The Hills of Evendim RPG

[piosenniel]

Elora's post

In the 12th year of the Fouth Age Bree was a busy place, blossoming in prosperity now that order had been restored with the return of a King to the throne of the Reunited Kingdom. On the edge of the now protected Shire, Bree was a meeting place of many. Hobbits came and went with increasing regularity, realising the profit to be made in trade with the Big Folk. The commerce of Middle-earth brought many varied people to see it done. Elves were rare, many bypassing the streets and inns of the mannish town for the quieter woods. Dwarves occasionally stumped through. Bree was a town built of stone largely, and it had need of masons after the War of the Ring and Sharkey’s malicious damage had been and gone.

Mostly, it was Men and Hobbits that filled the streets, shops, forges and guesting houses that made up Bree. Barliman Butterbur’s excellent inn, The Prancing Pony was perhaps the most renowned meeting place in the lands for a good 50 miles. The Master of Buckland had chosen it well, for precisely this reason. Where else would you find such folk willing as to brave the Wilds in search of a missing messenger from Rohan? Rangers came and went as ever. So too did many sturdy folk of good hearts and endurance willing, it was hoped, to lend their aid.

Eodwine of Rohan, if he lived, would be in sore need of such stout people. The Master of Buckland's appointed representative, Doderic Brandybuck, made his way to the Prancing Pony even now. With him were two already. Another four also travelled for the Prancing Pony with the intent to find and retrieve the man that brigands had snatched in the north. Falowik the Wanderer had been clear and concise in his report. He had seen the messenger viciously attacked and then taken. With no way of knowing whether Eodwine lived and only his pleading gaze as he was first set upon sent to where Falowik sheltered wisely in the undergrowth, the wanderer had reluctantly shed his hiding to retrieve the satchel, stained with Eodwine’s blood, from where it lay discarded on the ground.

Reluctantly, he’d found Shiriff Falco Boffin at the Merry Archer Inn of Stonebow and told of what he had seen. Met with suspicion, for Falowik was no stranger to Bree, word had been sent to the Master of Buckland and the call for a search party to set out had been made. Much had passed at the Merry Archer Inn. Falowik was not the only wanderer who found himself there at Stonebow. Events moved swiftly once the Master of Buckland learnt of Eodwine’s attack. Falowik had been summonsed and set to the task of finding the messenger. It was not the first attack in the northern wilds of Eriador. Lawless men roamed there, preying on any and all that crossed their paths. Rumour spread beyond Bree and the Master of Buckland that perhaps it was more than ruffian outlaws that hunted the desolate expanse of the North Downs.

Nothing could be sure. No one ever returned to speak of what they saw after they set out northwards from Bree. That would change if the Master of Buckland had his way and he was a Hobbit accustomed to having his way. There was more at stake, perhaps, than the life of a messenger from Rohan. Those that went to find him would be charged with the duty to discover all that they could. Perhaps, it was hoped, they would find nothing but a bedraggled and gaunt band of criminals ranging like starving wolves. Perhaps…

That would be grim enough a peril. The Master of Buckland had made it clear that those that set out to face whatever waited for them in the Wilds, would have all they needed to meet such a danger. Horses, provisions, weapons and maps, all were to be provided as per the Master’s written ordinance sent with Doderic to the Prancing Pony. There he would wait for the others to arrive and gather yet more to their cause. Any price, but not their lives hopefully, to save Eodwine and gather the much needed information concerning the troubling events of northern Eriador. The Prancing Pony would be the starting place of another Fellowship of sorts.

[piosenniel]

littlemanpoet's post - Falowik

Falowik had spent the day at Brandy Hall. Falowik had been brought straight to the Master of Buckland in Brandy Hall by Doderic Brandybuck. Master Meriadoc's mien had been simple, straightforward, and serious. Doderic took after his cousin in all but experience, for he had never left the lands of Hobbits. Master Meriadoc had thanked Falowik for his message, and wished him well on his mission. Doderic had accompanied him to Bree, along with Gorbilac Brandybuck, age 40 and youngest son of Merimac; first cousin of Meriadoc, second cousin of Doderic. Gorbilac, known as Gorby, was to represent the Master of Buckland as a member of the rescue party.

They passed through Stonebows, on the eastern bank of the Brandywine River. Stonebows had turned into a small village since the King's Edict, where hobbits from the Shire and other races might meet and trade. Stonebows Inn, a new building, had been planned and built under the direction of the Master of Buckland. It was styled after The Prancing Pony in Bree, for both Men and Hobbits, but was much smaller, having no need for the capacity of the inn at Bree; at least, not yet. Master Brandybuck had plans for the Stonebow, but they would be years away. Falowik had met the Elven lady, Uien at the Stonebow, for Falowik had avoided Bree, the place of his childhood, where bad memories lurked. Falowik had had time to speak with Uien at the Stonebow, and was heartened to learn that she had done well, finding as many as three willing souls to join their rescue party. He had had to rush on, and would wait for Uien to come later, for her recruits needed time to end their business in Stonebow and make their way to Bree.

Falowik was almost in Bree. On three points he was ill at ease. First, he had no desire to go back to the place of his birth and childhood. Second, he had not recruited anyone, save Gorby, who hardly counted as a recruit, sent along by the Master of Buckland. Uien had had more success. Which brought him to the third point: Uien. At Brandy Hall and on the road to Bree, he had had time to reflect on the heady events of his first night and the following day with Uien. Her healing touch was undeniable. The need in her for someone to love and be loved by, was just as real. His place in her heart was the crux of the matter. He was a Man. She was an Elf. A high Elf, as far as he could tell. He had no business meddling in the affairs of Elves. The saying had often been bandied about, and the more so the less merit it seemed to carry, but there was truth in it nonetheless. I may adore her, but I'm a fool to take her love and claim to be able to give it. He made an agreement with himself as he entered Bree, that he would give her all his courtesy, all his honor, all that she merited; but he would not demean her by courting her for himself. And no persuasions, no enchantments - if he coud help it- would dissuade him.

The three travelers arrived at The Prancing Pony. The Inn had a pleasant front, and two wings running back into the hill behind; the second floor windows were level with the ground toward the back. They came to the arch, framing a large doorway that was open. Above the arch, beneath a lamp that was not yet lit, for it was day, was a sign of a fat white pony reared up on its hind legs. Over the door was painted in white letters: THE PRANCING PONY by BARLIMAN BUTTERBUR. Falowik felt a strange sense of anticipation, and anxiety, for Barliman had been kind to him, and had given him work and shelter as he had become a man; and had warned him when gossipers had chosen him as their target to explain inexplicable thefts. He had made nothing of himself in the twelve years since, and was ashamed.

They led their ponies and horse under the arch, and leaving them standing in the yard, they climbed the steps. A Man in the company of two hobbits was not unusual, nor was it common. As they went inside and found a table, many faces turned their way; none recognized them as native of Breeland, for which Falowik was grateful. They might be left to themselves as they waited for Uien and the others to arrive. Falowik wondered if Falco Boffin might make himself a burden upon the company of rescuers. He hoped not. He would most likey be a burden only to Falowik.

There was Barliman Butterbur. Falowik kept his head down. Though the bitterness of his past had been eased by Uien, he still lived its shame. He hoped that Barliman would not recognize him.

[ October 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Imladris' post - Gorby

Doderic was looking at me pointedly: I knew that glance full well, and I quailed and trembled beneath it. I had been summoned from my afternoon smoke and that boded ill in my opinion. I cleared my throat and said, “Yes, Doderic?”

“I was wondering if you would do something for me,” he said smoothly, looking at me kindly but that only made me more uncomfortable. I stood uneasily on one leg and scratched at a poison ivy rash with a toe: a managed to nod. “I was wondering if you would like to go on a search party?”

“I’d much rather not,” I said hastily.

“And why not?”

“Because,” I said, beginning to list reasons on my fingers, “I am no good with any type of weapons, you know that I can’t even find my vest when it’s right under my very nose, I can’t hide very well, I ---” and I was rudely interrupted by Doderic.

“Which is the very reason why you should come,” he said. “Think of this as a learning experience where you can fix your faults.”

“Is this a ploy to get rid of me so that I don’t bother anyone with my ‘laziness’?” I asked suspiciously. It drove Lily mad that I stood out there to have my smoke, rain or shine. She was always complaining of cleaning the house and sweeping up after my lingering ashes that always somehow fell from my pipe.

“Good heavens, no!” Doderic cried. “That’s just your sister and she doesn’t mean half of what she says anyway. You’ll be meeting a man named Falowik in the Prancing Pony,” his eyes sparkled here -- he knew how much I enjoyed visiting Bree. “And there’ll also be an elf there as well -- Uien I believe. Falowik is a man, some don‘t trust him and he has a lousy reputation around in Bree, but…well, an elf trusts him so I suppose he is not too bad. A man of Rohan, Eodwine, disappeared in the Hills of Evendim and they are gathering a search party to see if they can either find his remains or himself alive.”

“Oh,” I said absently, playing with my leather belt. So it was a rescue mission for a man that wasn’t even around in these parts (which I honestly didn’t mind in the least). But then we’d have to go travel up North, where the cold perpetually lingered, and I honestly didn’t look forward to the nasty trudging over rocks and hills. I would miss the Shire -- it was my home after all. I sighed: But on the other hand, I would have a chance to see Bree, a most tantalizing place, a place where there was much to learn. I especially liked to visit the Blacksmith, and watch him hammer the metal into various shapes. It was a wonder how fire could melt it, enable it to bend to the smithy’s will. Fire in and of itself was pretty fascinating anyway: so lurid, so bright, so intoxicatingly exotic, yet it could be harmful and deadly, too. “Why don’t you come?”

“I have business here, Orb. You know that.”

I sighed and left and went to pack my few belongings. I brought an ample supply of weed, a few pipes in case some would like to join me for a bit of smoke, a pen and some parchments as well also found their way secretly into my bag, for I knew Doderic would have a fit if he knew I would bring something so superfluous as they.

Some time later the next day, Doderic and I reached Bree and meandered my way to the Prancing Pony. I enjoyed watching the lasses work and on this particularly fine day, they were doing the washing. The scrub of the clothes upon the washboard, the frothy soap, and the sight of the lines of vests, bodices, blouses, skirts, and breeches was a pleasant sight to behold.

