Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[mark12_30]

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Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams
Part 2
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[mark12_30]

Erebemlin set his face toward the South gate of the Pelennor, relaxing more with every mile. Behind him he sensed two more elves, tall and shining, graceful, resolute. It was a comforting vision, and he did not turn around, but let it remain so. The menfolk followed behind.

For now, they said little. Taitheneb sensed that the men were restless and wanted to talk, but Erebemlin's silence was opressive, and ruled the rest. They marched on.

Finally the silence was broken, by the thief no less. "Can someone tell me what's the point of having these fine new horses if we are going to walk the whole way?"

Erebemlin did not answer at first. Taitheneb waited, wondering, and then knew why; were they to mount and ride, Erebemlin's mind must needs turn to his horse. The elf wanted instead to think of his king.

Erebemlin shook his head. "We will walk this day."

"Just wondering, " muttered Aeron.

Ravion watched the back of Erebemlin's head for a while. Whoever they passed gave them odd looks. Ravion felt a bit odd himself. Nevertheless it was good to be back on the road; and he for one did not mind walking. He turned and grinned at Aeron, who shrugged.

The Rohirrim felt the walking most keenly, perhaps, but they said nothing. Raefindan seemed relieved that the riding was postponed. Nethwador was far too miserable to care.

[mark12_30]

just-in-case

[Imladris]

Aeron did not want to walk. Not that he knew how to ride a horse well, of course, but he could keep on a horse's back most of the time -- except when the thing took it in it's head to trot off somehwere. Then he usually slipped around a bit, maybe fell to the ground but nothing a lad such as himself couldn't handle.

He sighed. His feet hurt. He remembered having ridden most the time. With Gwyllion behind him, her arms around his waste because her legs weren't strong enough to grip the horses belly.

One. Two. Three. He counted the steps until he lost count and had to begin again. And again. He saw Ravion grin at him, and wondered how the ranger could be so...oppressingly cheerful.

"You enjoy being on the road again?" he asked, doing a half skip every other step to keep up with the ranger's long strides.

Ravion nodded, smiling a little.

"I'd enjoy it a bit more I think if these elves knew how to be a bit more cheeful I think. Not that it would matter. I wonder why I said that, because if they did then I'd wonder at them because things are so...so...things are as grey as the mist on the moors. And yet here they are. Their faces are like the frowns before a heavy rain and it drags me to the earth, making every step a trudge." Aeron said this in a whisper, and even then felt as if he was trespassing upon the silence.

Ravion just shook his head at him. But Aeron did not see any scorn in his eyes, and he found that comforting a little.

[mark12_30]

The south gate of the Pelennor was only five miles south of the city, and they reached it quickly. The guards sent them through with kind words, and once outside the gate, they mounted. The South Road stretched before them.

Erebemlin studied Mellondu silently; Mellondu glared at him in defiance. Erebemlin led; Mellondu rode second; Nethwador joined Taitheneb, and nearby on his faithful bay rode Ædegard. Liornung, Ravion, Raefindan, and Aeron brought up the rear. Liornung chatted with Raefindan, explaining what the horse needed to know, and Raefindan did the best he could.

Ravion waited for Aeron to ask for advice; Aeron chatted about many other things.

Every now and then, Nethwador glanced over his shoulder, but not at the men. Once in a while, Aeron felt the hair stand up on the back of his own neck. He had all but forgotten about his sister while they had been passing through the South Gate, and he berated himself for it. He wondered at the occasional chill, and blamed it on the weather.

[mark12_30]

They rode til an hour before sunset, and then Erebemlin halted the company near a wide field on the western side of the road. He bid them dismount.

Ravion's brow creased. "Erebemlin, why do we halt now?"

Erebemlin responded with a raised brow, and then turned to Mellondu. "Make camp, then string your bow."

Archery lessons. The elf had not forgotten, thought Mellondu grimly. Now to make a fool of the blacksmith in front of the entire company! There was little to do for making camp, and it was quickly done. Taitheneb and Erebemlin stood waiting off to one side. Mellondu walked warily toward them; but he was not alone. Ravion and Raefindan followed him, their bows strung as well. Raefindan fumbled a bit with his arrows.

"What shall we aim for?" Ravion asked. He doubted an elf would suggest shooting at a tree, and anyway there were few in this field.

"Your arrow will not fly today, " replied Erebemlin.

Raefindan and Mellondu exchanged puzzled glances, but Ravion stepped forward eagerly. "Tell me what to do."

Taitheneb smiled. Erebemlin stepped back; his attention was reserved, apparently, for the blacksmith. But Taitheneb strode to Ravion, and the lessons began. The three men stood in a line, Raefindan and Mellondu watching closely as Ravion made tiny adjustments to his grip, to his stance, to his shoulders and his arm.

"Choose an aimpoint. Then close your eyes, draw, and hold."

Ravion stood stock-still, eyes closed, bow drawn. Taitheneb waited, and waited, and waited, til Ravion began to tremble with the strain.

"Open your eyes."

Ravion grunted in disappointment, and Taitheneb told him to move his feet.

What this all had to do with actually hitting something, Mellondu could not yet guess, but he was grateful that Ravion had stepped forward. When Taitheneb finished with Ravion, Ravion was weary, but bemused and happy, carefully twitching certain muscles while muttering under his breath.

Raefindan's lesson begain the same way, but did not follow the same pattern; Raefindan blushed and fumbled and gritted his teeth, muttering something about wasting the elves' time.

Taitheneb smiled. "We do not count time as you do, " he said. "Choose your aimpoint. Not that far! Much closer. There. Now close your eyes." Raefindan trembled far more quickly than had Ravion. "Now open your eyes, and look!"

Raefindan spluttered. "Miles away! I'd miss by a mile!"

"Nay, no more than fifteen yards, " replied Taitheneb, his shimmering laughter falling like rain. "Move your feet, thus. Again. Close your eyes."

Mellondu glared at Erebemlin. You will mock me, he thought. You will make a fool of me.

Taitheneb finished with Raefindan, and then looked expectantly at Erebemlin. But Erebemlin did not step forward. "Mellondu, begin with Taitheneb."

How I dread this, thought Mellondu. Taitheneb's laughter was subdued, and soon subsided as the boy's fury seethed.

At least, thought Mellondu, I shall not shake as soon as the redhaired man. I am a blacksmith and thus no weakling. Perhaps I will hold my draw as long as the ranger.

As he closed his eyes, bent at the waist, and held his draw, a strange sensation tickled at the back of his mind. It took him a while to understand it. Taitheneb bade him move his feet, and he did so, and then closed his eyes again. He bent over into the draw. The wind stirred his hair, which shimmered gold in the sunset. He took a slow breath, thinking only of his aimpoint; nothing else mattered. Nothing. The aim-point shimmered before him, the only thing in the world. He could almost touch it.

"Do not let fly! Open your eyes. Let down," said Taitheneb.

Mellondu blinked; his stance was still too wide, his aimpoint off. He blinked again.

Taitheneb spoke softly. "Close your stance a little more. Shut your eyes. Draw."

He moved his right foot. He closed his eyes, breathing. He bent forward at the waist, like a ship leaning into the wind, like a deer poised to leap. He felt the eagerness of the bow, of the string, of the arrow. He drew. He held, leaning, still and strong as a tree, waiting... on his aim-point. Nothing else mattered. He knew only his aim-point.

Nothing else mattered.

"Open your eyes, " said Taitheneb.

He blinked.

"Enough, " said Erebemlin.

Mellondu slowly let down, put his arrow in his pouch, and stood, his bow still strung, gazing with clouded eyes at his aimpoint, long after the rest of them had gone back to camp.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

It started with large eyes.

The wispy black lines melted into one another, creating long locks of flowing hair.

Bellyn closed her eyes once more. She now drew from memory, something she rarely did. When her father had given her maps, he had told her to copy them neatly onto new parchment. When she had drawn fiddlers or landscapes or friends, she had set herself before them, to watch as she drew.

But the subjects of her artistry had left.

Sitting near the window of her sister-in-law’s home, Bellyn opened her eyes once more and continued the shading above Liornung’s brow. She had already drawn Nethwador and Mellondu – or Amroth, as she knew him – earlier that morning, and although she had attempted to sketch Erebemlin, she had stopped, for she felt she could not do his noble features justice.

“How long have you been awake, Bella?” Rosa clambered in, grasping within her arms a large basket full of thick, leafy plants.

“Perhaps an hour,” Bellyn replied as Rosa set the basket down. Rosa began to pick through the different plants.

“Hallas has not woken up yet?” Rosa asked, and Bellyn shook her head.

“I will make breakfast this morning,” Bellyn offered. “But then, would it be alright if I went for a walk?”

“Of course!”

Bellyn made breakfast, for Rosa and her son. She helped to clean up, and helped Rosa prepare the plants she had brought home so that they could be made into medicines. Early morning had long passed when Bellyn took to the streets of Minas Tirith. She strode quickly, through the gates to higher levels, until she approached the Seventh Star.

As she entered, her first thought was of how busy the Inn seemed. It was a hustle of activity, a flurry of busy work. Bellyn felt awkward, for she stood aimlessly for a moment with a blank look on her face, searching for Leafa.

“Leafa!” Bellyn cried as soon as she caught a glimpse of the long, fair hair and blue eyes. She approached her friend, and the two embraced.

“Bella! Come, sit here,” Leafa offered a stool.

“I feel rather silly right now,” Bellyn murmured. Her hazel eyes flickered around the room, not wanting to look at her friend directly.

“Why?” Leafa inquired.

“It has been less than a day. I already miss them. I miss them all, and I am already sick of being here, and doing nothing,” Bellyn sighed. “How are you, though? Where is Mellonin?”

[Firefoot]

The birds twittered on heedlessly. No travelers passing by would ever guess that those parts of the mountains were inhabited by any other than themselves, except for perhaps the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, for so they would be.

Higher in the White Mountains than other Wild Men were wonted to go dwelled a single Wild Man whose only company were those heedless birds. But dwelling is a relative term, for he did not dwell there as the Stone Folk did in their fortresses of rock, or even as birds in their nests, but rather as a fish might dwell in the sea or a horse on the plains. He wandered, keeping careful watch over the mountains and taking pleasure in the small things life brought to him, and was content.

Presently Rugh sat meditatively beneath the shadowy trees in the cold predawn light, awaiting the rising sun and listening to the rumors of the earth. He was troubled. Strange things were happening, unnatural things he did not know about or understand, only that they seemed to be epitomizing here, in these mountains.

Then he took hold of a thick dead branch on the ground near him and broke off a short piece. He felt compelled to carve, as if the earth itself was urging him on. He started at the bottom with gently flowing curves, which transformed into confused angles – lost, searching and seemed to extend into two hand-like projections, long hands, unlike his own with their stumpy but manipulative fingers – reaching out, seeking…

The carving scared and fascinated him. It was not like anything he had made before; it bore no resemblance to plant or animal or person; it – she…? – was completely other and was somehow related to the strange happenings. Rugh did not like it. It ought to be stopped, somehow, and peace returned to his mountains. Leaving the carving where he had sat, he stood up and left. He only wanted him and his mountains to be left alone.

[mark12_30]

Dawn came all too soon, and Mellondu greeted it with a moan and a grumble. Erebemlin and Taitheneb were up and ready to ride; men were rising, and getting ready. And the blacksmith Mellondu reflected, was the last one up. Well, they wouldn't leave without him. Unfortunately.

Raefindan looked none too happy. Mellondu wondered at that, and decided to ask.

"Bad dreams, " muttered Raefindan, and said no more.

They broke camp, saddled their horses and prepared to ride. Echo did not come when Mellondu whistled, nor when he called. He walked toward him, but Echo stepped away. Everyone else was mounted and ready to ride south, and Mellondu could not catch his horse.

Ædegard looked distracted and troubled; Mellondu could not catch his eye. He spoke to him twice, but Ædegard did not hear. Nethwador sat glassy-eyed beside Taitheneb, who wore a bemused expression with a tinge of sadness. Everyone else looked listless and distracted. Mellondu seethed. Would no man aid him, and catch this straying horse? Echo grew more restless, and kept twenty paces between himself and the blacksmith.

Erebemlin turned his horse to face south, and the rest of the group fell in behind him; and still Echo trotted, unsaddled and unbridled, in the wide field. Finally Mellondu burst out angrily. "Will no-one help me catch this horse?"

Erebemlin met Mellondu's eye, and Echo swung eagerly toward the elf. Taking his place behind Erebemlin's horse, Echo stood proud and still.

Mellondu stalked towards his saddle and bridle, fetched them, and came to the horse. Echo snorted and tossed his head. Mellondu hastily put them on, and clambered onto the horse, who grunted, snorted, and rolled his eyes.

The group seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and come to life. Chatter and laughter rippled, and even Erebemlin and Taitheneb began to sing. The group surged southward, and the countryside rolled past.

After a few miles, Raefindan came beside Mellondu, and said, "Aren't you going to thank the elf for catching your horse?"

Mellondu glared at him. Raefindan shrugged and fell back beside Ravion, and for a while, no one spoke to Mellondu.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin, Seventh Star, date TBD

Hearing her name, Mellonin turned. "Bella! Good morning!" She caught up two plates, and bore them to the waiting folk, then turned toward Bella. "How fared you the night?"

"I slept fairly well. But it is harder than I thought it would be. I miss them so, " said Bella.

"Of course you do, " said Mellonin; "We all do; but there it is. So-- you'll have tea. Bread? Soup? What shall we bring you?"

Bella's startled expression only made Mellonin more resolute. "Perhaps sitting by the fire would cheer you. Come, what would you like?" Mellonin thought, I will not sulk; I will be cheerful. I will choose to do well. I will not let the grief of parting rule me. I will be cheerful.

Bella struggled for something to say. Leafa glanced down, but glanced back up again with a smile. "Tea, Bella, or coffee? Or perhaps wine, or something stronger?"

[Imladris]

Aeron shivered in the bright sun of morning and wrapped his thin cloak closer around himself. He was tired, very tired. He had not slept well, and was not thrilled with another day of riding. Sleep, and a warm cup of tea. Yes that sounded like just the thing.

He strapped the pots and pans to the saddle with stiff clumsy fingers and drifted about, ignoring the cold glares of the elves until all was ready and off they went with shoulders bowed and heads bent. Even the horses seemed to be in low spirits.

The gentle rocking motion as the horse plodded on comforted Aeron a little. He leaned forward and rested his head on the horse's neck. The cold settled more deeply into his bones and he shuddered, pressing himself close to the horse for warmth. His eyes grew heavy --all he wanted to do was sleep.

He saw the road melt away and smiled.

"Aeron."

The voice that called his name was beautiful and cold, like light striking an icycle on a winter morning. He recognized that voice with pain and joy, and opened his eyes, shouting, "Gwyllion!"

The rest of the company had disappered. He found himself not astride a horse, but standing on green grass still glimmering with drops of dew. Gwyllion was sitting on a nearby rock, with her chin resting on her knees and her bare feet tucked under her robe. She smiled at him. "Aeron."

He said, "I have missed you, Gwyllion."

She tilted her head, frowning. "Why?"

"Because you are my sister, and I loved you." It was hard to say, he didn't know why. He realized that he had never told her that before.

"Really?"

He nodded and curled up on the grass beside her stone. The sun was warm on his stomach.

"Aeron? I saw something today..."

He glanced up in alarm. Gwyllion was rocking violently back and forth, tears trickling down her cheeks. Her face was paler than he remembered it.

"Oh a terrible thing. I saw a girl on the road, and dark shadows were clustered around her, -- they reminded me of crows. I wanted to help her but I didn't know how...I ran towards her, but then she disappeared and it made me so sad Aeron because she was crying and I couldn't help her...and I wanted to help her and I don't know what has become of her..."

"Gwyll," Aeron whispered, "Gwyllion..."

And then Gwyllion was gone, and there was just the green grass and the elves ahead of them and the snort of horses. He was on the ground and he dimly realized that he must have fallen off the horse. Ravion was staring at him sadly, and said, "You fell asleep, Aeron. You were muttering, I heard you mention your sister's name. You awoke when you fell to the ground."

"I saw Gwyllion," said Aeron distractedly as he clambered to his feet. His head ached and his vision was slightly blurred. "She was sitting on a rock and she told me of a girl she found on the road -- a weeping girl plagued with shadows whom she could not help. And the girl disappeared and Gwyllion was sad because she didn't know what became of her, sad that she couldn't have helped her...she was crying, Ravion! And I couldn't comfort her because then she was gone and I was on the ground."

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan felt relatively at ease, having had most of the debates within himself resolved. He was supposed to be here, was supposed to travel with this party, to help Mellondu in any way that he could, to be a friend to these strangers from a time long before his own time, in the middle of which he was somehow riding. But why south? He had not been privy to the discussion and debates among the Elves and the King. He did not feel slighted thereby, for he was a visitor, a guest, and it was simple joy to wake each morning in this place where it was impossible that he should be, yet was. But why south? He had not asked, and did not choose to now; let the Elves lead on. He had enough to think on, recalling memory after memory of a time that would not come for many, many years.

Aeron fell off his horse and gave a muffled yell when he hit the ground. Ravion - who seemed to have somehow befriended Aeron, a miracle and a mercy in its own right, rivaling the storied relationship of one Gimli and one Legolas for sheer improbability - this Ravion kindly informed him that he had fallen asleep and spoken his late sister's name.

Aeron's response caught Raefindan off guard.

"You dreamed of Gwyllion, Aeron?" he asked.

"I saw her," he insisted in a partly sullen tone.

"And she spoke to you," he prompted.

But Aeron's brow furrowed. "You do not believe me?"

Raefindan closed his eyes and smiled, mildly saddened at the misunderstanding. "Aeron, I believe you. Gwyllion is tied to you. It is as Marigold said. Do you know what girl your sister spoke of?"

[Imladris]

Aeron closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. "No, I don't know the girl. Just that she was lost, weeping, beset by shadows, and on the roadside." He stared at Raefindan. He didn't understand the man, only knew that he was misplaced here with his vibrant red hair. Yet he was wise, and caring. "Raefindan," he whispered, "it was so real. It could not have been just a dream."

Raefindan scratched his head. "It would be wise to tell Erebemlin of it."

"What?" Ask that elf, that cold distant elf who thought his precious was king was too precious to care about the humans? "Never."

"Aeron," said Raefindan gently, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, "the elves are wise in such matters...it would be unwise to remain silent."

Aeron glared at Erebemlin who was watching the delay with impatience. Raefindan began to steer Aeron towards the elf by the arm. "Red!" Aeron snarled.

All too soon he found himself before the elf, who stared down at him. Aeron shivered and did not meet his eyes.

"What is the meaning of this delay? Every moment is precious."

Aeron stared at the ground, and only answered when Raefindan nudged him gently in the ribs. "I saw my sister," he muttered. "She was upset about a girl she saw on the road. She couldn't help her you see...maybe," he said, "we should keep an eye out for a lost little girl? Maybe that's what it meant," he went on eagerly, ignoring Erebemlin and turning towards Raefindan. "Maybe that's why I saw Gwyll, so that we would know to watch for a lost girl and then to help her when we found her!"

"It was a dream, nothing more. Mount your horses, we are moving on."

Erebemlin set a brisker, faster face that jarred Aeron to his bones. A dream? No. He closed his eyes. It couldn't have been a dream. The tears and pain had been real.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn felt her cheeks flush. Was it getting hotter? She felt warm.

"Ah, tea, I suppose?" Bellyn felt flustered as Mellonin nodded and went off to get her tea. Leafa sat down next to Bellyn, and touched her arm gently.

"Are you feeling well, Bella?" she asked, and Bellyn rubbed her temples.

"I...I feel strange. It is very hot in here," Bellyn replied, and Leafa's brows knit together in some mix of confusion and concern.

"Here, Bella!" Mellonin, her face cheerful and lighthearted, handed the cup of tea to Bellyn. "I hope you enjoy it...but if you will excuse me, I must get back to working!"

"Thank you..." Bellyn took a sip, and did not feel any better. Her skin prickled, and she felt a desperate need to walk outside into the bitter cold of winter. She put her cup down in front of her, and looked to Leafa. "Thank you for seeing me, Leafa. I just wanted to know that you were faring well. I hope you and Mellonin will come visit me sometime? I could show you where I am staying. But I am not feeling well now...the cold weather has likely made me sick, and I wish to get home before I feel worse."

"Of course! You will be alright getting home?" Leafa stood when Bellyn rose from her seat, and walked with her friend to the door.

"Yes, yes. I will see you soon, Leafa," Bellyn opened the door and smiled at the cool rush of air. She felt instantly relieved of the heat in her cheeks, though her head still ached. She hoped that Rosa would be able to make some kind of concoction to make her feel better.

[littlemanpoet]

Iorgil had been most helpful. He was sitting just outside Maegeleb's cell, as silently directed. He read the guard's mind while making small talk.

"What weather this day?"

"Calm but chill." The guard muffled a belch from supper.

He has been down to the Seven Stars Inn, as I suggested to his mind.

"You have eaten well, then?"

"Your pardon. Aye, well."

He has sat near enough to overhear the conversations of the women I held captive in the swamp.

"At the king's mess?"

"Nay. There's an inn on the fourth level. The Seventh Star they call it."

Maegeleb probed his mind. Humans were pathetic. There were the memories, each word and image clearly held in store, but Maegeleb knew that this man, if asked, would only be able to bring to speech a smattering of it. This way was much more efficient.

“Leafa!” An embrace. “Bella!” An invitation to sit.

"The ale must be passing fair judging by the breath with which you sour my cell."

"Aye, 'twas very good."

Less than a day. Already misses them. So the men have left Minas Anor. Sick of being here and doing nothing. Take care, a sure sign of intending to do something, like leaving Minas Anor as well.

"The least you could do was smuggle some in for me if you're going to fill my cell with vapors."

Iorgil shook his head. "Water for prisoners, that is all."

Where is Mellonin?” "Bella! Good morning! How fared you the night?" Slept well. Harder than she thought. Misses them. Pathetic humans.

"When do I get my day end meal?"

"You had it already."

Small talk of food and drink. Making such a big to-do about food and drink.

"I would like some more."

"You'll get no more."

"Are you feeling well, Bella?" The one named Bellyn seems on the verge of fever. What does that portend?

"Mind your manners. You speak to an elf lord."

"Lord or slave, a prisoner you are and one serving is enough. Orders."

Iorgil, you will go back to the Inn for breakfast and pay attention to these young women to hear and see what you can."

Iorgil stretched. "I think I'll go back there for breakfast. Looked like good food."

"You gall me with your talk of food, oh prison guard. You are most unkind."

Iorgil stretched again and yawned. "Be that as it may, lights out. I bid you a good night."

Maegeleb did not reply, but lay on his cot thinking things through long after the torch was extinguished.

[mark12_30]

An early morning, a long day, and a late night. And now to bed.

She was somewhat cheered to have Leafa nearby, and to have had a visit from Bella. Although truth be told, she barely knew them.

How she missed her brother, and how she missed Raefindan. And...

She pulled the covers up tightly around her chin, and squeezed her eyes shut.

How gentle he had been, lifting her chin with one careful finger, so that she had to look into his eyes. Those green eyes; like the leaves in August, rich and strong, shimmering, moving in the wind.

She opened her eyes, and shifted, and closed them again, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. Her hand, passing across her cheek, touched a place that was too smooth. Her scar. Only it wasn't a scar; it was baby-new skin. Marigold had treated her.

But before they had arrived at Marigold's house, Ravion had treated it first; cleaned it, salved it, and dressed it, all with that gentle touch, and with trouble and concern in those forest-green eyes.

She dreamt of woodlands, and trees, and loving eyes; healing hands, the caress of water; a golden voice, the laughter of the sun-filled stream. At first. But then the woods turned cold, and the leaves fell, and the more she looked for friendly eyes, the more she saw the sun glaring off the ice. She stumbled along in her dreams, her hand warding off the glare, her feet colder and colder, her hands stiffening. She struggled on, searching for the caring eyes, the cheering voice, the healing touch; the cold stones cut her feet, the ice tore at her hands, and the silence burdened her struggling heart.

[littlemanpoet]

As they rode south at a pace that was not in the least comfortable, Raefindan's eyes wandered from the mix of hurt and determination in Aeron's face, to the back of Erebemlin's head. He felt for Aeron. His instinct was to be angry with Erebemlin for his dunderheaded blindness.

It's one thing to be single mindedly committed to the purpose of your lord, Erebemlin; that's something I can personally relate to- Raefindan rehearsed the words in his mind that he doubted he'd ever actually say -but to dismiss another's dream out of hand because it doesn't fit with your agenda, is just plain foolish.

No, it wouldn't do to say that to Erebemlin. If he wouldn't listen to Aeron, he wasn't about to listen to Raefindan either; he would likely dismiss his words as the product of misplaced human sympathy. Would Erebemlin be accurate in that? Raefindan asked himself. No. Marigold had directed Aeron to cut a lock of Gwyllion's hair and keep it on his person so that the two would be bound to each other. That meant that Gwyllion was in fact likely to appear to Aeron in dreams, if not visions. Because of Marigold, Raefindan was convinced that Gwyllion's ghost was not far, had not yet traveled beyond the walls of the world. Marigold seemed to understand that the girl's purpose was not yet complete in Middle Earth. A sense of peace and contentment settled over Raefindan as he thought about this, for he was sure that Marigold's deed was part of a larger pattern, a weave, perhaps, that threaded all their actions, thoughts, and dreams together toward a purpose that none of them knew, and that the reuniting of Amroth and Nimrodel was only one small part of. Yes, this was the way things really worked; Raefindan had seen such things happen too many times to count to doubt his thought now.

"Never fear, Aeron, your dream is true, and we'll see how it weaves itself into the tapestry of our quest."

Aeron looked at him in some bewilderment. "How can you always be so cheerful and sure?"

Raefindan chuckled. It would be too hard to explain. "I think it best not to give you words to answer. Let us watch and wait, and see how the weave of events reveals the answer to your query."

Aeron looked even more confused now. "Weave of eve Ents? Reeve eels? Quarry? Raefindan, you're back to making no sense. Are there Ents that weave at dusk somewhere in southern Gondor? Eels that act like aldermen? And do I have a quarry?"

Raefindan laughed. "I'll try again. Let us see what happens, and your dream will find its meaning."

"That's better! But how that has to do with ents and eels and quarries I do not know!"

Raefindan laughed again. "Nor I! But let that be a lesson to me to take care of my words!"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

As soon as Bellyn had gotten home, Rosa had tended to her with gentleness and a motherly concern. Bellyn had walked in from her visit to the Seventh Star, her forehead dotted with the occasional bead of sweat, but her arms shaking with chill.

Bellyn had not the wits about her to protest when Rosa offered her own bed. The blankets wrapped around her, she tossed and turned until afternoon became night. She did not sleep well. Bellyn woke every few hours, uncomfortably hot. After throwing off the blankets, she would return to slumber before starting to shiver. This cycle of feeling overheated or freezing continued through the night, as did Bellyn's strange dreams.

She thought she could feel her skin tingle, and she rolled over as images came flooding into her head. Her closed eyes flickered as she threw the blanket off again.

A woman, tall and elegant, stood before Bellyn. Around her, a beautiful forest stretched far into the distance. The leaves of the trees tumbled slowly, gracefully to the ground. For a moment, Bellyn lay still in her bed as the flawless scenery enveloped her dreams.

It did not last for long.

Suddenly, the dream flashed from the radiance of the forest to the melancholy of a rocky, desolate mountain pass. Far in the distance, as high as the gloomy grey skyline, Bellyn could see snow-capped peaks. The color washed away from the scenery, and the hue of the lady’s skin drained from her face. Her eyes no longer shone.

The lady whipped her head around, as if she had heard something.

“We will find Nimrodel, I know it,” said one voice.

“We cannot search forever,” complained another. The voices seemed to sound more and more distant with each word.

“We are here! We are here!” Dream-Bellyn tried to shout; not a sound came from her parted lips. Her screaming seemed to evaporate into the air. “We are here!”

The woman before Bellyn said nothing.

Bellyn awoke from her nightmare, sweating. Her eyes, sore from restless slumber, blinked rapidly to allow aching tears to fall. She looked to her left and saw her pack, the pack that she had brought all the way from Rohan to Gondor. Bellyn tried to calm herself but the beating in her heart continued at a rapid pace. She rolled out of Rosa’s bed, grabbed her pack, and left the house as quickly as possible, caring not if she woke her sister-in-law or her nephew.

Out into the chill air, Bellyn sped up into a run, moving down the streets frantically. Her destination was far enough away for the girl to regain her composure, to remember her senses and go home. Her heart and tired eyes hurt, but she had one thought in her mind: she had to find her horse, and she needed to find the woman.

She found the Seventh Star, and saw the nearby stables. Her horse would be there. She hoped it was not so late that the stables would be locked – Bellyn was quite uncertain of the time. But the doors were opened, and next to Leafa’s horse she found her own.

Within minutes Bellyn was out of the stables. Bellyn’s mind raced. She knew she had to leave Minas Tirith. The white peaks…the woman…it came together in an intricate mental map.

Bellyn had never tried to navigate on her own before. She had drawn map after map; the cities, the forests, and the rivers matched perfectly in her mind. Bellyn did worry how she would find the White Mountains, the snow-capped peaks she thought she had seen in her dreams. She hoped she did not get lost.

[littlemanpoet]

The river woman whistled from her two-leggeds' den. "Tirril!" she called in her sing-song way. "Jorje!"

Jorje lifted his nose from the ground and cocked an ear. He grinned. He liked the way the river woman used both his names. He kissed the air with his tongue and ran toward the den, panting and grinning happily all the way. She had human-hand-licked him and hand-nipped his ears right at the roots the way the best humans knew how to do.

"I have a running and hunting for you to do, Jorje Tirril."

Jorje sniffed at her reedy breath and glowy face. Running? Hunting?

"Remember Leaf woman and Dark woman and Man woman? I want you to find them."

What for? Bring them back?

"I want you to sniff out the dangers near and far in the high places and warn them."

She took his broad head in her two hands so that he was looking into her eyes. He did not like looking into the eyes of humans, for they were great and their eyes had things behind them he didn't know how to smell. Jorje knew that they couldn't smell the dog-sense he had behind his nose, but there was something great in humans behind those eyes of theirs, and it usually scared him; not with river woman though. He sniffed a difference in her, some way she had of smelling but not with her nose, so her eyes didn't scare him so much. He met her eyes now.

"Sniff out the strangers and tell the women if they be friend or fiend. Sniff for the bad elf, the one who ran the eermy ones back in the swamp."

Jorje remembered and almost retched right then and there. The river woman grinned.

"May the aroo go with you wherever you go. Be witty and sniff well, and may your paws be whole and may your legs run fast at need. Now go!"

She let go. Jorje was off at a gallop next instant. The ground flew by beneath his feet. After a little while he slowed his pace but his excitement stayed with him. The river woman had sent him on the hunt. He was glad to be running!

[mark12_30]

"The faithless one? Why do you name her? Her memory brings me no joy."

"My lady, we do not know why she left. You know she loved you."

"Nay, I know it not. Had she loved me she would not have left. No, " said Nimrodel in a rare moment of clarity, "your friendship, Mithrellas, stands alone in my life; your faithfulness is unmatched. No other remains. Least of all, the Faithless one-- The Unwilling one."

Mithrellas watched as the moment of gratefulness passed. She grieved its passing as she had rejoiced to see it; silently. Now bitterness glittered in her lady's eyes. Mithrellas said only, "My lady, name her not so."

"Nay; name her not otherwise. Unwlling she was, and so she shall be known. Let the West have her faithlessness; Let them suffer her fickle heart-- The Unwilling One."

Avarien. The sound of the word settled over her soul like a grey woolen cloak, muffling her, hiding her from her self, taking away what she knew of herself and replacing it with the name Nimrodel had given her. Avarien.

She shuddered, and woke with a resolve as thankless and grim as her new name.

She dressed quickly in the dark: boots and breeches, tunic, dress, shawl, cloak. Passing through the kitchen, she gathered a small bag of supplies, and tying it up with the blanket, slung it onto her back. Leaving the Inn, she passed silently through the empty streets; indeed, the mist made her hearly invisible.

She noiselessly opened the large stable door, silently entered, and stood in the darkened aisle. "Hear me, " she said softly. "My mistress Nimrodel languishes in the hills, sorely in need of aid. Who will help me?"

A dark head, shaggy and plain but for the wise eyes, reached up over a stall door, giving a soft whicker.

The girl bowed her head, stepped towards the door, lifted the latch, and opened it. The dark horse stepped carefully out, and then turned sideways and dropped his head. The girl took a deep breath, gathered her skirts in her right hand, grasped the horse's mane with her left, and swung lightly onto his back. Roheryn gave her a moment to settle onto his back, and then trotted out the stable door and into the road.

At the hoofbeats, two groggy voices called, and two stableboys tumbled blearily from their beds and stumbled into the aisle, to see only the open door and the now empty stall. They ran to the door, commanding the horse to halt, but neither the horse nor the girl gave them heed. Roheryn cantered down the winding road, the two stable boys giving chase and falling far behind. Sleepy passers-by blinked at the odd sight in the predawn light.

The gate was opening to greet the mist-veiled dawn when Roheryn aproached it. Hearing the shouts from the stable, half the guards surged forward while the other half stretched into a line across the open gate. The horse checked himself, shying and swerving past guards as they snatched for his reins and found none. Roheryn turned away from the ragged line of men blocking the open gate, while the guards ran at him again. He churned away from each in turn, shying this way and that, his shoes sparking against the cobblestones. The girl cried out angrily, "Let me pass! In the name of Amroth, let me pass!" The horse reared again, still dodging soldiers, and then circled back into the courtyard, turned towards the still-open gate and hurled himself towards the line of men that stretched across it. The gate captain's voice rang out.

"Let him pass! Let him pass!"

The men divided and fled the oncoming horse. Roheryn ran through the gate and raced northward. For a moment his hooves beat a sharp tattoo on the road, and then he swerved onto the turf, and melted into the grey countryside.

[Formendacil]

"Faramir, I need to speak to you," the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien slowed down in the halls of the citadel as his King caught up to him.

"Yes, milord Elessar, what can I do for you?"

"Captain Ingold has just brought a rather distraught father and mother to me. It seems that their daughter and several of her lady acquaintances have disappeared from the city."

Elessar seemed to be in a somewhat stormy mood, noted Faramir, who did his best to keep his tone serious and not as tired as he felt. Disappearing young ladies, while troublesome, did not quite merit the attention of the King and Steward. Unless...

"Milord, is there any reason Captain Ingold brought these parents to you, rather than just searching on his own?"

Elessar nodded, a hand running distractedly through his hair.

"The son of the couple was sent from Minas Tirith but a few days ago, with provisions from our storehouses and with my blessing. You will recall the Elves that I was talking about."

"The ones seeking Amroth's fëa?"

"Not exactly..." Elessar decided not to descend into a discussion then and there on how they already had Amroth's fëa and how it was Nimrodel they were looking for, and any of that. More important things were afoot.

"But the same Elves. The missing daughter, Mellonin, was the sister of Mellondu, the young blacksmith. All of the missing ladies were companions of the questors before they came to Minas Tirith."

"And you think there is a connection, that these ladies may have followed them?"

"It seems likely." The situation explained, Elessar moved on to the reason he was talking to Faramir.

"I'm having Ingold's men search the city, and learn what they can here, but I'd like a number of your rangers to find these young ladies, and escort them to safety. I trust rangers in such a task over ordinary guardsmen."

"Once a ranger, always a ranger," laughed Faramir with a slight bow. "As you wish, Milord King; I think I can find enough rangers here in the city."

At this moment a swift tapping of footsteps on stone echoed up the corridor from behind them. Captain Ingold dashed up to them.

"Sire," he bowed to the King, "we've got a lead on them. They stole a horse from the Royal Stables."

"From the Royal Stables?" Faramir arched an eyebrow in amusement.

"Yes, Lord Steward," Ingold nodded, still puffing slightly. "It was your horse, Sire," he turned to Elessar, "Roheryn."

Elessar's face betrayed no sense of either crisis or bemusement. "All the more reason to find these young ladies. Lord Faramir, I shall leave it in your capable hands."

Nodding to Faramir and Ingold, Elessar strode down the hall, just a bit faster than usual, Faramir thought.

~*~

"You requested my presence, Lord Faramir?"

Bergil son of Beregond, Ranger of Ithilien, looked down at the Steward's desk. He was a tall, dark-haired young man in his early-to-mid twenties, tall and lithe in the Númenorean norm. He looked slightly anxious at having been called into the Steward's study while on what was supposed to have been leave. But it could have been curiosity as easily as fear. Bergil had been acquainted with Faramir since the War, when his father had saved the Steward's life and become Captain of the White Guard.

"Yes, Bergil," Faramir looked up, pushing away the papers, and gesturing with his right hand for Bergil to sit. "I'm sorry to have to call you away from your leave, but the number of rangers in Minas Tirith is fewer than I thought, and we have a not-so-straightforward case to deal with."

"Sir?" Bergil gave Faramir as a puzzled look as he took his chair. Faramir quickly outlined the situation of Mellondu and his companions setting out southwards, and Mellonin's disappearance, giving a slight account of the events previously, as he knew them.

"Ingold's investigations have made things a little more complicated, I fear," continued Faramir. "Instead of going south, and following the Elves, as we expected, all witness reports say that the ladies went north, towards Anórien. Possibly to Cair Andros, possibly to Rohan, possibly to Lórien, possibly to swing south again. We do not know.

"And that is why we need more rangers than I expected. I'm sending men north and south, and I'll check at Osgiliath or Cair Andros to see if they have crossed Anduin. You get the easy task, though, as recompense for disturbing your leave. I'm sending you straight down the great road southwards. Riding alone, and changing horses at the waystations, you should be able to overtake the women without difficulty. Or, if they have not gone that way, you should catch the Elves and their companions. If the women are not with them, you can return to Minas Tirith, and we shall know they did not go that way. If you do find them, bring them back to Minas Tirith, or at least send word, if they and their menfolk prefer to keep them with them."

Bergil nodded, getting excited. This sounded exciting. Several missing damsels in distress; Elves on a high quest; the spirit of a long-dead Elvenking; no apparent villains. Certainly, he thought, worthy of sacrificing a few weeks of leave, even if it meant not visiting Great-Aunt Morwen. Especially if it meant not visiting Great-Aunt Morwen.

"I can be ready to leave by sundown," he said, rising. "Sooner, probably."

"Sooner is better," said Faramir. "The blessings of the Valar go with you, Bergil."

Bergil nodded, and with a bounce in his step turned to leave.

"And Bergil," called Faramir. Bergil paused, and turned.

"Thank you."

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwe watched his jailer, Iorgil. The man appeared to be quite satisfied with his supper, if his rather rancid and ale-ridden belch was any indication.

"What news, jailer?"

You will tell me that which is most important in your mind.

"Stolen horse, the king's own."

"Indeed? Who is the thief?"

You will tell me who you truly believe instead of telling me nothing.

"There is word that some women who were expected to remain behind an adventuring party have left the city."

"I see. How odd. Do you not think so?"

"Aye. Women ought to stay with their men, or if their men must leave, stay behind with the little ones."

"Indeed. Might there be the smallest chance that I could have an extra bit of porridge? I am cold this night."

You will give me what I ask for and you will drop your keys and fail to notice it, then leave.

"Oh aye, I suppose I could."

Events occurred precisely as Tharonwe wished. He waited for hours. At least, when he deemed it, by his sanwë, to be long past midnight, he opened his cell and crept out of the prison on quiet feet. Only another Elf could have seen him pass, and none stood guard. He sought the sleeping mind of Iorgil and found him, asleep in his own home on the fifth level. He went to his home, entered through the window, placed the keys back in the man's jerkin, and left the city in search of some women. He had an idea what they looked like and who they were. He walked north.

[Imladris]

Aeron...

The boy opened his eyes and found himself sprawled on bright green grass. Yellow and white flowers dotted the field and a bird twittered happily somewhere.

"Gwyllion?" And then he saw her. She was sitting on the grass, her arms clasped around her knees. A crown of flowers hung lopsided on her head.

The petals were wilted.

Traces of tears were on her cheeks.

"Gwyllion, what's wrong?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Aeron, I am glad you never left me. I do not know what I would have done if you had left me..."

"What are you doing thinking such thoughts?" Aeron asked. "I would have to have a heart of stone rimmed in the coldest ice to even have such a thought enter my head."

She was silent. Her head rested against his shoulders, her eyes closed. A wind rustled by and the crown of flowers slipped off into her lap. Some of the wilted petals shuddered a little and scattered in the gentle breeze.

"I have heard a ghost of a whisper, a shade of bitterness," Gwyllion whispered. "I have heard of The Unwilling One, and I am afraid."

Aeron frowned. "Who is The Unwilling One?"

"I do not know, brother. I do not know. Just like I do not know why the Map maker dreamed of the white peaks and has determined to find them, or why Mellonin so rashly seeks for poor Nimrodel --"

"What? They're not off in any hills, Gwyll. They're safe and sound in Gondor, in Minas Tirith. I wouldn't be surprised if they were all drinking tea and happily chattering about whatever things women talk about."

She looked at Aeron, her eyes soft and wide and sad. "No. It cannot be. I have seen them like figures in the mist. And they are not there...they are not there. They have gone to the mountains to seek for poor Nimrodel. They think they know where she wanders, though

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

The crown of flowers faded until Aeron thought they were like the corpse of spring.

The flowers melted away, the green grass faded, and Gwyllion vanished. Aeron found himself opening his eyes again, found that he was again in the company of his friends. He stood straight, and said, "There is trouble. Grave, horrible trouble. Mellonin and Bellyn have gone. They've gone to the mountains that were sunk in grey to find the Lady Nimrodel."

[Celuien]

Dawn came grey and cold in the hills of the Ered Nimrais. The pale, chilled sun shone at its weakest over a ramshackle wooden hut, overhung by a grove of dying trees. Gloom hung in the air. Yet despite the dismal scene, a few pallid rays, mingled with light flurries of snow, made their way to shine through the unpatched chinks in the hut’s poorly repaired roof and the few spaces left around its shade-darkened windows.

The hut’s interior would now have been almost visible to a visitor, had any been bold or foolish enough to venture near it. Evil rumors surrounded the valley it occupied: rumors of a cruel witch - or wraith - who haunted the valley, turning it to a place of dread. Few of the hill-folk dared to come near. And if they did venture near the cursed valley, for so it was named since Sæthryd had come there, they returned with a haunted look in their eyes and faintly whispered tales of ill fortune barely escaped. If they returned at all. It was little wonder that the hut saw few guests.

The sun crept higher, and the light grew brighter. Now it illumined a dusty table and chairs, a few wooden dishes, metal knives, a few traps for game. And, in a corner, a few strands of blonde hair on a pillow. Below the hair, a pale face slumbered until, as the light rose again, the eyes snapped open. Sæthryd awoke.

