin skittered down the stairs, braiding her hair as she went. She stopped at the door to the common room, tied off the braid, straightened her skirts hastily and pushed the door open.

Morien glared at her. It was a busy morning, with most of the breakfast guests already finishing up their meals, and several new people Mellonin had never seen before. One corner's shadows held a ranger dressed in the typical greens and browns-- well, not quite typical; not Gondor's standard military issue. He was solid, but not tall; his hair was short, and his beard trimmed close; and his eyes glinted-- was she imagining it? They looked green. How strange.

There was another new fellow lounging at a table, near-- but clearly not part of-- a group of people she knew. He was filthy, but his clothes were immaculate and expensive-- and they were clearly not tailored for him. She went on her guard immediately.

"Well, good morning to you, sleepyhead. Breakfast is almost done; the stormcloud on Morien's brow has been growing darker by the minute. Best tread softly."

"Good day, Raefindan. Oh, the dreams I had." She smoothed her blouse, and said, "I need tea."

"Well, I'll get it for you. Go greet somebody before Morien loses his temper."

She nodded. Smoothing her skirt yet again, she made her way to the smartly dressed young scamp's table, casting a glance toward the ranger as she did so.

[mark12_30]

The young man's questions faded from Amroth's mind as soon as he turned northward; he could still hear his words, but he had dismissed the issue already, and his will was set northward. Opening his mind, he searched, passing over the nearby villages, the towns, the open fields, reaching out to the falls, the singing stream of his beloved beauty. He could imagine the voice of the stream; where was the voice of his betrothed?

Other minds touched his, querying; Lorien was strangely quiet. More elves must have migrated already than he realised; why had he been unaware of this? Had they headed due west instead of south?

No matter. He had given the reign of his Kingdom into other hands; his heart held one purpose. His bride had headed south, not west. And she had not met him when she ought. She would have returned home to the stream she loved best.

Nimrodel. Nimrodel. Where are you? Nimrodel, hear me. Nimrodel...

[Orual]

The morning came altogether too quickly for Ravion, who had accepted perhaps one or two drinks that were excessive. His head throbbed somewhat in the sunlight that filtered in through the curtains on his window. He groaned and rolled over in his bed, pulling the blankets over his head irritably. He stayed there for a few moments, trying to convince himself that it was the best thing to do, but eventually threw the covers off and sat up.

He glared sullenly at the window for a spell, trying to stare down the sun. It stayed up stubbornly, despite his patience, despite his firm, unwavering gaze. Finally it conquered him. He dressed quickly and pulled on his boots, lacing them up. He parted the curtains and looked out the window, watching a couple of passers-by on the street, then stepped away from the window and put on his cloak, clasping it with his plain iron brooch.

He went to the common room, ordered breakfast, and took a seat in the corner to eat. He threw the hood over his face, still a little tired, a little grumpy, and with more than a little bit of a headache. As he took a forkfull of eggs, he glared around the room, as though challenging someone to come up and speak with him. Nobody did. Nobody ever did.

He sighed deeply and started to eat, trying to remember what he was doing at the Inn. Oh, yes--avoiding home. Maybe sorting out what had happened on his trip? Something about a crazy blacksmith, but nothing important. He snorted as he thought of the story. Crazy blacksmith who thought he was somebody or else of old...oh, but his head hurt...well, maybe he had had too much to drink last night, but at least he wasn't crazy. Much.

He glanced up and locked eyes for a moment with a handsome young woman, a waitress by appearances, and even after she broke eye contact he continued to watch her for a moment. There was something about her, something...he shook his head briskly to clear it. There was nothing there. He was just still a little drunk, that was all. He put down his plate and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and his body responded with another wave of pain in his head. Oh, but last night had been a mistake...

[mark12_30]

"Hold him still. Steady! No. Make him stand. Make him stand!"

"I'm trying! He's too big!"

"He is not. That's what the bit is for, " Ædegard said. The big chestnut jigged and shied, dragging Ædegard's little sister Theolyn several feet before Ædegard turned to the horse and roared, "Stand!" More wide-eyed than ever, the horse stood fast, trembling, snatching at the bit. Theolyn gave him a little more rein, and he began to relax. Ædegard glared at him, and then at Theolyn, and resumed struggling with the stiff girth on the second horse: an aged bay mare, who stood immoving except for the occasional flick of a tail.

A soft voice spoke. "Not starting off on the best of terms with him, are you?"

"He's young. He'll settle down once we get going," Ædegard said as his frown deepened.

The young man, a rider in his late twenties, nodded at Theolyn. "We?"

Ædegard snorted. "No, Freawine, she's not going. Just me and the horses."

"How far?"

"Don't know."

"What for?"

"Crazy blacksmith."

"Ah. A rescue mission."

Ædegard could not tell whether the last was spoken in mockery or not, so he turned and met Freawine's eye. There was friendship there, and a trace of admiration. Ædegard softened somewhat.

"Won't you need a third horse once you find him, " Freawine observed.

"Father can't spare any more. He can hardly spare these, or me."

"That girth needs oil. It'll rub him bare, as stiff as that."

"It's old. This saddle doesn't fit anyone else, and she's been out to pasture."

"You should oil it."

"I don't have time!"

A large hand landed on Ædegard's shoulder, and Freawine said softly, "He's on foot. But you don't want to be on foot, do you? Take care of your mount."

Ashamed, Ædegard met Freawine's eyes and blushed crimson. Freawine held his eyes, and then said, "Loosen it. I will return."

Ædegard loosened the girth while Freawine walked away, and then he busied himself checking his supplies. He was missing a few things. Muttering, he held both horses and ordered his sister to fetch several things. He looked over at the Inn, and shook his head, with a sinking feeling that this was going to take a while. Freawine was right of course; carelessness at the beginning of a journey did not bode well for the end of it.

The old bay put her nose against Ædegard's chest, and Ædegard said softly, "I'm sorry, old girl. I owe you better than that."

He tried not to fret, but he hated waiting. Freawine returned with the oil, and together they stripped the saddle from the old mare and softened it. Meanwhile, Theolyn returned with the forgotten items. With a soldier's efficiency, Freawine helped Ædegard re- pack, and soon Ædegard was in the saddle.

"Have you said farewell to your father?"

Ædegard nodded, and then shrugged. "This won't take long. I'll be back soon anyway."

Freawine laid one hand on Theolyn's shoulder, and raised the other in farewell. With a nod, Ædegard gathered the reins of the bay, gave the chestnut a firm pull on the lead-line, and turned the horses north.

[Nurumaiel]

From a short distance, two more riders were watching Ædegard take his leave. The one, being Liornung, touched the shoulder of the other, being Bellyn, and gestured to the group of people and horses. Bellyn's eyes met Liornung in a puzzled fashion, and he smiled softly when he realized she had not been listening to the conversation between the rider and the two by him. "I have been," he murmured in her ear, "quite guilty of eavesdropping, but it has been well rewarded. That rider there is also is search of the crazy blacksmith." Bellyn still did not seem to fully understand what Liornung was trying to say. "Three is company," he said shortly, his hand falling to the saddle of his horse. He watched in stiff silence as Ædegard turned his horses north and began to ride off.

When Ædegard was gone, Liornung moved towards the young girl who had been helping Ædegard. His bay mount followed obediently, as did Bellyn. Liornung stopped in front of the girl and gave a slight bow, "Miss Theolyn," he said in greeting.

She turned to him with no little surprise on her features. "You know my name, then?" she asked.

Liornung blushed but did not avert his eyes from her. "I fear I was eavesdropping on you, Miss Theolyn. The conversation that was held with your elder brother interested me very much, for I heard him say he was pursuing a crazy blacksmith. Did I hear aright?"

"Yes, sir, that is what he said."

"Do you think he would object us to following him? We were also setting out this lovely day to find that blacksmith and rescue him from whatever dangers might befall him, and while I've travelled this country round and round I know naught of tracking, and while my young friend here knows of all lands in Middle-earth she has never tread upon them. The company of your brother would be welcome."

There was an unmistakable gleam of suspicion in Theolyn's eyes, and Liornung realized it was well-founded. It was hard to trust strangers. For all the young lady knew, the two of them might be bandits just looking to take Ædegard's horses and money... if he had any of the latter.

"I am not armed," Liornung said, his voice firm and quiet. "I have no intention of harming your brother, but instead seek to join him in his quest so I may fulfill the wishes of one very dear to me. And if it would be that I were telling you a falsehood and I did intend to harm your brother, I could not overpower him, for as I have told you already I am not armed and even if I were to have a sword I have no great skill with it."

Theolyn hesitated again, then turned her eyes desperately to a young man standing some ways behind her. "Freawine?" she questioned, and then stepped back to let him take care of the business.

Liornung blushed and bowed again. "You must forgive my manners, Master Freawine," he cried. "I was so intent on my quest that I had forgotten to exercise them. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Liornung, and I am a wandering fiddler in search of a mad blacksmith to rescue him. This is Bellyn, a talented artist and my companion." He bowed again, and Freawine returned the courtesy.

"I trust," continued Liornung, "that you already heard what I said to Miss Theolyn. I will say no more to plead my cause, for I've said enough. I shall leave it to you now, then." He folded his arms and glanced at Bellyn, wondering if she were enjoying the adventure thus far.

As Liornung was speaking, Freawine had been studying the young man critically. His words seemed true. There was a fiddle case strapped to his back, and there was no weapon upon him unless it be a small dagger, which would not pose much threat. Besides, this young man's face was most honest and truthful. The girl, of course, was not to worry about.

"All right," he said. "I can't say that I trust you completely, for I don't know you at all, but you have gained enough of my trust that I will let you go without hindering you. I daresay Ædegard shouldn't mind some help if you ever catch the blacksmith."

"If he's dangerous," Liornung replied. He bowed first to Freawine, then turned to Theolyn. "Most honored, Miss Theolyn," he said, bowing again to her. "Your brother shall have, at least, no lack of music." Stepping back he bowed once again to both of them, then, slipping his foot in the stirrup of his saddle and making a gesture with his head to Bellyn, he mounted his bay. She did likewise. With a last farewell to the two, they turned their horses north and began trotting comfortably north.

They were silent for a while, but Liornung soon broke this silence by saying very shortly, "You're dwelling on some thought. Tell me what it is, and say it truly and bluntly."

Bellyn looked a little startled, then, with a brief hesitation, she looked straight into Liornung's eyes and said, "I was thinking that our conversation with those two was very much a waste of time. It would have been much easier to just ride after Ædegard without bothering to get permission."

Liornung chuckled inwardly. She was not a weak girl, that was certain. He did detest it when people always spoke their mind. When they did, what left was in their minds that was completely their own? But when they were asked... it took courage to say the truth. "It was that waste of time or another farther up the road," he replied. "When he left Ædegard seemed to be in quite a sorry mood, but I noticed that while he was reluctant he did have great respect for what Freawine said. Ædegard would be most unwise to trust us when we ride up and ask to trust him, but perhaps with Freawine's consent he would allow us to come with him. Then again, he will probably think we're lying about it." Liornung paused to muse over this problem, but soon continued. "The second reason is that I wanted to meet Ædegard's sister and friend. I was quite intrigued by them. If I hadn't met them I would have been pestering Ædegard about them. Both you and Ædegard can pester me about my family because I'm used to telling stories and I love talking about my family."

Liornung urged his bay into a canter and Bellyn's horse followed without being asked. The two pack horses also followed as willingly as could be expected. "We'll catch Ædegard soon," Liornung said confidently. "When we do he'll either let us come with him or not. He can't expect us not to shadow him quite closely if he refuses, though." Bellyn was not looking at him for she was concentrating on the road ahead, and though Liornung knew this he winked anyway.

[Imladris]

Aeron scanned the inn’s common room before again fixing his stare upon the lad’s hat. Serving ladies, farmers, a bard, a drunken man, and many more. He fidgeted in his chair and again looked about him, hoping that none of his pursuers had found their way there.

A woman with brown hair glided towards him, and scrutinized him before saying, “Good morning young sir.”

He shifted in his chair, his eyes flicking from her face to his hands and back again, before he put them under the table and said, with a cocky grin and a wink, “A good day to you mi’lady.” He paused. He was not much good around women. Charming one girl with a golden coin was about the limit for him. Gwyllion, he thought briefly, was much better at it. He smiled at her. Go away please…I can’t steal the hat with you hovering about me. What if he should leave? His heart fluttered. But there were always more hats…maybe even better ones. But what good would a better one do if he couldn’t have that one? That one would be perfect. It wasn’t too ornate, it wasn’t too meager…it hid the face perfectly. “And what would my lady’s name be?” he asked.

“Mellonin.”

“A pretty name. Mine is Faran,” he said, grinning.

“You’re clothes are very fine,” she said.

He glanced quickly at her, staring into her eyes. She arched an eyebrow at him, and a smile played about her lips. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided just to grin at her. A grin was very safe. It couldn’t betray you, like words could and often did. In fact, they seemed to take a morbid delight in doing so. “Thank you,” he said after a pause. It couldn’t get safer than that.

“May I get you something to drink or to eat?” she asked.

“No thank you,” he said, tilting his head at her.

With a smile, she skipped off, her braid swinging across her back. He sighed and decided he couldn’t wait for the lazy person to actually leave the Inn. His pursuers were much too close and clever.

Rising, he took a few confidant steps toward the table, and then sent himself sprawling towards the boy, knocking them both to the floor; the hat consequently, and conveniently, knocked off his head. “Oh, I-I-I am-m-m s-s-so s-s-sorry,” he said. “M-M-Me a-a-and m-m-y c-c-clumsiness.” He wriggled forward and grabbed the hat, bunching it up into a ball in his fist.

“Get off me,” the boy protested.

Aeron clambered to his feet and, head bowed, he folded his arms behind his back, like a boy about to receive a scolding.

“Where’s my hat?” the boy cried, groping under the tables. His eyes narrowed and, standing, he pointed his finger at Aeron, and shouted, “You!”

“M-m-m-mee?” he said, gesturing towards himself. “I-I-I w-w-w-wouldn’t t-t-tak-ke a-a-anybody’s hat! Are y-you c-calling me a thief?” he shouted.

“Well where else could it be?”

“I n-never n-noticed a h-hat.”

“Never noticed a hat? Are you going blind? Where is it?”

Aeron, seeing the boy’s hand clench into a white-knuckled fist, decided that the time of lies had come to an end. He darted through the ring of people that had formed and bolted for the door, jumping over stray chairs, and dodging under tables. Suddenly, a hand gripped his collar and jerked him against the inn’s wall. A knot burrowed in the small of his back.

A man, green eyes still dull with a lingering hang-over, stared at him, his mighty arms pinning him against the wall. Without a word, he plucked the hat from his hand and gave it back to the boy. “W-w-wait! T-t-that’s my h-hat!” he cried, wriggling under the man’s grasp.

“You can drop the false stutter,” the man said.

“O-o-only if y-y-you l-l-let m-me go.”

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard looked back as he passed over a rise in the land that lay on the horizon when he looked from town. The last outbuildings of town were about to fade from view. Ædegard sighed. He wondered how long it would be before he caught up to Mellon. And he wondered if it would even be possible to bring the mad blacksmith back. What if not? He could imagine a long journey ahead of him, and he knew not where it would lead.

He worried about his parents and Théolyn. He knew that he should not have told her he would be back shortly. She would be worriting about him until he returned. He shook his head and considered, not for the first time, turning his mount, and heading back home. Let the mad blacksmith do what he would. But Béthberry's words always came back to him. He would need a friend. And there is more going on here than it might seem. He wished he understood what she had meant.

Hours later, close to sunset, he still had not caught up to Mellon. He heard two sets of hooves behind him, though. He looked behind him. He wondered if they would be friend or foe. He loosened his sword.

[Orual]

Ravion finished his breakfast and put the plate aside, leaning back against the wall and rubbing his aching head. Never again! As he swore off alcohol for the fourth time in as many weeks, something of a commotion started up a little ways away.

"Where's my hat?" demanded a boy, facing another youth--Ravion believed he had heard him called Faran--whose head was bowed and was in a submissive stance. Ravion watched in detached interest as the first boy accused Faran of stealing his hat, an accusation that was firmly denied by the youth in a stuttering voice. Ravion would have taken the accused's side, if he had thought that the stutter was genuine. This boy was accustomed to fakery, and that never boded well.

Just as the first boy pulled his hand back into a fist meant to knock out a few of Faran's teeth, Faran dodged and ran through the common room, making a dash for the door. Ravion stood up and strode quickly to the youth, grabbing him by his collar and pressing him against the wall. He stared evenly at the boy, wordlessly took the hat from him and passed it to its rightful owner, who looked more than a little stunned by the turn that events had taken. He stared at it for a moment, then bolted.

"W-w-wait! T-t-that’s my h-hat!" Faran cried, struggling against Ravion. The Ranger held him firm, moving only slightly despite the boy's wriggling.

"You can drop the false stutter," Ravion said dryly.

"O-o-only if y-y-you l-l-let m-me go," Faran replied, his struggling abating somewhat. Ravion raised an eyebrow, and loosened his grip a little. Not much, but a little. He locked eyes with the boy for a moment longer, a dispassionate stare that he found quite effective in intimidating people he needed to question, or just people who were getting on his nerves. After the moment had passed, he grabbed Faran's collar once again and marched him over to the table at which he had been seated.

He pushed the boy down into a seat and took a seat himself. He did not push back his hood: he thought that it rather gave the impression that he was trying to give the youth. They weren't sitting down for a friendly cup of tea.

"Thievery," he said, his voice casual. He made a wry face and took his glass of water, drinking it and wrinkling his forehead in pain. It was still quite cold.

"I d-d-didn't st-steal an-any-anything!" Faran protested. Ravion glanced at him from over his glass. The Ranger cleared his throat and placed his glass on the table slowly.

"I said to drop the stutter," Ravion said, his voice low and indicating that he was no longer playing games. He leaned over the table, eye-to-eye with Faran. "You don't know me. You probably wish you hadn't met me, that you had gotten to that door. In fact I know you do. But we did meet." He realized that he was drumming his fingers on his scabbard, and that Faran was glancing nervously at it. He forced his hands to be still on the table, and held his glass to keep them steady. "My name is Ravion. I am a Ranger. Don't look so surprised; there are still some of us around. Not many, though. You might wonder what we do now. Well, with very few orcs around, and only a small number of Easterlings and Southrons who want to cause trouble with our good King, I have to settle for a little less." He leaned in closer. "Trouble-makers like you."

He straightened up. "Now, I'll give you one chance to explain yourself. Tell me why this hat was so necessary to your survival," he said mockingly, sitting back in his chair, fingering his necklace, a white-green stone with a square hole in the center, tied to a leather strap. His fingers ran over his father's name, engraved on the back, as he awaited the youth's answer.

[Nurumaiel]

"Sunset is lovely," Liornung murmured, his gaze fixed to the west. A red and gold haze had fallen over Rohan, mingling with the colors of the grass. The fiddler's eyes were soft and dreamy, and Bellyn's eyes were sparkling. "How often I've wished to follow the setting sun to the West and see what lies there. Ah, but first the North, to Ædegard and the blacksmith. Is that not so, little Bellyn?"

Her hazel eyes were took in greedily all the land about them, and a slight flush had come to her pale cheeks. Her mouth was slightly open, probably in awe at the magnificent scenery, and she was unheeding of the strands of her dark hair that fell in her face. Studying her most carefully, Liornung concluded that she was not beautiful but she had lovely eyes. Which was well. Nobody could be really beautiful if they had ugly eyes, and only would their eyes be beautiful if they were kind and loving.

Those eyes turned and met his blue ones and, either forgetting or ignoring the sunset for a moment, she questioned him, saying, "Do you think we'll catch Ædegard soon?"

"Yes," he replied. "I don't think he will ride all night. And if he does, we can ride faster, though it would be a pity to tire our mounts so." Liornung's hand fell to the neck of his bay and he rubbed the mare gently. "Ædegard would not, I fancy, wish to tire his mounts either, despite his need of Freawine's advice concerning his gear. He'll probably keep it in mind the rest of the day." Liornung chuckled.

Bellyn hesitated a moment, her eyes studying the ground with unnecessary keenness. She seemed to have something on her mind, but apparently she desired to think it out a little before she said anything. Liornung was quite content to let her. He whistled softly to himself... softly so she would not hear and have her thoughts interrupted, but he was composing a little tune that would reflect the beauty of that sunset.

"Do you think, Liornung, that Ædegard is an unkind person?"

Liornung did not look surprised, annoyed, or even amused. He merely gazed most gravely at Bellyn. "Have you no opinion of your own?" he asked. His eyes locked on hers and he could see quite plainly what she thought of Ædegard. "Well," he said, smiling in a very charming fashion, "I think much the same as you about him. I don't think he's too bad. He did seem a bit short and sharp when he left earlier today, but I trust it was merely because he was anxious to begin and annoyed at the trouble of leaving. Leaving on a journey is very troubling, you know.

"Ah, look, Miss Bellyn, I see him now."

And there he was indeed. He had turned his horse a little and was facing them at an angle, his hand resting tentatively on the hilt of his sword. A suspicious frown was on his face, and as they drew closer to him he said, "Who are you?"

"That," said Liornung, a tinge of admiration in his voice, "was very brave. See, Miss Bellyn, how direct he was in asking us. Surely he isn't a coward." Liornung gave what clumsy bow he could from atop his horse and said, "I am Liornung, a wandering fiddler and this is Miss Bellyn, an artist and my companion. And we are both following you." Liornung seemed quite pleased that he had been equally as brave as Ædegard.

"And why were you following me?" Ædegard questioned.

"Because you're following the blacksmith and we were intending to, but we concluded it would be much easier to merely follow you. In fact, Master Freawine has given us permission to join your company, which I see consists merely of you and your horses. Do you fancy having four more horses and two more people with you, or should we continue following you?"

Ædegard hesitated at this very bold way of speaking. Surely if Freawine had given consent these two must be honest and not thieves, but were he to suppose there were lying about Freawine. "Can I trust that Freawine really said what you say he did?"

"I could lie, quite easily," Liornung said. "I heard your conversation with Freawine, and I could have merely remembered their names. It would be very simple. However I do not like to lie in general, and never in front of a lady." And he cast a very significant look at Bellyn. "I'm a wandering fiddler, as I said," he continued. "I can play a good tune on my fiddle and I'm told I have a fine voice. I was quite content to stay in Edoras for quite awhile longer but a dear friend of mine was very concerned about this blacksmith going north and he desired me to follow and see that no harm came to him, being the blacksmith, Master Ædegard. So as you see my reason for being here is very honest. I wish to do what this one I mentioned asked of me as well as that I wish to help this blacksmith if I can, and I have no intention of stealing any of your horses or harming you. Miss Bellyn here most graciously suggested that she guide me and help me track the blacksmith as I have no skill in it. To be very short and honest... Would you, Master Ædegard, let us come with you, or should we be content to follow you?"

[Imladris]

Blast. Of all things, he had to run afoul of a ranger -- a drunken ranger at that with a mocking mouth. It really was quite humiliating that a mere thief such as himself was lower than an orc. “I think its pretty low to assume that I’m a troublemaker and that I stole the hat,” he said. “Really, I would have expected better from a ranger.” He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at him.

“I have not yet received an explanation,” Ravion replied. “Why was that hat so necessary to your survival?”

Leaning back in his chair, Aeron replied, “Whoever said that the hat was necessary for my survival, and whoever said that I stole it? If you must know, the hat is actually my sister’s. Not only did that scurrilous boy insult her, he took the hat from her. My sister is a gentle creature,” he added with a soft smile. “You couldn’t really expect her to reclaim the hat herself, could you?”

The man gazed at him, his keen eyes searching Aeron’s own. It was as if the man was prying through him, scrutinizing every word he had uttered, trying to catch him in a falsehood. Words…always waiting to ensnare you.

“And what about the stutter, Faran?” Ravion asked, sipping from his mug.

Drat. How he did harp on that stutter. It baffled him that Ravion had been able to tell it was false…a stutter was a stutter, what could be simpler? Yet somehow he had sniffed him out, just like he would sniff out an enemy.

“I used to stutter many years ago and he would make mimic me in a mocking manner,” Aeron said. “I must be out of practice,” he added. “I broke the habit when I was young. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Aeron said, jumping to his feet, “I have business to attend to.”

[mark12_30]

Working at an Inn had its disadvantages, Mellonin decided. You heard all the news, but you also saw all the brawls.

The rightful owner of the hat had already fled; now it looked as though the thief intended to flee as well. Mellonin hoped that the Ranger had everything under control. She moved away from the pair, murmuring calm greetings to the patrons nearby, and straightening the chairs that had been knocked about. But the tension between the ranger and the thief was palpable.

"Raefindan, perhaps you'd care to investigate?" she murmured as she passed.

He gave her a blank look. "But I'm not the one who is curious."

"I wonder whether the Ranger might know something about my brother, " said Mellonin.

"Then you should ask him, " Raefindan replied.

"Please, " said Mellonin.

"All right. But why won't you ask him yourself?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's the boy. Maybe... I don't know."

Raefindan gave Mellonin another puzzled glance, and walked towards Ravion's table.

[mark12_30]

Long before Amroth wanted to stop running, his body forced him to. What had happened to his endurance? He felt weak, weary, vunerable.

Perhaps more had happened between his leap into the foam, and his arrival at Edoras, then he strictly remembered. Either way, he needed physical rest. In fact he needed to sleep... again. He shook his head, but the weariness would not be fought off. He slowed to a walk, and studied his surroundings. Were he in a forest, he would sleep in a tree. But this was an open plain. He had not cared about hiding his tracks, for he had not anticipated being off his guard.

He left the soft turf and walked on rocky terrain, til he found a stream, which he waded in for several hundred yards. Then he turned uphill, and followed a rocky ledge for a quarter mile. It ended in a rocky outcropping that offered shelter from the wind, and from prying eyes. He found the flattest spot and stretched full-length on the ground. Dismissing all other thoughts, he reached northward, searching for the familiar touch of her mind even as he slipped into dreams.

[Orual]

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to." Faran leapt to his feet, more than eager to get away from the half-drunk Ranger who had assaulted him. Ravion rolled his eyes in a long-suffering sort of way and grabbed Faran by the arm, forcing him back into his seat.

"First off, shouldn't you take things one step at a time? Whatever business you have to attend to can wait until our business is done." Faran sighed deeply, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. "And sit up straight. Sitting straight and walking tall shows people that you have your dignity, if nothing else." Ravion's eyes went distant for a moment, and he hoped that Faran could not tell that with that sentance, he was no longer talking about the youth. He ran his hand through his hair, breaking out of his reverie, and looked at Faran. Sensing that the boy was about to make a break for it, he added, "Even if you are a thief."

His repetition of that accusation was apparently rubbing Faran the wrong way. With a look of exasperation, he exclaimed, "I've told you again and again, I'm not a--"

"--not a thief. You've told me again and again, and I've heard you again and again. I may be a little hung over, but I'm neither deaf nor stupid, regardless of what you may think of me. Nor am I inexperienced. I saw the look on your face when you were quarrelling with that boy. You think I've never stolen anything before?" He broke off abruptly at that, wondering why he had admitted that to Faran. Not only did it diminish him in the eyes of the youth, but the circumstances had been different. Very different! If he hadn't stolen that horse, he never would have gotten to the battle on time...besides, it wasn't like the man hadn't had more than enough horses. And he would have returned the horse, but he couldn't find the man after the war was over...

He glared at Faran, both challenging and wary, waiting for the boy's response. If there was so much as a smirk on Faran's face, he'd slap it off of him.

[littlemanpoet]

Minas Tirith: Raefindan

Raefindan watched the Ranger rise from the table quickly and block the youth's way. The youth glowered at him.

Raefindan knew that he should have made Mellonin take responsibility for her own curiosity, but he couldn't help being gallant. Responsibility. Gallant. More words they don't use much around here. Raefindan shook his head and came up to the Ranger and laid a hand on the youth's shoulder.

"Ravion? Greetings. I am Raefindan. I see you have the youth well in hand."

The youth turned a baleful eye on Raefindan. "Unhand me, barhop!"

"He needs to be taken well in hand," the Ranger responded. "Well met, Raefindan." The Ranger kept an eye on the youth. What do you say we do a Frodo and Sam to this Gollum?" The youth looked positively indignant.

Raefindan's eyes went wide. "Did you say Frodo and Sam? I've heard those names before! And a clever idea at that, if I take you aright."

"I should hope so! They're famous. If you hadn't, I would wonder where you'd hidden these last few years."

They walked the youth to a chair and sat him down, then pulled a pair of chairs away from the table and placed one on each side of him, and talked over him.

"This is not funny! It's unjust! You have no right to hold me this way!"

Raefindant talked over the youth's protests. "That's just the thing, Ravion. I don't know where I've been before about a week ago. Yet it's positively amazing what I recognize and recall. Such as Frodo of the Nine Fing- now see there? You didn't even say that, yet I remember vividly! It's as if I was at the Cracks of Doom myself!"

"I would not envy you that," Ravion replied. "Speaking of things forgotten and remembered, there was something I was supposed to say here."

Just then the youth bolted. He scrambled under the table, forcing the two tall men to pivot around it. The youth sprinted for the door and looked like he was going to make a clean getaway. A foot appeared before the door and tripped him, sending him sprawling. Ravion was right behind the youth. He sat on him.

"Good work, Mellonin. Clever of you to sneak around and cut off the boy's escape."

"I have a name, you know," the youth said in an injured tone.

"Let's have it then," Raefindant said.

"Faran. Not Gollum, thank you very much."

Rohan: Mellon/Amroth

Ædegard regarded Liornung and Bellyn. A fiddler minstrel and an artist. The artist could track. And he being a wheelwright added a perfect third to the triangle of seemingly worthless skills for catching a mad blacksmith. He shook his head. Better to have them near where he could keep an eye on them than out of sight and a possible danger. Or distraction. Of course, their music and talk might prove distraction enough as it was. This Liornung certainly had a gift for turning a simple thought into a spun out string of endless words. It might just prove to be an overtiresome companionship. He would have to make the best of it.

"You may come with me. If the lady can track, as you say, that is good." He turned north without another word and let them catch up to him. He was not about to make conversation. It was not his way, unless he was in a tavern and at least one good pint down his gullet to loosen his tongue. Wheelwrighting was silent work, and he liked it so. Tracking a mad blacksmith had all the appearance of being a tongue wagging time. He hoped not.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin considered Ravion. "Welcome, sir, to the Seventh Star. I'd offer you a seat but it seems you've found one; although you might prefer something that thrashes less?"

Ravion gave Mellonin a cold stare. She turned her attention to his captive. "These rangers... Very difficult to argue with, aren't they? Especially when they've had an ale or two. I don't envy you in the least."

Ravion's gaze softened just a little. She looked back at him. "Can I get you an ale, sir? Assuming you're quite comfortable?"

"Not very. But I'll take the ale." He fished a coin out of his pocket, and tossed it to Mellonin.

She turned back to the thief. "And you? Are you going to buy a drink as well?"

The lad glared at her and shook his head. "Up to you, " Mellonin said. "But sir, if you wouldn't mind waiting just a little for that ale--"

Ravion looked up at her, with a slight shrug. She disappeared out the door.

"All right. You can let me up now, " Faran said.

"I don't have my ale," said Ravion.

Mellonin returned carrying a bucket and said, "Perhaps if you shift him so his head is outside the door--"

Raefindan and Ravion shared a quick grin. Ravion caught Faran by one arm and Raefindan took the other, and Faran kicked in protest while they dragged him outside. Then they held him down again, and Mellonin slowly and carefully poured the bucket of icy well-water over the lad's head.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Not quite surprised at Ædegard's grumpy persona, Bellyn shrugged as the man trotted off without much approval of her or Liornung. The artist followed Liornung's lead as his horse went off to catch up with Ædegard. Bellyn had seen many interactions between people at the Inns she'd been to, but she was most intrigued by the complete contrast between Liornung and Ædegard. The three went on their route north, and to Bellyn the adventure seemed incredibly surreal, for all the places she'd drawn on maps or for her own art were alive in front of her for the first time. Colors were more distinct, sounds and smells began to fit into the visions Bellyn had drawn so many times, and Bellyn felt at home even in the new environment.

"Liornung?" Bellyn prompted, and the fiddler looked over at her expectantly. His blue eyes were sparkling like the stars she'd seen many nights walking home after spending long hours in an Inn drawing. "You've been around many people..." Bellyn murmured, but quickly continued after realizing how strange her comment was. "What I mean is, you know how to speak to others and change if you have to so that everyone is comfortable. How is it that Ædegard doesn't seem very amiable, but you know how to interact and, well...deal with other people?"

"Deal? You say it as if it were a deck of cards that must be handled in order to get any good out of a game," Liornung pointed out, and Bellyn's pale cheeks flushed.

"Is that not how it is though?" Bellyn wondered, looking up ahead to Ædegard. "We speak with him only so that we do not have to stalk him like a hungry dog. And, like cards, it makes things easier for us, in a way." Bellyn stopped short, feeling silly for defending such a notion, even if it were her own. "I've spent long days alone at the different Inns, watching people talk and laugh and get in fights and arguments." The girl explained, hoping Liornung would understand or not think her crazy in the process.

"Perhaps sir Ædegard is not used to company, as you are not," Liornung offerred. Bellyn thought on this as Liornung continued. "Certainly he is not used to the company of complete strangers. Maybe he wishes to pursue this task alone. Whatever the reason, we do not know Ædegard well enough to make quick judgements," Liornung finished, stroking his horse's mane. Bellyn nodded and felt admiration towards Liornung for being so subtle and caring in his words, and after talking to him Bellyn always felt like she'd learned a bit of a lesson.

"In any case," Bellyn thought aloud, looking over at Liornung once more. "You're completely right. I should not judge on first impressions. I just hope Ædegard can learn to trust us."

[Orual]

Ravion kept a tight grip on Faran's arm as water gushed from Mellonin's bucket onto the young would-be thief's head. Oh, but how the boy struggled and thrashed...but with Ravion on one side, and Raefindan on the other, he had no means of escaping the cascade.

As Faran spluttered and spat, Ravion glanced at Mellonin. He hoped that she was not offended by his curt, somewhat cold manner when they were introduced, but something about her gave him pause. He could not pinpoint it, or even, if asked, tell what sense it was that told him something was not altogether aright. He could not say his 'heart', or his 'gut', or any of those physical terms used to describe an odd, unnamed sensation. It was not that in appearance she was anything out of the norm, but something about her had caught his eye when he entered the Inn, and something about her now set him off his ease. If it did not sound like he was out of his wits, he might have said that when he saw her, something came up behind him and touched him, telling him to watch this girl--she was something different entirely.

So as Faran thrashed around, he watched Mellonin from just below his eyelids, hoping that she did not notice, but unable to look back at the youth that he was now having more trouble holding in check. What was it about her?

[Imladris]

Things were not going well, to say the least. Aeron writhed under the stream of icy water that flowed over his head and slithered under his shirt in rivers. “Stop it,” he shrieked. He would have said more, but the chilled water gagged him. Coughing and spluttering, he felt himself heaved to his feet and thrown into a chair. “Villains!” he gasped, wiping his dripping hair from his eyes. “Fine! I tried to steal the hat!”

His breath heaving, and his clothes clinging to him like the feathers of a bedraggled bird, he glared at the three people who had foiled his catch and kept him prisoner. His heart chilled and his eyes darted to the door. If they found out the true reason about why I tried to steal that hat…

He glared at each one of them under his brows. The man Raefindan with the scarlet hair. A snicker escaped him as the thought of his sister flitted across his mind. But who was he? No race of Middle-earth that he had heard of had this colour hair. He felt a bright beam of inspiration: unless he had discovered a fabulous root and had somehow dyed it. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the thin man. It was would have been much better if he, instead of Ravion, had caught him. In Raefindan’s hands, he would have been like a slippery fish. He shrugged. Nothing for it now.

He stared at Mellonin with the air of an injured puppy. She, of all people, had been the one to drive him to his ruin. It was her foot that had kicked escape away from him, her hand that had guided the bucket. And what had he ever done to her? “Why ever did you do it, milady?” He asked.

“I thought you could do with a good bath,” she answered, her eyes twinkling.

Naturally.

Ravion: Aeron’s eyes nearly disappeared under his frown; all that remained was a malignant glint. The man was shrewd, keen to see the web of lies that Aeron had woven, and he had the weight of an blasted oxe fattened for slaughter. Aeron’s back still ached when the man had sat on him: sat on him . At the humiliating thought, he flushed crimson and slouched in his chair. What was it the brute had been saying to him before Raefindan had interrupted? You think I’ve never stolen anything before? Aeron’s head snapped back, and the frown faded. The man had stolen as well. But why was it alright for him to steal? Because he was a ranger? At the thought, the frown instantly settled again, while his lips curled into a smirk. So this is what this ranger was: a man who spoke high words disapproving of the thief, yet who participated in the deed himself. Aeron laughed. The man was nothing but rising bread dough.

“I suppose you wouldn’t care to divulge your real name to us?” Ravion said, his face full of boredom.

Aeron considered protesting the question, but then decided another bath wasn’t worth the trouble. “Aeron,” he replied.

[mark12_30]

Apparently the boy expected to be called Aeron now, instead of Faran. Mellonin wondered whether the name change was a daily occurance. Aeron's eyes smouldered with resentment, and the ranger looked less than happy. Raefindan was a little on the damp side.

Mellonin smiled brightly, and turned to the ranger. "Well, good sir, " and she fished the coin out of her pocket and juggled it in her hand, "your patience is remarkable, and now I will hasten to bring you your due." She went to the bar and poured a large frothy ale. Then she went to the counter, and reached underneath for the bag to deposit the coin.

Somehow, it settled differently. Her eyes came up above the counter and she glared at the boy, still seated between the ranger and the red-haired man; the hatless, hapless thief met her gaze, and froze.

Holding his gaze, she picked up the bag. Hefting it, she paced one step at a time from behind the counter towards the threesome. Ravion watched her approach.

She picked up a dirty soup bowl in her free hand as she walked past a table. Morien saw what she was carrying, and came to watch. Ravion moved nearer the boy, guessing he would bolt.

Mellonin drew up a small table near the three . She put the bowl and the bag on the table, and then drew up a chair and sat facing Aeron. . Ravion glared, Raefindan tried not to laugh, and Aeron tried to look innocent. Mellonin put her elbows on the table, interlaced her fingers and rested her chin on her knuckles. "What have we here, hmmmm? Perhaps you can tell me."

Aeron shrugged.

Mellonin opened the drawstring, and slowly poured the contents of the bag into the dirty soup bowl. From the very top of the bag, several coins dropped out, clinking muddily into the film of soup. The coins were followed by a steady clatter of pebbles and stones.

Mellonin set the empty bag down beside the bowl of rocks, put her chin back onto her knuckles, raised her eyebrows and smiled at the boy.

[Imladris]

Just when it couldn’t have gotten any worse. Aeron watched the dirty stones and pebbles clatter into the bowl with a sinking heart. Mellonin tossed the bag away and then watched him with a mocking smile. “It’s odd that coins and stones would be mixed together in a money bag,” he observed. He leaned back in his chair, raised his eyebrows, and stared at Mellonin.

“I was hoping you could explain that,” she said with a small smile.

Aeron glanced at her, his spirits sagging under the heavy gaze of his three opponents. Why did it have be this way? He should have just taken the inn money and gone back home...He shook his head. He had broken one of the principal laws of thievery and now he was receiving his just rewards. “And what makes you think I have anything to do with this?” Aeron asked, resisting the urge to fidget. He would have bolted through the nearby window, but Ravion or Raefindan would have caught him, and maybe subjected him to a worse deed than a bucket of water. A thrashing perhaps. Aeron’s smile faltered at the thought. Tracing the grain of the wooded table with a grimy finger, he said, glancing at Ravion and cocking an accusatory eyebrow at him, “I’m not the only thief in the Inn.”

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard took advantage of Liornung's seeming desire to ride next to him.

"Do you have a plan as to what to do when we catch him?"

"I was planning to play it by ear."

Ædegard smirked. "I would expect nothing other from a minstrel."

The sun was just above the horizon then Ædegard saw the figure he had been looking for all that day, and hoping not to find. He sighed and pointed. Liornung and Bellyn followed his gaze.

"I don't think we want to startle him with whooping and hollering," Ædegard said. "Shall we surround him?"

[Orual]

Ravion tensed as Aeron quieted, running his finger along the table. The boy had a light in his eye that unnerved the Ranger. "I’m not the only thief in the Inn," he said slowly as he glanced self-righteously at Ravion.

Ravion's eyes widened and he lunged at Aeron, only to be restrained by Raefindan. He cursed that he had let slip to the boy his past transgressions, and he pictured his hands around Aeron's throat. He struggled mildly against Raefindan, but did not put much heart into it. He paused for a moment then broke free of Raefindan's grip and leaned in toward Aeron.

"There may be more than one thief in this Inn," he said in a low voice, "but shall we make a competition of it? There is more to thievery than simply taking a purse. The other, more violent aspects, in all fairness--honor among thieves, you might even say--I would have to advise you that it would be unwise to contest me in."

Without taking his eyes off of Aeron, he addressed Mellonin. "Good lady, it is clear to me that you have enough wisdom to see through the boy's lies, but on my honor I will swear to you that I have taken nothing from this Inn that is not paid for. What has caused this boy to accuse me, I do not know." The muscles in his jaw clenched with the stress of his restrained fury, and his green eyes cast about, until they came to rest on Aeron's pocket. Something sparkled faintly in it. With another quick lunge, before Aeron could react, Ravion pulled out a necklace.

"I think that someone would be glad to know who is in possession of this," he said casually, twisting the pearl necklace around his fingers, a smile playing on his lips. He glanced up at Aeron. The youth's eyes were wide in terror, and fury. Ravion's smile faded and his voice became deadly serious. "Here me this, boy. You have disturbed what otherwise might have been a pleasant morning for me. My head is aching ferociously, and I blame you in large measure for that. You have done damage to my reputation, and caused a lady much trouble. I have every right, and I daresay I am almost obliged as a Ranger, to turn you in to the authorities for your thievery." He tightened his grip on the necklace, and Aeron gasped, afraid that the Ranger's rough, strong fingers would snap the fragile piece of jewelry.

Ravion struggled a bit with himself before continuing, for he knew that it was likely to sound odd, and he wasn't sure what Mellonin and Raefindan would say. "I should turn you in. But I'm not going to. I'm not sure why yet. By rights, by law, you should be in prison now. But you can have my protection. On the condition," he added quickly, before Aeron got too much hope, "that I have your obedience. Whatever may come to pass, whatever travels I go on, you will follow me and do as I bid. Otherwise, this goes back to its rightful owner, and you go straight to jail." He showed Aeron the necklace again. "What say you?"

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung frowned at Ædegard's proposal and shook his head. "None of this whooping and hollering now," he said, a hint of sharpness in his voice. "Good Master Secgrof sent me to help this blacksmith, not frighten him to death. I agree to surround him, but we will not cause any trouble for him."

A defiant frown came to Ædegard's face, but Liornung gazed into his eyes, undaunted. Liornung rarely exerted authority over others, but he was quite stubborn in this point. He thought it would be easiest to frighten the blacksmith so much that he could not run, but how was he to write the song of it for Old Secgrof without blushing with shame.

"Master Liornung." Ædegard's voice was tense and full of anger though he restrained it admirably. "I would bid you remember what I spoke before. I am in agreement with you. If you recall I said I did not wish to startle the blacksmith with loud shouts." A dangerous flicker came to Ædegard's eyes, but Liornung's face immediately softened.

"My good Ædegard, a habit I accumulated during my lonely wanderings of talking to myself. I think you suggestion is a most admirable one. My mind, however, was inclined to scare the blacksmith so much that he could not move, and it was myself that I reproved just now, not you." He blushed a deep crimson and hung his head. "I will keep a closer guard on my tongue, and so I hope my mind, from now on. Please forgive the misunderstanding and let us proceed with your plan."

Ædegard nodded in satisfaction, but a scowl remained on his face as he urged his horse on. Liornung let his bay fall in stride with Bellyn's steed and he sighed deeply. "Miss Bellyn, I fear the impression I make upon Master Ædegard grows worse and worse. I must watch myself most carefully. I'm not alone anymore." And again he sighed most bitterly.

"Master Liornung," Bellyn said, her voice slow, almost in a manner that her voice was uncertain though it rang with confidence, "if you should have looked in Ædegard's eyes I believe you would have seen what I did. I think he admired that humble confession and apology whatever else he may think of you. Don't give up hope."

"I," said Liornung most firmly, "never give up hope." And, all his good humor restored, he winked at Bellyn and moved his horse alongside of Ædegard's as they closed in on the blacksmith.

[mark12_30]

Hoofbeats thudding on the cold ground warned him of approaching horses. They were close. Why had he not heard them further off? He turned, suprised.

He gazed, wondering. Who were they? Why could he not see their faces more clearly? He shaded his eyes, staring, but could not tell. Something had happened to his vision and to his hearing both; they were faded, indistinct. He shook his head as if to clear it, and looked again. He still could not make out their faces.

But one, on an aged bay horse, reminded him of Aedegard in bearing and stature; with a smile, he nodded. Indeed. The tall chestnut that he led was a handsome animal, and Amroth smiled. The young wheelwright had been most kind, and he would not forget it....

Amroth bent his thoughts toward the chestnut. Greetings, my young friend; welcome and well-met. I have need of thee. By your leave, we should not tarry; we have far to go.

The chestnut snorted, and his head came up. Ædegard had time to give him one puzzled look and say "Easy, Echo, whoa boy" before the chestnut spun to face him, planted his front feet, dropped his head, and with a twist, ducked out of the headstall. Ædegard was left holding a rope with an empty headstall dragging on the ground. The chestnut galloped straight to the young blacksmith, and stopped; the young blacksmith leaped onto the chestnut's back, and the chestnut turned north.

"Wait! Echo, whoa. Ho! Echo, stand! Mellon, give me back my horse!"

The blacksmith turned to Ædegard, puzzled. "You did not intend this horse for me? I misunderstood you."

"No. That is, I-- just where are you going with my horse?"

"To Lothlorien."

[alaklondewen]

From the well-tended floor of the golden forest, the world was silent but for the occasional scratching of a squirrel or the tap of a woodpecker searching for food. The leaves of the mellyrn had turned to a brilliant golden hue with late autumn. In the up most silver branches of a one of the towering trees a wide platform was nestled securely. The golden leaves surrounded the talan tightly though they left room for one to stand and move upon it with ease. The flet was unseen from below and above, giving its inhabitant, Erebemlin, the privacy and protection he desired.

The Sinda sat in complete silence letting his mind wander through the forest. Twice this day he had encountered thoughts that were not his own. Although the meeting was brief, too brief to discern their intent with any accuracy, Erebemlin could feel the power of the one who sent them. They seemed to be searching, for what, the Sinda knew not, but he was sure he was not their target. Now he opened his own mind and searched for that which touched him.

They are gone from the forest…shall they ever return? He did not know, but he hoped for they seemed familiar. The Sinda could not put his finger on it, but the thoughts were almost…intimate.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Liornung and Bellyn continued leading their horses off after Ædegard, but soon they noticed that ahead of them, Ædegard had stopped and was speaking to a man standing alone on the grassy plains. Liornung and Bellyn turned to each other with similar looks on their faces, and similar questions in their minds; the blacksmith? Neither hesitated to ask the question aloud, and before they could continue to make their way towards the men, Ædegard's horse had gained a new rider.

"Surely this must be the crazy blacksmith," Bellyn whispered as she and Liornung rode quickly over to Ædegard's side, where he tried to stop Echo from going off north with his new rider. By the time Bellyn and Liornung had arrived Ædegard had coaxed Echo into staying put, and it seemed the stranger was apologizing. Liornung and Bellyn exchanged another surprised glance.

"No. That is, I--" Ædegard stammered, showing a slightly frantic side of him that Bellyn and Liornung had not seen yet. "-just, where are you going with my horse?" Ædegard finished haphazardly.

"To Lothlorien."

"Lothlorien!" Bellyn exclaimed happily, reciting the coordinates in her mind with a smile on her face. Ædegard and the man -- Bellyn assumed he was the blacksmith they'd been searching for, with such a strange destination -- looked up at Bellyn and Liornung for the first time, as if they hadn't noticed the two before that moment. Ædegard's expression became cold again at seeing Liornung and Bellyn, and the stranger took a step back. Bellyn's face fell at the reaction to her voice, so she shrugged and decided to let the calm Liornung intervene, for Bellyn thought he was much better at such things.