Doderic told me to keep dawdling and all too soon I found myself at the Prancing Pony and there I saw Falowik. He was a rough man with fair hair, but it looked as if he had seen much hardship and sorrow. I, particularly, didn’t see what was so wrong with him: a bit rough ‘round the edges maybe, but certainly alright.

And then the elf came, a fair maid, but not quite how I pictured them, from Master Merry’s description, least ways. We sat and I ordered ale for them all and watered wine for Uien for that was what she told she would rather have. Then we waited.

[piosenniel]

Elora’s post - Uien

Uien checked the gait of her horse in the early dawn light with a pleased smile. She had ridden through the night and Bree waited before her, it's Western Gate awaiting her. She leant to whisper to her roan gelding in soft elvish words that elicited a whicker of pleasure from Thalion. He flicked his ears and shivered beneath her and she smoothed a hand over his shoulder.

Thalion was a fine gift and she would see him returned to the Stablemaster in as fine a condition as he left it. With slight pressure to his flanks, Thalion moved on once more, arriving at the gate of Bree proper.

"Who goes there?" The man's voice sounded through the wood of the gate before the small window shutter was opened. Uien remained as she was, smiling through the window when the young man's face appeared. His brows shot up. An Elf, at the Western Gate!

"Pardon, Miss," he stammered. Uien was keen to be through, to find Falowik and Doderic and Gorby. "We don't expect to find your folk knocking at our gates." Uien waved aside his explanation.

"No matter, Gatekeeper. I seek the Prancing Pony. I have business there." He examined her, still surprised. A lone Elf woman... unarmed with only a pack... not even tack or saddle and only a single blanket. Odd, to be sure, but then it was hard to explain the comings and goings of the fair folk.

He nodded, closed the window and pulled the wooden gate back. Uien was soon moving through. She shot a fleeting glance of appreciation at the bewildered man and gazed up the street that led into Bree. Falowik's home, she thought.

"Will there be others, Miss...." Uien blinked, realising that the man had asked a question. She shook her thoughts and paid renewed attention to him.

"Yes, three others... no four actually," she amended as she recalled how Falco Boffin had caught them up on the road to Bree some days ago. She'd left her companions with him, seeking the Old Forest to complete her preparations for the journey.

"They will arrive soon, I hope. Should any ask after Uien or mention the matter of a search party that the Master of Buckland has called together, please direct them to the Prancing Pony." The man nodded, understanding coming into his face as Uien spoke.

"The search party," he said. Obviously he knew something of it already. "Yes, Miss Uien." He tugged at his hair and nodded confidently. Uien shot him another smile and moved off then. Perhaps they'd arrived before her. She'd not seen trace of them upon the road when she had re-joined it.

As Uien sought the Prancing Pony her debate within herself continued. She could have risked setting out without the herbs she had found in the Old Forest. They may have left her behind already. But her mother's training was too strong in her. Too many passed into death on account of a healer not having the necessary resources to see to them. Uien had deferred in favour of that, fretting at the possible delay in finding Eodwine and moreso, dare she admit it, to see Falowik once more.

She pulled up in front of the Prancing Pony and slid from Thalion's back. A few whispered words and he snorted at her in slight reproach. He did not have to be told to remain at a hitching post, having done so countless times before. Uien glanced at the distinctly mannish stone buildings on the street.

A few had already started on the day's business and walked by, glancing curiously at her as they passed. They wore the same expressions as the man at the gate. Laurëatan she murmured to herself and in that took heart. Uien gathered herself and her now full pack and entered the inn.

The light was dimmer within, the commonroom close as was the manner of inns she had come to learn. Uien pushed back her travel stained cloak and scanned the commonroom for Falowik, his companions or hers. Conversation faltered as she passed tables by, those occupying them peering curiously at the Elf who had entered. With Falowik's name on her lips, Uien paid them no heed and pushed on.

"May I help you, m'lady?" The voice of Barliman Butterbur was kindly and curious. Uien blinked in surprise at the title. The innkeeper smiled at her as she took him in. She moved closer to the bar, conscious of those listening.

"I am come to meet someone," she replied, scanning the room and tables.

"You've just arrived then. Is your horse out the front?" Uien nodded her confirmation as her gaze settled on Falowik. Her carefully guarded expression softened then and her smile light her features.

"Hi HOB! There's horses needing stabling quickly," Barliman bellowed. He paused, looking sideways at Uien and resumed his dull roar. "An elvish mount, so mind you bring a bridle and don't set it skittering on the streets!" Barliman lowered his voice to a more reassuring tone. "He's quite good with horses, but handling one without a bridle is a challenge for most."

Uien nodded absently and then shot her attention back to the innkeeper who was smiling at her. "I take it you've found the people you are to meet then." Uien nodded once more, somewhat apologetically.

"I have, good sir," she said as graciously as she could.

"Then I'll leave you in their care for the time being." Barliman slung his dish cloth over his shoulder and turned, bellowing for Hob to move his wooly pated belly. Distantly , the sound of bare feet slapping on the floor in a run could be heard, a bridle jingling as Hob ran to see to the horse and ponies without.

Uien crossed to where Doderic, Gorbilac and Falowik sat at a table. Doderic and Gorbalic were in conversation that stilled as she neared, but her attention was elsewhere. Uien let her pack rest on the floor as she smiled down at Falowik's face. It was a joy to see him once more and it shone in her eyes.

"I see you've arrived then Mizz... Mizz," Doderic said, reaching for her name.

"Uien," she replied softly, bestirring herself.

"That's right... the healer. What of the others?" Doderic and Gorbilac peered around her. "Your companions?"

"I left them not long after you departed from Stonebows, Master Doderic. Shiriff Falco Boffin caught us up and I had need to fetch some things from the Old Forest. I left them in his care and expect them to arrive shortly." Try as she might, Uien could not keep her voice neutral as she mentioned Falco.

The hobbit had trotted up, puffing, on a pony midafternoon after Falowik had departed. He had insisted on accompanying them and of his expertise. "Good sensible hobbits," were what they needed apparently. This was all well and good. Uien did her best to hold her tongue as Falco clucked and tutted over Elvish merry riding parties. Yet, that night as Uien had announced her desire to arrive at Bree via the Old Forest, Falco and her had come to yet another disagreement.

"The Old Forest," he had spluttered. "What business has anyone with some sense with that place? I would have thought Elves knew better." Her companions had thought Falco amusing, his concern at the prospect of venturing into the infamous Old Forest clear in his flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

The result of that argument was that Uien had gone alone, and happily so truth be told, and left Falco with her companions to meet up at Bree. Gorbalic stared up at Uien with a queer expression once she mentioned the Old Forest. It was as though she had sprouted wings and proceeded to float about the common room, dodging rafters and singing a jolly ditty.

"I had need of herbs from that place for this business," Uien explained. It made little dint on Gorby. Like Falco, Gorby knew only those somewhat mad voluntarily entered the Old Forest. Doderic himself seemed somewhat at a loss as to what to make of her.

"No matter," he said, deciding to drop the issue of the Old Forest for now. "What's important is that they arrive soon. Every hour lost is begrudged." He glanced to the door and then at Uien's pack, filled with mysterious plants of the Old Forest as well as those she had already harvested with Falowik. Cautiously, he pushed that away with his toes.

"We have not yet had the chance to discuss your companions, Uien," he said as he motioned for her to sit. Uien did so gratefully, taking a chair next to Falowik and again smiling into his face. What she read by way of return sent questions spinning into her. Mayhap he is tired, she allowed. What she wanted to do was take his hand and hold it to her lips once more. She would have to wait.

For now, she soaked in his nearness and turned to the matter of those that had set out with her. Doderic and Gorbilac followed her closely as she ran through what she knew of them.

"They just volunteered," Gorbilac asked somewhat incredulously.

"Yes. Once they heard the matter, they may their offers in true heart," Uien replied. It had been the best she could have done. No doubt Falowik would have acquired a legion of those willing to aid him. She swallowed her disappointment in her own efforts, so few, and fell silent. Doderic and Gorbilac reviewed the state of affairs.

"We need more, going by Falowik's support,' Doderic assessed.

"We shall get them," Uien replied softly.

[piosenniel]

Alatariel Telemnar's post

Finëwen rode up to the gates of Bree. The morning sun shone bright in the sky, which had a faint orange glow. ‘Who goes there?’ she heard a raspy voice behind the gate say.

‘It is I, Finëwen. I am heading for The Prancing Pony to meet a few other people,’ she said, taking the hood that had towered over her face, and placing it on her back. She dismounted her horse, who’s white coat was covered with mud from a long journey, and the day before’s rain. She carried only a bag around her shoulder and a sword partially hidden behind her cloak. The gates opened, and Finëwen lead him inside. There were several Bree people about, going about the early morning chores.

She took the white stallion into the stables and placed him in a stall to rest. She whispered something in his ear, and he whinnied in reply.

Then she continued into the Prancing Pony to rest from her journey. She hesitated in front of the inn, the inn that she had once visited when she was just but a wee child. Barliman Butter greeted her, ‘Will you need a room?’ he asked a smile came upon his face. He didn’t recognize her, and that seemed to please Finëwen. She smiled back.

‘Yes, I have traveled alone, and left my horse in the stables. He has gone through a long journey, and so have I. I shall be wanting a room for the night, possibly longer,’ Finëwen replied. She let her cloak back, revealing a dress of dark green, long sleeves draped from her arms. She stood straight and tall.

‘Yes, right away.’

Finëwen scanned the room for a familiar face. She spotted Falowik and Uien, along with two others sitting together. She walked up to the table; remaining calm, she took a breath and began to speak.

‘My name is Finëwen. I have come to join you on your journey,’ she said sitting down among them. Everyone paused for a moment. Looking at the new-comer, the table was silent for a moment. Then Uien broke the silence and introduced the four other people sitting around her.

[piosenniel]

Lumiel's post

Lumiel hummed softly to herself in the pale yellow dawn of the morning as she rode on to Bree. The dew shone bright as jewels among the trees and on the grass on the road and her eyes seemed to twinkle in their light beneath her dark grey cowl. Not far ahead she saw the gate to Bree and quickened her horse's pace slightly.

She had ridden ahead of the company of Falco and the others the night before, a bit weary of the people and the crowded feeling she got from them. It was nothing personal, just how she was.