She rose, stretching her arms above her, and stalked to her fire. Its last embers were beginning to go out. She added a fresh log and stirred the dwindling flame back to life. A red light flashed over Sæthryd, casting her shadow over the walls around her.

How many years had she been here, living this solitary existence? Sæthryd had lost count. One day flowed into the next, adding at last into weeks, months, and years. Little interrupted her routine. Up in the morning, a quick meal, and out to scavenge a few roots and herbs. To check her snares for meat. And, most importantly, to see that no intruders trespassed upon the secret ways of the mountains.

For those secret paths belonged to the Dead. Most had gone, years ago, before Sæthryd came to her hidden valley, before she walked along the ways they once haunted. Yet their presence remained. She knew. She saw. She heard, as now and again, the dead spoke to her. Of course they did. It was only natural that they did so. For she was dead too. Sæthryd never lived. She was born dead beneath the shadow of the dead mountain. Born dead to walk with the dead until at last her body completed its slow death and left her lifeless mind to wander free. That was how things were meant to be. That was why the dead had chosen her as their guardian. She knew it was so.

A thrashing in the brush caught Sæthryd’s ear. The valley is ours. The paths are ours. They belong to us. They belong to the dead alone. Abandoning the fire, she threw her door ajar and ran barefoot into the snow. The valley was hers. No one must be allowed to enter. She hurried to the sound, half bent at the waist, her hair flying in the waxing wind, and lunged into the winter-bare branches. They scratched her cheek, drawing blood. But she pushed on undaunted, until, the source of the disturbance discovered, she stopped.

A crow flapped in the brush, its foot caught in one of Sæthryd’s snares. She reached out grinning and snatched the bird, crushing its throat in her hands. It struggled to free itself and its wings flapped frantically. But Sæthryd did not cease the pressure of her fingers. The crow grew still. It is well. You too are now dead, little bird. As are all here. It is well. You may pass. Still smiling, she took the bird’s body and hurried back to her hut. It was cold, and her limbs ached for the warmth of the fire.

Inside, the fire was roaring. Ducking outside again briefly, Sæthryd scooped snow into a kettle and set it over the fire to melt. She sat by the fire, plucking and dressing her victim and, as she cut the bird into pieces and dropped them into the kettle, Sæthryd sang wordlessly in her mirth.

The snow began to fall heavily. A wind blew down the valley. Sæthryd’s song, like a wail both cold and wild, rose with the smoke of her fire. The noise, borne aloft by the weather, journeyed afar to be heard by the hill folk. They heard her call and whispered in frightened voices. The wild woman was awake.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Two days out from Minas Tirith, Bergil was making speedy progress down the great road towards Pelargir, past Lossarnach, and into Lebennin. Switching horses at every waystation, and sleeping only a few hours a night, he was certainly moving at a faster pace than the Elves and their company, who had left a trail of tales behind them in the hamlets and farms along the way. He had heard no similar stories of the missing ladies, but they might have been more discreet, and travelling ladies, while unusual on their own, are not as memorable as Elves.

Evening waned, the sun already down below the mountainous horizon to the west, and Bergil reckoned that he had little more than an hour before it would be completely dark, and he'd stop to rest. He was probably within a day's ride of the Elves and their company, and he had little desire to pass them in the dark.

Lebennin was a fairly flat and grassy land, lightly populated, and rolling gently down towards the Falas. Bergil was beginning to scan the countryside for any sort of a sheltered place to spend the night. The weather was clement, and robbers were unheard of along this highway, but drilled-in instincts searched anyway. An any event, he might yet locate the Elves. he had given up expecting to find the ladies along the road. He should have caught them already.

Eyes sweeping over the edge of the road, Bergil nearly didn't see the small figure on the edge of it ahead of him. Only the quick action of his steed's rearing up alerted him to the little girl sitting, wide-eyed, on the cobblestones, shivering.

Bergil leapt clear of his horse, grabbing the reins, and proceeding to thank and calm the startled animal. Sure of the horse, Bergil then bent over the girl. She looked terrified.

"Good even, young one," he said, crouching. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

The girl, who Bergil judged to be no older than maybe six, bit her lip timidly, still looking up at him with wide tear-stained brown eyes. Her dress, face, and hands were grimy, and her hair hadn't seen a brush in a couple days. Bergil thought she looked both tired and hungry.

"N-n-nothing?" she whispered, watching past him to his horse. Though the road was well travelled, no strangers had yet taken notice of her; she had not been here long.

"I can see that," said Bergil, smiling widely. "How did you get here."

"I don't know." Her little voice cracked and he offered her his water skin, helping her drink.

Bergil kept smiling, but frowned inwardly. What if this girl didn't know where she came from?

"What's your name, child?" he asked, leaving that more serious issue for the moment.

"Indil." She wrapped her thin arms around her dirty knees and looked up and down the road.

"Well, Indil, I am Bergil. And I think we need to get you back to your parents. Do you know where you came from."

From the even wider eyes, Bergil had the suspicion that Indil's next words wouldn't be good. His suspicions were confirmed when, instead of her previous whispers, she began to cry.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan had an odd sense that just didn't make sense, as if Angela was not far.

How can that be? I'm finally settled with the fact that I'm here, and that this is real rather than just a setting in a book I've read. And I thought it was feigned history. But I've been to other places I didn't at first believe could exist, and have done things I never thought I'd do, things experts back where I come from insist are not possible, mere fleetings of overworked imaginations. Yet I was there, and now I'm here. But you, Angela, how can you be here? I thought you were in, well, you know, that other 'place'?

He heard no words in his mind, saw no vision, but in his mind's eye saw her, looking at him with that playful, completed, healthy and whole presence she had the last time he had seen her, after her death. And now he sensed her near. Not too near.

Angela, are you here?

He looked over the rolling grasslands, at the wind blown sky, his eyes stinging in the cool wind that blew off the not so distant Bay of Belfalas.

I wish that I could be with you again, and that it wouldn't end this time.

He felt a heaviness in his throat.

"What ails you, Raefindan?" asked Aeron, shaking him out of his reverie. He was riding next to him.

"Oh, just thinking of-" he paused. What could he say that was both true and safe? "-someone from back home."

"Where is home?"

"Nowhere that I can reach from here," Raefindan said with a note of irony.

"Sometimes, Raefindan," said Aeron, "I think you are moonstruck."

"Then I think that you are not far from the truth, my friend."

Aeron grinned and shook his head.

[Formendacil]

Bergil's eyes widened slightly in terror as Indil broke down crying, but he stifled his fears for finding the child's family as he held her tight, letting her sob in his arms.

"There, there," he said soothingly. "You needn't worry about it, little one. Not right now."

How long had Indil been wandering the countryside, wondered Bergil, gazing up at the heavens, the sun nearly gone over the horizon. She was exhausted, and hungry. Well, the young ranger decided, something could be done about that, at least.

"Indil," he said quietly, holding her gently as he moved her from his shoulder to look her in the eyes. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then get you something to eat. Would that be okay."

Indil nodded slightly. Bergil picked her up, marvelling at how light the little girl was, and carried her over to his horse, and removed his waterskin. Spilling some of the contents over his hand, Bergil scrubbed Indil's face of the grime and tears, and pushed her hair out of her face.

"I hope you like travel provisions," muttered Bergil, more to himself than to Indil, but he had few fears there. Indil hadn't eaten in hours--or maybe days--and eagerly tucked into the waybread, cheese, and dried meat. Bergil ate little himself, his appetite sapped by concern for the girl.

Once Indil had finished eating, Bergil picked her up, and slung her over his saddle.

"We're going to look for somewhere to stay the night," he said to the terrified little girl, whose eyes were staring in terror at the mane of the great beast. Bergil quickly swung up behind her, and held her tight.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, bending over her. He flicked the reins, and the horse trotted back towards the road, and they were off, the last rays of sunlight peering over the mountains. Indil fell asleep soon, slumped against him, his arm protectively wrapped around her.

Glancing down, Bergil wondered at the irony of his concern. Her thumb tucked comfortably in her mouth, and snuggled under his arm, Indil looked concerned for nothing, whereas he, the confident adult who knew who and where he was, was the one who was terrified for her future. What if he was taking her farther from her family? What if they never found her family? It was not a far-fetched idea, really.

It was several hours later and completely dark when Bergil finally stopped to sleep. His mind was still racing with questions, but his body and his steed were ready to sleep, and in a treed grove to the side of the highway, he was willing to attempt it.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

With Bergil's careful arms around her, Indil slept soundly for a time, blanketed in the gentle black fog of emptiness. Bergil watched her for a time as she lay still, her cheeks still blotched with tears and the sounds of a runny nose interrupting her shallow breathing. Wrapped in a blanket, she seemed even smaller, an impressive feat, and Bergil wondered suddenly if her father had watched her sleep thusly just last night, perhaps... But she did not know how long she had been apart from her parents, he thought. He would need to ask her that, and many other questions. Where had they been? Could she describe it? What did her parents look like, and what were their names... But for now, let the little girl sleep.

And she did, her thumb tucked in her mouth unconsciously. As Bergil watched, her eyelids began to quiver faintly, never opening.

'Mama!' and a glimpse of flowers fallen on a clean swept floor turning to dry dirt swept clear and a small fire. 'Mama, for you, but they fell.' and a spin through the air, strong hands holding her.

'Little Indil, pretty lass, run along and--"

The flowers are burning, and there is a voice in the mountains, cackling good morning to birdcall and cold wind.

She shivered in her sleep, curling tight.

'Why so long in coming for me?' Despair. A voice on the wind. Cold burning sunlight and deep nothingness inside. 'Why have you forsaken me?'

And a song and the flight of birds, playing over a cliff's edge, dancing on air, daring the fall to claim them, darting and singing, and there is the sound of humming. Of faint singing, of a song of flowers and seconds passing to the sound of silver chimes on wind.

'He will come.'

'Mama?'

A fire burns too high and there is running. The sound of panicked horses, of hooves on hard ground. A scream. A dull thud.

'Little Indil, where are you going?'

Indil woke with a scream, with darkness surrounding her, and through sleep and time, she felt ghost fingers tracing a phantom inquiry against her back, and for a long time after, even in Bergil's strong arms again, she could not sleep, and could not remember why.

[mark12_30]

Roheryn galloped, a steady mile-eating gallop, til he was past the North Pelennor gate. The guards gave the pair an odd look, but it was peace time, and if a woman chose to leave the Pelennor walls on horseback, they had no reason to forbid her. One guard gave the horse a searching look, but let him pass.

Back onto soft turf, Roheryn swung westward. He could feel his rider grow weary, and the wearier she grew, the more he slowed, til he turned southward into a dark wood nestled in the roots of the mountains. She slid off, wrapped herself in her cloaks, and fell into a deep sleep. He stood guard over her for a while, but there were no sounds of any pursuit, and before long he drifted off to sleep.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard missed Leafa. For the two dozenth time since they'd left Minas Anor, he wondered what good he might be on this quest that had little if anything to do with an Eorling wheelwright. But he had given his word to Bêthberry; well, he had not given his word, but it was as good as having been done, for he meant to see it through, whatever it was. It was the Eorling way. A song came to him out of the dust heap of his memories from childhood, sung by a wayfaring Eorling minstrel. He haltingly mumbled the words to a simple tune that it seemed to him had come with the words that first time.

Hear of a hero ~ in the days of Helm,
of Béoldric of Westfold ~ who walked the wilds
with scabbarded sword ~ at his side always ready;
for in the Long Winter ~ came lean wolves,
fierce and fell ~ on the rim of Rohan,
their eyes lit ~ with evil light
setting fear ~ in the stoutest folk.

Béoldric the bold ~ feared no foe,
nor warrior nor wolf, ~ orc nor woses,
and hied him upward ~ to the hills and heights,
snowcovered and slippery, ~ the wind slicing.
Night came so cold ~ that his cloak did nought
to hold at bay ~ the hoar from Béoldric,
the wind whirling ~ and howling like wolves.

"What song is that?" asked Raefindan.

"'Tis a song of the Eorlingas," answered Ædegard. "Somehow it helps to ward the chill to think of another who suffered it worse and failed not."

"Sing it again, if you please, from the start. I would hear it again for it sounded well to me."

"Well enough," Ædegard smiled, heartened, and sang it over again, and told more of the tale in song.

[mark12_30]

"Erebemlin, what if Aeron is right? What if Bella and my sister have left the city?"

"They were told to remain safe in the city. We cannot turn aside at every rumor, " said the golden elf.

Mellondu worried a while about his sister, and about Bella; and then he remembered how glad she was to be home, and how she had clung to their parents.

She would not have left.

He glanced sidelong at Aeron. What did he know about him? That the others regarded him with a cool eye. Hadn't he been called a theif? And hadn't he been off, gadding about, during their return to the city? He was surprised the fellow had come along anyway.

Who would his father trust first? he wondered. The elf. Both the elves. He took a deep breath, and reminded himself yet again that his sister had been so glad to be home, and how she had resisted the idea of his leaving.

No, she would not have left.

Ædegard began to sing, and it was a welcome distraction from his snowflurry of thoughts. He listened.

A tale at last. I have languished in spirit without them.

Mellondu looked at the thought, and wondered at it. He had thought that his languishing in spirit had little to do with tales or lack thereof.

And yet, the songs of Lady Bella had been soothing. More than soothing; they had been like wine; warm, peaceful, bringing completion and contentment to the fellowship they had all enjoyed. He wondered how Nethwador fared without her, how he felt about Aeron's story that she had left the city, and whether he was worried about her. Turning his head, he lightly touched the boy's thoughts. The boy's head snapped up eagerly.

My lord?

Mellondu's mouth tightened, his eyes flashed, and he dug his heels into Echo's sides. Echo started forward a few paces and jigged. Mellondu struggled with the reins, wishing he could turn and ride home, and find out whether Mellonin had left as Aeron said she had, and berating himself for being under a life-debt, unable to make his own decisions. He glowered at Erebemlin, slithering as Echo tossed his head. The tall elf gazed forward, with only a slight glance at Echo. Echo dropped his head, settled, heaved a long grunting snort, and then swung into line by Erebemlin's side.

Taitheneb and Nethwador traded hopeful glances, but Mellondu's back remained furiously stiff; for a while. But as, in hums or snatches, bits of Ædegard's song meandered through the company, Mellondu's back would sometimes soften. Then Echo's ears would flick forward, and a spring would return to his long stride.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard had finished his song, which told of Béoldric's fierce fight ~ with five wargs that had hounded him no matter how high he climbed, but had been starving and weakening while he had rations. Their hunger made their rage and fierceness the greater. Their greater number would otherwise have been his undoing, in foot-deep snow and no trees to escape into, but their starvation was his advantage, he outlasted them. Were they not Fell, it would be no great tale to tell, but they had the will of some foul servant of evil in them, and were cunning. They had wounded him and harried him before all five were killed.

To Ædegard's mind, the verse was half the song; without it the tale would seem less grand. Now that he was finished with it, he was uneasy, for he had heard Aeron's fearful warning and the murmurings about the women left behind. He coaxed his horse near to Aeron, and asked him the question that had begun to burn in his mind.

"Are you sure of this dream? What it a true dream, do you think? What of Leafa? Do you know if she went with them?"

[Imladris]

Aeron stared at Ædegard. "I don't know," he said softly. "Gwyll only mentioned Bellyn and Mellonin. I suppose that is good news though. She could be safe and sound. Or she could have rashly decided to go after her friends." His voice faltered and he shifted his glance away from Ædegard.

Ædegard remained silent and brooding.

Dark clouds gathered in the sky. A lone bird trilled a short tune.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aeron thought he saw Gwyllion, but when he turned his head there was nothing there but the ground and the flowers and the grey sky.

"We should go look for them."

"But what of..." Ædegard looked at Mellondu.

"He is the elves' concern now, isn't he?" Aeron whispered. "Gwyllion was genuinely distressed, even if she is...was...only a dream," he murmured. "We can't...just leave them there."

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard & Raefindan

Ædegard considered Aeron's words. The women were in trouble of some kind, and Mellondu's trouble was for the Elves to look over, not the Men. It was sooth that Erebemlin and Taitheneb could meet any threat or trouble with some kind of answer, especially since that Tharonwë was far away. But it had been Tharonwë who had brought out the harsh and narrow sight of the Elves: they would have let Leafa, Mellonin, and Bellyn be killed; and Gwyllian had been killed.... all because Amroth, the Elf lord, was more important than three women. It angered him. But you have been charged to see this through to the end. Ædegard sighed. So it was. That charge, which had come by means of Bêthberry, still held. Word was bond and law. He had sworn no oath, but it did not matter: the charge had laid hold of him, and will he or nill he, Ædegard knew that he had to see it through to the end, and could not leave Mellondu.

"I must stay with Mellondu," Ædegard simply.

"What of Leafa?" Aeron queried sharply.

"I am charged to stay with Mellondu."

"But is she not your betrothed? Have you not sworn yourself to her?" Aeron asked.

"Aye, and I will not gainsay that oath, nor have I; we shall be wedded, but that must wait until this task is done."

"She may be dead by then," Aeron said.

Ædegard had not thought of that. He sighed heavily, feeling the pull in two different directions from oath and charge. "I have not sworn to save her life at all costs, only to marry her should these matters work out well. May your words not come true."

"Let it rest, Aeron," said Raefindan. "I too must stay with Mellondu, for Amroth is housed within him, and somehow I hold the memory of Imrazor, and I'm convinced that whatever destiny is wrapped up in Amroth has to do with me; so I must stay the course, as it is said in arenas of ill repute back where I come from."

"I do not know all of what you said," said Aeron, "but I understand enough of it."

"Will you stay with us, Aeron, or is Gwyllian calling you away to follow the women?" asked Raefindan.

Jorje

He was in the great high places. He trotted evenly, nose to the smelly ground. He was hungry, for food was too quick on four feet so far.

Remember Leaf woman and Dark woman and Man woman.

Jorje Tirril smelled them afresh in his mind's nose. He had not come across their trail yet. But river woman had sent him this way. So they must be here somewhere.

Sniff out the strangers and tell the women if they be friend or fiend. Sniff for the bad elf, the one who ran the eermy ones back in the swamp.

He was sniffing a stranger now. It was not like most strangers he had smelled. Not of the city, not of the farm. It was a very little bit like the eermy swamp men, but not eermy and not swamp. But two foot. Two foots without all the things they kept about them.

There he was! He was smaller than most two foots. He smelled more earthy than a farmer. His hands were busy like a two foot. He had a sharpedge. Jorje winced, feeling the cut on his tongue when once he had curiously licked a sharpedge. He was cutting with it. Jorje sniffed: not food bone, but tree bone. Twofoots did such strange things.

May the aroo go with you wherever you go. Be witty and sniff well, and may your paws be whole and may your legs run fast at need. Now go!

Jorje got down on his belly and put his nose between his front paws, and watched the twofoot, sniffing all the while. The twofoot looked up.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Tired. Feverish. Maybe a little bit of both? Lightheaded. Dizzy.

Her eyelids felt heavier with every blink.

Galloping across the plains north and west, Bellyn suddenly wished she had never left home. This moment of doubt was quickly followed by the memory of the dream-woman’s haunting eyes, sorrowful and lonely, empty and dead.

I have to continue, I cannot stop here…

She looked quite the wreck as she brought her horse to a slow walk. Bellyn could see her breath and the breath of her horse billowing in the chill air. Beads of sweat gathered at her forehead and on the nape of her neck, beneath tangled and frizzy black curls.

How will I know where to go?

Bellyn thought it was a valid question – a question she should have pondered before galloping off and away from the safety of home. The Ered Nimrais stretched far and long into the west before drifting south to Andrast. Where could she possibly find the lost woman? The high peaks and dangerous cliffs – would she find the right place?

Doubt once again raced through her mind. This time she ignored it, and pressed on, willing her horse to go faster. They would stop and rest later, but for now, Bellyn wanted to put miles and miles between her and Minas Tirith. The map in her mind drew a line from Minas Tirith towards the Eastfold and deep into the mountains, where in her heart she could imagine a lonely woman wishing for someone, anyone to help.

This image kept Bellyn riding, riding onward.

[mark12_30]

Dawn came, and the sun climbed. Roheryn sniffed the mannish elf-girl, and nuzzled her face. Her hand came up to ward off the scratchy horse-lip; but then she smiled.

"Very well."

She rose. There was no nearby stream in which to wash. She stepped to Roheryn's side, and he waited while she sprang onto his back; then he swung westward, following the roots of the mountains.

Later that morning they crossed a stream, and she dismounted and drank. Roheryn drank, and grazed. The lady ate nothing, for she had brought nothing. At noon she mounted again, and they rode westward again.

[Firefoot]

Rugh’s anxieties were growing. It was not natural for him to feel anxious; he preferred to be at peace with the stars and mountains and trees and animals. And the disruption, Rugh could only guess that it must come from the Stone Men, or the Horse Men, whose hands were like the strange hands he had carved. And if they were coming into his mountains, they must be sent back.

He had descended into the lower slopes of the Mountains, as low as he ever went. He had come with remarkable speed. Now he must listen again: listen, and carve. He settled in under the shade of a tree and selected a short branch. He began to carve slowly, thinking that a bird would settle his mind. But his bird did not look like a bird, nor did the deer he tried next look like a deer. Rugh scowled. Normally a relaxing and meditative art, even his carving seemed out of order with the earth. He tossed both pieces to the side

Then he sat quietly for a while, not busying his hands. In the stillness, it seemed as if he could feel… her… again, though dimly. Rugh scowled, wishing it would leave him alone, whatever it was. He picked up another piece of wood and began furiously to carve.

At some point during this carving Rugh became dimly aware of an animal that slowly approached. When it did not leave, he looked up from his work (it did not look like much; he seemed only to be steadily carving all the wood off of it rather than making it into something), and saw one of the dogs of the Tall Men watching him. Rugh fixed his stare on the dog. He was not pleased; it seemed only another sign of the Tall Men’s invasion of his Mountains. He soon realized that the dog seemed unaccompanied by Men, however, as the dog made no effort to leave and Rugh heard no sound of any of the loud Tall Men.

Despite Rugh’s initial hostility, the dog crept forward, still on his belly and still watching him. Rugh nodded and returned to his carving, deciding, “Dog can stay.”

[littlemanpoet]

The two foot smelled irked. Jorje could tell by the smell of two foots' skin what they felt inside.

Two foot smell was one of the things dogs liked best about two foots, even if they didn't know it. It had lots of salt and that tasted good.

Jorje crawled closer. This stranger did not smell eermy, just irked. Maybe the river daughter knew him. Maybe this was a good two foot for Jorje. Maybe not, but he had to find out. Two foot looked at him again.

"Dog can stay."

Jorje perked up his ears. The voice had been gravelly and growly. It reminded him of ma when she'd had much of puppy play and was irked by it but not so much that she wanted to bite him away. He rose a little on his paws and, bent low; 'grovelling' he'd heard his master say. That sharpedge moved jerky and angry, and Jorje was scared of it, but he inched closer, sniffing all the time.

When he was close enough he stretched out his snout as far as he could and sniffed at the twofoot's knee, ready to bolt if the twofoot struck.

[Imladris]

"Gwyllion has told me to do nothing. She has merely stated a fact, in much distress," Aeron said. "I wish I could pass it off as a dream, yet I cannot. It was real. It felt real. And that is why I cannot understand why you, Raefindan and especially you, Ædegard, are loathe to pursue them."

"We have a charge," Ædegard said.

"A charge." Aeron shook his head, bit his lip. "A charge is not...is not flesh and blood. A charge is nothing but a handful of words. Would you put words above the living? Amroth is dead. But from the West has come no word, And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk have heard Of Amroth evermore. This is foolish."

"Will you stay with us, or look for the women?" asked Raefindan.

The women, or safe with the men? Aeron did not know where to look for the women. He was not a tracker. He was a lowly thief, a ragamuffin. "The last time I went off by myself led only to trouble," Aeron whisper. "I fear that if I were to seek for them alone, I would do less than nothing. But hear me," he said, "I do not agree with this, putting one over many. Is it because he is an elf king?" Aeron snorted. "They may be fairer, but their life is not worth more than ours. I now only hope that my dreams of Gwyllion are only dreams, and nothing more."

He touched the lock of hair bound by a piece of twine around his neck.

[Celuien]

The quiet, chill hours crept by over Sæthryd's hut. Silence had returned to the little valley, Sæthryd having ended her song before many minutes had passed. She sat quietly, staring into her fire as if lost to all save the glowing embers. But though she looked as calm as the deep forest around her, Sæthryd's thoughts were far from still.

Something snuffled in the fallen leaves, darting wildly through the undergrowth. The shadows fled before its approach to seek darker corners into which they could melt. There were whispers from the paths. Angry whispers. The shades of the dead were troubled.

Far away, there was the sound of horses galloping over an open plain. Far away, but growing nearer with every hoofbeat.

Sæthryd began to mutter. Syllables without meaning blended together in a wild jumble. Then she jumped out of her seat and ran outdoors to set her guard on the paths. Something approached. As had not happened in many years, for the hill people learned long ago to keep away from her snares. They knew well that the wild woman who had come in place of the vanished shades of the dead was more to be feared than any ghost.

Let them come. I shall be ready.

[Firefoot]

Rugh did not immediately proffer his hand for the same reason that he had not attempted to call the dog to him. He knew that animals would come on their own, if he showed no sign of threat, whether butterflies or birds or deer – or dogs. But a certain trust had to be established: he did not believe in luring in or taming the wild animals as the Tall Men did. No animal could be tamed, not in the sense the Tall Men used the word: there was always some part that remained wild and animal, though buried deeply in some.

Instead, moving so slowly that he almost did not seem to move at all, Rugh ceased his carving, set the piece of wood gently down on the ground, and tucked his flint away in his pouch. By then, the tenseness of the dog had alleviated some; he did not look so much like a bird ready to fly away. Only then did Rugh offer his hand to the dog to sniff, then placed his hand gently on the dog’s head. The dog yielded to this movement willingly, and only then did a slight smile cross Rugh’s face. These were familiar actions, and much more comforting to his mood than his failed carvings had been.

After a time, Rugh gave the dog a last pat and stood. It was time to move on and resume his search. To his surprise, however, the dog seemed inclined to follow him. Normally the quiet spell of connecting with an animal was broken when Rugh prepared to disappear into the trees again. “Dog is special,” Rugh realized. Did the dog perhaps feel the bad rumors of the earth as well? “Can come.”

[littlemanpoet]

"A charge is not-" Aeron paused, "-is not flesh and blood. A charge is nothing but a handful of words. Would you put words above the living? Amroth is dead. But from the West has come no word, And on the Hither Shore No tidings Elven-folk have heard Of Amroth evermore. This is foolish."

Aeron's words questioned Ædegard's way of life, though the lad did not know it. Ædegard did not hold that against the lad, but nevertheless he felt a need to calm his thought and refrain from lashing out with what seemed obvious to him. He held his peace.

"Will you stay with us, or look for the women?" asked Raefindan.

Aeron took a little time before he answered in a whisper.

"The last time I went off by myself led only to trouble; I fear that if I were to seek for them alone, I would do less than nothing. But hear me, I do not agree with this, putting one over many. Is it because he is an elf king?" Aeron snorted. "They may be fairer, but their life is not worth more than ours. I now only hope that my dreams of Gwyllion are only dreams, and nothing more."

"Do not hope such a hope!" Raefindan answered. "For it is despair masking itself as hope. Hope rather that your dream shall be proved true!"

"I do not agree with putting one over many either, unless he has earned his leadership," said Ædegard. "That is the way of the Eorlingas. And do not doubt the might of words, for they are the bones of men's ways. My words bind me."

Jorje

“Can come,” said the man as he walked away. Jorje licked the air and trotted after. The man's hand was a good hand. Jorje could tell it from the way he moved and showed his first place and his aroo. All men took first place with dogs. Jorje had smelled it over and over again. Their ma folk, some took first and some didn't. Their young ones, some ran in fear, some made themselves pack and played at being dogs and that was sign of aroo some day. Other young ones threw sticks and stones and that was eerm. This man was aroo. Before long, Jorje was trotting ahead, behind, far to one side then another, sniffing all the different smells and hearing what there was to hear. But always he was sure where the man was, and kept him in sight, racing to him and away now and again. He made the man the first one of his pack of two.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn did not know how long she had gone without stopping to rest. She navigated, turning the horse further northward, searching for some source of water.

When she finally brought her horse to a slow walk, she could feel her body aching everywhere. Her fingers had gone numb hours earlier. Her animal companion stomped and prodded at the tufts of cold grass beneath his hooves. Bellyn had pushed for too far, too long.

Bellyn was content to wash her face with the cold water, while the horse gulped at the stream. She was tired from riding; he was tired from galloping, from running.

Sleep. She needed to sleep. He needed to rest.

Not for long, she promised herself, not for too long.

Long enough to rest, short enough to keep from dreaming.

[Formendacil]

The sun was again fading in the west, and Bergil still carried Indil. Unless the Elves and their companions had left the road for one cause or another, he was hopeful of catching them before the sun set completely. He was already quite certain that he would not find the lost womenfolk with them.

However, once he met the Elves and their company, his task was essentially done. He could then return to Minas Tirith, resume his furlough, and put the matter out of his mind.

At least, he could if it were not for Indil.

Bergil had seen only a few travellers on the road, most going north. All remembered seeing two Elves and companions, but not one had heard of a missing girl, nor did any recognise Indil. And the further he rode, the less likely he was to find her family.

Indil's sleep had been troubled by bad dreams. They seemed to have no discernable traits or themes that Bergil could make use of, either to comfort her or to help find her family, or else Indil understood them not or forgot them on waking. She had spent most of the long day's ride in his arms, either sleeping with her thumb between her teeth, or awake and silently gazing around. In either case, she snuggled closely, intent on keeping his presence immediate and tangible.

The supper hour had passed when Bergil sighted the company he sought. Several men and horses, preparing a camp to the side of the highway. He was spied immediately by the Elves and ranger, and when he rode into their camp, they gathered around, curious.

"Is it correct that one of you is Erebemlin Silmaethor of Lórien?"

One of the Elves stepped forward from the rest of the group. His face betrayed no concern that Bergil could read. Indeed, the entire group seemed more curious than afraid, though Bergil thought the old Arnorian ranger was wary of ill news. The Elves were unreadable. But it was clear that none of them expected any evil from a Ranger of Gondor, which was as it should be.

"I am he," said the Elf who had stepped forward. "I assume you are searching for me?"

"For your company, milord," said Bergil, dismounting carefully, Indil asleep on his shoulder. "I was bid by Prince Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, to seek you out on this road. Several ladies known to your company have vanished from Minas Tirith, and it was thought that they might have joined you. Other Rangers search to the north and east of the city."

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin stood still and silent as the young guard shared his message. “Several ladies known to your company have vanished from Minas Tirith, and it was thought that they might have joined you.”

The lines in the Elf’s face tightened and he clinched his jaw. Would the madness never cease? What else would these insufferable humans do to stand in the way of his completing the King’s quest. “There are no women among us. I am sorry you have wasted your time in seeking us for we have not had contact with the women who were part of our company since we left the White City. You may find more reward for your efforts if you join your fellow rangers to the North and East.” Erebemlin wished to kill any talk of looking for the women before it began, but he could feel the wide eyes of the humans and their anticipation. “Now excuse me,” the tall elf nodded his head toward the ranger and turned away to finish unpacking the bags for the camp.

[Imladris]

Aeron felt a chill creep up his back when he heard the news the ranger brought. The women had left the safety of the White City. Gwyllion had been right. Surely they would see sense and abandon this madness. They wouldn't leave the women in the wilderness, would they?

The elf did not think so. With a cold, "Now excuse me," he had turned away to tend to the bags.

Aeron stepped in front of him, chin held high. "Is that all you have to say?"

The elf stepped around the boy and began to pack.

"Gwyllion was right, they are gone. You cannot just...just...forsake them! They're only ladies, they do not know how to survive."

"We have our charge, Aeron," Ædegard said.

"You're all mad," Aeron whispered. "I do not know much of history, but I have heard half stories whispered by firesides and people in the street. Feanor had his oath and he kept it. And if the stories I heard were true, it did not end well because of it."

[littlemanpoet]

"There is trouble. Grave, horrible trouble. Mellonin and Bellyn have gone. They've gone to the mountains that were sunk in grey to find the Lady Nimrodel."

Such were the words Aeron had spoken the previous day, words from his dream. And here they had come true. Raefindan considered. He had set his course with Mellondu because Amroth was in Mellondu, and Amroth searched for Nimrodel, with whom was Mithrellas; and Mithrellas was the Elvish wife of Imrazor; and Raefindan was himself, apparently, Imrazor, in a previous life.

Roy Edwards didn't believe in reincarnation, but this was not his time and place; Raefindan did not doubt that such a thing might perhaps happen in this time and place.

But if Gwyllion had dreamed of Mellonin, Argaleafa, and Bellyn, and had sought Aeron in a dream, so that they might learn of it, maybe Raefindan's place was not with Mellondu after all, but with Mellonin! She had been the one whom he had first met since he had come to this place .... from wherever he had come.

Raefindan looked at the child in the arms of the new Ranger, Bergil. He had been watching the tiny figure the whole while; he could not take his eyes from her for more than a moment. There was something about her, something he felt like he ought to know about this child. But how could that be? It made no sense; not that such a thing had ever been known to stop Raefindan before .... seemingly unconnected connections were his stock in trade.

Maybe, if Aeron decided that he would go in search of the women, Raefindan would go with him. After all, he was determined to see this quest through; not necessarily in this company, and now there was a new piece of the quest. It was something to think about, and not act upon right away.

And he had a gnawing sense that Angela was not far away. How odd. She was not in this time and place at all, but he could not shake the notion. Very strange.

"Aeron," said Raefindan finally, "I am not bound by any oath; rather, I am bound to this quest, regardless of which strand of it I follow. I'm not sure yet which strand I should follow."

"My quest," said Ædegard, "is with Mellondu, for it was to him that I bound myself."

"You must do as you must, Ædegard," Raefindan answered him, "and so must I." He was looking at the girl again. "Who is the girl? Has she a name?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil woke and instinctively cuddled against Bergil's chest. Strangers. A man was asking her name. She looked at him, cocking her head curiously.

"Put me down." she said simply. Bergil set her on her feet and watched her look up at Raefindan. Very up.

"My name is Indil." she said, sleepy eyes fixed on his face. "What is yours?"

Raefindan looked from Bergil to the elves and back to the child, kneeling to her height. Her eyes were soft brown. He liked her eyes; maybe because they were so curious and open-to-life.

"My name is Raefindan, little one."

"Red haired man." She giggled, wide awake now. "That is not a name. What is your real name?"

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan grinned. "Your name is no more a name than mine, for Indil means 'devotion'. All names mean things. Those who named you have given you high honor, to be called Indil."

"But what is your real name?"

Raefindan sighed and his grin spread wider. This girl was tenacious. How did she know his name was not really Raefindan? Could she know? Of course not. "I do have another name; Roy Edwards. But that is no more a name than Raefindan. It means 'red of Edward'."

He stood and turned to Aeron. "I will go with you to look for the women." Then he turned to Bergil. "Will you join us? Perhaps a Ranger is most needful in finding those who are in peril."

[littlemanpoet]

Jorje stopped. He heard one toe dog sounds thrumming the ground not far down the slope. He ran through the bracken and brush to go smell.

It was a tired one toe dog, but the rider was light. And had a mane like the one toe dog. Jorje yelled. The one toe dog did not stop. Jorje gave chase.

It was some time later that the one toe dog came to a stumbling halt, for a little cottage reared up in its path. It was as if neither rider nor one toe dog had known it was there. Jorje sniffed. A human lived here, a woman by the smell of her. Jorje snuck up to the cot and sniffed around the corner.

Jorje suddenly heard a noise behind him. The rider had fallen from the one toe dog to the ground, and lay still.

[Celuien]

There were only a few small, rough paths remaining unbarred in their course near Sæthryd's dwelling. To those paths she hurried, covering them over with fallen boughs as best she could. Strangers drew near, and quickly. She would steer them off the paths into the woods and hope they they would become lost amidst the trees.

She worked, more urgency in her bearing than might have been seen in a wildcat guarding her den against a hunter, until the sound of a barking dog echoed behind her. Her hands unclenched from the large branch she had been dragging through the wood and she stared back towards her hut, rubbing raw and dirty hands against her tattered dress.

Something was there. Breathing hard, Sæthryd stalked back along the path, searching for the unwelcome trespassers. Her hut came in to view, and Sæthryd hissed sharply. A horse, its rider fallen in the snow, stood near the open door. There was a dog too.

Sæthryd ran out of the cover of the wood. Where one rider came, others would follow. She would have to play a careful game to keep the secrets of the mountain from them.

[Formendacil]

Bergil considered Aeron's request.

"I am a free man, to do as I wish," he said slowly. "As I have not found the ladies, I need not return to Minas Tirith with news, and I have several more weeks of leave that I might take, if I needed. I had thought to return to Lossarnach, and visit my grandfather, who is in his last years, but now I seem to have a greater charge."

Bergil looked at Indil, who was talking with the red-haired man, who was engaging her with a more serious interest than most adults would have given such a young child.

"The girl?" Aeron picked up on Bergil's concern immediately. "She's obviously not yours."

"No, I am neither wed nor promised," said Bergil. "I found Indil seeking your company. She seemed to have wandered far from home, and was completely lost. It will take quite some time to find her family, if indeed I can."

"That is what you intend to do then?" asked Aeron. "There's no way that maybe you perhaps put that off?"

"Would you leave a child seperated from her family for months, or possibly even forever?" asked Bergil, turning to face Aeron squarely with his clear, calm grey eyes. "These ladies are your charge, perhaps, but Indil is mine. Until her family is found, I will remain with her as my first priority."

[Imladris]

Aeron grinned at Raefindan, glad that at least one of this company had realized the grave danger the women faced.

He turned to the newly arrived ranger, the one who travelled with the little girl.

"Perhaps we can help each other," Aeron said. "Do you have any idea where her family could be found? Does the lass know where she came from? If neither is known, then perhaps you could join us and then depart once news is found? What say you to that?"

[Formendacil]

Bergil frowned as Aeron asked if he knew where Indil's family lived.

"No," he said slowly. "I do not. That they are from somewhere in Lossarnach, I am fairly certain, but many dwell in Lossarnach, and there were no villages or farmsteads close enough to where I found her to make a guess. If I had weeks at my disposal, and took Indil through the entire province, perhaps she might recognise something, or be recognised herself, but otherwise I fear not."

"What of joining us, then?" pressed Aeron. Bergil shook his head slowly, a gesture more made of uncertainty than rejection.

"I hesitate to do so..." he said. "It seems an injustice to me to leave Indil thus separated from her family, who may be worrying much, and I don't like the idea of taking her into possible danger. I need to think further on this."

Aeron did not appear fully ready to accept Bergil's answer, but he said nothing, and gave the young ranger his space. But before Bergil's decision was made, Ædegard had a question.

"What news of Tharonwë?"

[littlemanpoet]

"We have our charge, Aeron," he had said to the young man. But his heart quelled. Leafa in danger! Out in the wild! Maybe alone? In his mind's eye he saw the fear in her blue eyes, the terror of being lost darkening the beauty of her face; his heart turned within him, and he wished with a strong desire to seek her out and give her comfort and succor. Then a new thought came to him, and shivers went down his spine.

He turned to the ranger and asked him, "What news of Tharonwë, the elf that we brought to Minas Tirith? Is he still in prison?"

Bergil said, "I know not. It was not part of my charge to find out. Why?"

"Because he is a black traitor and he could have escaped."

"I doubt if he could escape the prisons of Elessar," Bergil asserted. "The Tower Guard watches them most vigilantly."

"Let us hope it is as you say," Ædegard answered. He had his charge, which was to follow Mellondu wherever he went. But what if Mellondu chose to hunt for the women; his very own sister?

"Mellondu! Your sister is in the wilds, maybe alone! Will you not look for her?"

[littlemanpoet]

Mellondu gave his assent, glancing first at one Elf then the other. Erebemlin stared at him darkly. Taitheneb was reflective.

"My sister is in trouble."

Bergil shrugged and said, "Then it would seem we all go the same way." The little girl clapped with delight. They turned around and were ready to set off back toward Minas Tirith. Mellondu looked back at the Elves.

"I have not quit the quest of Amroth. But this is urgent. Come with me and you remain with Amroth."

"Humans!" Erebemlin grated.

Soon they were all galloping back north.

[littlemanpoet]

Another two foot was coming. It was female, Jorje could see, and not old, he could smell. Her clothing, for so Jorje had heard the two foots called it, was ragged and torn in many places. But she showed a Packleader face, her teeth bared in forbidding. Jorje sniffed uncertainly. Was this woman so jealous of her land that she wanted them gone? He smelled the air all around for her scent, and sure enough it was everywhere. But he had to make the woman see that this one fallen from the one toe dog needed help.

The woman approached. Jorje laid his ears back to show that he was no threat, and he whimpered, only the tip of his tail wagging between his hocks. Would the woman understand him? He nosed at the man-woman, for he recalled that it was she who he had seen before, with Red Man and the others. He had found one of them! But this woman had to see that the man-woman needed to be cared for.

The ragged woman came close and knelt by the man-woman. Jorje backed away a little bit.

[Celuien]

So easy. It would be so easy. Sæthryd knelt on the hard earth, listening to the rush of blood in her ears, and farther away, of the wind blowing harsh and wild in the dead passes.

The stranger's face was pale against a frame of dark hair, and even in sleep, Sæthryd thought that there were signs of some struggle within. It would be kindness to put an end to the struggle, to sooth the worried lines into the calm mask of death. That was the proper ending for those who sought the dead lands, whether they knew it or not when they came. Sæthryd stooped closer to the pale face, close enough to feel warm breath coming faintly from the intruder.

It would be so easy to send the stranger to the end of her journey. Sæthryd's fingers rested on the dark hair where it fell across the stranger's throat. But this one was different. She lived, and yet was somehow connected to the dead ones in the hills. Her hand fell back.

With sudden strength, Sæthryd grasped the visitor beneath the arm and dragged her toward the hut. She did not know why this one was different, or what had brought her so far into the wild. But she would find out, and the answer would teach Sæthryd what to do next.

They crossed the threshold, and Sæthryd espied a dog watching her from the trees. The dog ran to the door, and she slammed it tightly, ignoring the dog’s yelped protest. There were snares enough in the wood. The dog would fall into one eventually.

[Imladris]

Aeron touched the lock of hair that hung around his neck and whispered his sister's name. She had told him of the other ladies' disappearance...she had known of them, yet how did she know if it?

Was she trapped? Did she wander between the edge of life and death, a wraith not fully dead, a girl not fully alive?

Was she happy?