"Ædegard, I see you've found a friend so share your horse with," Liornung began cautiously, taking the hint from Bellyn's suddenly quiet and self-conscious expression. A little smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and Bellyn was glad that Liornung was on the little adventure with her. "Is this the young man we have been searching for, then?" Liornung said this in a quieter voice his horse moving slowly near to Ædegard, causing the young man to take a step back at the sudden movement.

"I must go in haste to Lothlorien," the young man spoke lightly, before Ædegard had a chance to respond to Liornung's inquiry. "I have to go, I cannot tarry here."

Bellyn wondered what Liornung and Ædegard would decide. Liornung had been asked to save the crazy blacksmith from getting himself into trouble, not help him to get to a destination for the young man's purposes. It didn't seem as though Ædegard planned on going any farther than catching and bringing the crazy blacksmith back to town. Bellyn certainly would not overstep her boundaries by mentioning how exciting it would be to go to Lothlorien, because she also knew that it was dangerous, and no place for her or for the young man.

"What is your name?" Bellyn asked suddenly, remembering that she only knew him as the crazy blacksmith. He seems so scared.

[mark12_30]

Amroth considered the three young riders before him, his eyes ice-cold and distant with distraction, his body restless and eager to be moving northward. The big chestnut jigged and sidestepped with an eagerness matching his rider's. But at the young lady's question, Amroth settled his mount with a word, met her gaze, and briefly opened his mind to her thoughts.

Pity?

One eyebrow twitched upward in suprise; the last emotion he would have anticipated from a young mannish lady, yet it warmed his heart. Five thousand years of wisdom reflected her her compassion for another moment, and with a subtle bow of his head, he accepted the unexpected pity as the gift of a gentle heart. When he raised his eyes to her there was bemusement in his gaze.

"Greetings Lady, and welcome. My common name is Amroth, though few know it in these parts. I return to my erstwhile kingdom to find my betrothed, who these months past did not appear at our planned harborside tryst. Gentle lady, I beg you to understand my haste. In your kindness delay me not, for I have no other purpose but to find her. And now, " he returned his gaze to Ædegard, "do I understand that you did not bring this excellent mount as a provision for me? If you wish him returned, then I must dismount and hasten north to Lorien on foot, yet he would be a great boon to me in my search. Will you loan him to me, or no? Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose quickly, for I will not delay!"

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung's eyes met Bellyn's for a brief moment, and in that moment he seemed to decide what course of action he would make. Holding up his hand to stay whatever Ædegard might be intending to say, he dismounted quickly from his steed, causing the young blacksmith to start in surprise. "Good day to you, Master Amroth," he said, bowing. "I have, to speak the blunt truth, been following you."

Amroth raised an eyebrow, but no amazement showed in his features. "And why were you following me?"

"Because I was asked to."

"Who asked you?"

"A dear friend of mine who wished you to come to no harm." Liornung paused and gazed questioningly at Amroth, giving him a chance to answer, but Amroth merely made a gesture with his hand for Liornung to continue. "You say you ride to Lothlorien to seek your betrothed." The fiddler's eyes softened a bit. "I do not trust those lands as well as one might, but I am not afraid to venture into them. If you will consent, I will accompany you to Lothlorien and see that you come to no harm. My lady Bellyn will most surely come as well. As for Ædegard, I know not." Liornung cast an amused glance in that man's direction, biting back a chuckle. "If he will not lend you his horse you still have no need to fear. My horse is strong and we can split the weight of the baggage upon my packhorse between that worthy horse and my own."

Amroth looked from Ædegard to the horses to Bellyn, and then his gaze fixed on Liornung. The latter felt a sense of awe sweep through him and he knew he was standing before one who deserved great respect. Dropping his eyes, he murmured softly, "Master Amroth, what you deem best I will agree with. I merely request to accompany you to Lothlorien and see you come to no harm."

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard's jaw worked with rage. Liornung had betrayed his trust as deftly as if he always did such things. And he appeared amused at how he had put Ædegard in an unenviable position: commit to the ruse of Mellon as King Amroth of Lorien, or seem a fool. Why did things always seem to fall out so? Ædegard gripped the reins so hard that his hands hurt.

Worse, Liornung seemed to have taken on a bad case of hero worship. Despite Ædegard's deepest desire to return home and have nothing further to do with this silvertongued jackdaw of a musician and the moon-eyed artist woman, it was going to be necessary to have someone around who could be sensible about all this. It was not a role he relished, not when everyone else was ready to play "love struck elf", and pin him as the dour disbeliever. But so it looked.

"Mellon, or Amroth, if you prefer, I brought Echo for you to ride. I will accompany you to Lothlorien."

His spirit fell. Now he was in for it. He was sure that Liornung was going to make mock of him the whole journey, and that Bellyn would be no friend, and that it would be left to him to curb the wildnesses of Mellon's illness of mind. He kept all this to himself, however.

"Let us ride, then."

[mark12_30]

Those were welcome words.

Ædegard turned his horse northward, lips tight, hands white-knuckled on the reins. Echo swung to the old bay's off-side and paced him. Liornung hastened to remount, and then he and Bellyn hurried in behind.

Liornung did not stay behind for long, however; the prairie was wide enough for five horses abreast. He rode up to Amroth's off-side, and looked at him, thinking of so many questions he wanted to ask. Liornung's packhorse matched his own mount's stride, and Bellyn rode beyond the packhorse, suddenly worried that she might miss any conversation.

But there was none so far. Amroth's eyes were straight ahead, except for an occasional lefthand glance at Ædegard. The lad's anger was palpable, and Amroth was content to ride between the two young men as a buffer. When the horses needed rest, there would be time enough for talk.

Amroth cast his thoughts northward again, searching, searching, tracing the sweet stream from its root in the mountain to where it joined the Celebrant, then following the Celebrant along the forest. The forest was still strangely quiet; either more elves had migrated west than he thought likely, or their minds were closed. Perhaps they felt threatened by the darkness Durin's folk had roused in the mountains. It mattered little; there was only one mind he wanted to find.

His eyes glittered coldly again as he stretched his mind out further, further reaching, searching. Sensing his purpose, Echo steadily lengthened his gait. The other horses followed suit.

The old bay was the first to break a sweat.

[Imladris]

Aeron stared at the pearl necklace than dangled from the ranger’s calloused fingers, and pondered his proposal. He quailed at the thought of punishment if the authorities caught him and the necklace was returned to the former owner. Phantoms of dreadful punishments haunted him, ghosts of his father -- but would the authorities be cruel to him? He shrugged. He didn’t know and musing about it wasn’t going to give him the answer. Rather, what about Gwyillion? How would she survive? She could use the gold that was sprinkled about their sloven grounds, but who knew how long he’d languish in the jail? Better to go with Ravion.

But what was this thieve’s honour that he spoke so highly of? The violent aspects of it that he had mentioned? A smirk played about his lips, and inwardly he laughed. There was no such thing as honour -- even men who claimed to have her deserted her when malevolent times came. If there was only a shadow of it in noble men, how could there be any of it in thieves and rascals?

Still, if he decided to accept Ravion’s offer, he would be bound to the man with gyves of duty that almost amounted to slavery. Aeron smiled. But to every shackle there is a lock, and every lock can be picked. “Alright,” Aeron said, “I accept on one condition: that you take my sister with you. Otherwise,” he added with a ghosted smile, “you’ll have to do your own work, and I’ll suffer miserably in a jail cell.”

[mark12_30]

Mellonin sat back in her chair and gave the thief a stunned look. Moments later tears had filled her eyes, and both hands came up to hide her face.

Ravion and Raefindan exchanged puzzled glances, and Raefindan leaned forward. But before he could ask, she swept towards a window; gazing out, she tried to compose herself, and then she returned to the table, having regained her composure somewhat.

Threatened with slavery or jail, this vagabond's first thought is still towards his sister. And I-- what have I done for my brother? Nothing. Nothing. I am far beneath this thief. At least his love of family is faithful and true. Mine is neither.

Raefindan guessed. "You have had no word. What can you do? Nothing, til you know where he has gone."

Ravion looked up. "Who has gone, lady?"

Tears started afresh and she wiped them away. "Mellondu, my younger brother. He has been missing now for over three weeks. One day after work, he went out, and did not return. He left everything behind except what he was wearing. No one has heard any news."

Ravion frowned. "What does he look like?"

"Very much like me. He worked in the smithy."

Ravion nodded. "So the moonstruck blacksmith is your brother! They say he has departed northward from Edoras."

Mellonin leaped to her feet. "What! Edoras! Where-- how--" Suddenly Ravion had more attention than he wanted. "When? Where did he go? How far away is he? Who told you?" And then her brow furrowed. "Moonstruck? Moonstruck! Who told you that? Why did they say that? What do you mean, moonstruck? Is he all right? He IS all right, isn't he?"

Raefindan reached out one arm and caught Aeron's belt. The lad might keep his promise and he might not, but Mellonin was demanding Ravion's full attention, even if Ravion seemed reluctant to give it. Perhaps his headache was getting worse.

Morien the Innkeeper drew near. "Ranger, if you have news of Mellonin's brother, pray tell us. We share in her concern. What news, friend?"

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung could not decide who was more interesting to study... Ædegard or Amroth. Amroth was naturally interesting, as Liornung had never seen him before, but the expression on Ædegard's face made the young fiddler want to laugh. Ædegard was obviously most angry with all three of his companions and perhaps even a bit angry with himself. Liornung noted with approval, however, that Ædegard did not try to let loose any of his rage upon his horse.

Liornung turned to Bellyn and winked at her once again, inwardly deciding that nothing ever said so much as a wink, smile, and nod. She immediately broke into a smile and gazed about her, looking quite content with all of Middle-earth and everyone in it. She had probably been quite agitated at Ædegard's dark expression.

"I also am pleased with all Middle-earth at the moment," Liornung murmured under his breath, and broke into song.

As the sun rose o'er a little river
I left my native home to wander
far away over mountain and plain
ne'er soon to return again.
For my life it was dreary where it did lie
from the soft, dewy grass to the high standing sky
and I wished for adventure and journeys far
to ride under the moon and down under the stars.

As the sun set o'er a little river
when I had left my home to wander
a fair lassie trembled and stood all alone
crying, "Alas, my lover has gone!"
Yet to her again I swear I'll return
and live with her always by my sweet burn
and when I go to her no more will I roam
and with her by the river I'll make a sweet home.

But alas this dream was not to be
for my lassie had no faith in me.
By the river that night she did not wait
for her lover so early or lover so late.
"My love he is gone away under the sky,
my love he has left me alone to die."
And with pale face she ceased to shiver
and she threw herself into the river.

As the sun rose again o'er that little river
I returned early from all my wanders
and found I new grave with my love's name inscribed:
"By the river she died at morning-tide."
I now I wander in sorrow alone
for, alas, my love she has gone.
Yet by the river still waits my love
and soon to the grave I also will rove.

There was a little pause as he finished his song, and then Bellyn spoke, her voice hinting at tears. "Liornung, 'tis a sad song you have sung," she murmured. "It sorrows my heart."

"And mine too, Miss Bellyn," Liornung replied, a deep sigh bursting from him. "Sometimes I wonder why I wrote it." Despite that the sorrow of the song still lingered, he could not keep back a smile. "It came to me one night as I was sitting by a little river," said he. "And I do not know how, for I've never had a fair young lassie for a lover, and I don't think I ever shall for I would make her so miserable." A little chuckle escaped him. "Yet I have seen many a young lad and lassie roam hand in hand through the long grass as the moon shines overhead, speaking in low tender voices to each other, saying such sweet things, and perhaps that is where the song came from." He shrugged. "I find it difficult to compose happy songs for when I'm filled with joy I don't compose songs, I write music. It's only when I am sorrowful that I ever consider writing songs. Alas for the sorrows of the world." And he fell silent.

[littlemanpoet]

Liornung's song wove a spell on Ædegard, as had happened many a time before by the bards of the Rohirrim, for it was a good song, and he forgot his anger for a space. But then Liornung spoke in answer to Bellyn, and the spell was broken, and his prattling grated on Ædegard's nerves. At least, until the last thing he had just said.

Alas for the sorrows of the world, indeed. Ædegard was the oldest of his parents, and Theolyn the youngest, there were no others; but there had been many births and deaths in between the two of them, and they had worn on both mother and father, making both of them sad, and his mother ill in health. So it was a sad home, under the currents of daily goings on, that he had left behind, and for that reason alone it was good to be gone. Perhaps, Ædegard considered, Liornung's gay talk was a good thing to be near, as much as it was at odds with what he was used to.

And Ædegard wished deep down in his heart that he could find someone to love and make a life with. It was such hard work to seek marriageable maidens in Edoras, with his parents so ill, and so he had avoided the work by staying at the wheelwrighting. Ah well. He sighed.

"It was a good song, Liornung."

[Orual]

A sister! Ravion had not taken the possibility of family into consideration. What would he do with a young girl to drag along everywhere he went? Having the boy along would be bad enough. He didn't know why he'd offered. And as for Aeron attempting to threaten him, to blackmail him into bringing the sister along..."you'll have to do your own work"? As though he needed Aeron's help! He ought to drag the boy all the way to jail by his impudent tongue. He was about to say something of that nature when he saw Mellonin cover her face with her hands.

Before he could ask what was wrong, Raefindan gently said, "You have had no word. What can you do? Nothing, til you know where he has gone."

"Who has gone, lady?" Ravion asked, confused.

"Mellondu, my younger brother," Mellonin replied, struggling to contain her grief. "He has been missing now for over three weeks. One day after work, he went out, and did not return. He left everything behind except what he was wearing. No one has heard any news."

Ravion frowned. He had that same feeling now that he had received when he first saw Mellonin. "What does he look like?" the Ranger asked, a sinking sensation telling him that he probably shouldn't have.

"Very much like me. He worked in the smithy," Mellonin responded.

Ravion nodded, and the sinking sensation came to a stop. It had apparently hit bottom. He heard himself exclaim, "So the moonstruck blacksmith is your brother! They say he has departed northward from Edoras."

"What! Edoras! Where-- how--" Mellonin stammered. Everyone stared at Ravion, who felt his face go hot at all the attention. "When? Where did he go? How far away is he? Who told you?" Suddenly her expression changed. "Moonstruck? Moonstruck! Who told you that? Why did they say that? What do you mean, moonstruck? Is he all right? He IS all right, isn't he?"

Ravion was relieved to see Raefindan grab Aeron by the belt, but then again, it robbed him of the only distraction he could see. Mellonin's eyes were focused so intently on him that they seemed to burn holes in his face. He tried to look away, but he could sense her desperation, her need to hear what he had heard.

Ravion startled when Morien spoke. "Ranger, if you have news of Mellonin's brother, pray tell us. We share in her concern. What news, friend?"

Now four pairs of eyes were boring into his head, and he gave under the pressure. "I haven't heard much," he said as a disclaimer.

"Anything you've heard will be more than I know now," Mellonin insisted. "Please. Tell me what you have heard."

Ravion took a deep breath and started in. "I was in Rohan not a week gone by," he said. "Hunting orcs, you understand--I didn't talk much to the Rohirrim. I did stay at an Inn, though, and you hear things. The popular topic of conversation was a young man who was described as looking much like you, lady. The stories varied, as stories will, but most said that they found him to be quite mad. Some said he would speak to himself incessently, others said he conversed with spirits, but all agreed that he spoke masterfully and in a manner quite unusual for a blacksmith. They say he claims to be an elf-lord, and is most convinced of it. From what I heard he was making quite a good show of it as well, behaving to the last detail like the elf-lord he claims to be. Those I spoke to said that if they hadn't known that he was a man, they would have believed him."

He stopped briefly and looked at Mellonin, who was listening, expressionless. He cleared his throat. "He was not at the Inn at which I stayed, and he is no longer in Edoras, as I said. As I also said, he is headed north. No one knew where he was bound."

He took a deep breath. "I have told you all I know. I hope that this helps you, and I will help you in any way I can." He willed that uncomfortable feeling to go away--he was only being kind. Surely Mellonin would not require any further help.

[mark12_30]

Ravion's words echoed dauntingly in her mind. He is headed north. No one knew where he was bound. I have told you all I know.

Edoras... it was so far, so far. She'd never been there; she'd heard about it in song... And what was north of it? Her head spun. Fields... mountains... forests. Wild places inhabited by wilder things. Even as she fought the rising panic, she heard him speak again.

I will help you in any way I can.

She blinked, and looked at him as if she had only seen him for the first time.

A Ranger.

Everything she had ever heard about rangers surged into her mind. They can track where none else could follow. They can hear the rumblings of the earth. They can smell news on the wind. Even silence speaks to them. They will find what they pursue. The panic subsided, and was replaced by a firm, steady, rising hope. Her eyes kindled, and despite her trembling she began to smile.

She looked at the Innkeeper. Morien's face wore a mixture of relief and satisfaction. She looked at Raefindan, and he nodded, fire in his eyes. Raefindan was with her; and now this Ranger. Suddenly she was not alone; far from it. And therefore neither was her brother. This ranger would find him if he could be found.

She studied him again, and every detail she noticed from his weatherstained clothes to his reserved manner and dour attitude served to further bolster her confidence.

Morien nodded, satisfied. "I will send word to the Lady Estelyn. No doubt she would want me to help you prepare for your journey." He turned, and left.

Mellonin placed her hands palm to palm, forefingers on her lips, and turned to Ravion. Her eyes shone as they met his, and she dropped into a deep curtsey. "Oh, thank you. You have given me hope. I know you will find him; together we will find him. Thank you. Oh, how can I ever repay you? I cannot. I will be in your debt, always. Thank you! You will be our guide and our leader. What shall we need? What should we pack? When shall we start? "

She trembled with eagerness and her eyes shone with fervor. She barely restrained herself from taking the ranger's hand, but she laughed for joy instead, and then turned to Raefindan and snatched his free hand, laughing still. Then she composed herself, palms together in front of her lips again; took a deep breath, and said, "What shall we do, sir. I am sorry; my goodness, I don't even-- I have yet to ask you your name!"

Raefindan spoke. "Ravion, this is Mellonin; Mellonin, this is Ravion."

Once again, Mellonin turned to the Ranger. "Ravion. Thank you. Oh, someday you will understand how grateful I am!" She could restrain herself no longer; she stepped forward, and siezed his right hand in both of hers. "May the best of fortune shine on every path you take!"

[Imladris]

Aeron cuffed Raefindan’s hand that grasped his belt but, considering how much trouble he was already in, stopped and flashed a grin at him. No chance of escape…drat. Apparently Mellonin had a moonstruck brother who fancied himself to be an elf lord. Aeron chuckled: a mortal pretending to be an elf. It was ludicrous. He wondered if the brother knew any elvish.

With exuberant glee, Mellonin asked Ravion to accompany them and, giving his word that he would help her, Aeron knew that he would keep his promise, which would therefore help him because it would put him far out of his pursuer’s clutches. Gwyillion, he thought, could use a bit of excitement in her life. He sighed. Every since they had quit stealing together, she had been rather lonely at home.

Thinking of Gwyllion brought to mind the frown that had creased Ravion’s brow when he had mentioned her. Sweat pricked his brow as Aeron considered that Ravion might not want to have a young woman in tow. He could still find himself shackled to a cell and Gwyllion could scrounge around as best she could. He shuddered.

He looked at the merry group: one young woman, one so-called honorable ranger, and one foreigner who had shocking red hair. Aeron narrowed his eyes at him. Who knew what his intentions were? Banging the table with his fist, he said, “Ahem. As you all know this ranger --” he cast a baleful glance at him -- “offered to have me bind myself to him which I consented to do if he took my sister -- my older sister -- with him. He has not yet answered the question so I would like to suggest a few things. One woman with two young men (three if I go along). That sounds rather…” he paused, and raised his eyebrows, nodding his head solemnly. He let the sentence drop, sure that the others would catch his meaning. “Ahem. That’s where my sister would be rather useful. But she could also help cook --” never mind the fact that she doesn’t know one herb from another and that the food was usually bland -- “ wash the dishes” -- she’ll be more careful about getting every bit of food off since they’ll be traveling in company -- "and do anything else that needs to be done.” He looked at them and added, “She’s not really that bad --leastways, I don’t think so.”

[Orual]

Ravion sat in stunned silence as Mellonin surged around the room, laughing and talking a blue streak. Would that he had heeded that feeling! It had transformed from a slight shiver to a lightning that filled his body, making the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. Guide? Leader? What had he gotten himself into?

Eventually he realized that his face wasn't betraying his true emotions, but was rather giving Mellonin the idea that he was backing out. He forced a smile onto his face and clapsed the girl's outstretched hand into his. "You have my service. If I can help you to find your brother, I will do so."

As Mellonin accepted graciously and excitedly, Ravion stopped listening, and, while he continued to smile, seriously doubted that he had done the wisest thing. The right thing, probably, the kind thing, the chivalrous thing, and most likely what a Ranger should do, but the wisest thing? He thought not. He was too tired to be tromping all over Middle-earth looking for a crazy blacksmith who thought he was an elf-lord.

But there was another voice inside him telling him that this was the opportunity that he had been looking for. Something to replace the lost battles of the War. A cause. He battled with himself for a moment, his reason and his hang-over arguing to stay here, and his Ranger's spirit telling him to go with Mellonin, and to put everything he had into finding her lost brother. During this fight, he suddenly realized that Aeron had been talking. Luckily his subconscious, along with continuing his smile, and been picking up what the boy had said, so he could respond.

"First off, I'm fairly sure that there's no 'if you come'," Ravion said wryly. "If I go, you go, or you go to jail. I can see in your face that you're opting for the former course of action. Second, you're already getting me on your bad side with your insinuations." Sighing, he turned to Mellonin and Raefindan. "What are your thoughts? I am loathe to bring his sister. Another person will slow us down. But I am not the one who desires haste. Mellonin, I would defer to you. What would you wish?"

[mark12_30]

Mellonin considered Ravion's question, and then turned to Aeron, and sobered.

"A scoundrel you may be, " she said thoughtfully; "but it seems to me that your love for your sister is your best virtue; hopefully not your only virtue. She is also a thief?"

The question took Aeron by surprise, and all three saw the flicker of indecision that crossed his face. He began to protest, but she held up her hand.

"I see, " Mellonin said. "In that case, she will be under the same bond as you; but more: if you misbehave, she will be turned in with you. And if she misbehaves, you will be turned in with her. Agreed?"

[Orual]

"I think we are agreed," Ravion said abruptly, raising an eyebrow as though to challenge Aeron to disagree. "Even if we are not, that will have to wait for later. If we are to move, we need to prepare. There is much to do before we leave."

He pulled out his pack and started digging through it, making a mental inventory and checklist: what he had with him, and what was still needed. He had a good store of herbs, both for cooking and for medicinal purposes, though he'd need to restock on a few things. Bandages he was sorely in need of. He still had provisions for himself to last nearly a month, but split four ways it would not last nearly so long. Ravion himself was trained to eat very little if the occasion called for it, but he was fairly sure that his companions were not.

"Firstly we will need food," he said, still rooting through his pack. "Mellonin, could you arrange for that? I do not know how long we will be gone, but better safe than sorry: get a fair amount. Something lightweight and easy to pack compactly. We'll need camping gear. I sleep well enough under the stars, and I hope the rest of you do as well, but I hope that you all have blankets and the like. Raefindan, please see to that. Aeron--"

He broke off. "Aeron, come with me. We'll obtain some medical supplies. Shall we meet back here in an hour or two?"

[mark12_30]

"Food for travel. Yes, sir." Mellonin turned on her heel and hurried towards the stairway door, but then stopped abruptly and turned to look at Morien.

"What d'ye tarry for?" he snorted, and with a wave of his barkeep's rag shooed her out the door. "Wait! Mellonin, get back here."

She ran back to the bar. He thumbed seven coins into his palm, and handed them to her. "That's this week's. Now go... Raefindan!"

Mellonin curtseyed, thanked him (it was an advance) and ran upstairs, siezed her cloak and basket; then from under her mattress took her two weeks saved pay, and then ran back to the door, but stopped, returned, and rummaged in the pile in the corner til she found Mellon's backpack and her own shoulder-bag. Thus prepared, she ran down the stairs and headed for the market.

Back in the bar, Morien thumbed seven more coins into own palm, motioned Raefindan over, and gave him the same advance in pay.

"Thank you, sir, " was Raefindan's heartfelt reply.

"There are extra blankets in the back of the tack room in the stable, under a pile of saddles. They're old and thin and have holes, so take two each. I can't spare the good ones; wear your cloaks outside 'em and you'll be warm enough. And I can't spare any camping gear but if I were you, I'd go and ask some of the retired Ithilien rangers if they can spare any camping gear. Old Damrod comes to mind, three doors beyond the fifth gate." Raefindan sped out the door and headed for the fifth gate.

Ravion looked up to see Morien approaching. He was not a small man, and his face was not smiling. "You'll guide them well," Morien growled.

Ravion returned his gaze quietly, waiting to see whether it was a compliment or a threat.

Morien placed Ravion's half-forgotten mug of frothing ale in front of him. "Here is what I owe you, " the barkeep said. "And now, if you don't mind--" Morien nudged the bowl of soupy pebbles, and then patted the bag.

Ravion turned to Aeron. "You can give him the stolen coin willingly and peacefully. Or, we can search you for it. Which shall it be?"

[Imladris]

Being searched, or handing the coins over willingly. Neither was a pleasant option. Aeron grimaced, rolled his eyes, and stalked towards the table where he emptied several pockets. Brass coins and silver coins tumbled to the table. Aeron leaned his elbow on the table, raised his eyebrow at Morien and Ravion and said, "There. That's all of it -- probably a little extra as well."

"More than likely stolen from some poor other victim," Morien muttered, sweeping the coins into the empty pouch.

Aeron nodded. "More than likely." He grinned at the Inn-keeper.

Morien, muttering something about "young miscreants" went towards the kitchen. Aeron turned, glanced at Ravion, and said, "Where shall we go, Lord Ravion?" He bowed deeply, a small grin hanging about his lips.

[littlemanpoet]

The sun had set and still Mellon, or Amroth, as he seemed to prefer right now, drove them northward. Ædegard did not mind the starry night, but he knew that their horses needed rest, as did they.

"It is late," he declared. "We should make a camp and ride on at dawn."

Amroth the blacksmith looked to Ædegard as one pulled from a dream to the mundane.

"It is as you say. Let us keep an eye out for a likely place."

"One with a good inn and a fine draft would be well," Ædegard replied, "but it will not be found this night."

They stopped beside one of the many streams running across the plains of Rohan, lined with willows and brush. The stream would be easily forded in the morning. Ædegard made quick work of a fire with his flint, while Bellyn and Liornung saw to the horses. Soon they sat around a merry little fire, chewing on some of the fare they had brought with them.

Soon they were full, and settle for the night. Despite Liornung's penchant for talk late into the night, Ædegard was weary enough and soon fell into dreamless sleep.

Next morning they were awake with the dawn, broke their fast, and were on their way before the sun was an hour past dawn in a clear blue sky. Spring was in the air; they saw patches of melting snow here and there in vales hidden from the sourtherly rays of the sun.

"How far is it form Edoras to Lorien, then?" Ædegard asked, "and how many days before we arrive there?"

[Orual]

"Where shall we go, Lord Ravion?" Aeron asked insolently. Ravion glared at him for a moment, then grabbed him by the collar. He told Morien where he was headed in case Mellonin or Raefindan needed him, or if he was out later than he anticipated, and started out.

They garnered more than a few stares, the short, stocky Ranger dragging along the taller Aeron along the main streets of Gondor. Finally Aeron shook him off and followed sullenly, but of his own volition. Ravion led him down the back paths to a small, dark shop.

Stepping out of the rain-fresh air into the shop was something of an olfactory shock. The shop smelled strongly of incense and herbs, underlayered with pipe smoke. In the far right corner of the shop a wizened old lady was humming to herself and binding some lambs' ear together. The old woman very much matched her business. Her clothes were all jewel tones: emeralds and deep ruby reds and sapphire blues. Her silver hair was bound up in an amber scarf, tied at the nape of her neck with two tails hanging down past her shoulders. Her fingers, as they bound the lambs' ear, were quick and skillful: this was not the first time she had done this. Her brown eyes sparkled in the light of the oil lamps she kept by her desk.

Ravion cleared his throat politely, and the old woman whirled around defensively, then broke out into a smile when she saw the Ranger.

"Ravion!" she exclaimed, and, leaving her work, hurried across the shop to embrace him. He accepted her embrace warmly, for the woman was like a second mother to him. "What are you doing back in town, child? I thought you were off in Rohan hunting those orcs."

"I found the orcs and returned," he said, a smile on his face. "I've come to buy some more herbs, and some of your bandages. They work quite well."

"Your line of work calls for them altogether too much," she muttered. Ravion rolled his eyes good-naturedly. They had had this conversation before. She saw his gesture and grumbled a little, then put her hands on her hips. "Well, are you going to introduce me to your friend, or not?"

At first Ravion didn't know who she meant. Then he followed her eyeline to Aeron. His friend? He almost choked. "This is Aeron, my..." He couldn't quite think of the right word. "He's in my service for now. Aeron, this is Lothwen, the most renowned and skillful herbalist in all of Gondor."

"Oh, come now," Lothwen retorted, but her face glowed with pride. "That honor belongs to the King, and you know it. I do what I can with what I have. Aeron, 'tis a pleasure to meet you. Serve Ravion well--he'll requite it." She gave the boy a maternal kiss on the cheek, which Aeron accepted somewhat awkwardly. "Now, Ravion, what can I get for you? Oh, yes, bandages. My bandages, I'll tell you in the modesty of honor, Aeron, are the finest in Gondor. I have a trick to them. I won't tell you what it is, but it involves lambs' ear and bloodmoss, I'll tell you that much. Stops the flow of blood right up, and if you apply this balm to it, leaves no room for infection!" She bustled around the shop, gathering an armful of greenish bandages, all wrapped tightly in little rolls. The sight would have been slightly unnerving, the green of the bandages, had Ravion not known that the green came from the combination of herbs that Lothwen used in the making.

"Bandages for you, as well as more balm, because I know if you've run out of bandages you've run out of balm. Here's some extra bloodmoss in case you're cut somewhere where a bandage would be difficult to wrap. Here's that--what's the name of it? oh, I can't recall--it's good for dehydration. You don't drink enough, unless you're at a tavern. Oh, don't look at me that way, boy, you know it's true. You shouldn't drink so much. The bottle will be the death of you yet!"

"Lothwen, how much do I owe you?" Ravion asked quickly, before she could gain too much momentum in her speech.

The old woman's face softened. "Nothing, boy. Just keep safe." She patted him on the cheek with her soft, dry hand, and put everything in a sack. "I can tell you're off somewhere, Ravion, and that it might be more dangerous even than your last few missions. You don't need to pay me, as long as you promise me you'll stay safe. However, if you come back with so much as a scrape, you'll owe me every penny this lot ought to cost!"

Ravion smiled and kissed Lothwen on the forehead. "I'll do my best," he said, taking the sack. "I'll see you when I get back, Lothwen."

"See that you do!" Lothwen called as Ravion and Aeron left. "And remember: one scrape, and you owe me every penny!"

Ravion laughed as he left. "She's a character," he said softly.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin dashed into the inn and went back into the kitchen. She put her basket, bag, and backpack on a table, carefully emptied them, and divided the foods into equal groups of five, muttering "Raisins. Dried meat. Hard cheese. Cram. Tea." She glanced at the grey-clad staffer who stood beside her, and he nodded approvingly.

Now for apples, nuts, dried peaches and pears, and (she hoped) some more cram. She hoped to save a few coins for purchasing food later on in the trip. Knowing that the supplies would be quite safe under the guard of the grey-clad kitchen staff, she thanked them, snatched up her basket, bag, and knapsack, and ran back out to the marketplace.

[Imladris]

Aeron hunched forward and watched the old woman -- what was her name? -- bustle about the room through narrow eyes as she explained about bandages and herbs. Lothwen…that was the name. Her hair was so silver…so bright…her eyes glowed with kindness. He sighed and cast an expert eye about the place: nothing but greenery and not a coin in sight. He bit his lips. Not that he’d be able to steal anyway, he thought, glaring at Ravion.

“She’s a character,” Ravion murmured as they left the shop.

“Quite,” Aeron agreed, casting a lingering eye upon a passing jewelry shop. Ravion’s hand grasped him by the collar and forced him to stare straight ahead, the line of shops a blur upon his line of sight.

“I wasn’t going to steal anything,” he retorted, brushing Ravion’s hand away.

The ranger’s strong hands gripped Aeron’s wrist, twisting it towards him. Aeron whimpered slightly with the pain that tore up his arm. “Yes, but you were thinking it, weren’t you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with thinking,” Aeron muttered. His eyes burned with annoyance as he scowled at Ravion. “You may be a ranger, you may control me and my actions, but you can’t control my thoughts.”

With a sigh, Ravion let Aeron’s wrist drop. “No, I do not claim to control man’s thoughts,” he said. “But what is to stop a man from thinking, and eventually doing the deed?”

Aeron remained silent, not sure what to say. Did this have something to do with “thieves honour”? But how could it, when thieves were not in question? He shook his head, lamenting again his cursed luck that had forced him to fall in with this ranger.

[mark12_30]

Raefindan juggled the cooking pans, the flint ("Your guide probably has one, but you never know if you might get separated; best to have your own") and the best gift of all, an old dagger. "Blade's a bit thin; been sharpened more than once. But it's better than nought," Damrod had said.

"You'll need water bottles if you're crossing the plains. Don't short yourself. Rohan's a big country, " old Damrod had warned him. Raefindan hurried down to the sixth circle, repeating the directions under his breath. Through the sixth gate, seven houses further, up the back stairs, third room on the left.

"Hello, Anborn." He bowed, a little breathless. "I'm Raefindan."

"Greetings, " said the ranger, who wasn't old at all. Raefindan wondered why a young active ranger would be willing to part with equipment, and worried that his trip might have been in vain.

"Damrod told me to seek you. I'm preparing for a journey, and I'm in need of a bow, quiver, and arrows. Damrod thought you'd know where I could obtain some inexpensively."

Anborn studied him skeptically. "A bow." Raefindan noticed Anborn inspecting his hands.

"No, I don't know how to use one. Damrod told me to learn from Ravion. He was adamant. I thought it best to heed his advice."

"Ah. I see. Well, perhaps I can help you, then. I will return shortly." Anborn stepped into a back room and bawled out a name and a command, neither of which Raefindan caught, and then he returned. "Where are you travelling to, may I ask?"

Raefindan shrugged. "North. We are pursuing a friend's brother, who is... moonstruck. He's headed north from Edoras."

"You have some catching up to do. I wish you all speed." A strapping young man appeared in the doorway, and Anborn gestured. "Anmir, Raefindan is in need of a bow; he must learn to shoot."

Anmir smiled. "Of course, father." He left, and returned in moments with a bow and handed it to Raefindan, and then looked at his father. "I have outgrown this bow; it is a good bow to learn on. But I have only one quiver, father, and I cannot in good conscience surrender it."

"I can give him a quiver."

"Then I can spare some arrows." He turned to leave.

"Bring my quiver, Anmir. "

The young man glanced in surprise at his father, but bowed and left.

Anborn turned to Raefindan and said, "Your guide will no doubt tell you this. But while you are practicing, and indeed whenever you can, try to shoot downward, or down-hill. You are less likely to lose arrows that way. " Anmir returned with six arrows in one hand (which he gave to Raefindan) and a quiver in the other which he gave to his father.

Anborn removed six arrows from the quiver, and handed the quiver with the remaining six arrows to Raefindan.

Raefindan blinked, and his heart sank. "Sir... you can't give me your only quiver. I'm afraid I can't pay you what it is worth. "

Anborn nodded at his son, who said, "Peace, friend. Take the bow as a gift, and the arrows likewise. You shall have need of them, I assure you."

Raefindan bowed, and then looked at Anborn.

"You do not have time to make a quiver for yourself," Anborn said. "That one will serve you well. And if I cannot spare the time to make a new one my son may."

Raefindan held his eyes in silent astonishment, and then bowed and said, "These are beyond price. Thank you."

"Nay, " said Anborn. "The life of a man and his friends is worth a bow and quiver. Learn to make arrows, for you will lose more than one 'ere you return. Farewell! May the moon-curse depart from your friend's brother, and may he and your party safely return home."

Raefindan gathered all his treasures, putting the six loose arrows carefully into the quiver with the other six; bowed again and said farewell. He walked out the hallway and down the stairs, and out into the street, and stopped to gather his thoughts. He still needed to visit Silmas for water bottles. So far, no one had accepted any money. Old Damrod said the price of the gear was the tale he would return with.

The people of this city seemed to take it as a matter of course that no man should travel unarmed and ill-supplied. Why did this generosity astound him? Was it simply that they still believed in the old rules of hospitality?

And just why did he think of those rules as old?

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn and Morien emerged from his private room, still speaking in low tones, just as Mellonin attempted to open the door to the Inn. The Innkeeper hastened to help her and Estelyn laughed as she caught several packages that threatened to fall from the girl’s grasp.

“My lady Estelyn!” Mellonin gasped. “You have come!”

“Indeed I have,” the princess smiled. “How could I let you go without hearing for myself this astonishing tale! Come, you shall bring your packages to a safe place and then we will have a glass of wine together while you tell me all.”

And so it came that they sat at the table in the kitchen, Estelyn listening intently while Mellonin related what she had heard of her brother and how she hoped to find him. The girl looked at her somewhat apprehensively. “Morien has said that he is willing to let me go; will you release me from your service as well?” she asked anxiously.

“I shall not release you,” Estelyn answered.

Mellonin’s eyes widened. “But how can I find my brother then? Perhaps he is in trouble and needs my help!”

“Do not worry,” Estelyn smiled reassuringly. “You may go, and that with my blessing. But I ask you to continue the task that you began for me here at the Inn. Write your story and others that you hear in the course of your travels. When you return to the White City, they will be added to the library.”

The girl breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course, my lady – I will be happy to do that!”

“I have brought you some writing material for the journey,” the Head Loremistress of Minas Tirith continued. “Do you have all other provisions and equipment that you need?”

“We have almost everything,” a deep voice answered. Their heads turned to see the Ranger entering the room. Mellonin was not quite sure, but it seemed to her that a flicker of recognition was visible in Estelyn’s eyes when she saw Ravion. “Raefindan should be back soon with the things he procured.” The princess’ eyebrow raised slightly as she saw the young man who followed in his wake.

Mellonin hastened to introduce her companions, then asked, “You have travelled often; what good counsel would you give me for my journey?”

“I can give you none,” came the answer promptly. “I do not have the gift of foresight, and you yourself do not know where your path will lead. You are wise not to attempt to travel alone; good, dependable (again, her eyes strayed briefly to Aeron) companions are needed on such a quest. What you need to know already lies within you, and I can add nothing to that now, save my good wishes. May you have success in finding your brother, and may you return safely!”

With those last words, Estelyn embraced Mellonin briefly, much to her surprise, then turned to clasp first Ravion’s hand, then Aeron’s and that of Raefindan, who had entered the room with his burdens. There was a moment of awkward silence when she left, then they all began talking at once.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"How far is it form Edoras to Lorien, then?" Ædegard asked, "and how many days before we arrive there?"

Bellyn calculated as she prepared her horse and looked back to Ædegard. "From Edoras, Lothlorien is close to three-hundred miles away. We have not traveled far. As for how long it will take to get there, I cannot rightly say. It all depends on how fast we go, I'd imagine. Do you wish to go through the Wold, or through Fangorn? Through Fangorn, I'd say, unless you wish to cross the Entwash. I've heard some strange stories about that area though, I must mention it. You see my father said -" Bellyn felt she could continue all day, but Ædegard blew an impatient sigh and interrupted her before she could continue.

"My question was about the distance to Lorien, not about the Entwash and its legends. Let us move!" Ædegard mounted his horse, Liornung following suit. Bellyn clumsily did the same, and before long the group was on it's way again.

Bellyn sighed, looking over to Liornung. "He's got no short supply of unhappiness, I'm afraid," Bellyn pointed out as Ædegard rode ahead. "He was moved, yesterday, by your somber song. Perhaps a happy one might sway his mood?"

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung paused at Bellyn's word. She was, in a way, requesting him to sing another song not only for Ædegard but for herself, as well. Or did he merely flatter himself? Mellon, or rather Amroth, had not spoken much, and no matter what he desired Ædegard would not ask for a song. To have Bellyn request it of him, though, would be high praise. He searched back into the depths of his memory. He had once sung a very cheerful song that had made everyone about him dance, but it had been long since the words had fallen from his lips and he wondered if he dared venture to sing a song he did not remember well. Yet he would no betray the trust of Bellyn. She was young and was not accustomed to Ædegard's critical view of all things and people. It was indeed odd that the young man should expect so much of others yet not be willing to give equally as much himself.

Yes, the song was returning to him now. Liornung touched his heels against his horse and moved up closer to Ædegard so the latter might easily hear the song. He went through it once more in his mind as a precaution before singing aloud. When he did begin to sing the tune was merry and the words sung quickly enough to be a challenge to the singer but so slow that it might be understood. Liornung's eyes were sparkling and he patted his bay's neck in time to the music, smiling widely.

Come all you wanderers who travel this country o'er
take heed to my words, you that wander here and there,
take heed to my words, you that wander to and for
be you adventurous laddie or sweet lassie so fair.
Take heed and my words do not cast aside
for wanderers should hear all that which I will tell
from your first unsure step to your last stride
in all your merry greetings and all your sad farewells.

I left my home when day early in the spring
with adventure in my mind and song in my heart
I left when the world was young and fair as anything
and from my father and mother, sure I dared to part
for the open road did call me with beckoning so sweet
and lured with a smile full of strange mystery
and so I left on very lightly dancing feet
in the night, fair night when the moon shone clearly.

I stopped along the way at a little, pleasant inn
and there heard song that quickened heart's beat
and with my pleasant laughter many a kindly heart did win
and danced with many a lassie so graceful and fleet.
'Twas with a bit of sadness I bid to them farewell
but the road dispelled my sorrow as 'Onward!' it did call
and offered me many a song to buy and then to sell
to poor peasant man and king in his decked hall.

Well, first I met an old man as he hobbled along
hair as white as snow and eyes as blue as sky
muttering of all the things on that had been and were gone
the first being that, "No longer a young man am I!
But yet it is not so terrible being so old
for I have many grandchildren to dandle on my knee
and though my hair has lost its marvelous gold
still there is none so marvelous as me!"

Well, then I met a lassie and she was grieving sore
and a-moaning for a laddie who had gone away
and truly she didn't think she'd see him anymore
but to worry was no use for he came back that very day.
"Ah what a silly young girl was then I
to think that you would not return to me.
Sure, I thought my heard would break and I would die
but still you love your lassie and I love ye!"

Well, then I met a mother with her darling child
who tripped and who skipped by his mammy's side
and sure he was so bonny my heart he near beguiled
and the family fancied me and bid me awhile bide.
"Oh laddie fair is your face and so's that of my daughter
and if you'd stay awhile I know that you would love her
whether she's fair or ugly, what then does it matter?
You'll take her, surely, for no other man would have her."

Well, then I met the daughter, the bonny babe's sister
and she was sweet and fair and had kind manners
and I found no more delight than to sit and list' to her
for she knew of love and of war's unfurling banners.
She spoke so delightfully and knew so many tales
and had the sweetest smile that my heart was seized.
I stopped her as to the barn she went with her milking pails
and told her if she'd marry me I'd be right well pleased.

Well, then she went along with me and loved me well
she didn't mind my wanderings but said she'd go with me
and to her mother and her father she bid her farewell
and together we rode out under broad sky so free.
We didn't mind the rain and neither did we the snow
but travelled hand in hand from town to town
and over secret lanes often we did go
in the spring through grass green and in fall through brown.

Well, then I met a babe so bonny and so fair
if truth must be said, the laddie was my son
he had his mother's blue eyes and fair golden hair,
but with woeful heart I knew my traveling days were done.
I ceased to roam and wonder to build a little home
where my lassie would live, my son, and me
and I shan't mind the day when more babies come
like the old man my grandchildren I'll dandle on my knee!

As the last note faded away into the morning air and the birds took it up and carried it to their family and friends to be spread throughout the wilderness. Liornung laughed merrily and, gazing contentedly at Bellyn, bowed and said, "Have I pleased you, fair one? It was a long song, but it was indeed a merry one!"

[mark12_30]

Mellonin, Raefindan, Ravion and Aeron had finished packing. Ravion was deep in thought about the immanent departure. Mellonin and Raefindan went to find Morien.

"Well, all equipped and ready?" Morien said.

"Yes, sir, " replied Mellonin. "And please, sir, I wanted to thank you again for the advance. That was very generous of you. Thank you."

He studied her. She could be perceptive, or flighty, she could be thoughtful or absent-minded. "I assume you have spoken with your parents?" he said.

She shook her head. "We will pass by their house on the way out. I planned to stop in then."

"Mellonin, how can you be so foolish? Contact them now."

"Why?"

"How can they do anything to help you if you don't give them any notice?"

Her face fell. "They have so little. I do not want to burden them."

He snorted. "Foolish girl. If your corpse rots in the wilderness, They will have even less. Where do your parents live?"

"In the lowest circle."

"Tell Ravion where it is, and have them all meet you there."

Raefindan waved her out. She snatched up her cloak and pack, the shoulder-bag, and the awkward bundle of clothes and equipment that she was going to change into; she would have to change in her parent's room. Hurriedly giving Ravion the directions to the room her parents lived in, she hurried to the door.

She turned with a sinking heart and looked back. In such a short time, the Inn had become a comfortable place. Morien in the end had shown her kindness behind his gruff exterior. And there were so many others to whom she wished she had time to say farewell. Her eyes fell on Estelyn, who was now talking to the Inn owner, and she fervently wished her well.

Raefindan waved her out again, and she turned and left the Inn.

[littlemanpoet]

Liornung's song made Ædegard's head ache, but he kept that to himself. Bellyn had seemed so stung by his words, which he admitted to himself, came out far sharper than he had intended. Maybe it was because he liked her and it was hard to let himself show it.

Yes, the song had been long. Overlong, but it was over soon enough, and they had the peace of the quiet grassy fields, with little sound beyond the thump of hooves on turf.

"We should avoid the marshes," Ædegard offered. "We do not want to lose good horses in a bog."

He looked to the others to see if there was agreement.

[mark12_30]

They were startled when the young blacksmith spoke next. "We will certainly not cross the marshes; she would not linger there. We will trace the edge of Fangorn Forest."

Ædegard, Liornung, and Bellyn exchanged glances and raised eyebrows.

"As to how quickly we will travel, that depends on how deeply we challenge these generous horses. Each one is courageous; none will refuse us what we ask."

"And what kind of challenge did you have in mind?" asked Ædegard.

The young blacksmith's eyes met Ædegard's, and Amroth wondered if Ædegard would understand. "They will find rest when I do."

"I will not mistreat these horses, " said Ædegard indignantly, and Liornung nodded in support. Bellyn's eyes grew wide.

Amroth fell silent. Just like his somehow weakened, deadened, unresponsive body, these horses would need physical rest. And these mortals would need rest. He knew it. But that did not make it easier to bear. Every delay gnawed at him, every moment passed in stilness. His whole being cried Onward!

He reached down, and stroked Echo's neck. "Nor do I, " he said. Then he opened his mind to the horses. "Friends, I have need of great haste. But do not let me forget the rest you need."

He released their minds, and turned his heart northward with a silent cry.

The only rest I will find is in your arms, beloved. Where, where are you? Come find me. Speak to me. O Nimrodel, Nimrodel, sing to me again.

Echo tossed his head and lengthened his stride.

~*~*~
Alaklondewen's post
~*~*~

The golden forest was pleasantly quiet as Erebemlin moved soundlessly through the trees. He was following a set of deer tracks that were heading toward the river. If he found the animal delayed by the water’s edge, there would be enough fresh meat for the next few weeks. With winter on the way, the ellon knew the importance of having meat before he and the others found themselves without for the remainder of the season.

As he neared the river, its quiet murmur met his ears. He stopped momentarily, leaning against a mighty mellorn and loosely fitted an arrow to his bow. Steadying his hand, he inhaled deeply and swiftly stepped over bringing the weapon to his eye and pulling the arrow back in one sweeping moment. The buck stood only a few yards from his position, and he readied himself to fire.