By now she was at the gate and a man peered out at her, seemingly confused. "Another lady traveling alone? Such strange things abroad nowadays.." he muttered to himself. Lumiel wasn't sure what he meant, then it fell into place as she realized that he must be talking about Uien.

"There be nothing in this world of anything, but thinking makes it so." said Lumiel to the man, smiling faintly. He quirked an eyebrow at her, still trying to make out exactly what it was that she had said. Not waiting for him, she spoke again. "I'm on business here for a search party. Perhaps you could direct me to where an elvish woman went?"

"Of course Lady. On yonder, at the Prancing Pony is where you'll want to go." answered the man politely. Lumiel nodded her thanks and went in and then dismounted, preferring to walk. She didn't have to go far before she came before the sign of the Prancing Pony, unmistakable even to a stranger. She hitched her horse to the post and soothed him with a word before heading inside.

Even though it was morning, it seemed fairly busy. She looked around searching for Uien, but before she could find her, a somewhat heavy man caught her attention. "Why good morning miss! I'm Barliman Butterbur, owner of this here establishment. And how can I help you?"

"Yes sir, I'm her to meet some people -" before Lumiel could finish, Butterbur pointed to a table where Uien and three men sat. She nodded her thanks and began to walk over before she was stopped by Butterbur. "Excuse me miss, but do you have a horse out front?" Lumiel nodded yes and he spoke again quickly. "Expected as much. I'll have my Hob put him with the Lady elf's horse." He smiled and went off shouting for Hob as Lumiel went to the table.

She smiled at Uien, happy to see her again as she took off her hood. "It's good to see you, Uien. I hope your journey went well?"

"Yes, all went well. Where are the others?" asked Uien, expecting them at any moment behind Lumiel.

"I rode ahead last night, they'll be here shortly." she explained, wondering who the men were that sat at the table with them.

[piosenniel]

Imladris' post - Lira

Corn was bobbing rhythmically on Merkaliel’s head, who whickered pleasantly as Lira trotted down the dirt path that led to Bree. That morning she had come across an abandoned trail some hours ago and had left the rest of the search party to go and explore it, as it led roughly towards Bree. But after an hour or so it had switched direction and so she traveled cross country until she had hit the main path again. She had searched in the dust for the tracks of the others, but did not find them. It was near dawn now, but early morning mists enshrouded the two in a wispy mantle and seeping fog entwined itself around the mare’s hooves; the horizon was stained with crimson, while orange tendrils curled greedily clutching at distant mountain peaks.

A soft singing arose eerily from the dusky meadow that stretched to her left: the singing of passing elves as they wended their way as a silver river through the hills of the Shire. Lira reigned Merkaliel, and waited for the ethereal line to pass: Corn for once was silent and stood with unaccustomed stillness as he waited with her. She could see them now, their faint light thrusting the pressing darkness of early morning away. The first elf, strong and beautiful, stepped into the path and Lira said, her musical voice soft and low, “Mae govannen.”

The elf bowed low and returned the greeting. They spoke in the Sindarin tongue and another elf, a lady named Merenwen, asked, “Lira Nen, what are you doing here? I thought that long before you would have taken ship to the blessed land of the Valinor.”

Lira smiled sadly and said, “The fair lands of Middle-earth call to me still, Merenwen, she whispers continually in my ears of the hills, the dimpled vales, and little river of this land, of the mighty forests which have withstood the darkness, and of the victory over the Shadow. It brings me joy to see the meadows of Ithilien plush with green grass and to see the white wildflowers sway in the passing breeze.”

The elves were silent and Merenwen asked, “Where is your bow? You are an elf of Eryn Lasgalen and yet you carry a dagger?” Corn snickered derisively and glanced insolently with a beady eye at Lira.

“The dagger was a gift of a friend…I forgot to bring my bow with me when I departed from Ithilien. I was worried about my parents and…” Lira‘s voice trailed off. Corn croaked sympathetically, flapped to her shoulder, and ran his beak through the various strands of hair that had come unbound from the braids that encircled Lira’s head.

Merenwen sighed softly and, as the line of elves continued their journey, she called, “Namarie Mellon Lira. We will eagerly await you on the shores of the Valinor,” she said, as they continued their own journey.

Lira watched them slowly disappear into the night, their silvery glimmer lingering long after their forms had disappeared. She shook herself and prodded Merkaliel forward as she thought of the parting words of Merenwen; Corn squawked with indignation as he lurched forward at the sudden movement of the horse. Eight years ago her parents had left Ithilien and told her that they would journey over the land of Middle-earth and, after about seven years, they would arrive at the Grey Havens and take a ship to the Valinor. They had promised to send a message, a dove, telling her when they reached the Grey Havens. Eight years had passed, and no messenger had come. Stifled fear and worry rustled in her heart, for the paths had yet been dark when they had departed. They had not gone in a group as Merenwen had wisely done, but had set off by themselves, alone, with but bows and arrows for protection from the wilds and the lurking orcs and spawn of evil that remained.

Leaving the thoughts of her parents behind, she mused of her mission to Evendim. She would be accompanied by others in the search for the missing Eodwine of Rohan. Stiffening, Lira wondered who would slay the rangers and messengers of Gondor and now Rohan. Or maybe they were not slain, Lira mused as a new angle of the tangle of unanswered questions entered her mind. But surely some would escape? Or maybe they had met with a fate worse than death…or maybe they really were a pile of bleached bones, if their flesh had already decomposed, otherwise they would be mere carcasses with...Lira shuddered and saw that she had reached Bree.

The wooden gate was partially hidden in friendly shadows, and rapping her knuckles upon the rough wood, Lira patiently waited for the watchman to let her pass.

“Who goes there?” a man barked, opening the portal as he peered intently through the gloom.

“An elf maid,” Lira answered back. “I am looking for Uien.” Corn nodded his head vigorously and hopped again to the Merkaliel’s head and ran his beak through her silky mane.

The man nodded briskly at the name and said, “She’s staying at the Prancing Pony, Miss,” he said, gesturing in the general direction.

“Thank you,” Lira replied. She slowly made her way towards the Prancing Pony, handed her horse over to the stable master, and looked about her. Corn grinned mischievously at Lira and disappeared into a pile of straw.

Hobbits and men were laughing loudly as they conversed of the doings and happenings of life in the Common Room; a hobbit danced gaily upon a wooden table, encouraged by the cheers and toasts of his companions. Others sat quietly in the corners, just out of reach of the fire’s lurid light. Lira’s eyes roved the tables and finally saw Uien, Falowik and two other hobbits. Making her way towards them, she said, “Mae govannen, Uien.”

[piosenniel]

Esgallhugwen's post

Esgallhugwen wandered through The Old Forest, crushing herbs with her mortar and pestle, while atop the strong sleek back of Morsereg. The herbs turned into a pink paste, giving off a strong aroma that tingled the senses.

She ducked her hand into the small satchel tied to her waist procuring a crystal jar; Esgallhugwen smoothed the paste to form a cream as she poured it into the jar. Tightening the lid carefully she popped it back in the pouch and set to work cleaning out the bowl and beginning another concoction.

Esgallhugwen sang softly in praise and respect for The Old Forest allowing her safe passage and the taking of precious herbs. She hoped that if others chose this path to Bree the forest would be as lenient and kind. She knew not whether others followed behind her, the path turned and twisted, there was no companion with her except for the powerful black stallion Morsereg, barely making a sound on the path.

Once out, onto clear land, Morsereg broke out into a gallop. the thick sappy green balm had been safely stored away. though displeasing to look upon being it an Elvish creation; the balm had a pungent odor that soothed the victim while it set to work on very deep or poisoned wounds, and it would last longer than dried herbs unused.

The sun sank behind them, but Morsereg raced on knowing his need of haste. He neighed triumphantly approaching the gate of Bree; Esgallhugwen called out to the gatekeeper, no reply, she called again, wishing she had a horn to make the gates tremble. The gatekeeper peeped his squinting eyes in the slot on the door. "What business brings ye to Bree...?" he paused not knowing if the cloaked figure was a man or a woman in the dimming light. Esgallhugwen threw back her hood riding up closer "I am to make my way to The Prancing Pony; for business I guess you have already been informed of. that is what you need to know and no more is of concern to you, sir" her Elvish voice sang. He quickly drew back the heavy wooden beam and pulled back the gate.

"Yes m' lady, some have already arrived, I'm sure they'll welcome thee gladly" he swung the gate shut with a clang, after she walked up to him. "I hope they shall too" she said riding up the road. She only caught a brief glimpse of Falowik days before racing off out of the stable at The Green Dragon on an errand. If Uien had arrived she would be the only one she knew of fairly well and would recognise due in part to meeting and promising Uien she would give her services helping to find the missing messenger of Rohan and to see what became of the other missing men.

Esgallhugwen drove up to the Inn, the familiar lights just beginning to flicker within. She stepped up to the threshold pushing back the door, her eyes beheld the distinct figure and face of Barliman Butterbur. He drew back remembering her as the dripping phantom that appeared days before, his face grew pale.

Esgallhugwen let out a laugh, regretfully drawing attention to herself, drawing back her hood; she was revealed to be an Elf, to Butterbur's relief and joy. He nearly toppled over trying to make his way to the counter. He tried to apologize but was silenced by Esgallhugwen's raised hand "no need to apologize, I should say that I am sorry for startling you when you first saw me weeks before as a wet phantom or wraith to your eyes no doubt" he smiled in thanks "your mount Lady...?" he stuttered embarrassed at his foolish reaction when she entered; "My name is Esgallhugwen, my horse has already been seen to by Hob I believe it was. May I inquire as to where Lady Uien or people who are waiting for her are seated? I have come to join them".

Butterbur guided her over to the table where Uien sat with two others, one presumably Falowik. Barliman introduced their new guest with surprising eloquence "Lady Esgallhugwen comes to join your table", Esgallhugwen thanked him and he went on his way.

"Greetings Uien".