He closed his eyes tightly, saw the colours of his lids flow and fade and melt in front of him. He squinted, and slowly blinked one eye open, hoping to see a field of green and his sister waiting for him.

All he saw was the road and his companions as they journeyed on.

When night fell, they made camp and Aeron fell asleep.

He was in the field of flowers and his sister was there, looking to the east. She didn't turn around, but she held out her hand and he took it in his own.

"There is a wind," she said. "I can see it play with your hair."

"It feels like a wind from the sea," Aeron said. "Fresh, and full of life."

"I can't feel the wind anymore, I can't feel the sun in the sky, the earth beneath my feet, the water from the rain. I don't remember how they feel, I am forgetting."

"I...I am sorry, little Gwyl."

"I wait for a swift sunrise," she whispered.

Her hand slipped from his, and she walked into the fields. "Gwyllion, wait!" Aeron ran after her, but she was gone and the meadow was no longer green and lush, but a brown marsh stretching around him. Flies buzzed in the reeds and the smell of death twisted in the mists.

He stumbled through the stink and mud, seeking the meadow, his sister. Something tripped him, and he sprawled into the filth. There was something beside him, and he saw that it was Gwyllion. "Come on, Gwyllion," he gasped. "We don't need to be here."

She didn't move.

"Come on," he shouted. Her skin was cold, her face pallid. And then he saw the blood flowing from her wounds and staining the brown waters crimson. And death was in her unblinking eyes.

"No, Gwyllion, come on, you can't die here, you're already dead! Gwyllion..." He cradled her in his arms, and as he left, he saw Maegeleb standing near by, his arms folded, eyes cold, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Aeron's heart was pounding when he woke and his palms were sweating. "It was a dream," he said. "It was a dream, just a dream. A dream and nothing more."

[Formendacil]

The return to Minas Tirith was accomplished in few days, and to Bergil it seemed that the Elves and the Men were both motivated to travel faster than they had journeyed south, although for different reasons. With the Men, of course, there was the desire to find the womenfolk, and as quickly as possible. For the Elves, however, Bergil ascribed the motivation of wishing to deal with this irksome distraction as quickly as possible.

On the ride, Bergil became better acquainted with the company, but as they rode mostly in silence and did not rest until evening, he did not become close to any of them, and if he had been inclined to reveal his feelings, he would have said that they seemed an odd bunch.

Although apparently still welcome to accept Aeron's invitation and join them in seeking their womenfolk, Bergil was little minded to accept. Kinfolk and good friends waited in Minas Tirith and in Lossarnach whom he had not seen in some years, and there was the matter of Indil. It was Bergil's thought to leave Indil safely in the care of one of his aunts, and to search Lossarnach for her family, while visiting his own.

Indil, however, seemed to be causing other ideas. Raefindan, it seemed to Bergil, was fascinated with the little girl in a most peculiar way. Bergil had not had the opportunity to have it fully explained by any of the company, and none had volunteered the information, but he gathered that it had to do with dreams.

When, however, the company reached Minas Tirith in the heat of a sunny late afternoon, Bergil was immediately approached by one of the Guardsmen, with whom he was well acquainted.

"Bergil! You are a welcome sight," said the Guardsman, grabbing Bergil and grabbing his reins as he entered the city, stopping the young ranger, and slowing the company. Bergil could hear the irritated sigh of one of the company behind him.

"Why is that?" asked Bergil. "Surely the rangers sent north have found the women they sought, or at least traces of them."

"It is not the missing women we need tidings of," said the Guardsman. "Prince Faramir will want to know as soon as he can: did you see or hear any sign of the rogue Elf, Maegeleb?"

Before Bergil could respond beyond shaking his head slowly, an expression of bafflement on his face, Erebemlin had ridden up beside him, a look of disgust on his face, though whether it was towards the escaped Elf or his failed guardians, Bergil did not know.

"He has escaped? How has this happened?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil had spent much of the journey chattering away happily to Raefindan and watching the Elves. She giggled when he told her stories and pointed wild animals out to her as they traveled, and the time she did not spend shadowing Bergil was spent in his company. Between the group, she was kept as reasonably clean as travel and camping allowed, and her curiosity was often satisfied when she would slip her hand into one much larger and calloused and ask politely about many things. Very rarely was she told to hush, though Bergil noted that the Elf, Erebemlin, looked at her with eyes that regarded her youth as both something to be cherished and something to be patiently endured. He noticed that Indil never spoke to Erebemlin and fell silent at his glances. Whether this was intended or not, it was clear that Indil, who was naturally social and curious, was shy toward him.

And her dreams were yet another thing. Though the company was comprised of experienced travelers, Indil was only a small child, and slept often on the road, safely held in the saddle with either Bergil or Raefindan, always with Bergil's protective eye on her. Though she was quick to smile and solemnly well-behaved, she often woke crying and shaking, at times with choked screams. If asked, she remembered nothing, or very little. Bergil did not doubt her honesty on this; he had never once found any trace of lie in the little girl's features. She required constant reassurance and spoke often of her parents, but never anything from which Bergil or the others could glean any trace of the whereabouts of 'home' or living relatives.

Now, in the city, she sat huddled in Raefindan's lap, shaking. The sudden halt of their company had stirred her from quiet sleep and tears streamed down her cheeks, though she made no noise.

"There, little Indil," Raefindan said, smoothing loose feathers of hair away from her eyes, looking for now away from Bergil and the city guard. He gently rubbed away a tear with a careful finger. "Can you tell me what you dreamt?"

She nodded, a bare movement, trembling harder than before.

"What did you see, Indil? Were there people in your dream?"

The past few days had taught him which questions to ask to see what plagued her sleep. Though she rarely knew, there were times, and he had learned how best to inquire.

"There was a woman."

"Did you know her?"

"You did."

"I did?" He offered her a sip of water.

"Yes. And Mellondu. Mellondu knew her."

"You dreamt of Mellondu? What was he doing?"

"There were mountains. And birds singing. And she said the name you told me before. She called you Red of Edward, and Mellondu came, but he did not play with me any more, and he did not look at me and said something, and the woman was crying."

Mellondu leaned closer, listening, though he did not speak. Raefindan felt Indil's body soften as she calmed and he asked her if she remembered what Mellondu had said. She looked at Mellondu and shook her head slowly.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan was confused by Indil's dream. Mellondu and he knew the woman Indil had dreamed of. And it was in the mountains. The only women he and Mellondu knew of were associated with their ever growing party of questers: Bella, Leafa, and Mellonin. But none of these were associated with mountains.

After Indil had wandered off to Bergil, Raefindan asked Mellondu what he thought of the dream, and he admitted that it made no sense to him. He turned the question back upon Raefindan, who shared his thoughts, limited and unuseful as they seemed to him.

"Aye," Mellondu said, tossing pebbles one after another at the stone pavement where they sat, "it makes no sense to me either. But I think it must be one of those three. Maybe it has to do with where they are now, in the mountains. Do you think that might be it?"

"It could be." Raefindan was leaning his elbow on his knee, and chin resting on his hand. "Maybe we ought to ask her what was happening to the woman she dreamed of."

"That seems well."

"Leave it to me, then," Raefindan said, standing up. He wandered off in search of Bergil and Indil.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

When Raefindan sought Indil, he found her sitting quietly on the ground, making a game of building patterns out of pebbles. He crouched next to her, studying her picture.

"I think I was wrong." she said unexpectedly, in a solemn voice Raefindan had come to associate with the girl.

"And just what is it that you were wrong about?" he asked with equal seriousness. She looked up at him with innocent eyes.

"I think the woman was not only one woman. But how could she be two?"

"Dreams are not always clear, little one. Do you remember what the woman was doing? Or," he corrected himself, "the women?"

She closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead in concentration, clicking two small pebbles together in her lap. She opened her eyes again.

"The lady who called you Red of Edward said it hurt. But not when you were there. And I think she was not the same lady when Mellondu came and was unhappy. He asked her where to find something, I think. But I thought she might have been the same lady." Indil looked at Raefindan as though waiting for his approval. "They both waited to be alone until they cried." Her eyes were pleading. "The seemed like they were the same..."

[littlemanpoet]

"Two women," Raefindan repeated, "and both very sad. And both much alike. What make you of that, Bergil?"

The Ranger had been polishing his sword as he watched over Indil. He looked up and tilted his head a moment in thought, then resumed polishing.

"I am a man of deeds, not dreams, Raefindan. I could not say."

"I had not thought of myself as a dreamer, friend Bergil; that honor would have gone to others where I come from." Images of his close uni friends flitted through his mind (he was startled by how out of place thought of them seemed, here in Minas Tirith). "But I do dream now that I am here, and all my dreams that I remember seem to be of a piece. And your dream, Indil, seems also to be like mine."

"Tell me your dreams!" The girl was eager, forgetting her pebbles. "Are they scary?"

"Yes, sometimes. And sometimes they are sad. I dream that I was someone who lived long ago, and I dream of his wife and children. Maybe one of the women you dreamed of was his wife, but that is merely guessing."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil squinted her eyes in the sun and watched Bergil's sword glinting in his grasp. She looked up at Raefindan and down at her hands.

"But Raefindan... if he lived very long ago..." She paused, afraid she forgot something important. She looked into his eyes again. "How would I know that lady to dream about her?"

[littlemanpoet]

How indeed? thought Raefindan. It was a most pertinent question, and he could not recall having put it to himself in quite that way before; he had simply accepted these dreams as part and parcel of his current milieu. But that was because he knew of another one. Indi did not have any other milieu than this. (Even as he thought this, it felt not quite right in some way, but he didn't know what to do with such an odd sensation, so he dismissed it.)

"Do you think that it is strange to dream of someone you don't know?"

She nodded, her wide eyes holding his. "Don't you, Raefindan?"

"Well, until this moment I didn't, but maybe it is strange. I really don't know a good answer to your question, Indil." He was not about to suggest to her that someone was putting dreams in her head, for it might scare her; but he suspected that it was so.

[littlemanpoet]

After a while, Bergil relinquished Indil to Raefindan's care as the Ranger had duties amongst his fellows. Raefindan taught Indil a game called "railroad", but called it "pebbles in a row" instead. She liked making it up as she went whilst Raefindan tried hard not to over-strategize.

Aeron walked up toward noon, seeming rather bored. He came to a stop to watch what they were doing and became fascinated despite himself.

"Is it a game?"

"Yes."

"How do you play?"

"Would you like to join?" Raefindan asked.

"If I am welcome."

"What do you think, Indil? Shall we have Aeron join us?"

She looked up, grinned, and nodded. Aeron a smile and sat down with them.

While they whiled away the hours, it occurred to Raefindan that he wanted Aeron's thoughts on Indil's and his own dreams.

"So have you had any new dreams since we got back to Minas Anor, Aeron?"

[Imladris]

Aeron touched Gwyllion's braided hair that hung 'round his neck. "No, I haven't," he said softly. "The last dream I have had was just that...a dream. I saw my sister dead, but as she is already dead and cannot die again, I know that is all it was."

He concentrated on the pebbles on the ground. He missed his sister, and wondered when next she would tiptoe into his sleep once more. "By the by," he said, "why do you ask?"

And so Raefindan told him of the girl Indil's dreams. "I remember that Gwyllion spoke of Indil, do you remember? Somehow, I think that our paths are intertwined. But I don't know how."

He stared at Mellondu, who seemed to be brooding to himself, and bit his lip. "Indil," he said, "have you ever heard a lovely little song about a lady called Nimrodel?"

The child shook her head.

"One of our companions sang it once to me some time ago, and I've become rather fond of it."

Aeron cleared his throat before he began. "An Elven-maid there was of old, A shining star by day.
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold, Her shoes of silver-grey....

The melody was lilting and smooth, a little like a calm sea he thought.

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

Aeron stopped, turned to Red, and said, "In the mountains strayed? Indil's women were in the mountains, weren't they?"

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan stared at Aeron, stunned. It was so clear suddenly. "Now why couldn't I see that connection before?" He looked at Indil again. "Tell me, Indil, do you remember the color of their hair? These two women?"

"That is why I think they are two and not one," she said, wide eyed. "One had hair like the sun and the other had hair like the night sky."

"Have you ever dreamed of them before?"

Raefindan was worried that he might be scaring the girl with his sudden intensity, and tried to keep his posture and face relaxed. Aeron watched the girl too, seeming just as eager as Raefindan felt. Raefindan considered that Aeron had dreamed about this girl, so that had to count for something.

Jorje

Jorje raced back through the woods, not even stopping to drink at the rushing streams of water he passed. He came to the place of the aroo man and stopped, his tongue lagging in the breeze. He sniffed the air. The aroo man wasn't far. He was up the slope! Jorje scrambled up and the man came within both smell and sight. The man marked Jorje's presence and gave a slight nod. Jorje barked. The man looked at Jorje. He barked again and made as if to run headlong toward the new woman's place, then stopped, looked back, and barked with as much urgency as he could. The man stared. Jorje repeated his dance again. Would the man understand? How long would it take before he did? What if he didn't? Jorje barked again, his tail standing out straight behind him instead of wagging. This was too hunt for tail wagging.

[Firefoot]

Rugh understood quite clearly that the dog wanted him to follow. He was also aware, however, that he stood near the boundaries of the land of the mad woman of these mountains, and while he did not precisely fear her, he left her to her own, as he left all Tall Men to their own, and she, if she even knew of him, acted likewise.

The dog barked again, its tone urgent and demanding. Very well, then. Rugh took off at a surprisingly quick pace for his stumpy legs. After a very brief tail wag, the dog was also off and running, bounding ahead several feet before pausing to make sure Rugh was still following and let him catch up before repeating the process.

Before too long, however, the dog stopped with a yelp, not a yelp of triumph and the end of a hunt but of surprise and pain. As Rugh approached, he saw that the dog's hind leg had been caught in some sort of snare; this would be the work of that mad woman. Rugh's eyes glinted red in anger. This was no way to catch animals for a meal! How long might an animal suffer here before that Tall Woman came to kill them? Hours? Days, even? His own darts, when he chose to eat meat, caused a quick and painless death from fast-acting poison, if the shot itself from his precise aim was not enough to kill.

The mechanism of the snare was simple enough, and the dog was soon free and eager to resume the chase. Rugh watched, as the dog ran, for any sign of a limp and stewed over the Tall Woman. For if he had had any doubt, it was now gone: she might live in the wild like Wild Men, but she was still Tall Woman all through, with typical disregard for life around her.

[littlemanpoet]

It had been as simple as breathing to keep in mind the locations of the three women who had dreamed and then fled into the wilds. Maegeleb sauntered through the forests along the slopes of the White Mountains. The two closest women were the earless one, and the mapmaker whom he had not harmed, yet.

Pity, they were lost. The mapmaker knew which way they were facing on these slopes, give her that much credit, but she had lost her bearings as to where they were in relation to anything she knew. The earless one was completely dependent on the mapmaker, and surely would have given up and laid down had they not stumbled upon each other. Fortunate for them.

Even more fortunate that he was about to take them in charge. They lay on beds of pine needles that they had made for themselves, in exhausted sleep. They had both gone to sleep hungry, having no skills for game-catching. At least in his care they would not starve; as long as they served his purpose. He sat down across from them, his back against the tree, and waited for them to waken.

When dawn came it was the earless one who woke first, and recognized him as soon as she had wiped the sleep from her eyes. Her whimper had wakened the other.

"What do you want?" asked the mapmaker.

"Your cooperation. In return I will help you survive your own stupidity, rushing off into the wilds unprepared." He raised a hand to stop the mapmaker's retort. "Do not reject my aid too quickly, for if you refuse I will have no mercy. You may consider yourselves my captives. Yes, again. Have you any questions?"

"Wh-what are you going to do with us?" asked the earless one.

"I'm going to make you serve my needs and desires, whatever they may be. As long as you do, you will live and not suffer . . . overmuch. Now up. We will cover a league or two before we break our fast."

The women looked at each other. The mapmaker proved the leader of the two, and with an exchange of glances convinced the earless one to cooperate.

"Well done, Bellyn. You show wisdom. Let us go. You will follow me and make no false moves, for I have you in my mind and will know every move you make before it can amount to anything."

He made off westward and upward into the White Mountains, and the two women followed.

[littlemanpoet]

King Elessar had commissioned Bergil to accompany the Seekers of Nimrodel, as Queen Arwen named them. He was to be their guard and guide in all realms that gave fealty to the King of Gondor, and the Seekers' trusty friend and man at arms, and emissary of the crown to all others should they pass into other lands.

Ravion went with because they needed a ranger, never mind that the one remaining Elf could read the land better than any Man. Aeron and Raefindan knew he went for Mellonin's sake, and smiled; Mellondu suspected it as well, and scowled.

Erebemlin had sent Taitheneb back to Lorien despite the younger Elf's many protests; but Erebemlin insisted, for the others back in Lorien needed to be apprised of the progress of Amroth, and informed of the manipulations of Tharonwë. Erebemlin would have preferred to go himself, and to tarry on his way at the home of Marigold, but he refused himself the pleasure for his lord Amroth came first in his allegiances.

Aeron, constantly fingering the cut of Gwyllion's hair at his neck, brooded with a closed face as they progressed along the highways of Anórien, keeping his own counsel. Such a drastic change had occurred in no-one else; Aeron had been devil-may-care until the day his sister died.

Ædegard's eyes harbored a ferocity of purpose the moment he had heard of Tharonwë's escape from the dungeons of Minas Tirith, and the will that drove him onward did not diminish.

Raefindan had the care of Indil. He was drawn to the girl in some way that not even he could fathom or describe, and she was ever ready to talk the hours away with him.

Liornung, who had been quiet for all of their trip southward, had, since they left Minas Tirith, taken out his lyre and begun to sing merry tunes again. It was as if, Raefindan suspected, the songster was brightening at the thought of having Bellyn near again, should that hope be realized.

The Four Halflings Inn and the village that had grown up around it at the shank of the White Mountains, was a day and a half behind them, and they had been making their slow way into the woods that grew about the foothills. Ravion had found spoor and other signs of the passage of horses and humans, which Erebemlin judged to be days old.

They made camp and posted guard for the night.

During Raefindan's watch, the silence of the darkling woods was broken briefly by the fitful dreams of one of them; Raefindan craned his neck to try and decipher which sleeper was in a botherment. It was Ædegard. I'll ask him in the morning if he remembers dreaming, Raefindan thought to himself.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Dawn broke hesitantly through the glowering canopy above the travelers, casting faint shimmers of light against the trunks and debris strewn forest floor. Raefindan wriggled stiffness from his limbs, rubbing an ache away that had been caused by an unseen root in the night. He glanced around the group; Liornung moved restlessly in dreams, on the verge of wakefulness. Ravion moved silently amongst the sleepers; he nodded to Raefindan as he passed. Aeron sat a short distance away, seemingly deep in thought, staring toward nothing.

Raefindan looked to the small pile of blankets between himself and Bergil, that would be Indil's sleeping body, and knelt beside her to wake her gently. When he pulled away the blankets, he found nothing. Indil had vanished in the night.

---

The little girl woke to find herself alone and cold on the forest floor, cuddled against a fallen tree in nightclothes streaked with earth and blood, with new scabs forming on a skinned knee and scraped hand.

"Bergil?" she called nervously, "Raefindan?"

Tears began to fall and she shivered violently in the chill dawn air. Light had not yet broken through to her, though she could see patches of sky far above her, lighting the highest branches.

Movement behind her, on the far side of the fallen tree startled her and she squeaked and tried to press herself to the dead wood, to become part of it, hidden and safe.

"I am not here," she breathed frantically, wiping away tears with the back of a dirty hand, "I am not here. You cannot find me. I am not here."

A pair of strong hands gripped her from behind and lifted her from her hiding place. A low voice murmured cruelly, "And who is this, all lost and alone?"

He turned Indil in the air to look into her face and she began to scream.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë chose to let her scream. He reached out to the minds of the men not far away and made them believe they heard a morning birdcall.

What was this little girl doing with them? He gently sifted her mind, finding a cacophony of connections and associations. He searched more deeply.

Ah. This girl had hidden her own parents' death from herself. He saw no reason to undo her little mental escapism. It meant nothing to him.

There. He had found it. Strange dreams and visions, of Nimrodel, and Mithrellas, seen through the eyes of a child. He turned each vision and dream over, studying each one from every angle he could think of.

Satisfied, he looked deeper, as if for dessert. What he saw there was something very odd. It was a blockage that the girl had apparently not put there herself. It was opaque, and did not allow of his searching. Somehow it was closed off to him. He was tempted to force it open, but breaking the child's mind did not seem necessarily a good risk; not yet.

"Shh, quiet, little one." He quieted her mind, and her cries ceased. But she stared at him fearfully and distrustfully. He set her on the ground, but did not let go. "You will come with me and we will see the fair lady you dream about. Would you like to go see her?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil's fear of Erebemlin was nothing to what she now felt in the presence of Thoronwe. Though his actions were not violent or unkind, the way he spoke and moved had none of the gentle reassurance of the men she had left behind.

As he studied her, Indil trembled in his grip; he was strong, but not comfortable like Raefindan, on whose lap she could sleep, or patient like Bergil, who watched over her always, and he did not play like Aeron or Mellondu. Thoronwe watched her too closely, and she could not look away.

At his question, Indil's mind seemed suddenly free and she saw the butterfly beat its wings gracefully and fruitlessly where it perched upon the fallen wood. She felt cold dirt against her bare toes. A breeze tugged at her nightclothes and pulled at her unplaited hair. She was hungry and cold again.

She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but her own reflection. She asked shyly, "Will she like me?"

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë

How amusing, thought Tharonwë, and childish.

"Of course she will like you," he said gently. He had, of course, no way of knowing that his efforts at gentleness were perceived by honest folk as contrived.

He sifted through her mind again, and again came up against that nagging opacity. What was it? It was like nothing he had ever found before, no matter how complex the mind. And in the relatively simple mind of a child!

He took the girl in hand and started off in the general direction of Nimrodel and Mithrellas, and thought about that place in the child's mind, and what could possibly be the cause. Could the girl be a reincarnated Elf? Surely not, she was obviously human; a pity. Had some Elf or Wizard, or even a Maia hidden in secret somewhere in Gondor, worked his or her art upon this child? Whatever for? Surely there would be more valuable subjects for such craft. Tharonwë absently met the child's needs as she spoke them, always moving south and up; so consumed was he with this strange phenomenon in the child's mind that he forgot about everything else.

Ædegard

Ædegard sat up suddenly, having been wakened by a rather piercing bird call. He was about to lie back down and go back to sleep for a few more winks, but the panic in Raefindan's voice thoroughly roused him: Indil was gone and they did not know where. It was this news that brought his dream of the night back to Ædegard's memory.

"Raefindan," he said urgently, "I had a dream of Indil. It was Tharonwë that took her."

"We must search for her!" cried Raefindan, moving about in a panic.

Within a few minutes they had broken camp and had spread out through the deep woods, within sight and calling distance of each other.

Ædegard had not told them all of his dream. He had dreamt that it had been he who found Tharonwë, holding the girl against her will. He had dreamed that the Elf had taken a knife and cut off the girl's ear. Consumed with rage, Ædegard had drawn his sword and attacked. Tharonwë had flung the girl to the side like a broken doll, whisked his sword from its sheathe, and beckoned him to the attack scornfully. He had attacked, but his feet refused to obey him and would not let him move faster than a dragging walk. He had been forced to parry blow after blow, watching the cold eyes of the wicked Elf, waiting for the death blow. The Elf struck him at the neck.

He had wakened in the middle of the night at that moment, and found that he had rolled onto a root which had given him kink in the neck. He shuddered from the memory of his dream, rolled over, and had gone back to sleep.

That did not mean that the dream would not come true. He was eager to meet up with Tharonwë and take vengeance upon him for what he had done to Leafa, and what his slaves had done to him. And his feet would not drag as in his dreams. He would show the Elf.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As she traveled with Thoronwe, her hand tucked nervously into his, Indil became less vibrant, more quiet. At times he carried her more with efficiency than gentleness, and at times he let her walk, though the slower pace her child's legs provided irritated him. So intent was he upon the contents of Indil's mind, that Thoronwe failed to notice when her chatter slowed to nothing. Indeed, when she cut her foot upon a sharp stone, it was her mind's registry of the incident that alerted him to the bleeding rather than any physical reaction of hers.

For a brief time they stopped. Thoronwe cleaned and bound the wound, meeting Indil's eyes. Brown. Bright, though the sparkle in them was fading.

You will sleep.

She was less trouble to bring when she slept; Thoronwe had taken to encouraging her mind to slumber as often as seemed prudent. Indil yawned, already sleepy, and her eyes closed. Thoronwe probed her unconscious thoughts gently, admiring the intricacy of the child's awareness. Men, he sneered, so unaware of the contents of their own insides.

He gently sent her sleep to deeper levels, watching her dreams with fascination.

Raefindan holds her hand and helps her over slippery rocks. The one beneath her shifts at her weight and she falls, but he catches her.

She laughs and he meets her eyes and his face turns white. "Angela..."

Thoronwe was startled. Indil's dreams deepened, casting farther and wider through broken moments.

"Look at her beautiful face, my love. Look at the light in her eyes. She will be named Eledhwen."

A flash of lightening cuts the sky and the ocean is thrashing violently against cliffs. The echoes of a scream from far away attack the water. The swimming man persists.

Aeron bounces a stone over a still pond. Indil watches hers sink beneath the surface and cries. He teaches her like he taught Gwyllion, pressing the stone into her palm. "Throw fast." he says. "Like this."

A little girl is under water, being held fast. Her eyes are filled with terror. Men dive for her, are forced back, and dive again. Indil throws stones as they fight the cold water. One cuts through Ædegard's ear. Indil cries as he cries out in pain and he begins to choke, sinking slowly.

Thunder echoes in the mountains. A woman weeps under the shadow of an outcropping.

"He will never come. He has forsaken me. Death and despair take us... all must die in the end."

[littlemanpoet]

The pieces of the puzzle were infuriating in their refusal to congeal into a web of connection.

Angela. What kind of name was that? It had no relation to any known speech Tharonwë had ever heard; not Quenya or Sindarin, not any of the Northern speeches of Men; certainly not the Black speech; nor anything from the South or East.

Eledhwen. The name was readily familiar. It was Sindarin for Star-Maiden. Perhaps the girl had overheard lovers speaking together. Over a child, an infant. Did the words refer to this girl? It was a reasonble conclusion.

Storm on the waters. Swimming man. It must be Amroth, curse him.

Throwing stones on the water. Aeron the little thief, and Gwyllion the one the Morlocks had killed. Negligible of import; a mere flitting amongst the threads of association typical of dreams.

Drowning girl, the Elf rehearsed. Indil throwing stones on the water. Indil must be the girl's name form the self-connection to it in her dreams. Ædegard the fool of the Eorlingas cut in the ear? By a stone? Might that happen in days to come? Could this girl dream the future? Perhaps not. The dreams were a jumble.

Except for the last; he knew her. How could he not, weeping for the wrong suitor? She whom he had been driven to win this last millenia. How close was she?

Tharonwë stopped and looked. It was night. The stars were out in their glory. He was high up. He took stock of where he was and where the stars and planets were in order to determine how much time had passed while he had been lost in thought. He was relieved: it had only been all of one day, and into the night. It was time to rest, or he would wear out the child, who was only Human. She was proving useful and might again on the morrow. He laid her down on gathered pine needles and sat with his back against the trunk of another tree, watching and waiting. He let his thought drift to Nimrodel, fearful of her continued rejection, drawn by the insatiable taste of her madness and grief of love, wishing it was he that was its object.

Angela? What kind of name was that?

[Imladris]

Aeron was weary to his bone. The women lost, gone...and Indil in the hands of Tharonwe. He glowered deeply at the thought, and his fingers curled into a fist. He could see it in Ædegard's face too --~~ the shadow of vengeance.

He reached up and touched the lock of his sister's hair. He missed her. Still he missed her. He wondered if the feeling, that need would ever go away.

They travelled far, resting only when horses and men required it.

As had happened so many times before, Aeron found that his companions had faded away and that he was standing in a green meadow dotted with wildflowers.

"Gwyllion?"

His voice echoed beneath the cloudy sky, and a cold wind whispered in his ear. He began to walk, the dew from the meadow soaking his feet. He found her, looking to the west. Her face was pale. "Gwyllion," he said again.

"Aeron, the other women are close. I think they are."

"Bella and Leafa?"

"Yes, those were their names, weren't they? I have such troubles remembering some things now. But they're close, so close. They aren't in any danger, there are no shadows lurking."

"But how do you know?"

"He left them, left them alone, and took that little girl with him. The shadows are around her still, encircling her. I fear for her...I made her something, I wanted to make her something to keep her safe from him, but it's gone now, I don't know what happened to it."

"Where did they go, Gwyll?" Aeron asked.

"Towards her," she whispered.

And he woke, and told Raefindan of what he had dreamed.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan trusted Aeron's dreams. More so now even than before. Marigold's deed of giving him some of Gwyllion's hair had been more powerful than he had expected.

But this left Raefindan in a conundrum. In his heart he wanted to save Indil from the tender mercies of Tharonwë. But the safety of the women was also important. Maybe they needed to part ways and meet farther up in the mountains. Or maybe not. He sighed in exasperation.

"Tell Mellondu, Ædegard, Liornung and Ravion about your dream, Aeron. I'll talk to Bergil and Erebemlin. I want to get Indil back from Tharonwë. I'd like it if you, Bergil, and Erebemlin will go with me after Indil, and then the others can find the women. Did you mention Mellonin? Is she with them?"

[Imladris]

"Gwyll did not mention Mellonin," Aeron said. "I am sorry."

He did as Raefindan had told him. There was silence among the others for a few minutes. "Normally, I wouldn't suggest splitting up," said Aeron, "but Gwyllion was quite sure that the women are safe (well, as safe as one can be in the wilds), now that Tharonwë has Indil. Perhaps a few of us, Ædegard, Liornung and Ravion, could go after the women, and the rest after Tharonwë." He looked apologetically at Raefindan, and said, "I don't think it would be wise to have only four of us go after Tharonwë, he is dangerous and I do not think it would be cowardly to bring as many as we can with us."

[littlemanpoet]

"What you say makes sense," Raefindan said.

Together they moved back toward the others, and laboriously closed the distance between each searcher until they had joined into one group, taking much longer than Raefindan cared for. As Roy Edwards he would have called it a good hour wasted.

Raefindan explained Aeron's dream to the others, and his thought to split up, using Aeron's suggestion.

"What of my sister?" Mellondu asked, his brow furrowing.

"I'm sorry, Mellondu, but Gwyll said nothing about her."

"It is time to resume the quest of Amroth," Erebemlin said. "Tharonwë, fool that he is, leads us to her, and we must not lose his trail. Time is against us."

Ravion spoke up. "I'm going to find Mellonin."

Mellondu took an aggressive step toward him. "What gives you the right?"

Erebemlin stepped between them and looked down at Mellondu. "You have a doom on you with Amroth, he does not. Be grateful that he offers to find your sister in your stead."

Mellondu scowled but subsided.

"I'll go with Ravion," said Liornung.

"As will I," Ædegard added.

"Then the rest of us," Raefindan said, "will go after Tharonwë. And Ravion can track us and rejoin us. Is there any objection?"

[Formendacil]

Roused by Raefindan's concern, Bergil's first reaction to Indil's disappearance was purely instinctive: he began to search for tracks. Even as he was fumbling with his swordbelt, he was examining the space where Indil had been sleeping, and saw, to his dismay, that Indil had apparently wandered off of her own accord.

Bergil knew, from experience in Ithilien, that Elves are near-impossible, if not completely so, to track, and if Indil had been accompanied by an Elf, as he feared, remembering the escape of Tharonwë, she had not been coerced forcibly, but had walked off on her own feet.

This was unlike the girl, Bergil thought grimly. Indil had never evinced the slightest inclination to wander or leave the company, but had rather sought the reassurance of being kept close, mainly to himself or Raefindan. Then it occured to Bergil that what had initially brought Indil to their company had been her apparent wandering away from home.

Cursing himself for not anticipating another such episode, Bergil pressed on, out of earshot of the camp, rather foolishly leaving the others without a word. His left hand was tightly clasped on the pommel of his sword, strapped to his side, as he surveyed the trail. Indil had moved slowly, not hurriedly, and her trail gave no sign of fear or confusion, but led surely away from the camp, as if she knew where she were going.

If that vile Elf had caught her, Bergil feared to think what he might have done. The thought of an Elf who was not only powerful enough to break out of the King's prison, but dangerous enough to need to be put there in the first place, was not only frightening, but seemed a particularly gross aberration of nature. Even so were the first orks moulded, so the tales said, from Elves twisted by the Dark Lord. Bergil shuddered, remembering half-forgotten images, sounds, and the rotten stench of the siege of Minas Tirith during the war, and of more recent memories forged on the boundaries of Ithilien, where orks still came down from the Ephel Dúath to harry the returning settlers.

Thoughts of such evil, combined with the potent skill and power of the Eldar race, gave speed to Bergil's thumping heart, and slowed his steps with caution. If he were to encounter Tharonwë, the young ranger knew not what he might do or try, for he knew he was no match for the Elf alone, but fear for Indil and anger at her apparent capture would not permit to do nothing in her aid.

Bergil had not gone far when he reached the point where Indil had stopped. Though the only signs of the Elf's presence might be interpreted in hundreds of ways, as nothing more than the action of wind or the natural growth of the underbrush, Indil's marks were clear: the girl had been lifted off the ground, and from her marks, had continued from the area with less freedom to her steps. They were more harried now, as though she were keeping pace with a much taller person, and while they lacked firmness of purpose, they led in a straight line as though some other force were directing her steps.

Bergil straitening, pausing, not certain what to do. His instincts, after years of training in Ithilien, urged him to continue while the trail was hot, and he burned to think of leaving Indil in Tharonwë's grip any longer than necessary, but he knew he could not help her alone, and that the others would worry if he went missing also. With regret, and yet with relief at not having to pursue Tharonwë just yet, Bergil returned back to the camp, arriving not fifteen minutes after he had left.

As he came into listening distance, he could hear Erebemlin speaking to Mellondu. "You have a doom on you with Amroth, he does not. Be grateful that he offers to find your sister in your stead." Glancing about, Bergil could see that he was the last of the company to regroup.

"I'll go with Ravion," Liornung was saying.

"As will I," Ædegard added.

"Then the rest of us," Raefindan said, "will go after Tharonwë. And Ravion can track us and rejoin us. Is there any objection?"

"Only this," said Bergil, rejoining the group quietly. "I have found Indil's trail, and I have no doubt in my mind that it is Tharonwë that has taken her. If this is so, then would it not be better to have as many as possible to combat him?"

"More swords will not help in such a fight," said Erebemlin. "Raefindan's doom seems tied to that of Indil, and he would not suffer to go on another errand. Mellondu and I have a duty to Amroth, and we, Amroth and I, alone can fight Tharonwë. If the others wish to seek the ladies, their absence will neither hinder us nor help us. You, Ranger Bergil, I would prefer to aid us by helping track them, as Ravion wishes to seek Mellonin. You can follow Tharonwë's trail?"

"He drags Indil by the hand," said Bergil, "and as long as he continues to do so, I shall have no difficulty."

"Then let us depart, for Tharonwë has already had some hours to put space between us."

Grabbing his gear from the ground, Bergil began to hurriedly collect his bedroll and other supplies.

"And you, Aeron?" Bergil asked the boy, "I have not heard clearly, and Erebemlin did not include you in our number, but I believe you wish to come with our party?"

[Imladris]

Aeron frowned at Bergil's question. In truth he had not thought of it, for it had seemed obvious that he would go after Tharonwë with the others. The elf must be brought to justice, and, as far as he was concerned, he was wily and sly and they would need all they could to track him.

On the other hand, his sister had found the women. Maybe they would need his sister's help again and if he was gone then there would be no way they could be alerted if they had gone astray from the women.

He touched the bit of hair around his neck. The elf must be found. Indil must be safe, lest she suffer the same fate as Gwyllion.

But the women, lost and alone. Ravion was an excellent ranger. Surely he could track them easily enough. Could he not?

"I mean to go after the elf," he said finally.

[littlemanpoet]

So it was that Ravion, Liornung, and Ædegard separated from the others, who followed the trail of Indil farther up the heights of the White Mountains.

Ravion led the way and Ædegard took up the rear as they meandered through the wooded clefts and dales of the knees of the mountains. Ædegard wondered what Leafa and Bellyn had been doing up in these parts. Or had Tharonwë brought them up this far?

It was not long before Ravion hailed the other two and showed them signs two woman sized paths in the ground. "They cannot be far. These trails are fresh."

They redoubled their pace. They stopped briefly to rest and eat with the sun high overhead, then gave chase again. After a few hours they caught a brief glimpse of a pair of walkers far on the ridge of the next slope. Ravion urged them not to hail them, but now they moved even faster. Now they caught a glimpse of the pair at the bottom of the valley they were about to enter. The shadows were lengthening.

It was less than an hour later that Ravion finally gave the other two his permission to hail the pair, and Liornung and Ædegard called after them loudly. The pair turned and looked back. It was Bellyn and Leafa. Bright smiles leapt to their faces, but they did not come running back. Instead they pointed toward something ahead that the men could not see. With a will, the men raced up and joined the two women. After a brief exchange of embraces, the women pointed. There nestled below them, in a clearing, was a hut or cottage of some kind. They approached.

[Firefoot]

Rugh had been squatting for quite some time just outside the clearing surrounding the cottage, still as a statue. After a time, the dog had laid down and dozed off. The hours passed, the sun going from high noon onto evening, but still the woman had not emerged from her cottage. Rugh could wait; time as the Tall Men marked it meant little to him.

Then abruptly he stood. The signs were there, for those who could read them: reactions from the birds and insects were the most visible, but it was deeper than that, and Rugh knew as clearly as if the mountains had shouted out to him that there were people nearby: Tall Men. The dog scarcely missed a beat, following as Rugh set off in an easterly direction. After several minutes he came to a mountain ridge where he stopped. Some distance away there stood two women, and beyond them three men, two dark and one fair. It was as if they brought with them some dim resonance, and while they were not the one causing the strange rumors of the earth, they somehow seemed associated with them. The intensity of Rugh's gaze deepened. They were not welcome here in his Mountains, heralds of trouble as they were. The two and the three greeted each other strangely, holding each other then gesturing about as they spoke briefly. It was clear that the cottage was the subject.

One of the men glanced uneasily over his shoulder at one point, seeming to feel Rugh's ruthless gaze but, of course, seeing nothing. Probably assumed it was nothing, Rugh thought in contempt. The Tall Men only paid heed to their senses when hit over the head with them.

As the group turned and headed for the hut of the cruel Tall Woman, the wind shifted, bringing the scent of the intruders to the nose of the dog by his side, who hitherto had only watched Rugh with mild interest. Immediately the dog's ears perked and with a loud Arooo he set off toward the group without even a look back at Rugh. A shadow seemed to pass over Rugh's face; so this dog had not been completely wild, even recognized these Men. Bad dog not see Tall Men bad.

[littlemanpoet]

Onepaw! Jorje let out an Arooo and ran up the slope, his tongue tasting the late day breeze.

Onepaw settled on his haunches as Jorje came up and lofted himself into Onepaw's forelegs. Onepaw laughed. "Jorje!" he cried. "What are you doing way up here?"

Jorje licked happily at Onepaw's face. "The riverwoman sent me to find you and warn you of eeerm!" But where was Redman?

"What's the matter, boy?" Onepaw asked, having heard the whine in Jorje's voice.

"I thought I sensed something out there," Tracker said. "It must have been Jorje. Good dog!"

"To the mancave!" Jorje called.

"What do you think he's barking about?" asked Bellwoman.

Sometimes these humans could be so short in the nose! Jorje trotted off to the mancave, got up on his hind legs, and scratched at the door. Onepaw was the first to come and see him that way.

"Is someone inside?"

Jorje went down on all fours and lapped the air, looking up at Onepaw, saying yes! with every inch of his body.

"Ravion! Liornung!" Onepaw called (such hard bends to their mouths these humans barked), "There's someone in here!"

The others came out of the foliage. "There's a horse running loose," Tracker commented. "There are hoofprints all over the place."

"Who do you think it might be?" OneEar asked, looking at the door.

"It's Manwoman! Manwoman! Manwoman!" Jorje said.

"Jorje sure is excited," Liornung said. "Maybe it's someone he knows. Do you suppose it might be Mellonin?"

"Yes! Yes! Manwoman! Manwoman!" Jorje insisted.

[littlemanpoet]

The moment the thought took hold that Mellonin might possibly be inside the hut, Ravion took decisive action. He stepped forward and knocked on the door. There was no answer. The others waited with bated breath. Jorje, unable to bate his breath, panted eagerly, his ears back in anticipation.

Suddenly the door opened outward, knocking Ravion backward into the others. A blonde banshee came screaming out with a staff in both hands, flailing furiously in all directions. Jorje got out of the way and cried "Back! Back! Watch out! Back away!" but his focus changed to the madwoman and he cried, "Stop! Stop! Stop! Or I'll bite your legrrrrrr!!! Stop!"

"Surround her!" Ravion yelled. "And stay out of reach!"

The others caught on and soon Ravion, Liornung, Bella, Leafa, and Ædegard had made a circle around her. Jorje decided to help. He rushed in from behind and nipped at her heels, driving her from her hut. Soon she was breathing hard, her staff not moving slower, her eyes casting from one to the other balefully.

"You four keep her busy while I check the hut!"

The woman screamed and lurched toward Ravion's retreating form but Jorje and the others closed in and she was forced to defend against the likelihood of being wrestled down by four pairs of arms and one strong jaw, and went back to standing her ground.

Ravion went in the hut. The others waited, tension in the air between them.

"It's her! She's hurt!"

"Woman," growled Ædegard, "what did you do to her?"

"Stay away from me! Leave me and my mountain!" the woman cried in the Eorling tongue.

"She's Eorling!" cried Ædegard. He repeated his question in the Eorling speech, and she answered him. "She says that Mellonin was riding hard and reckless through the woods and fell off her horse. When she did not wake, she brought her into her hut."

Ravion came back out, his face pale. "She is not well. I fear for her life."

"This woman is no enemy," Ædegard said, "although she may not be altogether sane. I think she means no harm." It took much time and patience to convince the woman that they meant her no harm. The sun was setting by the time she laid down her quarterstaff and allowed them to relax their vigilance, and all six of them took a look - or a good smell - at Mellonin. Together they judged that she should not be moved, and should not be coaxed awake since she slept so deeply. They also decided that a few of them shold remain with Mellonin.

Ædegard and Leafa decided that it would be best if they stayed behind. This was a change in Ædegard's point of view, he admitted, having before said that his fate was with Mellondu. When asked what had changed, he had no ready answer until he raised his stump. "My call to be with Mellondu was when he had few others. Now he has many friends and allies. And I can be of little use to him. My fate is with Leafa now, I deem."