The arrow, however, never flew. Just as Erebemlin began to loosen his grip, a cry filled the forest. Speak to me. O Nimrodel, Nimrodel, sing to me again. Then, as quickly as it came, the call was gone. The hunter lowered his weapon and opened his heart searching for its source, but the thought had departed.

Nimrodel. Erebemlin was perplexed by this mysterious cry. The thoughts were so desperate, but who would be searching for the maiden who had long been lost to the world. He could think of only one, but his King had departed long ago for the lands West of the sea.

[Orual]

Ravion went over their inventory, quickly sorting through the things that Mellonin and Raefindan collected. Everything seemed to be in order. Enough food, enough water, blankets, supplies...everything was good to go.

Everything spread out in front of him, he sat back on his heels, staring at the equipment. In his mind he flashed back to packing for the last battle of the War.

"Ravion! Is everything ready?"

Ravion looked up at the speaker, his friend, his brother Ranger, Dalros. In this half-dream he was in the moment, but still knew that Dalros would die in the battle that they were preparing for.

"Everything's ready," Ravion said, closing the bag tightly and throwing it to Dalros, who caught it deftly and slung it over his shoulder.

"What about you?" Dalros asked, crouching by Ravion. His messy blond hair was caked with dirt, and his face was smudged as well, but his bright blue eyes were clearly visible. Right now, they were fixed intensely on Ravion.

"Me?" Ravion stalled. He didn't want to talk about this right now.

"You know what I mean," Dalros pressed. "If you're still...mourning..."

"My father died for this war," Ravion snapped, throwing his own pack over his shoulder and starting off. "If he gave his life, I can't do any less than give my effort."

"Don't make this battle about your father! He wouldn't want you to risk your life because you're grieving!" Dalros shouted, but Ravion was not listening. He was going to do this, just like his father did. It was what he was in this world to do.

"Ravion, is everything ready?"

Ravion startled and nearly fell over, then calmed down when he saw Raefindan. "Everything's ready," the Ranger said, shoving it all into bags and handing one to Raefindan. "Mellonin will probably want to put some distance behind us before nightfall."

He paused and looked around. Three companions. Raefindan, Aeron...

"Where is Mellonin?" he asked Raefindan.

[littlemanpoet]

"Where is Mellonin?" Ravion asked.

"She has gone to say goodbye to her mother and father. She'll be back soon."

Ravion gave him a blank look, which cleared. "She will be back soon," he translated. "You have an odd way of speaking."

Raefindan grinned. "I would say the same of you, except that I'm apparently the stranger."

Ravion shook his head. "A pair only? What pair is the stranger? Are we not all strangers to each other? I do not understand you."

Raefindan looked down. "I'm sorry. I meant to say that it seems that I am the stranger here, so it is my speech that is odd to you.

"What about my sister?" Aeron asked.

Ravion scowled and turned to Aeron. "When Mellonin returns, you will lead us to your sister. Then we go."

"My thanks, lord Ravion." Aeron made a flagrant bow. Raefindan snickered. Ravion frowned.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin indeed appeared as they spoke.

"Great Scott, that's a change, " Raefindan said. Three blank stares were turned his way, and then Mellonin laughed.

"Well, by Jorje, at least you knew me, " she replied.

Raefindan threw back his head and laughed, while Ravion and Aeron exchanged skeptical glances. "I'm not sure I would have, if we hadn't been talking about you. Are you going to cut your hair as well?"

She grimaced. "Should I? I hate to, but if you think I should...?" She glanced at Ravion.

Ravion surveyed her thoroughly. Her brother's leggings, shirt, and tunic fitted her loosely, which was well, since her figure was hidden.

He shook his head. "Not all of it. But if you were a traveller, it should be more tattered. Here." He drew his knife, and Aeron and Raefindan watched closely.

"Loosen it, " he said. She pulled off the tie, and shook out the braids. He hesitated. "You're quite sure you want to travel as a man."

"Do you not think I should?"

"Yes, I certainly do. You will be safer that way. But... if you wear most of your hair in a single braid underneath your cloak and tunic, I need only ruin part of it."

She nodded, very seriously. He drew near with the knife, and soon ragged wisps fell about her face and ears. More, and thicker wisps went down her back to her collar. "I think that's enough. Hold the knife." With surprising deftness he braided the rest of her hair in a single braid, now somewhat thinner than it would have been, and showed her the end of the braid which she tied off and tucked under her tunic. He stood back to survey his work, and nodded. "Now you need a manly name."

She smiled. "Father suggested I take Mellondu's given name: Fingon."

He nodded. "And you need to smile less... sweetly. We will work on that. Are we ready?"

"Father insisted we all stop by on the way out," Mellonin warned him.

Ravion sighed. "Very well. To the stable for Gond, and then a brief visit to your parents."

"We need not remain long. But they insisted we all stop by, " Mellonin replied.

They filed out towards the stable.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin could hardly contain her excitement as they walked down the street past all the houses and inns and shops. Finally, she was taking action; finally she was pursuing her dear brother. Her heart had not been this light since she saw him last.

"Here we are, " Mellonin said, and smiled. "Wait here!" She slipped inside the door, up the stairs, down the corridor, and knocked on the door.

Her father opened it, and her mother was just behind him. "Hello, Mellonin. Where are your companions?"

"With Ravion's horse. We must not tarry, Mother."

"Of course, my dear. Take us to them. But first, take this." And she handed Mellonin a small but heavy suede pouch.

Mellonin frowned, opened the drawstring, and gasped. "Whence came this, Mother?"

"Do not let that concern you, dear. Take it and go."

"But-- Father, whence came this? What have you done?"

Her father placed a hand on each of her shoulders, and said, "We would have given the shield to Mellondu when he came of age. Were he not here to receive it, what good would it do him or us?"

Tears started in Mellonin's eyes, but she nodded. "I see."

"Our hearts go with you, child," said Mother, giving her a kiss.

"Take us to your companions," said Father.

They followed her down the stairs, and Father clasped hands with Ravion, Raefindan, and Aeron in turn. Mother did likewise; they each gave Aeron a keen glance, but said nothing. They turned to Ravion, and exchanged solemn words of blessing and farewell, and stepped back and raised one hand each. "May the Valar guide you, " said Father. "And may you find our son, and return with him safely. Go, and may you find safe paths."

Ravion bowed. Raefindan nodded. Aeron looked just a little solemn, for a moment. Then Ravion led them away.

[Imladris]

After a few hours of traveling in the fading afternoon, they small company reached the village. It was a comparatively small village with shambling hovels and weedy yards. Most of the houses had small gardens, which seemed to be the only thing that thrived. They neared a crumbling cottage, however, that did not have a garden. Or if, there was one, could not be distinguished from the amongst the weeds.

“I will go in alone,” said Aeron as they neared their gardenless cottage. “She does not care for strangers,” he added. It wasn’t an outright lie. No strangers ever came to their wealthy hovel, so maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t. He needed to talk to her alone before any of the others saw her.

He pushed the door and it opened with soft creak. “Gwyllion,” he called. No answer. “Gwyllion!” he called again, only louder this time. “ Gwyllion! ” Where could she be? Frowning, he ran to the kitchen -- and froze.

Gwyllion was crouched in the corner, moaning and rocking softly. A knife, daubed with blood, was some feet away from her knees. Rivulets of blood streamed down her hand, their source a nasty cut on her second finger. The blood would rise bulbously from the cut, flow down her finger, and separate from the knuckle, creating a sort of delta around it. “Oh no…” he whispered.

She was muttering something and Aeron crept forward, hoping to catch the words. “I am dying…I am dying… I am dying! ”

Aeron felt cold; his lips were dry. Was she really dying? He bolted to her, tearing a strip of cloth from his shirt as he did so.

Her dark blue dress clung to her, damp with sweat, and she rocked violently back and forth. “ I do not want to die! ” Aeron tried to grasp her hand, but she fought him and slapped him across the face. Small convulsions rippled through her body; her breathing was quick and shallow, almost as if she was gasping for air. What if the fit continued, and she couldn’t breathe? He shuddered.

He slapped her. Hard. It was a finger of pain to drag her from her sea of terror. She stopped shaking, and Aeron wiped the blood from her hand and bound the cut, tightly. “There is nothing to fear, little Gwyll,“ he murmured.

Finally, she raised her thin pale face and smiled at him. “Aeron.”

“Fearful One,” Aeron returned, shoving her slightly.

“Cruel hearted one!” she shouted, pushing him back.

“I have told you not to use knives when I’m gone,” he said, frowning at her. “You always manage to cut yourself.” He paused. She had always been petrified of blood…of anything that looked like blood. He tittered when he remembered the first time she had seen a goblet full of red wine, only she thought it had been blood and had refused to drink it.

“Did you find anything of value?” she asked.

“Yes,” he snapped, the memory of Ravion and his bondage coming back to him like an unpleasant dream returns to one newly awakened. He quickly told her how he had been caught and about Ravion’s deal. “Gwyllion, we must be careful about this. If either of us misbehave, we will find ourselves in a jail cell.”

“With mice to play with,” she added quickly.

“I would think that it would be rats instead of mice,” Aeron said. “Do not do anything foolish, Gwyllion.”

“I would never!” she cried. “Methinks you should listen to your advice, Aeron the Thief, Aeron the Mischief-maker, Aeron the Swindler.”

“Well, come. They are waiting for us outside,” he said quickly, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet. He wondered briefly if he should forewarn her about Raefindan’s red hair -- and then decided not to. It would be interesting to see if she truly was afraid of the colour red.

“Ravion, Raefindan, and Mellonin, this is my sister Gwyllion.”

He glanced down at her and saw that her blanched cheeks and followed her gaze to Raefindan. “I told you he was a foreigner,” he muttered.

“His hair is red! How do you know he is not a Gondorian who colored it…somehow?”

Without waiting for him to answer, she skipped towards Ravion and, with a deep curtsey, said, “Ravion, my brother’s liege.”

She curtseyed again, and then crept towards the horse, and began to stroke his muzzle. Aeron strode to Mellonin and whispered, “Keep her away from knives.”

[Orual]

Ravion frowned as they approached Aeron's home. It was run-down and little more than a hovel. He glanced at the boy, who was determinedly refusing to look at him. What sort of place was this to grow up in?

"I will go in alone. She does not care for strangers," Aeron said as he walked into the house. Ravion, who had stepped forward to accompany him into the house, fell back and went back to Mellonin and Raefindan.

He ran his fingers through Gond's mane, clumsily combing out the knots and tangles. The horse looked at him with liquid brown eyes, and Ravion smiled. "We'll be back on the road soon," he promised in a whisper. Gond bobbed his head, and Ravion leaned against his neck.

Aeron was taking a long time. Ravion, impatient and a little worried, hummed an old Rohirric tune. He had learned it from a young Rohirric soldier he had fought alongside. It was traditional to sing it before a battle: haunting, wistful, in a minor key, it matched his temperment well. He didn't feel like singing it outright yet. This was not a battle. Yet.

Finally Aeron came out, with his younger sister in tow. "Ravion, Raefindan, and Mellonin, this is my sister Gwyllion," he said curtly. Ravion inclined his head politely, but Gwyllion was not paying attention to him. Instead, she was staring with rapt attention at Raefindan.

"His hair is red!" she exclaimed in wonder. Ravion snorted and turned to pretend to adjust something on Gond's saddle to mask his mirth.

Then Gwyllion skipped towards Ravion and curtsied deeply, saying, "Ravion, my brother’s liege."

She curtseyed again, leaving Ravion somewhat bemused. She then went closer to Gond and started stroking his muzzle. With a confused look on his face, Ravion studied her.

His first impression was that she was a little...strange. Very gregarious, to be sure. Open. Innocent. That might be a problem. He'd have to find a way to keep her from talking to everybody they came across. A search mission like this involved lying low and keeping quiet. She was petite, somewhat messy. His eyes went towards her hands, still stroking Gond. A bloodstained bandage was wrapped around one of her fingers.

"Gwyllion, come here," he said, and the girl, with a slight frown, went to him. He found a small bag of bloodmoss and took a pinch out, then unwrapped her bandage slowly, carefully.

"Well-wrapped bandage, Aeron," he said shortly, not looking at Aeron. "Good and tight. Bloodmoss will stop the flow of blood and help healing, though, so it is generally a good idea to put a little in between the bandage and the wound. Hand cuts bleed a lot. Rarely dangerous, but always messy." After putting the herb against the cut, he wrapped the bandage back around Gwyllion's finger.

"There," he said, knotting the bandage. "You can't be so careless," he added in a much rougher voice. He needed to make sure that they would listen to him, and heed what he said. This would not be an easy trip. "Every bit of bloodmoss that I use on you is a bit of bloodmoss that we won't have if something serious happens. I won't fault you for injuries sustained if there is a battle, or an accident. But I will hold you accountable for injuries sustained from carelessness or silliness. I am bringing you for your brother's sake, and I am bringing him for his oath's sake. We are all going for Mellonin's sake. I will not have your carelessness bringing danger onto us. You'll have a lot to learn, and I expect you to be a quick study."

He turned back to Mellonin. "I suggest we put some miles behind us," he said mildly.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin nodded at Ravion. "By all means." Then she reached out a hand to Gwillion. "But don't you have anything you'd like to bring with you? A cloak perhaps, and an extra dress? Perhaps some of your brother's clothes?"

She turned to Aeron. "We did bring a water bottle and blankets for her, and food. But we have no cloak or clothes for her."

Aeron nodded, and said, "Watch her, please." Mellonin nodded; at the moment, Gwillion was entranced with Gond, and chatted happily with him. Aeron returned shortly with an awkward bundle of things tied up in a thick but tattered blanket.

Mellonin sighed, hoping that the bundle would prove useful, worrying that it might not. Then she smiled. Likely enough, a thiief learns what is needful for a journey.

And if not, they would have to make do.

Ravion gave Raefindan some orders, and Raefindan took the lead. Ravion gestured that Aeron should be next. Aeron took Gwillion's hand, and she walked by his side.

Mellonin followed; then Ravion with Gond. Gond perked up once they left the village, and his stride lengthened and his eyes brightened. Every now and again, a cheerful snort misted Ravion's clothing. As always, Ravion considered it a token of affection.

[Imladris]

Aeron nodded to Mellonin and dashed into the little hovel to gather Gwyllion’s things. It would have been useless to have told Gwyllion to pack her own things. She would have insisted that she did not need a thing, that people who bring luggage are silly and then, when she would lie shivering in the chill nights, would admit that she should have brought a blanket or another cloak or two.

On a dusty, splintering desk, was a silver comb. Ratty brown hair was snarled about the twines and he was sure that he saw the carcass of a sort of six legged bug buried within the tangled nest. He tore the hair from the comb and let it drift to the floor unheeded. Clothes were scattered across the floor, and he inspected these one by one. A pair of breeches, a white blouse, a brown cloak, and her green dress would do well enough for her.

As he packed, he was glad that Gwyllion had not thought of a saucy reply for Ravion’s rebuke of her carelessness. It would have caused trouble if she had -- for once she had controlled her tongue.

Striding to the farther end of the room, he put his right heel to his left toe and began to count his foot lengths under his breath. On the count of five, he wavered precariously, and tumbled to the floor, cursing under his breath. He repeated the process and on the tenth foot length, he kneeled, and pried a rotten board from the floor. A musty, mold ridden silk bag was nestled under it, and Aeron snatched it and tossed it with Gwyllion’s clothes. He did not savour the idea of begging for their meat.

Stuffing the clothes and money into a blanket, he trotted back to the company and tossed the bag to Gwyllion, who, in turn, tossed it back to him.

Ravion glowered at them and Aeron obeyed the command that glowed from his green eyes. Ravion arranged them in a neat little order, and Aeron took Gwyllion’s hand.

“This will not be much of an adventure, I fear,” Gwyllion whispered. “Still…” she sighed and her eyes softened. “Thinking that one is an elf…how wonderful.”

“How unfortunate, you mean,” Aeron returned. “Thinking that you are an elf and being an elf are two entirely different things.”

“I suppose so,” she said.

“Nothing about this trip is wonderful,” Aeron said. “I cannot steal, and we cannot misbehave.” He sighed and tossed the Gwyllion’s bundle to her. She caught it, and then threw it lightly back to him. Aeron stepped away from her and threw it again. “We have nothing to amuse us but a mindless, unchallenging game of catch.”

“Which is better than nothing,” Gwyllion said.

[mark12_30]

Gwillion and Aeron continued their game of catch. Minas Tirith was receding into the distance, and Mellonin looked back at it often. The only time she had ever left it, she had gone south, and then only as far as Emyn Arnen in South Ithilien. Watching Minas Tirith dwindle gave her a sinking, yet exciting feeling.

Ravion noticed each time she turned, and tried to hide his smile.

I will not let him doubt my courage. I will not. So each time, she gave him a brave nod, and turned her face northwestward again.

They crested a low rise, and Raefindan looked back at Ravion. He pointed, and they turned a little more westward. The Anduin glimmered off to their right. And as they descended the hill, Minas Tirith was for a while hidden from their view.

Mellonin set her face northwestward, squinted into the setting sun, and marched. Sheep and cows grazed on the hillsides. Off in the distance, she heard a warning bark.

Gond snorted; Ravion looked for the sound. But Aeron turned toward Gwillion, and Mellonin wondered why. The bark got louder and closer, and Gwillion's fright increased.

[Imladris]

Short sharp barks. Dogs did bad things -- they ripped throats from victims. Bloodied chunks of flesh would hang from their yellowed fangs, which would be revealed by black lips curled back in a growling snarl. She swallowed, trying to quell the heart that increased from a soft patter to bounding leaps.

At that moment a scrawny creature with bright, brown eyes slunk from the underbrush. He snarled, revealing only one yellowed fang instead of two. Mud clung to his fur, and bound his tail to his hind legs. With a sharp box, he sat down in the middle of the path, and stared at them. He licked his chops, just as if we are a platter of raw steak swimming in blood…

[mark12_30]

Raefindan chuckled. "Well, hello, old fellow. Have we been trespassing? Look at you. You need a bath. Come here. It's all right."

Ravion looked worriedly at the redheaded man, and frowned. Gwillion said in a soft but shrill voice, "Don't touch him. He'll rip your throat out. Don't go near him!"

Raefindan turned to look at Gwillion, and said, "He's not happy, but he's not rabid. Don't worry, Gwillion." Turning back to the mongrel he spoke in a gentle, high voice. "Come here, old fellow. It's all right. Come on."

The dog whined, shifted his front paws, stood, sniffed and approached Raefindan step by step.

"That's it, old fellow. You're okay. Good boy."

"He'll bite you, " Gwillion said, moving to hide behind her brother.

"Hush, Gwill. Wait and see," said Aeron.

Raefindan let the dog sniff his hand, knelt down and scritched his ears. THe one-fanged dog licked his hand.

Raefindan stood, and nodded to Ravion, who waved him on. Gond gave the dog a worried look. As Raefindan marched forward, the dog began to follow, jumping and licking Raefindan's hand.

"We're not feeding him too," Ravion growled. "Go on. Be off!"

The dog eyed Ravion warily, and trotted resolutely after Raefindan. Gwillion kept her brother between her and the dog at all times. But the dog was interested only in Raefindan. Despite numerous attempts to run him off, he followed the rest of the day. The little band walked until the stars were out, and they came to a stream, where Ravion ordered them to camp for the night.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The horses began moving at a steadily quicker pace than before, and Bellyn wondered at this sudden change and spurt of motivation in the animals. Amroth intrigued her as well -- his outward approach at things contrasted the way he spoke -- it was so strange to Bellyn. Still, the group soldiered on northward, with the somehow refreshed horses and quiet atmosphere. Liornung did his best to lighten the mood, and he sang songs that delighted Bellyn and always brought a hint of a smile to Ædegard's lips. Amroth was quiet and contemplative, and Bellyn went through different ideas in her mind that might explain what he would not.

"I wonder why such bad luck fell upon him," Bellyn wondered aloud to Liornung as he paused for a while between merry and somber songs.

"What do you mean?" Liornung inquired, and Bellyn sighed as she watched Amroth in front of her. Bellyn didn't get to know very many people, but she her imagination was always running away and always found explanations and reasons for everything. While drawing and sketching, she liked to make up stories for what was portrayed on the paper -- it made her feel better about being alone drawing maps in random Inns.

Snapping out of her reverie, Bellyn looked back at Liornung, matching his gaze with her own. "Well, bad luck, right? He says he lost his betrothed when she did not show at their meeting place. Do you think she purposefully left him there? Or did something horrible happen to her? Maybe she is looking for him too, and we are heading in the opposite direction from her, and she is going right past us, right over that hill! What do you think, Liornung?"

"I think you have a very active imagination," Liornung replied, chuckling softly as his voice trailed off. Bellyn's face showed that she was slightly offended, though she did not mean to be so. Liornung caught the look and stopped laughing, quick to make sure Bellyn did not feel offended anymore. "I did not mean it badly, of course. It is a good thing to have such intellect. It makes people think about possibilities they never thought were, well...possible."

"Again, I must compliment you on your people skills," Bellyn reiterated, remembering their conversation earlier. "It is admirable that you are so quick to realize how people feel. How do you think Amroth feels now, being without his loved one? And Ædegard, following Amroth on what might be a slightly wild goose chase? In fact, how do you feel going out now on this journey?"

"This journey will teach me much, as much as it will teach you." Liornung said, smiling.

"I suppose. In any class, I'm glad to be here right now, wherever it leads..." Bellyn agreed, copying Liornung's smile.

[Imladris]

“Go gather the firewood, Aeron,” Ravion said as unsaddled the horse.

Go gather wood Aeron mimicked under his breath. Naturally he got the dirty job…the sticky job. Sap always seemed to ooze in the little crevices of dead wood. “Gwyl, would you mind helping me?” he asked.

As they gathered the wood, he whispered to her, “You are now my older sister.”

“Even though that thought brings me immense pleasure, how could I possibly be my older sister.”

“Only to them are you my older sister,” Aeron said, shoving her slightly. “One cannot change the fate of time, my dear.”

“You lied to them?” she asked. “He is a ranger, and you are going to get in trouble when he finds out.”

“ If he finds out,” Aeron said.

“Why did you lie in the first place,” she moaned. “I am two years younger than you, and you cannot expect me to act older.”

Blast it. She was being difficult. “I am not asking to purposely act older,” Aeron said gently. “Just remember that if they ask how old you are.” I never knew she looked so young he whispered to himself. “I lied because I did not think they would take you along. You should have seen Ravion’s face, Gwyl.”

She tittered and said, “So for once lying didn’t pay. You naughty boy!”

[littlemanpoet]

The day passed quickly, and Ædegard enjoyed Liornung's songs, for the most part. They made him laugh inside with their lightness.

By day's end the mountain ring surrounding the Wizard's Vale could be seen at the western horizon. It was still named the Wizard's Vale by many, though Saruman was gone and the Ents were the new tenants holding Orthanc under the rule of Éomer, Lord of the Mark. It was a strange world, with Ents and Elves and 'Obbits, as the saying now went in Edoras, for the Eorlingas loved their songs to greet sound to sound. Which, Ædegard considered, Liornung's did in a different way than he knew.

As they made camp that night, on the plains of the West Emnet, still a stiff ride from the eaves of Fangorn, Ædegard spoke his thought as they sat around their campfire under the starry dome, the southwesterly breeze soughing through the tall grasses of the plain.

"Liornung, your songs are fair and light, yet they sound unlike that which I grew up listening to in Edoras. Your songs have the same sounds within the words at the end of a line instead of the way of the Eorlingas, whose songs make most of tongue against tooth or mouth roof or lip. And yours are fair and speak of family and love and sparkle and wit, as on a summer breeze, while those I grew up with are of stone and sword and come on a cold wind out of the north, as did Eorl long years ago. Our minstrels have made the War of the Ring into such songs. One runs like this, in part:

"Hear of the heroes at Helm's Deep
who refused to fall against the greed
of that twist tongued serpent, Saruman.
Hear the names of the heroes that night,
Théoden, mighty thewed Mark lord,
his loyal heir, Éomer son of Éomund,
Aragorn son of Arathorn, wielder of Anduril,
Legolas of the Elves, fleetfooted orcslayer,
Gimli son of Glóin and Gamling the Old,
and Gandalf Greyhame, wielder of Glamdring,
courage bringer, counsellor, friend of the free peoples.

"Helm haunted the Hornburg that night,
and the stout Helmingas withstood the siege.

"And so it goes. I have that much by heart, and more, but I would not bore you with it. Under your hand I'd expect somewhat like so:

"Hear of the heroes of Helm's Deep
when Saruman's orcs did creep
to the Hornburg from the Wizard's Vale
to overrun but - um - they did fail....

"or something like it. I speak overlong, wending my way to my point, but where did you learn your verse skill? Tell us the tale of it, if you will."

Liornung

"The tale of it?" Liornung blushed slightly but it was clear he was more than eager to tell. "What you have said is true... the Bards of Rohan have rarely put rhyme in their verse and their great songs have been sung without. Yet I learned the art of song not from one of Rohan but from a wandering minstrel of Gondor who always sang in rhyme. Indeed, this fiddle is his that he left me, and 'twas he who first named me Liornung. The name my mother and father gave to me is Sarig, but I do forbid anyone to call me thus." And, a twinkle in his eye, he looked at each member of the company in turn.

"Yes, indeed, it is a name to avoid! But as I was saying before, it was that wandering minstrel who brought me to sing in rhyme. He sang for me a lovely song. He was not as I am. You see, he had a lover in Gondor waiting for him, and I have never fallen in love and don't fully intend to. He was fair eight and thirty years when he first passed through my land and stayed at my father's home, when I was but a lad. He spoke to me a little of her, calling her fairest and dearest, her heart the sweetest and kindest, and though I daresay now all say so much of their lover's, as Amroth would surely say of his, I have rarely seen a man love as that minstrel loved his Gondor maid. He would often describe her to me in a verse, saying:

"Dear are her charms to me,
dearer her laughter free,
dearest her constancy.

"She was of Rohan though he had brought her to Gondor to wait for him at his mother's home. He would have married her long before that time but he could not bring himself to lay aside his roaming just yet. He did tell me once, however, that two years forward he would abandon all roads, build a little home, and take her for his wife. I have not heard of him since, but I pray the two of them are happily wed." He paused a moment before continuing, and his voice was quieter when he spoke again. "Once I heard him singing a song he had written to her, though he did not know I was closeby. It was a charming little song, very simple, but full of such love and devotion. I heard it only once yet it has ever been in my mind. It ran thus:

"Do you see yon bonnie minstrels as they go along
a-trippin' and a-skippin' to the lilt of their song?
And, lassie, they sing a song for thee
so jump up, bonnie girl, and come away with me.

A minstrel's fare is poor if his songs do not please
but if hunger faced us I should love you 'fore life ceased
and with my dying breath I would take you on my knee
and I would tell you truly how much I loved thee.

But if my songs should pleased and bring us some food
still I'd love you as ever a man could
and I'd play you a tune 'neath some shady tree.
So jump up, bonnie girl, and come away with me.

And if there came children a home they should not lack.
I'd set aside my songs and take my fiddle from my back
and I should love them however many there may be.
So jump up, bonnie girl, and come away with me.

And when, my darling girl, we are both frail and old
and your hair turned to white and lost its lovely gold,
though youth had with time decayed still I would love thee.
So jump up, bonnie girl, and come along with me.

[littlemanpoet]

They were up with the sun next morning, and Mellon, or Amroth, pushed on, the three others following in his wake. Ædegard was happy, even though the cold seeped through his clothes, the price of a clear night in late Autumn. Liornung's story had been good, and even though Ædegard had not been able to see his eyes, the sound of his voice said that the fiddler spoke truth. Ædegard trusted him the more.

Liornung caught up with him at the middle of the morning, as the still far off eves of Fangorn came in sight.

"I've heard you murmuring or mumbling something. What is on your mind, Ædegard?" His words came on a vapor with the chill.

Ædegard turned to him with a sheepish smile. "I have been practicing your craft. Surely I'll only ever be a poor hand at it, but I like how it turns on the tongue."

"Tell me what you mean, friend!"

Friend! Ædegard made sure not to let his surprise show on his face, but such a term was dearly bought in his reckoning, but it came easily to the lips of the fiddler.

He grinned, bashful in answer to his request. "You would think me a fool."

"So be it then, I've often enough been a fool myself, so I'll enjoy the company of another!"

Ædegard laughed. "So be it then! A moment." He furrowed his brow and mouthed some voiceless words, then took in a deep breath as if to blow out a small fire.

"We make our way through West Emnet
to see how far we can get,
following Amroth or Mellon, whichever his name,
wondering for his ailment who is to blame!"

"There you have it. Silly, no?"

[mark12_30]

Amroth heard the verse, sighed with annoyance, turned, and glanced at Ædegard. He considered rebuking him for his disrespect, but decided not to; the lad seemed to have cheered up, and Amroth valued cheer.

In fact, he could use some. He was weary; wearier than any elf had a right to be, and his heart was heavy. He spoke to Echo, who slowed til he was even with the other three riders. They waited, wondering whether a rebuke was coming. They were surprised to hear a merry tune.

"Pacing steeds and daring deeds
and swords and lances shining,
Blades to wield on bloody field
With maidens back home pining.

Homeward bound, with joyful sound
The elves to wood returning
Treetops blow, the rivers flow
For seashore ever yearning

Golden bread and wine so red
and eyes and faces shining
harps to wield in grassy field
with friends in pleasure dining.

Ages turn, elf-hearts yearn
For lands beyond the water
Yet here we wait, and til then take
Our joy in simple laughter."


He turned weary eyes on Ædegard, and then chuckled. "Ailment indeed. May your betrothed never lead you on a search such as this. Indeed, I suppose she is to blame. Yet I will neither speak ill of her nor hear her ill spoken of."

Things were getting serious again. Liornung and Bellyn exchanged nervous glances. Amroth chose to smile.

"Come, Ædegard, it is your turn again. Another rhyme. Mine was simple, and quite rough; you may easily better it. So fear not. Sing!"

[littlemanpoet]

"But I must work it out first!"

"Then do so! Fangorn is still far off, and Lorien many leagues away."

"Give me the morning. Let Liornung cheer you with one of his. I wager he has one at the ready always! Or Bellyn can."

Liornung said, "It is my turn, since the both of you have had a go. I'll sing you to and by Fangorn!"

And he did. Soon it was noon. They stopped for a short meal, under the outer reaches of Fangorn. Then they were on their way again, keeping the great wood to their left. Echo led the other horses on a brisk pace, seemingly at the beck of Mellon. Or Amroth. Ædegard was finding it hard to turn his mind to think of the blacksmith as Amroth, but it was beginning to seem necessary so as not to cause undue ire amongst them. And who knew? Maybe it was somehow the truth of the matter.

Toward the middle of the afternoon, Ædegard announced that he had worked up another.

"We gallop on beneath the bows of Fangorn wood,
remembering that many trees once stood
where grasses grow beneath the sun,
where breezes blow and horses run."

"That is all I can manage at a time. You will have to be satisfied with that."

[mark12_30]

Snatches of song drifted past him, but Amroth spoke with the trees as they rode past.

Have you seen Nimrodel? Have you seen my lady? Her mantle is golden-hemmed, her shoes are silver grey. Has she not been here? Her hair is long, her limbs white; she is fair as the moonlight. Has she not danced here? Her voice is falling silver; has she not spoken with you? Have you not heard her sing?

Tree after tree told him nay, and his heart grew heavy again.

She took refuge here, fleeing from the darkness of Moria. Has she not returned? Has she not taken refuge again beneath your branches?

The sun neared the mountaintops, and then sank behind them, and the air grew chill. Echo tossed his head, sometimes looking back at Amroth; Amroth stroked his neck. "Yes, my friend. We can go yet further ere we halt. You are right."

Echo swung into a mile-eating trot, and surrounded by song, Amroth bent his thoughts toward the forest again as the twilight deepened.

[littlemanpoet]

They came to the reiver Entwash and forded it under the stars. Beyond it was a grass covered mound, surrounded by fifteen spears. Ædegard slowed his mount. His eyes were wide and he dismounted. The others noticed him and slowing, turned and came back to him.

Liornung said, "What is it, Ædegard?"

"This place is sacred to the Rohirrim. Here there was a small battle between outriders of Rohan and a few companies of orcs, but on it turned the course of the War of the Ring. As it is sung,

"Éomer and his eotheod caught the uruks
outside the eaves of Fangorn forest.
As Master Meriadoc and proud Peregrin
escaped by outwitting the greed of an orc,
Éomer slew the slaves of Saruman.
Fifteen fearless warriors were felled,
resting in the Mound raised by the Entwash.
The humble Holbitla roused the Ents,
the Tree men tore down Saruman's tyrrany.
So Edoras was spared to save her ally.
Brave deaths, that bought our boon.

"So sing the minstrels of Edoras." Ædegard looked up to Amroth. "My thanks for leading me to this place that I might never have seen otherwise."

Amroth smiled and nodded. "Since we have halted, let us make camp here for a few short hours, under the guard of these brave men."

Liornung

Liornung's eyes travelled over the campsite and he nodded in satisfaction. "'Tis a lovely place to camp, and I am amazed at the feel of the very air, which speaks of Éomer and his company even better than the song you have sung, good Ædegard. I do not mean, of course," he added, his voice hasty and confused, "that the song was not worthy of the place."

"I do think you are correct," Ædegard reassured him. "Not all things can be put into song. The song spoke of this place, yet this place is this place."

"That is," Liornung said, "quite right." He picked up his fiddle with a little smile upon his face. "I'm going to sing a happy little song for you. I have sung too much, I fear, of lost loves and faraway loves and longing loves, things that bring woe and sorrow. What about loves that are there and happily content?" And so he picked up a merry tune and began to sing.

Come all you lads and lassies and listen for awhile.
I'll sing to you a verse or two and try to make you smile.
But if instead you weep with grief, do not be ashamed
for others who have heard this song wept, more than can be named.

Fal-la-do-la-do, fal-al-the-day.

There was lad who rode out one fair and pleasant day.
From Rohan and to Gondor he carelessly did stray.
He had no mind for love or any lassies fair
till he met a maid, soft was her smile, dark was her hair.

Fal-la-do-la-do, fal-al-the-day.

"Oh lassie fair of Gondor, do come away with me,
mount your horse and take my hand and come to my country.
I'll give you all you wish for and sweet home
and rover though I am for you I'll cease to roam.

Fal-la-do-la-do, fal-al-the-day.

"Oh lad with the golden hair, truly I love you
but if I went away what would my poor sick father do?"
"Oh take him lassie, take him if you'll come with me.
I'll give you all you ask for, no want will come to ye.

Fal-la-do-la-do, fal-al-the-day.

The lad left and the lassie followed with her father ill.
They built a house and she truly loved him with a will.
I've told you a happy tale of a young rover
and how he won the heart of the fair maid of Gondor.

Fal-la-do-la-do, fal-al-the-day.
Fal-la-do-la-dee-la-fal-do-lay.

As he ended his song he threw back his head and laughed. "Before any of you speak of it, I do know that my songs are often of wandering rovers and their fair maids, but in all truth so seldom am I in one place for a long time that the only romances I know of are those of the road. Yet I do know of a poor peasant lad who married a poor peasant lass he had loved all his life. I will put the tale into verse a sing it for you on the morrow."

[Orual]

A small fire had been built, and all the members of the odd little traveling band were making themselves comfortable. Aeron and his sister were off in one corner, speaking to each other in low voices, Raefindan was feeding the fire, and Mellonin was lying on her back, gazing up at the stars. Her short, choppy hair, with its thin braid, lay spread out in a sort of aura around her face.

Ravion snorted as he whittled away at a piece of wood. What a group to drag all the way to...where? Rohan? Mellondu, or whatever it was he wanted to be called, was far gone from Rohan. There was no sense in looking for the boy in Edoras. Perhaps they shouldn't even stop. What could the Rohan pubs tell him that he did not already know?

But where could he be headed? There were a number of places north of Rohan for a blacksmith who thought he was an elf to set his sights. Lorien. Mirkwood. Rivendell. Ravion shuddered. He did not want to see the quiet, sad, abandoned thrones of what had once been the greatest race in Middle-earth. He did not want to see the evidence of the decline of the race who had given his people so much.

His head snapped up at the sound of rustling leaves, but it was only Mellonin turning over onto her side. Her large, expressive eyes were full of worry, and it pained Ravion. He swung his leg over the log that he was sitting on and crouched down, sighing and rubbing his hands through his hair. He put a hand to the ground to steady himself as he lowered himself to rest, and he realized that it felt good to have the cool, living earth under his body. He realized further that he didn't mind having company while he slept, even if it was odd company. A snuffle and a low growl brought a qualifier to that: he didn't mind having the company, except for that idiot dog. What was he supposed to do with a dog? He rolled his eyes irritably and prepared his bedroll.

"Who wants first watch?" he called.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin took a breath to say "I will watch, " but Raefindan said it first.

"Are you certain? I can take the first watch," she said.

He shook his head. "I should be tired, but... "

"The dreams."

He nodded. The dog nudged his hand. "And this fellow needs a bath, too."

"All right, " said Mellonin, wanting nothing to do with it.

"Downstream, " growled Ravion.

"I should think so, " Raefindan chuckled. "Come on, mangy."

Ravion and Mellonin exchanged puzzled glances, but Raefindan laughed. "I'll be right back. This should only take a few minutes."

"You will not dry quickly this late in the season, " said Ravion.

Raefindan considered the cur, picked up a stick, and threw it into the stream. It took some urging, but the dog followed. Six or eight fetches later, the mud was rinsed off, and the cur was playing tag with Raefindan. Gond tossed his head and snorted when the dog got too close.

"I can't call you mangy, anymore, can I? Maybe I'll call you Fang. Or Fangless."

Mellonin rolled up in her cloak and two blankets, putting her back to the game of tag. She was a little afraid of her own dreams, and lay awake for a while wondering how long Aeron would stay with them, and what Ravion would do if Aeron escaped. Finally she drifted off.

[mark12_30]

Amroth shook out the cloak and blanket that Ædegard had brought for him, and offered to take the first watch. "But first, Lady Bellyn, grant me a request."

She started. "My lord?"

"Fear me not, Lady, " he said, with a gentle bow. "The long day has held deep voices, and my heart yearns for a gentler song. Would you sing, lady?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn blushed at Amroth’s request. She’d heard many songs in her lifetime, yet there were few that she remembered well. In fact, there were few that Bellyn remembered at all. Although not as talented as Liornung or Ædegard, Bellyn could not find it in her heart to refuse Amroth's request. It was such a simple request, after all.

"I have not a way with melody as Liornung does," Bellyn warned, a smile on her face. Looking over to Ædegard, her smile grew when she added, "Nor do I have Ædegard's way with rhyme." Bellyn turned back to Amroth. "But I shall do ask you ask! I remember very few songs, though there are many that I've been priviledged to enjoy. This one I remember the best, and I remember most of it, for my brothers liked to sing it with light hearts and high spirits --

"I am a jovial ranger,
I fear no kind of danger,
To sorrow I'm a stranger,
And so let mirth abound.
I once had a fit of loving,
But, that contrary proving,
It set my mind a-roving
To travel the country round!

When first of all I started,
From all my friends I parted,
All almost broken hearted,
Alas! what grief I found!
Till Rohan had fairly touched me,
No part of comfort reached me,
The blue sky had surely bewitched me
To travel the country round!

When up to Rohan I wandered
A deal of money I squandered,
I masters tried a hundred,
No work was to be found.
And as I wandered up and down,
Some called me "a fool,"
some "country clown,"
And bade me get out of their fine town
To travel the country round!

Now I grew quite dejected,
As well might be expected,
Myself I then directed
To Nordol, and was "bound."
As soon as I had arrived there,
Some work for me was contrived there,
And I for awhile was depriv'd there,
From trav'lling the country round!

Six months, or more, I tarried,
Till of Nordol I grew wearied,
My roaming fancy fired
To see some other town.
To the Mark then I hasted,
A week or more I wasted,
As long as my money lasted
I travelled the country round.

So now in the Mark my station;
And here, to my vexation,
A foolish new temptation
To rest awhile I found.
A maid I met so pretty,
So good, so wise, so witty,
I thought it were surely a pity
To travel the country round.

Now I the case must alter,
For fear that I should falter,
And be led in a halter
To kirk (a dismal sound!)
I made a resolution,
Which I put in execution,
It suited my constitution
To travel the country round.

So now at home I'm seated,
My travels are all completed,
These words I have repeated,
So awhile I'll sit me down;
Quite cured of all my moving,
As well as of all my loving,
I'll go no more a roving
To travel the country round..."

Bellyn finished, her cheeks more red than when she had begun her song, embarrassed to be singing in the company of someone as skilled in song as Liornung was. Bellyn sat down, looking up and hiding her discomfort with words, "I remember some others, though. My father always brought home new tunes he'd pick up as he traveled. The Lay of Nimrodel was my mother's favorite, he said. Then he also knew a lot of songs from Gondor..." Bellyn's voice trailed off as she stopped herself from rambling on.

[littlemanpoet]

"Your song was a delight, Bellyn," said Ædegard. "My thanks for your kind words about my rhyming. Hearing your song, I deem that I have much to learn."

He rose. "I suggest that we all sleep. The dawn is not far off." He lay down and watched the stars as he quieted himself, happy for the wonder of so many songs, happier still to have come to this place, and to be near the fifteen heroes, comrades of Éomer, his king.

[Nurumaiel]

"And I am in full agreement with you," Liornung said. "It is pleasant, 'tis true, to sit up till the morning singing songs and I have done it often before but this journey has taken its toll on me." He spoke quite seriously yet while it was not his intention his words came out as rather humorous. It had never been imagined that that road-worn, wandering fiddler could ever be completely exhausted.

"'Twas a lovely song, Miss Bellyn, and you have a lovely voice," the fiddler said as he lowered himself cautiously to the ground and pulled his blankets about him. "Let us continue with the merriment of song tomorrow." And then he fell silent.

Yet he was not asleep. He lay upon his back, gazing up at the sky, deep in thought. The starlight cast itself everywhere, and Rohan seemed to be dancing through a mist of silver and velvet sky, leaping towards the fire to catch some warmth and then flicking off again to some quiet, cold spot. It was one of those rare nights where the land did not sleep as all others did, but played and danced under the sky and stars.

Time passed and soon the quiet breathing of his three companions reached him. They were asleep. And no wonder, for by the look of the sky the dawn would not be delayed much longer. The fiddler began to hum quite softly, and when he saw there was no stirring from any of his companions he raised his voice a bit before singing quietly under his breath.

Take your partner and your glass;
I'll dance with you, my lovely lass.
Step and heel and round our flight;
your dancing is so fairy-light.

He nodded with satisfaction and closed his eyes. He had promised such a song to them and that one would do.

[mark12_30]

Early the next morning, Amroth rolled out of his blanket, still strangely weary and stiff. He shook out the cloak and put it on, rolled the blanket and saddled Echo. He had been tempted more than once to be rid of the saddle, but then there would have been nothing to attach the pack to. He rolled the blanket and tied it behind the saddle. Blankets and cloaks were well enough, but a little Miruvor would have been better.

He seemed to be feeling much stiffer than he could ever remember. Did he remember any tales of an elf waking from sleep so weary? Certainly not in the shadow of such a living wood as Fangorn. His body felt as weary as his soul and his heart.

Enough, he rebuked himself. Despair and resolve are no kinsmen.

"Did you not rest well?" asked Bellyn.

"No, Lady, " was the reply.

After a quick and quiet breakfast they mounted and rode again. "Amroth, it is your turn to sing," said Ædegard.

"Perhaps I should not open the morning with such a night pursuing me," Amroth deferred.

Liornung disagreed, gently encouraging him. "We have all had our turn. Singing will cheer you as it did yesterday. What could be more delightful than your songs? Come, begin. "

"You may decide otherwise. But as you wish, " said Amroth. He delayed a bit longer, and then sang barely above a murmur. The others rode closer to hear.


Arms of pearl and sunlit hair
Surround me as I swim
Sea-grey eyes under the sky
Still drown me as I dream

Your golden shadow round me twines
I weep into your hair
Deeper I fall, louder I call
The abyss echoes my wail

Embrace of bliss, sweet arms I miss
In the surrounding blackness
In coldness sink, darkness I drink
Cascading into madness

All breath is banned; I find no hand,
No voice to bring me healing
No face behold, but water cold
And last dim light receeding

Despair deep within me seeps
My soul and heart are wasted
Restore my mind, and let me find
Your memory unfaded

Come and find me, reach for me
And as you once did, hold me
Awaken me from deadly dream
And shine your eyes upon me.

When his song finished, he turned his head, and bent his thoughts into the forest.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard was amazed by Amroth's song. After it, he no longer was tempted to call him "Mellon", or "the blacksmith". Whatever may have been true about his body, he was in spirit the Elf-lord, Amroth, or must be, thought Ædegard. He exchanged glances with Liornung and Bellyn, who seemed as sobered as he by Amroth's song.

They continued riding north, stopping only for quick meals, and to relieve themselves, and came at evening upon the River Limlight, a mere stream trickling out of the Fangorn. The forded it and pressed on, their mounts urged on by Amroth.

Ædegard was concerned. "Amroth, I worry about our mounts. We must rest soon."

Amroth sighed.

[mark12_30]

Amroth stroked Echo's neck and the chestnut slowed. "Forgive me, friend, " he murmured, and then nodded at Ædegard. "We will halt where you see fit, " he said. "I am willing to take the first watch."

"We might ride for many miles before finding another stream, " replied Ædegard.

As if in answer, Echo halted and turned. At the Limlight they stripped the horses of their tack, and prepared to sleep. Ædegard quickly made a small fire, and after a meal Amroth stood up, wrapped in the cloak Ædegard had brought for him. He was glad of it.

"You prefer the first watch?" Bellyn asked.

Amroth replied, "I am not used to such sleep and such weariness together. Nor do I relish the dreams that the night hours bring."

"Was your song about the dreams, then?" Bellyn asked.

"Lady, I remember not which began first, the song or the dreams; and that is strange indeed for an elf. But it matters not; indeed, it matters not. I must find her; that is all." He considered her and then softly asked, "A verse or two of last night's song would cheer me, Lady, if I may be so bold."

She was glad, and sang several verses. As Ædegard and Liornung settled in for the night, he nodded. "Thank you, Lady Bellyn. You have cheered me indeed."

He stood under the stars til the night was half spent, and then wakened Liornung for the midnight watch. Liornung's pacing brought him past Amroth, who tossed and murmured in his sleep. Liornung woke Ædegard, for whom the morning dawned clear and cold. They ate, filled their water bottles in the stream, drank their fill, mounted, and rode north.

"Well, Liornung, " said Ædegard, "Shall you sing the day's first song or shall I?"

[Imladris]

It is said that the dawn comes softly. Aeron was of a different opinion. The dawn was no shy maiden, but a resplendent queen with a host of heralds at the fore of her crimson train. Long before the mist of dusk had vanished, the birds sang of their lustrous queen with all their might, calling forth men from their pillows and warm blankets to gaze upon her radiant coming.

Dawn glimmered upon the edges of a mottled sky when Aeron opened his eyes. He rubbed them and yawned, shoving his blanket off as he did so. Stray pieces of firewood were scattered about…the mangy dog had evidently been up to some mischief for when Aeron had gone to bed the wood was stacked neatly.

The corsair, with a soft hiss, drew his sword from its scabbard. The Gondorian was asleep. The fool! What, did he think that because he reposed the enemy would not draw nigh? The grass barely whispering of his coming, the corsair placed the point at the Gondorian’s throat and said, “Draw your sword, Scum of the White Tree.”
~

A prickly, ticklish thing pricked Gwyllion’s throat. She opened her eyes and saw her brother, a cruel smile etched upon his face, pointing a gnarled, twig stubbed stick at her throat. “Draw your sword, Scum of the White Tree,” he commanded.

Snorting, she shoved the branch away and clambered to her feet.

The Gondorian (whose ears were awake even though the rest of his senses slumbered) heard the Corsair slink through the grass and, with a mighty, sprang to his feet. He drew his sword and shouted, “Is it not bad form to attack an enemy in repose?”

The Corsair laughed. A silver tooth glittered in the sun and beads jangled in his raven hair. “If I was in the habit of Bad Form, I would have slain you already.”

The Gondorian scoffed. “And you expect me to believe the word of a Corsair?”

“I spit on your insinuations!” the Corsair said.

Aeron spat at Gwyllion. The juicy blob landed on her chin.