[ October 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Meneltarmacil's post

At a not very respectable establishment on the outskirts of Bree, Thoronmir sat over in a corner sipping on a mug of ale. He had just won some money in a card game earlier. Suddenly a man stormed over to where he was sitting. Thoronmir recognized him as one of the other card players.
"Hey you!" the man shouted angrliy. "You'd better pay up!"
"Pay up?" asked Thoronmir. "But I won fairly."
"No you didn't!" said the man. "You cheated! I saw you!"
Thoronmir had not cheated, and the other man probably knew this and was just lying. "Listen," Thoronmir said. "I don't know why you think I cheated, but if you'd just explain-"
"Aaargh!" The man grabbed him and pinned him against the wall. "I'm through talking! You cheated me, and now you're going to pay me back or else!"
Thoronmir didn't want to have to fight, but now he had no choice. He threw the man off him and drew his sword. "I've been more than reasonable already, but you wouldn't listen to me. Now OUT." He gestured toward the door with his sword, and the man obeyed.

Thinking it was time to leave, Thoronmir decided to spend the night at a more respectable place-- The Prancing Pony. After getting himself a room, he went over to the bar in the common room and ordered some ale. He listened to the various conversations taking place, and when he heard the name of Evendim come up, he immediately began to take an interest in the business of a man and two hobbits sitting at one of the tables nearby...

[ October 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Nurumaiel's post

Anson Brandybuck stood outside the door to his father's room, fiddling with one of the buttons on his coat. He didn't want to talk to his father. Every time they discussed something, whether it was important or not, they got into a fight. But this was so important... he had to have his father's permission. Otherwise he would be running away, and he didn't want it to come to that. As a matter of fact, he didn?t even want to go on this adventure. But Gorby asked him, and he couldn't refuse Gorby. Gorby was, after all, a bit nervous about this whole search party himself, and he might need someone he knew to come with him, and since they had grown up together...

"I can't let Gorby down," Anson murmured, and knocked on the door, making up his mind he wouldn't say something clever like the last time that would make his father angry. It made his father angry because his father couldn't say something equally as clever. Anson was known as very clumsy, but nobody knew how really intelligent he was.

"Come in!" his father cried, sounding annoyed. Anson took a deep, shuddering breath. That wasn't good. If his father was annoyed, then his father wouldn't be willing to listen. Sure, he and his father might not get along very well, but the latter was just as protective and he wouldn't like the idea of his son joining and going off with a search party. Not at all.

Anson pushed open the door and put a forced smile on his face, preparing himself to sound pleasant. Not that Anson ever sounded unpleasant, but sometimes he sounded intelligent and that annoyed his father.

The room was very spacious though rather bare of furniture. Posco preferred it that way. One side of the room had a large bed, while the other had a desk. Posco's job, a postman, didn't require a desk, but he wanted one. It made his job seem more professional. Anson could not say, however, that the desk did not come in handy. Posco was in charge of sorting out letters and delivering them, and the desk gave him all the room he needed to sort them out. At the moment letters were scattered all over the desks, and Anson felt deeply annoyed. He himself was very neat and tidy, and he felt a strong urge to clean them up.

When his father, whose name was Posco, saw who it was, he ducked his head and grumbled, "Oh, it?s you." The memory suddenly came to Anson that only that morning that had gotten into another fight. That decreased his chances of getting his father's willing approval. But he most likely wouldn?t have had it anyway.

"Well, Dad, I have something to tell you," Anson said. "I was talking to Orb today, and he wants me to go somewhere with him."

"Oh yes?" Posco said, acting as though he hadn't really heard. His hands were moving quickly, sorting through the letters, but Anson could see that his father had heard and was listening eagerly. "Where does he want you to go?"

Anson put his hands behind his back and took a deep breath, feeling rather like a rabbit being guarded closely like a hawk. The hawk wouldn't kill until the rabbit gave it the signal to in this case. Oh no, if Anson remained silent the hawk wouldn't kill. But he had no choice. After all, Gorby was depending on him. So Anson told his father all that Doderic had told Gorby (which Gorby had then passed on to Anson).

There was no hesitation from his father. "No." That was all that was said.

Relief was Anson's first feeling, but then as he thought of Gorby he stiffened. "Yes," he replied.

Posco's face twitched, but he controlled his anger and, leaning back in his chair, looked his son right in the eye. "You can't say that until you've come of age, son, and you still have nine good years. Since I'm your father I have the authority to say no, and I do say no."

"But Gorby-"

"I don't care what Gorby says or doesn't say. You're not going. Why, you ask? It might be dangerous, and you'd be safer at home."

"And what happens when I do come of age and go out travelling and I don't know anything about the Shire beyond the front steps of my own home?" Anson asked. He didn't care that he wasn't going to go travelling when he was older. He said that to make a point, regardless of whether it was true or not.

"No, and that's all. You can go now."

Anson did go. He left the room, he went into the kitchen and grabbed a few things to eat, put on a coat in case it grew chilly, and left the hole. Unsure of where he was going or how long it would take, he turned east and began to walk. Whether his father liked it or not, he was going to Bree to attend the meeting.

And now, two days later, he had entered Bree. He shivered a little as he thought of what had happened back at his home. It brought a cold feeling upon him. He had run away. He had told himself he didn't want to run away, and that he wouldn't leave without his father's permission. And he here was, in Bree. He hadn't even said goodbye to his mother. That was the worst of all. What would she think?

"I hope you're grateful after what I've done for your sake, Gorby," Anson muttered. He wanted to ask someone for directions to the Prancing Pony, where Gorby had told him everyone was, but he was too afraid. After all, it couldn't be that difficult to find it, could it? Well, he had already been wandering around for an hour. What was another two or three.

But there it was! And Gorby was probably there. Anson, forgetting all his troubles back at his home, rushed forward with delight. Grasping the handle of the door, he pushed it open. His journey was over... for now. There was always, of course, the search party. But in that journey he'd have Gorby.

[ October 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Elora's post - Falco

Falco slid off his pony with a sigh of relief that he barely remembered to repress lest anyone hear him. He stretched his aching legs and hitched his mount next to a row of other horses. He saw that Uien's was tied up along with Lumiel's and he huffed his way into the Prancing Pony as quickly as he could.

Falco spotted the table easily. He puffed his way past the bar and the barkeep directly towards where Doderic and Gorby sat. Falowik was there also, as was Uien and the other Elf, Lumiel. He noticed that there were others, some he knew and others he did not.

Well, at least one is a sensible hobbit, he rumbled to himself as he neared. There were two more Elves that he recognised from Uien's recruitment. He nodded stiffly at both. Also there were two more Big Folk that Falco studied unabashed, one a burly looking man and the other a woman.

"A fine mess, no mistake.... but maybe these won't wander off every time the sun sets and the stars peek out." Falco was not happy at being one of the last to arrive at all. He was a Shiriff! His comment was a mutter but it drew the attention of Uien. He saw her gaze shift, but she said nothing for at that moment the two new Big Folk, which Falco had renamed as Big Trouble already upon first sight, were volunteering. If he'd had gotten here sooner, perhaps he'd have been able to send them off. As it was Doderic was busy accepting their offers to help. Falco sighed heavily, turned and lifted a hand for a pint of ale.

He'd need it, he reckoned, with this search party.

"Shiriff Boffin," Doderic said, "Pleased to see you could join us." Falco turned back to the Master of Buckland's second, cast a long look around the table of predominantly Big Trouble and nodded stiffly as he took a seat.

"Well, you will be needing folk with common sense if young Eodwine is to be gotten out in one piece." Falco privately wondered why anyone would want to retrieve a messenger so lax as to allow himself to be taken. Like as not, the lad had been daydreaming at the time. Still, it lay not to him to gainsay the Master of Buckland and Falowik had first brought the dubious news to him. So if the Master said they were to fetch this Eodwine, he'd be at the forefront doing exactly that.

Assuming this Eodwine really existed. Falco wouldn't put it past Big Folk to make up tales for the sake of mischief. His scepticsm was shielded by the delivered half-pint of ale that arrived on the table. He took a long grateful draught and set himself to listening to the talk at the table. They'd have need of his expertise and opinion, him being the Shiriff and all.

[littlemanpoet]

Doderic spoke up. "I'd say that we have the makings of a good search party here. There's one thing missing: a leader. Master Meriadoc wants me to have you pick your own leader from amongst yourselves. Who does not want to be the leader of this search party?"

Two of the hobbits couldn't set down their beer mugs fast enough to raise their hands.

"Fear not Masters Gorby and Anson," Doderic grinned, "I would have shouted you down if you said otherwise. Anybody else?"

Falowik cleared this throat. "Though it was my news that brought this search party together, I am just an eye witness. I pledge to do all I can to help our leader." Uien frowned briefly at Falowik's words; he caught her expression out of the corner of his eye. Falowik knew that he would make a horrible leader. He had never had dealings with more than one person at a time, and was sure that he could not garner others' loyalty; he had no skill for it.

"Fair enough," Doderic said. "Is there anybody else who does not want to lead the search party? And while we're at it, let's hear from each of you who you are and what you're good at. Not to mention, why you're in on this. See, I don't know some of you at all, and I need to report back to Master Brandybuck what I find out so he can do whatever he has in mind to do. I've said enough. It's someone else's turn now." With that, Doderic grabbed his beer mug and drank a good pull.

[ October 24, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[ October 24, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elora]

Uien

"Perhaps there are some here with experience in such ventures," Uien said as her gaze circled those who had gathered. Her gaze rested on Falowik the longest.

"I know that there are those amongst us with skill in following a trail in the trackless wilderness. By that, they could pick the way we seek from countless empty chases. The lands are vast once we move beyond the comfort of Bree." Uien had chosen her words to establish her opinion on the worth of skills. Falowik had such abilities, and well she knew it. So too may others here.

"As for myself, my skill is that of healing. I learnt such things from my mother, when Lothlórien yet stood against the tides of time and war. We had much need of such skills then and it was found that I had a strong measure of them." Uien paused as her brow furrowed in the memory of those last days of her home. Her voice lowered as she continued on.

"I have had reason to test my skills well, though I would wish myself untried. I also have the unwelcome knowledge of yrch and evil men. I know of their ways, in a fashion." Uien's gaze dropped to the tabletop and her eyes darkened. In her lap, her hands clenched as if they would stem the threatening flood of memories.

"If such terrible knowledge can be used to save another, then I would see it done. I am here to prove that word and heart given fully in faith can overcome anything. I would see Eodwine saved, for noone should be left to linger in such darkness, noone..."

Uien spoke gravely and there was a solemn weight behind her words. Her gaze, when it rose to Doderic again, was still and fierce with her resolution. The flash of spirit strong enough to heal others was evident. Doderic nodded at her, and her eyes slid to two more faces. Falco held his tongue, she saw, and seemed to be considering something. Falowik, beside her, she hoped understood what she spoke of in the unbreakable faith of word and heart given. It cannot be taken back, not by any power that walked the lands now or in the Elder days.