They also determined that someone must go to the others and tell them what had befallen. Who that should be could not be determined with ease, for they were all weary of the day, and they decided to make a choice of messenger in the morning.

[mark12_30]

The baying of a hound teased at the edges of her thought. Aroo, aroo, the hound called. Avarien half smiled, thinking of his warm red tongue, lolling as he ran with his nose along the ground... faithful hound. Tirrel.

But no, he had gone on, many winters ago. She frowned. Voices-- the cold woman had left, the hound -- what hound was it then? Avarien frowned, and smiled, and frowned again. And then came a voice, and a touch.

Ravion.

Peace flooded through her, and she knew she was safe, safer than she had hoped to be again. She sank into the sound of his voice.

...Voices, Avarien heard voices. The madwoman, the hound, many different voices.

No matter. Ravion is here. All is well.

Avarien wondered briefly who Ravion was, and what he had to do with the hound, but the fever was too strong, and weakened her, and she slipped into silence for a moment; and wondered, too, at the strange peace which enveloped her even in the fever. She missed Roheryn, and reached out to touch his mind. He grazed nearby. Briefly she called him; she saw that he raised his head, and knew he would find her. And then she slipped, herself, into the strange peace that had surrounded her. How had faithful old Tirrel found her after so many long years? Had he not perished in the winter at a good old age? The fever grew stronger; she fought it, but felt herself slipping into sleep again.

Ravion, Ravion. All will be well.

Who was Ravion? There were many voices outside; why this one, Avarien wondered, why this Ravion... I must know. Nimrodel, who is this Ravion?

Nay, I know of no Ravion.

He brings aid.

I know him not. But take his aid an ye choose.

Stung at her rebuke, Avarien writhed. But Nimrodel was far, Ravion was near, and the fever was too strong. She let sleep take her, and as she sank into darkness, one more thought fluttered past.

Ravion. All will be well.

[mark12_30]

Roheryn halted just outside of the clearing, and tested the wind. Rohirrim, and a ranger, and the wild woman-- he did not want to get too close to her. And the dog. His ears flicked back and forth. But Avarien lay within the hut.

He waited.

The wind shifted, and so did Roheryn's forefeet. His ears twitched, his nostrils flared.

Hidden stranger. Wild Man. Lady Avarien, beware.

Did she hear him? He did not know. He withdrew softly, and grew more still.

He waited.

[littlemanpoet]

The minds of the Men following him broke through the allure of the girl's intriguing mind. They were focused on him, hunting. Those still on the hunt were the redhead from the future, the blasted Elf, Amroth's host, the Gondorian Ranger, and the irritating young thief. The redhead was hot with rage at him for having taken the girl, Indil. The Gondorian Ranger was less moved by emotion, but just as determined. The thief was imprisoned in his own mind by his grief for his sister, but it made him come with them on the hunt. The dratted Elf was of a single mind, determined to overthrow Tharonwë and the madness he had imposed upon his lord's love. And his lord seemed to lie asleep in the breast of the human blacksmith whose mind was preoccupied with unreasoning hatred for the ranger who loved his sister.

Ah what a mortal mess these were, except for the Elf. Elves. It was high time to do away with the beleaguerment of Amroth within the blacksmith. Tharonwë gave thought to how he could bring about the death of the blacksmith.

[Imladris]

He was in the meadow again. Green fields stretched in front of him, behind him, to his left, to his right. Stars pricked the northern sky, bright like the jewels that studded the fingers of nobles; a yellow sun rose crowned in orange and scarlet to the west. Twilight before him, twilight behind him.

And there, right before his eyes, was Gwyllion, a wreath of wilted daisies in her hair, a smile on her lips. "Gwyll!" he said, taking her small hand in his.

"Aeron, brother."

The smile faded, her eyes dimmed as she looked at him. "Something is wrong," she said. "There is a black snake in your eyes, curled and waiting. Whispering. Aeron, what has happened?"

"You know, Gwyllion. You told me, the elf, he took the girl. He might kill her as he killed you. I mustn't, no I can't, let that happen again."

Gwyllion frowned. "Don't listen to the whispers that come from the dark. You should focus on finding the little girl, saving her from the shadows, rescuing her from him."

"And I will, Gwyllion, I promise. When have I ever lied to you, little Gwyll?"

She laughed but it wasn't the same as it had been before. It was briefer, heavier, paler. "Gwyllion, is everything alright?"

"I found something as I wandered," she said. "I was walking under a fading rainbow, murmuring a song half forgotten, and I heard a whisper --~~ fragile, half formed, like old crystal. I looked and I had wandered from my meadow and there were jagged rocks around me and a mountain stream washed over my feet. The water was so clear, like a mirror. And then I saw her in the reflection. She looked as if she might be tall, but she was kneeling amongst the sharp rocks, cradling Mellonin's head in her lap. I remember her robe was torn, and blood on her knees. She was whispering to Mellonin and I heard her say that she couldn't find it, that she had searched in vain, that all had changed. I was very sorry for her, but I couldn't help her, she was just a reflection in the water. And when I looked again I only saw myself staring at me."

"You don't know her name? Or who she is? Is she Nimrodel or Mithrellas?"

Gwyllion shook her head as she turned away from Aeron to face the dark northern sky. "I see things, Aeron. I see things all the time. I see you in pain, and I can do nothing. I see Mellonin --~~ or perhaps it is the other woman, I cannot see for there is a mist before me --~~ in torment, and I cannot ease her suffering. I see an old woman with strange fires in her eyes, and I can only watch and think half-formed thoughts."

Aeron said nothing, but wrapped his sister in his arms and kissed her on the forehead.

And when he woke, he found out Raefindan and said, "I saw Gwyllion again."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After many hours of walking, Indil was extremely tired. Her legs hurt, and her feet hurt, and though Tharonwë moved effortlessly over the rough terrain, many sharp edges of stone hurt her, scratching or bumping her as they moved by.

She watched Thoronwë look toward further mountains, and then down the pass, and then toward the sky. Her throat was dry and the air was cold.

His face took on a cruelty that surpassed the sternly carved expression of before. Just then, Indil seemed to hear voices echoing up the mountain path.

"Are you listening to them too?" she asked him shyly.

He turned, eyes bright, fixed hard on her, probing her. His motions were crisp, certain. His eyes and face moved, his body following. She shivered at his intense concentration on her.

"I am sorry." she said quickly. "I did not mean to interrupt your thinking."

"Who do you hear?" To Tharonwë's sharp ears, there was nothing on the wind. "What do they say?"

She looked up at him nervously. "I do not know her name. But she says things that sound like songs. Things grown up men and women say about each other. And Raefindan. Him too. I can hear him saying things, only he uses funny words. He says them to her. He says he loves her."

[mark12_30]

Roheryn waited, listening. Whether the wild man knew that he was there, Roheryn did not know. Presently a soft voice called him.

Friend, come. I must hence.

But Roheryn paused; something was not right with the lady. HIs ears flicked.

If you have leechcraft, heal me now. I must leave this house, and go hence.

~*~

Ravion shook his head, and then turned from the others, and strode to Mellonin's bedside. Kneeling there, he took her hand. "Mellonin? What is it?"

To thy task, friend. I am in haste.

"Mellonin..." he whispered, and bent closer. "Mellonin, you cannot travel now. You are hurt. Badly." And I have not tended you, he berated himself. But you must sleep, and I feared waking you, but I will tend you now. I should have done so before this--

Mellonin stirred, but it was not Mellonin's voice that answered, but a voice in his mind, melodious, distant, but closer than his own breathing. Search the wounds, Friend Ravion. Wield thy skill. For with or without thine aid, I shall not remain here.

He reeled inwardly. He had seen this before, however briefly, had he not? "Are you-- Mellonin, is there another? I mean, " he stammered, reddening, "Mellonin, who is with you? Is there-- is it Amroth?" But no, this was clearly a lady. "Are you Nimrodel?" he guessed, hoping for some reason it was she, and then a moment later, "Tell me it is not so." For then Mellonin would belong to--

I am not Nimrodel. I am-- There was a silence, in which Ravion became dimly aware that the company was also gathering around the bed, and the wild woman was watching too. I am her servant. And now, aid me, or let me go.

"I cannot let you go; you are not well."

I am weary, and more hungry than any elf ought to be, came the quiet reply. But the wounds are not grievous. To thy work, or let me rise.

The familiar stab of guilt wrenched through Ravion's soul. You always fear the worst, he ranted inwardly; Did you probe her wounds? No, fool; in her paleness you guessed great loss of blood. Feed the girl.

Drink first, if I may.

He jumped; she was inside his mind still. He did not like it, and then again-- "Mellonin?" He stroked her brow, and then stood, and waved at the others. "Water. Not too cold."

And then bread. Have you no lembas, Friend Ravion?

"Why do you call me that? Just plain bread, I am afraid, Mellonin."

She was barely conscious, and Ravion feared she would choke, but when he held the waterskin to her lips, she drank steadily. "Not too much--"

More.

She drained the waterskin, and while the others refilled it, Ravion fed her bits of bread. It was too dry at first, but when the waterskin returned, he moistened them. She ate steadily despite his protests.

"Mellonin?"

Why do you call me this name?

"Have you stolen her like Amroth stole her brother? But Mellondu came back--"

I stole no one. Mellonin. Light-love. It is a good name. You may call me Mellonin.

I will know her gaze, thought Ravion. She will know me when she awakens. I will know her. I will know her.

Ye know me not, Friend Ravion, replied the voice.

"Then how do you know me?" he growled.

The voice did not answer. Mellonin had eaten several peices of bread, and as she finished the last, her eyelids fluttered. He snatched her hand again. Her lips moved.

"Ravion," she whispered. She struggled to open her glassy eyes, to see, to find him; she was so weak. He bent over her face. She smiled, a thin wan smile, and as she sank into a deep sleep the smile lingered.

The wounds. Probe her wounds. "Liornung, fetch my pack-- I need the herbs. And hot water, and clean cloths." He set to work, seeking out each scrape and gouge and puncture and cut.

None merited a faint and a fall from horseback. The girl was hardly injured; she was simply hungry.

He sat beside her til sleep took him, and then lay down on the floor by her bed.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë

She looked up at him nervously. "I do not know her name. But she says things that sound like songs. Things grown up men and women say about each other. And Raefindan. Him too. I can hear him saying things, only he uses funny words. He says them to her. He says he loves her."

Raefindan? Roy Edwards? Says he loves this woman this girl hears singing? Tharonwë could make no sense of it. It was tempting to dismiss it as the girl's confused prattling, but he could read these things in her mind, and it unsettled him. About whom was she talking? Whom was she hearing? Nimrodel? But Roy Edwards did not love Nimrodel. No, he had probed that one's mind as well, and knew that the one Roy Edwards loved had died and was no more. Such a love was vain. If only he could persuade Amroth of such a thing: you are dead; let her go; she should not love you anymore because she lives and I live, and I want her; begone!

He ordered the girl to sleep and laid her on the ground even as she yawned. He gave thought to Roy Edwards and with a great effort of will, held himself from wishing murder upon him. He was needed. It was necessary that Roy Edwards be friendly to the blacksmith and be regularly near him, so that when they came to the next precipice, Roy Edwards would be near enough for Tharonwë to command his arms and body to push the blacksmith over the edge to his death. Maybe that would bring an end to Amroth's arrogant efforts to ruin the plans he had to make Nimrodel love him and only him.

Only a minute change here, and there, in the mind of the young Man from the future, and it would be achieved.

Hold. What was this? He was thinking on his dead beloved again, and named her 'Angela'. Tharonwë looked so quickly and fiercely at the girl Indil that she whimpered from the shock of it, even in her sleep. The opacity in her mind... the name Angela had been there ... had he spoken of her to the girl? Maybe that was it. He sighed and relaxed. But he wondered yet again upon that opacity in the girl's mind; what did it hide?

[mark12_30]

Mellonin slept through the night, but Ravion woke several times. Low conversations, slight movements, and every sneeze or cough jarred him wide awake. Each time he hoped Mellonin had awakened, and then each time he told himself that it was better that she had not, but had slept.

He missed Aeron. And he missed Aeron's wild little sister. Wryly he wondered how Gwyllion and this wild woman would have gotten along. Saethryd, as Aedegard called her, prowled around the fire, her clawlike hands pushing back her tangles of hair, speaking reluctantly and only with the Rohirrim.

By the moon, the night was not far along. He was tired enough, but if he let himself sleep deeply, he might miss something, some sign or word from Mellonin. He wondered what he had missed since he saw her last.

She stirred, and he rose to his knees and studied her face in the moonlight. The gash that crossed her hairline had begun to heal, and so had the lump behind it. The three welts had proven superficial, though ugly. The strange elf-woman's voice had not returned, at least, not to his own mind. He glanced around, and suddenly wondered if the voice had been talking to others.

Sleep, he told himself. You need it, and you've done all you can.

He half wished, even as angry as he felt, that someone would come and talk to him. Aeron would have. But Aeron was not here. The others seemed to be keeping their distance, and speaking in low voices.

He drew the blankets around Mellonin, tucking them in slightly. Then he lay back down, shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor, and rearranged his pack to make a better pillow.

Little Gwyllion, he thought, how I wish I could avenge your death. But with all the grief that the black elf has caused, perhaps a quick death would be too cheap a price for him to pay.

He shook his head, and thought of Mellonin. One thing at a time, he thought. Let tomorrow dawn, and then we will see.

The night crawled past, one breath at a time.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung was silent. He sat against the wall, his fiddle propped up behind him, and his bow hanging loosely from his hands. His head was lowered, and his eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping. But he was awake, and his mind was restless. More than that, he was filled with fear.

He was recalling the first merry days of their quest, when they laughed and sang, and how, soon after, the shadows had fallen. He thought of the young girl, Gwyllion, and her death, and the dark seemed to wrap itself closer about him, breaking into his mind and his heart.

A hand fell lightly on his shoulder, and as he started and opened his eyes, Bellyn sat beside him.

"Something is troubling you, Liornung," she said, her eyes wide and thoughtful. "What were you thinking of?"

He flicked his bow up and down rather absentmindedly, and his eyes followed its motion. "I must admit, I was thinking of you, Bella," he replied. "I was thinking of how glad I am that I met you, how glad I am that we had those merry days of singing and tell tales. I was thinking of Leafa as well, but she doesn't press as heavily on my mind."

She said nothing, and merely continued to gaze steadily at him. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and smiled slightly.

"You see, Leafa will be leaving us soon. Ædegard senses that his part in this quest is over, and I do not doubt that he and Leafa will be returning to their own lands to be wed."

He hesitated, and dropped his eyes once again. He stretched out a hand and took up his fiddle, and plucked softly at the strings. "This old instrument," he said gently. "I feel it is the one thing that remains to me of the world I used to live in. It was a quiet world, Bella, and a very beautiful one. I travelled here and there, sat by fires in taverns, and made music. I heard music, as well, from many different people. From each one I learned a new tune, and we'd spend many a happy evening playing together.

"This quest, at its beginning, was just a continuing of that world. With you and with Ædegard I shared tunes and songs and stories. And when Leafa came, she was a new face in that old world, and the music went on.

"And then I passed out of that bright world into a very different one. Gwyllion died. Ædegard lost his hand. Fear and suffering came rushing upon us. Night after night I kept imagining that it had been my hand that was lost." As he said it, his hand fell rather shakily upon his fiddle, but he quickly steadied himself.

"That was selfish," he said, with a sad smile. "This fiddle has always been my way of making music, and making music is the very heart of my life. Without a hand... but, it was selfish, regardless. And it has passed, because I realised that if, in some wild and rather absurd instance, I must lose my music to save Ædegard, or any one of you, I'd rather lose my music, even if it meant losing my life."

He paused, and Bella took advantage of his silence to ask: "What are you trying to say, Liornung?"

He turned towards, took both her hands in his, and looked earnestly into her eyes. "This quest is no longer one of merry-making and singing, Bella," he said. "Who is to say that more of shan't die, that more limbs shan't be lost? Life is full of joy, and I would be reluctant to leave it, but my part is not yet over. If I die, so be it. But seeing any one of my dear friends die while I continue to live would be unbearable."

"What do you want?"

"Ædegard and Leafa are leaving this journey, and beginning their own, a journey that will be filled with life and hope. I don't know what lies ahead for me, but I do know that the dark is closing in. Bellyn, you have no part in this quest. You're young, and you, like Ædegard and Leafa, have beauty and joy before you. If I die, so be it, but I must see that you're safe! When they return to their home, I want you to go with them."

"You think I should go?"

He released her hands, fell back against the wall again, and smiled. "I insist that you go," he said. "And when this journey is over, if I'm still on my feet, I'll seek out you, and Ædegard and Leafa, and we'll write that grand song of our adventures."

Bella opened her mouth as if to speak, but he held up a hand. "I don't know whether you intend to agree or object," he said. "I suspect it's the latter, but regardless, I'll hear nothing. I merely expect you to go home as I say." He smiled at her, but the smile quickly faded and he shook his head sadly. "It's too dark, Bellyn."

He put his fiddle to his shoulder, and raised his bow, but after a pause he let them fall again. "No," he said. "There is no music now. I cannot play."

[mark12_30]

"Raefindan."

THe red-haired man was startled out of deep thoughts. "Eh? What's that?"

Mellondu almost regretted saying anything, but not quite. "Raefindan?"

"Yes?"

Now what do I say? he thought. "I was just wondering. Well, I -- "

Raefindan waited.

"How are you?" the blacksmith said, beginning to withdraw, but watching the red-haired man's face.

Raefindan's eyebrows went up. "How am I?"

"Well, yes. How are you? Lately." He looked away; but then in another moment, he looked back. And waited.

[littlemanpoet]

Roy was angry. He wanted to rip Tharonwë apart, limb from limb. Or at least push him off the edge of a cliff. He felt like a stranger to himself. He felt like there was a bomb in his chest ready to blow up, and that he needed desperately to defuse it. So he thought of Angela. It seemed to help, someone. In fact, thoughts of Angela had been coming to mind more frequently than they had been. He wondered why. When had it started? Not when he had first come here. Nor when he had met Mellonin, or Ravion, or the others. Not when he had first been confronted by Tharonwë, curse the black hearted elf! Not even when Tharonwë had plagued his mind, sifting it for anything he might find useful from the future. When had it begun in earnest? It had been on their way back to Minas Tirith from the south. Indil. A six year old girl? He wasn't sure she was six, but it served as well as another age, considering how she was: which was, in a word, delightful. Maybe it was the brown eyes that put him in mind of Angela. They were the same. Not so amazing, that. Not nearly so amazing as even being here, in this land that he loved because he had read it in a book. It wasn't even supposed to be-

"Raefindan?"

Roy looked up. He had been so immersed in his thoughts that he had forgotten his name here. Raefindan. It was Mellondu, and this was the second time he had used his name.

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering. Well, I -- "

Roy waited.

"How are you?"

Mellondu seemed diffident. But why was he asking? Roy wondered if the rage he felt more than half the time was registering on his face.

"How am I?"

"Well, yes. How are you? Lately."

Should he tell Mellondu any of what he was thinking? Maybe the least little bit that the blacksmith could make use of.

"I am hot with the will to do that Elf some bodily harm for taking Indil, to be perfectly frank." Mellondu's brows shot up. He had not, perhaps, been expecting something so forceful, Roy thought. "Other than that, I suppose I am well. And you? How goes it with you? And --" How did one express such things? "--and the one that --" he paused, struggling for the words to describe his thought "--sleeps within?"

[mark12_30]

"Sleeps." Mellondu considered the word, and there was a long silence. Mellondu glanced at Erebemlin, who had called the halt, standing out by the grazing horses. They were not far from the snowline, and they had debated leaving the horses behind.

"Sleeps." Raefindan was waiting for an answer. Mellondu ran his hand through his hair, and gazed at the ground. Finally he shrugged, and shook his head. "I do not know." Then he glanced again over at the tall elf, and then at Aeron, dug at the ground with his foot, and shrugged again.

Aeron and Raefindan exchanged glances. Mellondu dug at the ground with his foot again. "I wish we could just get this over, and go home, " he groused.

Aeron stifled a grin. "Then it would seem, " he said, "Raefindan's question needs an answer."

"Why?" The blacksmith glared at the thief.

"How are we supposed to finish this thing without him?" said Aeron.

"Why do you want to do home?" asked Raefindan. "I never asked you before. I know your family is important to you, but -- is there someone else who draws you home? A close friend?"

Mellondu shook his head.

Aeron said, "Perhaps a young lady?" Raefindan winced and shot him a warning glare.

But Mellondu shrugged. "No." His gaze became faraway. "No, no one." He scuffed the ground again, and then with another shrug, turned to wander away. "No one."

Aeron waited til he was far enough away, and then whispered to Raefindan, "That didn't look like 'no one' to me. There's a girl."

Raefindan thought about that. "I'm not so sure, " he said. "I wonder." He watched Mellondu wander toward the elf, and then watched as the elf gave the lad another of his archery lessons. It was brief, just enough to stretch the muscles, and Mellondu seemed resigned. Then the lad went to his tall red horse-- Ædegard's horse, but Mellondu had ridden him for months now. Echo snuffled him, and Mellondu rubbed the broad red shoulder, gazing up into the bright snow.

"The snow over the pass will be shallow, and melting, " said Erebemlin. "We will bring the horses. But we must be careful."

"Think you can handle it, old fellow?" said Mellondu.

Erebemlin said "He is not old."

But instead of snapping at the elf, Mellondu only nodded, and said, "I know."

[mark12_30]

The nightingale's voice shimmered like the sunlight on a stream, or was it, that the shimmering stream sang like a nightingale? Heart-piercing beauty, and he nearly wept at the pain of it. His ears strained to hear the shimmering brightness; his arms ached to hold the song.

Come. Tarry no more, my love, but come to me. Come.

The song drew nearer. The echoes brightened, the melody grew sweeter still. The longing in his heart smouldered deeper, higher, wider, til he wondered he did not burst into flame. Nearer, brighter, sweeter came the song.

From above, he felt a shadow pass. Mingled with the song of the nightingale was the scream of a hawk; a sudden cold panic choked him as the hawk screamed again, and the song stopped.

The golden flame surged past him, and he fought it; it was weak with captivity, and he strove to bury it.

Without me you will lose her.

Down, fool.

You will lose her.

No.

Let me go.

"No!" he cried, and sat bolt upright. Erebemlin stood nearby; their eyes met. Mellondu looked away, and heartily wished that the elf was less vigilant.

Raefindan stirred. "Mellondu, are you all right?"

The blacksmith rolled back down. "Be not troubled for my sake."

Erebemlin raised one eyebrow in the starlight. Mellondu ignored him for a time, but then rolled over again and sat up. "Was that her? Or was it just a dream?"

A tightening of the elf's lips was his only answer, but it was enough. He lay back down, suddenly wide awake, and the smouldering in his heart burned steadily til dawn.

[mark12_30]

It had been a long, quiet night. The wind had stayed always in the same direction, never eddying; Rugh had stayed still in his spot; and Roheryn had stayed quietly in his, waiting for Avarien to wake up.

Finally she stirred, and he listened to see if she would call him. But she did not. The cottage stirred to life; Saethryd's voice could be heard. The door opened, and Bella came out with a bucket, and walked to the mountain stream, filled it, and returned, and went inside the cottage.

Still as a statue, Roheryn waited.

[littlemanpoet]

The sun rose above the many crests and vales below them and to the east, and little by little the darkness of night gave way to the dimness of the tall evergreens that overshadowed the house of Saethryd.

Ædegard stirred. Bella had just come back into the cottage with a fresh bucket of water. Saethryd was speaking to him in Eorling, in her high, raspy unused voice, trying to get him to show Bella where to put the bucket. Bella figured it out from Saethryd's pointing, and so it was done. Saethryd settled back down, looking nervously from one to the next of her unwelcome guests. Leafa still slept curled up against the far wall; surely the earthen floor must be just as uncomfortable sleeping for her as it was for him.

Today was the day. It was time for Leafa and him to go back to the land of the Eorlings. He had overheard snatches of the words that had passed between Liornung and Bella. He would do his part to help Liornung convince Bella to come with them. The first reason was that that evil elf seemed to have a taste for using the quest party's women against the men. They needed to remove that threat from the great number that still hung over all their heads.

But it occurred, for the first time to Ædegard, sitting in the darkness of the hut, that he was poor protection for Leafa and Bella once they left. There were other threats in the wilds, up here in the unknown slopes, beyond the protection of the king. He sighed. If only Nethwador was still with them. When had he left? Had he gone into Minas Tirith with the others? Ædegard remembered Nethwador in the inn with the rest of them, but he did not remember him coming with the men out of Minas Tirith. He was supposed to have, but he must have slunk away somehow, and for what reason?

Bella!

Of course. Ædegard looked over at Bella, who was pouring water and wondered where Nethwador was right then. Was he out searching some vale in these mountains, looking for her?

If so, he hoped that the easterling would stumble upon them at some point. At least he had the use of all his limbs.

Ædegard smiled ruefully, thinking back to how he had first treated Nethwador. And here he was, wishing for him. How things change. How life changes. How people change. Ædegard shook his head in wonder, then got up and stretched and greeted Bella. Jorje's head came up suddenly and his tongue came out in a big expectant grin.

"Come, Jorje," he whispered. The two went outside into the cold, crisp and misty air of early morning, passing by Mellonin's horse, Jorje sniffing his way along the dewy grass.

[mark12_30]

Night surrounded him and the water was deep. Yet not so. Beneath him was solid ground. Yet still not so; the solid ground was beneath not him, but his mount. Powerful muscles surged beneath him; long strides bore him forward. He looked for Echo's flaxen mane; reached out to stroke the faithful horse; yet something was not right.

Seaweed brushed past his face. Reaching up to brush it away, he realised it was a tentacle. Shuddering, he swiped, but the water slowed his hand.

Do I ride the currents or the solid land?

The tentacle groped for him, and he moved in slow motion as he reached for his sword. He wore none. The knife, then. He drew, and slashed; all was black about him as before, but he knew by the taste of the water he had wounded it.

His horse tossed his head, and gave a thunderous neigh. In the distance, he heard a stream falling like silver in the sun. He called out to her, but his words were swept away in the current. HIs horse's voice was not; Echo thundered again and again, and the sound of the stream grew louder, nearer.

Baffled, he touched his horse's mind.

Be still, Echo.

The horse whinnied again, almost a scream.

Echo!

The answer came not from a horse, but from a man.

I will echo your voice no more.

Seaweed drifted against Amroth's face and mingled with his hair, tangling; it began to pull him backward. He reached up to brush it away; the tangles held. He slashed at the seaweed with his knife, and found tentacles again. The horse surged forward, he fell off backwards, and as Amroth sank, he heard the splash of his horse's hooves as he entered the stream.

Trespass.

Wrath burned within him. He fought the seaweed, the tentacles, but to no avail. And only now did he know that he could not breathe. He heard his horse's hooves splashing in the shallows of the stream, heard him snorting and pawing, and then the horse's neck bent down to take a drink.

Darkness took him, and he knew no more.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

A dream. The little girl had fallen deep into dreams of dark water and the filth of swamps, of the oozing creatures of the darkest moist spots under roots after rain, and the sounds of gossiping creatures throttled by fog which settles into the rising gaseous masses of the ominously still liquid shadows. She dreamed of the kinds of water which wish to be land, and which through the depths of time, patiently, will become so, taking living things into treacherous wet sands, drowning them beneath sentient roots, letting their bones give the solidity the muds and meres lack. She dreamed of still waters that build structures upon the skeletons of others, which, full of nitrous, seem to glow in the night, and which seem to whisper threats and lullabies as things slither and hiss inside.

She heard a nightingale, and a hawk, and trembled in her sleep as the song of the former was cut in two by the shriek of the latter.

She dreamed she was walking barefoot, and she was shivering, but she wasn't cold. She felt the mud squish between her toes and felt the eyes of black squirrels and rats fasten themselves upon her, and she wondered if they could see through the fog and the gases of their home.

She called out through the fog. "Mama?"

She heard an answering voice, as though from far above her, but above her she could see only more fog and the blue black silhouettes of broken trees. "Not your mother, my child, and not even hers, but so much farther through time. Why do you seek us, and why do you look here, surrounded by putrid fumes and ill wishes for the living, where the only love is twisted and rank, where those two who would become one can only do so to the detriment of the weaker? You walk in a parasitic land in search of what, my daughter?"

The mud Indil stood in felt cold and grainy on her bare feet, and when she looked down, she saw that it had risen to her ankles.

"Where are you?" she asked the voice of Mithrellas.

"I am always with you, little Eledhwen. Inside you. Are you afraid?"

"No." she answered, trying to lift her feet from the mud and feeling herself sinking lower in response to every motion.

A crow soared through the thick air and landed near her, hopping toward her, eyes sharp. Something limbless moved behind her, and she heard a crack in the wood of the trees. The mud had reached above her knees, and she was frozen, and she closed her eyes in terror. "Yes," she responded, crying, her voice shaking. "Yes. I am afraid. Please. Please don't let them get me!"

The voice was silent for a moment and Indil felt as though many of the shadows of the swamp were lifting. The dark ravenous eyes seemed to blink and lose focus. Indil slipped further, lower, and her breath came faster, and she trembled harder. Mithrellas spoke now quickly, firmly. "Wake up, Eledhwen. Cast this filthy darkness from you. Let it burden you no more! Again, I say, Indil, open your eyes and see the sky."

Indil woke suddenly, gasping, coughing as the cold mountain air filled her chest. She opened her eyes and gasped; her view of the sky was distorted by the face of Tharonwë.

"What did you dream?" he demanded, and she shook, laying upon cold stone. "What did you see, little girl, and why could I not see it as well? What have you seen and heard and hidden from me?"

[mark12_30]

He knew that dog.

"Jorje?"THe hound parked, a sharp happy bark, and then ran to him, tongue lolling. HIs rangy chestnut snorted, but then calmed, as the dog wagged his tail. Nethwador began to dismount, and then stopped. "Bella. Jorje-- Bella?"

"Jorje, " a voice called, and the echoes gave the dog a puzzle as his head swung this way and that.. But Nethwador waited, and dropped a hand to the chestnut's shoulder.

THe foootsteps were not loud. The man from Rohan had learned how to walk quietly, and Nethwador smiled.

"Jorje. Hi, Jorje; here boy." The wheelwright strode into view.

Nethwador waited, wondering whether the greeting would be warm or wary; he had left them without warning.

But the horseman's eyes were welcoming. "I thought you would come."

"Bella?" said Nethwador.

Pointing back the way he had come, Ædegard smiled. Nethwador was beside him in an instant, and then as an afterthought, slid off of his horse and motioned that Ædegard should ride.

Ædegard shook his head. "Let us both walk. Tis not far, " he said.

Jorje raced ahead, and was at the hut before them.

~*~*~

Ravion watched as the Easterling greeted Bella; the Easterling's uncontained joy brought a half-smile to the ranger's eyes.

WHen the hut finally quieted again and Liornung, Leafa, and Bella were listening to the Easterling boy's tale of his travels, Ravion asked Ædegard, "Did you see anything else?"

Ædegard shrugged. "Like what? I am no ranger."

Ravion grunted, and shook his head. "We will rest another day, " he said as Nethwador took his seat at Bella's feet. "Perhaps the mapmaker will sing. I doubt this Easterling will cross the mountains with Mellonin?"

Ædegard laughed. "Nethwador will not leave Bella's side again, I am guessing, " he said. "No, I suspect his road leads Northwest like mine. For that I am glad."

"I see, " said Ravion, looking glum. A minstrel, a ranger, and a feverish girl, taking the king's horse across the mountains. He shook his head. "Not today, " he murmured.

"Eh?" said Ædegard.

"We rest today, " Ravion repeated. He returned to Mellonin's side. He had already argued with the elf-woman twice today, so he repeated it for her. "We rest today." Then he took his place by her bed, and watched over her. Only it was watching over Mellonin, and arguing with Avarien. Mellonin had her stubborn moments, he reflected; it was easy to think that the elf-woman was far more stubborn than Mellonin was. But he made himself remember some of their endless bickering, and it calmed him somehow. THe morning passed, with Saethryd glowering in the background, and Ædegard pensively listening as Nethwador and Liornung traded stories and played on the violin.

[littlemanpoet]

A bank of clouds drew near from the north. They looked to be brimfull of snow and howling wind. But it was south that they looked.

"There! Do you see?"

Bergil was standing at a cliff edge, facing south. He was looking across a deep valley to an outcropping of rock on the sheer face of the slope on the other side of the valley, the flight of an arrow distant.

Erebemlin looked. "Aye, 'tis them."

"Who?" asked Aeron.

"Tharonwë and the girl. 'Tis a shame we cannot fly."

"Where?" Raefindan asked, heated.

Bergil pointed. Two figures seemed to crawl like ants against the face of the far slope, climbing a steep path that was hard to make out from the their vantage point. Raefindan looked to their path, and saw that they were going the way they needed to, but they were woefully far behind: the valley widened ahead of them, and they would skirt the side of the mountains a long, long way around, in a large circle, before they came to the spot where the Elf and the girl now were.

Mellondu came up and nocked an arrow to his bow.

"What are you doing?" Raefindan cried.

"He is within range now and will not be for long. Maybe he can be shot down."

"But you could hit the girl!"

"I do not think so," was all Mellondu's reply.

Suddenly fury built up in Raefindan to an indescribable pitch, and before he knew it, he closed the gap between himself and Mellondu, and was forcing him bodily to the cliff edge. Mellondu was taken by surprise and could not react before he was teetering on the brink.

"Stop!" Erebemlin yelled, too far away to do anything.

Suddenly Raefindan felt hands grabbing him and pulling him back. Aeron. It was enough for Mellondu to get his balance back and force himself away from the edge, but now Raefindan fought them both like a wild beast, trying to force one then another leg, torso, head, or arm over the edge. Suddenly it was done. The face was turned up to him, the eyes full of surprise as it fell like a stone, inches away from the sheer cliff face. But it was not Mellondu; it was Aeron.

Roy looked in horror until the body was a small insect-sized dot that seemed to have merged with the landscape far below. His mind rang suddenly with the laughter of Tharonwë.

"You tried to kill me!" Mellondu raged.

Roy looked at him in anguish. He could not find words to say all the thoughts that rushed through his mind, all the feelings crashing in on him.

"Aeron!" he choked, tears coming to his eyes.

The storm drew nearer.

[mark12_30]

A handful of tunic, and a twisting wrench, and the redheaded man lay wide-eyed and gasping on the rock ledge.

Then the blacksmith returned to the edge of the cliff. Erebemlin came to his side. Together they looked down, Mellondu in anger, Erebemlin looking pale and shaken.

"He gave his life for mine, " Mellondu said, "But what madness took Raefindan that he did this?"

Erebemlin said little, but wept. Bergil came to his side.

Erebemlin glanced at Tharonwe and Indil, black specs, still moving slowly across the far side. "Aim, " he said.

Once again Mellondu nocked an arrow, and bent his bow. He breathed, and gazed, and breathed, and gazed, and let fly.

The arrow glanced off a rock and down into the ravine.

Mellondu aimed again, and missed again. He cursed.

"Why do you not shoot, Erebemlin?" said Bergil.

Mellondu waited, gazing at the elf. Erebemlin's voice came quiet and slow.

"He called me as he fell, " the elf said. Fresh tears came. Pain shook his frame, and he knelt down at the edge of the cliff.

Mellondu grasped his shoulder, drawing him back, but the elf covered the blacksmith's hand in his own.

"Fear no rashness in me. I but grieve the boy. His end was swift, but his heart true."

Bergil gazed at the far off fugitives. "They will be out of sight in a moment, " he said.

As if he had not heard, Erebemlin bowed his head, and his tears fell in earnest. Bergil stood beside him, as did Mellondu. Bergil watched where THaronwe and Indil had gone out of sight. But Mellondu's gaze strayed more towards Raefindan, who had sat up, and was now watching the three at the edge.

[littlemanpoet]

Roy stared at the others standing at the edge of the cliff. He sat on an outcropping of rock, oblivious to the approaching storm. They were not saying the dreadful words - You killed him! It did not matter. He had lost his mind somehow, and Aeron was dead; by his own hands. He had liked Aeron. And now he had killed him.

It had not been as if he had lost control of his members and had been watching himself do things over which he had no control. If it had been so, then he would have still been in control of his own mind. No, he had lost control of that, too. While they were wrestling everything had been a blur of rage and war and the will to win and throw him over the edge. Then suddenly it was done and he had regained control. Not as if he had fought for control, but as if a lever had been taken from him and simply given back.

He could feel Mellondu staring at him with those accusing eyes. Murderer! they declared. Who's side are you on? they asked. Roy looked away but could feel the weight of those eyes watching his every move, so heavy they bound him to the spot where he sat.

"Raefindan!" Bergil demanded. "Why?"

Roy shook his head. "I do not know." No, that was not entirely true. "Indil! I feared that she might be shot by accident and went to stop him from shooting the arrows, but then-" he could not finish, for he could not possibly explain, nor describe what had happened. They had seen it. That was enough.

"You tried to save Indil by trying to kill Mellondu?" Bergil questioned.

Roy sat there, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He raised his hands, killing hands, palms up, to look at them. There was no blood but they felt stained and he wiped them against his trousers; he could not make them feel clean and kept wiping them.

"Indil was my last thought. Then I was not thinking. I do not know why."

Erebemlin's sad eyes studied him. Roy looked away. "I must search your mind, Raefindan."

Roy looked up, suddenly eager. Maybe the Elf could figure out what had happened to him. "Yes! Please!"

Erebemlin tilted his head in doubt. "Maybe I need not. An innocent would be this willing."

"Innocent!" cried Mellondu. "Aeron is dead! He tried to kill me! How can you say innocent!"

Roy hung his head, his eyes stinging. How indeed? Breathing seemed suddenly very hard. The wind began to blow in from the north. The temperature was dropping.

"Search his mind, Erebemlin," said Bergil.

"Very well."

Roy sensed the Elf's concentration, he knew not how. He felt nothing else.

Moments later, the Elf spoke. "I do not know why he let me. He has been turncoat since he was with the Swamp Elf, weeks ago." Roy's head went up in shock.

"He hoped," Erebemlin continued, "that his seeming eagerness for the osanwë would trick me into thinking it was unnecessary. He will kill again."

"Look at him," Mellondu sneered derisively. "He is surprised to be so easily found out."

Roy shook his head, speechless. How could Erebemlin have it so wrong? He did not seem to be trying to mislead. The sorrow was written too plainly on his countenance: the Elf believed what he was saying. Am I really a killer then? Do I really want Tharonwë to win out? Do I, deep down in my heart of hearts, want evil instead of good? Everything in him shouted NO! but Aeron lay dead at the bottom of the valley and it had been his own hands that had killed him, and Erebemlin had seen his mind. Maybe he did not know his own mind.

The first flakes of snow flew in on a heightening wind. It was getting colder.

"He must leave us," Bergil said.

[Formendacil]

"Raefindan!" Bergil demanded. "Why?"

Bergil's mind was a wild briar of thoughts as Tharonwë peered in, hoping to sway the young ranger. With the boy perished, he was the next youngest in their company, and might be the most vulnerable.

"I do not know.... Indil! I feared that she might be shot by accident and went to stop him from shooting the arrows, but then-" Tharonwë did not like where the redhead was going. Raefindan and Bergil had that in common: a passionate concern for the girl, and it would not do for the Gondorian to become sympathetic to the strange redhead's plight, not if Tharonwë was to divide their company, and slow their pursuit. Fortunately, Raefindan's actions did not look particularly sane to Bergil.

"You tried to save Indil by trying to kill Mellondu?" With a nudge from Tharonwë, Bergil found the absurdity of Raefindan's actions obscuring any thought of sympathy with his plight.

"Indil was my last thought. Then I was not thinking. I do not know why." As the redhead spoke, Tharonwë thought it advisable not to obscure that he had manipulated the Man's mind, but to make this conclusion all too clear to Bergil. While Erebemlin dithered, Tharonwë pushed Bergil to certainty.

"Search his mind, Erebemlin," said Bergil, finding his suspicions growing.

"I do not know why he let me. He has been turncoat since he was with the Swamp Elf, weeks ago."

Of course, Tharonwë's motive seemed perfectly plain to himself. If he was to divide the company, a shadow must be cast on Raefindan's trustworthiness. And what better shadow at hand than himself? Already, with his help, Bergil's mind was turned solely to doubts about Raefindan, and not a single thought of sympathy, out of concern for Indil passed out of his subconscious.

"He hoped," Erebemlin continued, "that his seeming eagerness for the osanwë would trick me into thinking it was unnecessary. He will kill again."

"Look at him," Mellondu sneered derisively. "He is surprised to be so easily found out."

"He must leave us," Bergil said, and Tharonwë grinned inwardly in delight. The young ranger had said exactly what he wanted. No longer did he need to force the Gondorian to conclusions, Bergil was making them for himself.

"If he will kill again, then we must not give him the opportunity," Bergil continued on his own; Tharonwë mentally nodding happily. Then the ranger came to a conclusion that utterly baffled the Elf. "We should send him on ahead, alone."

What was the Ranger thinking? But even as Tharonwë began to probe the fool's mind, his reasoning became clear.

"If he's so eager to save Indil, and we cannot trust him around us, then let us send him on to save her himself," Bergil continued, as Mellondu and Erebemlin looked at him in askance. "At worst, he will come under Tharonwë's spell again, and do nothing, but if he is so paranoically concerned about Indil and so willing to kill, the best may happen and he will save us a great deal of trouble--and Raefindan is far less a formidable enemy than the Elf."

"Look at this weather," said Erebemlin, as the snow continued to swirl. "It would be akin to murder, sending him alone with no shelter, never mind sending him against Tharonwë alone. He has no hope at all of success."

"He killed a close friend, of his as well as ours," said Mellondu coldly. "Does he deserve hope?"

"Wait! What about Indil!" Raefindan tried to cut in with his own say. "What if I am a danger to her as well." Tharonwë, still concerned about Bergil's paternal instincts regarding Indil, quickly moved in the ranger's mind to quash that line of reasoning.

"Do you really think you stand that much of a chance against Tharonwë?" said Bergil, echoing the Elf, who did not think the strange redhead did, given how susceptible he had been the first time. "Besides, wasn't concern for her the reason you attacked Aeron in the first place?"

"But circumstances might be different..." Raefindan began, but Mellondu cut him off.

"The very fact that you are speaking against being sent seems almost as good a reason as any for sending you on," the blacksmith said. "You are of no help to us here, and you are a great cause for concern, rather. I say we send him on."

Tharonwë watched through Bergil's eyes with tense anticipation as the three others turned to Erebemlin. The Elf was silent, but soon spoke.