“I care naught for your spittle!” the Gondorian cried, as he wiped it from his chin. “It cannot harm me, nor kill me. And as I have no pride, there is nothing for it to wound.”

“You have pride in the lack of your pride. But enough of this petty talk. Are you ready to fight?” the Corsair asked.

With a flourish, the two soldiers saluted each other.

~

The Gondorian is weak, his muscles still bound in slumber’s shackles, eyes wishing for the sweet blackness that their lids bring. See how he slashes futilely at me! Why he can barely hold his sword properly! It is wobbles in her palm as if it has a life of its own! It will be an easy game, easily won.

~

Gwyllion shifted the branch in her hand for a better place to hold it. It was full of shedding wood that lodged itself in her tender palm. It hurt. She looked about her and saw the relatively smooth stick resting in the smoldering fire.

The Gondorian cast his ill made sword away (curse the troublesome blacksmith who had forged it!} and dived for his other sword that rested in the fire. Fire burst from its point.

~

Aeron drew back as he saw the Gwyllion heave the stick aloft from the fire. A small candle flame wavered softly in the breeze as she poised it before her. Warning him that it was alight. The wind would be sure to extinguish it, but the stick would still be hot in the meantime. He shrugged.

“Bad form!” the corsair shrieked, evil laughter bubbling from him. “What is that but not bad form.”

“Cleverness,” the Gondorian replied.

The two were at it again. Sparks flew from their swords: the sword’s flame shortly died in feeble glory, but the tip yet glowed. The dale rang with clashing metal. Sparks flew as the silver blades rasped and vied with each other.

Aeron and Gwyllion danced as they lunged and parried. Their sticks thudded together and splinters flew at the shock. Gwyllions stick snapped and

The Gondorian’s sword snapped in twain as the Corsair with a mighty roar, bore his own sword across the blade. The shards fell from his hands, sparkling in the pure sunlight. With a final lunge, the Corsair drove his sword into the belly of his foe.

Gwyllion clutched at the stick, and, with an agonizing groan, fell to her knees. Her fingers grasped for her broken stick and

with the Gondorian’s final breath, he drove the shard into the bowels of the gloating Corsair. Blood gushed from the wound, entrails spilled onto his hand. With a final, shrieking scream, the Gondorian died.

Aeron clutched at the wound and staggered about Gwyllion’s prone body.

The Corsair, hands dripping with his own blood, cried, “Shall I die in the glory of my victory? No!” He crumpled to the ground.

With a gasp, Aeron pulled himself to his feet and said, “I shall not die! I shall not be vanquished by a Gondorian!”

Gwyllion’s hand snaked out and jerked him to his feet. “Just die!” she hissed.

And thus two men slew each other…

[mark12_30]

When the death throes ended, there was a moments peace, made poignant by several late-falling leaves that drifted downwards upon the dead bodies.

Then the corpses began to smile. Gwillion let a giggle escape her; Aeron smirked, his lips pressing tighter and tighter. His resolute death-silence lasted until a great red tongue slurped across his face.

"Eeeeyeewugh!" spluttered Aeron, pushing the dog away. Raefindan burst out laughing. Gwillion opened her eyes and looked, and seeing the dog so near, scrambled to her feet. The dog turned, and leaped playfully at her.

She threw herself towards Aeron with a shriek that ended in a whimper. He rose and tried to hush her, defend her, reassure her, and fend off the dog all at once. "Fang, come here, " snapped Raefindan.

Mellonin looked on, wondering why this country girl her own age was terrified of a playful dog. "Will she be all right?" she asked Aeron, who glared at her.

Raefindan looked hard at Mellonin, and suddenly, Mellonin's eyes opened wide. "Is she-- is she--" Raefindan held up his hand to silence her. Her lips formed the word moonstruck.

"Hush," said Raefindan to Mellonin.

"Hush, " Aeron said to Gwillion.

Mellonin's heart sank as she studied Gwillion. Ravion had called her brother 'moonstruck'. Was Mellondu reduced to this-- wandering through Rohan terrified of harmless things? She hid her face in her hands.

[Nurumaiel]

"I shall, good Ædegard!" Liornung cried. "I have worked out a most charming little song and have been waiting for the chance to sing it. When we return to Edoras my darling inn shall have a merry little dance with it. Fair Miss Blostma, dancing like a little Elf, and perhaps we can even bring Good Secgrof to twirl about a bit." Hold, then... Good Secgrof he had called that old man, though all others knew him as Old Secgrof. That name could never be fitting for the old man again, for he was far above all of it. Good? Better than good, but good would have to be enough.

The others were watching him. They were waiting for his song, and they should have it. He had written it out in his head, composed a tune for it, and changed the words until it was perfect. As he sang he could see the scene in his head. He felt quite sure that lad and lassie had not wanted him watching them, but it was his sorry luck that he had been passing at the same time.

It was a day early, early in the spring
when a lad stumbled over the grass so green
and he saw a lass milking a cow
and approaching her he gave a clumsy bow.
"Miss Freolic, there is a dance tonight
starting as soon as the stars are bright
and, miss, would you be so kind
as for the length of the dance be mine?"

And it's round we'll dance through the night
tripping and twirling in the firelight.
Take your partner, take your glass;
I'll dance with you, my pretty lass.
Step and heel and round our flight;
your dancing is so fairy-light.

Hearing the lad's weak stammering
the lassie felt her heart start hammering
and hiding her blushes from the daylight
she said that it would be her delight.
He went to get her when evening came
shy as could be, was he to blame?
They went together, the lad in a trance
to join in the sporting at the merry dance.

And it's round we'll dance through the night
tripping and twirling in the firelight.
Take your partner, take your glass;
I'll dance with you, my pretty lass.
Step and heel and round our flight;
your dancing is so fairy-light.

Twirling round and round the floor,
hold, they're slipping out the door;
through the starlight arm and arm
the moonlight holds a secret charm.
To them the music's sound lessened;
he makes a blushing, boyish confession
saying to her, "Would you marry me?"
They kissed each other under the trees.

Oh, it's round we'll dance through the night
tripping and twirling in the firelight.
Take your partner, take your glass;
I'll dance with you, my pretty lass.
Step and heel and round our flight;
your dancing is so fairy-light.

"They married," he said triumphantly, "and have two babies now... twins. When this journey is over I fancy I'll go visit them." He gazed at each member of the company with a certain amount of pride. "It was I that was the cause of their marriage. I daresay he would have gotten around to asking her but he was taking her time and there were other wealthy lads who were intending to take their chance and by the time he got up the courage it might have been too late. I convinced him to ask her to the dance and ask him that night. She was the kind of lassie, you know, that, while she loved him, would get awfully annoyed that he wasn't asking her and eventually marry another lad just to make him upset. It's a good thing I was about." He gave a satisfied laugh and winked at Bellyn.

[Imladris]

His aquiline nose twitching, eyes lidded, and thin lips forced into a smile, the man faced Morien and said, “You would not have happened to notice a lad of about seventeen with black greasy hair pass by here a day or so ago?”

“Many lads pass through the Seventh Star fitting that vague description,” Morien replied. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Sir.”

The strange man frowned and slowly unrolled a parchment. It was a rough sketch of a boy with a mischievous grin and dancing eyes. Morien took the paper and raised his brow. “His name is Aeron,” the man said. “He may go by the name Faran. Did you notice any money missing or anything of that ilk.”

Morien gazed at the paper and said, “Yes, I’ve seen him. He went up to Rohan with some others. A girl and two men. One of whom is a ranger .”

The man nodded and said, “Thank you, Morien.” He tossed a plump velvet bag, turned on his heel, and stalked from the Inn. Waiting upon a sable stallion, was a bean-pole of a man. His bald pate was bound in a black cloth, a single ring, crowned with sapphires, circled his finger, and his right arm was carefully hidden behind a black cloak. His right hand was missing, severed from his body by a Haradrim blade.

“Any news of him?” the merchant asked.

The strange man nodded, and vaulted to the back of his bay. With a clatter of hooves, they left the town.

[Orual]

"For--" Ravion broke off and grabbed the dog, gripping him tight as Gwyllion went into hysterics. The mongrel whimpered, turning confused, liquid eyes to the Ranger. He didn't understand what was going on. But that was all right: neither did Ravion.

He thrust the dog aside and went to Gwyllion. He clasped her shoulder and put a finger gently to her neck to check her pulse. It was already starting to go back to a more normal rate, so Ravion wasn't too worried. He shook his head in exasperation and stepped back, glaring sternly at the girl, who still looked quite shaken.

"Gwyllion, you...can't..." He sighed deeply and turned his back on her for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. As he turned, he saw Mellonin bury her face in her hands. "Mellonin?" She did not reply. "Mellonin? Are you all right?"

"Fine." Her voice was muffled by her hands. He walked up to her and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. The feeling was back: that lightning, that premonition. His hand tensed, and she must have felt it, for her hands slipped down to cover only her mouth. Her eyes were moist and red-rimmed.

"Your brother?" he asked quietly. She nodded, swallowing hard and composing herself. "We'll find him. I swear it to you."

She smiled half-heartedly and turned away from him to go and collect herself. He wondered why he was so sure that he could find Mellondu. It was a big world, and Mellondu was one man in it.

He realized that Gwyllion was still waiting for him to finish his thought. He shrugged, and said, "Be quieter." He then turned and walked away to pack.

[Nurumaiel]

As evening came Ædegard and Amroth began murmuring to each other and had soon settled on where they would camp for the night. When Liornung undid the girth and slid the saddle of his steed's back a regretful frown came to his face. The bay was very exhausted, and as his eyes moved to the packhorse he realized that that horse was even worse off.

"Ædegard," he said, his voice strangely quiet and full of compassion, "I do not wish to exert authority where I have no right, but we have been riding hard these past few days and for the sake of our steeds I would suggest that tomorrow we ride but a few miles at a slower pace."

Ædegard hesitated and glanced at Amroth, but the latter had not been listening. "It highly depends on what Amroth says of it," Ædegard replied. "Looking at our mounts I see there is some sense in what you say, indeed very much sense, but we will discuss it further in the morning."

"We need not decide until then," Liornung assented with a nod. "That is when the problem will arise. For now we should give these horses good care." And so they did.

Liornung did not go to bed immediately when night came, nor did Bellyn. Both sat silently, gazing up at the stars, a look of puzzlement upon the girl's face, for the sound of music and singing was reaching her ears. "Liornung, do you hear those voices?" she questioned.

"Yes, I do indeed," he replied.

She hesitated. She had expected him to say more about it but he had said nothing. "Who is it that is singing?"

"Fellow travellers," he replied. "Those who wander along the hidden paths of Rohan, those who have no fixed home but go here and there, sometimes lingering for awhile and sometimes for only a night. They live a life much like myself, only they are not welcomed into homes as a fiddler is. Rather they are turned away, scorned, and I fear even hated." He paused a moment as if to dwell on this sorrowful thought, but soon continued. "They are called the travelling people.... often they are called wayfarers. No one will feed them, is it any wonder they steal to live? I have travelled with their kind often, at least before the War. Few of them are left now, and so I am enchanted to hear them sing once again."

"What are they like?"

Liornung laughed inwardly. Bellyn was such a curious little thing, but no wonder, as she had never seen or felt the good and bad of the road but only yearned for it. He enjoyed answering her questions. "They are like other people," he replied firmly. "Some of them are good, some of them are bad. They enjoy being together, they love song and dance, and the road delights them. That is why they chose the road. That is why I chose the road." The expression on his face changed to a dreamy look and Bellyn realized that he was no longer talking to her but himself. "I often regret I have chosen the road, especially when I am about my nieces and nephews. I would have liked to get married to some bonnie lass, and have children, and a home, and never travel the road. Alas then... no, but what am I saying? I am young yet! Can one who is not yet thirty years of age be called old? But then... I fancy I would do not to any lass I might marry but make her miserable. Such is my fate. I will be wed to the road." He gave a short laugh, but it was lacking in humor and was tinged with bitterness. "I can do nothing but bring lads and lassies who love each other and don't realize it to realize, and help good Amroth find his lost love. She must be fair indeed....."

He began speaking to Bellyn again. "Now, Miss Bellyn, I would advise both of us to seek some sleep. It may happen that we will ride as hard tomorrow as we have the past few days. I have no doubt that Amroth cares much for the welfare of our horses but I do believe that sometimes he forgets.... At least Ædegard has been in a good mood these past few days. I wonder what has caused it?"

Bellyn's voice was quiet as she replied. "It has struck me more than once these past few days that perhaps Ædegard was only in a bad mood when we first encountered him."

Only in a bad mood when they first encountered him... A look of awe came to Liornung's face and he took Bellyn's hand, placing his lips softly on her fingertips. She blushed in confusion and he laughed. "Miss Bellyn, you cannot expect me to let such good as you have done me to pass by without showing you my gratitude somehow? I have been thinking ill of another and you have very gently and truly led me back to thoughts of kindness. I thank you for it. Now if those gypsies are still about tomorrow we'll seek them out and you can see what they're like for yourself." He released her hand with a gentle squeeze, saying, "Good night, Miss Bellyn," and then he stood and tripped lightly over the ground to where Ædegard was. Bending down he sang a few lines in the young man's ear until he growled and tried to wave the fiddler away. Laughing softly, Liornung lay himself on the ground and stared wistfully in the direction of the wayfarers until sleep closed his eyes.

[Imladris]

Aeron glared at Ravion as the man turned away. Gwyllion sniffed beside him, her breath shuddering as she hovered beside him. Aeron had not quite figured out why she was terrified of dogs. It had not helped that she had heard stories of mad dogs and had heard of how wolves ripped people’s throats out. It was not her fault that she was terrified of them. He frowned, and snapped, “Do not tell her to be quiet!”

Ravion stopped, turned on his heel, and said, “What?”

Aeron stepped closer to the ranger and drew himself to his full height, hoping that this quarrelous act did not count as bad behaviour. “It is not her fault that the dog frightens her.”

“Must she scream so loudly?” Ravion asked.

Of all the blasted, unreasonable things to say. Aeron licked his lips, trying to control the hot anger. “She is not a hardened warrior like you,” he said. “You cannot expect her to do that. Besides,” he muttered, “her fear is not a normal fear. It is sheer terror. It is not as if there are orcs after us. There is no need for stealth.”

[mark12_30]

The next morning, Liornung confronted Amroth with the weariness of his own two horses. "You see, Lord Amroth. Our speed has come at too great a cost."

Amroth did see. He stepped towards Liornung's bay, stroked his neck, and murmured to the horse. The bay snorted, and then reached down for a mouthful of dewy grass.

Amroth stepped back, and nodded. "I have been careless. You speak the truth." He walked to Ædegard. "I will proceed on foot. Echo will not mind walking beside me. You may rest as much as you wish. You will catch me easily when you do ride."

"You need rest too, " Ædegard said with his first real frown in several days.

"Yes, " replied Amroth. "But I will not find it lying on the ground. Farewell til you catch me again."

"Amroth, wait. Stay here. Rest with us."

"Ædegard." Amroth turned back to him, and stepped close, looking up at him.

Ædegard the tall Rider looked down on the slight Gondorian blacksmith. Whatever the state of his elvish mind, weariness was all too evident in the young man's body. Ædegard shook his head. "You are exhausted. You will be sick again ere long."

Amroth reached up and put one hand on Ædegard's shoulder. "I am sick now, friend; and only one can heal me. I would find no rest dallying here. Do not fret; you will catch me easily. I will not hide my tracks, and Echo cannot. Farewell for the morning."

With a nod to the baffled Liornung and Bellyn, Amroth led Echo northward out of the camp.

[alaklondewen]

Nestled in the high branches of his mellorn, Erebemlin sat facing a fiery, young Elf of a much smaller stature than he. The two remained silent and moved not, yet they communicated in thought.

I feel their filthy presence, Silmaethor. Celegtâl flashed his grey eyes. We should dispose of them immediately, before they get too far.

I feel them too. They have crossed Nimrodel…her water is soiled. Erebemlin remained unmoved…a great contrast to his companion’s excitable nature. We will wait. Their number must be known before we take action. Caranduin and Taitheneb will return soon enough…we will wait.

Celegtâl rose and began pacing across the talan. “Filthy Yrch. We…I could pick them off one by one with my bow.” Stopping suddenly, he turned to face Erebemlin, who still remained in the same position, “I will not fail you!”

Erebemlin raised his eyes to meet his companion’s gaze. You need to learn to control your temper, Celegtâl. Patience will benefit us more than haste. With that, the elder closed his eyes and mind to the youth.

The Orcs were coming from the mines of Moria, and although they had crossed the water of Nimrodel, Erebemlin knew they had many miles to travel before they reached the forest. They would stop at the feet of the mountains and wait for nightfall to come further, then they would be fully rested and prepared for resistance.

Erebemlin continued to sit in his silent thoughts, while Celegtâl paced the length of the talan. The two waited for news from their fellow Sinda to make determine what action would need to be taken.

[Orual]

"Besides...her fear is not a normal fear. It is sheer terror. It is not as if there are orcs after us. There is no need for stealth."

Ravion was taken aback by Aeron's outburst. Gwyllion had gotten off very, very easily. He would have let fly with much harsher words, had Mellonin not distracted him. However, his surprise turned quickly to irritation. "How do you know that there are no orcs?" he asked. "You do not know where the orcs hide. And you think that stealth is unnecessary?" He folded his arms over his chest and looked up at the sky, then directly at Aeron. "I suppose that I have been usurped as the Ranger in residence. Perhaps you should lead us now, my brother." He smiled mockingly at the boy, who scowled deeply.

"If you can help it, try not to be ridiculous," Aeron said acidly. Ravion started to lunge at him, but stopped himself. He closed his eyes and counted to ten in a variety of languages.

"I am a hunter, Aeron," Ravion said slowly. "My whole life, I have been a hunter. A protector, a defender, a warrior...but also a hunter. No one knows how to track like a Ranger, and that is my strength as a Ranger. With a sword I am more than competant, but with a trail and a scent I am in my element. Mellonin's brother does not want to be found, I fear. He believes that he has another calling. If he finds that we are following him, he will flee. I cannot allow that. This is my mission. This is what I am to do now. If you think that you can do it better, then, by all means, take it up with Mellonin. Give her a detailed plan of how you propose to find her brother. Give her your credentials. How many people you have found. How many battles you have fought. All the years you spent in training." He raised his eyebrows, giving Aeron a brief chance to respond. When the boy did not, he continued. "Then let me do this my way."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn watched as Amroth left with Echo. Why does he leave if he knows we are to catch up with him anyway? Bellyn wondered, sighing. She gave a clueless look to Liornung, who continued to watch Amroth stride into the distance. "Maybe he wishes to be alone in his thoughts..." Bellyn said absent-mindedly, noticing that Ædegard watched Amroth exit as well, with an upset gaze and a frown upon his face. "Liornung?" Bellyn murmured, and he turned to her, a question in his eyes. "Do you think he wants us to catch him?"

"He told us we would catch him," Liornung replied, laying back down on his back and looking up at the stars.

"Maybe he just knows that we're going to follow him whether he wants us to or not," Bellyn mused aloud but to herself, not sure if Liornung would rather get his rest. "I don't suppose he wants us to follow him and catch up to him again as much as he wants to just find his love. Do you think we will be able to help him find her in the end, Liornung?"

"I think we are all here for a reason, and that is to help Amroth on his journey and learn from it ourselves, whether we find his loved lady or not," Liornung replied, smiling up at the sky. "Now, Miss Bellyn, I think we should use the time Amroth has given us to sleep, and ready ourselves for a full day tomorrow." Liornung rolled over and Bellyn assumed he was asleep or almost so.

"Bella," the artist said quietly. "My brothers called me that. Miss Bellyn is so formal," she pointed out, though Liornung was sleeping. Bellyn layed back and closed her eyes, wondering what would happen if they did see and meet the wanderers Liornung had mentioned and explained. He knew so much about them, and Bellyn wished that she knew as much as he did. Bellyn wondered where the travelling people had actually traveled. Maybe they have maps drawn, or stories of the faraway lands they have been to! Bellyn thought excitedly.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan
When Ravion had pushed the dog away, Raefindan had knelt by it and held it at the neck, ruffling its pendant ears. He handed the dog to Mellonin.

"Ravion, Aeron," he said, stepping forward, and putting his hands between them, pushed back against both their chests and stepped between them. He looked to Ravion. "Friend, your concern is of course just and right that we need caution on the road. Please allow me."

Ravion's brow was knitted, his jaw working; Raefindan could see that he was weighing whether to put this red headed upstart in his place and force his position as leader, or to allow him some tether. After a moment, he nodded and returned to his packing.

Raefindan turned to Aeron. "Friend, you do well to come to the defense of your sister. If you are right in naming your sister's terror as unexplained, maybe I can help. Will you allow me?"

Aeron, pleased with the red headed man's speech, was nonetheless not about to look as if he could be so easily placated.

"First tell me what you would do. I'll not have you harming my - older sister."

"I mean to try to befriend the girl and the dog to each other."

Simply enough said. Aeron's brow rose in open skepticism. "You can do that?"

"I can try." Raefindan looked to Gwyllion. "Would you be willing to try, Gwyillion?" She backed up a step, clearly unsure.

Aeron went to her side. "If you can promise the dog will not hurt her."

"You have my word."

Raefindan retrieved the dog from Mellonin, and knelt beside him, holding him between his neck and forefeet with one hand, scratching his head with the other. "I can't call you Fangless. What shall I name you?" The dog looked up into Raefindan's eyes, his big mouth grinning open, his tongue lolling, delighted for the attention. "Let's see. I'll call you..... I know! Jorje!" Raefindan smiled up to Mellonin, who snickered. "All right then, by Jorje! Gwyllion, my friend Jorje here is not really very different from you. Yes, his mouth and teeth are bigger than yours, but he has feelings -" Raefindan stopped at Gwyllion's sudden confusion. "Um, he fears as you fear. There is nothing that Jorje fears more, than humans who fear him, because when a human fears him, Jorje knows that he cannot be sure what that human will do. So I would like to help both of you stop fearing each other, and become friends. That way, you both will know to expect friendship from each other, and so it will be. The way to do that is for you to approach slowly, with your hand held out before you, with the palm up. I will hold Jorje, keeping him calm, and all you need to do is come. The goal - that is - our aim is for Jorje to sniff your hand, then lick it, and after that, you can scratch his throat. He likes that almost as much as me scratching his ears. See? Now, when you're ready..."

Ædegard

The moment Ædegard had finished fording the Limlight, the world had changed for him: he was outside Rohan for the first time in his life. Though he had never before been far beyond Edoras, Rohan was his land, and he had heard many tales and songs about its many parts. Now all those familiar songs and tales were of no use. He was a stranger now, a wanderer as lost as any other. It was unsettling, and it was exciting. He told himself to calm and think about their situation.

Ædegard knew that Mellon's body was moving toward illness, no matter what Amroth's mind believed. Maybe it was time someone made it clear to him what was going on. Ædegard laughed at himself: as if he had any real idea what was really going on. He did know that Mellon was not putting on an act, that he really did believe himself to be Amroth, and further, that Mellon himself had not shown up since he had taken sick. A mere blacksmith, it was doubtful that Mellon even knew anything about Amroth, although there was no way of knowing that. He wished he had asked Bethberry, or someone who knew something, more questions about everything instead of having been so put out at having to leave his comfortable little life. Oh well. Done was done.

Now Liornung wanted to take Bellyn to the camp of some wanderers that were close by, while Amroth walked on to Lorien. Ædegard decided that he might as well go with Liornung and Bellyn to see what he would.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung cast one last bewildered look in the direction Amroth had gone then took Bellyn's hand. "Come along," he said. "We will go to the wayfarer camp, but we must be brief. I do not like to leave him alone for long." They went over the ground to the place the wayfarers had camped, leading their tired horses behind them. A broad smile came to Liornung's face when he saw many people, their features both fair and dark, going here and there, preparing to leave. "This is a surprise, but pleasant," he said. "Most wayfarer bands I have encountered have been Easterlings, but I see many of my own race here, and Gondorians as well."

A young girl came walking confusedly towards them, an empty pail in her hand. She was of Rohan if one was to judge by her features, for she was tall, fair-haired, and blue-eyed. She studied them dubiously, glanced over her shoulder, and seemed to come to a decision about something. "Excuse me, sirs," she said in a low voice, "but do you know of any stream nearby?"

"So I do," Liornung said with another of his odd bows. "We camped by one last night; it is over yonder." He gestured in the direction of their campsite. She began walking vaguely that way, a cloud of confusion on her face, but he stopped her. "Wait a moment, Miss," he said. "Might I have the honor of learning you name?"

"Argeleafa," she replied shortly, dropping her eyes shyly.

"That is a lovely name. Yet.... if you do not mind me being bold, Miss Argeleafa, I have been impressed by your attitude that you are quite new to the wayfarers."

A blush came to her cheeks and her eyes flamed, but just as quickly she paled and ducked her head quite low. "I must confess, sir, it is so."

"I trust you did not run away to join them?"

"Oh, sir, who would be mad enough...?" A startled look sprang to her face and she stared up at him. "I am only with them because my father, who wandered in his younger days, took a fancy to join them. My mother also did, and so did I. They passed our town just five weeks ago. I have been with them that time and no longer."

"Do you enjoy the life?"

"It seems to me like most other lives. In some ways it is fine, in some ways it is dreadful." She seemed reluctant to say more, but Liornung gently encouraged her. "I do not wish to speak ill of anyone," she said, "for my mother taught me against it, yet... there are some people who do not care for us. They won't feed us when we're hungry and scorn us.... Sometimes we steal." Her lip trembled at this confession.

"I won't say it's good to steal," Liornung said briskly, patting her shoulder, "but you must admit those people deserved it. Hunger is an awful thing."

She did not seem to know what to say to this, so instead she turned her head and her eyes widened. "Oh, sir, I really must go fetch that water. See, they're beginning to go off this very moment!"

"Don't fear," he said, taking the pail from her. "I'll fetch your water for you, and we'll walk with you for awhile. We have a friend to catch up with. I'd like to meet the rest of your company. But again I forget my manners. Ædegard will introduce us all, and I will be back soon."

[mark12_30]

Mellonin watched as Gwillion considered Raefindan and the dog.... Jorje. Her eyes twinkled.

Aeron glanced from Gwillion to Raefindan, waiting, hoping, reassuring his sister with glance and touch. Ravion watched out of the corner of his eye.

Gwillion stared at the dog, and thought, and thought. A few tears of fear escaped her, but she gathered her courage, and began to approach Raefindan... and the dog.

Mellonin smiled, remembering Raefindan's puzzling comment back at the Inn. Well, by George, I think you've got it! She giggled. Ravion looked up at her in surprise, and she giggled again. Ravion's gaze grew more puzzled still, so she quenched the laughter, and composing herself, turned to watch Gwillion.

[Imladris]

Gwyllion swallowed and crept towards Raefindan and the beast he held. The dog can’t hurt me…the strange red haired man is holding it… She held out her hand. The dog snuffed it. His nose was wet: disgustingly wet. Then his red tongue flicked out and he began to lick her fingers. She cringed, and pulled her hand away.

“Why did you do that?” Raefindan asked. His voice was soft, comforting, gentle.

“His tongue is slimy,” Gwyllion said. She was going to say that the dogs licked their food, but realized that wasn’t quite true. The dog was friendly. But that friendliness could be a mask covering malevolent purposes. She narrowed her eyes and frowned at the dog.

“Pet him,” Raefindan urged. “He won’t hurt you.”

Won’t? “Won’t,” she repeated slowly.

Raefindan blushed, and said, “He will not hurt you.”

Gwyllion nodded and stuck out her hand again. With one careful finger, she scratched his head. She smiled. It was a nice dog, she supposed. Besides, what harm could one fang do? "Jorge," she whispered.

[mark12_30]

Echo was a fine companion; peaceful, friendly, unassuming. They waded through the long grass. Amroth laid his hand on Echo's mane, fingers twisted in the strands, and let his eyes close, bending his thoughts all along the edge of the plains. Here and there, he met other thoughts; but always, he moved on.

Mid-morning, his feet stumbled, and he opened his eyes. Echo nuzzled him.

"I am weary, " he whispered. "Why am I so weary?"

Not far in front of him ran a small stream. Beside the stream stood a long and slender horse, a lighter chestnut and taller than Echo. Beside the horse, a thin, grimy, ragged boy frowned at him and took a step backwards.

The horse wore a tattered saddle-blanket and a frayed rope tied round his chin, and that was all. The boy wore several layers of rags that hung loosely off of his body, and had a large bag at one hip.

Amroth greeted him in the Rohirric tongue, but the boy's frown only deepened. He tried Sindarin; no response. An Easterling, then. Long separated from his tribe, or so it seemed. He bent his thoughts toward the boy.

I will not harm you. I will drink from the stream.

The boy shrank away. Amroth walked upstream from the boy, and let Echo drink while he filled his water bottle. Watching the boy with his thoughts, he lay on his stomach, and drank his fill. Then he stood, and looked at the boy.

The boy stood gaping at Amroth, and Amroth gazed back at him, puzzled. The boy seemed to bear him none of the tribal ill-will that he might have expected from an Easterling. He searched deeper into the boy's thoughts. Fear, loneliness, sadness, and cold. He frowned, and looked at the boy again.

Do you have a name?

The boy frowned again, and Amroth pressed his thoughts. What shall I call you?

Pig.

You are a man, and no beast.

They call me Boar. Or Pig.

They speak falsely, for you are neither. Who cares for you?

The boy gave no answer, and Amroth approached him.

Have you no companions, no friends?

Silence, within and without. Amroth grieved for the boy, and the boy saw the compassion in his eyes. He pointed at Amroth.

Amroth smiled. "Mellon." Friend. It is what men call elves around here, or so it would seem.

The lad grinned. "Mellon. Mellon?" His delight was evident.

Amroth smiled at him, and nodded. "We are friends, then. Well met."

The boy answered in a harsh tongue, and Amroth waved goodbye, crossed the stream and continued north.

He heard hoofbeats approaching behind him, and a smile crossed his face. He looked over his shoulder, and there jogging after him on his lanky chestnut was the skinny grimy boy. When Amroth halted and looked up at him, he halted too, and stared.

Amroth turned north again, and smiled at Echo. The lad tagged along.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard trailed Liornung and Bellyn. He had gotten used to them, except for one thing, he now understood. He would never get used to the ease of Liornung going up to aliens and strangers as if they were neighbors. He hung back and watched Liornung speak with the Rohirric girl. What was she doing with these wayfarers? What were these Rohirrim doing with Easterlings? It was disloyalty to King Eomer and all of Rohan!

Ædegard overheard Liornung say that he would introduce the three of them to the girl's folk. The sun would set in the east first. He would have nothing to do with them. He stayed where he was.

"Liornung! We must go! Amroth walks ahead of us and will fall ill if he takes no rest! We must find him! Leave these folk to themselves! They cannot be trusted!"

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung started and stared at Ædegard in a puzzled fashion. A brief flash of anger passed through his eyes and some of his usual friendliness was lacking when he spoke. "Leave Amroth to himself, then," he replied. "Perhaps he cannot be trusted." Ædegard looked taken aback and Liornung colored instantly. "Pardon my harsh words, friend," he murmured. "I was startled and surprised by your words. I had not expected you to speak thus." He looked at Argeleafa and saw she had drawn back in fear at the words of both Liornung and Ædegard. He smiled gently and comfortingly at her, then turned back to Ædegard. "Go to Amroth if you wish," he said. "I will not be long in joining you. This lass is not fit for the life these wayfarers lead. She is Rohirric as myself, not Easterling. Her father had no business taking her from her home. She has been sent to fetch water and she does not know where to go, and I'll hang on a high tree before I let such a lass go by without helping her."

Bellyn, too, seemed startled by the way Liornung spoke but did not show her fear as strongly as the girl did. It was clear to see the young fiddler felt very deeply about these wayfarers and was annoyed with Ædegard.

Argeleafa made a movement as if to leave but Liornung stopped her. "Miss Argeleafa, you would not leave without your water? Come down to the stream with me and we will fetch it. Ædegard, Bellyn, you go catch up with Amroth and see if you detain him. I also fear for him at times." Ædegard and Bellyn began to move off. "And, good Ædegard, please do pardon my harshness. Let me tell you a tale of these wayfarers, if you will, when I rejoin you."

He took Argeleafa's hand as if she were a little child and led her down to the stream. "Sir," she said with some spirit, "you needn't help me. I may not be fit for the wayfarer life but I trust I can carry a pail of water well enough."

"Ah yes, but to find a stream is a different matter. I also wished to speak with you about something very important. My friend Ædegard does not like to see Rohirric people wandering about with Easterlings. I do not say I agree with him entirely, for he feels strongly about his country and those in it. Perhaps he thinks it is wrong of them. I merely find it strange that those of Rohan and even of Gondor would feel differently with them. I myself believe the Rohirric and Gondorians are best suited to stay where they are but I can understand, having broken that ideal myself. They left their homes, and that was their choice, not mine. What compelled them to do so I do not know; perhaps the War destroyed their home and life and they had no other choice." An amused smile flickered over his face. "Perhaps they are only Easterlings in disguise." He did seem immensely pleased at this idea yet with his romantic mind he would. "Yet you have told me your father merely took a fancy into his head to leave. If you will excuse me for speaking thus of your father, Miss Argeleafa, he had no right to and he should have. You were content in your home, and you did not want to leave it. Do not deny it, your face says as much! I am going to speak with your father, Miss Argeleafa, and if he will not go back here and now I will take you with our company and bring you back as soon as my quest is done. That is, if you desire to go."

Surprisingly Argeleafa did not make the protest Liornung had expected, that being that she did not know them. Her protest was quite different. "But sir, how is your life in this quest you speak of different than the life of the wayfarers?"

"It is immensely different," said Liornung intensely. "Ædegard and I travel out of a sense of duty, not because we wished to leave our homes and families. While we are forced to be on the road we have not set aside the custom and manner of our people, of your people. The War changed the lives of so many. I am different than those in this group... I travel about in my work to recall the days of yore, to bring back the traditions where men of Rohan fade away from it because the War ravaged their lands, not because I have turned away from those traditions. Those Rohirric here have abandoned their traditions and taken up with the Easterlings to lead a life they should not lead, and you especially. I do not say when I saw Rohirric people in your group of wayfarers I frowned with displeasure, but upon reflecting I realize I would rather see them sitting in their Rohirric homes, singing their Rohirric songs, and riding their Rohirric horses. I would not see them fade away from their culture and traditions."

Argeleafa spoke immediately when he paused. "Sir, you speak strong words yet true words. I have always loved the Rohirric way of life and I thought my heart would break when my father left it. The Easterlings are not wicked, the Gondorians are not wicked, but I cannot understand their ways of life and I cannot love it. I can live with them but I cannot live the life they live, and I am expected to. I will speak with my father, and if he will not return home I will go with you. That is, if Master Ædegard will allow. He thinks on me in not a favorable light, I think, but perhaps you can persuade him that I am not one of those Rohirric who did not care if they left their traditions or not."

"Fine!" Liornung said. "I cannot explain why I have taken such a liking to you, but you rather remind me of a niece I have and that is probably the reason. Yet I fancy you are older than she is... What is your age?"

"Four and twenty years, sir."

"You are no little girl!" he said. "In truth I thought thus when I saw your bewildered manner, but it proves my point. You do not love this life and you were not made for it. It is not a bad way of life for those like me who are caught up in enchantment by the road. Yet you... not you, Miss Argeleafa, not you." A little smile flickered across his face. "And no matter what good Ædegard says, I deem Miss Bellyn, or should I say Bella at her request, would enjoy the company of another woman. You will find her one who is not lacking in tradition, though she is of Gondor. Speak to your father, I will speak to Ædegard. If your father refuses to return, obtain a horse and ride north until you find us. We will be only a short distance away, less than a mile I think. If your father agrees to reutrn to his home, I bid you goodbye, Miss Argeleafa."

During their speech they had filled the pail with water and returned to the camp of wayfarers. Liornung bowed slightly to the girl, gave her the water pail, mounted his horse and began trotting briskly northward. If all honest truth must be told he was more than a little frightened of telling Ædegard that the young girl might be joining them, especially as he seemed to look upon the Rohirric wayfarers in a disfavorable light. He did not feel anymore at ease when, upon catching up to his company, Ædegard turned to him, a friendly look upon his face. Plainly he bore no ill will against Liornung for previous words the fiddler had spoken to him. 'Twould be hard to shatter such a friendly mood, but for the girl's sake and Rohan's sake it must be done.

"Good Ædegard, I bring you tidings, and whether they are good or ill I cannot say," he said. "I have sent Miss Argeleafa to speak with her father and try to convince him to return to his home. As I have told you, she was not made and brought up to be a wayfarer. If her father will not bring her home - " and here he stiffened and gripped the reins tightly, as if expecting a wild storm to blow him to the ends of Middle-Earth " - she will be coming with us."

[littlemanpoet]

"If her father will not bring her home - she will be coming with us."

Liornung seemed ready to defend his words, which struck Ædegard as odd, for he had not seen the fiddler so determined about anything but to sing.

"If you would know my mind, friend Liornung, I think you did well to convince the girl that she and her father should not live with these folk. Some say, though, that the father ought to have the say over what the daughter does. I do not, or Théoden's Bane would never have been slain by his daughter Eowyn."

Ædegard raised a brow as Liornung took on a befuddled expression.

"What is the matter, friend?"

"I did not expect such a seasoned answer! You have given me a surprsie, Ædegard, which is just as well, for I have always welcomed them."

Ædegard smiled. "I think that Amroth is not far ahead. I wonder, though, that he does not seem to understand, if Amroth he be, that he wears the flesh of a Gondorian blacksmith. Think you that we ought to change his mind so that he knows his limits?"

[Nurumaiel]

Relief and surprise swept over Liornung, causing him to pause for a moment, yet he had never been one to be stricken silent and he answered Ædegard's question quickly. "By all means let us catch good Amroth and do all in our power to make him pause and rest awhile," he said. "I will talk to him in terms that perhaps he will listen to. We will wait for the girl. I saw in her doubtful eyes that her father would not go back... at least not yet."

They urged their horses on with the utmost gentleness. A question bore on Liornung's mind and he brought it forth in words to Ædegard. "Are you sure the girl will be no bother to you?" he asked.

"Bother?" Ædegard laughed. "I trust she is old enough to look after herself but if it comes to light she isn't it will be you, Liornung, who will be watching out for her, not I." A mischievous smile came to Liornung's face and he replied, "Unless I mysteriously vanish sometime?"

"If you do I will pursue you and catch you. I fancy I could watch her well enough but Amroth is already a great trouble."

"And there he is, with a lad walking behind him." Liornung fixed a curious gaze on the thin, dirty lad. He was plainly an Easterling, and the way he was dressed signified that he was one of the wayfarers. Amroth was saying nothing, and the lad surely following him. Liornung called out a greeting and the boy started, twisting in his saddle to stare at them in some fear. Liornung was startled, but it came to him that the lad was most likely used to ill treatment from strangers who did not care for the wayfarers. "Hello, laddie, and greetings to you, Amroth," the fiddler said kindly, putting up a friendly hand.

"Pause a moment, Amroth, and let us speak to you," Ædegard said. Amroth obeyed but when he turned Echo to face them he seemed impatient and eager to continue.

"Amroth, we insist you stop and rest for the day," Liornung said in a firm voice. "You have overworked yourself and are in no condition to continue at your speedy pace."

"Yet I must continue," Amroth said softly. "I cannot rest here."

"But you will," Liornung insisted. "I say this with your betrothed in mind. You must have more faith in her, friend. You must rest so she will find you in good health and spirits." He hesitated. Words could not describe what he meant to say, yet the words of a song sprang to his mind and he repeated them gently.

"I travelled north by hill and glen to find the girl I loved dear
and every day I travelled on she seemed to grow ever near.
Yet in my journey never pausing
without knowledge pain I was causing
to the girl I loved dear.

I reached her home one day in summer when all the grass was green;
I heard her wander through the meadows and in a gentle voice sing.
Yet I was sick and frail
and my courage failed, collapsing at the feet
of the girl I loved dear.

She took me up and cared for me but she had cause to weep
for she could not I and I could not her forevermore keep.
In foolish journey without rest I gave
death one of its victories best, breaking the heart
of the girl I loved dear.

"When I first heard the song I thought 'twas odd and did not care for it much, but I would not wish to see it come as true."

Amroth had paused and seemed to hesitate.

"And consider," Liornung continued, "this lad here who is obviously hungry and weary. We should pause and let him eat and rest and he does not trust us yet, he trusts you. You must stay and feed him, and then again there is a girl who will be coming soon who cannot wander through the wilderness searching for us. We must wait here for her, but we will not stay behind if you go. Good Amroth, I see that you are in haste to find your love, but look to us, to the horses, to the lad, and to the girl. There is no haste to bring grief upon us through illness or death because we could not bide but a day." Turning to Ædegard, he added quietly, "And there, Ædegard, I have tried but for once I find myself unable to speak freely and I falter and stumble. If he will not listen you must try. He will have to pause a day no matter how we bring it about. Good Secgrof sent me to care for him, I will or be hanged as traitorish scum."

[mark12_30]

"Liornung, you speak as a loyal friend." Amroth considered the three riders, pressing his thoughts into the wild boy's mind as he did so.

Ædegard, giver of cloak, blanket and Echo, with fellowship and loyalty to match. Liornung, cheerful, warm, open, kind. Lady Bellyn, quiet, caring, thoughtful, and sweet-voiced.

A little of the boy's fear subsided.

Amroth spoke again. "Liornung, I have no desire to sleep. Sleep brings me no rest; only dreams: dark, pressing, heavy and wearying dreams, cavernous dreams without wind or sky or breath. Good friend, I do not desire sleep."

He swayed in the saddle as he spoke. The wild boy urged his lanky chestnut closer to him, reaching as if to catch him.

[Imladris]

Aeron watched Gwyllion approach the dog, fuming under his breath the entire while. That ranger -- no suitable words could describe him. What did he expect of Gwyllion? She was a young girl, two years younger than himself (though the ranger couldn't possibly know that, for he probably still thought she was older), with strange behaviour. And he just expected her to leave all that behind? It was positively ridiculous.

Aeron scowled at Ravion who was packing the horse, debating whether he should go and help him or now. Let the ranger do his own work Unless the ranger expressly ordered him to help, he was on his own. Aeron grabbed a thick stick and began to whittle it.

[mark12_30]

Under Reafindan's watchful eye Gwillion began to smile, the dog began to wag his tail.

Mellonin sighed with relief and turned to her blankets. In moments they were rolled and tied. Then catching Aeron's eye, she raised one eyebrow.

He stood, and began rolling his blankets.

Raefindan was still with Gwillion and Jorje. Mellonin rolled his blankets and tied them, and picked up his water bottle to fill it for him.

Aeron was almost done with his own packing, but wth a sigh, he realized he would have to pack for Gwillion too, and fill both their bottles. Ravion watched out of the corner of his eye as Mellonin directed Aeron with a glance, a gesture, or a nod.

[Nurumaiel]

Both Liornung and Ædegard started when Amroth began to sway, but they did not ride to his side. Rather they dismounted and went on foot to him. Ædegard reached up to Amroth and helped him dismount, a frown creasing his brow. Liornung shook his head. "Master Amroth, you may not desire sleep but sleep you must," he said. "Come, sit down a moment and regain your strength."

If Amroth had desired to protest he did not. Ædegard firmly but gently led him to where he could sit and Bellyn said, "Might I get you a cup of water, sir?"

"Yes, do," Liornung said before Amroth could reply. "And while you do that, Miss Bellyn, you might see if Miss Argeleafa is anywhere about." He turned to Ædegard with another shake of his head. "I am worried that her father will expressly forbid her to go," he said. "In truth that foul creature would have never been slain if it had not been that Lady Éowyn went against her uncle's wishes, as you say, Ædegard, but disobedience is not good in itself, though it was made that some good should come out of her wrong. I would not desire Miss Argeleafa to disobey her father's request." He fell to thinking and soon Bellyn returned with the water, which she gave to Amroth. He thanked her but did not drink. Liornung did not notice this, however, for the young Rohirric girl was coming towards them, leading a sleek roan horse.

When she reached them she gazed about shyly, and Liornung took her hand eagerly. "It is a pleasure to see you will ride with us, Miss Argeleafa," he said. "I will not ask what your father said; your presence answers that question. I will instead introduce you to my companions. Ædegard and Bellyn you have already seen, though I have not given their names. This Amroth." He led her over to the one spoken of, who stood to his feet and bowed to her. A blush sprang to her cheeks and she curtseyed, murmuring, "I am honored, sir."

"This lad," Liornung continued, "is one I do not know, though something tells me he shall be travelling with us."

"I know him already," Argeleafa replied.

"Ah, do you? But I do not. Introduce him to me, if you will."

"I do not know his name... that is, I know what he is called among the wayfarers but it is an ugly name that I would not give to him." Her eyes softened as she looked at the lad. "They call him Pig."

A look of disbelief crossed Liornung's face and he shook his head in disgust. "Alas for the sorrows of the world," he said. "What a cruel name. There is a lack of love amongst those wayfarers, I gather." He sighed. "But now then, Miss Argeleafa, do sit down. Let us all sit and talk and sing and tell tales and become better acquainted. We have a day to pass, or so I believe. I trust, Amroth, you have decided to rest this day?"

[mark12_30]

The wild boy still had not dismounted. Staring at the strangers, he rode to Amroth's back and halted his lanky chestnut, and together they stood guard behind Amroth.

With a bemused nod at Liornung, Amroth sat back down. "Yes, I will rest. It seems I must." He reached for the water that Bellyn had brought for him, and drank. Then he looked at the long, sweet grass, weighing its softness against the harshness of the dreams. The sun was shining, and the rolling ground gave some shelter from the cold wind. He gave in, pulled his cloak around him and lay down on his back.

The boy slid off his chestnut horse, eyeing the others. Chattering in his strange tongue, he snatched Amroth's wrist and pulled, dragging Amroth several feet. Liornung stepped towards Amroth, but with a squeal the boy stepped between them. Liornung started to protest as the boy burst into a frenzy of motion. He pushed the boy away, and then Liorning saw the blood running down his own hand and arm.

Liornung gaped at the blood while the boy sprang onto his chestnut, drummed his heels into the horse's side, turned him towards Liornung and tried to ride him down. Liornung lurched aside, putting his back to Argeleafa and slapping at the chestnut as he reached for his weapon. By now Ædegard was by Bellyn's side drawing his knife.

"What happened?" said Ædegard.

"He bit me!" said Liornung.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung had drawn the little knife he kept at his belt. He generally did not like to carry a weapon but the road had often proved dangerous and it had been useful. His first thought was to step in front of Argeleafa so she would come to no harm; Ædegard would take care of Bellyn.

What was the lad doing? It had been strange how he had begun dragging Amroth across the ground, it had been stranger how he had attack Liornung, and it was unthinkable that he was on his horse now, trying to ride over them.

Argeleafa touched his sleeve as the boy turned his horse to them again. "Please," she murmured, "don't hurt him. I don't know what he's doing but he's a wayfarer."

Yes, the lad was a wayfarer. He was most likely distrustful of people because people were distrustful of him. Yet Liornung had never known a wayfarer who would attack for that reason. He did not wish to hurt the lad himself, and for Argeleafa's sake, who would naturally feel some devotion to a member of the wayfarer band, he would be even more careful.

The boy had seemed to be considering what to do next, but he had urged his horse on again and he swept by them again. Ædegard had taken Bellyn's arm and pulled her back as he himself leapt aside, and Liornung made a gesture that Argeleafa should stay back. "Ædegard," he said, trying to speak in a tone of voice so Ædegard might hear but the boy would not. "I would not harm the boy, if possible. We should try to get him off his horse. He will be less dangerous on foot, unless it is proved he is armed. And you, Bella, must stay out of harm's way."

[alaklondewen]

“Welcome, mellyn,” Erebemlin rose and greeted the two golden-haired elves as they entered his talan from the trunk of the mellorn. “Tell us what you have learned.” Celegtâl stood in the corner, behind the host, with his arms folded over his chest.

The first ellon, Caranduin, stepped forward and spoke, “We have seen them, Silmaethor. Their number is not many as was feared…only twelve. They have stopped approximately three leagues from our border.”

“Yes, they will wait for nightfall before they try to enter.” Erebemlin turned his back on Caranduin and sat on a small bench that was covered in a material the same golden shade that colored the leaves of the tree.

Now it was Taitheneb’s turn to come forward. “Why are they coming? The war is over. They have no business with us.”