"I too would hear of what our companions bring." Uien looked around the table, from face to face, inviting the other's to step forward and speak.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

'Aye, I will go next,' Finëwen said, standing up a little straighter. She looked at all the different faces and races of people, 'Even in my short twenty-one years of life, I have learned things some may not ever learn. In my young years of age, I was taken as a child to Rivendell, and spent many long years of my life there, raised by elven parents. I know some basic herbs that will heal specific wounds and have learned some techniques from the elven people, but I am not as much of a healer as Uien, I would assume.

'I have lived in the wild for the later years of my short life, and I can survive. I have skill with a blade and a bow, though I do not carry both. I can also fight. Although I am less experienced then some others here, I still have as great of skills.

'I have come on this journey for the adventure of it. I find life too short to stay caged up being a housewife doing housework or living a boring life. I also come to help find Eodwine, as I believe most of you have.

'That is all,' she concluded and sunk slightly down in her seat, watching as everyone’s last glances of her turned and watched the rest of the group. There was a pause, waiting for someone else to go. A few people sipped at there drink, and looked at everyone else.

[Meneltarmacil]

"Excuse me," came a voice from over in the corner. "But did you say you were going to Evendim?"

"Yes, that's right," said one of the Hobbits. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," replied the man, coming over to sit at their table, "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Thoronmir, and I used to be a Ranger. I once lived in those hills. I really don't think you should be going that way. It's too dangerous. Only a fool would go there. If you value your lives, take my advice and stay away from those hills."

"But we have to rescue Eodwine!" one of the elves spoke up. "He is in danger."

"We're not turning back, no matter what you Big Folk say. What gives your kind the right to dictate what we do?" said a rather fat hobbit.

"Very well," Thoronmir said. "If you must go there, then you'll have to take me with you. I don't want to see any of you get killed. I am quite skilled with the sword and the knife, and I have had some experience with the bow as well. I once went into battle against a great many Orcs during the War twelve years ago."
After seeing how determined the group was to succeed, he turned to them and said, "You look brave enough. And you may survive this quest yet."

[ October 24, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Imladris]

Lira Nen

Lira turned her sapphire eyes towards the man who strode boldly to their table, telling them that it was too dangerous in the hills. “We must rescue Eodwine,” she said softly. “He is in danger and we cannot leave him to his fate,” she added quietly. She listened with some pleasure as the man offered his services and then there was an awkward pause. “I am Lira Nen of Ithilien,” she said softly, rising to her feet. “Uien, I regret that I left the Inn before you, and I fear I gave you the impression that I had decided not to come. I had some…other things to attend to,” she added, her face sad as her thoughts drifted towards her lost parents. “I am not especially skilled in anything,” she continued with her musical voice, “but am competent with the bow and dagger, and knowledgeable in the art of healing. As most of the fair folk, I can read the tracks of creatures.”

Her voice trailed off, and she shrank into her seat, gripping the wood tightly with her fingers. She had traveled swiftly to the Grey Havens and had spoken with some elves, inquiring of her parents, to see if they had reached the Havens safely. Their answer had not been comforting, for they had assured that they had not seen Liralwen, her mother, nor Nenwir, her father. Her nails dug violently in the woods and her breathing came in short gasps: they could be dead. Flashes of the rangers and the messengers of Gondor that had disappeared in the north rushed to her mind, and she wondered where in the north they were. Corn had not proved to be very informative and she could not speak his language.

Do not let your grief impede your search. The words fluttered weakly on the hazy edges of the memories that blurred together. Shame flooded her soul as she realized that she had been close to succumbing to grief. Rousing her spirits, she pulled a long swig from her wine. The warm liquor flooded her spirits; it was as a river coursing through her veins bring new life and reviving her mind. It was a dangerous thing to do…yet she must do something to help keep her thoughts the doings at hand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gorby Brandy buck

I groaned inwardly as I laid eyes on Falco Boffin: irritating fellow. He was as full himself as rising yeast, and had a sharp tongue that could rattle off insults faster than anybody I ever knew. I wondered if Anson would show -- I hope he did because Doderic wouldn’t be coming and then Falco would be the only hobbit on the trip. I grimaced. Unpleasant thought. Then I saw him. Springing to my feet, I pushed my way through the mire of bodies and met Anson by the door. “Anson Brandybuck!” I cried, squeezing his hand jovially. “I am so glad you came!”

He smiled somewhat wanly and said, “Me too.”

“We’re over here,” I said eagerly, leading him towards the table which was now filled by all manners of elves and men. I must say I was disappointed by the elves: they looked almost human, yet their eyes and voices betrayed them -- especially the one who was ugly -- and they had a sort of ageless quality about them. They were somehow like us, and somehow not. Resolutely, I made room for Anson and myself. Of course he got the seat next to Doderic. I got next to Falco.

One by one they introduced themselves: a young woman named Finewen and then a ranger whose name I missed. Falco had shot a sort of sullen scowl at Finewen, and I had kicked him under the table with my foot, after which he tried to kick me back, but he missed and stubbed his toe upon the wooden leg. I must admit, unashamededly I might add, that I thought it served him right and so, hiding my face behind my hand, I stuck my tongue out at him. Anson had seen the whole thing and was trying to stifle a smirk. I grinned at him and he erupted into a flow of snickers which he tried to drown by pulling a swift swig from his pint.

The ugly one, Lira, had just finished her little speech. There was a short pause so I stood, bowed, and said, “The name’s Gorby Brandybuck. And I’m here because Doderic” -- a flourish to that admirable hobbit -- “asked me to come along.” I sat down with a thump, glanced at Falco who threw me a malignant glare, and grinned triumphantly at Anson.

[ October 25, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen glanced at all who came, her cold crystal grey eyes flickering from the lamplight. She did not wish to be leader, even with her exprience in battle, unable to stop death and sorrow.

"I too do not wish to be leader of this party or Fellowship of sorts" her haunting deep voice sang. It was not a deep voice of a man, but rather a voice deep with age and sorrow, resonating ages gone. "But I will take it upon myself, if no one else not even these brave Hobbits does so; I am skilled with bow and sword and some healing, very much like all the Fair folk here, my name is Esgallhugwen Elenglin and I will do what is in my power to aid you in saving Eodwine"

She stopped needing to say no more; not knowing what else to say she smiled at Lira who seemed as depressed as Esgallhugwen herself, but this was a grave matter, not to be taken lightly. Falco eyed Esgallhugwen with uncertainty.

[Elora]

Falco Boffin

Falco sized up the Man who strode over to their table openly. More trouble.... though he has some sense, he grudgingly allowed. Still, like as not, he'll go tramping about loudly, sword waving and trumpeting his presence all the way to the White Towers. When Falco noticed the tall Ranger, the Man, return his frank stare, he was immediately gripped by a worrying notion that perhaps he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

So concerning was that, Falco missed most of what was said by the two other Elvish Troubles. His worry was soon replaced by the gripping need for someone of leadership worth to step forward. No sooner had Esgallhugwen concluded, Falco burst forth.

He stood, thumbs planted behind his striking red braces, and adopted his most official looking stance, softened by a magnaminous smile that he bestowed on all and sundry.

"Shirrif Falco Boffin at your service. Some here I know," and he nodded with largesse at Doderic, Anson and Gorby, "and some here I have yet to know.

"Seems to me that the sensible thing to do is appoint a leader who is accustomed to such responsibility and authority. This leads me to my own skills." Falco drew a deep breath and Doderic frowned at Gorby who audibly groaned. When ever Falco stood like that, and breathed like that, it would take hours before he'd said his piece.

"Far be it from me to sing my own praises. A humble nature is my blessing, as my dear mother would say. But you did ask us we offer and so it is my duty to make my skills plain to you. As Shirrif, I am a leader amongst my community. I am trusted to uphold order and peace in a respectible Hobbit town called Bywater.

My name may be familiar to you. I'm no stranger to the hardships of battle. I was there at the Battle of Bywater and did my fair share, more than fair it was said. But someone had to do and I do no shirk from nasty or frightening work.

"Now, aside from being a staunch pillar of order, I'm also an expert in sorting out disputes, and taking into custody those as don't recognise the sancity of the law." With that, Falco's gaze slid to Falowik. Uien's face became cold and still and Falco looked away. He hoped it looked casual and not hurried as he pressed on.

"Whether it's a lost pig or a messenger, I can find and retrieve and know who the rightful owner is. I'm good a supporting myself," Falco patted his ample stomach proudly in demonstration. "Rumour has it that I keep the best larder and cellar in Bywater and with the Green Dragon as a neighbour that's no mean feat-"

"Yes, thankyou Shirrif Boffin," Doderic said as gently as he could. Falco deflated a little, having only just gotten into his rhythm. It was a little demoralising to have a senior officer cut you short. He persisted to make his point clear.

"Ah, of course, Sir... in closing, I think it wise that we appoint as leader someone accustomed to lead. Someone who commands respect. Someone with some sense." Tapping his curly head, Falco finally subsided and sat down with a pleased grin. He was certain her'd made his case clear. Who else should be leader? He was the Shirrif? The matter was as simple as that.

Anson rolled his eyes and Doderic shook his head to clear it from Falco's ample words. Falco meanwhile dared another glance at Uien, who had looked so dire for no good reason at all. He found her looking squarely at him, as if from great distance.

Nothing but Big Trouble, he thought. When the woman ranger named Finëwen said, "Big trouble?" in query, Falco stiffened. He had spoken his thoughts aloud!

"This whole conundrum.... big trouble," he amended quickly. Finëwen nodded in understanding and Uien was smiling, he was certain. She was smiling, drat the Elf!

[littlemanpoet]

Doderic eyed Falco with a look a raised eyebrow, then thanked each of them for speaking up.

"To sum up, the Elf Esgallhugwen-" Doderic stumbled over her name and apologized "-and Falco have offered to take leadership, and Uien supports Falowik, who says he'd not make a good one. All the rest of you but Thoronmir, here, will not lead." Doderic turned to Falowik. "Are you willing to lead, or not, Master Falowik?"

Falowik glanced to Uien with an apologetic smile. "I should not lead, and will not, Master Doderic, though I thank Lady Uien for her faith in me."