"We cannot trust you, Raefindan, and you have certainly incurred punishment for what you have done. If you have enough goodwill left to wish us success, then you must see that you cannot remain with us, and if you wish to help us, then you will continue following Tharonwë. If we are fortunate, you will be able to stick to his trail, and perhaps even hinder him, that we might be able to shelter now, and catch you and he later. If you die in the attempt... then it is little more than you deserve."

[littlemanpoet]

The wind and snow swirled around him. He was trudging along the path. The snow landed all around as white dots against the gray rock. At first they melted into dark spots of water. Soon after, they stayed and collected until the ground was a pall of white. It became difficult to see land from sky, or land from precipitous drop. His body shook with the cold.

"It is little more than you deserve."

Roy had left the three others without a word. What could he have said? They were right to send him on ahead. If he had attacked and killed one of them, he might do it again, for he did not understand what had happened.

Roy, what have you become?

His hands and feet were going numb, and the cold stung his face. He supposed that he was going to his death.

"It is little more than you deserve."

He winced in spite of himself. A tear froze on his cheek. He stopped and looked back into the blur of white that hid the others from him. He didn't know how far back they were. He supposed that they had found shelter of some kind. Just as well, they would not survive without it.

With a jolt he came to himself, realizing that he had been standing in one place for a long time. The snow had covered the flat of his shoes. It would be so easy just to stand and do nothing more. He felt the cold numbing the grieving pain in his throat and chest. So easy to simply not move again. So easy.

He forced himself to take a step, and another, and another. Soon he was walking laboriously, careful of his steps, for the path was hard to see.

His lips went numb, and his cheeks. His ears ached with the cold. He could not feel his hands anymore, and could only feel his feet by the pressure of each step he took.

No, he had not taken another step in a long time. The snow had collected up to his ankles as he stood. He tried to move his feet but could not. He had forgotten how to walk. So he stood there and waited.

~*~

Come. Take a step. Another. Another. I want you here to keep the girl alive while I use her mind.

He was walking. His steps were unerring, for they were being steered by another will.

Was I not impressive, using your very mind as my blunt hammer, to cast the little thief off the cliff?

The gray of snow and wind was beginning to darken.

It was supposed to be the blacksmith, curse that ranger. But still, it was so easy to hide your real thought from the mind of that arrogant Elf of Lorien.

A darkness loomed amid the night. He went toward it. The blur stopped and the howling wind was muted.

"That is right, come and sit, Roy Edwards from the future. It is good to have you back again. You are a most useful pawn."

He felt the world tip over and go black, and then nothing.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard shoved at the door with all his weight to push back the snow outside. It came open enough finally to sidle through, and he looked out. He blinked from the brightness and with a smile remembered the snowball fight with Mellondu back at Edoras. Had that been only a month ago?

He struggled out and looked south. Clouds hid the mountain as high as the eye could see. That was not good. The snow storm was still blowing up there, and it looked like it was probably worse higher. A blizzard. His thought went to Mellondu, Raefindan, Aeron, Erebemlin, and little Indil. Were they safe? They might be buried up there! We have to go find them! he said to himself.

His heart sank. Today was the day Bella, Nethwador, Leafa and he were to set out for Rohan. Maybe Liornung and Ravion could go find them. He couldn't help remembering Bethberry's words. Be his friend. STay by his side. He will need you. He hung his head in shame. He had abandoned Mellondu and the others. Even now it might be too late. Buit it might not! His head came up and fire leapt into his eyes. He rushed back into the hut.

"Ravion! Everyone! There's a blizzard on the mountain! We must save our friends!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

The sound of snow falling: the heavy impact and compression not of flakes but of ice and build up, slipping from outcroppings and landing hard. The sound of wind swirling through the mountains, caressing the sides as it slides down, whistling and creaking. Giants with boulders, playing throwing games to start avelanches.

Indil's nose ran from the cold and the smoke from the small fire. She was lonely, and played a quiet game of rearranging the faggots into shapes until Tharonwe took them from her and restacked them neatly. She did not cry. She said nothing. The cave floor was uneven, with deep crevasses not wide enough to fall into, but wide enough to catch an unaware foot in. She sat wrapped in blankets between one and a cave wall, watching the light from the fire dart deeper into the cracks.

"Are there goblins in this cave?" she asked Tharonwe.

He watched her silently, eying her body for every silent utterance. He learned more from her from what she did not say. His stares unnerved her. He considered her question and the uses it could be put to. He could tell her yes and assure her obedience, yet she was a good child already. Instilling fear had uses, but it would not do to waste potential weapons without need. "I do not know." he responded, his voice dulled by the darkness. Some caves echo. Others oppress.

Tharonwe looked up, toward the entrance, a crack just large enough for a grown man to fit through sideways, if he had a light and knew to lower himself carefully. It let in no light in the dark storm, though the snow that built around the edges melted and dripped from the constant temperature of the cave, and the heat of the fire. Tharonwe stood quickly and crossed to the opening, reaching out and pulling a body none too gently through it and inside. Indil watched with wide eyes.

Suddenly the fire lit his face and red hair and Indil cried out, "Raefindan!" and stood. The man only moaned and she ran to take his hand.

[littlemanpoet]

He stood at the edge of a grassy vale, surrounded by blue-green fir trees. He knew this place. The air was thin - he had not recognized that before - they were high up. Away at the other end he saw two bent figures, wearing their old gowns, many years old, one with hair silvery blonde, the other's raven black. His heart leaped and his breath caught. She turned, saw him, and smiled. She rose and came toward him.

"Imrazor, my love! You have returned! You have been away a long time."

He shook his head. She was calling him that name again. He knew it from his readings back in the time from which he'd come. She came up to him and raised her slender hand to his face. Her eyes shone with her love for him; but tears stood in them as she did not see the same love in his own eyes.

"Your time away has blunted your memory again," she said. "Do you not recall our years together? Our children?"

"I - I recall," he said, hearing his voice gruff and uncertain. How was it that he had been united with her in this place, in that time long ago, and also had been in the time yet to come?"

Her eyes left his and looked over his shoulder. "Your thought has brought another." Her tone was fraught with many colors of feeling, so many he could not name them all. He turned and looked back.

"Angela!" For it was she. "How did you get here? Are you real?"

Mithrellas' fingers slipped from his face. He turned. She had backed away from him two steps, her face a mix of grief and hurt.

"Where are we?" Angela said. "I do not know how I came here. Who are these others?" She was looking to her right, at the edge of the glade. He looked. He could see through them to the fir trees. Aeron and Gwyllion.

"I didn't mean to kill you," he blurted. His breath left him and he fell to his knees with the horror of his confession. He looked to the two women who had been central to two different lives he had lived. Both faces looked at him in horrified shock.

"Imrazor!" Mithrellas cried. "Roy!" Angela cried. "Raefindan! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes. It was Indil. She was bent over him where he lay on the floor. He met her eyes. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled, and wept.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë cared not whether Roy Edwards' tears were from remorse or self pity or grief. Why was Nimrodel off on the edge of the vale and not at the center? Preposterous! Everything centered on Nimrodel, and yet in Roy Edwards' dream she had barely figured at all.

He sent his thought to the vale where Nimrodel and her servant waited. He had until now paid scant attention to the servant because she was not the one for whom he craved. Now he looked. Whereas Nimrodel was unchanged, the one called Mithrellas did seem changed; or so he supposed since he had not taken account of her until now.

Was this Roy Edwards your mate in a time gone by?

Who are you that I should answer, miscreant?

Tharonwë scowled. She was strong. It would take much effort of controlled thought to break her down, and he did not have the time. He would have to outflank her instead.

These fëar, however, what did they in the vale? Why did they not pass beyond the walls of Arda like human fëar should? He would question them, but they were beyond his reach somehow. So he turned his attention to the one remaining figure, a young human woman who did not seem to belong. Roy Edwards had called her Angela, his young love from the future. A strange name. He had given much thought to it, and had been sifting Roy Edwards' mind as he had struggled through the growing snowstorm outside: the name 'Angela' was akin to Ainur or Maia. Was the girl then a Maia? He shook his head. That could not be, she was human.

What do you in this vale?

I defy you.

Simple words. She was aware of him, then, and her answer was given in a tone of will that bespoke no fear. His face worked with apprehension. When he came out of his thought he was startled to find that he was looking deep into the eyes of Indil. He shook his head and looked away. But suddenly a possible connection struck him. He turned and held the little girl with his eyes.

"Are you also Angela?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil blinked, and smiled a little, very confused, and she held onto Raefindan's frozen hand, petting it like she might a small cat brought in from the rain. She shivered in the draft from the wall of the cave and cocked her head a little, looking without any fear, for the first time, into Tharonwe's eyes.

"What is an 'angela'? Is it bad?"

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë scowled again. Perhaps it had been a mistake to address the human woman in the vale. It seemed that she lent her courage to this girl, and it seemed that there was little he could do about it. Torture for its own sake was not his way; he always had a purpose for the pain he caused.

"It does not matter," he answered curtly.

He would watch their minds and then determine his next move.

Raefindan

Indil's calming hand helped Roy relax. He calmed and finally fell into a fitful slumber as his lungs and head slowly filled with fluid.

Both women looked at him in horrified shock.

"The Elf forced me."

The horror on the two women's faces changed to understanding and revulsion.

"Please rise, Imrazor." "Please get up, Roy." The women looked at each other again, perplexed. They asked simultaneously, "Who are you? Why do you call him that?"

Roy rose and walked around the vale with the two women and listened as they traded stories. He shook his head in wonder many times.

[mark12_30]

The bed was warm and inviting, the house chill, the out of doors worse. Yet the woman stood, squared her shoulders, and began to add layers of clothing.

Ravion stood off to one side, not knowing whether to help or hinder her, fretting. "You still need rest."

"I will rest on the way, " she replied.

All that came from Ravion after that was an exasperated snort, but he held her cloak for her, and then packed his own things in a few moments. THe Rohirrim likewise deftly made themselves ready, and in a short hour all were lined up and prepared to go.

Ravion stepped to Mellonin's side to help her mount Roheryn (the king's horse, he thought bemused, remembering it as a foal) but she swung deftly onto his back. Perhaps not perfectly, for Roheryn gave a little grunt, and sidestepped once. But the woman refused to let weariness show on her face, and in moments they were headed up the mountain, leaving Saethryd at the door of her cottage.

[mark12_30]

THe snow fell thick and fast, and the horses put their heads down against the driving whiteness. Gond and Roheryn minded it little, but the rohirrim's horses were less pleased.

Ravion let Ædegard and Jorje take the lead. Jorje whined and sometimes zgged back and forth, but always swung back up the mountain. Ædegard urged him on, and the rohirrim followed, with the Easterling on his tall lanky chestnut close behind. Ravion and the elf-woman-- Mellonin-- brought up the rear. Ravion watched her anxiously.

The elf-woman did not mind. It was good to be watched; it was good not to be alone. It was good, she thought, to have a friend. She had not had a friend in a long time.

"Your hands are cold. And your face must be also. Wrap your face against the cold. And lay your hands on Roheryn's neck."

"My hands grow stiff indeed, friend. I will heed your counsel."

Ravion was relieved to see Mellonin wrap her scarf tighter, and then bend forward, and lay her hands along Roheryn's thickly-furred neck.

Ædegard's voice cut through the driving wind as he urged Jorje forward. Ravoin wondered how long their food stores would last, and whether they would find dry wood to burn come nightfall.

[littlemanpoet]

The two women walked side by side and Roy followed them as they strolled around the perimeter of the vale. Roy glanced over to the sad, blonde beauty sitting by herself in a seeming trance. Nimrodel. It must be, since this was Mithrellas.

When they had traversed the perimeter yet another time, they came to where Aeron and Gwyllion sat together hand in hand, and to Roy's surprise they seemed less transparent.

"Are you getting your bodies back?" he asked.

"No," Aeron said matter of factly. "You are fading, like us."

The two women who had been in deep conversation, telling each other about their lives, looked back in startlement. "No!" they said in horror.

"What?" Roy asked.

"You are dying!" Mithrellas said.

Roy stopped and stood still. He closed his eyes. And opened them again. His breathing was more labored than before. He felt like he was slowly drowning. He looked to Indil, who still held his hand. Her eyes which had lost the old fear, had a new one of a sudden. She asked him a question, but he couldn't make it out right away.

"What did you say?" He hacked and coughed against the increasing tightness of his lungs.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil shivered; her hands shook with Raefindan's. Tharonwe looked on from the shadows.

"I said, 'How does Aeron know those ladies?'." she repeated.

[littlemanpoet]

Well, because Gwyllion had seen them and told him while he was alive! Roy shook with frustration that he could not gather enough air to answer the question. But his frustration ran deeper. He had been hoping for something more profound from the girl, some bit of deep wisdom worthy of dream. Why was it not enough that she was seeing right into his dream? That alone was frankly amazing. How was she doing it? But was Indil asking about Angela?

"Do" he breathed again with the small remaining capacity of his lungs "you" he paused again with a great effort "mean" he coughed a shallow, despairing, airless hack "Angela?" The world went dark.

"I can't keep myself alive, I need help," Roy said to the two women.

Angela looked angry with him.

Mithrellas frowned and said, "Do you not understand what you are?"

"What do you mean?"

"You lived in a time long ago when you and I made life together," she said, "and then you lived again in a time far in the future of Middle Earth, and came to know Angela."

"These things are either a dream or they are true," Roy answered.

"They are no dream," Angela stated flatly.

"What people live and die and then live again in Middle Earth?" Mithrellas quizzed.

Roy started shaking his head. "The Eldar," he answered simply.

"Do you know what you are, Imrazor?" Mithrellas quizzed further.

"Are you saying that I am-" Roy could not finish his question, but looked to Angela and said, "But I thought that you and I were destined for-"

"It is given to those born of Elf and Human to choose. Perhaps, Imrazor, you have never chosen?"

Finally Roy understood. His destiny was immortality of one kind or another, and these two women embodied the choices before him. But he was dying and needed more time to choose.

"I'm not ready for this!" he cried and came to again. He looked at Indil again, knowing it was silly to expect an answer of wisdom from such a little girl, and breathed barely loud enough for her to hear, "What should I do?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil smiled, at last confident. "Nap time. That's what my mama always tells me when I don't feel good. She says naps fix everything."

[littlemanpoet]

Roy felt that if he allowed himself to sleep, it could be his final sleep. Maybe that would be best. He exhaled.

He sat up, feeling lighter than he had in a long, long time. He looked at Indil; she was looking calmly down at the figure that lay on the bed, rubbing its hand. Roy stood and looked down at the figure. It was his own body. Now what?

"Am I dead?"

No.

"Are you here too then?"

Of course.

"Why am I here?"

I have been waiting for you to ask.

"I didn't think you were here."

Do not lie.

"I forgot about you."

That is closer to the truth.

"I did not want to think of you." He knew it was true, and bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

I forgive you. You are here to defeat the enemy.

"Who is the enemy?" As soon as he had spoken Roy knew it was Tharonwë, and turned to look at him; he had moved to the bedside and was studying Indil's mind, trying to probe his own. Roy saw that Tharonwë was sure that he was not dead, and exasperated that his mind was beyond the Elf's reach. "How do I defeat him?"

I will show you.

"Just like it used to be," Roy said with a smile.

Yes.

"What about my sickness?"

It is the same as always.

Roy nodded as memories of his life in the future came flooding back as they had not until then. He realized that he had been holding them off, not wanting to remember. He almost rationalized that he had not wanted to remember because then Tharonwë could ransack his thoughts; but he acknowledged to himself that he had not wanted to remember the future (his own past) because he had become too enamored of this place and time. Now he was sure of his purpose, and his loves realigned.

He laid himself back down on the bed, knew again his own flesh, opened his eyes, and stared straight into the eyes of Tharonwë. The two strove with each other, even as Roy's lungs cleared a little more with each deeper breath. The Elf's will was strong as he strove to gain entrance again to Roy's mind; but all Roy needed to do for now was to hold him off. More scrimmages would occur later, but he knew this was one he would win.

The moment that thought had crystalized in his mind, the Elf broke off and staggered away. Roy sat up and looked to the shivering little one. He picked her up in his arms and held her close.

"It's good to see you again, Angela," he said.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil cuddled against Raefindan's chest, her head tucked under his chin. She could remember being held this way before, by her father.

Raefindan felt her shivers turn to trembling and loosened his embrace just enough to see her face. Her eyes, Angela's bright eyes, did not weep, but were filled with sadness.

"What troubles you, little Indil?" he asked, gently jostling her.

She held one of his large hands in both of hers, studying his fingers. "Tharonwe does not like to play."

Raefindan looked up at the Elf and wondered what thoughts ranged through his dark mind. He looked back down to Indil and asked, "What have you done to stay busy?"

She mumbled her responses. "We walked very far. And he does not like to talk. Except when he wants me to tell him about my dreams. Raefindan, how did you find me in the snow? It's very cold out. And snowy. And cold."

"I do not know, Indil. I think perhaps I was meant to find you. And I was trying very, very hard."

"Did everybody else not want to find me? Is that why you came alone?"

[littlemanpoet]

Roy paused; he had been gently rocking back and forth. How was he to answer such a difficult question? With the truth, of course, but the truth spoken wrongly could do more harm than good.

"Did you know, Indil, that Tharonwë looks into our minds?" She nodded silently. "Well, he can give us thoughts that we think are our own. Did you know that?" Indil shook her head. "It's true," Roy nodded gravely. "He wants something he shouldn't, and we've been trying to stop him from getting it."

"What does he want?"

"He wants a thing he does not own and he's trying to take it from the one who does."

"That's stealing," Indil pronounced sagely.

"Right, so he put a thought in the others' heads that I sas helping him to try to steal the thing. So now they don't trust me."

"That's bad," Indil commented. "He shouldn't do that. We should tell him."

"What are you telling the girl?" Tharonwë's cold voice challenged him from where he sat, his back to the wall, his chilly eyes staring at Roy icily.

"The truth."

Indil turned and looked at Tharonwë. "You shouldn't steal," she said clearly but gently. "It's wrong."

Tharonwë's eyes flicked to the girl and his brows lowered. He stared at her as if he was trying to peel the gentleness off of her face. He broke off suddenly.

"Aulë's bones!" Tharonwë cursed. "You should not tell the girl such things. It is far more complicated than that. You mislead her."

"You have so misled yourself," Roy answered solemnly, "that you cannot see the simple truth laid before you."

"Hah!" Tharonwë laughed mirthlessly. "Say what you like, it matters not."

"We shall see," Roy replied calmly.

He knew what his next scrimmage would be. He would hold Tharonwë here until the others came this far, and he would then hand him over to them. Following that, he would fight to win back their trust; not for his own sake, but so that their quest's goal could be achieved. He started rocking Indil, and felt her little body's dozing tremors as she fell off to sleep.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

When she woke, Raefindan was asleep and Tharonwe was nowhere to be seen. She watched her sleeping friend and leaned in close to kiss his forehead, like her mother used to do to her. His eyelids fluttered gently, but he did not stir. The fire had become mere embers.

From the darkness, she saw eyes gleam and stiffened, ready to scream. It was Tharonwe; she did not relax.

"Why do you hide in shadows, Tharonwe?" she asked. "It is so hard to see anything."

"My vision exceeds yours, human child."

"But the sun is so pretty."

"Light blinds sensitive eyes. In darkness, every vision is possible."

She shook her head. "You are silly. I miss sunshine. My mama says the sun is like a hug. It makes you warm and safe."

"Your mother was a human fool."

"You," she said firmly, "are mean."

Tharonwe inspected his nails in the darkness. With a stick he prodded a breath of sparks into the air. "Do you believe that you are not mean?"

"I try to be good." she said hesitantly, and then said, "No. I am not mean, and you are not being very nice to me."

"What is nice, little girl?" His voice was almost too sweet. She shivered as he prodded the fire; she watched the embers glow and sparkle.

"Nice is stirring soup before Mama has to ask and nice is picking pretty flowers."

"What if stirring the soup too much makes it thick and unsavoury? Is that nice, to ruin what nourishment your mother has concocted for you, because you have not the patience to wait for instructions? Is it nice to kill plants for your amusement? I think you are a very not nice little girl."

She took an indignant breath. "I am too nice."

"I think you lie."

"My papa taught me that lies are bad."

"And you never lie, surely." His voice was a hiss.

Indil propped her fists on her hips. "Never."

"Do you know where Nimrodel is?" He looked into her eyes as she stood silent, frozen. "Ah, you do know. And her servant told you not to tell me. Do not lie to me. Good girls never lie."

When Raefindan woke, he found Indil wrapped up in blankets in total darkness, sobbing.

"What is wrong, Indil?" he asked, glaring into the dense blackness for the form of the Elf.

"He asked me to tell him a secret."

Raefindan gathered her into his arms, still unable to hear or see Tharonwe. "And did you tell him a secret?"

"They asked me not to tell him things. But he asked me. He said only naughty children lie."

"What did he ask you, Indil?" Raefindan asked gently, but insistantly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

She shook violently and accidentally bit her lip. "He asked me where to find the ladies."

[littlemanpoet]

Roy considered what the ramifications of Indil's confession might be. It had not occurred to him that Tharownë might not know where Nimrodel and Mithrellas were; indeed, he had not considered that Tharonwë might not know. Perhaps he did, and was now manipulating Indil in order to find a weakness. To him, that seemed to be the issue of greater immediate import.

"Sometimes, Indil, the truth need not be spoken to someone who will use it for ill. It is not a lie to say nothing at all."

He looked at Tharonwë through narrowed eyes. It was tempting to lash out in his anger, but it would not be wise. What was needful?

What is his purpose? Roy asked himself. It is to grasp his desire, and to use any tools how he will to achieve that, no matter the condition when he drops them.

He was tempted to ask Indil to wake him whenever the Elf talked to her; but then he considered that Elves need no sleep, and realized the hold he would be digging for himself.

What should I do? he asked silently.

He received no answer.

Then I will wait until I know what to do.

"Shall we play a game?" he asked Indil.

She looked up into his face and nodded yes.

"You choose the game."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

The fire rebuilt, Indil gathered many small stones and one much larger one.

"This will be the city and these will be houses." she explained with great care. "And this," here she drew an imaginary line with her finger, "is the road."

"Is this Minas Tirith?" Raefindan asked as Tharonwe watched boredly.

"Yes. And this is the road." She pointed again. "And this is where Bergil found me."

She pointed to a spot on the road and Raefindan racked his mind for location before realizing suddenly how futile it was to trust to the accuracy of a child's made up map. He considered the questions he could ask Indil of her map, but settled on, "So what is the game?"

"This is the mountain we're on." She pointed to a large rock she sat beside. "And these," a handful of pebbles, "are Bergil and Mellondu and everybody."

She set them into place upon the rock, arranging them carefully. "This is us." She placed one slightly larger pebble into a small indentation in the stone.

"No Elf?" asked Raefindan.

"No. I do not want to play with him. He left. His pebble is over there." She pointed across the cave, as far into the dark and as far from her as she could see.

"But this is Bergil, hm?"

"No, this one is Bergil. That one is Ædegard and Jorge. They are cold. They are looking for us. See? They are on the mountain."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"And it is cold with blowing snow all over the mountain, right?" asked Raefindan.

"Yes."

"What happens next?"

"Next Ædegard slips because it is icy, but he does not get hurt, because somebody," Indil acted it out, "catches him. And he says, 'Thank you,' and the other person says, 'No thanks are needed, friend,' and then they keep walking, and they are shivering," This was punctuated by a shiver in the girl, "because it is cold and snowing. Brrr, cold. And it is hard because it is a mountain and it is not flat, so when it gets slippery they slip a lot."

"Who caught Ædegard?" Raefindan asked.

"Silly Raefindan," she said, "That rock is yours. That means you get to pick."

"Ahhh!" The rules of the game dawned on Roy and he smiled. "You are right, Indil, I was being silly. Hmm-" It would not be Ravion because he would be in the lead. "It was Liornung who caught Ædegard. And then he sang a song he made up to keep their spirits up. Ravion would be leading them all but Jorje is too eager to be in the lead and he jumps through the snow with leap after leap, barking as he goes, trying to say 'halloooo! Where are yoooooo'!"

Indil giggled at the thought of Jorge. "And then Ravion says, 'Quiet Jorge!' because he thinks he hears something."

"What does he hear?"

Indil looks seriously into Raefindan's eyes as a deafening series of crashes echo outside of their cave. "Snow is falling off the mountain."

Roy sat up straight and his eyes opened wide. Avalanche! But we are high up, he thought. He looked back to Indil. Her eyes were wide too. He snuggled her into his arms again, glad of the warmth of her little body to calm his worried nerves.

"The snow falls and gathers more snow, and Ravion sees it far above and drawing near. Without a word, he points them to their left, then leads them as they struggle to avoid the thundering mass as it approaches."

Indil said something then, but Roy did not quite hear. "What is that?"

"I said, 'I hope Jorge listens to Ravion.' Because he is ahead of them and maybe he didn't see Ravion point. I wish Jorge was here with us."

"I do to, Indil." Roy had more confidence in Jorje's good senses than he did in that of the humans. "Dogs know their packs. Jorje notices the change when they start going the other way and bounds through the snow after them.

"But the avalanche (that's what we call snow that falls down the side of a mountain where I come from) keeps building and getting closer. But by chance, if chance you call it, the slope was not so steep just above them, for they were at the knee of the mountain. An arm of the mountain reached over and placed its hand on its knee just above them, and caught most of the snow. What snow it didn't catch, slowed and was turned away from our friends."

"And then they climb over it!" she cried happily as the pounding from outside slowed to a dull rumble. "Raefindan, does it snow a lot where you come from?"

"Yes. Where I come from there is a big lake. The cold wind picks up the water from the lake and turns it to snow and dumps it on the place where I live. Many feet of snow fall on us each year. But not as much as way up here." Raefindan looked all around them, looking at the dark ceiling of the cave as if his mind's eye pierced through and saw snow in every direction. He looked again at Indil, and smiled. "So do the hunters find those they hunt?"

"Yes." she said. "But the mean elf is not happy when they do."

Roy shot a glance toward Tharonwe, who watched with what seemed to be disinterest, yet Roy could tell he was listening intently by the light in his eyes.

"You said the mean elf was over there." Roy pointed across the cave into the dark.

"Yes, Raefindan." Indil sounded exasperated and Roy briefly hid a smile. "But now he is back. Because he never goes away for very long and he is always watching and I do not think he wants us to be saved. Or hunted. I think he wants to be the hunter instead."

"That may be, Indil," Roy said with a wink, "but he is hunted will he or no."

Her eyes went wide suddenly. "Oh. You mean the others."

"Not only," he whispered. "But back to our game. Ædegard, Jorje, and the others peek around a lee of the mountain and find staring back at them Bergil, Mellondu, and Erebemlin. And what do you think they say to each other?"

"I think they are very happy to see each other and they do not hug because they are busy being grown up men, but Jorje kisses everybody!"

Roy laughed. "You think that they would not embrace out of gladness to be together again?"

Indil nodded seriously. "I think that Erebemlin does not like to touch people. I think it maybe makes him sad because sometimes he looks at people and he does not seem happy. 'Specially Mellondu. And sometimes Mellondu is the same way, but sometimes he is playful. Raefindan, why is Mellondu not always like Mellondu? And then Ravion would say 'Where is Aeron and Raefindan? Were they not with you?' and Bergil would say 'Aeron is with his sister,' because that is where he is."

Roy looked closely at Indil as she picked out several new pebbles and kept them in her lap, safe in the folds of her dress. "Aeron and his sister and Mithrellas and Nimrodel and Angela." she explained. "Singing songs. Except they are not always happy songs because they are not always happy."

And of me, thought Roy, what to they say? That I am a turncoat and pawn of Tharonwë, and a murderer. Will the others believe it? Roy teetered for a moment over a chasm of self-pity before righting himself and firming his resolve. It did not matter what they thought; what mattered was what he did from now on.

Tharonwë rose. "The storm has abated. We will leave here now."

[mark12_30]

Jorje barked greeting repeatedly to the Elf and two men that they found under the outcropping.

"We greet you!" cried Ædegard. But then he marked that three of them were missing. With rising trepidation he asked, "Where are Raefindan, Aeron, and Indil?"

The three stood to meet Ædegard. Mellondu met Ædegard’s gaze, but did not speak. Erebemlin put his hand on Mellondu’s shoulder, and was also silent.

Bergil stepped forward, and his jaw worked. “The child, “he replied, “has been stolen. By Tharonwe. He took the little one.”

Ravion stepped forward, face ashen. “What would he want with the child? But—Aeron. Where is Aeron? And Raefindan?”

“Dead.”

“What—both? Ah, vile fiend!” Ravion snarled, his hand now on his hilt. “Foul villain and most vile!”

Erebemlin spoke. “Villain indeed; but he did not take Aeron’s life. Raefindan did that.”

Ravion stared.

Mellondu seemed to shake himself awake, and toward him faltered Mellonin, pale and wan. She paused beside Ravion, and placed a slender hand on his shoulder. Ravion started, Mellondu scowled, and Mellonin spoke.

“Friend, I grieve with thee. Alas for the boy. But who is this Raefindan? I see a red haired man, with a long past and deep pain. He was once thy friend as well?”

Ravion stared at her, his jaw working, but no speech came. Mellondu stepped to his sister.

“Mellonin.”

Mellonin met his gaze. “She is here.”

Mellondu’s jaw dropped. “Mellonin!”

Her eyes closed, and she swayed. Ravion started, and steadied her; Mellondu, a moment behind, took her shoulders, and barely heard her whisper, “Brother mine,” before she went limp. As she fell both men caught her, glaring at one another in baffled disbelief. Finally Mellondu cried out, “What have you done?”

Ravion snarled at him. “I would die for her; I did nothing to her. As you do, she bears an elven fea.”

Mellondu went silent, and clasped his sister to his breast. Ravion, torn between grief over Aeron and indignation at Mellondu, turned toward Bergil.

“Did you kill Raefindan? And what of the girl? You have tracked her and her captor? How far are they?”



*~*~*


Erebemlin's gaze seemed clouded, and Nethwador slid off of his big red
horse. The tall powerful elf stared down at the small slender Easterling,
and the boy looked up, waiting. Erebemlin touched the boy's mind.


Where is the king?

Asleep in prison.

I wish the blacksmith were kinder to him.

As do I.

I wish I could speak into his mind, as you speak into mine.

As do I.

Can you not speak to the blacksmith?

Erebemlin did not reply to the boy, and the boy wondered how many times Erebemlin had tried.

Mellondu called for water. Bella brought a water flask to the half-conscious Mellonin, and she drank.

[Formendacil]

“Did you kill Raefindan? And what of the girl? You have tracked her and her captor? How far are they?”

As Ravion turned to Bergil, the younger ranger felt a flush of mild guilt. Ravion, he knew, had been close to Aeron, and also had probably considered Raefindan a friend.

"We did not kill him," said Bergil. "It would not have brought Aeron back, and his sudden violence, though inexcusable, was too curious to merit such irrevocable justice. We sent him on alone, instead. Either he has joined Tharonwë or he has rescued Indil. The second seems unlikely, but it would be good fortune if he had."

"Or he is dead," said Ravion with little emotion, and with Bergil he turned to look over their path.

"Or he is dead," Bergil nodded solemnly. "We shall not know, I suppose, until we find Indil and the swamp-Elf. Unfortunately, their trail has become more difficult to follow with the ill weather that arose about when Raefindan departed. Indeed, I am glad you have caught up with us, for you have been a ranger for longer years that I, and I would fain have your help. I believe we are not far behind them, but much time could be lost seeking the remnants of their trail--and I would not lengthen Indil's captivity with that villain any longer than absolutely necessary. I fear greatly for her safety."

"And well you should," said Ravion, half to himself, remembering Gwyllion's brutal end, even as the new rush of anger at Aeron's passing returned in strength. "Mellondu? Erebemlin? Are we ready to depart?"

[mark12_30]

Confound the Ranger! My sister lies weak and helpless in my arms, and he asks to move on?

Erebemlin raised an eyebrow. "I doubt your sister would deny his wish."

Mellondu had not expected Erebemlin to hear his thoughts, and he started, but scowled. Bella patiently gave Mellonin drop after drop of water.

"My sister has seen enough of that villain, " said Mellondu.

"Doubtless the same could be said of the child Indil," replied Erebemlin.

Mellondu lowered his head, laying his cheek against her forehead, and then kissing her brow. His head snapped up a moment later.

Friend.

"Who are you?"

Nay, that you know, or you once did. I sought the ancient starlit shores, but did not find them. I have returned. The thoughts were soft and sad, but they held a mild rebuke.

"Why do you tell me this?"

I have returned, but you have not. Despite her dust-filled years of longing, she abides alone.

Mellondu went pale. "You know where she is."

Nay, my lord. But I know that she is. And that is less than she knows of you.

Bella started as Mellondu lurched to his feet, lifting Mellonin. Ravion turned, protest dying on his lips even as Erebemlin signaled a halt with his hand.

Mellondu gazed down at his sister as her eyelids fluttered open. "What is your name?"

They call me Avarien, the Unwilling. Yet I have come.

"Come to what?"

I have come to find my lady Nimrodel. Nor will my search end til she is found.

Erebemlin watched with baited breath as the rebuke settled into Mellondu's soul.

"My sister needs rest. When she is able, we will depart, " he said. Meeting Ravion's gaze, he lifted Mellonin into both arms.

A clear voice came from Mellonin's lips. "I am able now."

Ravion shook his head. "Willing, yes. Able, not yet. You must rest."

Mellonin's head lifted, and met the ranger's gaze. "Friend, I yield to your counsel, yet not without protest. I will rest in the saddle."

Ravion smiled, and shook his head. "When you have rested a little, I will allow it," he added. "We have much to do. There is a child in great danger."

The ranger took vigil beside Mellonin, as Mellondu rose and paced.

[mark12_30]

Mellondu paced steadily as an hour passed, and then two.

Nethwador sat down, closed his eyes, and waited. As the twilight descended, he felt, rather than saw three tall golden haired elves shimmering under the stars.

One stood, quiet, with a strong hope. One lay resting, wearily determined. Deep within the third, what had long smouldered, now burned brightly.

Nethwador hugged his knees to his chest, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. On the edge of his mind shimmered the golden joy Nethwador had long missed.

He opened his eyes, and looked over at Mellondu pacing. There he saw no change. But on the face of the tall golden elf, was a new peace.

He closed his eyes again. He would wait.

[littlemanpoet]

While the others saw to the needs of Mellonin, or whomever she now was, Ædegard went over to Leafa. Jorje joined them, pushing his head under Ædegard's good hand, who scratched the dog's ears absently.

"I can't imagine it, Leafa," he said. "Raefindan? It makes no sense. He wouldn't kill Aeron. There must be some mistake."

"Might Aeron have provoked him?" she asked, shaking her head to counter her own suggestion.

Ædegard smiled in spite of himself. "Not since his sister's death. He was mischievous, I am told, before that, but was greatly subdued afterward. Her death changed him. It is almost as if he perhaps welcomed it." But that did not sit well either. "Nay, I cannot believe that our friends lie. But if Raefindan did this deed, he cannot have been in his right mind."

Liornung stood nearby. "Did you hear your last words, Ædegard? Perhaps he was not in his right mind. Did not Tharonwë work such mischief before?"

"Yes, but then how is it that these three think nothing of that?"

"I do not know," Liornung replied

"Maybe," Leafa tentatively offered, "we should ask them?"

"If," Liornung ventured, "Tharonwë did something to their thinking, would they even know?"

Ædegard held his head between his hand and stump and shook his head violently, overcome with the complexity of such thinking. "I say we start off as soon as we may and catch them up, and see Raefindan for ourselves."

"'Tis a fair plan," Liornung said lightly. "And I feel inspired to sing, even in this cold wasteland. My fiddle cannot be kept tuned, so you must bear my voice unmatched by my fiddle."

With that he started singing a song of heat and sun and grass and fields of grain ripening ot harvest.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë rose. "The storm has abated. We will leave here now."

Roy eased Indil to her feet and rose also. "We will not leave."

The Elf's eyes narrowed and he seemed to grow taller. "Do not try to hinder me, or it will go ill with you."

"It will not."

Tharonwë was unsettled by the certainty in Roy Edwards' voice. Perhaps he had indeed changed. How he had been able to withstand Tharonwë's osanwë, he did not know; but he had. If he could not overcome him directly, then he would use other means.

"Then it will go ill with the girl, and that shall be on your head, for I will not be hindered."

Roy stepped sideways to Indil even as Tharonwë was speaking, and picked her up into his arms.

"I will not let you harm the girl."

This was getting irritating, thought Tharonwë. He let out an exasperated huff of air. "Do you really think you can stop me, fool?" His voice was more shrill than he expected. He lifted his arm and pointed at the two of them to aid his mind's will over them. "You will walk ahead of me. Now!"

Roy did not move. He could feel the will trying to impose itself upon him, but he was determined not to give in. How shall I act?

Give no quarter.

Uncertainty vanished. "Tharonwë, you have no power nor authority over me nor Indil. The reverse is true, though you do not comprehend it. For this reason I was sent here. You will remain until the others arrive."

Tharonwë stiffened. "I will not!" Yet the certainty in Roy Edwards' voice betrayed a force of will the like of which Tharonwë had never faced. He used his osanwë to attempt to pierce and so perceive it, but was forced back and recoiled. Yet even as he recoiled, he perceived a light and power - a fëa? - that was not Roy Edwards yet lay in him and was linked with Roy's own fëa. A Maia?

"No, Tharonwë," Roy said, "not a Maia. You cannot comprehend. This is beyond you. But as you can see, I have a power greater than yours. So don't fight. Sit down and wait."

Tharonwë shook his head, dumbfounded. And he sat down. He had much to think on.

[littlemanpoet]

The sky was ablaze with sunlight. The snow glared the light into the eyes of all so that they were almost blinded. Except for the Elf. Nevertheless, they pushed on. It was cold and the snow was deep. The path was treachersously narrow as it circled along the mountain slope, the deep chasm yawning to their right.

Ædegard supposed that there must be a fast flowing mountain stream at the bottom of the gorge, and that it must be filled quickly to a torrent in spring, considering how much snow lay upon the mountains. But for now it was a quiet waste.

Erembemlin went ahead, walking lightly on the surface of the snow. Ravion came behind, given the guidance of Erebemlin's barely discernable footprints, using his arms and feet to clear as much as he could of the snow from the path. Bergil came next, clearing what escaped Ravion's limbs. He was followed by Mellondu who cleared what Bergil left behind.

It became clear soon enough that the horse must be left behind. Mellonin/Avarien was told the situation, and agreed to walk, hard on her as it would be. She spoke to the horse, removing its gear, and set it free. It picked its way down the mountainside and was lost from view finally around the knee of the mountain.

The others straggled behind the Elf, rangers, and Mellonin, with Ædegard taking up the rear. They stopped often to rest, for the going was very difficult. Erebemlin tried not to show impatience. They all feared that Tharonwë was leaving them far behind.

So it was that the sun was just going down behind the jagged horizon of the mountains to their west when they came to the final pass, where they found a small cave. They decided that they must rest there.

To their surprise they found Indil waiting for them, as if she had been expecting them all day. Behind her stood Raefindan, calm and serious; behind them was a small and fitful fire, and sitting beyond it in a shadowy corner was Tharonwë.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Raefindan!" Indil cried, "They found us just like I said they would! Was there very much snow where you came from?"

Very seriously she stood before them, waiting for response to her query, her face glowing with her smile, her entire little body radiating peace and happiness at their friends' arrival.

Yet Tharonwe's voice spoke from the shadows in a hiss, "The child, perhaps, they have come to save, Roy Edwards, but have they come to set a murderous traitor free?"

Jorge growled at the Elf, and scuffled his way over the rock to Indil, tail wagging as he approached her, and she threw her arms around his neck, and all at once began to cry, blind to all the others, as he licked at her face and whimpered in commiseration.

[mark12_30]

Mellondu's gaze at the black elf was cold and distant, but Mellonin's flamed with rage. Ravion glanced at her and then grasped her upper arm, and restrained her; incredibly, the elf-woman allowed it.

Erebemlin stepped forward, slowly, and Mellondu's body stiffened with each step Erebemlin took.

"Roy Edwards, or whatever his true name may be, is not our concern, however he may have grieved us. His doom is his own, I deem. Nor are you our concern, now that we see that the child is safe."

Tharonwe seemed to struggle for a moment, and then he slowly stood. "If I am not your concern, then you are a fool."

"Perhaps, " Erebemlin replied, but his eyes lit with a joy that he did not conceal. A moment later, a lilting laughter filled the cave, growing louder and louder as it rang out in the cold air. Erebemlin's joy spread from his eyes, to his lips, and soon his deep ringing laughter joined Mellonin's. Then the blacksmith's laughter joined them too; but the blacksmith's laughter was not like the laugh of men, but like rippling gold, sunlight on the water.

Ravion looked at Raefindan, and wondered what sudden joy had come over the elves; all the elves but one. Black rage was on Tharonwe's face, but it held no sway over the others.

Erebemlin turned to face the blacksmith, and his eyes were wild with joy.

My lord, my lord, she is near. She is near. Do you not feel her song? She is near.

Mellondu walked to Erebemlin, and the great golden elf and the sturdy gondorian blacksmith clasped forearms. The fire in Erebemlin's eyes spread to Mellondu's.

Yes, my faithful friend. I hear her voice. At last, at last. She is near. At last.

Mellondu turned to Avarien.

I shall nevermore name you faithless. Good lady, best of friends, I name you friend of Amroth. You have led us well. May you be forever blessed.

Mellonin shook her head, tears of joy stinging her face in the cold. "Good my lord," she replied. "It was the child. I but followed the child. The blessing belongs to her."

[mark12_30]

Ravion waited, fidgeting. Mellonin and Mellondu were more happy than he had ever seen them, and their laughter was rich and full. He had but one wish; that Aeron and Gwyllion had been here to share it.

He watched Raefindan, and releasing Mellonin, slowly approached the red-haired man. He spoke through the ringing laughter, and was barely heard.

"Erebemlin may release you from the judgement of elves; but as a man, I am less than satisfied. Where is Aeron?"

Raefindan opened his mouth to answer, but Jorje leaped up with cold wet paws and a great red tongue ran over Raefindan's face. He spluttered. The dog leaped at Ravion next, who stepped backwards; glaring at Raefindan, Ravion fended off the great hound as he leaped and leaped again. Then the dog burst into a warbling howl, tail thrashing with unbridled glee.

"Enough!" Ravion shouted, and the dog replied with a torrent of barking. Between the laughter of the elves and the barking of the dog, there was no time for speech.

Ravion met the eyes of the black elf, and then looked away. He did not want to sink into that mire.

"We will speak of this in time, " he shouted to Raefindan. Jorje jumped on him again, and Ravion wiped his face with his sleeve.

Bergil stepped forward even as the laughter caught up with Indil. Her little voice rippled with glee, and the mountainside rang again; Raefindan was laughing now, and several of the Rohirrim were exchanged puzzled smiles. Bergil knelt down near Indil, and looked into her eyes..