Celegtâl could hold tongue no longer. “Why are they coming? They want to destroy us, the filthy beasts. We must eliminate them before they have a chance to contaminate our forest.”

Erebemlin stood and face the young speaker. His frame towered over Celegtâl as he spoke calmly and firmly, holding him with his thoughts. You speak too quickly, Elloneth. “We are not the only beings who need food to last the winter. They will be in search of flesh to take to their mines.” The elder released the young elf from his gaze and turned to Caranduin and Taitheneb. “However understandable their motives, they will not find what they seek in the Golden Wood. We will be ready for them when they arrive.” With that, Erebemlin snatched his bow and descended from his home, letting the three follow.

[mark12_30]

Amroth sat up with an effort, ran his hand over his eyes, and said, "Mellon, do not fret. You worry too much."

"What?" said Ædegard. "What did you say?"

"Mellon worries too much. He frets too much."

"Mellon? Are you Mellon or Amroth? Mellon!"

Amroth gestured at the boy, who was weaving back and forth between Amroth and his erstwhile companions.

Ædegard snapped back into the present. "What is he doing?"

"He is fretting."

"Tell him to stop!"

"I did so. He paid no heed." With that, Amroth surrendered to his weariness. He lay back, and within seconds was sound asleep. Once again, the lad slid off his horse and tried to drag Amroth away. Amroth did not even stir. The lad shook him and lectured him, casting wild glances at the others, but Amroth did not stir. Finally the boy began to plead.

[mark12_30]

Raefindan watched Gwyllion petting Jorje til there was peace in Gwyllion's eyes, and then he nodded to her. "All right, Gwyllion. Let's walk. Would you like Jorje to walk with you?"

He picked up his pack. The group began walking with the early winter sun behind them, and their shadows were long upon the grass.

[Orual]

The sharp cracks from Aeron's knife against the piece of wood resonated in Ravion's head. Snap. Snap. It had a pattern, an entirely unintentional musicality to it, that stemmed from Aeron's emotions.

It didn't take Ravion's Ranger training to tell him that the boy was angry. He knew from his own experience that every emotion had its own rythm. Happiness was bright and stacatto; sadness was slow and drawn-out; nervousness was quick and brief; and anger...anger was broken, hard, and fast. Ravion sighed, put down his pack, and walked over to Aeron.

"I don't want to be your enemy, Aeron," Ravion said without preamble. He leaned on his arm against the tree that Aeron was sitting under. The boy did not look up at him. Ravion sighed again, and turned to press his back against the trunk. "Aeron. Are you listening to me?"

"I can hear you," Aeron said noncomittally.

"Aeron, this trip won't be pleasant if we fight the whole way. You obviously misinterpreted what I said to your sister. But you have to understand that time is of the essence. If she keeps having these fits, we'll lose valuable time. Now, we can fight, or we can be civil to each other. Which will it be?"

With an air of relief, Ravion waited for Aeron's response. At least he had gotten through it without actually saying the word "sorry"...

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Each day seemed to grow more and more strange to Bellyn. The wayfarers intrigued her, to say the least, but now they had two of the folk traveling with them. The young Rohirric lady, Argeleafa, Bellyn had no qualms with. In fact, Bellyn thought it rather nice to have another companion. Not just because Argeleafa was female, but also because it seemed to Bellyn that she knew as little about adventure and traveling as Bellyn did.

This new wayfarer, the Easterling, who had been called 'Mellon' by Amroth, turned out to be another matter entirely. Bellyn hadn't planned on ever seeing a weapon in Ædegard's hand, much less in Liornung's grasp. The boy had bitten Liornung! Bellyn scowled at the boy as Amroth dazed into and out of consiousness. She tried her best to remember the conclusion she and Liornung had come up with about Ædegard, and hoped that Mellon would calm.

"For one who wished for no sleep, Amroth seems to have dropped off quite easily," Bellyn murmured, looking at Amroth. Liornung sighed and Bellyn caught a hint of a snort from Ædegard, who watched the boy speaking to the sleeping Amroth. Bellyn sighed, glancing at Argeleafa and Liornung, to Ædegard, to Mellon and Amroth, then back again. "It does not look like Amroth shall be waking any time soon."

"Right. We need to get 'Mellon' to stop dragging him around then," Ædegard pointed out, interlocking his fingers and resting his hands behind his head.

"To do that we need to be sure 'Mellon' will not bite us," Argeleafa added softly, and Liornung nodded approvingly to her.

"How do we go about doing this, then?" Bellyn wondered aloud. She wished she was brave enough to walk right up to Mellon and help to tame the lad, but with several glances at Liornung's arm, Bellyn was forced to think twice. "While we all figure how to complete this task, would you like me to tend to your arm, Liornung?"

[Nurumaiel]

As soon as the boy was off his horse Ædegard took hold of the reins so there would be no more danger of being ridden down. Liornung found himself immensely touched by the way Pig pleaded with Amroth, trying to get his friend to wake up. "Hold a moment," Liornung murmured to Bellyn. "I would speak with the boy." He took a hesitant step forward, saying softly, "He's all right, lad, merely tired..." but Pig jumped up and placed himself in front of Amroth once again, glaring fiercely at Liornung. The fiddler drew back warily, remembering his injured hand. Argeleafa touched his shoulder and murmured, "Please let me try to talk to him... he knows my face whether he trusts it or not." She moved closer to the boy, and Liornung stepped back, holding out his injured hand so Bellyn might tend to it.

"Pig," Argeleafa began, but could not continue for she choked on the word. What was it that Amroth had called the lad. It was a strange word and she spoke it hesitantly, her accent Rohirric and her pronunciation of the word odd, but the tone in which she spoke it merited the word. "Mellon..." The boy met her eyes, distrust and confusion in them. "Mellon, please, you must understand that these people here are friends of your friend there - " how foolish she was to have forgotten the name so soon " - and desire to be your friends. If you will not accept their friendship at least do not harm them further."

The boy did not answer, nor did he move away from Amroth, but the dangerous look in his eyes relaxed a bit though he still seemed wary. Argeleafa returned to the rest of the group. "I can do no more now," she said. "At least I don't think he will harm you again, as long as we do not appear to pose any threat to your friend."

Liornung looked with admiration on the neat, white bandage Bellyn had put on his hand and thanked her gratefully before answering Argeleafa. "It will not be easy to bring him to trust us," he said. "It would be best if we merely showed that we are friendly and not show any hostility towards him. I regret sorely that I drew my weapon, and my surprise at his own hostility was no excuse for it." He returned his gaze to the bandage on his hand but this time the expression on his face was rueful. "Alas, I fear this wound will hinder my fiddling in no little way. However I will sing The Fair Maid of Gondor for you again so we might have something to do whilst we wait for the lad to begin dragging good Amroth off again. I have no doubt he will try. Just keep in mind, friends, that we must stop him not through force but through kind persuasion. We'll convince him, if possible, that it would be a good thing if Amroth were to remain resting where he was, for the boy really does cares for him."

[mark12_30]

Ædegard watched the wild boy. The horses grazed here and there. Ædegard, Bellyn, Liornung and Argeleafa traded songs, and stories. Ædegard's stories were as grim as Liornung's were merry.

To Liornung's relief, the wild boy did not try to drag Amroth away again as long as they maintained their distance. Instead, he stood guard and kept his horse nearby. When Echo wandered near, the boy caught him, and kept him nearby as well. As long as the boy remained calm, Ædegard's blade remained sheathed.

Two hours passed in this uneasy truce. Then the day clouded over, the wind blew chill from the east, and shivering in the cold Amroth struggled against his dreams. He murmured and tossed, and the boy began to plead with him again, but Amroth did not wake.

[Imladris]

"Now, we can fight, or we can be civil to each other. Which will it be?"

Aeron raised his head, and glanced at the ranger as they both made their way to the head of the small caravan. He considerred. He supposed the ranger was not that bad...but he had such a cryptic attitude. A scowlish smile flashed across his face and he said, "I suppose we can be civil to each other."

Ravion nodded, and strode to the head of the procession, while Aeron lingered beside his sister Gwyllion. Pebbles lined the way and Aeron stooped and picked them up, cramming them into his palm.

Glancing askance at Ravion, he whispered, "Gwyllion, hold your hand out!" Like the obedient, adoring, younger sister that she was, she did and he deposited the pebbles in her sooty hand. "What is this for?" she asked, raising her brows. He leaned down and whispered something into her ear.

She frowned, then smiled, then frowned again. "If I come under his cold wrath, it's your fault and I won't hesitate to put the blame on you."

He scoffed.

Fingering a pebble, Gwyllion tossed it at Ravion's head. The pebbled darted through the air, and hit the ranger's head with a dull smack. Aeron, at the same time, mimicked Gwyllion's subtle toss with slight exaggeration. She did it again, trying to stifle her laughter, and he mimicked her again, this time with a slightly greater exaggeration.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and glanced back. She was astonished to see Gwillion toss a pebble at Ravion. At a ranger, and a temperamental ranger at that. She is moonstruck, thought Mellonin with deepening horror.

The more she watched Gwillion, the more she feared for Mellondu.

Should she say something? What would Ravion do? Would Ravion's coldblooded fury end in poor Gwillion's sudden death? Or, more likely, Aeron's?

[alaklondewen]

Four fleeting shadows moved effortlessly along the forest floor. The light was failing and they increased their speed until they reached the southwest border of the forest. The obvious leader whispered his orders in a tone that would have been inaudible to any mortal being, and the foursome spread out among the trees. In the upper branches of these border mellyrn, talain, very similar to Erebemlin’s dwelling yet smaller in diameter and unfurnished, were built for the border guards when Lorien was more populated before the War of the Ring. It was on these talain that the four elves waited for a sign from an enemy that was surely approaching.

Erebemlin’s gaze pierced the growing darkness. He expected to see the Orcs moving in the next few hours, but he would not be taken off guard if they arrived sooner rather than later. Repositioning is longbow in the palm of his hand, the Sinda made himself ready for a long wait and the battle to come.

[Orual]

Ravion was feeling fairly good about himself. He had made up with the boy, and now that problem was out of the way. There was nothing that made a journey less pleasant than quarrelling within the group. This wasn't going to be an easy journey anyway, from what Ravion could see, so there was no sense in making it harder.

Ravion heard a sharp noise followed by an even sharper pain. His right hand flew to the base of his skull. What was that? He glared behind him at Gond. The horse looked at him impassively. "Watch what you kick up, beast," Ravion muttered, playfully shoving Gond's head to one side. The horse snorted and looked unimpressed.

Ravion rubbed his head and frowned. It was actually unlikely that Gond had kicked up a pebble that would have hit him on the head. Perhaps it was an acorn, or some other kind of nut? He looked up at the trees quizzically, squinting. One moment too late, he heard a whistling sound and turned his head quickly--just in time to catch a pebble on his cheekbone.

His head whipped back from the impact, and another pebble caught him on the back of the head again. He stumbled and tripped on a root protruding out into the road that he would have seen otherwise. He brushed aside the hand that Raefindan offered to help him up.

He stood and dusted himself off, letting the moment linger to make Aeron nervous. He turned slowly and faced Aeron. He had taken a breath to start his tirade when he saw Gwyllion glance at her hands, then wipe them off fiercely on her skirt.

Ravion knew that his face was probably turning red, in addition to the small spot of blood that had pooled by the place where the pebble had hit his cheek. "Aeron. Gwyllion. I brought the two of you on the condition that you would behave. Does this look like behaving to you?" He gestured to his cut. "I'm going to survive. I'll be fine. It doesn't even hurt anymore. But that is not the point. What you did--Gwyllion--was irrational, immature, and dangerous. You could have done worse with that pebble than hit me. Picture, if you would, this situation: you throw the pebble. You misfire--really, it is not that difficult to imagine. You hit Gond's back foot. I have Gond's lead wrapped around my wrist. Gond panics, bolts. I break my forearm as I am dragged along. Raefindan moves to help me, gets kicked in the stomach by Gond. Perhaps suffers some internal damage. Mellonin runs to see if Raefindan is all right, trips over a tree root and--"

"I think I understand your point," Gwyllion said quickly, swallowing hard. Ravion smiled grimly.

"My intent is not to intimidate you," the Ranger said. "I want to make sure you know the possible consequences of your actions. Maybe for a while it will mean that you act less. This would be a good thing, perhaps. Rangers are trained to try to see every possible end to your action. You have heard, of course, of Bilbo Baggins? He invited the wizard Gandalf for tea one day. The rest, as they say, is history. There is no way he could have known that that invitation would have had the consequences it did. I do not expect you to be able to foresee unforseeable ends. I have high standards, but I try to keep them realistic. I do, however, want you to think before you act. Or I will tie you both to Gond and ride you straight back to whoever Aeron stole that necklace from." He glowered at the siblings once more, then went back to Gond.

[Imladris]

Gwyllion dropped the remainder of her pebbles, and glared at Aeron. He always had to be up to something, and then he would drag her into it. She should know by now that she should not do what he asked, no matter how hard he begged. She breathed heavily and stared at the ranger. One of her pebbles had hit his cheek, making blood --- " You made him bleed! she shrieked, whirling on Aeron and ramming him to earth. "You made him bleed! Blood! " Red blood seeping down his cheek, staining his tanned skin. She began to pummel her brother, slamming her ill-shaped fists into his stomach. He had caused him to bleed...bleeding was bad...very bad...bad things happened when somebody bled...red blood...how could Aeron have made her to do that...bleeding...he was bleeding...people died when they bled...people were hurt when they bled...blood was bad...red was bad...blood...blood...blood...

***********
Aeron was caught off guard when she sailed into him, pushing him onto the hard ground. She was screaming about blood and trying to pound his stomach into a pulp. He caught her wrists with one hand while with the other he covered her mouth. She struggled like a mad dog and he shouted, "Stop it, Gwyllion! Stop it! " He slapped her on the cheek again -- as hard as he could. What was happening to her...she was growing worse...having violent fits that she never had before.

Her struggling dwindled away into shakes and tremours through her limbs; her breathing became short quit gasps; and her eyes rolled violently around in their sockets, like a frightened stallion's.

"He was bleeding, Aeron," she whispered. "He was bleeding -- I am sorry -- I made him bleed..."

She could barely talk and she was gulping so much air that she started to hiccough. "It is alright, Gwyllion," he crooned, smoothing her hair.

"It is not alright," she snapped, pulling away from him. "It is not...it is not..not."

Aeron saw Ravion snort and stride towards them. Aeron stood up and dragged Gwyllion to her feet, whispering, "Gwyllion, this has to stop, now. Do you want us to go back and face them? "

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

The merchant climbed from his sable horse and stretched his back. Pops exploded up his spine and his ribs groaned. "I am hungry," he said. "We must rest -- and let our noble steeds rest as well," he said, patting his horse's shoulder with his good hand.

"They will get ahead of us," the man said, rubbing his aquiline nose.

The merchant laughed and retorted, "With what for speed? Horses are not cheap, Assistant. Why should a poor farm girl, a thief, and whoever else join them have each have a horse? No, we'll catch them by morning. For now, I shall have my lunch."

As the Assistant prepared the meagre fare, the Merchant uncovered his right arm, and gingerly touched the scarred, jagged surface of his missing hand. It intrigued him to touch it -- it's spongy surface delighted in being felt -- his fingertips enjoyed the morbidness of touching the scar. It allured him to touch it.

"What did the boy steal?" the Assistant asked. "You have never told me."

The Merchant raised an eyebrow and said, "He stole a necklace of great price. A string of pearls adorned with rubies. A lovely piece of work and it will fetch a good price if the boy has not gone and lost it."

"And what if he has?"

"I will drag him to the prison, toss him in there like to a bone to a dog, and then I shall force pay it back to me one or another. I am sure there will be plenty of work that a strong prison lad could do," he added with a thin smile.

[Nurumaiel]

Bellyn glanced over at Amroth and bit her lip in concern. "Liornung, Amroth hasn't woken yet."

"Nor would I," Liornung replied, his voice absent as he gazed up into the sky, "if I had been going as hard as he had." He said no more, which was odd. It was unlike Liornung to remain so quiet, but perhaps he had grown tired of talking so much during the past few days. As he gazed at the sky now, his thoughts wandered back to his family. His mother and his father, his sisters, his brothers, and all their children. His sister Heardbrim, especially, came to his mind. She was only two younger than he himself, and the most like him of all the others in his family. She had always adored him and looked up to him. She was quite interested in his music, as well. She had a lovely voice that harmonized with his well and when he visited her they would always sing late into the night. She had married a man called Godhererinc and had one child now... and another one coming! The first child was a little girl called Eorcanstan, who most sadly looked more like her father than her mother. Her father was a handsome man and she was a very handsome little girl, but Liornung had wanted her to look like his beloved sister. As he reflected he remembered that Heardbrim had always been a lovely cook.

The sun was beginning to set; the evening was growing dark. They should build a fire soon so they might cook their supper... Turning to Argeleafa, he asked her abruptly, "Can you cook?"

"Yes," she replied, instantly though she was apparently surprised at the blunt question. "My mother taught me how. Why is it you ask?"

"Perhaps Bellyn would like some help cooking tonight," Liornung said, getting to his feet. "I can build a fire, you can begin your cooking, and then I will tell you a story while you cook. Ædegard, I trust you will keep a close look on that boy and Amroth? Good, then we'll get started." He went here and there, gathering wood, and soon a little fire was blazing and the two lassies were cooking over it. It was then that Liornung sat down and began his tale.

"I would sing to you, you understand, save my hand. This story takes place when I was a boy, which was before the War, mind you. So you shan't be completely confused I'll tell you the names of my brothers and sisters. The eldest was my brother Indryhten, and then my brother Leofan, and then two twin sisters, Clæne and Scima. Their names meant 'pure' and 'light.' Lovely names, don't you think? The next was another lass, called Fealu. Then two more brothers, though not twins, called Hwonflod, and younger than him Sarig. The latter is myself. Then another girl, called Heardbrim, another girl called Freofaemne, and a boy called Geliefan.

"Now in this story all of us had been born except Geliefan. I was only a little boy, about five years of age, I think. My oldest brother was six and ten years. We were living in Edoras at the time. Now one day, Leofan decided to go out riding and some of us believed it would be a lovely adventure. Scima, Fealu, Hwonflod, and I all wanted to go. Leofan consented but we didn't own enough horses for all of us to ride, so it was two riders for each horse. Leofan rode by himself, Scima with Hwonflod, and I rode with Fealu. It is very important that you pay attention to was riding with who, because that is part of the story.

"We rode out as soon as we could get the horses ready, and we rode about five miles without anything of any interest happening. It was a lovely day, though, and Fealu and I sang some songs. Little children songs, you understand, not anything very bardish. After those first five miles, however, our song was interrupted by another song that was sung in a language we could almost understand. It was quite similiar to our Rohirric, you see. The song went...

"Min ridan in morgen mid fugol galan
ac min galan leoð gelic fugol.
Far fugol fleogan min fleogan
ac min ætstandan mid min lician.

"It was a wierd song, sung in a very blood-chilling tune. Yet the words were not frightening. I think they ran thus, 'I ride in morning when bird sing and I sing song like bird. As far as bird fly I fly and I stop when I please.' It made no sense to us but the most frightening thing about the song was the grammar." He looked at Bellyn's raised eyebrows and laughed. "Well, at the time the tune of the song itself was the most frightening yet now that I am older and reflect on the tune....

"We halted our horses, all except Leofan who did not seem to care about the song, if he heard it at all. Seeing that he would not wait for us, we rode after him, closer to the the singing voice, which began the strange song all over again. Fealu grabbed my hand and held it tightly. She was older than me, of course, but she was a girl and wanted a boy to take care of her, even if he was younger than she. But that is not of any matter. As we rode closer to the voice (and then it seemed to me that Leofan had kept riding to see where the voice was coming from) it's song changed and it sang, 'Horse man come now, five they be, they come and hear me sing. Let they hear if they ride here they die.' That were the words in his song only he sang them this way...

"Eoh beorn nu, fif man beon
man cuman ac hieran galan.
Lætan man hieran gif man
ridan her man gefaran.

"Rather frightening, don't you think? Leofan abruptly turned his horse and said we were to go home now. Hwonflod and Scima followed him most obediently but I wanted to see who was singing that awful song. I was very adventurous even back then, you see. Leofan did not look back, neither did Hwonflod and Scima, so they did not see I was left behind. Fealu did not notice that they were leaving us until they were gone, because she had been staring in the direction of the song and had ears for nothing else. When she did see she became frightened and asked what we were doing. 'We're going to see who is singing that song,' I replied. She began to cry and told me she didn't wanted to go, but I told her she had no choice because she couldn't walk all the way home.

"I rode in the direction of the voice and it began singing the song louder and harder. I had some doubts myself... the voice had clearly said if we rode to it we would die, but I believed it wouldn't actually kill us. We had a horse, besides, and could ride away as fast as ever we wanted to. I confess it never occurred to me that the voice would have a bow, and so it was quite fortunate for us it didn't. When we reached the voice I was surprised and a bit disappointed. It was an old man sitting atop a rock. He was very small and very frail-looking, and he had hair white as any snow and cloud, but his eyes were dark. He seemed not to be armed except for a small dagger he wore in a belt.

"'Why did you come?' he shrieked when he saw us. 'I said that if you came you would die!' I could not answer, for I was suddenly as terrified as my sister was. The little man sat back and glared at us. 'You are just children. I cannot kill you,' he said. 'Yet your sister is very pretty looking and seems strong. She will come with me and be a servant to me.'

"As you can well imagine I wasn't going to let that old man make my sister into his servant, and so, sitting straight in my saddle, I looked him straight in the eye and said, 'No, sir, you shan't. My sister will come home with me.' Fealu had looked like she was going to start crying again but at my words she tightened her grip on my hand and didn't look as afraid.

"'What do you mean, I shan't?' the old man cried. 'It's either that or kill you both. What would you rather?'

"'It shall be neither,' said I.

"'Well then, seeing as your so determined, this is what we'll do. You are just a very little boy now but ten years forward on this day you must come to this rock again and come to my home and serve me for seven years. After seven years you can go home.'

"'And what shall you do to me if I do not?' I questioned him.

"'I shall come to your house to fetch you, and if you will not come even then I will take up my dagger and kill your family.'

"I decided the best thing to do was agree for the moment, and the old man let us ride home. I did not say a word of it to anyone and made Fealu swear she would remain silent, as well. Ten years passed and that day came again. I was quite aware that I was supposed to ride out to the rock and meet the old man but I had made up my mind that I should not, for I did not want to serve him for seven years, nor even one. Yet one day as I was rambling up and down the roads in Edoras the old man appeared as if from nowhere and confronted me with glinting eyes. 'Ten years are up, Sarig Eohlaford,' he said. 'You must come with me now.'

"'And what shall you do to me if I do not?' I questioned him again, and again he answered, 'If you will not come even now I will take up my dagger and kill your family.'

"I thought of my family and all my brothers and sisters. It would never do for them to be killed, and so I said, 'I will go with you, old man, and serve you for seven years.' He laughed triumphantly and then, taking up a scrap of cloth, covered my eyes and began to lead me away. 'You must not see the road to my home,' he said. 'No one has ever seen the road to my home except myself.'

"How long we went on I know not but at last we stopped and he pulled the cloth from my eyes and I found myself in a strange little cave. 'This will be your home for seven years, Sarig Eohlaford, and for those seven years you shall not leave this cave. If you leave this cave before those seven years are up you will serve me seven more years.'

"It seemed a hard fate to face, being confined to that little cave for seven whole years but I realized the more patiently I bore it the sooner I would be out. For a year I served him, doing whatever he said, whether it be scrubbing the cave floor or washing his clothes, and never a glimpse of the outside did I see once. He went out every night, but to prevent me from escaping he would give me with my supper a cup of wine which made me sleep until the next afternoon when he returned. He would always watch me keenly to make sure I did drink it, but one night he neglected to do this and I poured the wine out under my mattresses where he would not see it. I then pretended to fall into a deep sleep. When he was gone I crept out of my bed and followed his tracks until I came to the rock where I had first met him, and he was dancing on top of it, singing,

"Every night boy sleep
while I go out and sing song.
For seven years he serve me
and when those years gone I kill him.
Yet he could leave now
if he would defeat me in duel.

"I returned to the cave as quietly as I could and as quickly, for it took some thinking to remember how to get there, but when I reached my bed I realized I was the only one besides the old man who knew where the cave was. I climbed into my bed and let myself sleep until the afternoon when he returned and woke. I worked throughout the day and until evening, thinking how I would soon be free for I thought nothing should be easier than defeating the old man in a duel. He was so frail he surely could not even lift a sword, let alone wield one with skill enough to defeat me.

"That evening he brought me my supper and the cup of wine and sat down to watch me eat and drink. I ate all my food but when I came to the cup of wine I dashed it the gruond. The old man sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing, and cried, 'Drink it, Sarig Eohlaford, or I will make you serve me seven more years!'

"'I shall serve you not a day more!' I cried. 'I challenge you to fight me with sword, old man, and if you lose you are bound to release me from your service.'

"The old man seemed to pale when he heard this but he left the room. Soon he returned with two swords, and giving one to me, said, 'Sarig Eohlaford, you know that if you defeat me in a duel you are free to go whenever you please. I do not know how you learned this, but you will not defeat me. And mark this... if I defeat you there is a condition you must follow. You will be bound to serve me for all your life.'

"I laughed at him and agreed, and we began our duel. He sprang forward with such agility and grace that I was taken aback and barely managed to avoid being cut to pieces. I defended myself desperately, time and time again being driven aganist the wall and narrowly escaping his strength-filled and sly blows. At last I began to grow weary and thought how I would spend the rest of my life within that cave, never seeing my family again. I would never see my little sister Heardbrim, who was my pride and delight. This thought drove me into a deep sorrow and then in a sudden rush courage flowed into me and I determined to defeat this old man and return to my family. I began to fight like a madman and soon had him against a wall. He defended himself most skillfully but at last the point of my blade found his swordarm and drove into it, and with a cry he dropped his sword. I kicked it from his grasp and put my own sword to his throat. He glowered at me for sometime, then at last said, 'You are released from my service, Sarig Eohlaford.' And then the sword in my hand vanished and I found myself holding thin air. I turned to leave and felt his foot on my back, pushing me forward. 'Get out of my sight!' he cried in great anger, giving me a hearty kick that sent me all the way out the cave door. When I saw the sunlight I began to run as fast as ever I could, for I didn't want to give him time to change his mind.

"When I returned to my family there were many festivities to celebrate my homecoming and I told them I had merely been lost somewhere in a strange land. I lived there in Edoras with my family until the day I left to become a wandering fiddler. And that ends my tale."

Bellyn was staring at him with wide eyes. "It was the strangest tale I've ever heard, Liornung," she said. "Is it all true?"

A mischievous grin flashed across Liornung's face and he shook his head. "You are too wise, Bella," he said. "Not, it was not true. That day the only exciting adventure we had was when Fealu and I fell off our steed, and when I was ten and five years of age I had no such adventures. But it was a lovely tale and I thought I'd tell it."

Argeleafa was smiling. "Supper is ready," she said. Liornung scrambled over to the fire and looked with delight and the food, crying, "You two young lassies are true cooks, if ever there were cooks in the world." Then, turning his eyes towards Amroth and the boy, added in a warm tone, "Come sit with us, lad, and eat some of this food."

[mark12_30]

Ædegard, Bella, Argeleafa, and Liornung gathered around the fire on the side away from the boy, and made room for him. Liornung stood, morsel in hand, and beckoned to the boy.

The wild boy sat shivering, eyeing the food; but he did not move.

"Dont' waste your time, " said Ædegard.

Liornung smiled at Bella. "Well, if he acts like a wild animal, perhaps he can be tamed like one?" He approached the wild boy, who started, jumped up, and stood over Amroth. Liornung halted, showed him the food, and slowly put it down on the sweet grass. Then he backed away, and sat down by the fire. He pretended to take no notice as the boy inched forward towards the food.

When the morsels were gone, and the boy was once again guarding Amroth, Liornung took another handful of food, and walked sideways toward the boy, leaving the food a little closer to the fire this time. Again they pretended not to watch him. Liornung doled out handful after handful of food, despite Ædegard's protests, and each handful was left closer to the fire. Finally he came within ten feet of the group, but would come no further.

"Well, " said Liornung, "After that fine meal, Bella and Argaleafa, I think I shall rest. But this fire isn't in quite the right place; rather, I prefer to sleep over there." And he pointed to a place not twenty feet off.

The rest exchanged glances, but Liornung marched off and gathered another armful of firewood. They studied him, baffled, but at Ædegard's disgruntled shrug, he and the ladies joined in the search for firewood. Liornung started the new fire, cared for his horses, arranged his bed and lay down with his head on his belongings. The rest gathered around the new fire, Ædegard still glaring at the wild boy.

"Let him rest! Leave him alone!" snapped Ædegard, placing his hand on the pommel of his weapon. Liornung laid his hand on Ædegard's arm. The rest looked up; the boy replied with a stream of harsh words as he dragged Amroth towards the old fire. Echo and the boy's horse were brought closer, and the boy settled down around his fire. They tossed some wood near him, and he added it to the fire.

Ædegard let go of the pommel. "I will take the first watch," he growled.

[Orual]

Ravion swiped irritably at the small cut on his face. It really wasn't that bad, but it did sting. He didn't want to waste any of his bloodmoss on it, but he did wish he had something to bring down the slight swelling that had begun around the cut.

He turned around when he heard Gwyllion start to rage. She was beating on Aeron's stomach, having already knocked him to the ground. He exchanged a quick, worried look with Mellonin--even if he didn't like the siblings, the last thing they needed was a serious injury--and strode quickly over to them. Aeron pulled Gwyllion up and whispered something to her, dusting himself off.

"Ravion, I know what you are going to--" Aeron began, but Ravion held up a hand.

"Save your breath. Or at least get it back before you start wasting it," Ravion said, his voice less snide than he would have had it. Gwyllion's outburst, this time, was more worrisome than irritating. "Gwyllion, go into Gond's saddlebag--the one closest to his head, on his right side. Find a reddish-brown powder and bring me a pinch. It should help Aeron's sore stomach." He raised an eyebrow at the boy before Aeron could protest. Gwyllion nodded and left.

Ravion took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face, over his hair and to the back of his neck. "Aeron, I know that we are not friends. And I know that what I am about to ask is probably more personal than you'd like to share with me. But I have to know this. If you will not tell me for my sake, tell me for Mellonin's sake. Will Gwyllion stay like this? Is something wrong with her? We cannot allow her to continue like this. What caused that outburst? We are too far along to send her home, thus, we must find how to keep her calm. We cannot afford many more of those outbursts."

[Imladris]

Aeron glanced up at the ranger, raised his eyebrows, and said with a shrug, "I do not know if she will stay like this. She could get worse. She was never like this. She was never violent in her fits."

Ravion nodded and then said, "Yes, but why does she have these fits?"

Aeron heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. He did not want to tell this stoic ranger, this probably fearless ranger, that, as far as he could fathom, she was terrified of blood -- that the mere sight of it was enough to send her into a trembling fit of abject fear. Yet it still did not make sense. Why did she become violent? She had never done that before. Unless, of course, it was just that she was furious at him for asking her to through the pebbles...but that had been a harmless joke and even Ravion had not lost his temper. No, the fear was the seed of the anger. But when she used to cut herself (before he had realized her extreme fear) when he asked her to prepare some vegetables for cooking, she had never blamed him or become angry with him. Could she actually like the ranger? He almost choked and he darted a glance at Gwyllion as she came back with the powder.

The powder reminded him of the pounding she had given him. He wondered if he should just live with the pain that was slowly growing and refuse it. Who knew what could come down the road. How did it feel to be in pain? He glanced at the ranger and studied him. How many battles had he been in where he had been in terrible pain with no herb to relieve it? How did it feel to be in such pain. Straightening, he said, "No thank you Gwyllion. If I need a little pinch of that strange stuff because of my sister's weak punches, I am quite the sniveling fool." He glanced down at her, and turned away slightly. Her punching had been much more than weak -- a good deal stronger than he would have expected from her. But no matter.

"You did not answer my question, Aeron," Ravion said, drumming his fingers.

How he did harp on that! "She is afraid of blood," Aeron said, shaking his hair from his eyes. "And I do not know why."

[mark12_30]

Ædegard was just about to wake Liornung to take the next watch, when they were all awakened by a hoarse shout from Amroth. Ædegard jumped to his feet, followed by Liornung.

The wild boy jumped up as well, and faced them, even as Amroth struggled to his feet round-eyed and gasping. Everyone halted but the horses, who milled and snorted at the edge of the firelight.

"Amroth, what ails you? Amroth?"

His fears ebbed. "Dreams. Again, the dark dreams."

"You are feverish, " said Liornung. "The dew lies heavy on your face."

"Feverish, " Amroth repeated. He brushed his forehead, then studied his moist hand with a frown.

The wild boy tugged at him, jabbering. "Yes, Mellon, I will rest again. You were guarding me?"

The wild boy straightened and nodded.

Amroth said, "From my other friends."

The boy hung his head, and Amroth smiled. "You need not fear them. I do not. They have proven themselves true and good."

Ædegard spoke. "Why does he understand you and not us?"

"I speak to his heart even as I speak to his mind. What do you wish to tell him?"

Liornung held up his hand. "We won't hurt him, if he won't hurt us anymore."

"Mellon, you hurt Liornung?" Amroth said coldly.

Panic kindled in the boy's eyes. Amroth stepped forward and touched his shoulder. "You must not hurt my friends. Promise me this."

The boy responded in a rush of harsh, fearful words, and Amroth waited. Slowly his tone changed to pleading, and Amroth waited still. Finally he grew silent, and Amroth quietly said, "I have named you my friend, Mellon. But you may not, and will not be my only friend. If you will ride with me, you must agree to this."

The boy stamped his foot and things might have gone ill, but Bella drew near holding out a peice of last night's bread. "Mellon?" she said softly.

"She will not hurt us," Amroth said. And he took the wild boy's hand in his own, and let Bella place the bread into the boy's hand.

Confusion fought with fear in the boy's eyes, but he put the bread in his bag. Liornung brought him some raisins. Argeleafa brought a blanket, and draped it over the boy's shoulders. Amroth steadied the boy for each gift.

Ædegard hung back, scowling, and he and the wild boy glared at each other making no attempt to conceal their hostility.

Liornung approached Ædegard. "Give him this apple."

"I think not."

"He is travelling with us whether we will or no," said Liornung.

"So we have nothing to say in the matter!"

"Amroth did not ask us to follow him either."

Ædegard stood, wrestling with the temptation to take both his horses and return to lands where folk were reasonable. He looked at Amroth, still holding the boy.

"Why should he come with us?"

Amroth replied, "He has been hunted like a wild boar."

Ædegard wrestled with his emotions. Finally he took the apple from Liornung, and approached the boy, and without looking at him, dropped the apple into his bag, turned, and walked away.

"Now, " said Amroth. "Will you be kind to my friends?"

With an air of defeat, the boy nodded. But he stole a glance at Bella, and said something in his strange tongue.

She looked startled. "What did he say?"

Amroth raised both eyebrows and tersely replied, "That you are wondrous fair."

Ædegard and Liornung's eyes went wide, and their old fears gave way to a new one. Silently they resolved never to leave either lady alone.

[Orual]

Ravion sighed when Aeron turned down the powder, and wondered briefly how old the boy was. He remembered turning down help for pride, but he had recovered from that particular affliction when he suffered a particularly nasty bruise from the blunt side of a spear, along with some broken ribs. He was offered medical help, and accepted it eagerly. There was some teasing, but the bruise was gone, and he hadn't suffered any permanent damage.

Ravion waited for an answer, but Aeron was too busy posturing and looking brave. "You did not answer my question, Aeron," he said.

Aeron seemed reluctant to answer. "She is afraid of blood," he said. "And I do not know why."

"There are numerous reasons why a person might be frightened of blood," Ravion said. "A serious accident as a child. Perhaps she was injured, or one of your parents was? If she associates blood with the pain of a loved one--"

"She is just scared of it, all right? I said that I do not know why. What more do you want?"

"I want to find a solution to this. Gwyllion will injure herself if she keeps doing this. She will start raging on someone other than you, and they will defend themselves." Aeron stared at Ravion, obviously getting ready to defend his sister. "Not me. Try not to be an idiot. But what about Mellondu?" Ravion lowered his voice, but he was fairly sure that Mellonin had not heard. "You recall that we are chasing a moonstruck blacksmith. I have not met him. I do not know if he is violent. If he is, and Gwyllion continues acting this irrationally, he might post a threat to her. You must do something about it, or allow me to."

[Orual]

The wind brought with it strange scents, and Erundil's travels brought strange tidings.

The man across the table had a red face and an overly free tongue from drinking too much. "They say the blacksmith-elf lord is nearing the Limlight. Maybe he's headed back to his throne!" The man's friends guffawed appreciatively, and the man raised his glass and took a deep swig.

The Ranger stared evenly at him, his bright blue eyes showing nothing. The man coughed self-consciously. "Look, the lad is crazy. There's nothing more to be said of it."

The Ranger shrugged. "I think that you are likely wrong," he said, standing up and passing a few coins to the innkeeper. "There is almost always something more to be said."

The Limlight lay to his north. What interested him more lay right before him. A campsite, and around it lay several people. Two men, from what he could see, a girl, and two boys.

Erundil watched them for a moment, his eyes taking in every detail. They had not heard his approach. That was good, it was as he planned it. He did not know if the boy was truly insane--he did not know if he was dangerous--but there was no wisdom in testing fate. He had his bearings. He knew the land now. He knew his opponents, if it came to a fight.

He stepped on the grass, and let them know of his presence.

[alaklondewen]

Ugrashk ran quickly in the dark. He hated going on these “missions”. Of course he wanted the flesh to fill his growling stomach, knowing all too well the harshness of the winters in the mountains, but he hated leaving the confines of the mines. The fresh air made his head light and the fragrance of the land between the mountains and the forest turned his stomach. Then there was that wicked forest. He hated the nasty elves and that golden forest more than he hated the fresh air and grass. If they were lucky they would get to have some real fun reeking havoc in there tonight. Nashka would never let them go too far in because he always wanted to stick to the orders, but they might get to play some nonetheless.

Years ago strange stories came about Orcs following a band (this was around the time of the fall of the great demon) that entered that wretched place and were never seen again. There had always been rumors of the dangerous Lady that haunted the forest, but after the War, she left and the place has never been the same. The forest may not have been as dangerous, but it was still disgusting to Ugrashk. He cringed at the thought of those nasty elves and their songs.

After moving for a few hours, the forest finally loomed ahead in the darkness. Nashka barked orders at the group to form their line, and Ugrashk fell in. The great shadow of the trees grew and became an immense black mass in the grey shadows of the moonless night. Ugrashk growled under his breath as he readied himself. Moments after, he heard what sounded like a whistle, coming from where…he could not tell. He turned his head to see if it one of the Orcs behind him, if so he would shut them up in a hurry. As he turned back to the front, several things happened so quickly that he was unsure of what was taking place. First, the soldier directly in front of him collapsed, whether he had tripped or something else, Ugrashk did not know, but he caught his foot on the underside of the fallen and lunged forward. He heard several other whistles before he realized they were under attack. Panicking at seeing those falling all around him, he pulled out his bow and let a clumsy arrow fly not knowing where the assailants were located.

Spinning on his heels, Ugrashk was going to run back to the mountains and the mines. He would tell the Great Kugruk, and a whole army would be sent to destroy the forest. The fleeing Orc tripped over another of his comrades who grabbed his foot asking for help. Ugrashk shook his foot and kicked the fallen Orc until he let go of his limb. Before he could completely twist himself, he was hit so hard that his body was thrown backward. Looking down, he could see the silver shaft, glistening even in the darkness, protruding from his chest. Ugrashk dropped to his knees trying to pull the arrow from his body, but was unsuccessful as his strength became increasingly diminished. He was tired and his body finally collapsed entirely and never moved again.

~*~*~

“Let us go and dispose of the remains,” Erebemlin called to the other three. He was relieved the task was over and knew much work needed to be done to cleanse the area.

The foursome worked until the morning ensure all of their enemies were deceased, then checking the bodies for any weapons or trinkets that may have been taken from other races. Once these preliminary tasks were handled, Celegtâl and Taitheneb dug a small pit a significant distance south of the forest, while Erebemlin and Caranduin (being of stouter build than the other two) carried the bodies one by one and laid them in the center. Caranduin then kindled a great fire that’s thick black smoke rose and tainted the new morning's sky.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin joined Raefindan, and together they looked away northwestward. Gond tossed his head as Jorje approached him, and hesitantly snuffled noses; Gond snorted, spraying Jorje with a fine mist, and Jorje trotted off in disgust to roll in the grass.

"They don't think much of each other, " murmured Mellonin.

"Gond and Jorje? Or Ravion and Aeron?"

Mellonin stifled her laughter, and her eyes sparkled. "Oh Raefindan, I am glad that you can laugh at it all. I need to laugh. Everything has been so..." she spread her hands and shook her head.

Raefindan nodded. "A thief and a moonstruck girl. Sometimes I wonder what Ravion was thinking."

"It was as much my doing as Ravion's; I wanted his sister to come. I thought..."

"You thought Aeron's sister would bring out the best in him."

She nodded.

"She may yet, " Raefindan soothed her. "And indeed, perhaps she is now. Who knows how much wilder he would have been?"

"He'd be tame enough in prison where he belongs, " Mellonin said.

"Do you really think so?"

Mellonin studied Red in surprise. Clearly he did not agree, and she dropped her gaze again.

[mark12_30]

There was darkness issuing from the dark of Moria; darkness begat darkness, darkness birthed darkness. No wonder his beloved had fled from Moria. The light was so far away... so far. The hope... was there any? He clawed for it, reached for it, begged for it. Hope must be there... out there. He reached, stretching, straining, his hands trembling. A moan escaped him.

The darkness rumbled closer. Was it not dark all around him, all through him? How could the darkness come closer than it already was? Panic rose in him, and he fought with it; he was no coward. He belonged to the Light and the Light belonged to him, and he would find it again. He clawed, looking for hope, for light.

Slavering, hairy jowls gurgled nearby. Moria. She had been wise to flee it so long ago. He shuddered; was he trapped in Moria? Dark speech crawled like snakes into his ears and he clawed at his ears trying to get the snakes out of his head. He was sinking, and he was surrounded by orcs. Or were they orcs? Dead men... cursed, forsaken, all dead, all foul, all rotten, swallowing him in their own despair. The curse of Moria... Were there men in Moria? No, not that the tales ever told... Where was he? Orcs and corpses and darkness seeped into his very being and he could hear them laughing down inside his body. He clawed at his stomach.

Liornung and wild Mellon sat near Amroth. Liornung had brought water to wash the fevered young man's brow, and Mellon had siezed it and insisted on caring for Amroth himself. But he did allow Liornung to sit next to him.

Arrows piercing, piercing, burning. The dark grows darker. The struggles cease, and there is only pain and dark... til the fire comes.

Liornung shook Ædegard awake. "Ædegard. Look to the north. See you the stars are darkened?"

Ædegard rubbed his face and they stared into the north together. "Is it smoke? Why would there be a fire..."

"We will know soon. Dawn is near."

"Amroth dreams still."

At that moment, Mellon's body twitched, his head snapped up, looking southward. There was a shadow stepping just inside the light of the fire. With a snarl, Mellon rose, and stood astride his sleeping friend.

[Imladris]

Aeron stared at the dusty ground and kicked a pebble away. What Ravion said was true. If Gwyllion threw herself into a rage in the presence of touchy people, she could get hurt.

A sudden dawning broke over him: she could hurt other people. He touched his belly, and lifted up his shirt to see what damage she had done. Black and blue, purple speckled bruises were begining to spread on his skin. It reminded him of the way a red stain grew...

He let the shirt drop and sighed. "She is not moonstruck," he murmured. "She is not crazy -- she knows who she is. She is just....afraid of blood and who knows what else. Her mother died when she was born," he continued in a furious whisper. "A midwife had to cut her out...and father never really forgave her for killing his beloved wife. He left some time ago. No one really knows where he went. Not that I care," he added.

Ravion was frowning, and asked, "Is she your half sister then?"

Aeron, puzzled, answered, "No, why do you think that?" And then he realized his mistake. Blast...drat...it! he fumed. If their mother had died in Gwyllion's birth then how could she be his older sister? Words...they trapped you. They delighted in trapping you in the midst of lies.

He raised his eyes and muttered, "She is fifteen. Two years younger than I."

[Orual]

Aeron's proclamation that Gwyllion was the younger of the two did not shock Ravion. It wasn't that he knew beforehand--Gwyllion's odd, childish behavior, plus the fact that it hadn't occurred to Ravion that Aeron might lie about that hadn't led to much in the way of investigation. However, it didn't surprised the Ranger that the boy thief would lie about inconsequential things. It didn't surprise him, but it did worry him.

He thumbed his cut cheek. "I do not understand why you lied to me, Aeron," he said quietly. He found that speaking quietly and calmly was more disconcerting than shouting and raging. It was a finding that he rarely put into effect--but he did when he really needed it. "It was not that important. I understand your needing to care for your sister. If she needs your protection, she deserves it. Yours, and, if need be, mine."

"She--" began Aeron, but Ravion cut him off.

"Lying about trivial things will not aid us as we go on. I may ask you things that sound, to you, inconsequential. 'Is the grass by that tree brown?' 'Are there upturned rocks near that bush?' 'Are the weeds near that river bed flattened?' There may come a time when everything we do depends on the answers to questions like those. I can see things in brown grass and flat weeds that you cannot. I need to know my territory down to the smallest details. If you are going to get into the habit of lying to me, then I might as well tie you across Gond's saddle and haul you around like luggage, because not only will you and your sister be useless, you will be dead weight. You will actively hinder our mission. And that is not fair to Mellonin."

He stood up and looked around, avoiding Aeron's eyes. "Do not think that I am pitiless. I am sorry for your sister's plight. I am sorry that she hurt you. I am sorry that you felt that you had to lie to me, to--protect yourself? Protect your sister? I am not sure. But you should not feel compelled to lie. Ever. I know the art of the half-truth myself, I will admit, but this is not the time for lies, half-truths, omissions...anything but honesty. It will hurt you in the long run."

He glanced at Aeron. "And take the powder, Aeron. It will not make you any less of a man."

[Nurumaiel]

"Mellon, hold," Liornung said softly, though he did not look at the Easterling boy. "Move warily. Wait... Stand by Amroth but stand still by him. Ædegard, have you your weapon?"

"Yes," Ædegard replied, his voice grimly quiet, and he said no more than that.

"Then stay here. The shadow has paused, but I think it would be best to wake the lassies." He walked with a strange lightness to the place where the two girls lay and shook Bellyn gently. "Bella," he murmured in her ear, "wake, but do not speak." Her eyes flew open and she stared at him in confusion as she sat up. "Wake Miss Argeleafa," he said. "There is a stranger in our camp." As Bellyn turned and began to wake Argeleafa, Liornung went back to Ædegard's side. "Do you think we should speak to him?" he questioned.

There was a frown on Ædegard's face as he strained his eyes to see the shadow. "I do not know," he said at last. "I do not know what might be in lands such as we are approaching."

Argeleafa had stood, pulling her blanket about her shoulders and brushing strands of tangled gold hair from her face. Taking Bellyn's hand, she smiled gently and said, "Let's not fear. I would take a stand closer to Mellon, the Easterling wayfarer, so we might be nearer his charge. I would have no harm come to him... there is something lordly about him." Still holding Bellyn's hand, she moved towards Mellon but stopped some distance away, a little frown wavering on her face. "I would stop here," she said. "I do not know if the boy trusts us yet. Now let us see what Liornung and Ædegard will do." She tightened her grip on Bellyn's hand and smiled encouragingly, hoping to also find some comfort herself. It was true that Bellyn was younger than her, but it seemed the young Gondorian girl knew more of the road, while Argeleafa felt lost and confused and lonely for her home. She found the comfort she seeked when Bellyn returned her smile.

The shadow moved again and seemed to disappear for a few moments before it came closer to the fire. Liornung stood tensely and spoke to Ædegard. "I do not know what to do," he said. "I have no skill in battles against strangers who come into camp in the early hours. Good Ædegard, I would have you advise me."

[littlemanpoet]

"Hail him, with both greeting and warning. That is what is expected in the wilds. We must be seen as willing to befriend, or at least let him live, and equally willing to defend ourselves, even if it means killing a new foe. Harsh it may sound, but so it has been spoken from old times."