"Fair enough, Master Falowik," Doderic replied. "I want to hear more from Master Thoronmir here, as far as leadership goes; otherwise, it comes down to Lady Esgallhugwen and Master Falco."

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira listened with some surprise as Doderic stated that Esgallhugwen or Falco Boffin would be named as the leaders of the rescue party. For some reason, she had always assumed that Uien and Falowik would end up leading them, despite their protests to the contrary. Falco she could undestand, yet maybe Esgallhugwen? She gazed steadily at the elf: she was strong, and had obviously seen much pain and grief. She did look almost like an elven princess, but the idea of her leading seemed so strange for ever since Lira had first met her at the Inn, she had always hidden herself in the shadows. Of course, Esgallhugwen may or may not end up with the leadership. She looked at Thoronmir, wondering what he would say.

Turning her gaze to Falowik, she studied him: rugged and slightly uncouth. Yet kindness shown from his eyes, and when he gazed at Uien, Lira see the love glow powerfully from his eyes, like a great fire kindled in his soul. He showed great humility in refusing the honour of leadership, and that impressed Lira. She smiled gently at him and then turned her attention to Esgallhugwen. Leaning over, her blue eyes twinkling, she said, “If you receive the leadership, I envy thee not, Mellon.”

A raucous crowing assailed their ears, “Eswen…eswen…eswen!” Corn hopped madly upon the wooden sill, his sable wings partially raised as he continued to screech the elf’s shortened name before he sailed from the edge and disappeared into the stable.

[Meneltarmacil]

"I want to hear more from Master Thoronmir here, as far as leadership goes;" Falowik said, "otherwise, it comes down to Lady Esgallhugwen and Master Falco."

"Very well, you shall." said Thoronmir, standing up. "I believe that the best leader should be someone who knows what perils he is leading his followers into. As Falco said, this does require someone who is accustomed to such authority. Yet the ability to work with other people despite their differences is also a key issue. No offense intended, Shirriff Boffin, but I am afraid this quality is just not in your nature. I know some of you don't trust me because of my looks, and would want me to stay out of this quest. But leader or not, I will do whatever I can to make sure you come out of it alive. I have made my statement now. It is up to you to decide."

With that the Ranger sat back down. It was pretty much between him and Shirriff Falco now. He knew that whatever the outcome, he would probably have trouble with Falco before the end, and he hoped the hobbit's mistrust of him was not going to lead to violence, which he would want to avoid at any cost.

[ October 26, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik thought that Thoronmir seemed capable enough, though he wished he knew more about him. He laughed at himself, though his face did not show it. These others must think the same of me! Looking around the table, Falowik saw three factions made up of race: the Elves, the Hobbits, and the Humans; and he realized that he and Uien were the only ones situated to bridge the gap between any two of the factions. So far, Master Falco seemed to have alienated Gorby and Anson, so the Hobbits would not become a faction. The Elves seemed, each one of them, to carry a cloud over her head, at least as dark as the one he'd carried himself, and they seemed willing enough to overlook racial difference. Thoronmir seemed to be the one to pull them together, especially since he knew the area. Doderic broke the thread of his thoughts.

"Seems to me," said Doderic, "that Lady Eswen here - may I name you so, Lady?" She nodded. "Lady Eswen has said that she'd lead if no other spoke up and would rather not if someone did. Is that the way of it then, Lady?" She nodded again. "My thanks. That leaves Master Boffin and Master Thoronmir, unless there are any who would say otherwise." Doderic waited.

Falowik wondered why Doderic was hesitating; then the Master of Buckland's right hand hobbit glanced his way. Did Doderic think he should lead this group, just because he was the eyewitness? Falowik decided that he might as well come out with it.

"Master Doderic, did the Master of Buckland tell you who he wanted to lead this search party?"

"Aye. He said that the yoke of leadership should go to you if you'd take it."

Falowik bowed his head and his shoulders sagged. He lifted his gaze level with Doderic.

"I do not seek the burden, Master Doderic; unless these here would thrust it upon me, though it seems clear enough to me that Master Thoronmir is more able and quite willing."

Falco bridled and rose. "I have something to say!"

[ October 27, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Elora]

Before Doderic could will it or no, Falco surged on. He stood and though his stature was not that of the Men and Elves at the table, Falco for all the world appeared to be as tall in his outrage. He pointed a finger across the table at Falowik.

"Entrust this to him! Him? A feckless wandering tramp who can no more work a day's labour? He can't even find a roof for his own head of a night in places he well knows!

We're to follow him into the great unknown? We don't even know if he saw what he saw! Oh, he says he saw Eodwine being snatched by ruffians and a convincing tale he must have made of it for the Master of Buckland to believe it. But I know him, or at least I know the likes of him.

Unreliable, untrustworthy... willing to say whatever he has to, and likely do whatever he has to also, to scrape survival together!

I can't believe this outrage! I-" Falco's spluttering was cut by a voice that quivered with cold anger.

"Have said quite enough." Uien did not stand. Falco stared at her, incensed, mouth reaching for words. Uien merely stared back, biting back hard on her anger.

"I am surprised, Shirrif, that you so quickly forget how circumstance can master us all for a time and how only the strongest amongst us can turn that back." Uien brushed by Falowik's arm as she moved closer to the table to pin Falco Boffin with an unrelenting gaze.

"I had thought you would remember both years of plenty and years of little. Perhaps I am wrong in that. Perhaps you have never suffered in Bywater through such times."

Falco's face had reddened further, and then paled. Uien pressed on firmly.

"Any who gainsay Falowik gainsay myself also. For I say he is honourable, skilled and worthy of this. Who here can say they know enough of me to judge whether my word is good?

"The Master of Buckland is wise, I say, in his counsel.

"But I shall not gainsay Falowik and force leadership upon him, though I believe in my heart we would all of us come to be glad for his guidance.

"Let no more aspersions be cast, lest those who cast them are willing to be so judged, and have a decision."

Falco harumphed loudly but stubbornly kept his lips sealed. Uien fell quiet, though her voice had never risen in her anger. She took that moment to examine the group, each in turn. From face to face her eyes gravely passed. Some nodded, others smiled, Falco simmered. Until at last her gaze came to the man sitting beside her. Uien felt a great restlessly rise then, for she had the urge to both dunk Falco Boffin in a water trough as well as gather Falowik to her and tell him that the hissed words were as meaningful as steam from a boiling kettle.

They were nothing, yet still could burn. She was a healer and she would heal. Eodwine if the will of Illúvator permitted, and most of all the man she loved. There would come a time when even Falco Boffin and his ilk would have no choice but to admit that Falowik was none of the things they thought him and so much more.

The silence stretched, disturbed by Falco's shifting in his seat. Perhaps he knew that Uien was thinking of roofing tacks and his rump. More likely, he had just realised his tankard was empty. He held it aloft.

"I'll be needing more of this. That much I do know," he muttered mournfully as Nob raced forward with a fresh tankard. His toes caught the slightly raised edge of a floor stone in his haste, and so Falco got his ale in a manner. Foam and amber liquid soaked from his head down his face and into his once fine uniform.

From the bar, Barliman roared, "NOB!" The benighted Nob rolled to his feet nimbly, as only one accustomed to such tumbles could, gathered up both the now empty tankard that had clattered to the floor as well as Falco's empty one that was still held aloft. Falco hadn't moved an inch through his shower of ale.

"Get a bucket and mop, you wooly pated buffoon, and clean up that mess. Get the Shirrif a fresh tankard too! Well don't just stand there grinning boy!" Nob gingerly plucked Falco's tankard from his raised hand and turned to go.

"Don't worry about the second one, if it's all the same. I'll have to go see to this vest. The buttons tarnish in ale." Unaware that his statement had revealed Falco's own experience with bar boys who tumble with full tankards of ale, Falco stood.

He nodded stiffly to Doderic as his thin dignity would permit, and then took his leave. Anson and Gorby seemed torn between outright laughter and sighs of relief. Uien herself had struggled to keep her amusement clear of her face. It twinkled from her eyes though.

The Shirrif retired momentarily from the discussion, and the puddle of ale left in his place on his seat unable to offer anything further, it seemed like a decision could now be reached without further outbursts.

[Lumiel]

As the others of the group arrived, she took in their faces and their names, though she knew it would be a time yet before she could put the names to the faces easily. She had a friendly outlook towards one and all, but quickly picked up on the rather hostile though contained opinions of Falco concerning Falowik. Lumiel herself saw no reason to fear or hate the man, she saw nothing wrong with her eyes.

Soon enough they got to business and to deciding about who should be leader. Although Lumiel was ready to put her heart and soul into the search, she had no inclination of leading. She quickly saw she was not alone as the two hobbits raised their hands.

As each member in turn spoke of their skills, the turn came to Lumiel and she spoke softly, wringing her hands together with some nervousness. "I have the training of a Ranger, I was raised as one..." she hesitated, not wanting to go on from that point yet not sure if she should. To stem the tide of emotion that it still brought fresh, she decided to press on. "I have tracking skills as such, as well as hunting and the like. Those I have used countless times. I have been taught the necessary combat skills, but they are yet green in their experience. I will follow whoever leads." she finished, quickly sitting down again as she listened to the others.

The conversation continued, and it became plain that the Shirriff thought he was the best candidate. While he seemed a decent and honest hobbit, she wasn't sure he was the most qualified. Yet she was silent. She had said she would follow whoever would lead, and she meant it. They seemed no nearer to deciding on leadership and it hung darkly over their heads, an ominous beginning. She felt herself that either Falowik or Thoronomir would be the best leaders, though Falco disagreed and let it be known quite clearly.

Lumiel had a nervous face on the whole time. She disliked arguments between people, for some reason it resonated a dark chord in her. But blessed Nob, she could rain down a flood of kisses on the the wonderfully clumsy hobbit who brightened her spirits at just the right time. As the dignified Shirriff was soaked, a giggle escaped her lips loudly enough for all to hear and she covered her mouth with one hand her eyes twinkling like near star. The look on Falco's face made it only worse and she broke down laughing. It had all seemed so tense, at least to her, but a moment ago and now she realized the absurdity of it all!