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Hello, Indil," he said quietly, taking her hand in his. "As you can see, we are glad to have found you. How are you feeling?"

The Ranger looked her over carefully, and found her little worse for wear. While her face looked far paler, and her feet and hands were scraped, and she looked very tired, and her eyes still held the traces of tears, her face was lit with a truly happy smile, and her little body seemed to have acquired no hurts which time alone could not fix.

"I wish mama and papa were here." she said, petting Jorje slowly. "Mama used to tell me stories about Elf ladies. She said they had pretty laughs, and that their eyes sparkled." She bowed her little head. "I miss my mama."

[littlemanpoet]

Roy laughed for the joy he saw and heard, and felt.

With Bergil greeting Indil, he considered himself freed up for the moment to engage whatever questions might come. He became suddenly aware that he could hear familiar voices in his head, and some unfamiliar. More surprising yet, he realized that he was listening in his head to the four Elves in the room. Did they know that he could hear them?

Ravion's question needed to be answered. Roy grew sobre, but the smile did not leave his face. He motioned to Ravion and the other humans, excepting Bergil, to gather just outside the cave so that they could speak. Ravion seemed willing enough, and the others as well. They moved outside. It was still cold, but warming, and the sun shown almost blindingly on the bright snow.

The others stood watching him and waiting.

"Aeron is dead," Roy told them. "I am responsible. I allowed Tharonwë to control my mind for a while, and he caused me to try to kill Mellondu. But Aeron fought against me with Mellondu, and in the heat of the moment I threw him over the edge of the cliff to his death. He lies there now. The moment I had done the deed, I came to my senses and regretted the deed. Regret cannot bring him back nor redress the deed. Had I been truthful with myself the sooner, I would have had the strength to withstand Tharonwë; but because I allowed myself to believe lies, he had a means into my mind, and so the deed was done.

"But finally I told myself the truth and repented of my lies, and all my memory came back, and I was able to withstand Tharonwë, and more, was able to hold him prisoner in the cell he had made for us, until you arrived. That is my tale, and it is true. I grieve for my part in Aeron's death, and will do all I can to avenge him and redress my wrong."

[Formendacil]

Bergil thrust any concern for the strange laughter affecting the Elves from his mind as he bent down to greet Indil, who herself had caught the infectious glee. At another time, Bergil would have been rather concerned about the Elven laughter, for their seemed to be precious little to laugh about. They had unexpectedly found Tharonwë incapacitated, certainly, and Indil was safer than he had dared hope, but the situation was still far too grave for such mirth, in his view.

Kneeling in front of Indil, and holding her hand, Bergil glanced over her face and arms, hoping to confirm that she was an unharmed as she appeared. There seemed to be little to fear, for Indil wore a smile that had no shadow of fear, and bore all the excitement of a child who, having just been found, had suffered no worse trauma than being lost.

"As you can see," he said, himself smiling in wide relief, "we are glad to have found you. How are you feeling?"

"I wish mama and papa were here." she said, petting the dog that followed them slowly. "Mama used to tell me stories about Elf ladies. She said they had pretty laughs, and that their eyes sparkled." She bowed her head. "I miss my mama."

Indil's smile faded, and Bergil's own heart tensed in sympathy. The little girl had been separated from her family for many days indeed now, and at her age, that must have seemed an even longer age than it did to Bergil.

"Don't worry, Indil," said Bergil, his hands on her shoulders now, eyes directly across from her, "we're almost done with this quest. Just another few days and we can go home and find your family."

Indil said nothing, and seemed to be on the verge of tears, so Bergil pulled her into a tight hug, rocking her slightly. Looking over her shoulder, he could see the four Elves (or those who were acting as Elves, anyway. Bergil was beginning to lose surety over who was whom). They were speaking not, but still bore smiles wide with joy, and Bergil could tell from their eyes that though they said nothing, they were still communicating with each other, and as his eyes lit up Raefindan, it seemed to him that the red-haired man understood them.

This gave Bergil a deep shiver, and he clung to Indil's trembling body, seeking comfort in her small, human warmth. Once before, he had seen Elves in a great celebration, during Midsummer's Eve after the War of the Ring, when Elessar had wedded Queen Arwen. That too had been an eerie night, and even as a rash boy, Bergil had been clearly aware of the differences between Men and Elves.

"They are fey," his father had said. "Fair, both in their actions and in their appearances, but also fey."

Still clasping Indil, Bergil understood why the Rohirrim had shunned the Golden Wood, and why his own people had fallen out of friendship with the Elves. They were indeed a fey people.

Letting Indil go enough that he could look at her again, as her trembling subsided and the readiness to cry turned into more of a sniffling, Bergil held her away so that he could see her face.

"It will be all right, Indil," he said. "We will find your family."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil looked into Bergil's eyes and smiled with the sad surety of one who has seen many, many years. "No, Bergil."

It seemed as though a voice spoke to her then, or through her, one which had long spoken to her in dream: Mithrellas, whose blood flowed through Indil's mother's veins, through her own.

"Amroth," she said quietly, turning to them, her sweet voice echoing on the wet stone, "Erebemlin. Avarien. Nimrodel awaits. Mithrellas stands beside her, ever faithful, ever vigilant and with them are those who have been lost to us. Ravion, your Aeron is laughing with his sister by a stream where she can see her face rippling, reflected. Roy Edwards, one whom you have long missed patiently watches for your return. And Bergil..." she whispered, "My mama and my papa are there, but they are with Aeron, not with Mithrellas."

[mark12_30]

Ravion opened his mouth to reply to Raefindan, but Indil's little voice cut through the cold air, and Ravion started, and closed his mouth again. All the elves gave her heed.

When her last whisper echoed off the rocks, no one stirred for a while, except the black elf, a little.

Ravion glanced at Ædegard, and at Liornung, and at Bella; then back to Raefindan. THen he shook his head.

"We will discuss this further, later. Meanwhile it seems we will soon be once again on the march."

Raefindan met his gaze and held it. "I lie not."

Ravion sighed. "I know. Yet the boy is still dead."

Raefindan nodded. "He is. Yet though my will, mind and body were used, it was another who sought to kill him: that same mind that killed Aeron's sister."

Ravion's only answer was a tightening of his lips, and a shudder as he remembered Gwyllion's tortured end. Should he fear Raefindan or trust him? he wondered. And then he remembered Erebemlin, and Avarien. They would know.

He turned to seek Mellonin.

[Formendacil]

"And Bergil..." she whispered, "My mama and my papa are there, but they are with Aeron, not with Mithrellas."

Perhaps because Mithrellas gave her strength, or perhaps because she was too young to comprehend the impact of what she said, or perhaps because she was stronger than her years suggested, Bergil knew not which, but Indil remained steady while he felt as though the world had fallen out from beneath him, as sympathy for Indil coursed through him. She was too young and innocent to deserve what had befallen them on the road; to have no family to rejoin was worse.

Embracing the little girl again, for his own support, Bergil rocked slightly, not comforting her so much as he found himself unsteady. No tears fell from his stricken face, for too many years of proud training and hardship held them at bay, but the lack did not disguise the impact of the knowledge on him.

"Do not fear, Indil," he said in a low voice, which was the most he could manage to keep level. "I will be your surety of a home when we return to Minas Tirith."

And how will that be? Bergil could hear the doubt in his mind, expressing itself in the voice of his younger brother, Borlas. Borlas, the steadier of the sons of Beregond, had often been at odds with his more impetuous older brother, and during his time of training with the rangers, Bergil had accustomed himself to thinking as his brother would, whenever he had grappled with a situation he knew he was handling without due thought.

You have no home, and you are a ranger on the borders of Ithilien. You have no place for a child in your life, and no one to promise her care for.

"If I have to leave the Rangers," Bergil looked directly into Indil's eyes, resolute, "I will make sure you are warded." If Indil understood the full meaning of his words, Bergil did not know, but she certainly knew the tone of his speech, and she hugged him back with the gleeful bliss of a child who is loved, and even at her young age, she recognised the rock-solid immovability of Bergil's word.

You'll regret this, Borlas' voice advised him. Being discharged so early in your service is not easy. You know nothing of raising a child. Prince Faramir will disapprove. Father will disapprove. You'll miss the rangers. This cannot end well.

It already has, Bergil thought, as he slowly released Indil from his embrace, standing tall, and hoisting the girl over his shoulders and onto his back. Worries aside, he could not have brought himself to promise any less.

[mark12_30]

Before Ravion reached Mellonin's side, he was at peace.

Mellonin needed rest, but the elves swept into action as Bergil lifted Indil to his to his back. Erebemlin motioned Tharonwe towards Raefindan, who nodded.

Erebemlin and Ravion hastened to catch up to Mellonin and Mellondu, who were already turning downhill. The rest of the men swung into line behind the elves. Ravion knew that Mellonin was deeply weary, but she showed no sign of it; indeed, though the stars were hidden in mist, the snow about the elves' feet showed a faint glimmer, a blending of silver and gold.

They traveled downhill steadily, surefooted despite the dark. Ravion wished that the sky would clear; and he thought, as if in reply to his hopes, that he smelled a sea-wind. Several times through the night he caught the scent. Just past midnight the sky began to clear; stars peeped through; and as the snow gave way to grass beneath their feet, the mist was swept away entirely, and the sky was ablaze with stars.

[mark12_30]

From the tiniest crevice in a plain grey rock, a trickle of water dribbled onto the cold dirt below.

The blacksmith knelt, and touched his fingers to the trickle of water. Nethwador stood behind, and Erebemlin did not even turn his gaze towards the water.

Amroth's fingers, shining and cold from the icy water, came toward his face. With eyes closed, he savored the scent of the water, and then his fingers tightened into a fist, and Amroth stood.

This water would please her.

Nethwador smiled. He was exhausted. But then he turned southward and gave a shrill whistle.

Amroth also turned southward.

Echo, we have need of you, and your brethren. Come.

Avarien nodded. Roheryn, we stand upon snow no longer, but upon the gentle earth.

Amroth swayed, fighting exhaustion. Avarien was weaker still. Ravion spoke.

"Your mortal bodies need rest. Surely now we may wait for the horses to arrive?"

In answer, Amroth settled onto the cold earth, reaching one hand into the stream. Avarien sat a few paces away in the sunshine.

The rest of the men needed no further urging, but settled quickly onto the ground, hoping that the horses were at least a good nap's distance away.

[mark12_30]

Ravion, sweet Ravion. How good you have been to me. To us. It is good to have you near.

Ravion sat bolt upright. The voice inside his head was not Avarien's, but Mellonin's; how could that be?

Perhaps, he thought, he had been dreaming. And if so, then he had been a fool to leave the dream. She was nearby; two paces away as modesty demanded. He lay back down, and the gentle voice returned to his mind, nearer than near. He held his breath. Mellonin?

Ravion.

[mark12_30]

The trickle, leaving the cleft of the rock and flowing over the cold earth, joins another just down the hill, and another below that. We sleep on a garden of mountain-springs. Below us lies a dell, with a little pool; and below that lies another like it, and on down the hillsides. Roheryn drinks at one of them now.

Ravion heard Mellonin saying it. Amroth heard Avarien. Ravion wondered; Amroth rejoiced. He reached out with his longing. He could not sense her presence-- not as he once did; yet he knew she was on the hillsides, below them, along this very stream. A single tear flowed down Amroth's face, then another, and then a third. She is near. She is near. She is near. His heart beat to the rythm of it.

He called to her; Nimrodel, Nimrodel. She did not answer. He had called so often and she had not answered. He would learn why when they were face to face.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to the stream, and joined it. Small and simple, he trickled from the rock to the cold earth below, and with a tiny shimmer, flowed over the soil. Southward, southward, the pull of the earth drew him over pebble and sand, moss and grass. Another joined him, and they flowed over rock and earth; they rested, swirling, in a shallow basin, and then ran out the southward side, over roots, and more moss, spreading into the littlest fen, and then once again finding the way downhill.

And over every root and rock and crevice the longing of the sweet water was: I will join the sea. I will join the sea. I will join the sea.

[littlemanpoet]

Although Roy could hear the words the Elves spoke in their minds, he was himself quite human, and felt it. Looking at Mellondu and Mellonin, he could see that their bodies were being exhausted quickly by the hot spirits that had taken up residence within them. It was cause for concern.

Indil had repeated her words that she had spoken to Bergil, that her parents were with Aeron, and that Mithrellas was waiting with Nimrodel not far away. He hoped it was not too far, for the sakes of Mellondo and Mellonin; but also for his own sake, for there were these dreams.

As if thinking of them had brought them on, Raefindan knew he was asleep and dreaming, and that he was in the vale where Mithrellas waited upon Nimrodel, where Aeron and Gwyllion waited at the edge of the vale, and yes, he could now see two others faintly, waiting for their little girl to come to them, to bring to a resolution their grief at being lost to Indil. And there was Angela, sitting on the grass, seeming to contemplate its slow growth.

"Imrazor!"

Mithrellas had turned and seen him first. Angela turned and looked as well, rose, and both women walked toward him.

"I greet you both," Raefindan said. "The swamp elf has been defeated."

"Not utterly," Mithrellas said.

"No, not utterly. Maybe, if we do not destroy him, he may repent."

"Or," Mithrellas replied, "he will destroy himself when he understands that he cannot have Nimrodel."

"Yes, it is his choice," Raefindan replied.

"But enough of that, Imrazor, my love," Mithrellas smiled. "It is good to have you back, if only for a little while."

These words were spoken in the presence of Angela. Raefindan looked at her to see how Mithrellas' words affected her. She was smiling as if they had no effect at all. That may be so, but they affected him: they were confusing.

"There is great lore from my own age that says that it is given only once for a man to die; if I was Imrazor, how is it that I live, since he died?"

"I know not," Mithrellas said, "but Imrazor you have been, and did die in the flesh; how could I not remember, for it grieved me to be left without you these many years. But Luthien died and was given life again, so who can say if you were not given a special measure of doom?"

"Maybe it is so," Roy said. "And you, Angela," he continued, "how is it that you who died thousands of years in the future, are here now, alive and well?"

"The mysteries of eternity are beyond our understanding," she said.

And she needed to say no more. So it was, and how else could it be? But here he was, with an Elf-woman he had once loved with all his heart, and a woman of the future whose love he still held in his heart, though she had died. It stirred a question from him.

"Will I meet both of you in this vale when we arrive?"

Both women raised a hand to his shoulders, and opened thier mouths to speak, and touching him simultaneously said, "Raefindan! It is time to go!"

"Raefindan! It is time to go!"

Roy opened his eyes. Bellyn was rousing him. He shook his head. "I dreamed deeply, Bellyn. Would that you had held off for one more minute, and I might have had an answer I wished to hear."

"I am sorry, Raefindan."

"No matter. I believe my answer will come soon enough."

With that, he prepared himself for another long march.

[mark12_30]

Over rock, over root, downward, downward, and into a broad pool. On the bottom of the pool brown leaves, sunken last year, waved like seaweed from the bottom currents. Overhead the sun was climbing toward the zenith, and the shallow pool glittered in its light.

A current met him; cool, ageless, clean and clear. Her voice was calm, patient. He knew her. Mithrellas. Her presence gave him hope, and refreshed him.

Another current, youthful and gurgling. The child. Her joy in the midst of sorrow was a strength in itself.

Another current: or was it? Was it a current that was yet to be? And how could he sense it, this little river that was yet to come, in the now-flowing waters that eddied round him and flowed through him?

The others in the pool-- Fea. Ghosts, will-o-the-wisps, shades and shadows. He puzzled at them. Glorfindel had been alive in both worlds, this and the wraith or shadow world. These were wraiths only, but not dark; merely grey. Men-folk, on the edge of some journey perhaps, waiting, waiting. Grey and waiting. He wondered, swirling about the shallow pool and mingling with the other currents, where in all of this was his beloved Nimrodel. She could not be far from Mithrellas'; she should be near the spirit of the child. He could not hear her voice; he could not sense her presence. But she had to be here.

He turned to Mithrellas, and waited; her clear, cool agelessness comforted him, as Bella once had with her song. But she did not speak to Amroth, and Amroth wondered; waited, wondered, and watched the grey-brown leaves wafting gently over the silt below.

[mark12_30]

Dead leaves below, glittering sunshine above, and in the water: spirits.

Could Cuivienen have been like this?

There would have been no dead leaves in the silt at the water's floor; the glitter above would have been softer, mirroring only starlight. But the mingling of spirits: yes.

Yes, Cuivienen was like this.

Mellonin lay with her eyes open, staring into the blue sky; yet she slept.

Ravion sat up again as her voice sounded inside his mind. He whispered to her. "Mellonin?"

I walk in the day, yet I walk beneath the stars. Ravion, come walk with me.

He hesitated, but then he lay back down, and waited. He closed his eyes.

He saw the pool. Round it, beside it-- or were they within it?-- walked men, and elves.

Aeron. Little Gwyllion.

He was so glad to see them that he sat bolt upright. THen he ran his hand over his eyes. Mellonin, it was just a dream.

Yes, Ravion. But it is none the less true.

He slept no more til the horses arrived.

[littlemanpoet]

He walked in silence. Always, he kept an eye on the one from the future, Roy Edwards. Was he an Elf after all? How could he be? How else could he hold such power? Tharonwë kept his mind far from that one. He also kept his mind barred from the other Elves. He had not experienced such defeat and humiliation in ages.

Nevertheless, they were moving toward Nimrodel. This had been Tharonwë's goal for centuries. If only he could find a way to be rid of these fools and achieve his end! But how? He could not see a way through. The tables had been turned, and by a mere human! Indignation burned in him.

If there was then to be no victory, he would steal victory from Amroth. If he could not have Nimrodel, she who was his by right, he would send her to the Halls of Mandos. They would of course kill him for his deed, but then at least, he and she would be together and Amroth's purpose ruined. A mirthless smile came to his face.

[mark12_30]

Every hoofbeat brought them closer.

His weary body was feverish and weak, and he was grateful for the glossy chestnut beneath him, grateful for his steady service. He ran his hand over Echo's neck.

Nimrodel, Nimrodel. How I have longed to hold you. How often I recall the time I held you last. How eager I am to hold you again.

There was no song in return, only the murmur of the water over the roots and grasses. But he was at peace. She was there. And the distance grew less, and less, and less, with every hoofbeat.

[littlemanpoet]

The sky was light blue with wisps of clouds floating above on a high west wind. The sun had warmed the air so that it felt like spring. Birds trilled and sang, flitting from tree to tree. The tack of the horses were the only sound of their passing. Everyone was silent and expectant. The Elves were responsible for this; not through any command. Their anticipation was palpable and caused the others to expect something, anything, around the next bend of the stream by the side of which they rode.

It was just after mid-morning when the jumping and chopping stream fell into a small deep pool where the water swirled and slowed, then flowed slow and clear into a grassy field, still high on the mountainside, through which the cold water flowed gently down toward a line of evergreen trees.

Roy felt his heart race suddenly.

We have arrived!

Roy turned to Mellonin, whose thought he had heard. Her face was stretched and tired, her eyes lit with a fire beyond the scope of humankind.

Nimrodel!

Mellondu looked hardly less the worse for wear, but the same light was in his eyes, which seemed to look through the thick eaves of the evergreens.

They dismounted. Roy went over to Bergil, who had placed Indil before him on his saddle. Bergil handed the girl into Roy's arms, and he placed her on her feet; then he knelt beside her while the Ranger dismounted.

"Do you know where we are, Indil?"

She nodded. "Nimrodel and Mithrellas are in there with my mama and papa."

"Shall we go see?" Roy held out his hand to her. She placed her small hand in his big one, and they began walking with the others toward the evergreens. Roy and Indil were the first to pass between two of the evergreens, and stopped.

"I've been here in my dreams," Roy murmured. Indil nodded.

At the far end, where the stream divided into many rivulets before leaving the vale, sat a woman with bright hair, her face unseen. Near her stood another woman, her hair raven and lifting a little in the breeze. Mithrellas! Roy's heart quickened. She turned and looked, then smiled, and reached out a hand to someone whom he had not seen at first. This other was another woman through whom he could somehow seen the evergreens behind her; yet her blonde hair and lively brown eyes could not be mistaken. Angela!

He began to walk forward, still holding Indil's hand, and she walked with him. He approached Mithrellas and Indil approached Angela. Five paces apart, he stopped. As did Mithrellas. Indil stopped with him. But Angela kept coming, letting go Mithrellas' hand, and grew suddenly smaller with each step until she was the same height as Indil, then she walked right into Indil. Roy thought she they would bump and collide, but no.

Indil stood there holding his hand, but Angela was nowhere to be seen. Then Indil looked up at him. Suddenly he realized that her brown eyes were the same as Angela's had been. No. They were the same. Both Angela and Indil looked up at him out of the same pair of eyes.

"Indil? Angela?"

[mark12_30]

Erebemlin's eyes were locked on the woman with bright hair. She sat unmoving, her face bent towards the ground. Golden light filled the hair that cloaked her back, her shoulders, her face; the breeze stirred it; Nimrodel did not move.

Erebemlin turned to his king, and together they drew near to her. Nethwador followed some paces behind, but stopped before they reached her. Mellonin hung back. Avarien still felt the sting of her name, and rested in Amroth's thanks, expecting none from her mistress.

Erebemlin listened for the voice of Nimrodel, but she was silent. Beside him he heard the king calling her, again and again; but she did not respond. They drew nearer, and Amroth walked past Nimrodel and turned, to face her. He knelt before her, and took her shoulders in his hands.

Erebemlin trembled as he stepped also to her side, and his tears fell. Her hair that had seemed golden in the sun was as white as snow. She was not bent, as he had thought, to study the ground; she was bent with age. Her hands were gnarled and crooked, and her skin as faded as fallen leaves. She trembled, not with joy, but with weakness. She scarcely seemed to know they were there. Amroth raised his hands to her face, and tried to raise her face to meet his eyes.

Her lips were withered, dry and cracked. Her skin, wizened, hung in folds about her face and neck. Her eyes were lifeless, and now Erebemlin wept in earnest. Almost he turned to his king for comfort. But as he recoiled from the thought, to his surprise, the king gave him the comfort he desired. The fire in Amroth's eyes burned through his tears even as his fever shone through his glistening face and neck.

Courage, Erebemlin. If ever I needed your strength, aid me now.

Stunned, Erebemlin offered himself like a waterfall.

My good Erebemlin, you have never faltered. Bear her to the waters' edge.

The king stepped back, and Erebemlin lifted Nimrodel like a feather.

Ravion, standing beside Mellonin, wondered whether the wasted king would reach the waters' edge. The king did not pause on the bank, but waded into the icy mountain pool, turned, and held out his arms.

"Bring her to me."

Erebemlin hesitated for one heartbeat, and then followed him into the pool.

[mark12_30]

Ravion broke his silence. "Surely it is too cold for her, elf though she be. Surely she will take chill. Mellondu, wait. Listen! Mellondu! Oh, Mellonin, speak to him. Stop this madness. Mellonin-- Avarien, speak to the king. He will heed you!"

Mellonin swayed. Ravion caught her, and all her weight was in his arms. "Mellonin? Avarien! Avarien, where are you?"

Farewell, good friend Ravion. My duty is done. I wish you great joy.

"Wait! Avarien, wait! You must speak to the king!"

And how would I command my king? Nay, Ravion. Fare well, wherever you fare; and I deem you shall. Farewell, good friend. I go to find the sea.

"Avarien, wait! Avarien!"

Mellonin trembled and convulsed as the elvish life slipped away from her. Bereft of Avarien's hope and strength, Mellonin gave a cry, and then another, and then a wracking scream. Her eyes opened wide with terror and she convulsed again, and again. Her fever soared.

"Mellonin!" he cried. She did not answer.

Ravion carried her to the waters' edge, lay her upon the bank, wetted part of his cloak and washed her brow, her face, her neck, her hands. Terrified he pleaded silently with her as he had with Avarien, crying from the depths of his heart.

Mellonin, Mellonin, wait. Wait. Stay with me. Wait for me. Listen to me.

It seemed to him in the depths of his heart, she answered.

Ravion.

[mark12_30]

Nimrodel.

The weary king took the withered crone into his arms, and with her weight borne up by the water, cradled her like a newborn child.

Nimrodel, Nimrodel, hear me. Come to me. Where are you? Nimrodel, my love, heed me. Heed me.

Erebemlin waited, breathless. Nimrodel did not respond. The king called her again, again, again. She did not answer.

Nethwador stood nearby on the bank, leaning out over the water, willing her to hear the king. "Llisten to him, lady, " he whispered. "Listen to him. Sing for him again."

Erebemlin watched, and waited. He heard a dry wind blowing, and tasted ash on his tongue. The king frowned, and shook his head.

Feel the water, Nimrodel my love. You languish not in the paths of the dead. You are here, in my arms, in a green wood, in a sweet water that seeks for the sea. Taste the sweetness, my love. Taste the sweet water.

Erebemlin cupped his hand, and brought water to Nimrodel's lips so that she could drink. She stared listless.

Drink, my lady. Drink for your king, he pleaded.

Amroth kissed her brow, and closed his eyes. Nimrodel, Nimrodel. Turn. Turn away from the ash, and hear us. Hear my voice. Hear Erebemlin, your servant. Hear us.

"Come back, lady Nimrodel, " pleaded Nethwador from the bank. "Come back to us."

[mark12_30]

Ravion leaned over Mellonin, as she shuddered and moaned, and whispered in his turn, "Come back to me, my lady, my love. Come back to me." Slowly, the brow of Mellonin relaxed, and the tremors ceased. She was still fevered and fearful, but weary. In her weariness, she reached out to Ravion. He heard her voice deep within. I don't understand.

Mellonin, I am here.

Ravion. Then all will be well.

He held her close, and willed with all his might that she be strong.

[littlemanpoet]

"Indil? Angela?"

"Yes, it's me. You took your time getting here."

Roy was at a loss for words. His mouth worked but his tongue would not cooperate. Indil laughed with the richness of expression he remembered from Angela. Roy was dumbfounded. Finally he managed two words.

"But - how?!?"

"Call it a special grace," Indil replied, looking up at him from a child's eyes that were beyond their years in understanding and wisdom. The voice was that of a child's, but the words were all Angela. "It's not the first time, and it won't be the last."

"But - why?!?"

Indil turned and looked up at Mithrellas, and raised her arm in a gesture of inclusion. "For her!" Mithrellas smiled. Then Indil looked over to the pool. "And them!"

Mellondu and Erebemlin were on their knees by the side of the pool. Mellondu lay on the ground nearby, Ravion kneeling over her, holding her hand lovingly. Just a little way back, Bergil, Ædegard, Leafa, Liornung, Bella, and Nethwador stood looking by turns bemused, wistful, intense, and longingly at Mellondu and Erebemlin. Almost out of eyeshot stood Tharonwe, his face taut and malicious, watching the two as well. Mithrellas spoke.

"Let us go to them, for they are trying to revive Nimrodel. They will need our aid."

"Hold my hand!" Indil said, and this time it sounded completely like her, as if Angela had gone away. Roy looked in her eyes, and believed that he saw Angela there yet. The three approached the pool hand in hand, Indil in the middle.

[mark12_30]

"The chill goes too deep, my lord. We should not tarry in the mountain stream." Even elves have their limits, and the body of a man, more so. He took Nimrodel from Amroth's arms, and turned to carry her up onto the bank. Amroth swayed, floundering with one hand. With the other he steadied himself against Erebemlin's shoulder.

Erebemlin's heart sank even as he leaned hard against the king's hand. The king steadied, and they walked up out of the stream, and settled onto the bank.

Amroth met his gaze. "It is not only the chill of the stream that you spoke of, Erebemlin."

They sat side by side on the bank, Erebemlin holding Nimrodel so that her head leaned against Amroth's shoulder. The king shivered with the cold.

"My Lord, the cold settled into her soul many, many winters ago. We will not bring her back to the summer without a struggle."

Amroth gave a wan, wintry laugh. "No, I suppose not, my gentle friend. Yet neither will we leave her trapped in the ice."

"Rest a moment, my lord, " Erebemlin replied. "We have found her, and we will not leave her. Take a moment, and rest."

For several silent minutes, Amroth did just that, even as he gazed at the friends who had come with him. The Rohirrim looked on, and Nethwador waited earnestly. And nearby stood Raefindan with the child, Indil. He smiled at the little girl, knowing that she was bound to Mithrellas, and thence to Nimrodel. He did not fathom it all. He did not want to. Nimrodel was here, and that was enough; that was all he wanted.

And all too soon, for Erebemlin's taste, he was ready to search again.

"Let us begin, " said Amroth.

Erebemlin gathered himself, and nodded.

[littlemanpoet]

"Let us begin, " said Amroth.

Raefindan watched Erebemlin nod his reluctant agreement. The Elf was slow to express emotion, but the weariness and worry were plain to see in his face and the way he held himself. Raefindan shook his head. This would not end well, he thought to himself. He understood that Amroth's fëa was in Mellondu, and that Avarien's fëa was in Mellonin, and the Elvish fëar were wearing out the human bodies. Mellondu was likely to die before Amroth could achieve his goal of saving Nimrodel from her own madness. It was not going to end well; at least, not with himself and the others standing by.

What had that thought been that had passed through his mind almost as softly and faintly as a wisp of a breeze? The little girl is bound to Mithrellas, and thence to Nimrodel in some unfathomable way. That had been Amroth's thought, but he was so concentrated on Nimrodel that he gave it not a second thought. Surely she was here for just such a purpose; and if Indil, was it not also that way for himself? ...and the rest of them?

"Lord," Raefindan said with some force, "we would give you aid in some way, whatever way we can. What can we do?"

The others added their agreement to Raefindan's words. Nethwador took a step toward Amroth, as if Raefindan's words somehow freed him from a paralysis of some kind.

[littlemanpoet]

"Let us begin, " said Amroth.

Erebemlin gathered himself, and nodded.

"Lord," Roy Edwards from the future said, "we would give you aid in some way, whatever way we can. What can we do?"

What aid would these humans give, Tharonwë wondered. They were fools to cast about in the affairs of Elves. Only this Roy Edwards was a danger to him ... except, maybe, for this little girl, this little trouble maker who seemed beyond her years in word and thought - for he read her mind still.

He would stop them. Not, he now knew, in the way he had expected, for the one called Nimrodel was gone forever. The husk that remained disgusted him. They thought to blame him for the decrepitude that she now was, for they thought that he had brought her to it. But they were wrong. He had hidden her, that was all. It was her own despair and her constant feeding on it that had turned her into an aged crone, too weak of will and fëa to keep herself in youth. He hated her! She was not what she had pretended to be! And so he made a new decision. He would not kill her. That would only free her to the Halls of Mandos, where the fëa of Amroth awaited her. No, he would give them no such simple cure to their self-inflicted ills. They deserved their despair, and if Amroth thought to join her in her depths, he would ease his way.

He had still Roy Edwards of the future to thank for the fascinating art of hypnosis, such a supple tool in combination with osanwë. All he need to was enter Amroth's and Erebemlin's thought - not Roy Edwards'! - then locate their desires, then uncover the one most suited to his end, and twist it ever so slightly so that their purpose ran just the slightest degree wide of their aim, and sealed their own fate, deep in the despair, the ice cold despair and slow death that would leave them wasting away until the Ages ceased. It was perfect.

He reached out with his thought subtly, ever so carefully, arching wide of Roy Edwards and the girl Indil, and arching wide of the Elven woman Mithrellas as well, for she was a honed will, sharpened to the cutting point by virtue of having given herself so competely to another's benefit for millenia. It was folly! Yet somehow she had made herself strong through it. Tharonwë did not understand her, and so steered his thought clear of her. And he found Amroth. Ah yes, nothing was important to him, at all, except Nimrodel. And that was his fatal mistake, for every other being there was a mere tool for Amroth's use in finding Nimrodel.

And then he saw it. All he needed to do was let Amroth find Nimrodel at the deepest of the deeps, in the midst of her despair, and help them unite, and help Erebemlin aid them in this, and their fëar would be joined as one, and all he need to then was kill the boy Mellondu, and r kill outright the bodily form of Erebemlin, and the result would be that Amroth's fëa would be imprisoned in the aging and despairing being of Nimrodel, and Erebemlin along with him. If all he could do was weaken Erebemlin's will, then a part of his fëa would be trapped with Amroth and Nimrodel, and he would forever be a shadow of himself. Tharonwë grinned in delight at his plan. It would work! He bided his time.

[mark12_30]

Amroth looked slowly around, and studied the face of each friend, and took a moment to silently thank them. And then he nodded at Erebemlin.

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

The winds raged, and tore at Nimrodel's clothing and her hair as the surf pounded the shore. She cried, and cried, and cried. She called out to him, she ran along the shore westward, leaping the rocks, racing over the sand. On and on she ran. In her heart, she could feel the water pulling at him, the fury of the waves, the foam that thundered over him again and again. She ran on and on, westward, screaming his name into the wind.

The land came to a point, and she stood at the end of it, facing southwest, calling him again and again. His heart called to her still, but she felt him losing strength.

The waves were madness. Foam flew in the wind, and stung her face. The tide sucked at her feet as she stood gazing into the storm, looking for some sign of his golden hair in the sea. Her voice was swept away, torn out of her mouth and gone.

Amroth!

Her cry rang out once more. And then gathering her strength, she ran forward, and flung herself into the storm.

[mark12_30]

Amroth bent over Nimrodel as she moaned, and stirred. Her eyes closed, and her fingers twitched. His lips brushed her whitened hair, and he sighed deeply.

Erebemlin's gaze flickered toward Amroth, and then back to Nimrodel. Nethwador edged a little closer, and then a little closer. Finally he sat down, and gazed into the water.

She fought the waves as they broke in the shallows, struggling. She had never swum in a storm before, not in the ocean, not like this. The wind had shifted, and the waves were breaking across the beach, not against it, but still they rolled her back toward the shore. She tumbled over and over, ground into the sand, and she gasped for breath, and fought her way toward the deep again and again, only to be rolled back into the breakers and into the sand. Finally she learned to dive under the breaking waves. She worked her way outward, then, feeling her way with her heart. Coming up for air was the hardest; she learned to ride to the top of the wave with her mouth shut, breathing in only after the wave had crested and rolled by. Outward she fought, pulling hard. THe horizon was grey, the sky was grey, the water was grey. On she swam.

[mark12_30]

Amroth shuddered, feeling the water close over his head; his lungs ached, his throat hurt, his eyes glazed.

Nethwador touched his arm.

Amroth's eyes snapped open. Erebemlin started, and their eyes met.

"Courage, my Lord."

Amroth shook himself. Nimrodel shuddered.

I have left her alone. Again.

Erebemlin held Nimrodel tighter, and Amroth closed his eyes, and strove inward. But he opened his eyes again, and looked round once more at the sunshine, the trees, the cold hillside. Nethwador tightened his grip on the king's arm. Amroth nodded, and closed his eyes again.

Hours she had spent at war with the waves and their blinding spray. She listened, reaching, reaching. But now her lover's cry was silent. She heard his voice no more.

She surrendered herself to the heaving waves, and knew no more.

[mark12_30]

Tears trickled down Amroth's face; his breath came in shuddering gasps.

Erebemlin held his thoughts steady, even as he held Nimrodel in his great arms. "Courage, my lord. Courage."

"Where, " asked Amroth in a hoarse whisper, "did she go next? I cannot see it."

And no wonder; you were drowned, sweet king, drowned and dead. Erebemlin's lips tightened. Where had the thought come from? He had felt it, deep in his heart, but nay, he knew, he had chosen to hide it from the king.

Nethwador's hand closed around Amroth's arm, and the boy spoke in his harsh tongue. The boy, then; perhaps he had shown his heart to the boy. Erebemlin steeled himself, and turned towards Nimrodel's thoughts.

He found her, rolling, rolling in the breaking surf, scraped again and again across the sand. There Mithrellas had found her, and dragged her ashore, and with difficulty wakened her. But Mithrellas' loving work was met with thanklessness and anger.

Deep beneath the waves, Amroth's body was being slowly swept towards the shore.

Amroth saw it, saw her, stood by Erebemlin as Mithrellas tended Nimrodel. Amroth knelt beside Nimrodel, trying to brush the sand out of her golden hair, but his hand passed through the hair and the sand both. Nimrodel sobbed with anger; Mithrellas tried to soothe her.

Amroth leaned over her and spoke earnestly. I am here, my love, my singing water, my starlit nightingale. I am with you, I am here.

Nimrodel's strength wore thin; her weeping slowed. Amroth spoke to her again, and again. But his voice was carried away by the sea wind, and she heard him not.

Erebemlin held on tight, held Nimrodel's frail form, held on to Amroth's thoughts, Amroth's will. And Erebemlin waited.

[mark12_30]

"Faithless wretch, why did you not leave me to my death? I would have joined him." Nimrodel, salt water rasping in her lungs, turned her face from Mithrellas.

Mithrellas, her arguments rising from her soul and withering on her lips, struggled for a few moments in silence, and then bowed her head.

Amroth spoke on her behalf. Because she loves you, as do I.

"What kind of love would keep me from my love? You love me not, else you would have let me go, " said Nimrodel.

Mithrellas turned and gazed in surprise at Amroth. "She heard you, my lord."

Nimrodel frowned. "Heard what?"

Amroth spoke again. She is loyal to you, as am I. Sweetwater, Clearsong, do not despise her love. Cherish it.

"Cherish one that keeps me from my lord? Take your foolishness and go."

Mithrellas stood as if spellbound. In truth, she heard you, my lord. She heard you.

Erebemlin wished he could burst out in song. Instead, he held his breath, and the moment lingered. Amroth waited. Nimrodel was vexed at Mithrellas, yet Mithrellas stood transfixed with hope.

The tiniest seed had begun to sprout.

[mark12_30]

Ravion glanced at the elves as they struggled to reach Nimrodel's heart and soul; and then he turned his heart back to Mellonin.

I am still here, Mellonin. I am still here.

Ravion. He sensed her gladness, and beyond his fears for her, he felt a joy kindle deep within. He did not know whether it came from himself, or from her; he hoped it came from her.

He sat beside her, then, and lifted her shoulders, and held her in his arms, and kissed her brow. Her voice spoke within his heart.

How fares the lady?

I do not know, dearest. They search for her even now.

How fares my brother?

A new fear iced through his heart. He wondered again, whether they had found him only to lose him. I do not know, dearest... I cannot tell.

Ravion, please take me to his side.

He stood, and lifted her, and carried her til he stood near the elves. They scarce noticed him, or her, at first. He sat down, beside the blacksmith, and held Mellonin so that she could see the blacksmith's face. He tried to quell his fear, lest it somehow weaken Mellonin, or the elves. He tried to give her any courage he might find in his own soul. And he waited.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin raised his eyes briefly as the ranger and positioned the young girl nearby. He cared not of their nearness unless they interfered with the king’s work.

An icy breeze blew sharply around those that were seated on the hillside, lifting the elf’s golden hair behind him. The coldness of the air sharpened his senses but he saw the king (or more specifically, the body he wore) shiver and his muscles tense. Much still needed to be done if they were to save Nimrodel, but he was greatly concerned about his lord’s health and if the human’s body would hold under the stress of the weather and fire of Amroth’s spirit.

Lowering his eyes, Erebemlin re-entered Nimrodel but this time the beach was gone. The sound of the sea was not within reach, and Nimrodel was alone. Stone met her feet now…cold stone and dust.

Where are you going, my love? Amroth reached for her slender hand as she stumbled near, but as with her hair and sand, his hand passed through her.

Her gown was torn and her feet, hands, and face were covered in ash. She mumbled to herself but did not respond to Amroth.

My Lady, please hear me. I am here…Lovely, Lady, please.

Again, Nimrodel walked on without a word.

Nimrodel! I am here! Please, my love, hear my voice. Amroth’s voice rose with apprehension. Erebemlin reached out in mind and body and gave his king calm support.

Wait, my lord.

I cannot wait. She must hear me. She heard my voice before…

And she will hear it again, but you must not be overly distressed. Erebemlin wanted to remind the king of fevered body he wore outside this dream, but he stopped himself before going further.

[mark12_30]

She looked around at the cliffs, the dust, the ash. The bones. Tall and proud, she breathed deeply, feeling the acrid air searing her throat. Amroth stood beside her.

Nimrodel, I am here.

Here? It is but the wish. Folly. It is folly. Wish all you like, foolish one. He is not here. O, I am a fool. I am love's fool. Wish, wish, wish. I am sick to death of wishes. He is not here. How long did I watch beside his corpse? Shimmering in the stream, golden hair flowing, dead, dead, dead. Waiting, waiting, waiting, for the dead to speak, to move, to call to me. Fool. I am love's fool. He is not here. He was not there.

She pursed her dry, cracked lips, and ringing laughter rolled through the cliffs, echoing. Her eyes burned, clear and grey, but fiery.

Where are you, my love? Where have you been? I am waiting for you. Dreaming of you. When shall I sleep again, and dream of you, my love? Your prating fool, love's fool, sees you only in dreams. Yet I am still your fool, my love, though you leave mehere, alone, still. Love's fool, wandering among the ash and dust and bones. Soon I will become like them; ash and dust and bones.

Amroth walked beside her, and the ash swirled around his footsteps, but she saw it not. Nimrodel, wait. Wait, listen to me. Hear me. Do you not feel my touch? Take my hand.

She laughed bitterly.I have sat in the stream, and taken your hand, cold and lifeless, day after day after day. Winter after winter, I have held your hand. You never spoke. You speak now? To make me a fool? Nay, it is but my wishes. Wishing, wishing, for many winters I have been wishing, wishing. Wishing. I held your dead hands and wished, wished. Now I hold the hands of death, and they hold mine. And you speak to me now. Perhaps I should have come here many years ago, instead of waiting beside your corpse.

Her ringing silvery laugh echoed coldly among the cliffs.

Silversong, hear me. Let me hold you.

She laughed again.

[littlemanpoet]

Every last one of them was so intent on the drama between Amroth and Nimrodel that no-one was watching him, not even the dog.

Amroth was walking with Nimrodel now and they were talking to each other. It was time. They were still estranged, he could tell, and all Tharonwë had to do now was kill the blacksmith's body and Amroth would be marooned in the desolation of Nimrodel; both fëar trapped in her aged body.

He walked on silent feet to the horses, grazing and tethered, and found Erebemlin's bow and a few arrows. What perfect irony, to kill the arrogant Lorien Elf with his own weapon. He tested the bow and studied the arrows. Pleased, he walked quietly back to the vale. When he had passed between the trees and had a clear view of Erebemlin and Amroth, he quietly, so quietly raised the bow and arrow and aimed, first at Amroth. He aimed for the neck; just a little bit above for the arrow would sink. He pulled back until the arrow string was at his ear, and let go, immediately putting another in place. The arrow flew true, piercing Amroth's - the blacksmith boy's - neck, through the jugular. Blood spouted like a fountain and fell all over Nimrodel. He released the next arrow. It flew and pierced Erebemlin in the neck even as Amroth fell over. Erebemlin lost his balance and grabbed for his neck and his fingers ran into the arrow. He turned and gave Tharonwë a wrathful glare before chaos ensued.