Liornung said, "You seem to know what to do, then, I'd be most gratified if you would do the honors."

Ædegard frowned. "I was afraid you might say that." He took a step forward, his hand on his sword. He drew himself up and spoke so that his voice carried across the clearing.

"Hail, stranger! We are travelers who mean you no ill. Reveal yourself to us and show that you do not mean harm. We do not wish for things to go badly for you, outnumbered as you are!"

Ædegard turned to Liornung and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Let's hope that does the trick."

[Orual]

Erundil made a quick correction to his earliest estimate: there were two girls. This made...six opponents? The odds did not look desirable, but maybe it would not come down to a fight.

He knew that they had noticed him. It did not startle him when one of the men called out, "Hail, stranger! We are travelers who mean you no ill. Reveal yourself to us and show that you do not mean harm. We do not wish for things to go badly for you, outnumbered as you are!"

Erundil took a step forward. "The air in Rohan is thick with rumours of your passing," he called back. "If stealth is what you wish, I would recommend more caution."

"What we wish, at the moment, is for you to tell us of your intentions," the man retorted.

A small smile crept onto Erundil's face. He raised his hands halfway into the air. "You are correct in saying that the odds are not in my favour. A fight is not what I came to find." He approached the man who spoke, and extended his right hand. "Erundil is my name, of the Rangers. Strange tales from Rohan and Gondor sometimes mean that I should be concerned. And the tales that have been told of you are nothing if not strange. But I have learned to take what I hear as rumour or nothing, and what I see as illusion until proven otherwise. I merely wanted to see if the tales held any merit, and if there was cause for concern."

He looked over the rest of the company. The two girls were young, and one seemed to be of the wandering people, if he could tell at all. The two men were solid-looking fellows, but the boys...the boys both caught his eye.

One of them was beautiful of face, but with an odd about him that made Erundil uncomfortable. Even sleeping, he was possessed of a proud and regal manner. The other, however...

Wild-eyed and unkempt, the boy looked ready to bolt--or attack--at the slightest provocation. All thoughts of the first boy faded when Erundil's gaze lit upon this one. This was surely the blacksmith. So the tales were true...

[mark12_30]

Darkness whirled around him, and he was sinking, sinking. He still struggled desperately for breath, but he was cold no longer.

Flames, flames, and blackness. Yet all is not black; near me four shine brightly... Yes, gleaming, radiant. They have seen me. They approach. I am not without hope. I am not alone. Perhaps this is the dawn.

Northward beyond the horizon, Erebemlin tensed. There it was. The light touch on his mind-- but no, this touch was not a question, this was a cry of despair, a plea engulfed in shadow. He bent his thoughts toward the plea. I am here. Take courage.

I had almost despaired of regaining the light.

Erebemlin was grieved that an elf would speak thus. Despair not. The darkness we utterly reject.

Friend, hear me. I must find Nimrodel. Where shall I find her?

Erebemlin frowned, and turned a puzzled glance to the stream not twenty yards to his left. I stand by her. She sings as we speak.

As quickly as they had come to Erebemlin, the thoughts were gone. He gazed into the flames, and considered what he had heard. What had befallen this elf, that his dreams were be so very dark?

Wild with hope and desire Amroth trembled and woke, and knew as he did that something was amiss. A stranger had come into their campsite. Quickly he touched the stranger's mind and found only curiosity and concern; there was no hostility there.

Amroth's wild friend, however, did not share the lack of hostility. The boy needed taming or there would be bloodshed; Amroth did not have time for it. Everything in his heart was bent inexorably northward where Nimrodel sang. He touched Mellon's thoughts.

She is near! I go to her side. Ride with me now. Our friends will follow after.

He sat up. Mellon whistled, his horse came, and with a handful of mane Mellon swung up. Amroth stood. Echo, come. Give me your best speed.

Ædegard spun. "Mellon, what are you doing-- Amroth, you're awake. What are you doing?"

"Tidings," Amroth snapped, leaped onto Echo's back, and saluted in farewell. The two horses turned as one and thundered northward.

Ædegard, Liornung, Bella, and Argeleafa watched them go, protests dying on their lips as the riders dwindled into the distance.

[Imladris]

With a shrug, Aeron took some of the powder and began to rub it across is sore muscles and considered what he should tell Ravion. "So what would you have prefered me to have said?" Aeron asked. " ' I will go along with you as long as you bring my sister. But I should warn you that she is a frightened creature and that she is hard to deal with. She often has fits when she sees blood or anything remotely resembling blood. But she is a sweet little thing, really. ' " Aeron glared up at the ranger. "I lied so that you would be more willing to bring her with you," Aeron said, softly. "I could not leave her and I could not take a chance that you would deem her more trouble than she is worth."

He stopped, and rubbed his head. He realized that it was very itchy again. He wondered if he had lice. Looking at the ranger again, he said, "I do not think you pitiless. But you are a ranger, and rangers do not bother with trivial things I think. I could not take the risk that you would not take her."

"Are you sure that you just did not want to become acquainted with a jail cell?"

Aeron flushed and snapped, "Yes, I thought it would be lovely spending a few months in jail. What do you think I am? Of course, I did not want to go to jail. But I did not want to leave my sister either. And either way she would have been left alone."

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin watched the thick smoke billow and darken the bright stars that were peaking between the clouds. He contemplated the dark urgency of the mind that visited him. The thoughts brought him pain. How could another elf feel such despair, such anguish? And again, there was the interest in Nimrodel. The cold water ran from the mountains flowing through the forest’s center. Could this elf be from the forest? An ellon who left to live elsewhere, now wishes to return to the river of his childhood?

“Silmaethor, I mean not to step where I am not welcome, but I felt and heard some of the fleeting mind.” Caranduin spoke in a hushed voice.

“I felt it also, though I heard not. It was a sudden light that was cold and desperate.” Celegtâl added as he searched the sky and horizon for a sign as to the source of the light. Taitheneb was quiet, not acknowledging whether he saw or felt the light, instead he walked slowly from the fire and away from the others.

Erebemlin remained silent for several moments collecting his thoughts. “I know not the source, but this is not first time I have encountered these thoughts.” Before the younger elves could ask for more from Erebemlin, he looked into the sky and continued. “The dawn will arrive soon…I shall return to the forest. Continue the cleansing and Taitheneb…” The Sinda suddenly realized that the fourth of their party had removed himself.

Erebemlin opened his mind and searched the elf’s heart. Sadness lingered there. Taitheneb, your heart breaks. Speak to me, mellon, what ails you?

I too heard the voice in the wind. Taitheneb stopped walking, but did not turn to face Erebemlin who stood a dozen yards behind him. Such darkness and desperation, as though he had lost the most precious treasure anyone could have. The elf lowered his head and recalled Gwaewen’s lovely face. He had named her Miriell, his treasured maiden. That was long ago…he pictured her waving as she sailed from the shore. Her parents had tired of Middle Earth and refused to leave without her despite his hopes to marry her. I apologize, Silmaethor. I only need some time to my memories, and I will return.

I am here if you need me, mellon. Erebemlin released Taitheneb and retreated to his forest home.

[mark12_30]

The lanky chestnut was starting to fall behind. The wld boy cried out to Amroth, who turned his thoughts toward him.

He is too tired. Do not kill my horse.

I will not harm him. Let me speak with him.

Do not be cruel! He is tired. We must slow down before he falls.

Amroth spoke to Echo, and Echo slowed. But the boy's chestnut slowed yet more.

She is near. They can rest when we find her.

The boy grew sullen, and his horse dropped to a trot, and then to a walk, blowing hard and lathered. He was spent.

I cannot tarry, Mellon. You can follow my trail and catch up with me.

Mellon slid off, walked forward and gently took his horse's head in his arms. The horse stood stifflegged, and leaned on the boy.

Amroth spoke out loud to the boy. "When I find her then I will help you to find us. I must go." He turned Echo northward again. Come, Echo. She is near. Give me what strength you have left.

On the horizon, he saw a lone figure walking. His heart leaped, and he cried aloud, and then reached out with his mind-- no, it was not his beloved. An Ellon... one of the four who had drawn him from the fiery blackness by their shining. He would speak with him.

Amroth turned his thoughts back to Mellon again. There, you see one who can help us. Follow me to him. Mellon looked up, and squinted; the elf was still far away. He nodded.

"Come, Echo. We draw near." Echo churned forward, his ribs heaving and his eyes white-rimmed. Amroth pressed him forward. When they drew near, the lone elf halted and gazed at Amroth.

Amroth spoke. "A star shone on our meeting last night, and it was indeed blessed."

The lone elf studied the lathered and blowing chestnut, and then his rider, and bowed. Then he looked at him again, puzzled. Amroth felt the elf touch the edge of his thoughts, and saw the surprise on his face. "Hail, and greetings. You and your companion have ridden hard. What is your errand?"

"I am in haste. Good friend and forest-kinsman, give me tidings of Nimrodel. Where is she?"

[alaklondewen]

Taitheneb curiously studied the face of the young mortal, yet when he searched his thoughts an elven mind greeted him. As the second boy joined them, the elf searched him and found anxiety covered by pure exhaustion. “Nimrodel, she is north of here, but I am afraid she was soiled by a band of Yrch during the evening hours. She has yet to be cleansed.”

An expression of panic crossed the young man’s face. “What do you mean, soiled? How is she? Is she hurt? You must take me to her immediately.” Please lead me to her. I have searched long.

Taitheneb nodded, “I will lead you to Silmaethor Erebemlin. He will be more able to assist you better than I.” With that, the elf turned back for the forest allowing the two remarkable boys to follow. “You need rest as do your steeds. Erebemlin will see to it that you are fed and made comfortable, I am sure.”

“I do not need rest, only Nimrodel.”

Taitheneb turned over his shoulder and gazed momentarily at the elven boy. He had yet to see one so enamored with a river.

Soon the great mellyrn loomed overhead and the trio passed under until finally Taitheneb halted and asked them to stay until he returned. The elf, then, hurriedly scaled the nearest tree.

The boys watched him depart. One was visibly anxious, while the other leaned against the base of the tree resting. Moments later a ladder was thrown down and Taitheneb called for them to ascend.

Erebemlin had his back to the ladder when the boys arrived on his talan, but before he could turn to greet them, one of them touched his thoughts. Tell me you know where Nimrodel is waiting. It was he. Erebemlin turned slowly to meet the one he had so desired to find. The Sinda was surprised to see the young faces of both the boys. The elder of the two stepped forward and looked up to met Erebemlin’s gaze. Erebemlin, many days have passed since our last meeting. Tell me of Nimrodel. Where does she wait?

The Sinda stood motionless as though he was made of stone. This boy was so familiar…his thoughts did not match his mortal body.

Do you not recognize me? It is I, Amroth…your King.

Erebemlin became overwhelmed with emotion and confusion. Yes, this was Amroth, but how? His King sailed West many years ago…how could this be? Before Erebemlin understood completely, he fell to his knees before his King. “Lord Amroth,” he muttered. “I am forever in your service.”

[mark12_30]

Amroth laughed gently. "Erebemlin, loyal and faithful as always. Have you been drinking Ent-draught? You are taller."

He touched the elf's shoulders and raised him to his feet, looking up at him. Erebemlin gazed down on the young man with eyes full of wonder..

Amroth laughed. "Strong are the draughts of the ents! Be careful or you will grow a mossy beard!" Then Amroth grew earnest. "Come, friend. Tell me: where is she? You said she was near and my heart leaped with hope and joy. I long to return to her side. Where is my lady, where is my bride? Where is my Nimrodel?"

"My lord?" Erebemlin touched his thoughts. "My lord, how came you here?"

"Long travel, aid from several stout mannish friends, and a lathered and weary horse. Come, Erebemlin. Where is my betrothed?"

Erebemlin touched his mind, uncertain what to think. The image of the maiden Nimrodel flooded Erebemlin's mind; her song, her speech, her face and hair and laughter.

His lord's old power had not abated. Astonished, Erebemlin opened his mouth to speak, but made no sound.

Amroth spoke in his ear and in his mind. Tell me.

[alaklondewen]

“Lord, I am afraid I do not understand,” Erebemlin’s head whirled with wonder. “Nimrodel…she has not been seen for many years. Lord, how have you come here?”

“She is not here? Does she not sing as you spoke before? Surely you would not deceive me, mellon.”

With uncertainty, Erebemlin touched his lord’s mind. Amroth’s entire thought was bent on finding Nimrodel. “Lord, I spoke only of the song of the river. The maiden has been lost for nigh on one thousand years.”

[mark12_30]

Amroth looked at the floor of the talan, and then back at Erebemlin. "My friend, we left the eaves of this forest when the evil came out of Moria... scarce two years past. Are you under some spell?"


Erebemlin tipped his head to one side and looked at young face before him. "Lord, you have ridden long today. You are exhausted...come, sit."


With tightened lips and a different flame kindled in his eyes, Amroth set aside his impatience. "I am weary, Erebemlin, but I have not forgotten my quest or my love. My rest is in her, and I will find it nowhere else; these past months have taught me that. My friend, think. What tidings of her has Lorien heard?"


Silence answered Amroth's question as Erebemlin considered his lord's behavior. Lowering his eyes, Erebemlin spoke barely above a whisper. "My lord, Lorien has not seen or heard from the Lady in close to one thousand years. Lord, you...you sailed West. How have you come here?"


"Erebemlin, how could I sail if she was not on board with me? We awaited her arrival, but she did not come. An autumn storm drove our ship from the quay. Rather than leave her I swam to shore, since to lose her would have shattered me. As to how I came here...." Amroth frowned. "From midway through my swim, til I reached the borders of Rohan, I do not recall much... " his frown deepened. "In fact, I remember nothing, and that is strange indeed. Nevertheless, I did arrive in Rohan, in early winter, in Edoras. I rested three days in their Inn and departed northward from there. We have had over a week's travel from Edoras, and we are weary, true. Nevertheless I came here in search of Nimrodel. Surely if she were lost, she would return to the stream she loved?"

[alaklondewen]

This was strange news indeed. "Lord, I do not believe she shall ever return to the river. For years we looked for her, but word came she was lost." Erebemlin pause then began to sing softly.

”Where now she wanders none can tell, In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel And in the mountains strayed.”

“So she has entered the mountains? That is strange tidings.” Amroth’s eyes darkened a moment before he proceeded. “Do you know where she was headed? We may still be able to catch her.”

Erebemlin focused intently on Amroth’s face. Was this a jest? Had Amroth not heard a word he had said? Taking a deep breath, Erebemlin started again. “I am afraid you do not understand, Lord Amroth. Nimrodel is lost. You will not find her at the river or in the mountains.” The Sinda paused realizing his tone. “Lord, forgive me my brashness, but I do not think you shall find the Lady Nimrodel.”

[mark12_30]

Amroth took a deep breath, and another. What was amiss with this elf? In thousands of years, Erebemlin had never defied him, had never been anything but loyal and truthful. And truly he did not seem wilful or deceitful now. Either he was lying skilfully (a repulsive notion) or he believed his wild tale.

Or what he says is true, and I am the one deceived.

Amroth closed his mind, and stepped back, tunrning to pace along the talan's edge. He had forgotten the boy. Mellon stood out of place, a ragged unkempt and disheveled mess in the midst of beauty. His brows were knit with annoyance, hurt, and confusion.

Amroth remembered as if from a great distance that this boy knew not a word that had been spoken. He touched his shoulder, and his thoughts. In vain I wearied your good horse, my friend. She is not here.

He was surprised by the boy's forgiveness. Mellon gently opened his mind as if in an embrace. Another surprise followed.

Since your lady is not here, we can return to Lady Bella.

Amroth laughed aloud; there was no mistaking the boy's tenderness or desire. She will find us, friend.

Amroth returned his gaze to Erebemlin; unlike Mellon the elf's worried thoughts were guarded and all but closed. Amroth's eyes steeled, and he returned to the elf, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Erebemlin, open your thoughts to me."

"My lord?"

"Let me search your thoughts."

Real fear crossed the warrior's face. "My lord, something is amiss. You are not well. Why would you do this?"

"I must know."

The powerful elf took a step backwards. "My Lord, I have told you. She has been gone these thousand years. Why would you search me?"

"I will cause you no harm. Erebemlin, I must understand. Open your thoughts."

Eyes widening, Erebemlin thought of calling for his friends or fleeing down the ladder, or simply closing his mind. Yet, this was no servant of darkness; this was his king. "My lord, do not ask this of me."

"Why do you fear me? Erebemlin, have I ever harmed you?"

"No, my lord." But the elf's mind remained closed.

Amroth stepped back. "Then I must find understanding elsewhere, if the whole forest has not gone mad, " he said. "Is this fear the fruit of the dwarf-wakened darkness? Where then shall I turn for aid if not to my own kin?"

[littlemanpoet]

"I tell you, this is beyond bearing!" He kicked at a stone. "Here we are, trailing after him like glad puppies, and all the thanks we get is a cold shoulder. I'd turn back now but he has my horse."

Ædegard started about breaking camp, and the others followed suit. The hoof prints would not be hard to follow. Ædegard brooded silently as he kept his eye on the hoof trail, giving no heed to whether the ranger, Liornung, Argeleafa and Bella followed close or not at all. All he wanted was his horse back and to be done with the mad blacksmith, but only after telling him how things really stood.

He ate up the miles, heedless of anyone or anything else.

[alaklondewen]

“My lord, I will aid you with any need you have.” Erebemlin did not understand Amroth’s insistent behavior. Was his word no longer adequate? “Please, come and rest. Taitheneb, bring us food suitable for a weary king.”

Taitheneb nodded and quickly descended the mellorn. His mind was swimming with what he had witnessed. How could that young mortal be the long departed King Amroth? Yet, the Silmaethor believed. Taitheneb landed on the forest floor and comforted the horses that awaited their young masters, before hurrying to gather the provisions Erebemlin wanted.

Meanwhile, Erebemlin turned his attention on the second boy, Amroth’s companion. The Sinda touched the boy’s mind and saw anxiety and fierce loyalty to Amroth. Do not fear. We will not harm you. The young boy relaxed slightly. Tell me your name, young one.

The boy remained silent, but Erebemlin saw his mind form the image of a pig. That is an animal. What is your name?

They call me pig, but he names me, Mellon.

You are a friend. That is well. Erebemlin knelt to look into the boy’s eyes. But you need a real name, Mellon. The Sinda thought for a moment while looking the boy over. You are of a wandering people, are you not? The young boy nodded and shared his family’s fate and his meeting and love for Amroth. “Neth-gwador, I shall call you…young brother. For you are brave and show strong loyalty and love for the King.”

The boy tried to wrap his tongue around the name, "Net-kwad-er."

Erebemlin smiled and touched the boy's shoulder. "Noble effort. Try it this way...Nethwador." The young mortal tried once more and procounced the name beautifully. "Very well, indeed. Now you shall never be known as an animal again."

[mark12_30]

Amroth looked on as Erebemlin turned his attention to Mellon, and resisted the urge to smile. A diversion. Mellon needed the acceptance, and Amroth waited.

So she is not here, he thought. And they have had no tidings of her in a thousand years... madness. He must seek other counsel.

And yet... Erebemlin was no fool, and he did not seem mad; only .... frightened.

"Erebemlin."

The elf seemed afraid to answer. "My lord." Slowly he turned to face Amroth.

"I shall open my mind to you, and you shall see what you will."

"My lord!" Erebemlin stared. "By your leave, no, my lord."

"You do not trust me even for this?"

Erebemlin stared down at the talan. This should have been a joyous reunion, he reflected; a time of song and tale, of tune and dance... his heart felt tied in a knot. "I do trust you, my lord."

"Then what is it you fear?"

Erebemlin's face twisted. "The darkness of your dreams, my lord; the fire, and the shadow. Whence came these, my lord? Whence came your sorrow and your despair? What did this past thousand years cost you? I fear what robbed you will rob me as well. And your strength of will may easily defeat mine."

"Erebemlin, I desire no such thing; I am not here for conquest, or rule or lands or anything else that these lands can give. I am here only for one purpose and that is to find my Nimrodel. Will you aid me? For if not, then I must find someone who will."

"I have told you, my lord, I will aid you in any way I can."

An impasse. Neither would give way, Amroth knew, and they were wasting precious time.

At that moment, Taitheneb and another elf arrived at the foot of the tree. They carried packs of food, the best Taitheneb could procure in haste. Taitheneb whistled a bird-song, Erebemlin whistled back and Taitheneb began to climb the ladder.

When a cloth was spread and the breads and fruits and venison placed on it, Amroth spoke. "Taitheneb, join us, and your companion as well."

"I did not bring food for five--"

"Come, sit." Erebemlin motioned Taitheneb to obey, and soon there were three elves and two mortals seated around the cloth. Amroth turned to Taitheneb. "Tell me, Ellon, what has come to pass in the time since the dwarves awoke the evil in Moria."

[Imladris]

With a sigh, Aeron turned away and meandered back to Gwyllion who straggled along at the end of the group. He saw Raefindan and Mellonin exchange a glance or two, but he did not care. It was that blasted ranger's fault that things got out of control. He should just learn to ignore Gwyllion's quirks like he had learned to. If she threw a fit, calm her down. Do not try to analyze her because that will not help anything. Aeron chuckled softly. He had tried to figure it out for fifteen years. Why did the ranger think he could do better?

Gwyllion trudged along besider him. Her feet dragged along the ground, leaving a broad in her wake. He sighed, and looked at the softly rolling grasslands around them. They were on a small path. Ravion had told them that it would lead them to some forest...what was it? Loth something. Why would a blacksmith go towards a forest? He shrugged. It did not matter. He and Gwyllion were as safe as could be...a good deal safer than in the town.

He looked at Gwyllion and said, "Are you still angry with me."

With turning her head, she said, "Yes."

"It was just a little cut...a mere scratch. It is probably not bleeding anymore." She was growing more sensitive if the blood still bothered her.

"It is not that," she whispered. "Well, it is in a way...but you made me hurt him."

"All you did was throw a pebble at him," he said. What was so wrong with that. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The ranger deserved it, anyway.

"Well, I think it was a bad idea," she snapped.

"You did not have to do it," Aeron countered.

She relapsed into silence. He could feel the barrier begin to grow...could feel it begin to bristle. Aeron frowned. Why was she doing this? He had not done anything...she was the one who had thrown the pebbles...she could have decided not to have done it...he shook his head. Already he had two enemies -- and one was the one he loved most. He shrugged. She would be over it by morning...hopefully. If not, he would win her back by being his likeable, adorable self. He smiled.

His stomach twisted and he called, "Are we going to stop for lunch or just keep marching all blasted day?" It was a hot day and he was hungry. He could feel a pain creep up the back of his neck and spread across his head.

Ravion, without looking at him, said, "No. Too much time was wasted earlier on to take a lunch break. "

Aeron gasped and was about to protest, when he saw the evil glare that Gwyllion shot at him. Well, if they did not want to eat, that was fine by him. They could all starve. Maybe it would serve to fuel a bit of animosity at the ranger.

He sighed, and looked around him. Grasslands stretched to the distance, a few treest dotted the area...not prospect of adventure. Was this how all adventures were? Trudging in the mild lands, waiting for something to jump out of the shadows and eat you? He grimaced. Adventures were boring. There was no way around that.

Ravion did hand out something like cram though, which Aeron thought was rather kind of him. The stuff was very unpleasant though and Aeron spat it out and quitely tossed it by the way side. Let the birds have it. He wondered if he should have just given it back to Ravion, but then he would have to listen to another lecture that day.

Twilight did not come swiftly enough for Aeron, and the boy was beginning to think that it had been detained by some malignant force. Finally, it did come with a rush (to make up for lost time, Aeron suspected) and Ravion ordered camp to be set. Aeron built the fire and collapsed in front of it.

Mellonin sat down beside him and stared into the flames. It was strange. She was just as passive as Gwyllion. Aeron thought she was worried about her brother. What kind of peson was her brother? Raising himself to one elbow, Aeron said, "Tell me about your brother." It felt strange, breaking the silence.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bella watched, her eyes wide and gaping as Amroth went off into the distance. Her eyes grew wider still as Ædegard went off to follow suit.

“Why do things stray so?” Bella whimpered, dropping her shoulders and letting go of Argeleafa’s hand. Liornung sighed, watching Ædegard follow the tracks of Amroth and Mellon. Bella looked to the strange man. “There is no cause for concern, and naught of our business should become yours, lest you be caught up in a chase as we are.” Bella said to the man, her voice weak.

Argeleafa took to Bella’s side, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It is not good to lose hope when the road has darkened. We will still follow the road, even when it has become dark. Is it not so?” Argeleafa looked into the distance as she finished, watching Ædegard’s back.

“But Argeleafa, there is no road!” Bella scorned herself inwardly for speaking in such a way, but even so she still wondered how long the cycle of catching and staying and losing Amroth would continue. “There is no road!”

“Then no road for the darkness to fall on. So, there is still hope,” Liornung added, smiling but keeping his eyes on the distance between Ædegard and those left behind. “Come, ladies. We go to catch Ædegard, and then to find our dear friend Amroth…”

“And Mellon,” Argeleafa put in with a smile.

“Yes, and Mellon.” Bella agreed, hope renewed for a time as the group took off to catch their companions.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin cast a startled glance at Aeron, and considered his request. Tell me about your brother. She shifted to face him, rearranged her cloak around herself, and then said, “All right.” She sat in silence deciding what to tell.

Raefindan and Ravion were practicing archery at Ravion’s insistence.

“Don’t aim; just think about your release.”

“But it’s dark. What if I lose an arrow?”

“If you lose an arrow at this range you have worse problems. “

Mellonin smiled, and returned her attention to Aeron. “My brother… Well, you know he is a blacksmith. He does beautiful work, very detailed sometimes. He likes the details, and prides himself on creating beautiful things. He was learning his runes, and he puts them onto whatever he makes—even if he can only fit a few onto it. Whoever asks for the work, gets their initials in the piece. Sometimes he uses the Dwarf-runes and sometimes the Elf-runes.”

She could see by Aeron’s expression that she was boring him.

“He likes to sing old songs. He sings them all day while he works. He has a good voice, and he is fond of singing. Three nights before he disappeared, we were singing the Lay of Nimrodel together. He had worked for three days to memorize it. He was quite pleased with himself.”

“So, is he prideful?”

“Not that kind of pleased: more of a childish delight. Although I do think the romance appealed to him.”

“Romance?”

“Well, it is a love song, “ Mellonin laughed. “Have you never heard it?”

“No. Sing it for me.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Please.”

She smiled, and sang so softly that Raefindan and Ravion could not hear a word of it. Aeron listened, trying not to seem too interested, but he did like the song.

“So he likes old stories.”

“Oh, he is a dreamer. He wishes he could have lived back in Numenor, or Beleriand. He wishes he could have seen the Silmarils. He wishes he could have fought with Elendil and Isildur and Anarion, or gone sailing with Earendil.”

“Really, “ replied Aeron, who thought he recognized some of those names.

“In truth, “ laughed Mellonin, “his longing was to be an elf-friend, like King Elessar. He adores Queen Evenstar, and says that her beauty will be forever unmatched; he said once that even Luthien could not have been as beautiful as the Queen. His favorite story is the story of Tuor, who married Idril and became an immortal.”

“I’ve never seen the Queen, “ said Aeron, and then wished he hadn’t.

“What! Where were you at the feast this year?”

“Um, elsewhere,” he muttered.

“Have you never seen her going out to ride in the countryside, or bring gifts to the poor, or visit the sick?”

“No,” sighed Aeron.

Beside him Gwillion spoke up. “Clever theives avoid royalty."

Aeron pretended she hadn’t said anything.

“So,” said Mellonin, “Tell me about yourself.”

[Imladris]

Aeron listened while Mellonin told of her brother, of his love for runes and learning. He smirked. Pouring over old, weathered scrolls in the dim flickering candle light did not sound appealing.

But the song was lovely -- lilting like a river he thought. Amroth and Nimrodel...he shook his head, pondering the story in his head.

And his love for the queen...she was only an elf...Lady Evenstar...The first star was beginning to peek above the mountains. He studied it, wondering why anyone would be named after an evening star. The star was not beautiful...it was prick of light. No more. Still, how did an elf look? He had heard glowing reports of her beauty and now, despite himself, he was curious. He scowled. Drat Mellonin for bringing the queen up . He had never concerned himself with the queen before and now he wondered if the queen would have helped his family as she travelled about the country side.

"Clever thieves avoid royalty," Gwyllion said.

Aeron smiled at her, but the smile faded and was replaced with a puckered frown. She had not said it in a positive light -- almost as if she had wanted to go to the feast and to see the queen. But they had had such adventurous times together, stealing gems from under merchant's noses, richer than any peasant had ever been. Each jewel had been won with adventurous fervor in the game of cleverness. Gwyllion had always been content with their lot before, but ever since she met that horrid ranger she had been different.

"So tell me about yourself," Mellonin said.

Aeron leaned back and considered. What was there to tell? "My father fought in the War and mother died giving birth to Gwyllion and when she was twelve he went away," Aeron said, a cold smile on his face.

"But he will come back," Gwyllion said, nodding her head.

Aeron rolled his eyes and scowled at her delusions. "I have told you that he is not coming back."

"Yes, he will. He cannot hate his children," Gwyllion insisted. "I think he lost his way," she added. "Or he must have been detained."

"Yes, you are right, Gwyllion," Aeron snapped. "He was detained by a great black monster that festers in his heart and he will come back when we are asleep in the ground."

"Maybe he will conquer that monster and then come back to us," Gwyllion suggested.

Aeron shook his head. Either she was too dense to understand what he meant or she did not want to believe it. They had had this conversaton many times before and arguing about it now would not change her mind. Besides, he had already made her angry today and he did not want to risk a loud argument about the matter. Then Ravion would but in like and try to reason with them about how terrible it was argueing on the road and he would drone on and on about how they must stick together to make this trip as pleasant for Mellonin as possible. He glowered at the girl.

To break the awkward silence that had again settled on the group (broken only by soft instructions of Ravion and the whistle and twang of arrows), Aeron said, "I believe it was idiotic what Amroth did. He drowned himself for a woman -- a mere woman who is probably dead. Why else could she not meet him at the shores? It would have been better if he had enjoyed his immortal life instead of throwing it away."

[mark12_30]

Mellonin raised an eyebrow. "A mere woman." Giving Gwillion a nudge, she repeated "...a mere woman... Aeron, is that what you think of us?"

"Leave my sister out of this, " Aeron hissed.

Mellonin lowered her voice til he could barely hear it. "Indeed I will not. It is well known that the way a man treats his sister is the way he will treat his wife. And you risked your life-- at least, you risked rotting in a jail cell, by urging that we agree to have Gwillion along. You risked your future for your sister; therefore you would risk your future for a woman you loved. So you do not think Amroth was a fool. And that means you are lying to me, Aeron."

Aeron studied her in the firelight. She did not look angry. She acted as if she was merely stating a fact. Was she angry?

Why did he care?

[Imladris]

Aeron spat into the fire, listening with some degree of satisfaction to it hiss and splutter to its dissipating doom. Turning, he studied Mellonin and Gwyllion, watched the shadows dance across the cheeks. He had expected her to be angry, but the wrath he had expected had not come. She was stating a fact: that was all.

Gwyllion and Mellonin were mere women (that Gwyllion could be considered a woman Aeron doubted, but the point remained the same), just like he was a mere boy. "Why throw your life away for a woman if she be already dead?" he countered. "It is is silly to languish after a lost lover. It is deluding yourself into a false world that simply does not exist. What dead is dead." He shrugged his shoulders. "We all die, though elves have to be killed to do so. Why not face that fact with bravery instead of plunging yourself into the watery depths to drown yourself? It would not bring her back and he was a fool to believe that his death could bring her back. If he wanted to swim back to shore to make sure she was dead (the song seemed to think she was), then that was stupid diving in so far from shore. And it is silly to kill yourself to join a dead lover. There is a whole world out there to be explored and to be enjoyed," he said, gesturing with his arms. "As for saying that I did virtually the same thing with Gwyllion, in that you are mistaken," he added with a smug smile. "Gwyllion was alive when Nimrodel was not."

[Orual]

Ravion squinted at where he thought Raefindan's arrow had landed. He winced when he caught sight of the white feathers, and closed his eyes. Raefindan glanced at the Ranger worriedly.

"That bad?" Raefindan asked, sounding miserable.

"No, not that bad," Ravion said politically, "but let us simply say that in a battle, you would have either hit the enemy--" Raefindan brightened, "--or me."

The red-haired man's face fell, and he sighed. "I'm trying," he said. Off of Ravion's glance, he stammered, "Am...trying."

"It takes practice, and I am a fairly wretched teacher," Ravion said wearily. He went and retrieved the arrow, giving it back to Raefindan.

The stars were just beginning to come out, and Ravion tilted his head back to look at them. It was a lovely night. Why, then, did he feel so wretched?

Perhaps he had been too rough with Aeron. Maybe the girl was disturbed, and Aeron could not do anything about it. It was entirely possible. But what, then, was to be done about it? He truly could not allow Gwyllion to continue acting like this. If only there was something he could do about Gwyllion.

He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the rest of his party. It was odd to think of it as "his" party, but that was what he had been calling them in his head. Raefindan, Mellonin, Aeron, and Gwyllion...and him. The Company. The Fellowship, even. And if it was his company, he was responsible. Right?

"Ravion?" The Ranger heard Raefindan's voice and turned. "How was that?"

Ravion turned and looked at the tree where he had affixed the mark that Raefindan was to hit. The arrow was about three inches above it.

"Much better," he said quietly. "Great."

[Orual]

This was definitely not the way it was supposed to happen.

Suddenly everyone was riding away. He still did not have any information. This was most certainly not the way he had planned it.

"There is no cause for concern, and naught of our business should become yours, lest you be caught up in a chase as we are."

Caught up in a chase. Erundil whistled and his bay cantered upto him. The Ranger swung on, then started off to catch up to the blacksmith's friends.

[mark12_30]

Raefindan, Mellonin, and Ravion planned watches for the night, despite Aeron's bemusement. The starry night passed peacefully, although Raefindan woke Ravion twice to point out something he thought suspicious. One movement turned out to be a fox hunting field mice. The second turned out to be an owl sitting in a low branch just over a hill.

Raefindan apologised.

"I would rather you wake me seven times too many than once too few, " said Ravion as he lay back down the second time.

Raefindan was glad the darkness hid his crimson face.

Ravion had the last watch and woke everyone before sunrise. He nudged Raefindan first, bidding him hold Jorje while he woke the rest. Breakfast was uneventful, packing was swift and he was content with their progress; at noon, they stopped under an elm tree overlooking the river, loosened Gond's pack harness, let him graze, and sat down for lunch.

Mellonin burrowed into her pack, and took out the pen and ink and parchment, and wrote for a while. Ravion was bemused, Raefindan spoke words of kindness and courage. Aeron and Gwyllion paid her no heed.

[Imladris]

"They camped here, my lord," said the man with the aquiline nose as he stooped over the ashes of a fire. "Though I have no ranger's skill, it appears they have but one horse among them, which means they will be walking."

The merchant nodded, and broke into a grim smile. As the servant heaved himself to his horse, he said, "We will have the boy by noon, no?" The servant nodded and kicked his horse in the ribs. The horses cantered across the narrow path, the thud of their hooves echoing dimly in the shallow dales.

They would slow their horses and trot them every few hours, every once in a while slowing them into a walk. "I love my horses," the merchant said, touching his black horse's neck, and rubbing it. "I do not want them injured or to become lame. The boy is not worth the price."

"I would have thought the necklace would have been though," the servant said.

The merchant sighed, persed his lips and said, "But no horses can replace this one."

Near noon they came to a river and the merchant saw a group of people underneath an elm tree. There were two men, a boy, and two young women. The boy was skipping pebbles on the river, a few feet from the main group. He was strong and wiry, and had an air of cocky confidence about him. "There is the boy," the merchant whispered.

The boy turned, saw them, and with a shout dashed away, following the river upstream. Driving his heels into his stallion's ribs, the merchant thundered after the the boy. The horse quickly gained upon Aeron, who swerved away and began to splash through the shallows of the river. With a grunt, the merchant hurled himself from the back of his horse and barrelled into Aeron, knocking into the river.

By now, the party under the elm tree had sprinted foward and the servant had dashed between him and the merchant, a short dagger drawn. The merchant, twisting Aeron's arm behind his back said, "I want to know why you took a known thief under your wing...and I want weregild for the merry goose chase you have led me."

[mark12_30]

Mellonin quietly stowed her pen, ink bottle, and parchment, and drew her dagger. Raefindan nocked an arrow. Gwyllion was strangely silent. Mellonin glanced at her, and decided to stay close to her. Raefindan stood so that he could see both Ravion and the two strangers. At this close range, he hoped that he could injure the stranger long enough for Ravion to dispatch the other one and then come and finish this stranger off.

If Raefindan's arrow missed the stranger, it would find the sky, the horse.. or the boy.

[mark12_30]

Mellon watched as the cloth was spread and the food was placed. He was not forgotten. Amroth's thoughts touched his, and he knew to sit and wait.

Nethwador. He thought, I am a young brother now-- the brother of a king.

Amroth was a good king, who kept Mellon-- Nethwador-- out of trouble. Being out of trouble was better. He hadn't been hit since he joined Amroth, and he didn't think he had been hunted.

Then Nethwador smiled. Mabe lady Bella was looking for him. Amroth said she might. He hoped lady Bella would find them soon. If not, he decided, he would ask Amroth to help him look for her. She could not have gone far.

At the foot of the tree, his chestnut neighed, and Nethwador looked up, stood, and went to the edge. Far below, two elves were caring for the horses. He returned to the food. Amroth broke a peice of bread, and gave him half.

Whether he would help him find fair Bella or not, he was a good king.

[Imladris]

Aeron struggled in the merchant's grip trying to escape. The merchant was strong and his hand clenched on his wrist, twisting his arm behind his body, pinning his arm to his back. Aeron writhed in pain, and crumpled to his knees. How had they caught up to him? He saw that the rest of the group had reached the merchant. Raefindan's bow was drawn and Aeron fleetingly wondered if he could hit anything with it. Gwyllion was there: her face white, and he could hear her short gasps for breath. Do not go into another fit....please do not go into another fit... Mellonin held a dagger in her hand and Ravion stared impassibely at the merchant and his bird like servant.

"I want to know why you took a known thief under your wing...and I want weregild for the merry goose chase you have led me."

Aeron gasped as he realized that the ranger would understand that the precious necklace belonged to these merchants. Fear swelled within him as he looked at Ravion. In one fell swoop, all the ranger's troubles would be gone. All he had to do was hand him over, along with Gwyllion, and then there would be no more fits to deal with, no more pebbles being thrown behind his back, no more obnoxious, mock duals to watch.

[Orual]

The day had started well. Everyone had risen early and they had made good time packing up, and now they were setting a good pace for the day. But Ravion knew in his gut that it would not last.

So he was not surprised when he heard horses in the distance while they were taking a rest. He stiffened and turned, and saw two men on horseback pursuing them. Who would be following them? And, more importantly, why? Was this Mellonin's brother?

Aeron gave a cry and darted off. The men were closing in on him fast, and though Ravion started off quickly and kept at a good speed, he did not reach them before they caught Aeron. One of the men, a merchant by appearances, tackled the boy and twisted his arm up his back. Aeron gasped in pain and fell to his knees.

"I want to know why you took a known thief under your wing...and I want weregild for the merry goose chase you have led me," the assailant demanded. He gave Aeron's arm another jerk for good measure, and Ravion, pulling out his sword, felt anger flare up in him. Why? Surely this was the merchant from whom Aeron had stolen the necklace. Where had his Ranger's sense of justice gone?

"You will have neither explanation nor compensation, coming at us with this hostility," Ravion retorted. "Approach us with civility and we may answer you. But for now, unhand the boy, for he is in my service and under my protection."

"He is a thief, and deserving of no one's protection," the man replied. Aeron looked up at Ravion, panic in his eyes. Ravion looked back impassively.

The man spoke truthfully. Aeron had stolen from him, and by rights should be in jail. Perhaps he deserved only what he was getting now. But the boy's eyes bored into Ravion's. He was down on his knees, gasping still, orphaned and alone and caring for his distracted sister. The merchant still had his arm in a vice-like grip and glared at Ravion, hardly even noticing the pain he was inflicting on the young boy. Whose offense was greater? Whose guilt weighed more?

"Deserving or no, he has my protection," Ravion shouted. He avoided Aeron's eyes. "I say again, unhand him, or I shall use whatever force is necessary to make you do so."

[alaklondewen]

Taitheneb looked curiously at the Lord Amroth for several moments before speaking. “My lord, so much has happened.” Did Amroth really want him to recount the last millennia? Looking to Erebemlin, Taitheneb pleaded for assistance.

Erebemlin sipped the light wine that was brought for the meal, and then spoke quickly to come to the younger elf’s aid. “Lord Amroth, many important events have occurred throughout these past years.” The Sinda paused to collect his thoughts and watched Amroth break bread with Nethwador. “Evil regained control of Mordor, and the Sauron grew strong.”

“This is ill news indeed,” Amroth’s young mortal face became sober and he furrowed his brows.

“Do not be concerned, my lord, for the One Ring was found.” Amroth raised his eyebrows, and Erebemlin continued. “It was destroyed and the Dark Lord with it.” Erebemlin lowered his eyes a moment and spoke softly. “That is the reason our forest has lost much of what it once was.”

Silence filled the talan, except for the noise of Nethwador’s chewing. The elven folk sat in their memories of the once glorious Caras Galadhon and the Lady Galadriel.

[Nurumaiel]

Argeleafa followed closely behind Liornung, feeling a bit bewildered at the happenings. She felt it odd that the stranger should receive such a reception as he had. It was not the way her family had done it. A stranger would have been welcomed, invited to sit and eat and share in the warmth of the fire. It was indeed strange how they had drawn weapons and been threatening. And now when they were sure the stranger would not harm them they rode away without a kind greeting nor a farewell! Yet it was most probable that life in the wild was much different. Safety ruled over courtesy, or so it seemed.

The girl cast a glance over her shoulder and was more than a little surprised to see the stranger following them. If she had been disregarded in such a manner so would not waste more time on useless pursuits. It could be, however, that he was not seeking them to make their acquaintance but to find information. He had introduced himself as a Ranger, after all. Tilting her head to one side, she decided that life in the wild was most definitely odd... so odd it was amusing. A little smile pulled at the corners of her lips and a dimple appeared on her right cheek. Attempting to smother the smile, she rode up alongside Liornung. He turned to her in a distracted manner. "Liornung," she said, "might I ride by the Ranger and learn what he would have with us? It seemed to me that we were a bit uncourteous in riding away in such a manner."

Liornung groaned softly, a shadow crossing his face. Bowing his head, he shook it gently and gestured to Argeleafa. "By all means do so," he said. "I will sit in misery, remembering the days when I never forgot common courtesies as now I ride away without at least a kindly smile. I fear my friends will not know me when I return, so rough and impolite will I be."

Argeleafa thanked him for his permission, then slowed her horse until the Ranger caught up. She rode by him, and he eyed her carefully, perhaps wondering what she wished of him. Now that she was in the situation, she did not know what it was that she wanted of him. She had hoped he would speak first. Yet he remained silent. "Good day, sir," she said, and paused. It was not a very intelligent thing to say, but perhaps it would prompt him to speak.

"And to you," he replied shortly, though not unkindly. There was another silence, but just as Argeleafa was beginning to wonder if it wouldn't be better to go back to Liornung, he spoke again. "Are you of the wayfarers?" he questioned.

"I am," she replied, "and then I am not. My father took my mother and me to join them just five weeks ago, but Liornung did not wish me to be with them. In truth I did not enjoy it myself."

"Which one is Liornung?"

Argeleafa pointed him out, and the Ranger nodded. Again the silence came, and this time he did not break it. The lass wondered if she were annoying him, and again considered going back to Liornung. Yet neither he nor Bella seemed interested in anything but going after Amroth... And she was confused. She did not know why Amroth was so important, but knew only that she was homesick. She wanted someone to smile at her. It seemed so long since she had received a smile from anyone, despite all her smiles. Turning to the Ranger, she caught his eye the only way she knew how. She gazed steadily at him until he glanced at her again, and then, realizing that she was looking right him, did not avert his eyes. When she was certain he was looking right at her, she smiled, the dimple appearing in her right cheek and her eyes shining in a friendly fashion. Perhaps he would smile back, or perhaps she would only receive the cold, surprised look that she received from the wayfarers, as if it were a horrific thing that she was actually smiling. Yet the Ranger was not a wayfarer, and she was used to seeing no returning smile. However it would be lovely to see one this time....

[Imladris]

"I will not let this boy go unpunished!" the Merchant shouted, jerking Aeron's arm again. "He has made quite a name for himself in various Gondorians cities! Have you seen their hovel? Can you even imagine the wealth that lies hidden within it? I would not be surprised if this lad was as rich as I am!"

"I said to let him go," Ravion said, a flicker sparking in his eyes. "I do not want to fight you."

"So, a ranger --" the merchant sneered the word --"is protecting a known criminal and depriving me justice?"

"You can have the necklace back," said Ravion, reaching into his pocket and tossing it to the merchant's feet. The merchant did not spare a glance for it and spat, "I want justice! I want to see this boy punished so that he will never steal again! What? Did you think you could change him with your noble manners? Look at him," he said, jerking his arm again. "Do you think he will change?"

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

Gwyllion struggled for breath, but it did not come to her. The Bad Man was going to take her brother away from her, put him a jail. He was hurting him...why did he not stop? Could he not see that he was hurting him badly? So very badly...she closed her eyes. She could feel herself begin to tremble.

Aeron screamed and her eyes snapped open. He was doubled over now, his face white. Ravion drew his sword, but Gwyllion leaped forward and plowed into him, entwining her arms around his neck and squeezing. "Let him go!" she shouted, as the merchant thrashed in the water.

[mark12_30]

Amroth pondered, and studied Erebemlin. There was no madness there, and no lie.

The One Ring had been found, and destroyed. The three must be waning, then. And the silence of the forest--

"The forest is silent. Few voices speak here."

"Alas, my lord, few indeed."

"Where have they gone?"

"They have sailed, my lord."

"But ours was the last ship. Impossible; they built a whole fleet of new ships in just two months--"

Erebemlin and Taitheneb exchanged glances. "A thousand years, my lord. There was time for much ship-building."

Amroth shifted, puttig his bread down half-eaten. A thousand years. Two months, a thousand years. He shook his head, and ran both his hands through his hair. A thousand years... just last fall.

"My lord, there is more I do not fathom, " said Erebemlin. "You say you remember the storm and your leap into the foam as if it were just this fall. But the body you now wear is no younger than fifteen years of age; do you not remember the days and seasons since your rebirth? Whose house did you grow up in? What new mother were you born to? And why were you reborn into a mannish body?"

Amroth's eyes went glassy. "Mannish? Erebemlin, you puzzle me."

Fear returned to Erebemlin's eyes. "My lord, surely you understand you no longer wear an immortal body. Have you not seen your face in the water?"

"The streams of Rohan rush in rocky shallows, " Amroth replied, dismissing the idea. "Where were the ships built? There was no building in Edhellond."

Taitheneb said, "The grey fleet was crafted in Mithlond, my lord. To the West, and not to the south."

Amroth looked up, sudden fire in his eyes. "Does she dwell westward, then? Does my road lie to Mithlond?"

"If she did, my Lord, she would have found a ship--"

"No, " Amroth snapped. "She is not in the west. Of that I am certain."

[mark12_30]

Taitheneb looked from Amroth to Erebemlin. In a thousand years, why would not the maiden have found her way to the havens? Why could Amroth not see the obvious?

Including his own young, mannish body... A flush remained on his cheeks, his breathing was not restful, his heartbeat pounded in the veins on his neck. The wild boy did not look so. Taitheneb studied Nethwador; he was smudged and tattered, but his breathing was steady and quiet, his heartbeat restful. Taitheneb frowned, and bent his thoughts toward Erebemlin.

They say that Feanor's spirit was so hot that the flame of it consumed his body when he died.

Erebemlin started, looked at Amroth as if seeing him for the first time, and spoke urgently. "My lord, the body that you wear is not strong. It is weary. It is tired and weary as if... as if by many mannish years."

"My lord, your body is ill. It is sick, " said Taitheneb, who better understood the world of men.

This, Amroth cound not deny. "I am weary. I have often been so this past month," he confessed. "I have never slept so much. Only yesterday, I slept all day."