"Bless you Nob!" she hailed to the hobbit right before she put her face in her hands, trying to stifle her laughter. She calmed herself down and turned back to the group with a wide smile. "I'm terribly sorry, I must seem like such a child to you all. I wouldn't disagree with you myself." She said calmly, now having regained her composure. "I meant no disrespect Shirriff Falco, I myself have done that on more than one occaision, and of my own fault I assure you." she paused, thinking. "So who shall lead us? A vote is in order I expect..." She glanced around expectantly.

[ October 27, 2003: Message edited by: Lumiel ]

[ October 28, 2003: Message edited by: Lumiel ]

[Imladris]

Gorby

I listened with some dismay between the fiery shots between elf and hobbit; unfortunately, I did not understand what exactly they were saying: I just knew they were contesting the character of Falowik and if the Fair One said he was good, well, to my mind he was good. Besides, agreeing with Falco would be like hurling an insult at myself saying that I would stoop to his vain pride. Glancing at his discomfurture, the ale dripping down in rivulets down his vine vest, his copper buttons becoming tarnished, I could not help but snicker and say, "Ale is good for the soul, in more ways than one." Good for cheering up and good for taking one down a peg or two, I said to myself, winking at Anson. He grinned back at me and winked at Nob.

I laughed as Lumiel made her remark, but became quiet when she asked when we were leaving. In one sense, I wished to stay with this merry group as we lounged round the wooden table, wooden mugs full of foaming ales in front of us. And yet, the adventure had the tiniest bit of allure in it: I suppose that my adventure side was rising and growing just a mite stronger. The Brandybuck blood. You had to love it and at times you had to hate it, especially when it made you skip second breakfasts or worst when it made you skip dinner.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen watched as everyone else bickered about who shall lead the group. Finëwen herself did not want to lead, still in the early years of her life. She felt the leader should have experience and knowledge on leading. Some things she had not yet experienced.

Some ale had splattered onto her arm, and after wiping it off, her arm felt rather sticky. She attempted to get it un-sticky by rubbing her coat on it, but her attempt proved unsuccessful and she gave up. There would be a stream along the way in which she could. Finëwen watched as the hobbit drenched in ale began to dry slowly, and must have thought how sticky he was. He seemed a little annoyed. Finëwen watched as everyone glanced around at each other.

Finëwen herself was a wee bit confuzed on how this was going to be handled. She waited patiently for someone to speak up and decide, or claim leadership themselves.

[ October 28, 2003: Message edited by: Alatariel Telemnar ]

[littlemanpoet]

As Falowik listened to Falco's and Uien's words, he made sure to keep his expression neutral, despite what went on inside. Falco's words were indeed the truth of the matter, at least until Uien. She had changed all of that, which was why he had to be with her now; he was sure that were she to leave, he would turn back to his old ways, whether he wanted to or not.

While Nob provided comic relief with spilled ale, Falowik felt the burden of leadership weighing down upon him, even though it had only been offered and not settled. Can you people not see, he shouted in his own mind, how much better suited to lead is this Thoronmir than I? He heaved a sigh. It seemed to him that it might be best to allow this Ranger to be leader, and to befriend him. That way, he could give counsel, which from a friend would be heeded, if not always followed. And that would be well also, for he knew that his counsel could err disastrously, and probably would. That would serve better than to take the leadership and leave Thoronmir rankled that the better man was not in charge. It would not serve the unity of the group. Better to let the Ranger lead them.

A loud voice shattered his ruminations. It was Butterbur. Falowik kept his head down. "You'd think I could find help that wouldn't trip over their own hairy feet, begging your Masters' pardons. I hope you'll accept my apology for my twist footed Nob. I-" Old Barliman stopped and squinted hard at Falowik. "Now ain't that funny, sir, I could swear I know you from somewhere. Can't place it, not with so much else flitting through my head, but I'm sure I know you. What are you called, sir?"

Falowik kept his face down and his voice low, but honored the man with his eyes cast upward. "I do not think we know each other."

Uien looked at Falowik in consternation, and glancing at her, he thought he could just about read her thoughts. "You told me yourself that this man was your best friend in Bree before you fled, and that at his counsel! Here's a friend, and you act like you don't know him!" Or something like it. Best out with it, old man.

"I am called Falowik Stonewort, sir."

Barliman mouthed the name, his eyes swinging up and to the right, as if rummaging through the attic of his mind, or the Prancing Pony's, for an old memory. Then his eyes lit up. "I remember you! Falowik! You're alive and well after all these years!" Then he turned conspiratorial. "Seeing how the Great War's come and gone, I wager folk have forgotten what they thought those many years ago, especially since it was wrong, mind you." Falowik winced. He needed to get the subject away from himself, and in a hurry.

"I cast my vote for Thoronmir for leader of our group, and hope that the rest of you will do likewise." He turned to Butterbur and smiled apologetically. "You caught us in the throes of business. We'll be leaving in the morning. Are there rooms enough for our party?"

"I'll see to it, Master Falowik! It's good to see you again! We'll have to have a good long talk and catch up on old times, we will, but business first, both yours and mine." He gave them all a proprietary smile and bustled off.

[Lumiel]

And now it was down to Falowik and Thoronmir for the leaders of their Fellowship. Falowik seemed quite intent on not being the one chosen for the job, and she was hardly the type to force anyone into doing anything they did not want to.

"If you do not wish to be leader, then I shall cast my vote with yours. I vote for Thoronmir." she said softly.

She wondered why Falowik acted as he did when Butterbur seemed to know him and realized that something must be out of place that she didn't realize. Not wanting to pry, she let the matter be until perhaps a more private time and wondered along with Falowik what they would do for the night.

[ October 28, 2003: Message edited by: Lumiel ]

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira watched Falowik and Thoronmir intently: the latter was a strong, confident, assured man and seemed to have a natural talent for leading. Of course, it did seem fitting that a ranger would leave, she thought to herself.

Glancing again at Falowik, Lira gazed at him: at his almost ashamed look when Butturbur approached and wondered briefly at it. A vote was called and Lira weighed the two in her mind once more. Taking a sip of her wine, she looked at Thoronmir and said, "I think that the Ranger is best suited to lead us."

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

Gorby

I sighed deeply. Votes were called for. It's as plain as the nose on one's face that the Ranger should lead. Falowik is, after all, a fine fellow, but there was something about the mien of this Thoronmir fellow. I cringed as I said the name in my mind. I was good at letters, but I wondered if I would be able to spell it correctly when I wrote about the events in my journal later on in the evening. No matter.

Rising, I said, "Now I'm sure all you genteel and clever folks won't care to hear from a 'umble hobbit such as me. But if you should care to hear my opinion, I think Master Thoronmir should have the honour." i sat down and took a long guzzle at my ail. A bit of the foam splashed onto my nose.

[Elora]

Falowik swung matters back to the vote neatly and people followed suit. Uien, for the moment watched the retreating back of Butterbur thoughtfully. Her gaze shifted to Falowik. Alone, he seems, Uien mused, though it is not so. Her gaze drifted to Lira's and their eyes met as Lira added her vote to the others. Gorby joined the chorus.

Uien remained silent, aware that she had overspoken already. Her father, had he of ben present, would be shaking his head in despair of her. Uien's habit of remaining silent when a voice is called for, and speaking when silence best suits, was a matter he had long struggled with. To little avail, it would seem.

Uien's attention swung to Thoronmir. Falowik had himself set his support behind the Ranger. She did not understand his reluctance, for she plainly saw qualities now as she had at a table in a Shire inn commonroom. It was not a matter for contention though. Enough of that had been had already.

"I will follow Thoronmir also," Uien simply said in her turn. There was no doubt or hesitation in her voice. She offered no more than that, but she did smile at the Ranger to show she harboured no reservations in his abilities. That done, Uien bowed her head and clasped her hands in her lap, falling back to her thoughts.

Doderic glanced about the group at those who had yet to offer their votes.

"I think I can confidently understand whom the Shirrif will vote for. What say the rest of the group of Thoronmir as leader?" Esgallahugwen, Anson and Thoronmir, who may well find himself accepting the responsibility of leadership, gathered their thoughts and soon added them to those already aired at the table.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen watched as Doderic glanced among the rest of them, meeting her gaze as he went. She decided this was the time to vote, although she was not sure of who to vote for. Falowik didnt seem to want to lead them, and everyone else so far decided Thoronmir was a better choice.

Finëwen rose from her seat, 'My vote shall also go with Thoronmir.'

Not quite sure on whom to choose, Finëwen decided to go with the majority. Taking her seat once more, she waited for the final decision to be made. Actually, she didn't mind staying here a little longer; she felt as if time was slipping by fast, but that didn't bother her. It may just be her young mind, wanting to get on with life, although she would much like to stay here longer.

[littlemanpoet]

Esgallahugwen, Anson and Finëwen added their votes to the mounting tally for Thoronmir, who accepted the leadership with fitting words.

"Good!" Doderic smiled. "I'm glad that's settled. The Master of Buckland has seen to it that you have all the provisions you and your mounts can bear. You have the rest of today to say your good-bye's and make any final arrangements you need. I will meet you in the courtyard at dawn to see you off." He clapped his hands together as if brushing the dust off after a job well done. "If there's nothing else, I have old acquaintances to renew." With that Doderic moved to a circle of hobbits who greeted him warmly.

Falowik excused himself from the table, his eyes passing across the others' faces and coming to rest on Uien's face; for a moment. The others did not see a change in his face, but Uien read his eyes. He walked outside.

[Meneltarmacil]

After everyone had voted almost unanimously for Thoronmir, the Ranger stood up. "I accept the leadership of this party, as per the vote. However, I do have one thing to say. This quest is not for the faint-hearted. You will be in mortal danger throughout this journey. If anyone chooses to back out, he or she need not be ashamed."

He looked at each of them in turn. Nobody spoke.

"Very well, then. You are all coming, I take it. I shall do my best to keep you all safe on this journey. We will leave tomorrow morning, riding north along the Brandywine River. If anyone does not have a horse or a pony, they should buy one as soon as possible. Get as much sleep as you can tonight. We have a busy day ahead of us."

"Good!" said the hobbit named Doderic. "I'm glad that's settled. The Master of Buckland has seen to it that you have all the provisions you and your mounts can bear. You have the rest of today to say your good-bye's and make any final arrangements you need. I will meet you in the courtyard at dawn to see you off." He clapped his hands and said, "If there's nothing else, I have old acquaintances to renew."