The others reacted. Mithrellas the women who were on their feet, ran to the two stricken Elves. Even the blacksmith's sister raised her head to look in horror. Roy Edwards, Ædegard and the one called Ravion turned and saw him. He smiled, pleased with his deed and their astonishment and indignance. The men started toward him, but there was a sudden roar. Then Tharonwë was knocked off his feet and found himself on his back, the dog's toothless mouth reaching for his neck. Even though the dog could do him no mortal harm, he was fierce in his attack. Tharonwë reached for one more arrow to use as a minature javelin. He struck. The dog yelped, then his growl became even more fierce. Tharonwë pulled the arrow back to pierce the dog again. Before he could, he felt hands grab his legs and arms. He knew it would end this way, but he had his revenge. He grinned at his captors.

But they were all looking away - including the dog. And he was standing there with a bow and two arrows in hand. And the young blacksmith was still bent over Nimrodel, and Erebemlin by his side, intent on their purpose, no wound on either neck. Did I only imagine it?

Raefindan

Raefindan who was Roy Edwards who was Imrazor stood holding Indil's hand, watching Mellondu with his physical eyes. With his inner eye he watched Tharonwë, and knew his purpose, and thwarted it, and did not let Tharonwë know how he had been thwarted; and closed his own mind from the Swamp Elf. He reached out to both Indil and Mithrellas with his thought, and told them what the Swamp Elf had intended, and imagined, and how he had stopped him; and how he had placed in Tharonwë's thought that he had only imagined it. He told them that they must appear to be intent on Amroth as he was, for Tharonwë would try a second time, and a third, and so on until he was defeated. Raefindan did not know how long it would take to checkmate the Swamp Elf, but he would play each turn depending on the Elf's move until the game was done.

[alaklondewen]

She laughs…why does she laugh? Amroth spoke half to himself and half to the tall elf beside him. He did not wait for an answer. Why do you laugh, my lady? Why cannot you not hear me?

Hear you, I am a fool and only hear you. I am a fool because I hear you, because I wait for you, and because you’ll never return. Nimrodel laughed wildly again.

She hears you, my lord.

Amroth’s eyes widened and excitement came to his voice. Nimrodel, I am here! Feel my touch! I am here!

Shall I always be a fool, hearing your voice and seeing your face in my every thought?

His face…did she see his face? Erebemlin strengthened his will toward Amroth, shining all the light he could muster on his King. He dearly hoped Nimrodel would see.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë raised the first arrow to the bow and pulled the feathertip it to the string. This time would be real rather than his own thought. Why was that dog looking at him this time instead of at the others? Why were its hackles raised? No matter. The dog was as naught. He pulled the bow taut and aimed at the neck of the young blacksmith. Next moment he would release.

Before he could he heard a roar and the dog was upon him. Quickly he released, but his shot was awry and flew off course, and came home in the back of the blonde girl who had given up an ear to the Merlocks. He saw this even as the dog's weight knocked him off his feet. It growled with ferocity and menace.

The one handed wainwright caught his betrothed in his arms, his eyes wide in shock and fear. The arrow had pierced clear through her and her life's blood flowed its ending stream. But she smiled, looking into the wainwright's eyes.

"It will not be long love, till our wedding day." Her head fell back. The wainwright wailed. The others reacted, some coming to him, others to the pair.

He was standing, two arrows in one hand, the bow in the other, watching the two standing arm in arm, no wound upon either one. Had he imagined it all, again?

[mark12_30]

Nimrodel laughed, clear, long, piercing like a sword.

I dreamt last night that my true love came in
So softly he entered, his feet made no din
He came up beside me, these words he did say,
It will not be long love, til our wedding day.

"What is it the mortals say? Dust to dust? Dust you are, and dust I am? And dust we shall be together. Dust. Though you shine golden in my dreams, yet dust is what I waken to. Dust! Dust and ash!"

She raised her arms, stretched them outward toward Amroth, smiled with sorrow, and with brightly burning eyes, began to spin. Turning, twirling, she danced barefoot in the ash, wandering in circles. Always she gazed at his face, laughing, turning here and there, away and towards, tangled in her golden hair. The white of her mantle grew grey with ash that was stirred up by her feet.

He called to her. She answered him, laughing, turning in circles round him. Ever he called; ever she laughed, dancing. He reached for her; his hands passed through her, keeping only ash; ashes and dust. It filled his mouth, his eyes. He labored to breathe. He called to her again and again. She stared at his face, seeing, but not believing.

When she was beyond weariness, she stopped, and let her hands drop to her sides. "Your lovely face. How I long to hold your face in my hands, and touch your eyes, fool that I am. Wretch that I am; foolish wretch. Soon I shall wake, and you will be gone. Therefore I will that I wake not, but dream evermore."

No, my SilverStream. Wake. Waken to my voice! Hear me! Heed me. Be not afraid; come to me. Hear me, Silverstream, heed me.

She stood, rapture-still, eyes locked on his face. "Almost I hear you, my love. Almost you speak to me. Oh, to hear your voice again. Oh, to bask in the light of your eyes. Fool! Fool that I am! In a moment I shall wake, and where shall my golden hopes be? Ash, ash, ash. No, I will not wake. I will sleep, and dream again."

[mark12_30]

O Erebemlin, how shall I reach her!

Remember, my lord, that you rest by a fair stream. THe ash does not belong to you, nor you to it.

As Nimrodel watched, the ash fell away from Amroth. He stood clean before her, just washed, radiant and golden. He reached for her. For a moment she gazed, spellbound. But then her hope turned to wrath.

Always you escape me! Even death does not hold you! Even the ash does not remain! You slip away! You slip away yet again! She raised her fists to her own face, and cringed away from him.

Erebemlin cringed with her. Nethwador went to Nimrodel's side.

"Courage, lady. He loves you."

She lowered her fists, and looked at him. "You are a mere child. How are you among the oathbreakers?"

"Nay, lady, I broke no oath."

Ravion's head came up, and he watched Nethwador. But beyond Nethwador, he saw the glimmer of Aeron's eyes, gazing at him. Oathbreaker. Faithless. As he watched, he saw Gwyllion quarreling, defending him. Her attempt to bless stung him even more than Aeron's curse. I broke no oath. He had never meant to, yet always, it seemed, fate intervened, immersing him in failure. I broke no oath. I never meant to fail you. I broke no oath.

"So they all say. Yet here you stand, in the ash." Her eyes faded. "Yet I may be glad of your company, young oathbreaker. Bide with me a while. Tell me, who loved you?"

"The king," said Nethwador. "He was never faithless to me. He will prove his faith to you, lady."

"Why would I want the faith of an oathbreaking king?"

Nethwador shook his head. "No, not the king of the oathbreakers. Amroth. Your king and mine."

She waved her hand. "Oathbreaker he was and remains. Speak to me no more of him. Yet stay. Nay, speak. Speak of him, young one, for I would fain hear. Speak to me of Amroth. I shall dream of him again. Speak, young one, speak." And she lay down in the ash, curled up against a rock, and went to sleep.

[littlemanpoet]

Bellyn thought of her dreams of Nimrodel, how she had found her in a desolate ridge, how her eyes had burned at first, then the hope had died. But before it had died she had asked Bellyn to tell her friends that she had not left off her quest.

It took all her courage, but Bellyn knelt down between Amroth and Erebemlin. She was not sure it was proper to do this, but she had promised Amroth many days ago that she would help him if she could. And now she remembered a song that she had sung for him, that he had liked so well, the one she had sung after which he had likened her to his very own Nimrodel in small ways. She wanted very much to give the gift back, and so opened her mouth and sang.

"We are pilgrims on a journey.
We are friends upon the road.
I will help you tread for miles;
I will help carry your load.

We will travel far from home now,
We will go where no one goes.
Hope remains when there is faith,
And our walking never slows.

If you grow tired I will help you!
We will keep each other strong.
Upon the road I met you,
On this road we do no wrong.

You tell your tales and laugh with us.
I listen as you sing for me!
We walk by day, sing at night,
Enjoying your company.

Companions on the sad journey,
Friends walking the hardest trail.
Some day we will reach the end,
'Til then our bond shall not fail.

We are pilgrims on a journey.
We are friends upon the road.
I will help you tread for miles;
I will help carry your load..."

"Lord," she said, "once in a dream she told me to tell you that she has not left off her quest; she still seeks you, even after she has lost all hope."

Peace flooded into Bella's mind. She stood upon a steep mossy bank, with golden leaves scattered across it; the wind played with them, sometimes tossing them down into the musical water below. Upon the wind was borne a song of such heartbreaking loveliness she wept to hear it, and turned into the breeze to search for it. She would have run to its source, were she not rooted by its silver beauty.

Indeed you refreshed me when all seemed lost. Indeed, you traveled with me, far from home; we went where no one goes-- here, to this stream. You carried my load; you helped me tread for miles; you were my friend upon the road. Your songs were my road here, to this clear cool harmony, Bella. Your voice brought me here again and again. Do you not see that you were rest for my soul? Hope returned to me when you strengthened my faith, by bringing me back to this singing silver stream.

[littlemanpoet]

Liornung was moved by the courage of Bellyn, and just as much by her simple words. Stricken that he had not done better, he scowered his memory for a fitting song but discovered much to his dismay that all he knew were not quite right for this most unique occasion. Some were simple marriage songs more befitting of humans, others songs of love lost which seemed very wrong right now. One only, he considered, might be somewhat useful at this strange time, but perhaps not. Yet it was the best he had to offer, and offer it he did.

'Hey now, step along
along the road so dreary
dark shadows lie before us now
but let us all be cheery!
For what is past is past indeed,
and what is lost fell from the lead,
if we have music and good feed,
why should we all be weary?

Hey now, step along,
lassie looking sadly,
the darkness on your face does show
that you've been treated badly,
but if a cheery smile did grace
your wholly fair and lovely face
there'd no time nor any place,
for naught but dancing gladly!

Hey now, step along,
a cast aside your sorrow!
Tears and groans and angry words
are naught but trouble borrowed.
So step and give a little dance
and light and lively sway and prance!
For recall, there's still a chance
of happiness tomorrow!'

Once he had finished, the song seemed too light for the occasion, and Liornung was abashed, until he heard happy words.

"I like that!" Indil cried, smiling wide. Raefindan, though seeming occupied, smiled grimly while Mithrellas nodded and smiled mildly.

[mark12_30]

When Liornung's song was half done, a heavy sigh came from Amroth, but after it a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and a light came into his eyes: different than the fevered glitter; this was easy merriment.

Liornung, you should have joined us in the clearings on a midsummer's night. Would that we could have brought you there, even as you have just brought me there.

Liornung cheered up still further, and Amroth bent his gaze upon Nimrodel. But you did join us, my gazelle. I did bring you there. You remember. You were the fleetest of us all, and your song the sweetest. You remember.

Liornung gasped. He stood in the center of a ring, and all about him, elves and elf maidens wove a wild maze of pathways. Circling round and round, madly weaving, wildly laughing, singing as they danced, and yet there was never a mis-step. He wondered how they could catch their breath. The dance went on and on, with never a hint of weariness. Flowers bent under their feet, but sprang up again, only to be tread upon by the next, and the next; yet Liornung knew that in the morning, there would be no marks to show where their feet had passed.

Nimrodel, lying in the ash at the foot of the rock, stirred. "The circle dances. Of course. How could I forget? The endless circle dances."

Liornung gasped again, filling his lungs with ash. He stood beside Nimrodel, in the center of a ring, and all about them, the dead wove a wild maze of pathways. Circling round and round, weaving, crying and mocking and wailing, they danced; they were never out of breath. The dance went on and on, with never a hint of weariness. Rocks went through their feet undisturbed; there were no footprints prints in the ash. In the morning, there would be no marks to show where their feet had passed.

Nimrodel swayed to the rythm of their cries, and waved her arms at them as they whirled round her.
"So step and give a little dance
and light and lively sway and prance!"

She nodded, and turned to Liornung. "Yes, Oathbreaker. A fine song, for a circle dance. Shall we join them? Here, take my hand!" She laughed, and reached for Luiornung's hand; her hand passed through his. Or was it his hand that passed through hers? Her laughter raing out harshly, and Liornung winced.

The ash cleared, and it was Amroth's hand she was reaching for. Her hand passed through his, but she gazed into his face, her eyes hungry, her breath caught. She reached for him again; he reached for her; their hands passed through each other. Her anger flared. "Oathbreaker, " she hissed. "Hey, now, step along! Oathbreaker!" She recoiled from him, and then stopped. He held her gaze.

"Why have you not come, " she accused him.

"I have come now. I am here, Clearwater."

"You are... here?"

"I am here. Leave the ash behind, my love."

"The ash." She turned, and looked around; the midsummer green of Lorien beckoned to her. Yet the leaves began to fall. As they fell, they turned from green to gold; and then brighter and brighter, they began to burn.

Amroth cried out. Elves broke out of the circle and began to flee, beckoning and crying out to Amroth and Nimrodel that they should run. Nimrodel gazed in horror. To the west, a shadow grew. Amroth and Nimrodel shrank from it; but they were rooted to the ground, unable to run. On it came; the blackness grew, the shadow deepened, and even the leaves still on the trees began to burn. Soon entire Mallorns were engulfed in flames, and the shadow towered over the trees. Nimrodel screamed; Amroth cried out in horror and fear.

Shadow and flame.

Erebemlin stood beside the king. My lord! Heed it not! He laid his great hand on the kings' shoulder, and furrowed his brow against the shadow.

In a moment, there was only grey. They stood among the ash, and the barren stones. Nimrodel went back to the rock, lay down in the ash, and shut her eyes.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë blinked. Thrice now he had imagined the deed, but only once had he meant to. The second and third times, he had believed that it was real - it had been real! - until he had realized that he was standing there still, near the edge of the vale, with the same two arrows in his hand, as yet unreleased. Erebemlin still knelt by the blacksmith who was holding Nimrodel above the stream bed, both of them uninjured. The two maimed Eorlingas still stood together, arm in arm, watching the Elves. And now the minstrel and Gondorian woman had sung songs dripping with sentimentality. All this nonsense must come to an end!

He raised the first arrow to the bow again. Yes, all of them were watching the drama by the streambed, except for the dog, who was watching him. No matter. He aimed at the neck of the blacksmith again. He pulled back on the bowstring to his cheek. He let fly.

How had the dog moved so quickly? How had it jumped into the air at just the right moment and taken the arrow in its side with a yelp? Now it lay on its side panting heavily. The Eorlingas turned and looked in horror, and the wainwright let go of his love and came at Tharonwë. He raised the other arrow, aimed it at the wainwright, and let loose. It pierced his left breast; blood flowed like a river: the arrow had found his heart, and he fell. The earless girl screamed.

Tharonwë grabbed another arrow from the quiver and aimed again at the blacksmith.

Aeron and Gwyllion

"See what Raefindan is doing?" she asked him.

"Yes, I do."

"Want to help him?"

"But he killed me."

"That was when he was being used by the swamp elf. It was the swamp elf who really killed you, so that means he killed both of us. Now Raefindan's in control. Let's go help."

Aeron nodded. They rose from their place by the edge of the vale and made their way to the swamp elf, who stood staring at dreams. They walked straight into him. Being ghosts, they could see the thought waves that Raefindan had patterned into a door right into Tharonwë's mind. Together hey opened the door and went in.

Tharonwë

He was standing there, seeing that the dog was still alive watching him, and the Eorlingas were still hand in hand observing the blacksmith. But now the two orphans were standing in front of him, looking up at him quizzically. They could not be here! He had killed them both! One was in a watery grave by the Entwash swamps, the other a broken corpse in a mountain valley.

"You really think you're somethin', don't you?" the girl asked.

"You don't get it, do you?" the boy added.

"You're not going to get your way, plain and simple." the girl shook her head in mock sympathy.

"You are dead," Tharonwë said. "You cannot be here."

"Oh, we're dead, but we're here," said the girl.

"And you're just wasting your time," said the boy. "In fact, your whole life is a waste from what I can tell."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said crossly to them both. "Out of my way!"

The girl crossed her arms dramatically and lowered her brow, pursing her lips meaningfullly. "We're not going anywhere!"

"And you're not going to do anything. Just try!" said the boy, grinning mischievously.

"I have been tr-" Tharonwë stopped. He was not about to explain himself to a pair of sillly human children. But he had been trying, and he had not been doing anything. How could this be?

Ædegard

"You're dead. You can't be here."

Ædegard frowned and turned in curiosity. The swamp elf had spoken. He was looking down in front of him, holding a bow and a pair of arrows in two listless hands. Had the elf gone moonstruck? Ædegard nudged Leafa and tilted his head in the direction of the swamp elf, who was apparently carrying on a conversation with phantoms of his own imagining. Leafa raised a hand to her smiling lips and giggled mildly, then turned her attention back to Amroth. Ædegard looked at Raefindan, who smiled and winked once before returning his gaze back to Mellondu.

[mark12_30]

An echo glimmered in Erebemin's mind. It took the shape of a young boy and a young maid. No, that could not be right. What boy was with Nimrodel? There were none. It had to be Nimrodel and Mithrellas. Who was the third? Perhaps Avarien. But it did not seem to fit.

"You think you are an ancient one, do you not?" Nimrodel asked.

"The world has changed and you know it not," Mithrellas added.

"You will not find the way." Nimrodel shook her head.

"I will. Fare thee well. I go to find the birthplace of the elves."

"It is dead," Mithrellas said. "You cannot be there."

"It cannot be dead. I shall go there."

"You shall waste your time," said Nimrodel. "Beware lest your whole life be a waste. Who can tell?"

"You know not of what you speak," she said crossly to them both. "Bar not my way!"

Mithrellas shook her head. "We bar nothing."

"You shall find nothing. You were faithless and unwilling before, you are faithless and unwilling now, " said Nimrodel.

"I have tried, " she replied. "You neither desire nor trust my faith. I shall seek the shores more ancient than you, for they shall not break faith with me."

"Go then!" cried Nimrodel. "Faithless you are, and unwilling you have always been. Avarien I name you. Go!"

Avarien wasted no more time with the madwoman and her handmaid. Swift and silent, she ran northeast, and the woods soon hid her from their sight.

Mellonin was restless, and cried out in Ravion's arms. He spoke to her. He looked around the glade; he saw only Nimrodel and Mithrellas. He gazed again at Mellonin, and knew Avarien was not far away.

[mark12_30]

Amroth looked at Erebemlin, and leaned on him in his heart. Avarien? He did not know when she had left. She felt near yet far, or was it far yet near? And she had never before seemed a... a rascal. Or ... a thief? He frowned.

The boy. And his waiflike, wraithlike sister. He shuddered. So they had lingered here?

He knew more than he wanted to remember, about lingering. It sickened him, and he wanted to weep for them but revulsion was stronger.

Go. Go to where your fathers await you! Linger not! Linger not, children. Fly, fly to your ancestral home. Be at peace.

He was surprised to be met with laughter, and Erebemlin stirred, looking down at Mellonin in Ravion's arms.

Nimrodel lay quietly in her ashes.

[littlemanpoet]

Gwyll and Aeron watched as Raefindan had Tharonwë thinking in circles. It was like watching a three ring circus. They looked at each other, surprised at the image in their minds, and laughed, then looked at Raefindan, for the thought had come from him, something from his own past and their future. A three ring circus! With trained mûmak on two legs and silly men with painted faces - one of which had a big angry scowl painted on his face - that was Tharonwë! They howled with laughter at the silly elf. But then they had had enough, and walked away from him.

They came to Amroth and Nimrodel, and looked within their thought and saw. Nimrodel, hopeless, lay in a heap of ash while Amroth stood by unable to reach her, hope and despair vying with each other in his mind.

"Let's go, Gwyll," said Aeron.

They came into the ash filled place.

"Don't wish us away," Aeron told Amroth, "we're supposed to be here, for you!"

Gwyll walked over to Nimrodel and tapped on her shoulder. "Wake up! Amroth is here! It's time to play games!"

[mark12_30]

NImrodel sat up, and looked at Gwyll.

"...games?" she said. "Hello, little one. What kind of games?" She wiped the ash out of her hair, a little. "I like games." And she stood.

[mark12_30]

Gwyll picked up a stick. "Once, there was a great big tree."

Nimrodel waited.

Aeron picked up a pebble. "And in it, lived a mighty king."

"In the tree?" replied Nimrodel.

"Oh, yes. High up in the tree. But nearby, next to a singing stream, lived a lovely girl. "

"I love streams, " sighed Nimrodel.

"You can be the stream, " said Gwyll mischievously.

Nimrodel brightened. "All right. What does the stream do?"

"Sometimes it's cold, " said Aeron.

Nimrodel's eyes frosted.

"That's helpful, " Gwyll hrumphed. "It sings. The stream sings."

"Of course it does, " replied Nimrodel. "All streams sing. But what does this stream sing?"

Gwyll and Aeron glanced at each other, eyes widening. Aeron wavered. "Ah, a song of, ah, running downhill."

Gwyll's eyes rolled.

Erebemlin leaned forward. "Perhaps the king who lives in the tree, knows."

"How would he know?" said Nimrodel impatiently. "The girl who lived by it, would know, because the stream is her friend. We need to ask the girl, not the king."

"Ah, " said Amroth, "but the king loved the girl."

"Maybe, " said Nimrodel. "But if the king loved the girl, does he also love the stream? Or why would he live afar off in a tree?"

Erebemlin caught his breath. "Again, she heard you, my lord."

[mark12_30]

By the side of the stream, Avarien sat, and raised her eyes. The stream sings sadly of what once was; a tale of loss and woe. But this is not the song that Nimrodel rejoiced in long ago. Long ago... what did the stream sing long ago?

Taitheneb paced on the high flet. A far off cry seemed to reach him like a cold wind, and he felt the branch tips stirring, yet when he lifted his eyes all was still.

Nimrodel?

Nay. One who served her once, and does so again.

Taitheneb hesitated, listening, and hearing nought; searching the wind and finding nought, then reaching, reaching with his mind, til all his body tensed with the effort. He knew her not. But where she was, he knew.

Swiftly down the great mallorn, past the circle of white trees, and westward he ran, crossing the forest floor at his best speed. He came to the stream, the beloved stream, and stopped. There was no one there. He searched, and searched again, and then closed his eyes.

The mannish girl from the land of stone?

The unwilling elf laughed. Not she. Yet perhaps I was once like her.

[mark12_30]

What do you seek here, lady?

A song.

That is well, for I know many.

Avarien laughed, and a silver shiver ran through Taitheneb. I must learn the song of the stream.

I knew it long ago.

Know ye well enough to sing it now?

Nay, lady. Only to know it if I heard it again. There was only one, I deem, who could have sung it for you aright.

Her silver smile faded, and she sighed. So the stones say also. But my mistress is long away, and her song faded.

[mark12_30]

With a sigh, Amroth stroked Nimrodel's ash-grey hair. "You know the song, Silverstream. It lies deep within your heart."

Her withered lips moved, and her brow twitched. Nethwador watched, Erebemlin watched, many watched from within; but the king waited without.

Amroth raised his eyes, and met the gaze of the red-haired man.

"When we came, she was womanly in her madness. Not now. She is like... a child." His eyes wandered from Raefindan to Indil, and the little one came forward. The king touched the child's little chin, and shook his head, and then looked from Mithrellas to Indil, and knew that Angela was also.

Raefindan told him.

The king's weariness worried Indil, but she let the king study her. Raefindan spoke long with the king in thought, and then the king blessed Indil, and turned to Nimrodel again.

Do you not know the song of the stream?

[mark12_30]

How would I know the song of a stream I do not know?

She turned to face him, tossed her head, and looked him full in his sea-grey eyes.

He froze, his heart racing; her gaze pierced him to his marrow, and he thought he should die for joy; yet her gaze was innocent, curious, with a trace of impertinence, and idle laughter. She knew him not. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked into her heart; the anger and the hatred and the bitterness were all gone, but she knew him not. She knew him not.

Silver Song, do you not know who I am?

Nay, golden one, shimmering fair and proud as any elf. Yet tell me. What is the song that the stream sings? If I am to be the stream, I must know.

Dearest, you know. You know the song of the stream.

She shook her head. I do not. She turned to the others, and gazed at them one by one. Who among you knows the song of the stream? Speak, and be not silent. Or sing; sing it for me, that I may hear.

[mark12_30]

Erebemlin searched his own heart, but he knew he did not remember Nimrodel's song. Almost he berated himself, but wisely refused; now was not the time for self-interest.

Nimrodel's handmaiden was nearby. "Mithrellas?"

"Nay. Her laments are burned into my heart, and her old joy is remembered only in her loss of it. She never sang it near me; she said it made her miss the stream too deeply. "

"We must seek elsewhere, then."

Gwyll and Aeron glanced at each other. Suddenly this game was life and death-- to learn the song of the stream.

Aeron stood back. Of course. It was more than life and death; it was her sanity, and somehow the quest turned on it.

Ravion looked up from holding Mellonin, and met Aeron's eyes. Where would they find the song? It was a thousand years old. Who knew thousand year old songs?

Mellonin spoke. "Taitheneb, tell me, where did she dwell?"

Not a thousand yards hence. We will go there.

Ravion's eyes widened; he had heard Taitheneb speak. That shocked him, for he knew the elf stood on the borders of Lorien by the stream. Yet more, he pondered; he had met the gaze of Aeron without a second thought. He searched the banks and did not see him. His head spun; but then, he looked down at Mellonin, and gazed into her eyes, and then closed his own; and there was Aeron, and Gwyllion, standing beside young Nimrodel-- silver and gold-- and golden Amroth.

Mellonin stood beside a different stream... a singing stream. NO, it was Avarien. But near her stood Taitheneb. And both seemed sad.

The banks have changed; the rocks are worn, and the stream floor is bright no longer, but dark with dead leaves.

The song is much changed.

I came hither for nought, then.

Yet stay, replied Taitheneb. Tarry yet a while.

She sat by the stream, and Taitheneb sat near her, wondering, amazed that she had faded so as to be invisible to his eye. But closing his eyes, he knew that many were near. He gazed from face to face, and waited.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan held Indil's right hand, and kept guard on Tharonwë, who was so doubtful now that he stood paralyzed, unsure of what was real and what was dream.

Mithrellas held Indil's left hand even as she set her thought on Nimrodel and Amroth. Long had she been with Nimrodel, caring for her ever, thanklessly. Never had she despaired. Even when hope seemed vain, she held firm from love. Then Imrazor had come back in the body of this young red haired man, and hope had rekindled; but more than hope, she had begun to know joy again. His name was Raefindan, and Imrazor, and Roy Edwards, and he loved her no matter who he knew himself to be for he was one. And hope had grown when little Indil had come, Indil who was a young woman named Angela. All these names, all these two-souled men and women! Some great thing must be afoot! So she hoped that Nimrodel would regain her own mind, and that she could again reunite with Amroth.

Indil glanced at Raefindan, proud that he was such a good defender of them all. Then she glanced at Mithrellas, who met her eyes with a smile, and loved her. She knew that she had lost her mother and father, but somehow chance had brought her a new mother and father, maybe not better than the old, but more than hope could have hoped.

Indil knew that she was Angela, and thought back to the short but full life she had lived, that Roy had been part of as her love's heart. It could have been overwhelming to Indil, but Angela was able to hold the seeming contradiction, and reminded Indil that there was something she had yet to do. There were two parts to it.

So Indil glanced back to Jorje Tirril and smiled back a the smiling dog.

"Come, Jorje, we need to go meet play with Nimrodel and Aeron and Gwyllion. Come sit beside me and I'll take you with me."

Jorje trotted over to Good Child. He loved her. He licked her hand and her chin and she laughed. Then she placed her hand on his head.

"Come with me."

Angela was guide, for she had through some special grace come from an undying realm to be Indil, and from that wondrous place she had taken ineffable secrets that aided her now. They passed into the place of ash and saw Nimrodel sitting in the ash, throwing it up with her hands childlike. At first they watched from behind Gwyll and Aeron and Amroth and Erebemlin as they spoke of a game of a swift stream and its young maid, and a king in his tree who loved her.

Indil started to sing a nonsense song and Jorje began to prance around her, yipping playfully, licking her hand and the others'. He came to Nimrodel and tried to lick her hand but his tongue passed through it, catching only ash. He coughed and started talk to her.

"What? Why not lick you? Play!"

[mark12_30]

Nimrodel saw the dog, and stopped throwing the ash. "Mischief. Good hound! Are you thirsty? The stream is near. "

Indil laughed, and met Nimrodel's eyes, and Nimrodel saw her. Nimrodel leaped to her feet. "The girl! Are you the girl? Know ye the stream's song? You are singing now! Let me hear you!"

She ran forward after Indil, who ran between Aeron and Gwyllion and Nimrodel, dodging Jorge. Jorje yipped and bayed, and Gwyllion and Aeron giggled and whooped. Nimrodel's laughter rippled, now cold as starlight, now warm as sunlight; her tangled hair flew in the breeze, and she playfully tried to catch Indil's hands, listening to every note that Indil sang.

The blacksmith stroked the grey hair of the stooped and wizened crone, and watched her face twitch and brighten, and her withered lips move. She smiled, a faded and dry smile; her eyes blinked open and shut, and her hands began to twitch and reach for the child that she could see better in her mind than with her fleshly eyes.

But the smiles were real. The blacksmith leaned closer to her, kissed her brow, and watched her. His skin was red with fever, and his brow glistened.

Erebemlin watched the lithe elf-maiden dancing with the little man-child, and their glee blended in a rippling laughter, sweeter and sweeter to hear. Joy, sweet joy, began to fill the dell; the laughter spread from child to all the maidens, from maidens to warriors, till the only face not bright with laughter belonged to the dark elf.

[littlemanpoet]

Indil kept singing for though she skipped she did not become breathless. The song never quite repeated the melody, but was everchanging like a clean flowing stream, yet like a cascading fall over rocks, parts of the melody repeated over and over again; thus Aeron and Gwyllion picked up the repeated notes as they danced. Even Jorje's barking and yipping found the same cascading notes.

While they sang and danced the ash began to change. It seemed to writhe at first, but began to take on color, turning green and reshaping as blades of grass and fronds of reeds. Then long stemmed flowers grew and the darkling gray of the enclosed place gave way to a growing light just at the edge of the land, and slowly began to light the sky.

But the singers and dancers paid it little heed save that it added to their play. The lithe Elf maiden did not tire and her face began to shine, for she began to pick up the same cascading notes of the children and the dog.

[mark12_30]

Nethwador approached Aeron, and then turned to Gwyllion, and held out his hand. She took it. With his other hand he reached to Bella, and she joined hands with him; Liornung stepped forward onto the green and flowering sward, and then Leafa.

Ædegard came forward, hesitating, eyeing Leafa. But he looked down to his own arms; and he gasped. Leafa reached for his missing hand, and he felt her warm grasp; his missing fingers wrapped around hers. And he joined in the dance as the sky glow brightened.

The only ones with open eyes, now, were Tharonwe, Raefindan, and the blacksmith. Raefindan saw in both realms at once; Tharonwe was lost in his own confusion; but the blacksmith's stare grew weary and distant, even as he stroked Nimrodel's ashen grey hair and sagging skin. He heard the laughter, and saw Nimrodel's withered smile, his eyes grew bright with tears, and he leaned forward once more and kissed her brow.

[mark12_30]

save just in case

[mark12_30]

The sun rose. The grass, young and tender, now grew thick around the dancers' ankles. Summer daisies, lupines, and columbines grew amidst the winter niphredil and elanor. Honeysuckle-bearing tendrils wove across the banks of the stream; mint blossomed amidst daffodils and yarrow; the air was thick with fragrance. Ravion, watching, could not choose the season; the laughter of the dancers made him smile, but it was the humming of the bees that summoned his first tear. Soon, sparrows and swallows swooped and sang, whippoorwills and owls and nightingales serenaded, but the clearest was the cry of the lark. It pierced his heart. Ravion pressed his eyes against Mellonin's neck, gathered her as close as he could, and wept in earnest.

Raefindan stepped forward, and laid his hand on Ravion's head; Ravion shook as he wept, burrowing into Mellonin's shaggy dark hair, drawing his knees up, tightening into a block of racking grief. Raefindan stood stock still, and waited. The dance wove, now further, now closer, and suddenly splashing through the stream, circled around Erebemlin, Nimrodel, Mellondu, Mellonin, Ravion, and Raefindan. The laughter surrounded them, the song flowed through them, the fragrance caressed them, and in time, as the dance grew wilder, Ravion's storm fell quiet. Raefindan released him, Ravion drew one deep shuddering breath, and another, and another, and raised his face to gaze at Mellonin. She sat up in his arms, and together they stood. Ravion looked about him, saw all that was made new, and peace flooded through him in waves. He stood in the heart of stillness as the dance whirled around them, and knew that his past was gone.

[mark12_30]

Taitheneb's laughter rang through the dell. The sad song of the cold stream seemed to brighten; Taitheneb rose and reached out his hands, but the dancers were far to the south, and he paused. But his laughter grew, and he looked for a wide place to dance.

He stopped, and closed his eyes, and looked down at Avarien, and reached his hand to her.

She stood, gazing into his eyes, and took his hands, and led him three steps up the gentle hillside, and smiled.

He waited for her to laugh with joy. BUt instead, he was surprised to see tears forming in her eyes.

What ails you, lady?

Nought ails me, young one. But tis an odd thing, for an elf to see.

What do you see?

Perhaps tis what I do not see.

Taitheneb waited.

All the wounds, and the griefs of my past. I no longer see them.

His laughter quieted, but his smile deepened. Tell me?

Perhaps I do not know how. But the regret... and the sorrow are no more.

She pressed both his hands in hers, and released him, and walked slowly away.

At first, she only walked in circles. But slowly, quietly, she began to move, and Taitheneb watched her weave a slow, peaceful, quiet dance among the trees on the bank of the stream.

[littlemanpoet]

Roy held Indil's left hand, Mithrellas her right, and they watched Mellondu and Erebemlin minister to Nimrodel as the others danced in spirit with the children. The only other who stood stock still was Tharonwë, confused by his thoughts which were buffeted by Roy's willful spirit.

"I know your thought, Imrazor," said Mithrellas, her brow creased. "He does not deserve such a grace."

She spoke over the head of Indil whose blissful face with closed eyes showed what they both also knew, that she was elsewhere in her thought. Jorje lay on his side at her feet, the tip of his tail wagging, his paws moving in sympathy with his dashing, running dream, letting out a whispered woof now and again.

"No, he does not. I read a story in which words similar to yours were spoken, and a wise counsellor answered that of course he doesn't. But who are we to judge? Who knows how he against his own desires may do what he does not intend?"

"That sword cuts with two edges, my love," she answered.

"Don't I know it?" said Roy. "It could be for the worse and my judgement in doubt for its failure; but should it fail, that does not mean I was unwise to attempt it. If he repents, its worth is undoubted."

"And if he does not?"

"I think it worth the risk. There is no other way for him to turn from his ill will."

"Aye, that is so," Mithrellas allowed. "I do not like it, though."

"Your thought and my thought may follow him. And Indil, Gwyllion, and Aeron are there too. So is Jorje."

"You have answered my fears, though my fear is not entirely quelled. Nevertheless, I will follow you in this."

Roy nodded and smiled, and gently squeezed Indil's hand, who squeezed his and Mithrellas' at once. Mithrellas matched his smile with a grave one of her own.

Roy sighed. "Soon, now," he said, and composed himself.

[littlemanpoet]

Roy had firm control of Tharonwë's mind already. However, that which he intended to do required a greater degree of control. So far he had only cast illusions so that the Swamp Elf believed that he did what he did not. Now he must actively meld the Swamp Elf's thought with that of another without letting him know what was happening. And this must be done carefully so as not to break his mind and undo all he intended.

He had composed himself in order to determine the best way to proceed; and now rejected pulling the Elf's thought to Nimrodel's and Amroth's. The moment he knew what must be done, it began to be done. He brought the images of the young Elf maiden dancing with the dog and the children, to Tharonwë; to Maegeleb, for the Swamp Elf must be made to go into this thought thinking of himself as the former and not the latter.

The moment the images came to Maegeleb, the Elf started, his eyes gone wide. His face took on a look of hunger and of longing. And he was in.

The young Elf stood in the grass, looking at the dance of the children and the maiden and the frolicking dog. At this point he did not see the ghostly shape of the Elf Lord. Maegeleb stood and stared, enraptured.

[littlemanpoet]

"Nimrodel! Nimrodel!" he cried. She did not hear him, given as she was to the dance. Thus had it always been. Maegeleb would go to where she was, but she would not see him. He would call and she would not hear, distracted by the stream and falls she loved. He had not the heart to force her attention, enraptured by the vision of her. He had always been content to watch and wait.

Then Amroth had come and taken her love and her heart away. He had regretted his inaction ever since, and his anger at himself for his lack of boldness had curdled into hate and envy against Amroth. Worse, it had turned to anger and bitterness that she paid him no heed. She would pay him heed!

But that had all been wiped away! Here now she was again, in the newness of the world, and all was fresh and full of promise. This time he would not wait.

"Nimrodel!" he cried and walked toward her. She whirled by in the dance, stlil paying him no heed. The rage came in an instant. He wanted to grab her and stop her in the middle of the dance, and force her to look at him, listen to him. But what if he joined the dance? She still might not notice him. Dared he take the risk?

[mark12_30]

A waft of cold seemed to pass over the dance, and NImrodel braced herself against it. She preferred the warmth of suimmer.

Perhaps it was the cloud that passed over the sun. Several of the menfolk missed a step, stutter-stepped to catch up, caught a hand on the second try. Indil frowned. The song of the birds seemed to falter for a moment. A tendril tangled around Ædegard's left foot. He yanked it loose.

Nimrodel met Indil's eyes, and they stepped into the center of the dance, letting it whirl around them. Erebemlin's brow furrowed, and he shook his golden head; his lips tightened. The cloud passed away, and the sun shone brightly; the birds sang again, the warmth returned, the rhythm of the dance once again grew in power.

From the center of the dance, Indil and Nimrodel turned, together, shoulder to shoulder, and faced the newcomer. Though they were surrounded with pulsing green, a frost was in their eyes. Nimrodel studied the newcomer silently for a long time, and then warily spoke.

"Stranger, do you know the song of that stream which I seek?"

[mark12_30]

Taitheneb watched Avarien pacing on the streambank in a slow circle dance. Though she was bent on her dance and heeded him not, he rested in her presence.

Bending to the stream, he dragged his fingers across its surface, and began tracing a circle. There were many in the circle dance; Rohirrim, and a man-child, and a lithe elf-maid. And many stood within the circle; the red-haired man; the ranger from the north; Avarien-- nay, the young mannish lady from the stone city.

Erebemlin was there. And Amroth was there. A strong, weary elf-woman-- he knew her. Mithrellas! And in Erebemlin's arms was-- an ancient woman, golden and silver-- or grey? Withered she was, and weary; yet young she was and lithe, dancing, and seeking-- seeking for the voice of the stream.

He sighed. Small wonder Erebemlin was weary. He searched for the king.

And found despair.

Lord Amroth.

A cold fear burdened his heart, and he fought it. Weary though Erebemlin was, nothing had prepared Taitheneb for the weakness of his king.

[littlemanpoet]

"Stranger, do you know the song of that stream which I seek?"

The question brought him up short. Yes, he knew. It was the stream that would bring her straightway back to Amroth. That he could not endure. She had noticed him. So had this young girl with her who knew him and did not like him at all. Well she should not! But his use of her had been necessary to his aims. No matter. He must proceed with care.

"What stream, lovely one?"

[mark12_30]

Taitheneb heard a dim whisper.

How dare he ask her.

Amroth waited on the edge; nay, he waited on the outside. And he lacked the strength even to speak to the dark elf. Taitheneb knelt by the king, and held him by the shoulders, and pressed his thoughts deeper into the king's mind, searching. He sensed Erebemlin's thanks even as he tried to raise the king up onto his own shoulders; but he could not do it. He tried again, and again, but the king slipped from his grasp each time.

There is little time, Taitheneb, friend and faithful one. I give you my thanks.

Taitheneb fought the despair. Avarien stood by his side. Together. Almost they raised him, but he slipped from their grasp. Avarien met Taitheneb's eyes. They knelt beside the king, and strove against his weakness.

***

What stream. She frowned, and slowly walked towards him. As she passed through the ring of the dance, the dancers wove around her. Her gaze bore into his eyes, and beyond.

"I deem you know what it is I seek, yet you hold it from me."

***

Mellonin turned towards Mellondu, and glanced up at Ravion. She knelt by the blacksmith. Ravion soaked a corner of his cloak in the stream and washed Mellondu's brow.

[littlemanpoet]

He had forgotten her perspecuity. Now was the time to meld the future's hypnotism with Elvish osanwë. But somehow it eluded him! He could not seem to make his mind work in that way. Maybe it was how all was changed. And why did his mind stray to thoughts of Raefindan?

What had he just been thinking of? He could not recall.

But she wanted to know of the stream. If he told her, it would lead her straightway to Amroth. That must not happen! But if he refused to tell her, she would scorn him. If he told her she would be grateful to him, but still cleave to Amroth. What use gratitude as meager payment in exchange for the prize? He did not know it but his face twisted into disgust and rage.

"I'll give you no answer. Better your hate to me and loss of him than empty gratitude!"

He turned his back to her, blinked once, and was of a sudden standing again in the vale, staring somehow at Raefindan who regarded him sadly. In a sudden rage he ran at Raefindan, wielding naught but an arrow. He fell upon him in fury.

The Gondorian Ranger, the Eorling, and the minstrel pulled him off the redheaded man; who had somehow escaped injury altogether. Then he saw the arrow, its point buried in the sward.

He wanted to speak his wrath but no words would come. They sat him down on the turf, his hands tied behind his back, guarded. The dog growled at him from by the little girl.

"Mandos take me," he growled. "There is nothing left for me in the lands of the living."

[mark12_30]

She looked down at the strange elf, now bound and sitting on the grass. His answers had been strange. But they lingered.

Better your hate to me and loss of him than empty gratitude.

...loss of him...

...loss of him...

She turned, and looked towards the dance. The rhythm slowed, slowed, slowed, but the harmony and power built yet more. She looked at each of the dancers, slowly, in turn, and searched their eyes.

Strangers, yet they loved her. They loved her each in turn with hope and peace but could give no path. They did not know.

The little girl, Indil. She searched her deeply. She had begin the song-- nay, she had begun a song so like it that it had woken her, given her longing and the hope of peace, but it was not the song.