There was silence, again broken only by Nethwador's munching. He had finished his second half-loaf, and washed it down with wine and fruit. Taitheneb silently gave him another half-loaf.

"My lord, you must do what sick men do until they become strong," said Erebemlin.

Amroth's eyes glazed.

"Rest. You must rest, " said Taitheneb. Reaching for Amroth's shoulder, he touched his thoughts with peace and hope. "Sleep now."

"There is no time, " Amroth said.

"Sleep, my lord. There will be time enough." Tenderly sweeping aside Amroth's worries and fears, Taitheneb flooded his mind with peace, and to his own surprise, Amroth surrendered. He leaned into Taitheneb's hand, and Taitheneb guided him gently onto the floor of the Talan. His breath quieted. Taitheneb placed a hand on his brow, and waited.

A wide-eyed Erebemlin held his breath, but the king had fallen deep into a dreamless sleep.

Erebemlin gave Taitheneb an exhasperated glance.

Taitheneb returned a wry smile. "Did you never lullabye a child?"

Nethwador refilled his wine glass, and took another cake of raisins, munching contentedly as his master slept.

[littlemanpoet]

It looked like a day's hard ride from the Limlight to the distant forest, which Ædegard could see because its trees were so tall. He never did see Amroth and Mellon ahead of him the whole time, but their horses' hoof prints were unmistakable.

It was good to be alone for a change. It was the first time since Liornung and Bellyn had come upon him out of Edoras. To have space on every side, free of word or look or glances that meant the others trusted him to act in certain ways, will he or nill he. His horizon was free of other folk, of other faces, whether grinning like Liornung's usually was, or thoughtful as Bellyn, or fair Argeleafa of the Rohirrim. Or Liornung's songs.

He missed the songs.

He liked being with them. At any rate, Amroth's tracks looked to stay clear for any eyes.

He slowed and waited. His horse did not mind, as he gave him his head and he proceeded to graze.

He did not have to wait long. He waved when he saw them coming. Four of them. He had forgotten about the Ranger, Erundil. His brow furrowed, for he did not trust the man, a stranger. Then again, the three allowed him to ride with them. Maybe he would prove as trustworthy as Liornung and Bellyn. He waved.

"Ædegard!" Liornung cried. "Well met again! I am glad that you have decided to wait for us! Have you any sign of Amroth?"

"None save his trail."

They exchanged what little news they had not yet given between each other, and Ædegard shook hands with Erundil. Then the five pushed on, and Ædegard left Liornung and Bellyn to read the trail. He was happy to ride beside Aregeleafa and Erundil. There was not much talk passing between them, but that did not displease Ædegard.

As the forest grew before them, clear voices called to them.

"Halt! Come no nearer. This realm may not be traveled without leave. Name yourselves!"

[littlemanpoet]

A number of things happened at once. Raefindan dove into the water to rescue the merchant. Mellonin came to Aeron to see how he fared. Gwyllion stared at the merchant, her face white. The merchant's man drew his sword and crossed over to Gwyllion, lifted her to her feet, and held his sword at her neck.

"You and yours have raised a hand against my master. Do so again and this one pays."

Ravion's eyes went hard and his body tensed, his sword aimed at the man at arms. Aeron and Mellonin both turned as if yanked around by a rope, and stared at the man and Gwyllion, who had begun to whimper.

Raefindan pulled the merchant to shore. He was glad the man was skinny. Once he was sure the man was safe on land, stretched on the beach and coughing like a seal barking, he came forward, both hands raised, giving a quick reassuring nod to Ravion as he turned to face the man at arms. He would have to think about seals barking, what they were and where he remembered them from, later, when he had a chance.

"I have helped your master. We do not mean ill to you nor your master. Release the girl."

The man at arms looked questioningly to the merchant.

Raefindan spoke to the merchant. "Sir, please tell your man we mean you no harm. You have had my aid."

Slowly, the merchant considered, and at last, nodded. "Let the girl go. But keep that sword leveled on the boy!"

"Thank you," Raefindan said. He put a hand up to Ravion, who had raised his sword higher at the threat to Aeron.

"Sir, there is something that we would like to explain - ah - um - clear up about Aeron - but only when these swords drop."

The merchant looked from Ravion to Raefindan, glanced at Aeron, then gave an eyebrow raised look at his man at arms who shrugged noncommitally.

"Make him put his sword away first," said the merchant, pointing to Ravion.

"I cannot make him do anything, for he is our leader, but I am sure that he will agree to lower his sword if your man will do the same. Sir?" The merchant nodded. "My thanks. Ravion?"

As they watched, both swords lowered slowly, as if they were attached by elastic somehow, until their points rested near the ground.

"As I was saying, sir, we are this boy's jailers. We are giving him his punishment."

The merchant's brow rose again. "How?"

"Ah, sir, that is a good question. The answer best comes from Ravion, for it was he who arranged it. But before we speak more, might we not procure - ah - um - get - some towels or cloth to dry ourselves, and then perhaps something hot to drink for my good man here and his trusty footman?"

[Orual]

The silence was resounding, and Raefindan's gentlemanly offer fell on deaf ears. Ravion glared at the merchant, who glared back twice as venemously.

"You have taken the thief on as punishment, have you, Ranger?" the merchant jeered, spitting out Ravion's title like poison. "Tell me, how so? Protected by a Ranger, given food, the possibility of adventure...oh, yes, sounds to me like every boy's worst nightmare."

"Believe me when I say that there were things he would more enjoy doing," Ravion said, his voice dry. "Dressing up as a steak and being thrown to Wargs, for starters. The boy has been given no luxuries. He is here as my aide, and he will make himself useful or he will be cast off. I have no room in this company for idlers."

"But you have room for criminals?" the merchant demanded.

"We all have something to atone for," Ravion replied coldly and pointedly. He glanced at Aeron, who was still holding his injured arm. He hoped passionately that the merchant had not dislocated it. That would take too long to heal. He looked over to Raefindan. "More discussion would fall ill on thirsty dispositions. Even more ill than it already has. Perhaps my friend Raefindan is correct--perhaps a drink would not be amiss."

[Orual]

The wayfarer girl smiled at him, a curious smile, open and trusting. No, perhaps trusting was the wrong word. Inviting.

Erundil took a moment. He was not a man prone to smiles. It had been something of a oddity to his brother Rangers, who would laugh and joke around him to lighten the tension during the War. He never joined in their jests. Now, he wondered at this girl smiling while her companions seemed to be so focused and intent in their chase.

He felt a small smile slip onto his face, and coughed, and changed the subject. Perhaps she could tell him something of the blacksmith. "This...companion of yours. Your friends seem worried. Is he a danger to himself?"

The girl frowned a bit. "They say that he is not himself," she said, before they both heard a voice call:

"Halt! Come no nearer. This realm may not be traveled without leave. Name yourselves!"

Erundil kept silent, but groaned inside. Surely he had not let these travelers drag him into danger! Lothlorien? What had he gotten himself into?

[mark12_30]

Mellonin sheathed her dagger, fighting with self-disgust, her neck and cheeks crimson. Not only had she been of no use, but she had clearly failed to fool either of these men as to her identity; they both dismissed her as a woman. What good was she?

Nearby, the cold and dripping Gwyllion had begun to whimper. Mellonin turned on her, but her eyes were fixed on Ravion, and at a sign from him, she bit her lip and the whimpering turned into sniffles. The moment gave Mellonin hope. Somehow in only two days, Ravion had begun to change the girl. Mellonin watched as silent tears rolled down Gwillion's quivering cheeks, but her eyes were fixed on Ravion and she did not make another noise.

The girl may be moonstruck, but she is no fool.

The two strangers waited while Ravion glared at them. Raefindan fetched the two cooking pots, refilled them in the river, and set them on the fire. Mellonin, rooted to the ground, felt her blush deepen. She had expected the merchant to die spitted on one of Raefindan's arrows, and the other to die at Ravion's sword. Yet no blood had been shed. Raefindan was shivering, wet to the ribs, and hospitable.

What a puzzling man.

She roused herself, and went forward to unpack more tea, beckoning Gwillion toward the fire as she did so. December! What a time to go for a swim, she thought. Gwillion stood by the fire, but soon she was shivering, as was Raefindan.

All but Ravion started as the brush moved on the hill. Jorje trotted toward them with a dead rabbit dangling from his mouth.

"Some watchdog you were, " chided Raefindan through chattering teeth, and Mellonin had to smile. Jorje eyed the strangers with suspicion, withdrew to a safe distance, and ate the rabbit.

Soon the tea was hot, and Raefindan brought a steaming cup to each of the strangers.

Then he turned to the merchant. "Let the lad sit by the fire, " said Raefindan.

"You jest," spat the merchant.

Ravion's eyes narrowed. "He will do as I bid. As for you: sicken one of my company at your own peril." Stepping forward, Ravion set the point of his blade within the circle of the neglected necklace, caught it up glittering, and slipped it back into his pocket. He was now face to face with the merchant.

"What--" said the merchant.

"This I will have as weregild for my servant til he is returned to me, " replied Ravion. "Take him to the fire."

"How dare you!" The merchant gave Aeron's arm another yank. Mellonin stood, indignant, and Raefindan groaned inwardly. The man-at-arms raised his blade again, but Ravion's blade was now at the merchant's throat. Everyone froze.

[Imladris]

Shivering, his arm throbbing, Aeron glanced at Ravion with grateful eyes. The ranger was protecting him for some unaccountable reason, and Aeron could not help but wonder why. A feeble grin struggled to his face, but quickly disappeared when he sneezed. He felt miserable -- drat that blasted merchant who had found him.

Tea...it was not the most pleasing drink, but that did not matter so long as it was warm. He listened dully to the ranger and the merchant arguing about whether he should sit by the fire. Aeron thought that there should be no question about the matter. It was common descency to let someone sit by a fire and then people wondered why he stole from the rich merchants. Aeron grimaced and squealed again when the merchant jerked his arm again. The hoar headed one was too strong for his own good. About to elbow him back, Aeron saw the sword at the man's throat and froze. The ranger threatening the merchant's life for a bit of fire to warm a thief's cold bones? That was not quite ranger like, Aeron thought. Rangers were supposed to uphold the law...no protect known criminals. It was nice, though, that this ranger considerred it his duty to do otherwise...it was much better being his servant rather than rotting in a jail cell.

************
The merchant scoffed at the blade, and said, "Do you wish to frighten me into submission? Do you think that I will grovel before your blade and consent to let the boy warm himself?" He cocked an eyebrow at the ranger and said, "I have fought in many battles, jeered at the leering faces of orcs, stood unflinchingly in the face of the Dark Lord's Armies. I do not fear your blade."

[Orual]

Almost before Ravion himself knew what was happening, he had his sword pointed at the merchant's throat. The merchant scowled at the weapon and said mockingly, "Do you wish to frighten me into submission? Do you think that I will grovel before your blade and consent to let the boy warm himself? I have fought in many battles, jeered at the leering faces of orcs, stood unflinchingly in the face of the Dark Lord's Armies. I do not fear your blade."

Ravion stood silent, his blade unmoving, as he bore into the merchant's eyes. "These things I have done as well," he said quietly. He hoped that he was imagining the quaver in his voice. The merchant had poured salt into his one open wound as deftly as he could have had he known it was there. So the merchant was a soldier. No matter, Ravion told himself, and it made things all the worse: a man who had seen the product of Sauron's destructiveness and cruelty should know better than to deliberately sicken a young boy.

The Ranger and the merchant glared at each other, neither moving, neither backing down, for a long moment. Ravion tensed his arm suddenly as though to strike, and the merchant let go of Aeron's arm reflexively. The boy took advantage of the opportunity, as Ravion had hoped he would, and moved quickly out of the merchant's grip. "You ought to go sit by the fire, Aeron. You might catch a cold," Ravion said in something that resembled a pleasant tone, though he kept his eyes squarely on the merchant, who was now seething with anger.

"What would your fellow Rangers think?" the merchant asked, his voice dripping with acid. Ravion stiffened, but said nothing.

"What would your fellow Rangers think?

"What would your father think?"

"He would--" Ravion began, then corrected himself. "They would think that I was keeping my word and protecting..." He broke off and stormed over to Gond, digging in the saddlebags.

"What are you doing?" the merchant demanded. Ravion did not respond, but brought out some dried herbs and crushed them between his hands. He then strode over to Aeron and crouched by the boy.

"Put this in your tea," he ordered. Aeron looked up, puzzled, and Ravion shoved the herbs at him. "Do as I say. I will not have you falling ill. We cannot waste that much time." Aeron took the herbs, and Ravion checked his shoulder and arm. His forearm was bruised, but his shoulder was fine...it probably still ached, but it was not broken or dislocated. He nodded curtly and stood up.

"You are fortunate that you did not injure him," he snapped.

[alaklondewen]

Celegtâl and Caranduin had toiled most of the morning with the removal of the orc remains, and they now walked with lighter hearts enjoying the warmth of the sun on their faces. Their golden hair glistened with the light and danced with the wind. As they spoke their voices carried on the wind resembling a clear melody played on two flutes in harmony.

“I do wonder where Taitheneb has taken himself,” Caranduin thought aloud as the pair strolled along the southern border of the forest.

“Wherever he went, he managed to escape the morning’s work.” Celegtâl had a noticeable edge to his voice. “He should perform two of our nightly watches…each.”

Caranduin smiled but did not reply. He was all too familiar with Celegtâl’s fiery impatience, and he did not wish to encourage the young ellon. “Do you hear that, Mellon?” Celegtâl halted and turned an ear to the south, while Caranduin knelt near to the ground. “They are hoof beats, no?”

“Yes, six horses.”

“Are you sure? I am unable to tell by their sound. Certainly more than one travels our way.” Caranduin stayed lowered not looking to the horizon.

“Yes, I am sure. Stand up and have look for yourself, if you do not believe me.” The younger elf peered into the distance, shading his eyes from the sun’s glare. Caranduin rose and joined him. Sure enough, six horses with five riders rode toward them.

The pair waited silently as the group neared. Once they were a hundred yards or so from the forest, Caranduin climbed to one of the outposts on the border, while Celegtâl stood firmly in their path.

"Halt! Come no nearer. This realm may not be traveled without leave. Name yourselves!" Celegtâl cried. The group was a curious one. They seemed to be a mismatched company of mortals.

Caranduin fitted his arrow to his bow and aimed for the man that rode in front beside a young girl with a thoughtful face.

[Imladris]

"That I did not injure him is unfortunate," said the Merchant, casting a glance at Aeron, who was cradling his arm. The brat sister who had sprung upon was also beside him, her arms draped about his shoulders. He rolled his eyes.

Ravion frowned and said, "That is indeed unkind and unjust."

"If his arm was injured, he might learn not to use it for unlawful things," said the merchant, easing himself beside the fire. "Since you are loathe to part with the boy for some unknown reason, what will you do for me?"

He stared into the ranger's eyes, wondering why he was protecting the boy, why he would want to protect a thieving vagrant. A chuckle escaped him: the ranger would know his mistake when the lad would rob him blind and then escape with the sister.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Bellagard! Ædegyn! Argendil and Erunleaf!" Bella cried in great haste, not wanting to try the patience of whoever wanted to know their names. Bella fumbled with the names, and when they came out of her mouth jumbled and mixed up, she smacked her palm to her forehead.

"Ah, those are strange names, miss!" Bella could not tell with what disposition the questioner spoke, and this made her even more nervous as she stood next to Ædegard. Argeleafa and Erundil proceeded towards their two companions cautiously and slowly. The inquiries continued. "On what business do you travel? What brings you to this place?"

"We're looking for Melloth and Amron!" Bellyn had planned on letting Ædegard handle whatever questions came next, but the mis-matched names tumbled out with her voice. Why am I so nervous? Bellyn wondered, blaming the fact that the interrogater held a bow aimed for Ædegard's chest. "I mean...we are searching for two of our former companions, who came by this way. We mean no harm or hostility!"

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung's face twitched a little and a faint smile came to his lips as he heard Bellyn's confused words. And then... she had forgotten to name him, even in a confused, mixed way. But it was of no matter. He had been forgotten before this, and he would be forgotten again. And Bellyn had been confused, and quite capable of forgetting any of the company. It was of no matter.

He moved slowly closer to her, aware that an arrow could bring swift and unavoidable death. Leaning slightly towards her, he patted her hand gently, feeling very much like an old man comforting a little girl. He had always seemed older than he was. No reckless, thoughtless, daring actions, but always careful consideration. But if it were the lot of the young man's life to play an old man, he would at least do it ably. "Hush, Bella-lass," he said, "and let Ædegard speak with them. He will know what to say."

At least there was Ædegard. That man was also young, but wise beyond his years. It would be thought in such a company of young people there would be much confusion over what to do, much jest, and more dancing and singing than work. If they were wise it was not a bad thing. Yet it was odd, for Liornung had always felt young before. What was it about this journey that made him older? It would not be a terrible day when he returned to the inn and saw Good Secgrof again, and the innkeeper, and his daughter Blostma. She would find some way to make him a young man again, surely she would. Or at least he could be hoped. And he would go on no more adventures like this but merely sit by that fire and tell tales. It would be pleasant to always sit by that fire and not wander anymore. Yet it was merely a passing fancy. This was no gentle wandering to play music for whoever would listen, it was more difficult, more frightening. When he recovered for it he would travel again. But for awhile it would be good to just sit by that fire and tell of all the people he had encountered.

He paused in his thoughts, in his memories and his anticipation of the future, and made himself realize that he was in neither the past nor the future, but in the present, and he was encountering more people. And these people... A tingling feeling came over him and he suddenly felt immensely shy, and a wonder came over him. He did not think any longer of the bows, but of those who held them. Awe filled him as he realized fully what had only been a dim thought before... North they had ridden from Edoras, for Amroth was seeking his love Nimrodel. He had been riding towards his people, towards a Wood that was not Fangorn. The wonder grew in him and rendered him speechless.

[alaklondewen]

Celegtâl wondered at the strangeness that the young woman would answer for the group, while the males stood behind and said nothing. “We have seen no mortals this morning. Neither an Amron nor a Melloth.” The elf stood firm, even though he could sense the good nature in the young woman. The trio of men worried him more. What kind of men were these to let a woman speak for them, and why were they not stepping forward to honor and distinguish themselves?

Celegtâl looked over their faces trying to discern the intentions that lie there. Worry, awe, embarrassment, disappointment…these were the expressions they wore. A mottled group they were indeed.

[mark12_30]

Sipping her tea, Mellonin kept one eye on Gwillion and the other eye on the merchant's henchman. Beside her Raefindan shivered, and she was sorely tempted to give him her cloak. However she had already noticed the henchman's eye on Gwillion.

Keeping one eye on the henchman and one hand near her dagger, she stood, walked over to Gond and fetched two blankets. One she handed to Raefindan. The other she draped over (and around) Gwillion and Aeron both. She glared steely-eyed at the henchman, and in her deepest voice she growled at Gwyllion. "Here, lass, mind you stay well wrapped."

Aeron's eyes sparkled, but he responded stone-faced. "Thank you, my lord Fingon." Gwyllion managed a shy, grateful smile. Her shivering masked her giggle.

The merchant's eyebrows went up. "Lord Fingon?"

Mellonin gave him what she hoped was a lordly, warlike glance of disdain.

The merchant frowned. "I do not remember any lord in Gondor by that name."

The henchman spat. "Hasn't been noble very long by the callouses on his hands. Looks like a girl. Walks like one, too."

Relying once again on the manly glance of disdain, Mellonin-- Lord Fingon, she reminded herself-- hoped that someone might change the subject.

[littlemanpoet]

"My lords," Ædegard said, taking Liornung's cue, "the lass Bellyn is not used to arrows aimed at her while she greets you. Pray, forgive her, and my lapse for not speaking sooner. I am Ædegard of Edoras, this is Liornung also of Edoras, the lady Bellyn is from Rohan's friend Gondor. This is Argeleafa of Rohan, and Erundil, a ranger. We were with Amroth, who is also called Mellon, until early this morning. He is ill and we need to find him to give him what aid we may. If you have seen him, we beseech you to show us the way to him, the sooner we may aid him."

The arrow lowered. "The one you speak of has not been seen in these woods in a thousand years. How do you know of him?"

Ædegard swallowed hard. The arrows were pointed at him now. "As I said, sirs, he is ill. Ill of mind, maybe. He is a blacksmith of Gondor, yet thinks himself Amroth, and behaves as Amroth. We fear for his safety."

"Well you might, Ædegard of Rohan. Stay where you are and we shall come down to you. We have more questions for you, but they may be asked in more friendly fashion."

Ædegard wondered where these words, issuing from his mouth, came from. He was a lowly wheelwright, unlearned in letters, knowing only the basest runes. Yet when the words were needed, they came. Ædegard decided that he had much to think about, when he got the chance.

[littlemanpoet]

Mellonin had made a brave attempt at acting the lordly man, but needed practice. Raefindan decided that he would have to work with her on that.... somehow, which was amusing, since he was no lord himself; but he had read books .... what books? He couldn't remember, but certain rather important points came to mind right now that he could use to deflect attention from Mellonin. Hmmm.... deflect? What does "to flect" mean? he allowed himself to wonder for the briefest moment.

"Mister Merchant man, sir-" The merchant's face screwed up as he turned to him, watching Raefindan as if he was a lunatic (lunatic - he meant 'crazy', but how did that work? an insane tick?). "-or whatever you name yourself. I have a question for you. If you were to take Aeron back with you, would you have him bound over to trial? And if so, would it be trial by ordeal? Would you have the nearest lord order that his hand be submer- I mean dunked - in boiling water, to see if it would boil?" Raefindan glanced at Aeron, whose eyes were getting larger and more fearstricken with each question Raefindan put to the man. Or would you have him tried based on evidence?"

"Evidens?" replied the merchant. "What is this evidens? Thick evening? You make no sense, man. What mean you?"

"Proof. Would you prove before a judge that this lad is your thief? I would hear your answer." Raefindan was stalling for time, hoping that Ravion or Mellonin could think of something to do, whether it be bludgeoning these blokes from behind, or putting a sleep draft in their drinks, or just running away. He feared that he was only making things worse, however. He eyed them both but they stared at him mutely, as if they were just as confounded by his talk as the merchant.

[Orual]

Ravion kept his face impassive, but glanced from Aeron to Gwyllion to Mellonin in confusion. "Lord Fingon"? Was that spontaneous, or had it been planned? Either way, it presented him with both an opportunity and a challenge. Could he really play it off that Mellonin was a noble...and a lord rather than a lady at that? He gathered his wits about him and plunged in to the game.

"Would you prove before a judge that this lad is your thief?"

Inspiration hit Ravion like one of Raefindan's better-aimed arrows. "My lord!" he exclaimed. Mellonin turned to him, surprised. "My lord, with the authority granted to you by his Majesty the King Elessar, you could pass judgment on our...predicament."

He turned to the merchant. "Surely you would accept the judgment of a Lord of Gondor, would you not?"

The way the Ranger phrased it, the merchant could hardly disagree. "Of course."

Almost gleeful in his pride, Ravion turned back to Mellonin. "My lord, who has the greater claim to Aeron's services? Myself, or the merchant?"

[mark12_30]

Mellonin drew herselkf up to her fill five-foot-nine height, and cleared her throat with as much rumble as she could muster. Then she sipped her tea as regally as she could while perusing Aeron's face. Thankfully, the lad was staring at the ground for fear of smirking.

She could do this. She and her brother used to make a game of imitating the master of the house. She closed her eyes, and quickly ran a verse of a noble song through her head. Then she opened her eyes, and turned to Raefindan.

"You call for proof that this boy is the thief of the necklace, and I deem this a wise question."

Raefindan stood, eyes sparkling, but he managed not to smile, or to hide the smile with chattering teeth. "Yes, lord."

"You also ask about the choice of the boy's punishment; to boil his hand rather than break his arm?"

Raefindan's jaw dropped. "My lord, such methods would not be my choice."

"Ah. And what would you choose for him as punishment?"

"Rehabilitation, my lord!"

Mellonin could not bite back the laugh that escaped her, but she ended it as gutterally as she could. Raising one hand (and then lowering it lest her callouses draw more attention) she said, "In the Common Speech, please, my friend."

Raefindan smiled, and shivered harder to hide it. "Training and practice in good deeds, under the guidance of a strong hand."

"Ah. Then you would have the boy-- for boy he is-- taught to do right."

Raefindan nodded. "Yes, my lord."

The merchant shifted, displeased already.

Lord Fingon turned to the merchant. "Good merchant, is the necklace that the Ranger tossed to you indeed the necklace that was taken from you?"

"Of course it is!"

Mellonin took a deep breath. "And how will you prove that it was the boy who stole it?"

"Of course he did! He's just a theif! Anyone can see it in him! Just look at him!"

Mellonin hardly knew how to argue with what the merchant said; Aeron's shifty eyes, expensive yet ill-tailored clothes and his quickness to cringe did indeed cast a shadow on him.

"That was not the lord's question, " Raefindan retorted. "The lord wants proof."

The merchant stood. "It's my necklace!"

"How do you know this was the boy who took it?"

"He's a well- known thief!"

"He is not the only thief in Gondor, " replied Mellonin. She watched the merchant's face, and then regretted saying it.

The merchant's eyes went wide.with indignation and he turned on Ravion, and they were both on their feet.. "You! You had it in your pocket! You took it! You --- so you want mercy for the boy, do you? You miserable prowling trickster-- when did you take it? I ought to drown you right now! Draw, vermin!"

Their blades sang and crossed; their eyes glittered, and the footwork began as they tested each other. The henchman drew, and stepped forward, watching for foul play.

Mellonin drew a quick breath, and glanced at Raefindan, who was standing wide-eyed, and had shouted "Stop! "Stop this madness!"

Aeron stood. "He did not take it! I took it!"

Mellonin stepped as close as she dared and held up a shaking hand. "Stop. Stop, halt!" Her voice was shaking, and it broke into a girlish squeak.

The two men stepped back, with their blades still raised.

Aeron said it again. "He did not take it. I took it."

The merchant spoke through his teeth. "Then you'll drown!"

Raefindan waved his hands. "We were supposed to let the lord decide the boy's fate, remember?"

Still seething, the merchant faced Mellonin. "Well, Lord Fingon?"

She drew herself up to her height again, and still trembling, she replied with a quavering voice, "You show no mercy, sir. And I would not trust such a boy-- however guilty he may be-- to such a jailer. You may not drown the boy, nor break his arm, nor boil his hand."

The merchant sheathed his blade, a cold sneer of contempt etched on his features.

Mellonin tried to stop shaking, and could not; and her voice shook. "You, " she managed to say, "will take your necklace. And this ranger will take the boy, and train him to be good. I have decided."

[littlemanpoet]

The merchant eyed Mellonin distrustfully. "Lord Fingon, eh?" His tone dripped with suspicion. "Prove it. You are no lord. Prove it to me, or your judgement is false. Worse, if you are no lord, you lie and are no better than this thief, who at least has admitted his crime." The merchant walked up to Mellonin with measured steps, staring into her face. He got up close and sneered into her face, "Prove it, girl." He grinned, then laughed. "Some lord, so soft of face and rough of hand! You'll have to do better than that!" He laughed even harder, then broke off and scowled. "The boy has spoken his crime. Since he stole from me, his punishment is mine to mete out."

Raefindan spoke up. "Sir, you have us at a disadvantage. But we need this boy and his sister." Raefindan did not know precisely why this was so, but it seemed to him that it was so, and would be proven in the future. His own usefulness to this party was more in doubt, as far as he was concerned.

"Take me as hostage until the boy returns to Gondor."

"No!" Mellonin cried, forfeiting all pretense to manhood.

The merchant regarded Raefindan, rubbing his unshaven chin. "What use would you be to me, Red?"

"I will serve as your steward, if you would have it so."

"Raefindan! No!" She ran to him and whispered into his ear, "The dreams!" So that was his usefulness. He had forgotten in the chaos of the day's events; but he had made his offer, and there it stood.

"What does she whisper to you, Red?"

"It has to do with our quest."

"A quest, eh? Tell me of it."

[Imladris]

Aeron shivered by the fire, his clothes clinging to his skin like blood sucking leeches -- except that they, instead, sucked the warmth from him. He smiled at Gwyllion as she came and hugged him, cradling her head on his shoulder. He knew she would forgive him. The merchant had hastened the forgiveness, of course, but his personal charm would have made it irresistable for her to be angry with him for more than a few days. He smiled at her.

Mellonin draped a blanket around their shoulders, and he said, "Thank you, my lord Fingon." Gwyllion shoulders shivered with laughter and Aeron himself wrestled with a grin that strived to appear. Calling her a lord -- he wondered if she could pull it off. She was nothing but a servant woman! It would indeed be interesting if she could or not.

"You should have called her something other than a lord," Gwyllion whispered.

"I know, but if a lie is to be told, why not make it into a glorious lie," Aeron murmured into her ear. "It is more fun that way."

"Your fun could get you into trouble."

He rolled his eyes. How typical of his sister to point that out to him. He was already in trouble and if the merchant discovered his falsehood it would not matter.

What was this? The merchant was accusing Ravion of stealing the necklace? Drat and blast, how could he sully the Ravion's name as a ranger? A ranger! Aeron's mouth gaped and his brows met in a jagged frown. Of all the the things that he had been hearing today, stupid lectures and all, this was the most outrageous of them all. It was a far stretch of the imagination to imagine a ranger stealing a bit of jewelery. Aeron wondered the ranger had a young sweetheart...but still! Then again, if the ranger was accused it would make his life ten times easier. He would no longer be his servant...but...then there was Mellonin and Raefindan. They were kind folks...and the ranger would have to protect them. Shaking himself, grimacing at his stupidity, Aeron climbed to his feet as the merchant and the ranger crossed blades. "He did not take it, I took it!" Aeron shouted. Seeing as the shout had no noticable effect, he bellowed, "He did not take it, I took it!"

"Then you'll drown," the merchant said through clenched teeth.

Aeron rolled his eyes. It was most probably an empty threat. Ravion would not let him drown...but why? Aeron shrugged and sat back down. It was a mystery that he could not fathom.

He listened as Mellonin passed judgement on him, but was not satisfied that it would sway the merchant to a more lenient heart. He would be a deaf man if he did not realize that her voice was forced, a blind man to realize that her air of lordship was a bit false, and a man of dim wits if he could not see that she was shaken by the encounter.

He sighed and grinned at Mellonin. She had tried after all and she had done a pretty good job of it he figured.

[alaklondewen]

Celegtâl waited as Caranduin descended and met him on the ground, then the pair strode to the group. “Be forewarned,” Caranduin’s voice was firm, and his grey eyes flashed. “If you as much as show a hint of hostility toward us, you will not live to regret it.”

Celegtâl did not look toward his companion, but placed his hand over his dagger. To be honest, the elf did not wish to do battle against these mortals, especially being outnumbered, and he hoped Taitheneb was lurking nearby, in case they found themselves in need of another hand.

“Tell us more of this Gondorian blacksmith, Sir Ædegard. You say he believes he is the Lord Amroth?” Celegtâl lowered his hand from his dagger and stepped closer to Ædegard.

“Yes, sir. He claims to be.”

Celegtâl tried to touch the edge of Ædegard’s thoughts, but the Rohirrim kept his mind closed. He was distrustful, and most rightly so. Celegtâl respected this as he himself trusted very few. “The lass mentioned two that you pursue, yet you only speak of one. What of the second?”

“He is a boy, a teenager, from the wandering peoples. He accompanied Amroth when he rode from our camp this morning.” Seemingly predicting the next line of questioning, Ædegard continued, “we followed their tracks here, sirs.”

Celegtâl nodded and turned to Caranduin. “What do you make of this?” He whispered in his companion’s ear.

“I believe he speaks the truth. No deception lies in his voice or expression.” Caranduin glanced at the group before continuing. “I feel the real concern lies in the blacksmith. We cannot allow a disillusioned man leeway in the forest, especially one that claims the kingship.”

Celegtâl remained silent a moment and piecing together what he had heard. “You may enter the forest, but only with our guidance. We will take you to Erebemlin. He watches over the forest, and if your blacksmith is here, he will know of it.”

~*~*~*~
Orual's post: Erundil

Erundil stepped forward. "If I may, sir...?" he began. The elf nodded. "I am not a companion of the blacksmith. Perhaps I should take my leave now."

Celegtâl looked at him for a long moment, as though trying to divine his intentions. "I am a Ranger, and must go back to my work," Erundil continued. He didn't add that all this talk of the blacksmith made him uncomfortable.

Finally, Celegtâl nodded. "Be on your way," he said. Erundil bowed, turned to the company, and bowed again. Then he left, going to his horse.

He would do well to tell his fellow Rangers of this straightaway. Who would be out?

As he nudged his horse to a canter, it hit him. Ravion! Ravion was always out. He would find him, and tell him of this matter...

[mark12_30]

Chalk walls, covered with ash. Daylight filtering through low-hanging mist, coming to rest on a layer of dust. Nothing green; nothing blue; nothing gold or silver; only grey, turning to black with nightfall. Bones, skulls, rotted teeth scattered about. No decay; there is nothing left to decay. Even the air is dead.

Amroth muttered and grew restless. Erebemlin turned to Nethwador, but the boy had already crawled to Amroth's side, and was hurriedly speaking to Amroth and trying to calm him. Amroth struggled in his sleep.

Taitheneb had departed with the other elf, and now Erebemlin wished that he hadn't. Erebemlin considered calling him back.

"Lord Amroth must rest, Nethwador; yet if his dreams are evil, will his body gain strength?" Erebemlin hesitated. The redness of Amroth's skin had only turned darker, his pulse was pounding in his veins, and he had begun to sweat. Erebemlin stepped to the edge of the talan and drew breath to call Taitheneb. But there was no need. The elf was running back along the path.

"Wake him!"

Erebemlin strode to Amroth's side, shook him and spoke his name. He heard Taitheneb climbing the ladder in haste, and in moments Taitheneb knelt by Amroth's side. "My lord, wake. Lord Amroth!" He placed his hand on the young man's brow, and spoke to him, calling him. Taitheneb's face grew strained, and he trembled. Just as abruptly he released Amroth and sat back, wide-eyed. Amroth now lay quiet and still. Nethwador still chattered at him, til Erebemlin touched his finger to his lips.

"Taitheneb, speak," said Erebemlin.

"He drowned, " said Taitheneb, who had turned pale. "Dusty, filled with dry choking ash. He drowned in death. The dust of mortal decay filled his breast, and he drowned. I heard his cry, and then it was cut off."

Erebemlin glanced at Amroth; his pulse still thudded in his veins. "He lives."

"I heard his cry and it was the cry of one who departs this land." Taitheneb stared at the young man's body, at a loss.

"Why does he lie quiet now?" asid Erebemlin.

"Call him, Silmaethor. He has despaired. You are stronger than I."

Erebemlin studied Taitheneb, and gathered his courage. Taitheneb had braved the lord's dark dreams; he could do no less. He returned to Nethwador's side, and laid his hand on Amroth's brow.

Dust... grey, choking listlessness. The days wear on, each like the last, grey, grim, silent, choked with ash and mist. Each step is like the last; each breath is like the last. What is joy? It is all but forgotten in the grey ash. Where did it go? What was hope? Did I have joy? Did I have hope? Why did it leave me?

[mark12_30]

Mellonin shrank backward, shaking, as Raefindan and Ravion glared at the merchant and his henchman. She went back to Gond, around to his far side, and leaned her face against his neck. She was still shaking.

"What quest?" prodded the henchman.

Ravion looked reluctant to speak, and Raefindan was still pondering his last outburst.

"Tell us of this quest, " said the merchant, sipping his tea, "if it is not another lie."

Mellonin's head snapped up, and she returned from behind the horse. "I am looking for my brother, " she said, meeting the marchant's eyes.

"Your brother. And who might that be, Lord Fingon?" mocked the merchant.

"He goes by the name Mellondu, " she said.

"Oh, but of course. We are all friends here. Especially of Lord Fingon!" The henchman laughed.

A flush rose in Mellonin's face. "He is seventeen. He left the city three weeks past, and we have not heard from him since, although we have news of his trail."Her eyes flicked toward Ravion. Should she let him speak? No; this was her quest, her missing brother. Her voice strengthened. " He is like me in voice and stature."

"Oh ho, he's pretty too!" laughed the henchman. "Why would he want to return home?"

The merchant smirked, and began to laugh.

'He is a boy like this one, " Mellonin gestured at Aeron. "He is no traveller. His strength at the forge will do him little good on the road."

"A blacksmith! A girl-faced delicate little blacksmith!" Ravion's face grew white. But his anger was slower than Mellonin's. She stepped forward and now her eyes sparked with anger.

"It is plain you care little for your fellow men," she hissed at him.

"Men? You speak of boys! Like this one!"

Something tugged at the back of Mellonin's mind, and she turned. The black horse grazed nearby, his saddle and bridle gleaming, his burnished coat reflecting the sun's fire. She stepped calmly to the black steed and grasped its headstall.

"Unhand my horse," said the merchant in a ice-cold voice.

"So! You value your horse. More than a man?" she replied.

"Do not touch him!"

She drew her dagger, and meeting the merchant's eyes, she reached her dagger-hand down towrads the horses' tendon. Unconcerned, the horse chewed his mouthful of grass and looked calmly at its master, but the master was now anything but calm. Both the master and the henchman stood enraged yet rooted to the ground.

Ravion fitted an arrow to his bow; Raefindan belatedly did likewise and stepped back, thought better of it and stepped closer. But Ravion was not aiming at the men. He was aiming at the great black stallion.

"I'll have your head! Do not harm him! You will pay for this!"

"Then leave us, " Mellonin cried, bringing her dagger back up near the horse's throat. "Leave us now! And do not trouble us again, or we will shoot your horse on sight! Leave us now!"

[Imladris]

With a snarl, the merchant leaped onto his horse, drove his heels into his flanks, and dashed away from them, disappearing over a nearby knoll. Behind him he could hear the thudding of his servan'ts hooves. To think that a ragtag group had first of all taken a thief under their wing, second of all refused to return the necklace, and third of all threatening his steed -- he reigned the stallion in gently and dismounted. With loving hands he carressed the broad withers and inspected the neck. If there was so much as a puncture mark that girl -- nay, the Lord Fingon would pay in equal blood.

As for the Lord -- he was no more man than he was nobility, of that the merchant was sure. Turning to his servant who had stopped beside him, he said, "I do not believe that was a lord. If nobility, Fingon would have been a lady."

The servant nodded.

"The flesh of the cheek was too smooth, was it not?"

Again a nod.

"The step too light?"

The nod.

"Her spirit too delicate?"

A snort instead of a nod. "A true lord would have either thrown himself within the fray, or else let you and the ranger fight it out like men. Did you hear her squeak like a frightened child and did you see her hand tremble?"

"Yes. See how easily you call the lord a she? It must have been a girl...a peasant girl at that. Her hands has seen years of hard work and callouses to have been newly traveling."

"My master," said the servant, rubbing his aquiline nose, "why would the brother of a lord be a blacksmith?"

A toothless smile stretched across the merchant's thin face. Why indeed?

[mark12_30]

Mellonin, Raefindan, and Ravion stood, watching, as the two horses thundered over the hill, but then the galloping stopped. They waited. Aeron put his arms around Gwillion, and hushed her, but she only shivered harder and drew closer to him for warmth.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn hushed herself as Ædegard spoke with the strangers. She felt only slightly better with Liornung close by her side, and Argeleafa behind her. Something about the woods and the strange archer men scared the life and cheer out of her. Or perhaps it was not fear, but some sort of awe that captivated her and kept her in constant rapture. The colors of the leaves were not like any she had ever seen, and held a hue and life that Bella had never used or tried to paint. The rays of sun falling through the treetops and revealing particles of dust had never been sketched by Bella's hand. This is why I am here! Bellyn thought anxiously, the lack of confidence still showing on her face.

Looking to the archers, the ones that had 'frightened' her so, Bella found a new and even more glorious energy. She longed to capture their expressions and how they seemed youthful but wise and old in some other way. All the new surroundings and exotic sights reminded Bellyn why she loved drawing and painting so much. Bellyn felt a desire to capture the moments in time and always wanted to be able to remember the feelings of the picture.

"Liornung, this is such a strange place," Bella whispered, her voice quavering with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "I had not noticed it at first, but now that the arrows are down and my eyes are open to not just the threat of death, I can see how different everything looks! Is it not strange how much more comforted I feel thinking about colors and images, though I keep in my heart his warning that we are being watched?"

"It is no more strange than when I feel comforted at a familiar tune," Liornung replied softly, patting Bella's shoulder again. Bella smiled and became more aware of the songs of birds after Liornung's comment. "But I am still open to hearing new songs. This strangeness, I think, comes from when we realize that the things that comfort us so almost make us forget about the other beauties of the world."

"Yes. I suppose. I do not think I will let my comfort in old colors and sights keep me from seeing the new ones any more." Bellyn said decisively. "But all these new colors cannot keep me from wondering how Amroth and Mellon fare..."

"We shall know soon enough how Amron and Melloth fare, Bella," Argeleafa piped up from behind Bellyn and Liornung, with a grin wide on her face. Bellyn blushed at the reminder of her fumbling speech.

"Soon!" Bellyn agreed.

[Orual]

As the merchant and his servant rode away, seething, Ravion took his arrow from his bow and stuck it into the ground before his feet. "As good here as it would be in your back. You are a waste of an arrow," he shouted after the merchant.

The retreating villains were not the only ones who were seething. Ravion had tried to keep his temper during the skirmish, not wanting to escalate the tensions, and certainly not wanting to slip in an ill-timed word after Raefindan's bargain. Perhaps the man had more to learn about archery, but he was certainly a soothing presence, and there was a bond between the red-haired man and Mellonin. Ravion could not afford to lose him. But still, it had been a bitter struggle, and one narrowly won. A victory was a victory, though, he supposed...

He turned to Aeron with sharp words ready on his tongue, but saw the boy huddled with his sister, calming her. The words died, and the tip of Ravion's anger dissolved. He was by no means pacified, but he now was conscious of the cold, uncomfortable silence that had fallen, like the chill before a hurricane.

Mellonin was shaking. Ravion realized that her role as "Lord Fingon" had not been an easy one for her. There had been much at stake, and she had borne up admirably, but she was still a very young woman who had to take on an odd role at a precarious time. He grabbed his arrow and shoved it into his quiver, and laid his bow on the ground. He walked over to Mellonin and put a hand on her shoulder...but before he could say anything, she started to sob.

It took him by surprise. He shot Raefindan a panicked glance, but the red-haired man just shrugged helplessly. Unsure of what to do, he put his arms around her, and tried to comfort her.

[mark12_30]

Weak. Weak, foolish, and useless. She buried her face in her hands, mortified by the Ranger's sympathy, and her body went rigid.

She was used to rebuke, and it would have strengthened her at least for the moment, at least until she could have found some time alone with her Mellondu. He always understood...

The magnitude of her loss struck her hard, and Ravion stood by as Mellonin stifled and strangled her sobs.

Raefindan appeared with another cup of hot tea. Mellonin laughed amid her tears and accepted it, wiping her face and fighting for composure. He carried another, and offered it to Ravion who shook his head. "They're colder than I am."

She caught her breath, and looked up over her hands at the boy who had just narrowly escaped drowning, or having his arm pulled off, or worse, and thought of her brother. Were they so different? Yes-- and no. And that arrogant wretch cared more for his horse. Indignation fought with embarassment. "Is Aeron all right?" she asked Ravion.

"He will be sore for many days, " Ravion said grimly.

"Poor Aeron, " she replied. Her voice still shook and she wanted to run off and be alone. But that was no longer a choice.

It would be some time now before she would let the others out of her sight.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin gently laid his hand upon the brow of his king’s mortal body. As flesh met flesh, a series of images flooded his mind…

Darkness, everything was around him was filled with an immense, impenetrable darkness. His master’s voice rang in the thick, chalky air. The elf recoiled, wishing to detach himself and run for the light, but then he saw a lone figure, covered in a consuming ash. As Erebemlin grew closer he saw his lord’s face, but Amroth had changed…there was no light, no hope or joy that had once emitted from his spirit. Amroth gasped…he could not breathe.

“Lord, reach for me.” Erebemlin knelt, but the closer he came to reaching Amroth, the farther Amroth fell away from him. Panic filled Erebemlin for one moment before he regained control, and then the elf stood over the sinking king and called to him in a voice that cut the ash and darkness like a knife. Light flowed through and from the warrior as he continued to call Amroth’s name.

Slowly, Amroth found his breath and began to climb from the depth of the ash. With every word Erebemlin spoke, the king found strength to continue and soon he was standing enveloped in light.

Amroth awoke. His body clothes were soaked with perspiration and his heart still pounded in his chest.

Erebemlin fell backward, out of breath. Leaning on his hands, the elf looked with wide eyes from Amroth to Taitheneb.

[Imladris]

"Poor Aeron," Mellonin said.

Aeron heard her and turning to her, dragging his sister to her feet, said, "Poor no one. You did as well as you could and the merchant is gone after all." He glowered after the cloud of dust, rubbed his arm and spat. Sighing he said, "There is naught to be distraught over."

He crouched down in front of Mellonin and grinned. "You should not be crying," he said. "All is said and done now and there was no exchange and no one was harmed." He wondered why she still wept and wondered if it could be her brother. He wondered if Gwyllion would be so upset if she lost him, and whether if he would weep at her loss. He could not imagine his sister dead, or missing. It would not happen...He pushed the thought away and said, "Ravion will find your brother, and I am sure he has made some friends." Hopefully good friends...

He scratched his nose, and said softly, "You did me kind service, Mellonin and Ravion. I would thank you." Leaning over, he pecked Mellonin on her brow and bowed to the ranger. Why had the ranger tried to save him? Aeron was like a flea that would not go away, while the ranger was a load of brickish lectures about Aeron's neck. The boy shook his head and shrugged once again. He had been saved, his sister was still with him, and the fellowship remained in tact. "Of course, I do not seriously think that the merchant would have drowned me for a mere trinket," Aeron said with a cough. But what if would have? Struggling in the water, lungs screaming for breath...he shuddered.

"That was not a mere trinket," Ravion said.

Aeron shrugged. "To me it was. And it was foolish to be upset at the loss of it."

[mark12_30]

Amroth leaned on one elbow, and looked up at the three anxious faces that studied him. He sat up.

"Erebemlin, thanks. Taitheneb, thank you." He reached a hand to Nethwador's shoulder, and the boy smiled in return. Then Amroth drew the back of his hand across his own brow, and then studied his drenched hand with distaste. "I seek her awake or asleep. Where my search leads me I cannot foretell."

[Orual]

Ravion quickly realized that a hug was not what Mellonin had needed, and she was no more comfortable with it than he was. Flustered and tired, he stepped aside, wondering what it was he was supposed to have done. Well, more than that, actually, he wondered why he had fallen in with this enormously bizarre crew in the first place. Women and thieves! Would that he were still dousing his worries with whiskey at the Seventh Star.

Then Aeron did something that surprised him greatly. He stood up and said, in a soft voice, "You did me kind service, Mellonin and Ravion. I would thank you." He kissed Mellonin and bowed to the stunned Ranger. There was a brief pause, after which he continued: "Of course, I do not seriously think that the merchant would have drowned me for a mere trinket."

"That was not a mere trinket," Ravion replied quickly, both out of confusion and a little bit of irritation. A trinket? So Aeron thought all that trouble was over a trinket?

"To me it was," the boy said with a shrug. "And it was foolish to be upset at the loss of it."

"If it was such a trinket," Ravion said slowly, from between gritted teeth, "then perhaps you should not have taken it in the first place."

"I take what I can get," Aeron retorted with a slight grin.

"I shall show you what you can take," Ravion exclaimed, taking a step forward. He was not really sure what he was going to do, but it would involve at the very least some harsh words. A trinket, indeed!

"Enough!" Raefindan shouted. Ravion froze mid-step, and Aeron looked quickly from the Ranger to the red-haired man. "Ravion, you're always talking about how we don't have time to waste. Why are you wasting time fighting?"

Ravion did not understand a couple of the things that Raefindan said, but got the gist, and had to concede that he was right. "Your comment was ill-timed, Aeron," he said carefully, trying to control his temper. "After the danger that we have all been through, after the sacrifices that you saw we were all willing to make, saying that it was all for a trinket that you did not truly value was in poor taste." He took a deep, deep breath. "That is all I have to say." He turned sharply and went to Gond. Perhaps now was a good time to stay away from Aeron, lest their tempers flare again.