What of those who had not danced? She gazed round. Three mannish folk sat near the stream, dark and weary. Two more elves and a weary elf-woman were near them, gazing at her. And a red-haired man stood with a dark haired regal elf lady, waiting. And far off was yet another elf, golden, but quiet.

She would speak to each in turn. First, the red-haired man, who was different than other men; and the elf-lady.

She approached them. She bowed her head to the man first, and then to the lady.

"You have loved me well, I deem. Somehow, I also know that I have not loved you well. "

She turned to the lady, and caught her breath. Long moments passed.

"I know you. You are my Mithrellas."

And Nimrodel wept, golden tears shimmering in the sun falling onto the green sward. Around them the trees darkened into a deeper green; faded into gold; the leaves fell; snow began. And still Nimrodel wept. When the snow grew thick around their ankles, she stepped forward and embraced Mithrellas. Mithrellas' strong and gentle arms encircled her once again, and Nimrodel knew that those arms had held her many, many times. Nimrodel's heart sank into the embrace. Finally Nimrodel spoke.

"Truly and well you have loved me these long ages. Yet I have given you only cruelty and despair. Great is my wrong. Oh, how great is my wrong toward you. And how great is your good toward me."

Indil came and stood, knee-deep in the snow, and looked up at Raefindan and took his hand.

Slowly Nimrodel's golden tears slowed, and she drew back, holding Mithrellas at arm's length, to look into Mithrellas' grey eyes.

[mark12_30]

Mithrellas was weeping also, but for joy and not sorrow. With her smile, the snow began to melt, and with her gentle words, the cold winds grew gentler and warm. Nimrodel's grief stricken tears slowed, and taking Mithrellas' hands, she laid her golden head upon them. Mithrellas spoke soft and long. Betimes Nimrodel trembled; betimes she was at peace. But the sun's warmth grew until the grasses went from new green to deep green, and the leaves came again.

The mortals blinked, and some passed their hands over their eyes, and stooped to touch the myriad flowers that bloomed anew. Ravion shook his head, and looked at Indil. "She is taller."

Indil smiled. "I am."

Ravion looked at Maegeleb. "He is older." Tharonwe all but hissed in reply. "Mortal fool."

Nimrodel raised her head and stood tall. She turned to each of the elves in turn: Mithrellas, Erebemlin, Taitheneb, Avarien. To Avarien she bowed. "May you find what you seek."

"And you, " replied Avarien.

Erebemlin and Taitheneb were waiting with baited breath. Taitheneb wondered whether he had breathed at all while the seasons had flown past. He must have, but he did not remember it.

Amroth. He had faded still more. How could he fade? Taitheneb turned towards the blacksmith, but he seemed a mere shadow. Where was the king?

Erebemlin reached one mighty arm to touch the blacksmith, and Taitheneb saw Amroth, faintly, faintly, standing afar off at the edge of the glade.

My lord!

I am here.

And now Nimrodel saw him. She glanced at Indil, who waved her towards the king. She turned to Mithrellas, who nodded, and reached for her shoulder, and spoke. "He has waited for you for an age. It is he who has what you seek."

Nimrodel started, and searched Mithrellas' eyes. "This one-- this king? He knows the song of the stream?"

Mithrellas nodded.

Indil nodded.

Nimrodel looked round, and all eyes seemed to her to be filled with hope; except the surly stranger, whose anger had become a black rage. She turned her back on him and walked toward the king at the edge of the clearing.

Amroth saw her approach, and began walking toward her. Erebemlin followed Nimrodel, and Taitheneb waited close at hand.

Nimrodel whispered to Erebemlin. "Why has your king faded? Is he so old?"

Erebemlin's face was tight with fear. "Perhaps you will heal his weariness, " he replied.

[mark12_30]

She halted three paces from the king, wondering at the hunger in his eyes. She bowed her golden head.

"Nimrodel, " he whispered.

She met his gaze. "That is my name, " she said. Then she tilted her head. "These are silvan elves like me," she said, gesturing to the others. "But though your hair is golden as ours, you are not silvan."

He knew they stood beneath the eaves of Fangorn. "I am Sindarin, yet my love for you is none the less. You have captured my heart, Nimrodel, and naught will free me."

"I know not why you speak of love. Those who come out of the west ever bring strife, " she said.

"I would free you from all strife, beloved. I would see you at peace and in bliss."

"How?"

"I have begged you to sail with me to the undying lands, and there we will wed, far from darkness and war."

"Wed? But I came only to ask you for the song of the stream."

"This I may give you, Silversong."

"Then give it me, for this is why I sought you."

He stepped forward and offered her both of his hands.

[mark12_30]

"Wait, " said Nimrodel.

Amroth's hands fell slowly to his sides.

"The game began, " she said, "with a big tree, and a king that lived in the big tree." She looked at him. "Are you the king that lives in the tree?"

"I am."

"And the game said that you loved the girl."

"I do."

Her brow furrowed. "Yet you said that you asked me to follow you, to the undying lands, and there wed. How can you ask me this if you love the girl who lives by the stream? I thought she, " Nimrodel turned and gestured to Indil, "was the girl who lived by the stream."

The king looked gravely on Indil. "Only in the game. Indil is a child. But there is a real stream, and Indil never lived near it. You did." He studied Indil, who was womanlike in mind and heart, yet had the form of a child. Yet Nimrodel was tall, lithe and womanly, and despite the weeping and healing her mind and heart were still childlike. He looked back to the early days of his quest, and remembered Fellwyne, and Eruvalde, and the other children at the Inn, and how they had befriended him, and he them, and how he had loved them. He half wondered if such a child stood before him now. If so, then all became simple, did it not? That was good, for he was weary. He gathered what strength he had left and turned back to Nimrodel. "Search my heart, little one, and tell whether I am true or false."

Nimrodel looked up at the king, pondering. And then she stood tall, and tossed her head, and took a deep breath. "King though you be, I shall search your heart," she said.

Only his eyes smiled. "I fear you not, " he said. "Search me."

[mark12_30]

She passed the gates of a settlement. Silvan elves surrounded her. Some looked up and smiled. More silvan elves sat gathered beneath the trees, some eating and drinking, some singing. All were more than content. The path went on ahead of her. She walked on it.

At the end of the path was a small fire, and beyond the fire sat many elves. Two stood before one on a throne, and on the throne sat a king, beautiful even among the Eldar. She drew near, listening. The standing elves spoke in turn, eager and bold, and the king listened to each. Back and forth they spoke. The king put his chin into his hand, and gazed for a moment at the ground. Then he stood.

"I can not yet judge, and I shall not judge in haste. Return to me in seven days, and I will choose."

The elves were startled; but they bowed, and turned, and walked back along the path. They were smiling and talking as they went.

The king turned and looked at the tall and mighty elf that waited on him, and now walked beside him. "Erebemlin, what think you?"

"Both are worthy. I cannot choose."

"Even so, " replied the king. "And it is the harder that their brotherhood is strong. Every day I give my favor to the one I loved less yestreen."

Erebemlin laughed. As they walked, they passed other elves, who bowed as they passed; Amroth looked into every eye, and met no faithless or unloving heart. He longed to be a father to each one; longed to give bliss and peace, longed for an age of still greater peace than they had ever known. Yet he could not even choose between two brothers.

"What shall you do, my lord, to choose before the seven days end?"

"Either will be a good father for the lad. Perhaps we should let the lad choose? Yet he is still too young. The doom must rest with me. How shall I choose? I must forget the choice for a time. Were we in Greenwood, we could hunt the white stag."

"Perhaps we should ask every tree on the western marches which one is best suited. Perhaps the trees will know."

"Better than the river?"

"That would not take seven days."

"No. The western borders it is, then. And I shall reach the borders before you."

The two stopped, and the challenge passed like fire between their eyes. They turned as one and sped westward, golden hair streaming behind them.

[mark12_30]

The two golden elves passed from tree to tree, laughing, and gazing up at each one. Sometimes they played a sort of tag, sometimes racing past each other, sometimes running together through the morning, Lorien in winter, golden above and below. Suddenly they halted, listening.

Though gold surrounded them, the voice was silver. Erebemlin listened in wonder, and smiled at its beauty. It mingled with the stream, and which one borrowed music from the other was hard to tell. He turned to the king.

The king stood rooted and pierced by wonder. Erebemlin waited. On the song went, wandering and piercing in beauty. The king did not move. Erebemlin almost forgot the song for the joy it had brought to his king. The joy grew as the song went on.

"Shall we seek her, my lord?"

The king closed his eyes. "I shall not stir while she yet sings."

Erebemlin nodded; but he swung into a nearby tree, and climbed until he saw the singer.

The song ceased, and the king stirred. Erebemlin climbed back down the tree and stood beside him, and saw that he trembled.

"She stands alone by the stream, not two hundred yards hence, " he said softly. The king met his eyes, and he understood. He watched the king walk slowly westward toward the stream, the enchantment of the song still trembling in his veins. When the king was hidden by the forest, Erebemlin turned and walked back the way they had come.

[mark12_30]

He had promised to choose on the seventh day; it was the sixth, and now he must run. He had stayed til the last possible moment, and departing took all his will.

He slowed. Seven feet tall, the magnificent golden elf appeared on the path ahead, running towards him. "I have come to bear your decision to the two brothers."

"Erebemlin! My faithful friend! How did you know--"

Erebemlin bowed to hide his smile.

Amroth stopped, and nodded. Then he shook his head. "I cannot choose, still. They are both worthy to be chosen. Therefore I choose the younger; the elder is too often chosen. And I can choose no other way."

Erebemlin raised an eyebrow. "The brothers are twins."

Amroth threw his hands in the air. "Was not one born after the other? Then have them draw straws!"

Erebemlin laughed. "You need not choose. I told them you have been delayed."

"I said I would choose. Which one was born later? He shall be the father of the boy."

Erebemlin nodded. Then he gestured back up the path. "Return to her."

"I shall, " said Amroth. "But not til I have given the brothers my choice. My path lies east."

Erebemlin and Amroth ran eastward; the road wearied Amroth, but Erebemlin ran easily.

[mark12_30]

The Lorien elves saw the change in their king, and were glad when he went westward. Some of the elves migrated deeper into the forest, closer to the western edge. Amroth spent more and more time by the stream.

A day's march from the waterfall, there was a green hill that bore a great mallorn tree; from it Amroth could still hear the stream, and he could still hear her voice.

His folk brought white saplings and mallorn saplings, and planted them in two circles around the crown of the hill, where grew the great mallorn. When she came to the hill, she sang for him. Elanor and Niphredil sprang up in the grass, and grew there ever after.

High in the tree they built a flet, and there he held court. When his duties freed him, he went to the stream where she stayed. He built a simple flet there also, and his joy was as great as his love for her. But she would not wed a Sindarin elf. He waited, and wooed her through ever changing seasons. The years passed; he loved her yet more and more.

And then the darkness came.

[mark12_30]

"I fled, " said Nimrodel.

A tear ran down Amroth's face.

"You searched for me. And when you found me, you vowed to bring me to a land of peace, and wed me there. And then we passed down into Gondor. But the land was restless."

"Drenched in evil. And I was parted from you there. I never should have left you, not for a moment. How I have rued that day since."

She gazed at him, doubting. And then she plunged into his mind again.

"You grieved. And searched, and searched. But we had pressed southward. You did not know this til we entered the mountains."

His tears fell freely. "The darkness over the land clouded my thoughts. I strove in my thought to see you from afar; yet however I strove, I could not."

Her face fell. "I was fearful, " she said. "I closed my thoughts. I feared to open my thoughts, lest the darkness find us."

Amroth waited.

"Instead, a different darkness found us. Found me, " she said.

Erebemlin shuddered, and Amroth and Nimrodel startled to see him standing beside them. Amroth reached to his shoulder. "Faithful friend, you could not have forseen that."

Nimrodel turned to gaze at Tharonwe, sitting bound by Raefindan and Mithrellas. "Great grief has he sown. Yet I proved to be fertile ground for such seeds of jealousy and resentment. Bitter I was, and driven to madness, and imprisoned by the darkness I tried to flee."

"Beloved, I would see you free from that; free, and in peace, and bliss."

"You would not enter that bliss without me." She turned back to Amroth, and they both shuddered.

"Nimrodel!" he cried, and leapt from the deck of the ship. A day and a night he fought the waves, but this time he felt her by his side. Then deep green surrounded them; their hair streamed around their faces. They gasped for breath and found none. Nimrodel braced herself at first, but then followed fearfully as Amroth sank deeper, and in the deep, he cried again. "Nimrodel!"

"That was the moment I heard you cry out to me?"

"You heard... perhaps it would have been better had I not cried out to you."

"That cry gave me hope!"

"And despair. Through the long years, it fed your despair, did it not?"

"But what else did I have?"

Suddenly a shriek came from the bound elf. "You had me! You could have had me! All I ever wanted was you! Yet you would have me not! Darkness take you both, darkness forever!" The bound elf was now screaming from frothing lips.

Nimrodel stiffened. Her eyes blazed and she began to tremble. She took three steps toward him, and she cried out. "I defy you. Begone! You have cursed me long enough! Begone and trouble us no more! Begone!"

The redhaired man raised one hand, and Nimrodel fell silent, and bowed her head. She turned, still trembling, and sought Amroth with pleading eyes.

"Show me, " she said.

He showed her his search through Gondor; his race to Edhellond; his pleading with the last elvish crew. The storm; the broken moorings; the receeding shore; his plunge from the deck of the ship; his battle with the waves. His last battle with the deep. And then silence.

[mark12_30]

Nimrodel stepped backward and put her face in her hands.

Amroth waited, but his eyes shone with hope.

~*~*~

Taitheneb stepped closer to Erebemlin. "He chose Ithildir over Celemir simply because Ithildir was the younger?"

Erebemlin searched Taitheneb's eyes before he answered. "Yes."

Taitheneb, thunderstruck, shook his head. "On a whim?"

"Yes, on a whim. There was no other way to choose. Celemir and Ithildir are both fine elves. Among the finest."

"But I had always believed he had a firm reason for choosing Ithildir over Celemir simply because Ithildir was younger!"

Erebemlin raised an eyebrow. "Younger by moments, Taitheneb. What lead could Celemir possibly have had in those things usually gained by long years?"

Taitheneb gazed blankly at Erebemlin.

Amroth spoke, as if out of a great distance. "Did Ithildir father you well?"

Taitheneb nodded. "Of course. He is a fine father."

Amroth smiled. "Why then, I am glad. As you should be. And Celemir was a fine uncle?"

Taitheneb thought this over, and then laughed. "I guess I would have been well raised either way."

Erebemlin slapped his younger friend on the shoulder, and a rare smile lit the ellon's face. "You were well raised indeed."

Their attention turned back to Nimrodel, who was pacing on the nearby sward.

[mark12_30]

NImrodel paused, and gazed at Amroth, and lingered. And then she approached him, and stood before him.

He watched her, and waited.

She looked into his eyes again, and trembled. She spoke then in a whisper, but the glade quivered to hear it.

"You are true."

Taitheneb watched the king steadily brighten, and Erebemlin's fear began to ebb. At last, he thought. She knows him. An age seemed to slip away like a dream upon waking.

Erebemlin turned suddenly to the north. "My lord, hark to the breeze." Taitheneb caught his breath. Amroth's spirit burned brighter, for from far away, as if borne upon a breeze from a thousand years, he heard a silver voice, falling. His blood trembled in his veins. Once again torn between listening enchanted, or joining her in the song, he listened. His spirit burned steadily brighter. But Nimrodel stood still and silent before him.

Amroth offered her his hands, again, and she gazed down at his hands; slowly, she placed her hands in his, and then returned her gaze to his eyes.

"I will go with you."

Erebemlin bowed his head to hide his tears of joy; Taitheneb stifled a shout, for a moment, but then gave a great shout, and wept, and turned laughing to find someone to embrace. Some of the mortals laughed, some wept, some shouted for joy. Only Raefindan and Mithrellas neither moved nor spoke.

"Beloved, my heart desires naught else." He kissed her brow as joy swept through the glen.

Then he said, "But I can not take you with me."

Stunned silence fell, and one of the mortals gasped. The mocking laughter of the bound elf echoed in the glen before Raefindan silenced him.

Erebemlin's heart all but froze. She had been healed for moments, and now must she be wounded again?

"I do not understand," Nimrodel replied. But she did this day what she could not do for the past thousand years: she trusted him. "What must I do?"

Amroth's gaze kindled. "You shall choose whether or not to follow me-- alone."

Her eyes grew very wide. "I am afraid."

"I know."

"I felt the pain you knew under the dark water. Must I follow you into the water?"

"I do not know. Your way will be made clear if you are willing to take it."

"I have been in the sea. It is cold, and too strong. I fear it."

"The stream does not fear, but sings as it rushes to join the sea."

Her eyes sparked, and she pressed his hands. "Will the song give me hope?"

"The song of the stream." He lingered over the words. "That is what you came to ask me for."

Nimrodel gathered her courage. "Give me the song, " she said.

[littlemanpoet]

Roy was saddened that Maegeleb could not change. He had not completely given up hope, but he was not about to take any risks that might ruin Nimrodel's chances to find Amroth. He turned his thought to Indil.

She had grown! Her thought was all given to Nimrodel, as was Mithrellas'. But he sensed Angela too, and in the sensing discovered her thought. And she was aware of him.

There you are. You have been busy, and that is good.

It still amazes me that you are here.

It's a grace.

Don't I know it! And it's been a long journey.

Yet we're much nearer the beginning than the end.

So true. He sensed that this was just as much so for Nimrodel and Amroth.

And it includes Mithrellas, Raefindan.

It is strange, you calling me that. And now you will become my step-daughter while she and I make a life we once had. Most passing strange!

All of it preparation.

Was your life cut short such a preparation?

Roy sensed a sigh from her.

You still grieve a little.

Don't you? How is it for you?

I wonder what it would have been like to become a woman who loved you.

You were already.

For years, I mean.

Now you get the chance to do both, but as my daughter.

Angela began to laugh for the sheer hilarity of it, and Mithrellas joined her for she had been listening all the while - without jealousy - which increased his love for her.

And so we receive reward and grace far beyond our desserts.

So it always is.

May it be so for Nimrodel.

Aye, may it be so for us all, said the thought of Mithrellas.

Then the three quieted for Nimrodel had just asked Amroth to give her the song.

[mark12_30]

The long winter would soon be past. The sun gleamed on the snow-covered mountainsides. The snow crystals sparkled with golden light behind the glistening sheen of melting water. Below drops formed, and running down, joined into the merest trickle over the ice. Beneath, rocks and pebbles lay hidden that would soon see the sun. The trickle found her way downward, joining other drops, and finding a channel. Further down that channel would find a golden wood, and among the golden wood, the stream would find her voice; her sweet, silver voice.

To the south, Celebdil towered over the Wild, and Celebrant flowed from his mighty sides down towards the golden wood, cascading and rushing. Yet the voice of the Celebrant sang less sweetly than she. Falling silver ran beneath the golden sun, down, down, laughing downwards; the forest yet lay far below in the warmth of the valley.

[mark12_30]

Far above the treeline, the rocks glittered golden in the cold sun; over them raced a sheer smooth silver gloss, singing, singing. The cold golden rock rejoiced beneath the silver song that flowed over it, bringing its color to life. The low sun shone off the silver surface, and a young elf paused, high above the snowline.

He came to the shining stream, bent down to the stream, and his lips met the water. He drank. The cold filled him and he laughed aloud, exulting in its sweet taste; then he stood, and caressed the stream with his hand before he turned to chase the water down the hill. He sped away towards the forest far below. Beside him, the water shimmered and glowed in the cold winter light, laughing, singing, racing down, down, down.

Far below, eagles left their soaring and turned towards their eyries. A great stag darted away from the stream as the young elf sped past. The elf cried to him, and the stag looked back. The elf ran on. Beside him the stream gained strength.

[littlemanpoet]

The cold sun set and the stars kindled. Raefindan looked up.

"Do you see, Mithrellas? Indil? These same stars were seen by Frodo and Sam as they crouched beneath Cirith Ungol and talked of the story they were in. And we are part of the same story ourselves!"

"All the stories," said Mithrellas, "are threads into the weave of the Tapestry. But unlike a simple tapestry they merge and intermix and part ways, and some rejoin."

"And some are always sundered," said Indil's child's voice with Angela's wisdom beyond her years.

"Yes. So it is for some among the Eldar."

"But even for the Eldar-" Raefindan paused "-beyond the walls of Arda's time, I believe that even those sunderings will be ended. And ours is a foretaste, thee and thee and me, for others to see, and to hope."

"I believe it may be so," Mithrellas said, "and as it is for us, so it is becoming for Amroth and Nimrodel. Look."

They turned their attention back to the interplay of places and dreams and the now and the not yet but soon to be, and expectant, waited for the moment of waking that was soon to come.

[mark12_30]

On and on the elf ran, down, down, beside the glowing stream. Through the ice the stream ran, than through rocks and over sand; lower down on the slopes, the deep green of moss lay beneath the silver sheen, and grass grew along her sides. Still she sang, and still the elf ran by her side. The sun set; she sang beneath the stars; he ran on.

Dawn came, and the elf slowed to a walk in the golden light. The silver voice sang beside him, and his voice began to mingle with hers. The forest neared. The golden leaves were falling from the trees, and some fell into the stream, and floated away beneath the stars. He came to the forest eaves. Golden buds swelled on the branches. Moss flourished along the stream banks; the stream was deep and cold, and her song remained silver. She danced down rocks and rushed over rapids, and the silver song went cascading on, til they came to one more waterfall over golden rocks; the song shimmered and sparkled like stars in the coldest night, and her silver laughter fell into a shining pool.

The elf stopped beside the pool, knelt, and drank; then he sat on the bank, and listened. Another elf appeared, and they nodded a greeting, but did not speak. Another elf came, and another; women and warriors came out of the wood, and without speaking (but with much laughter) together they began a circle dance. Across the waterfall at the top of the pool, around the north of the pool, and across the second waterfall at the bottom, around the south of the pool and back to the top waterfall, their steps quickened and their laughter rippled and blended with the stream.

A new note sounded in the stream. You are true. I choose to trust you. The dance changed; it had been merry and glad; now it held a more solemn joy. The elves laughed less and smiled more, and now they began to sing. As the flowers sprang in the grass, the song rose among the tree branches, and the golden mallorn blossoms opened. Fragrance swept southward on the wind. The song of the stream, cold silvery joy, rode the same wind southwards toward the sea.

[mark12_30]

Southward towards the sea...

The mountainside elf slipped from the dance, and followed the stream. The circledance song faded from his ears even as it took root in his heart, and ran like sap through his veins. Beside the stream he ran, as it swept through Lorien west to east; golden leaves beneath his feet, golden blossoms drenching the air with fragrance; silver stream glistening like cold moonlight under the sun.

Ever and anon he paused, and bent towards the stream, and drank the glowing shimmer; ever the laughter welled up in his heart, but none escaped his lips. Instead his heart soared, and he exulted in his strength even as he caressed the stream. The song grew, lilting laughter, rippling song that rivalled the sweetest nightingale.

Down the stream flowed; down the mountain-elf ran; til the stream joined the mighty Anduin, where the elf paused, and stood on the bank, and watched the water, the silver laughing moonlight, flow past and blend with the seaward rush. As the sun sank into the horizon, the elf stretched tall, feeling the song vibrating in his veins; then he turned southward, dove into the rushing mighty river, and swam southward immersed in the moonlit song.

[mark12_30]

Raefindan, gazing up at the stars, closed his eyes. Mithrellas watched him, and knew that he trembled with the strength of great joy, and that his blood sang in his veins.

She understood.

[mark12_30]

Nimrodel stirred, and her grey eyes opened, and looked up at Amroth. His gaze met hers.

She spoke. "I thought I loved the stream more than anyone else ever could."

"You loved the stream for its own sake, " he said. "But I loved it for your sake. Which love was the greater, who can tell?"

"I loved the banks and the rocks, the trees and the pool, and the waterfalls. But you loved the water?"

"And the journey. The long, daring, self-forsaking journey."

"That is what you call me to now, is it not?"

He nodded. "Will you follow me as I followed you; will you seek me as I sought you." He spoke without fear, and she knew her own heart.

She closed her eyes again.

[mark12_30]

The stream turned around the bend and joined with the Anduin.

Wider, broader, deeper, in a long slow sweep, the song turned southward. Leaves tumbled in it; weeds waved in it; the mountain-elf was swept joyously along. Sometimes he lay on the shimmering surface, and watched the tree-laden banks sweep by; sometimes he plunged to see the rocks or the sand. Sometimes he chased the leaves, laughing. Silver trout nosed him as he passed; some swam beside him, and he spoke with them, or sang to them. At night he sang to the stars, or to the moon if he hung low on the horizon tangled in the trees. Three days and three nights passed.

Soon the song of the river steepened; the mountain-elf turned to watch his ways, now, as rocks sped past. Around the rocks the river rushed, hurrying, laughing aloud. Soon the laughing became a shout. Around one rock, around another, the mountain elf raced with the skill and agility of an otter. He spared no breath for singing, now, but swam downward through Sarn Gebir flanked by laughing trout.

All around him the silver song grew in strength and power, and the trout shared it, and the moon echoed it, and the banks flew past.

Then slowly it grew quiet again. The water widened, the downward rush slowed to a steady quiet flow. For another day, the mountain-elf took a well-earned rest, surrounded by a school of trout that sang softly to him as he rested on his back and gazed at the silver sky. Then once again the song grew in power, but still he lay on his back and the school of trout paced him. Faster and faster they swept, til far overhead two vast and mighty warriors stood watch. He greeted them with joy as he sped between them, tiny next to their vast feet. They hid the moon as they slowly passed overhead.

Quiet came again as they swept into a broad and peaceful bay, and the silver trout sang once more; but in the distance thunder brewed. THe mountain elf rested, and gathered his strength.



***


"He cannot pass the falls!" gasped Taitheneb. Ravion struggled to his feet; Mellonin stood by his side. Together they watched Amroth's face.

Raefindan shook his head. "His flesh long since ceased to trouble him." But there was doubt in his voice.

Erebemlin remained deep in thought.

Indil spoke. "Will he swim the falls?"

It was the cracked and wizened voice of Nimrodel that answered. "I shall bear him."

Erebemlin trembled.

Behind them, Ædegard drew near. "Courage, Lady. But remember that you bear the weight of two; and one remains mortal."

[mark12_30]

Slowly, all the men drew near. Raefindan had stood by, and Indil; and near them Ravion and Mellonin; but now Ædegard, Argeleafa, Liornung, Bellyn, and Nethwador stepped closer; Gwyllion and Aeron clasped hands and stood over the water.

Taitheneb went to Erebemlin, and waited. The air was still in the glade, and the fall at the foot of the pool murmured softly in the midmorning sun.

Mithrellas alone seemed at peace.

***

The rumbling drew nearer; it was a faroff army, a wall of storm.

Nimrodel's lips twitched; her eyelids fluttered; slowly she stirred.

Erebemlin trembled, and Taitheneb frowned.

***

The mountain elf gazed restfully at the sky, his back to the falls. From the gates of the kings, the north wind swirled; high above rode the hawks. Beneath and beside him the silver trout sang.

"Let us turn back, " said the blacksmith.

The school of trout slowed, and their song faltered.

"There is yet time, " said the boy. "We can return to your stream, and there abide through the long ages. I will stay with you always."

"Amroth, " said Erebemlin.

"Come back with me, " said the blacksmith. "Nimrodel, let us return to the trees and the riverbanks you loved, and to your own shining waterfall that sings so sweetly and so gently. Not to this, not this wrath."

"Amroth!" said Erebemlin.

"Leave him, " pleaded the boy. "Come with me. I do not ask you to die! I ask you, bide with me, and live! I will never leave you! Do not leave me!"

"Amroth!" Erebemlin shouted, and his eyes snapped upen. "Return him to me! What have you done?"

Nimrodel struggled out of Erebemlin's arms, rose to her feet, and turned to face Mellondu. "Mellondu, do not speak so, " she said. But Erebemlin leapt to his feet also, and Erebemlin's voice rose and filled the glen. "Return him to us, " Erebemlin cried. "Return-- Amroth, return to us! Amroth! Amroth!"

There was no wind, but the massive elf's golden hair swirled about him as if from the heat of a fire. "Amroth!" he roared in desperation, and strode to Mellondu, who shrank from him in fear. The elf filled the glade with golden flame, and his voice and his eyes were fire; Mellondu screamed and writhed. Erebemlin took the blacksmith's shoulders and lifted him til they were face to face; still he called to Amroth; stilll the blacksmith screamed.

Raefindan stood frozen as the fires of Erebemlin raked through the soul of the blacksmith desperately seeking his king. One breath passed; two, three; four; and now Raefindan spoke. "Release him!"

Mellondu's cries slowly abated; he shook like a leaf and wept in terror. Erebemlin held him still; but the elf shone no longer; he had gone suddenly cold.

Nimrodel raised her wizened face and gazed at Erebemlin. "The king is not here, " she said. "My lord is gone. Trouble the boy no more."

[mark12_30]

"Trouble?" said Erebemlin, gazing bewildered at her. He did not move at first. Then slowly he lowered blacksmith to the ground.

Raefindan stepped forward, grasping Erebemlin's shoulder with one hand and Mellondu's shoulder with the other. Mellonin, as if suddenly woken from a dream, gazed from face to face, and then reached for Mellondu.

Mellondu gazed now at Nimrodel, and she waited. Slowly his fear and pain abated; he trembled now under her silver gaze. He pleaded with her. "Let us leave the river, and return to the stream; the shadow is gone; you are free; I am free. We can dwell there again in peace. Nimrodel, Nimrodel, sweet Silversong, let us go back home, and there dwell. I will never leave you."

Erebemlin and Taitheneb listened with icy and sinking hearts. Mithrellas turned to Nimrodel and waited.

Ædegard spoke. "Mellondu, you cannot. She cannot. Do not speak so." Liornung and Bella began to plead with Mellondu, but Nimrodel raised her hand.

She stepped forward to him, and stood before him; the young blacksmith and the wizened crone. Yet as they watched, and she spoke, her voice came clearer. "Darklove, heed me. I shall not allow you to enter the same prison I dwelt in for these thousand years."

"I love you, " Mellondu said.

She nodded. "You speak truly. Yet it shall not be as you wish; I shall go west; and you shall remain. I wish you joy, Mellondu; there are those here who love you as I cannot. Your sister," she said, nodding at Mellonin, "and your friends, and those at home. You must remain with them and for them."

"I will die without you, " he said.

She straightened her back and stood taller. "I hope not; not, at least, until your hundred years are past. And now, young Darklove, I must carry you down the falls."

Erebemlin and Taitheneb stood numbly by, too lost in their grief to know what came next. But Mithrellas watched with shining eyes as Nimrodel stood straighter, taller, stronger by the moment. Her eyes seemed to clear. Her skin seemed less heavy. The wind, coming now from the south, caught her silvery-golden hair and lifted it. And now the mortals saw her changing, and Raefindan and Indil began to sing the song of the stream. Straighter and taller she stood; her eyes shone like the moon on the water; her skin was as smooth as the stream at dawn; her hair streamed in the wind; and she began to sing. Though it was nearing mid-day, moonlight filled the glade. She stepped forward and took Mellondu's hand as if he were a child.

[mark12_30]

Ravion turned to Erebemlin and Taitheneb, but their eyes were glassy and their hearts were as stone, and he turned from them with a shudder, and sought out Raefindan.

"She cannot take him down the falls alone."

Raefindan nodded. "I know this." Yet he too was steeped in grief.

Mithrellas came forward, and strode to Nimrodel. "I shall aid you."

Now Indil stepped forward. "As will I, lady. You are young again. And very pretty."

A slight laugh answered the child's voice; but Nimrodel shook her head. "Take a moment, and heal the elves, and the redhaired man. I will need all of your strength."

She turned to the ranger. "Ravion. Once, three boats departed Lorien, carrying mortals in great danger. One remains. Can you not bring it to me?"

Startled, Ravion turned to look at the far side of the little pool. Far across the Anduin, at the foot of the Emyn Muil, he was surprised to see a small grey elven boat. In the boat, Mellonin paddled it swiftly hither; or was it Avarien? He called to her, and waved. She turned it towards him, and drew near.

"They endure the east wind, but do not ask tidings of it," she said grimly. "So this boat has lain hidden these long years."

Ravion shook his head in wonder and bewilderment, and turned to Nimrodel. "Your boat, lady, " he said. Beside them on the little stream, a boat shimmered like the mist; or was it a leaf floating past? Beneath the leaves, a school of little silver trout flickered by, and swam towards the little fall that led downward toward the sea.

"I am afraid, " said Liornung.

"Sing with me, " said Bella. "She needs us, too."

From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones;
The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans.
‘What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve?
Where now is Amroth the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.’
‘Ask not of me where he doth dwell-so many bones there lie
On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky;
So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea.
Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!’
‘O Amroth! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south,
But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea’s mouth.’

Liornung sang with Bella, and it seemed to bring him comfort. Ædegard and Argeleafa knew parts of the song, and sang hesitantly. Mellonin sang, softly, but she wept as she sang. And for Ravion and Raefindan, the grief was still to near.

[mark12_30]

Nimrodel stepped into the grey boat from Lothlorien, stood in the stern, and began to sing. Mellondu followed, and the boat swung out into the current. He hid his face, for a moment, but then raised his eyes, and looked full into her face, and waited.

The roar of the falls grew.

Ravion watched, surrounded by song, as the boat dwindled and rushed toward the falls. He could see as clearly as if he stood nearby. He shook his head; suspended over the falls with Gwyllion and Aeron, he caught his breath as the grey boat hesitated on the glassy top. A moment it hung, and then it plunged down the falls.

They waited.

Beneath the thundering foam, silver trout rippled and flashed southward. Ravion, Gwyllion, and Aeron flew above the river, and gazing, saw the grey elvish boat filled with clear water. Nearby swam Mellondu, and the boat seemed to pause and wait for him.

Nimrodel was nowhere to be seen.

Mellondu's cry pierced even the thunder of the falls. The boat swept him switfly southward; he clung to it, at first, and then crawled over the gunwale, and sat in the clear water. It seemed to Ravion that day turned to night, and the river slowed. Mellondu passed six streams, and when he came to the seventh, he took up the paddle, and steered into it, and got out of the boat, leaving it carelessly in the shallows.

From the marshes, a bent and haggard woman in green came slowly out to meet him. He knelt before her, and she took his face into her bony hands, and his tears poured through her fingers and onto the grass.

She let him weep awhile, and then taking him by the shoulders, raised him to his feet, and turned him to look at the boat. She raised one hand, and the boat turned, and floated past; he cried aloud. Nimrodel now lay, composed and still and young, in the boat beneath the clear water. Only her hair moved, as tiny silver minnows flickered about her. A school of silver trout swam south, around and beneath the grey boat.

Marigold stood with one hand holding Mellondu's shoulder, one hand still raised in farewell; Mellondu froze in disbelief as the grey boat followed the current south, dwindling into the distance til it faded from sight. Mist rose from the river, and the cold settled deeper and deeper into Mellondu's heart. They stood so til dawn.

[mark12_30]

Ravion stood by the bank, and wondered at Erebemlin's silence, 'til he saw his eyes downcast. The glade grew quiet; Mellondu was gone; Nimrodel was gone. Aeron and Gwyllion were gone; so were Indil's parents. The Rohirrim still sang, softly, but Bella was silent. Mellonin wept. He longed to find peace for her.

Instead he turned to the elves, and placed one hand on Erebemlin's shoulder, and another hand on Taitheneb's head. Part of him wondered why he did so; yet even as he wondered, he saw Marigold lift her wrinkled face, and call Erebemlin; her voice was soft and golden. Slowly Erebemlin stirred, and looked down at Ravion as if from a great distance. Taitheneb slowly opened his eyes. Ravion heard Marigold speaking, long and low; the elves waited, numb with grief. Anon she ceased, and the elves closed their eyes again.

The Rohirrim ceased singing, and the glade was still.

[mark12_30]

Between the reeds, shadows flickered as muddy eddies swirled. A fog had settled in over the marsh, and the porch was slippery. The old man leaned on the railing.

"Come to dinner," called a thin voice from within.

He did not want the oily marsh trout again, so he stood clutching the rail. She hobbled out, stood by him clutching the rail, and gazed at the eddies and the fish below.

The fish turned, and swam southward. They would have flickered silver in the sunlight but the fog was too thick.

"He will come to us soon, " she said.

He stirred. "I would rather he lived."

"Fear him not," she replied, in a voice no longer thin. He looked at her; she was clothed in green, and there were golden glints in her hair. He looked up; the sun was still behind the fog.

"Does he not owe the elf-lord his life? Erebemlin? Is he not bound to him?"" he replied.

She stood taller, and the green and gold grew brighter. "The elf-lord has released him. He will be home soon, " she said.

A thin voice called from within. "Come to dinner." He looked within, and his wife stood waiting. He looked back to the railing. There was no one.

He turned, and shuffled inside. "Mellondu will be home soon, " he said.

[mark12_30]

Liornung waited, and wished he could sing. But the mist was too heavy.

He waited, and watched, especially the two elves. They felt so cold. WHy he could feel it he did not know; he had felt Erebemlin's fire, a little; now he felt their ice.

Yet it was not quite despair. Not quite. Erebemlin and Taitheneb stood locked in thought, lingering, wondering, missing the mountain elf; missing their golden king. Erebemlin missed Nimrodel, too; and even the blacksmith, a little.

In his mind's eye, Liornung saw a lady in green, with golden hair, by the riverside. Yet when he turned to the bank, there was no one.

Behind him, Taitheneb stirred, and looked toward the same spot on the bank.

[mark12_30]

Beneath several minty-smelling quilts Mellondu slept deeply. His breathing was regular, and deep. Dried salt tracks whitened his face and his dark beard.

Marigold walked up the path towards her little house laden with herbs. She had walked far, but nothing had disturbed the lad; Jorje had seen to that. He thumped his tail on the floor at her as she entered the house, and Mellondu stirred. She added a handful of the fresh herbs to the kettle, hung the kettle over the fire, and bent down and brushed the hair from the blacksmith’s brow. “Sleep,” she whispered. “Be at peace.”

With a contented sigh, Jorje lay his head back down. Marigold smiled at him, and then returned her gaze to the blacksmith. His dreams were no longer of death, but neither were they of joy. She stood watch over him. Nearby, Taitheneb and Erebemlin waited; she smiled at them, and they faded from her sight, but they were near nevertheless.

[mark12_30]

No one in the glade spoke.

Through the cold night, some stood, some sat by the water's edge. Several of the Rohirrim huddled together for warmth; some even slept. The elves stood like statues, their eyes gazing far to the north. The only moving thing was the mist, rising from the water and rising from the lips of men and elves.

When the stars had all faded and the eastern sky was shot through with gold, Raefindan stirred and stood; Mithrellas met his gaze, and Indil gave them each one of her little hands, and they walked to the water's edge and washed their tears off of their faces.

Slowly the Rohirrim joined them, washing and drinking. The mist caught the sunrise, and the glade was filled with soft golden light.

Far on the edge of the glade, the dark elf lay still. He had been forgotten. She watched him for a moment, and then turned toward Erebemlin. He was as cold as the night had been. But in Taitheneb she felt a glimmer of the dawn.

[littlemanpoet]

Jorje Tirril had much to do! The river woman had said so. The One-toes needed a pack leader and he was to be it. He had a long way to go but he knew how to scrounge up a meal where he needed to, and the river woman said he was allowed to sleep.

He sniffed his way back up the tilted land and through stony places where it was cold and windy with few scents on the wind. Then he scrabbled down past where the big snow had fallen (that was gone now and warmth had made it all turn wet) to where the one-toes were.

It took some yammering and calling before these silly over-sized dogs with the single toes and the wrong shaped noses understood what was needed from them. Jorje wished he was working with his own kind of dog - or at worst the fluffy stupid grass-eaters. These one toes, for all their length of nose, just weren't good dogs. Didn't they have any sniff sense? Well, some but not much. And the two-foots could ride them. No, grass eaters would not do.

Finally they got the sniff of it and allowed themselves to be hallooed down the tilted land. It was a long way around. They passed the walled burrow where many two-foots lived and kept going, following the big river, then kept the tilted land in sight to their right until they came to another river, the one the river woman said was the one to follow up into the tilted land. And there they were to stop. It took many sleeps to get there, but he got it done without losing a single one-toe.

It had been close one time when a group of one-toe riders had tried to herd his pack away, but the river woman must have helped because his one-toe pack had outrun them (sometimes it was good not to have riders on one-toes).

At last they came to the place, with lush warm grass for the one toes and little four-foots Jorje could catch and eat, and he sniffed on the wind the words of the river woman: "Good dog, Jorje Tirril, you are a very good dog! You have done well! Red-top is coming with all the others."

Red-top? Jorje was happy and waited eagerly.

[mark12_30]

Marigold stood by her little fire and slowly stirred her pot of steeping herbs. Nearby Mellondo's breathing settled, peaceful and steady. She smiled. One by one she took the mint-scented quilts off of him, and folded them carefully, and set them aside, until there was only the green velvet coverlet beneath him. His fever was gone, and she knew that the cold would no longer harm him.

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

Mellondu stirred, and resettled on the thick green moss.

Nearby a doe tested the wind, and turned to look at the man lying in the moss on the stream bank. She drew near, warily, and sniffed his black hair; here was no threat, and she walked past into the stream, scattering silver minnows as she drank.

[littlemanpoet]

The Elves and Raefindan took turns guiding the bound Tharonwé down the mountain slopes. The others negotiated the difficult path in pairs that had formed during their sojourn: Mithrellas and Indil, Aedegard and Argaleafa, Ravion and Mellonin, and last Liornung and Bellyn.

Whereas most pairs had a caregiver and receiver to varying degrees, Liornung and Bella had come through the harrowing adventure unscathed, in body if not entirely in soul. So it was that the travelers had by turns song, story, jest, or just good talk floating down from above and behind them from the last pair.

As they followed the stream, the cold and winter of the heights gave way to the warm scents and colors of early summer. At last they reached the foothills where neighings and raucous, hilarious barking greeted their ears. Around the next bend there were horses and one dog jumping excited from paw to paw.

"By Jorje, I think it's Jorje!" Roy laughed.

The dog's ears perked and his eyes found the red haired man, and he bounded toward him and jumped full on his chest. Roy fell back laughing, glad that Taitheneb held the prisoner.

"How is it that you brought these horses with you, Jorje?" he asked as he scratched his ears and got a tongue washing to rival any puppy.

"He was sent," said Mithrellas. "I see a woman near a river, smiling and stirring something warm and satisfying in a pot."

"That would be Marigold," said Erebemlin. "It is time for us to mount these steeds and be on our way."

[mark12_30]

Homecomings followed by epilogue. (Bump)

[piosenniel]

This game thread will be moved to Elvenhome.

It can be brought back to play at the request of its players.

~*~ Pio