[mark12_30]

Raefindan and Mellonin exchanged glances, and reached for their packs. Mellonin spoke to Gwyllion. "Come, Gwyllion, walk with me."

"With pleasure, Lord Fingon, " Gwyllion said.

"Oh..." Mellonin blushed. "May I be just Fingon? Leave the Lord, shall we? And it might be wiser for you to dress as a man, too. The servant of the merchant had his eye on you; I liked it not one whit."

"Shall I change now?" Gwyllion said, wide-eyed.

Ravion, Raefindan and Aeron were busy preparing for the afternoon's march. Mellonin nodded. "Yes. You know how to put a man's clothes on under your dress, do you not? Do that now."

It was not long before Gwyllion was dressed in the breeches and shirt her brother had brought for her. While Gwyllion changed, Mellonin studied the movements of the men as they packed. Each man had his own stride and way of moving.

She was determined to be accepted as a man by the next person they met.

They walked til the sun went down and the moon was high.

[alaklondewen]

Before this moment, Erebemlin had not grasped the intensity of Amroth’s passion for finding the lady Nimrodel, but now he saw first hand the hopelessness and darkness his king suffered without her. Shuddering he considered what might have happened if he had not ventured into Amroth’s dream.

“I am truly sorry, my lord.” Erebemlin lowered his eyes to the flet’s floor.

“Good and faithful, Erebemlin. You have no reason for apology.” Amroth leaned forward and placed his hand on Erebemlin’s shoulder. "If you had not..." The king's voice trailed off.

“Aye, I do. I thought you were mad, my lord, but you…” The Sinda closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “You must find her.” His eyes opened slightly and looked up into Amroth’s young mortal face. “I cannot bear the thought of your pain, my lord. I will aid you in your search; even if I am unsure of the journey’s end…I will be by your side.”

Taitheneb stood back and listened. The forest would be greatly grieved if Erebemlin departed from its eaves. Lowering his head, Taitheneb studied the floor beneath his feet, then as a new thought struck him he spoke, “Lord Amroth, you cannot leave for another journey…not this soon. Your body needs rest, my lord, or your sickness with increase.”

“Taitheneb is correct. You will need more rest before setting out from here.” Erebemlin stood and leaned over Amroth, who was shaking his head negatively. “Hush, my lord,” the Sinda’s words were like a lullaby. “I will watch over your dreams, so you shall come to no harm.” Amroth’s volition seemed to melt, and Erebemlin placed his hand under his king’s head and lowered him the rest of the way to the floor.

The next few hours Erebemlin never left his king’s side. Occasionally he would place his hand over Amroth’s brow and speak a few inaudible words. His hand often stroked the young mortal’s hair affectionately as he considered his blessing of finding his king after so many years.

[alaklondewen]

Celegtâl led the band of Men slowly through the forest, while Caranduin walked behind, ensuring none straggled, and also leading the pack horse. The day wore on until the sun was only coming through the trees in the west, when finally the elves stopped.

The elves spoke quickly in their native tongue, and then Celegtâl leapt upon a lower branch of one of the great mellyrn and climbed effortlessly up the tree and out of the sight of the group. As he reached the area just below Erebemlin’s talan, he mimicked the call of a bird and immediately Taitheneb’s face appeared.

“Taitheneb, if I did not come seeking the council of Silmaethor, we would settle the debt you owe us for walking out on the work this morning.” Celegtâl’s eyes flashed mischievously before continuing, “But this debt we will settle another time.”

Taitheneb smiled and laughed at the younger elf’s words. He, too, knew Celegtâl well enough to recognize his fiery spirit. “You seek council, you say. What do I hear below us?”

“Men…two male, two female, and their horses.” Celegtâl noticed a flash of interest in Taitheneb’s eyes. “This does not surprise you, Mellon?”

“Yes and no,” Taitheneb paused with uncertainty. “I think you should come up.” The elf back away from the door and allowed the other to enter.

Celegtâl’s eyes widened as he looked across the flet and saw Erebemlin sitting beside a young man who was sleeping. Nearby another young man rested also. Taitheneb spoke quickly in a hushed voice, informing Celegtâl of the events of the afternoon. Celegtâl, in turn, revealed the nature of the group on the ground. After hearing this news, Taitheneb interrupted Erebemlin to inform him of the Men.

“These must be the others of whom he spoke,” Erebemlin gazed down on Amroth’s still sleeping face and then back to Taitheneb. “Let the ladder down.”

[Imladris]

Gwyllion wriggled into her brother's clothes and then inspected herself in a small pool of water, raising an eyebrow in mockery of her brother. Then she smiled...morphed it into a vague reflection of her brother's grin, then flashed her teeth at the pool.

She hated to admit it, but dressing in her brother's clothes was much more comfortable than women's clothing. She could walk however she pleased, and do whatever she pleased without infringing upon the boundaries of modesty. She smiled to herself.

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

Aeron heaved a pack of cooking utensil's to his shoulders and walked towards the horse. If only they had had more than one horse so that they could take turns riding the beast. If how they had traveled yesterday was an omen for today...he shuddered, scowled, and attached the bag to the horse's saddle.

That's when he noticed Gwyllion watching him, and walking strangely after him. "What are you doing?" he asked, cocking his right eyebrow.

Cocking her right eyebrow, she asked, in a deep voice, "What are you doing?"

Aeron snorted. Leave it to her to not give him a straight answer. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered asking. "And why are you wearing my clothes?"

She grinned at him, then frowned. "Grin at me," she commanded, straightening himself.

"I only grin when I want to," said Aeron, grinning.

"Thank you!" she said.

"Are you trying to be like me?" asked Aeron, staring at her. "Because, if you are, you will not succeed. Men have a special quality about them that women simply cannot master."

"That is what you think," she said, smiling, "but I know better."

"Alright," said Aeron with a shrug. "If that is what you want to thinkt then by all means, keep on fooling yourself."

[mark12_30]

The horses snorted, rolling their eyes and stamping as their masters rose up into the leafy heavens above them. Caranduin spoke words of comfort, but their curiosity was still strong, and they watched their masters as long as they could see them.

Ædegard went first, then Bella, then Argeleafa, and Liornung followed last. Ædegard hesitated a little as he approached the door to the flet, and saw the elf looking down at him.

"Come, " said the elf.

When he was head and shoulders through the door, he saw two more elves, and Wild Mellon; and nearby, was Amroth. He paused, and looked hard at him. Then he looked up, and nodded at each of the two elves, and climbed up and stood facing Amroth. Bella, Argeleafa, and Liornung soon stood beside him, and he thought he had rarely been so glad for their company as now.

Liornung was once again beset with shy awe, as was Bella; Liornung quickly caught Bella's hand, and they turned and watched Ædegard. He took a deep breath.

"You have cared for our friend, and I thank you. I am Ædegard; with me are Bellyn, Argeleafa, and Liornung." He looked down at Amroth. "How is he, sir?"

He guessed that there was more to say, but the forest was such a silent place he didn't want to.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin remained on the floor of the talan as his guests arrived, but he pulled his shoulders up and held himself to full stature. Listening intently to the young Ædegard, the Sinda studied the row of young faces. They were in awe of their surroundings, which comforted Erebemlin because it left them vulnerable and he was more able to perceive their sincere concerns for Amroth.

"How is he, sir?" The young Ædegard inquired.

“I am afraid he is weary to the point of illness.” Erebemlin looked down and searched Amroth’s face. “He will need more rest before he is able to continue on his quest. Has he mentioned his dreams to any of you?” The Sinda glanced from face to face then spoke again before any could answer. “I apologize. You are weary also. Please, come and sit at my table.”

Erebemlin rose and motioned his arms to guide them to the low table that had held their earlier meal. “Taitheneb, please bring the travelers some fresh fruit and meat.” Taitheneb nodded and immediately disappeared down the tree. Erebemlin then gave orders for Celegtâl and Caranduin to gather blankets for the guests.

“I have many questions to ask of you, but I will wait until you have eaten and rested properly.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ædegard looked as though he might say more, but stopped himself from continuing.

Shortly thereafter Taitheneb returned and began spreading the food across the table.

“Nethwador,” Erebemlin called to the boy who still sat near Amroth and spoke to him in both word and thought. “Please come to the table and share in our meal.” The boy nodded and pushed himself up from the floor, then after gazing momentarily at Amroth, he joined the company at Erebemlin’s table.

[mark12_30]

Ædegard studied Wild Mellon with a look of surprise.

"He's so calm. And what did you call him, sir?"

"Nethwador. It means Young Brother."

"Better than Pig," nodded Ædegard. "And less confusing than Mellon. Nethador it is."

Erebemlin sang one verse over the food, and Liornung held his breath wishing he would sing more. He hoped there would be time for song. Many songs.

They ate; Liornung and Ædegard both remarked how calm Nethwador had become.

"I am not certain it will last beyond the borders of the forest. I believe lord Amroth assured him he was safe here in Lorien," said Erebemlin.

Ædegard handed Nethwador a peice of fruit. "Nethador, here, take this."

It was received calmly, and devoured quickly.

Ædegard shook his head. "It's as if you cast a spell on him."

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard was not at ease high up in this tree, no matter how large the deck; "talan", they called it, an Elvish word. Ædegard looked at Liornung; the minstrel looked spellbound. Bellyn, next to him, was in awe. Argeleafa, sitting beside Bellyn, looked from Elf to Elf with eyes as wide as he'd seen from her. Seeing them caused Ædegard to wonder why he was not so in awe. Elves were Elves, to be sure, and they were strange, to say the least. Maybe it was that he expected them to be so different, and his expectation had proven true. Nethador, now, his calmness was not expected; and Ædegard believed the Elf, that it would not last beyond the borders of this forest. Now, why had Erebemlin said that? It was as if he expected them to be leaving soon; where to? And why? Maybe it had to do with these dreams Amroth Mellon had been having.

"Sir, these dreams you spoke of. We did not know what they were. I knew that he dreamed, but I did not think they were more than nightmares. Is there more to them?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn listened to the conversation half-heartedly, standing next to Liornung with her hand in his for comfort. When she noticed that Argeleafa sat alone next to them Bellyn tuggedon Liornung's hand gently and the two of them sat down next to Argeleafa. Argeleafa took a piece of fruit with tentative eyes and hesitating hands, but took it anyway. Bellyn craved no fruit, so she eyed the elves and Mellon, now called Neth-something, carefully. Although Bellyn knew that as soon as Amroth woke he would want to leave, the prospect of Mellon going back to his wild ways made Bellyn want to stay despite Amroth's urgency.

"It must mean something more," Bellyn thought aloud, despite the mishap with the names earlier. She spoke to Ædegard at first, but turned to face the Elves as she continued. "Once he took the first watch when we halted for a night, and I asked if he liked it better that way. He said he did not like the dreams he had at night," Bellyn spoke softly, trying to remember Amroth's words so that all she spoke now was true. "He spoke as if he knew the nightmares would not stop..." Bellyn paused, and in this pause she noticed that all eyes were on her as she spoke. She quickly continued. "I asked Amroth then if his song told of his dreams. He said it was strange that an elf did not remember which came first...It was all rather strange."

When Ædegard thought Bellyn was done, he recalled the attention of the elves and continued. "Has he told you things about his dreams that he did not tell us?"

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin remained silent for a long moment considering what he should share regarding Amroth’s dreams, and if he knew enough of them to share anything at all. “He searches for Nimrodel,” he began slowly. “He searches for her not only in his waking hours, but in his dreams also.” The elf closed his eyes and considered the dark, suffocating images of the dreams. “I wonder if he is possibly finding her.” The thought occurred to the elf only as he spoke it, and his eyes widened and he looked at fruit on the table as though they held the answer.

“If I may, sir,” Liornung spoke up for the first time. “If Amroth is meeting his lady in his dreams, would they not, the dreams, be merry?”

The young man had a point, Erebemlin reflected. The dreams were far from merry. They were full of despair and hopelessness. “I am not certain, Liornung. The dreams are dark, full of a suffocating dust…” The Sinda trailed off as he mulled the idea over in his mind. “I believed his dreams portrayed his despair of his lady’s absence, but now I wonder if it is she who is despaired.” As he spoke the final words he raised his eyes and searched his guests’ faces.

[alaklondewen]

“Silmaethor, what do you make of the water and drowning?” Taitheneb leaned across the table as he spoke.

“I am sorry for interrupting, but what water and who’s drowning?” Ædegard’s face was sober, and he furrowed his brows.

Erebemlin looked from Taitheneb’s face to Ædegard’s before answering. “Before you arrived, Lord Amroth dreamed of drowning.” The Sinda stopped while he considered its implications.

“I saw him,” Taitheneb turned his eyes to Ædegard and then to the others. “His breath was stopped under the water.” The elf looked down at his hands and shook his head. “If not for Silmaethor…”

“I did what was needed. Do not make more of it.” Erebemlin shot a glance at Taitheneb from across the table. “Again I am uncertain of what to make of it.”

At that moment the sound of Bellyn’s sweet voice touched his ear. She was humming softly, and then she began to sing as if only to herself.

The wind was in his flowing hair,
The foam about him shone;
Afar they saw him strong and fair
Go riding like a swan.

But from the West has come no word,
And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk have heard
Of Amroth evermore.

The girl then sat back. Her face was slightly pink from embarrassment.

Erebemlin looked up surprised. Why had he not thought of it before? “Miss Bellyn, that is it. These dreams must be memories of his drowning, or…” The elf thought over what he made out of Amroth’s dreams minutes before. “Or her memories of it. It is possible that if the Lady Nimrodel is still in Middle Earth…she knows of his passing. If he is finding her in his dreams, then maybe she has memories or images of his death in her mind.”

The elf took a deep breath and opened his mouth to continue, when something rustled behind him. Turning he saw Amroth stir and then push himself up from the floor.

[mark12_30]

Amroth surveyed the gathering with eyebrows high. "Well met, friends. Erebemlin, thank you for their welcome."

"Of course, my lord, " replied Erebemlin.

Amroth smiled, studying each face in turn. "Are you rested and content? It is well. I have not slept so soundly since Edoras, for which I thank you, Erebemlin, and you, Taitheneb."

Erebemlin's eyes met Taitheneb's. They guessed what was next. Amroth came to the table, selected a piece of fruit and a peice of bread, smiled at Nethwador, and nodded at Ædegard.

"So. A quick meal and we ride once more. I look forward to more singing," he nodded at Liornung, and then at Bella," and your gentle song most of all."

Nethwador smiled at Bella, and then blushed and hung his head.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin sat quietly, watching his king eat, while the others talked and Taitheneb sang. Internally, he struggled. He had sworn his allegiance to Amroth and promised to assist in his journey, but he wondered what Amroth would think of his conclusions about the nature of Amroth’s dreams. His concern for the king’s health was also heavy in his mind. Amroth needed more rest…days, not hours, but he knew very well of Amroth’s hardened will and stubbornness. “Lord Amroth,” Erebemlin shifted his weight and leaned toward Amroth. “I am still concerned with your well-being. You need more rest, my lord.”

“Nonsense, Erebemlin. I feel much better, and you know I will not forfeit my search.”

“Nay, I do not ask you to end your quest, but prolong it…a day, two days, long enough to regain your strength.” Erebemlin studied Amroth’s face. His king truly felt there was nothing wrong with him. “You will have to care for this body more tenderly than your last, my lord.”

Amroth looked at Erebemlin with a quizzical expression and dismissed the statement. “We will ride at nightfall.”

Erebemlin glanced at Taitheneb looking for assistance. Taitheneb stood and sat down next to Amroth at the end of the low table. “My lord, would you not rather wait for morning and leave with the rising of the sun?”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn hesitated to intervene in the argument, for she knew of Amroth's desire to find his love and yet she understood the fear in the elves of Amroth becoming ill again.

"Perhaps they are right, sir Amroth," Bellyn said softly, looking up at Amroth. "It might be best to rest here, where it is safe, while we - while you can. Safety is not ensured in the wild, and if you were to take ill in the wilderness and the open..." Bellyn did not continue, for she hoped that everyone could guess what could become of Amroth and the rest of them if something unexpected happened outside of the protected woods.

"If something happened in the wild, we would be no worse off than if we were caught or attacked at any other time," Amroth urged, and Bellyn looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. She did not want to push Amroth or make him angry, she only wanted to make certain that he was in the best condition for finding his love.

"Whenever you leave, my Lord, you can be sure that we will go as well. We only wish for your safety and well-being," Bellyn assured Amroth gently.

[mark12_30]

Amroth watched Bella, and then with a soft laugh, shook his head.

"I forget my friends," he said. "You need your own rest; you have ridden hard. Forgive me, gentle Bella. We will wait til dawn, that you may rest." Her surprise showed on her face, and he smiled at her. "Perhaps before you sleep, you could sing for us again. You will sleep well here, I deem. I will take the watch."

"I will sing if you wish, lord Amroth," she said, made shy by the request and by Nethwador's too-plain delight. "But why must you watch? You should rest too."

Amroth looked down; he still dreaded the dreams.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung gazed about him in awe, fearing to blink lest the sight vanished from his eyes. Sweet raptures went through him and he shuddered out of pure delight, vaguely concious of the argument between Amroth and the other Elves. He dared not move, though he longed to touch the golden leaves, to run his hands over the smooth bark of the trees. He did not dare. He clasped his hands tightly together, forcing himself to remain still.

And then he saw Argeleafa sitting off by herself, her knees pulled up to her chin and her face buried in her skirts. He had only glanced at her, but something odd compelled him to look again. He studied her in silence for a moment, wondering what it was that was different, and then he realized that her shoulders were shaking. Surprised, he crawled towards her and sat by her, listening carefully. She was sobbing. Very softly and quietly, so no one would hear, but sobbing all the same.

"Argeleafa, why do you weep?" he questioned, putting a hand on her head.

She looked up and he saw her tear-stained face before she dropped her head again. She spoke, choking on sobs and pausing occassionally to draw breath. "It's just that it is so beautiful here and I am so terribly lonely."

"But why would you weep because of beauty? And why are you lonely? We have been at your side constantly."

"Yes, I know," she murmured. "But you all know each other so well, and you do not know me. You are kind to me, it is true, but you hardly speak to me so I might speak to you. And Bellyn is so kind to me but she is so beautiful and wise while I fail in both things. I admire her so much but I want to be her friend, and I cannot because I cannot speak to her as a friend, only as an admirer. And then here it is so beautiful and it makes me think of home. It was always that way whenever the wayfarers came to somewhere beautiful... it made me think of home. I miss my dear little home so much..." She seemed as though she would continue for a moment, but then she looked about her and fresh tears began to flow.

Liornung remained silent, unsure of what to say as he ran his fingers through her hair. Guilt plagued him... he had been so much in wonder over the surroundings that he had not even looked at Argeleafa... and she was homesick. She was still a little girl yet.

[Imladris]

Was that what Gwyllion thought a male walk was? Aeron lifted his brow and grimaced. It was humiliating...she was swaggering down the road, chin in the air, arms swinging by her sides. Dreadful. "Do you call that a man's walk?" he asked.

"Yes." She tossed her head.

"It's more like a woman's strut in my mind," Aeron said, coughing.

"Well, why do you not teach me to walk like a man," Gwyllion suggested.

"Fine. First of all, men do not swing their arms about normally. They walk with a firm tread, with level chins -- ideally of course. And you should want to imitate the ideal man."

"Accept that there is no such thing as an ideal man to imitate," said Gwyllion with a giggle.

"Then, when all else fails, dear sister, you shall imitate me." He grinned at her.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard's brow furrowed. This Erebemlin held Mellon, or Amroth; either one for that matter, in too high regard. This Amroth was proving to be a fool, caring not for his own health to chase a dream. Nimrodel, they had named her, Amroth's long lost love. Who could say for sure whether she was even alive to be found? And Amroth was proving to be far too stubborn. Ædegard was ready to open his mouth and say a thing or two to bring Amroth up short in all his stubborn foolish king's pride, when Bellyn spoke in her soft way. Her words were quiet, and Amroth's final answer spoke not to her words, but to what he made of them instead. He cared not for his own body's health, but would forego his own will for the sake of others' weakness. So there was another side to being a good king, and at least he had wisdome enough for that, it seemed. It was a thing to be remembered; maybe it could be put to good use later, some other time when Amroth was as a rock with no ears to listen to sense.

Ædegard noticed Liornung move to Argeleafa's side. He could not hear the words that passed between them, but saw, for a moment, her face, stained with many tears! His heart melted, and he wondered what could be wrong. But he did not think that it would be seemly to ask from the opposite end of the talan. He held his peace, glad that they would sleep the night. He did not relish sleeping hundreds of feet above ground, but the Elves assured them that they would be safe. So be it, he said to himself.

[Orual]

Ravion glanced at the siblings, deep in contemplation about how to "walk like a man", with some amusement as he prepared Gond for the day's journey. He had earlier tried to erase the signs of their stay as much as possibly, fearing that they were being followed still. Their encounter with the merchant had left him even more paranoid than he normally was, and he was taking no risks. However, he had eventually deemed the effort fruitless. Wild mumakil make less of a mess than my companions, he thought ruefully as he glanced over their campsite. With a sigh, he looked back to the siblings.

"If everyone is ready, we need to start off," he called. Mellonin stirred from where she had been resting, and the others looked over at him. None of them seemed particularly inclined to leave. "We are wasting daylight," he said, eyebrows raised. Still no one moved. "I am asking politely!"

Aeron snorted at Ravion's half-desperate, half-frustrated tone. "And where do you have to go that merits such speed?" he asked languidly. Ravion stared at him for a moment, then took several deep breaths, counting to ten. He would not get angry. It was counter-productive and only slowed them down. He would reason with the boy, and then they would all leave and they could go on their way. By the time he got to "seven" he could tell that it was not going to be an easy fight, his battle with his temper. But every journey began with a single step...

"Nowhere but wherever our search for Mellonin's brother will lead us," he said in what he hoped approximated an even tone. Out of his peripheral vision he saw Raefindan make a strange face. It almost seemed like he was trying not to laugh. Odd.

"But surely another hour will not hinder us too much," Aeron persisted. Gwyllion elbowed him in the side, and he grunted, but did not take back his comment.

"An hour is more than we can spare, yes," Ravion said, his hand clenched tightly around the middle of his sword's scabbard. He would not make a fist. He would not show signs of anger.

"But an hour? Really," Aeron said. Ravion suddenly realized that this whole conversation was staged to aggravate the Ranger. He was all the more determined to not let the boy get his ire up.

"An hour is an hour, and more time than you think, while we are on a search," he said smoothly. Raefindan and Mellonin exchanged glances. Ravion did not bother to try to decipher what they meant. He had a feeling he did not want to know.

"How far could Mellonin's brother get in an hour?" Aeron asked.

"An hour's travle farther from us," Ravion said, his voice now tight. His fingers ached from gripping the scabbard. He hoped his face was not red.

"But surely a Ranger could travel faster than--"

"Not a Ranger burdened with the likes of you!" Ravion snapped, then bit his tongue. That had done no good.

"I can travel fast, when I am disposed." Aeron leaned back a little, glancing at Ravion with a twinkling eye full of mischief.

And that was all it took. Ravion tackled Aeron, being reluctantly careful to avoid what was surely the boy's still-sore shoulder, and pinned him down.

"Get. Packed. Now," he said. "We are leaving as soon as everyone is packed, which should be in less than ten minutes."

Aeron looked up at him, then surprised Ravion by thrusting his head up and slamming it into Ravion's chest. Ravion gave a grunt of pain, and the two of them started wrestling for true.

"Oh, that will do!" Mellonin cried, half laughing and half concerned. Ravion and Aeron stopped, both panting, and both grinning. Ravion wiped the grin off quickly and stood up, dusting himself off.

"Shall we go?" he asked in a dignified voice. Aeron stepped up and pulled a blade of grass out of the Ranger's hair, and Ravion swatted his hand away. He turned an innocent face to Mellonin and Raefindan. "We are wasting daylight."

[mark12_30]

Mellonin packed with haste, face turned away from her friends. They heard the snickers that escaped her; she could not help that; but she was determined they would not see her blush.

Over the last day, she realized, she had fallen in love with each and every one of them. Silly Aeron, full of mischeif. Gwyllion, vulnerable and earnest. Raefindan, the bold, brash peacemaker. And Ravion.

She donned her pack, and stood beside Raefindan, and as they walked she spoke in a low voice.

"Aeron and I both are in your debt. I am in awe of your courage on Aeron's behalf," she said.

"Oh, be serious, " Raefindan laughed.

"What?"

"It was a tight spot, and we all did what we could," Raefindan shrugged.

"Alas, I did little. But you? Bidding the merchant take you as a steward in Aeron's stead? Diving into the river to save the cruel merchant? And bidding the henchman to release Gwyllion... and he did."

She blushed again. "You were truly brave. And wise."

Raefindan's eyes twinkled, and he glanced back over his shoulder at the ranger. "And Ravion?" he whispered, watching her.

Mellonin did not turn. Her blush deepened. She studied the ground and did not answer.

Raefindan smiled.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin looked on Amroth with eyes full of concern. “Lord Amroth, we have no need for a watch here. You are still in need of much rest before you will be well.” Amroth met Erebemlin’s gaze and the Sinda saw the king’s fear. Opening his thoughts, Erebemlin touched Amroth’s mind. Come, rest…I will watch over your dreams tonight. You have no need for fear.

Momentarily Amroth appeared flushed, but he immediately hid it. “Maybe you are right, Erebemlin. The forest is safe, and I do still feel as though I could sleep some more this evening.” The king flashed his eyes to his faithful servant. Thank you.

The elves sung a song of peace and restfulness as they worked together to make comfortable beds for the guests. Soon six small beds of thick blankets lined the left side of Erebemlin’s talan, and as the four elves continued to sing the guests became weary and soon laid down, each peacefully sleeping, even the cautious Ædegard who expressed his wariness of sleeping in the tree.

After quickly cleaning the mess of the evening’s dinner, the four elves sat, still as stone, discussing the day’s events. Erebemlin remained near Amroth, while the others faced him.

Do you truly mean to leave the forest, Silmaethor? Taitheneb finally asked what had been on his mind the majority of the evening.

You must understand, Mellon. He is my king, and I have sworn allegiance to him, even before his arrival this day…in this mortal body. The Sinda looked down at Amroth’s sleeping face then back to Taitheneb. I must aid him and see he is safe.

Taitheneb remained silent and studied his hands that lay crossed in his lap. Caranduin and Celegtâl look at one another. This was the first they had heard of Erebemlin’s leaving. We will be greatly grieved at your departure, Silmaethor. Caranduin’s eyes were saddened.

It will be difficult for me also, mellyn. I shall miss each of you greatly, but I will return when the quest is over. You have my word. Now, I will need your help. We will need enough lembas to last possibly weeks…enough for all of us. Can you do this?

For all? But, my lord... Celegtâl raised his eyebrows and looked from Erebemlin to the humans and back to Erebemlin.

Yes, mellon. Erebemlin gazed down at the young mortal who housed his king. I know not how Lord Amroth returned to us, but I have made an oath to aid him with whatever means I have.

That is well, Silmaethor, to help Lord Amroth... Caranduin glanced at Celegtâl before continuing. It is rare, indeed, for lembas to be given to any mortal...not since the Ring Bearer...

I know our traditions, Caraduin. The elder's eyes flashed. I believe this is a time where an exception may be made to tradition. It seems this is the chosen company of the king. What fate draws us, I know not. The younger Sindar lowered their eyes and said nothing. I will ask you again, Erebemlin's thought became more gentle. Can you do this?

Yes, we will have it for you by sunrise. Celegtâl bowed his head, and then he and Caranduin rose and left the flet to gather supplies for the travelers. Taitheneb remained.

Let me go with you. Taitheneb flashed his eyes with determination.

Erebemlin was surprised by his statement. Why do wish to go on such a journey, Taitheneb? Why would you wish to leave the forest?

Taitheneb looked down again. I cannot see you leave this forest without me, just as you cannot see him go without you. Slowly Taitheneb raised his eyes and looked at Erebemlin’s face.

Astonished, Erebemlin considered the elf’s request. In his heart he did not want Taitheneb to have to give up the forest to go on mission about which he cared little. However, he could not deny that another elf could be needed if the group came across any trouble. After his long silence, Erebemlin reached out his hand and took Taitheneb’s. I would be honored to have your company on this journey.

Taitheneb smiled and sat back. The weight had been removed from his shoulders and he sighed.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin's sore legs gradually warmed up, and her stride became easier; but her back did not stop aching. Raefindan was limping and sniffling. Gwyllion and Aeron kept up a steady whispering banter, as Gwyllion tried to walk and talk like a man, when she wasn't whining about her sore legs and back.

Even Jorje was weary. Mellonin half expected him to give up and go home, but he trotted stubbornly along, whining if he lagged behind, occasionally distracted by rabbits or mice.

Aeron and Ravion and Gond showed no discomfort, walking easily over the miles. They briefly stopped for lunch and a short rest, but Ravion drove them on long before they felt ready. Sunset came and passed, and the stars came out, and still Ravion drove them on. Mellonin wondered why, til they finally stopped beside a dead tree. Firewood. She was grateful. Briefly she thought about putting pen to paper, as she had promised the lady Estelyn. But she was too weary.

Ravion took the first watch and Aeron took the second. Raefindan grimly took the last watch, limping in circles to stay awake. Mellonin and Gwillion slept soundly through til dawn.

[Orual]

Ravion was awake early in the morning, before anyone else. It was not quite time for them to start preparing for the day's journey, so he spelled Raefindan and let his companions sleep a little bit more.

In the light mist of the pre-dawn morning, the Ranger went through his daily routine of stretches and exercises. He practiced with his sword for a while, brushed and curried Gond, and got all the troublesome details out of the way before they had to leave.

The sunrise painted the sky with surprisingly vibrant colours: magentas and bright oranges and yellows. It was lovely. And time to go. He hated to wake everyone up--especially Raefindan--but they could not waste time.

The company was getting tired, though. Raefindan had a limp and what Ravion hoped was not a cold; Aeron's shoulder was doubtless still sore; Mellonin and Gwyllion were not enjoying the hard days' walks that Ravion forced them on; and even the Ranger had to admit that he was pushing them all. Perhaps this was a good pace for a Ranger on his own. For five people, it was hard.

He shook Aeron gently, moving on quickly as soon as he knew the boy was awake. He knew that there would be teasing that day, but no point in starting it early. He then went to Gwyllion and woke her, then Raefindan, then Mellonin.

As he touched Mellonin's shoulder, he realized that she had been acting somewhat strange lately. He wondered why. Once he had gotten over the embarrassment of his tussle with Aeron, he had noticed something odd about Mellonin's behavior. He could not figure it out. He made a mental note to watch her while they walked.

"We ought to get started," he said. "The fire is still burning; we can eat breakfast, put out the fire, spread out the firewood, try to cover up our marks and then go. I hope to cover a good amount of ground today." He looked at the dismayed faces of his companions. "But it will be steady rather than fast. The last thing I want is ill travelers." He turned and went to Gond to get some food for breakfast.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan had slept fairly well before his turn at the watch, but by the end of his limping, sniffing, head-filling watch, he felt more exhausted than he had at the end of the day. He had fallen asleep fast and hard, but not peacefully. When Ravion had jostled him awake, he was sure that he had been asleep for perhaps five to ten minutes, and groaned when he was told that a couple of hours had passed.

What made the morning too soon, and too bright, and too cold, and too - well - awake, had been his dreams. Raefindan wasn't sure whether his illness had brought the dreams, or if the dreams were making the illness feel worse. And his hip! When had he thrown it out, if that was what had happened? In the water? Or did he just have a cold in his bones? He felt like it.

He sneezed. Jorje's head came up and his ears went back. He had been lying quiet.

"G'ealth," said the others.

"Thags."

Wherever he had been before, this was certainly no better.

He sneezed again. Jorje barked at him.

"G'ealth," said Gwyllion again.

"Tha- tha- tha!!" He sneezed again. "gyouverybuch!" Gwyillion snickered, and Jorje barked at him, his ears back, his tail wagging. He got up and came over to Raefindan, his ears back grimacing in anticipation of the next bark to come from his new master.

A humdinger. He mumbled the word.

"What did you say, Raefindan?" asked Mellonin.

"Hubdigger!!" He said it so loud his head hurt.

"What does it mean?"

"I duddow."

"Then why did you say it?" He forced his painful eyes up to her; she was grinning.

"Thad's dot dice. You are a cruel wubid. The word is-" he plugged his nose "-humb dignger." He wiped his fingers on his breeches. Gwyillion pulled a face. "Sorry. I dod't have eddy kleedex. Hubdigger meads a really big ad dasty wud."

"What are clear decks?" asked Gwyillion.

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then realized what she was trying to say. He enunciated the word more clearly, and explained it.

"Oh!" said Aeron. "You mean a nose rag!"

Raefindan's eyes crossed and he fell backwards, hitting his head on the ground. "Ow! If oed-ly I had a doze rag! But it wouldd't help take away by dreeb!"

"What dream!" Mellonin was at his side in a moment. Raefindan groaned. "Dot dow. I'll tell you wed I feel better." He shut his eyes hard, and tried breathing out of his mouth. Jorje came up close, sniffing; Raefindan pushed him away from his face, knowing which scent attracted the dog. Mellonin pulled Jorje away.

"Just kill be dow! Put be out of by bisery!"

[mark12_30]

He had napped already. He wasn't that tired. THe elves were talking in their lilting speech; he lay awake, listening, wishing he could understand.

He liked them. They were aloof, but kind. Especially the very tall one. And they had taken good care of his horse; he had checked often, peering over the edge of the flet.

Cold moonlight filtered through the tree's stiff golden leaves. Nearby, Amroth slept peacefully. Beyond him slept Ædegard, and then Liornung. Then Argeleafa. And all the way at the end was the lady Bella, but he couldn't see her unless he sat up. It was a tempting thought.

Two of the elves left, and the Tall one spoke to the last one. He listened.

Then he felt the last elf touch his thoughts. Rest, little brother. You will need all your strength, with Silmaethor leading.

Nethwador rolled up onto his elbow, and met Taitheneb's eyes, and smiled at him. Taitheneb smiled back. Then Nethwador stole a glance at lady Bella, and then he lay back down again and went to sleep. His dreams were peaceful.

[Imladris]

"Oh no, we could not kill you now," said Aeron, grinning, "we like you too much to do that."

Raefindan, with a wan smile, clambered to his feet and began a half hearted sort of packing. As Aeron moved to help him (why wait for the Ranger's order?), he asked, "You have a strange word for a nose rag."

"Yes," Raefindan wheezed.

"Cleanex," Aeron said, winking at him.

"Cleanex," Gwyllion echoed. She tittered and then sighed. "What I would like to do is to stay abed with a roaring fire and a nice cup of hot tea."

"It is a bit hard to stay abed when one is travelling," said Aeron. "Besides, who would like to waste the day like that? The whole wide world is a game and it is not going to be played by lying abed. Why, the pieces would become dusty, the board would rot and the game would be lost without you ever playing in it."

Gwyllion frowned, cocked her brow, frowned again, cocked her borw, and said, "So I am a mere pawn in the course of things, eh?"

"Yes."

"I feel so unimportant now," said Gwyllion, sighing.

Aeron laughed and said, "Better a piece than a stick of wood." Life was made to be lived. Not sitting stagnantly on the side lines.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin and Taitheneb watched over the guests for the remainder of the night. When sunrise was but an hour away, Celegtâl and Caranduin returned, and the elves gently woke the sleeping Men. Erebemlin presented them with fresh water for bathing and laid out a fresh breakfast across the low table. As the travelers prepared themselves, Caranduin descended and readied the horses, so once the group was ready to move they found their horses were freshly rested and the pack horse had new packs filled with supplies and food.

“You will be greatly missed, Silmaethor.” Caranduin took Erebemlin’s hand and bowed in respect. “Look, the forest already grieves.” At that moment a light rain showered the tree-tops, and the falling drops looked like great tears.

“Farewell, Mellon. I will return when you least expect it.” Erebemlin then mounted his tan steed and led the others from the forest. As soon as they stepped out from under the great trees, the Sinda turned to Amroth. “Lord Amroth, this is your quest. Which path shall we take?”

[mark12_30]

Amroth met his friend's gaze. "I have given the choking dust much thought," Amroth replied. "It was the first time I so dreamt. All other dreams had been full of water, or fire; or of empty despair. Yet the dust lingers in my heart. I deem it a sign."

Erebemlin waited. Behind, Taitheneb and Nethwador gazed forward. But Ædegard, Liornung, Bella, and Argeleafa gave heed.

"Such choking dust is found in few places that I know of, Erebemlin. Dagorlad is one place; Gorgoroth and the slopes of Mount Doom also are deep with ash."

"Indeed, my lord."

"Lovely, " muttered Ædegard.

Amroth laughed. "Good friend, you need not come. I would not ask such a quest of any who were unwilling."

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan limped alongside Aeron, who had helped him pack, and reminded him of the word he had hauled out at need, not having remembered it until that moment: kleenex. He thought about it as best he could as he sniffed and sneezed and limped along as best he could, feeling as if his waterlogged head was still underwater with that merchant. Kleenex. When was the last time he had used the word? He could not remember when, but he remembered the look of the place he had been...

.... a small room with a bed far more comfortable than any he had slept in during the last few weeks... soft curtains on windows, the glass panes of which were thin as the morning's hoarfrost; here windows were at least an inch thick. A cold. That's what it was called.... to catch cold....blow your nose into a kleenex....what a strange word, and a strange spelling! The meaning was Clean, but ex? He couldn't place it.

"What was that you said, Raefindan?" Aeron asked him.

"What? I said?" He had been mumbling without realizing it. "I rebeber the place I was last wed I used that word, kleedex. It is a fidne, thid, soft sheet folded over od itself, about the size of a sball parchbet, ad you use it as a dose rag."

"Ugh! You would get it all over your hands! It is too thin!"

Raefindan laughed, which turned to a coughing fit. He groaned, and the ache in his left hip felt worse than ever.

"Oh, what I woudd't do for sub cough medicid."

"Medus - did?" Aeron asked. "Who is Medus, and what did he do, and what has he to do with coughing?"

"A healig draught, to you. It's a codcoctiod-" Aeron looked at him blankly "-ub, it is a bix of wud herb's juice ad other thigs, and drickig it bakes the coughig stop for a little while."

"Ah," Aeron nodded wisely. "You want an herbalist."

"Doe kiddig."

"Now you have turned the offspring of goats into a thing you do! You turn what is said on it's ear, Raefindan!"

He smiled for sheer pleasure. "Aerod, you bake be forget by cold, ad that's sayig subthig!"

"Of course, it is. Why would it not be?"

Raefindan laughed again, which turned to a fit of sneezing, seven in a row. That had to be significant for something, he thought to himself ruefully. Ah yes, significant. That confounded dream. He would have to tell Melonnin about it at some point, when he was ready.

[littlemanpoet]

They were out of Lorien before the sun had risen halfway up the sky. No matter what Amroth might say, Ædegard was going to stay in it - for now. He had many questions that he knew Amroth would never answer. But now there was another Elf, Erebemlin, who looked to have answers, and might be willing to give them. As they continued on, Ædegard moved among the company until he was by Erebemlin.

"Sir, I would speak with you, just you and I, if you are willing."

Erebemlin looked at him quizzically, nodded, and together they moved off a little way, riding side by side.

"I have many questions about this quest we are on, sir-"

"You have my leave to call me Erebemlin, mellon."

"Thank you. I do not know which question to ask first, there are so many, but this is the way of it. I met a Gondorian blacksmith a few weeks back, and enjoyed his friendship for a few hours. I came to think that I knew what kind of lad he was. Then he came ill, and the next time I saw him, he was as you see him now, Amroth. What has become of my blacksmith friend? Is he gone? Is he hidden? Does Amroth have his willingness to use his body? Is my friend even alive anymore? And if so, will he ever come back?"

[Imladris]

Aeron sighed as he watched Raefindan sneeze. "I have always found," Aeron remarked, "than when a nose rag is wanting a sleeve does the job just as well. Is that not so, Gwyll?" He elbowed her in the ribs as she stifled a giggle.

"Uncouth, but yes it does do the job. I would rather have a nose rag though."

"You mean Cleanex," said Aeron with a wink. "Besides a nose rag is such a bother. It takes up so much room and more time to blow your nose. A Cleanex sounds even worse." He nodded and grinned.

He studied the red haired man and wondered where he came from. He came from a land with queer but wonderful speech. And he had an odd case of stating the obvious and turning things into actions, such as when he said the word kidding. "I wonder how one would act like a kid," he mused.

Gwyllion coughed and said, "You act like one all the time."

He gasped. "Me?"

"Yes you. You are dreafully annoying and wild."

Aeron grinned, lowered, his head, baaed like a kid goat, and ran toward his sister, ramming his head into her stomach. She tumbled to the ground and said, "See. Exactly like a kid."

He shrugged and grinned at her.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin drew near, cringing with distaste. "Aeron, after giving such counsel, will you wash his shirt? Raefindan, heed him not. He means mischief. "

Raefindan looked at her, bleary-eyed, and said, "Bud I hab do dose rag."

Ravion laughed in disbelief. Mellonin met Ravion's glance for the first time since he had woken her that morning. Hastily returning her gaze to Raefindan, she stepped toward a shrub. "Like this." Primly closing one nostril at a time, each sharp snort into the shrub was followed by a dainty sniff. Then drawing herself to her full height and inhaling through wide nostrils, she looked down her nose at Aeron. "Sleeves indeed."

"I will not wrestle him again til he changes his shirt, " said Ravion.

"I should think not," said Mellonin, marching forward with a shudder and a grimace.

"He will learn, " said Ravion. "Dirty clothes are misery on the road in winter."

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin was taken aback by Ædegard’s questions. This was the first time he had considered another spirit belonging to Amroth’s new body. Hesitantly, he replied, “I must be honest with you, Ædegard. I had not thought of his body belonging to any other.” The elf paused and studied his steed’s thick mane. “Whatever means allowed Amroth to return in this state…I do not think the young blacksmith’s spirit would be destroyed. I cannot say for sure, because it involves powers beyond my understanding. It is likely that Amroth’s will is much stronger the boy’s…”

Ædegard nodded, “Will he ever come back?”

“I do not know, mellon. I do not know.”

The pair grew silent and continued to ride, each in his thoughts.

~*~*~
Taitheneb had remained silent thus far. Silmaethor was discussing something with one of the Men, and the others stayed close together chatting like close friends. The elf felt slightly uncomfortable, and he shifted his weight on his bay.

Amroth led them east along the southern border of the forest and soon they passed the last row of mellyrn. Taitheneb swallowed hard with sadness. Why was he leaving the golden forest?

[littlemanpoet]

After much thought on Erebemlin's words, another question came to Ædegard.

"Please, Erebemlin, I hope that you do not mind further questions, but I must know if there are answers. It is this way. Why does Amroth have need of a human blacksmith's body? Has his own perished? Or does he send himself back from over the sea where the Elves go? I do not know the way of Elves, so my questions must seem foolish to you. But I must ask."

[littlemanpoet]

Mellonin's advice for clearing his nose seemed well on the face of it, but she had no illness. Raefindan knew that the viscosity of what his body was producing would not allow of such a prim delivery. Green, no less! That was bad.

"Green means I have pneumonia," he said to himself, "which means this blamed buggery illness has been incubating for some time! I wonder what I did to myself?"

"What is ya, Raefindan?" Aeron asked, walking beside him. He was quick with his ears, compared with most folk. He had to be for thieving, and he was sure that he could make out most of the strange things Raefindan said on the first try. "I know new and moan, but not ya. And how can you have it?"

Raefindan had not realized he had been talking out loud. It was no surprise, he hardly knew what was going on around him, his head throbbed so.

"What about the other thing he said?" Gwyllion put in. "Ink you baiting? Those words do not go together either! And what has ink to do with fishing?"

Raefindan groaned. "They are just words frub by owd coudtry. I do dot doe how to say theb your way, by head swibs so." He coughed long and hard, and fell to his knees with the effort of it, and spit green stuff. When he was done, he looked at the others, who had stopped, looking more worried than they had. "Is there a towd cubig sood? Baybe you should leave be there so that I cad rest ad regaid by health, ad thed I cad catch up to you od the way. This cold reaches by bodes."

With an effort he stood, then crumpled to the ground, fast asleep.

[mark12_30]

Trotting beside Amroth, Nethwador watched as Ædegard and Erebemlin rode off to one side and talked. He glanced at the other elf, who was looking back at the receeding forest.

His horse knew by the shift of his body, and he slowed til Nethwador was beside Taitheneb.

Poking his chest, the boy said proudly, "Nethwador. Mellon Amroth."

Taitheneb smiled. "Yes. You are his friend and little brother."

Nethwador pointed at Taitheneb. "Mellon?"

[Orual]

Ravion, standing ahead of the company with Gond's lead in his hands, glanced worriedly back at Raefindan. The man was wan and his body was racked with fits of coughing and sneezing. He hoped that the man was not seriously ill...this was no time for one of their companions to be incapacitated. Mellonin's features were permeated with concern, though Aeron was still pestering the red-haired man with questions.

"This cold reaches my bones," Raefindan said weakly--or something approximating that, and Ravion turned, worried by the frailty of the man's voice. He turned just in time to see Raefindan collapse to the ground.

He dropped Gond's lead and rushed over to Raefindan. "Raefindan," he said loudly, slapping the man's face gently. "Wake up." He did not. Ravion turned to Aeron. "Get me my skin of water," he ordered, and the boy did not hesitate to obey, for once. If Ravion had not been so distracted, he would have appreciated it.

Aeron handed him the skin, and the Ranger poured some of it over Raefindan's face. The man stirred and moaned, but did not wake. Ravion put his hand to the man's forehead, and then drew it back quickly, cursing. He was very feverish. "We will have to get him on Gond, and tie him on," he said to his companions. "Aeron, help me pick him up. Mellonin, find some rope in Gond's saddlebags." Gwyllion's face fell: she was the only one who had not received an order. Ravion sighed. "Gwyllion, hold Gond's lead." All of them went to start their tasks. Aeron, a serious but slightly frightened look on his face, placed himself at Raefindan's legs. "Are you ready?" Ravion asked quietly. Aeron nodded. "On three. One, two...three..."

The two of them lifted their companion and brought him to Gond, where Mellonin was waiting with the rope. Ravion hefted the unconscious man onto the horse, and took the rope from Mellonin, quickly tying it around Raefindan. He tried to place the man in something resembling a comfortable position, but he would likely awaken and find himself with a nasty crick in his neck. Mellonin had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as though defending herself against whatever it was that had stricken Raefindan.

"Do you suppose he will be okay?" she asked, her voice soft. She did not take her eyes off of Raefindan.

Ravion pulled a knot tight, which looked most unfortunately like shrugging. Out of his peripheral vision he saw Mellonin tense up. He turned around and sighed. "I think that he will be fine," he said. "Once he wakes, I will give him some herbs that should clear out his chest."

"What about his fever?" Aeron asked, tying the ropes on his side of Gond.

"His fever will stay," Ravion said. "Fire cleanses...he will feel better once the fever dies on its own. What we should be worried about is the...what did he call it? His cold? He used a word I did not know."

"New-moan-ya," Gwyllion supplied proudly.

Ravion inclined his head in thanks. "That was it. We have to worry about the new-moan-ya. I will treat it like a cold, and hope that it gets better. If we come across a town, which I do not think we will until we get past the Entwash delta, I will take him to a healer. For now, we will simply wait, and pray."

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin smiled slightly despite the seriousness of Ædegard’s questions. “No, I do not deem you foolish for I know little of the ways of Men. As to your question…it has been close to one thousand years since Lord Amroth left us. He meant to join his lady at the havens in the south, and together they would sail to the Undying Lands.” The elf paused to gather his thoughts and then continued. “Nimrodel never made it to their destination, and while Amroth waited upon his ship a great storm blew and pushed the ship from shore. The tales say that once he realized he was no longer at the shore, he leapt into the sea. You must have heard the lady Bellyn’s song last night.” Erebemlin sang just loud enough for Ædegard to hear him.

But from the West has come no word,
And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk have heard
Of Amroth evermore.

“And so he perished in sea?” Ædegard asked quietly.

“That is what we have always believed.”

“How, then, did he get here…in the blacksmith’s body?”

Erebemlin took a deep breath. The young man was asking him difficult questions to which he did not know the answers. “I wish I understood that myself. Amroth does not seem to even realize he is not the same, and he says he only remembers waking in Edoras. I would say that only the mighty Valar could allow his return…or Illúvatar himself…”