With that, some departed; others, including Thoronmir, stayed and talked for a while.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen rose and left the table, as everyone else seemed to depart and go their separate ways for the day. She knew no one here, leaving as a small child, and those relationships were never formed. Finëwen decided to hang out at the bar for awhile, till things settle down.

Finëwen sat on a small stool, and ordered a glass of wine. Paying for it, she took a sip and set it down onto the bar. There were a few people at the bar, but not as many as Finëwen had expected. She had noticed no one was able to recognize her, and for some reason that seemed to please her.

She began to go deep in though, when she heard a few that remained at the table talking. Straining her ears, she tried to listen to them.

[ October 31, 2003: Message edited by: Alatariel Telemnar ]

[Elora]

"Well spoken, Thoronmir," Uien said with warmth as Falowik stood. She hoped her staunch support of Falowik had not inadvertantly caused a rift between them and Thoronmir. Certainly, the Ranger seemed even tempered and he nodded back at her. Uien let the others at the table take up the conversation and her head turned to mark Falowik's departure from the inn. The expression in his eyes had not been missed by her.

After a moment, Uien excused herself, and followed him. She passed the young woman Ranger at the bar, offering her a quiet smile and nothing else to disturb her solitude. Uien guessed there would little of peace once the dawm came and the trail rose before them once more.

The morning's light had strengthened in the time it had taken for them to settle the leadership. It fell brightly in the courtyard of the Prancing Pony as Uien stepped out into it. She lifted her head to study the sky briefly. It would be a warm day, but not without some respite. A breeze tangled in the strands of her hair. Mayhap a storm comes to us this afternoon, she mused as she directed her attention to locating Falowik.

She found him standing off in the cooler shade of the courtyard wall. His back was to her as she crossed the distance between them, smoothing back stray strands from her face as she did so. His arms were crossed over his chest, she noted, and his head bent. He turned slightly at her approach, and knowing it was her from her footfall, raised his head to focus on the top of the wall, where the edge met the bright blue summer sky.

"Can you see the stones gather in the day's warmth, Laurëatan," she asked with a faint flicker of a smile upon her lips. So intently was he examining the top of the wall she wondered. Falowik's face was hidden from her. Uien stepped into the cooler shade, feeling the shadow slip over her skin. Yes a warm day indeed.

"It was good to see you safe, Falowik," Uien said more softly. "Heart's ease, this morning, to find you here and well." She reached to set a gentle hand upon his shoulder, and set rein to the longing to do more. Not here, not in the courtyard, he would not be well pleased though she cared little who saw or spoke. Her fingers pressed softly and Falowik turned his head towards her hand. She brushed a finger over his cheek and spoke again over the rushing within her.

"Will you show me this place that was your home, my love?" At that, Falowik did turn and her hand fell with his movement. He faced her, brow furrowed although with what she did not know. She stood where she was and her head tipped to one side as she looked closer into his gaze. Blue like the sky of a morning.

"Please, Laurëatan?" Even as she spoke, Uien was not sure what she was asking of him. Please would he show her where his childhood passed? Please would he share with her a memory, a smile, a word, laughter, the world? Please would he not turn her away? Please would he love her as she loved him? Please would he forgive her heart for chosing that which he would not have it choose? All of it, perhaps, and more.

A simple word, was please, and powerful. It dangled her from its grasp as she stood in the cool shade of the courtyard wall. Uien clasped her hands before her, strikingly reminiscent of her mother as she stood with head tilted up to study the face of her love as if nothing else in that moment could possibly hold any interest with her.

[Lumiel]

As the final vote was cast and a few final words were given, the group scattered in their own ways. The hobbits went to visit old friends, Uien and Falowik both left, and the others seemed to have other things on their minds. Lumiel sat for a few minutes at the table, looking around. There were not many people, not as many as she had on occasion seen at the Green Dragon Inn, yet still she felt the press of them. Too many people still she thought. She wondered for a moment if she would ever become accustomed to people. .The hobbits seemed kind enough, I liked them...but the other elves.... It wasn't that she did not like the elves, but rather that she felt out of place. Her few memories of her elve family made her nervous at the thought of other elves: Would they accept her? Would she be an outcast? Could she forfill her promise? She pushed the thoughts aside. Now was not the time to be questioning herself. She knew the elves would be trustworthy and more than needed on the journey ahead.

Looking around, she saw the young lady, Finewen, sitting alone at the bar. She seemed bright and youthful to her first appraisal, and it was something that Lumiel felt echoed in her own heart. She stood up and walked quietly over to the bar and took a seat next to Finewen who was at the moment sipping at a drink.

"Finewen, am I correct?" asked Lumiel with a small smile on her face.

Finewen seemed to be concentrating on something else but turned to face Lumiel when she heard her name. "Yes, and you're Lumiel?" she asked in the same congenial manner.

Lumiel nodded her head and went on. "You seemed to be in much the same position as me, in need of company to pass the time. I must admit, I certainly did not expect to see so many women here, though it makes it easier in a way I suppose." she said. She ordered a light ale and passed a coin to the man behind the bar as she raised the glass to her lips, taking a sip. A slight grimace passed over her face and she set down the glass again. "Never did like the taste of ale much. But they don't have much else in the way of variety around here." she spoke softly, a warm, friendly smile on her face as her eyes twinkled in the somewhat dimmed light.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen smiled. 'I prefer wine, myself, although the wine they have taste a little strange compared to what I'm used to,' she replied to the Lumiel's comment, taking another sip of her the strange-tasting wine.

'I was surprised on how many women were here. I thought wandering through the wild and being a part of a search party would be something a man would prefer to do over a woman, but I guess this time and age must be different. I'm not sure though, for I am still young and do not know what life before me was like, other than what was told to me by my elven caretakers,' Finëwen replied to the earlier statement.

The word caretakers did not seem to fit her elven parents. They were more like real parents to her, though she often thought of her blood parents and wondered what they were like, and what her life would be like if they were alive. Would she be stuck in a house all day cleaning, living a life of house work? Sometimes she felt glad her elven parents had found her, and she wouldn't live a life like that.

Glancing back at the elf, she asked, 'Why have you decided to join the search party? What did you expect to get out of it?'

[Lumiel]

Lumiel paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "I guess it seemed the only thing for me to do. I made a promise." she paused again. "I am a full-blooded elf, though I know little of my parents except a few blurred memories. They were killed by orcs." She left it at that, not wanting to go into the details of those memories, of the memories of whom only one other besides herself knew in full. "I myself was later saved by a Ranger named Farin who took me in as his own child and he became my mother and father and taught me all he knew in the ways of the Rangers. He passed away recently and made me promise to reclaim his honor as a Ranger and to find my people. And so here I am, I suppose." She picked up her glass and swallowed down a somewhat unsavory gulp, helping to keep back the avalanche that may come if she did not prevent it. "I'm here for him, you see. He gave me so much, and now I must return the favor. But even if I did not have a mission of my own, I would come if only for Eodwine's sake."

She finished, having given an abridged version for her coming along. There was something about Finëwen that appealed to Lumiel, and she thought that perhaps she may be beginning to make a friend. But still, she was a very private person and did not yet feel safe enough to divulge further. It would only have been a hassle and timewaster anyway, she told herself.

"Now I have given my reasons, what are yours? A woman Ranger is highly unusual, sometime perhaps we shall have to test our skills and learning against one another?" she said. She regretted afterward saying it, realizing that in all reality their chance to see one another's ability would come all too soon.

[Elora]

Falco emerged into the commonroom in freshly pressed waistcoat, still smoothing it over his stomach as he walked. The table had largely emptied. Doderic sat talking with another group of Hobbits, Falco noted. Thoronmir sat with two Elves, Lira and Esgallhugwen, along with Anson and Gorby. They seem to be chatting amicably. If he understood the gist of things, Thoronmir had been appointed leader.

Falco's smoothing of his waistcoat ceased as he learnt of that. At least it is not Falowik.... but Big Trouble will come of this. You'd best be alert, Falco Boffin. You know what Big Folk Ruffians can do. Were any of these at the Battle of Bywater? Falco seemed to settle a little, but warily so. As his thoughts ran, he looked carefully about for some ale.

He settled onto the bench next to Anson and Gorby, so as to keep an eye on the young, exciteable fellows and to listen well to what was being discussed.

"Thoronmir is going to lead us," Anson informed him with a pleased smile.
"Lucky for us," Falco replied neutrally as he eyed Thoronmir.
"And we've got the whole day to ourselves to enjoy before we leave at dawn," Gorby added, beaming.
"Dawn!" Falco's reply was a little high pitched, a squeaky sound of dismay. Leave them alone for ten minutes and look at the ridiculous things they arrange.

"Aye, dawn, Shirrif Boffin, so as to get underway and on our trail before the heat of the day slows us. Those we track have a good lead on us," Thoronmir observed calmy. Falco subsided, still less than pleased at the prospect of his third, no forth, early start with no decent breakfast, second breakfast.

"Barbaric," Falco muttered, his gaze slipping from Thoronmir's intent, if amused one, to the rest of the table. Realising that the chief architects of this folly weren't present, he looked about the room. Before Falco could ask where Falowik had slipped off to with that Uien, Falco observed a familiar face.

With a speed that his stature belied, Falco was off the bench and across the room. He stood at a table in the corner where three hobbits, one in particular, were trying look scarce.

"Well Master Sackville, good of you to meet me here like this. I'll be sure to mention it on your behalf." The Master Sackville seemed to deflate. "Up you come, I'll find someone to mention it to now."

There was a round of protests at the table. "Now!? I've still to finish my pint, Shirrif." Falco smiled obligingly, reached for Master Sackville's pint and polished it off, wiping the foam from his upper lip with relish. "I've some spare time, and I'll not waste it watching you nurse your ale."

With the matter of the ale sorted out, Master Sackville stood and was escorted out brusquely by Falco by the elbow. As they left, Falco seeking a suitably responsible person to deposit this felon into custody with, Falco observed the following.

"Seems to me to be strange, Master Sackville, as to why a perfectly good farmer would steal his neighbours cows and then sell them back to him. I would have sold them at the next town, if you understand me... Then, I suppose you'll have lots of time to ponder that. Mind your step, Master Sackville, don't want you stubbing your toes."

As Falco breezed through the courtyard with his newly apprehended cow entrepreneur, he finally located Falowik, standing with Uien in the courtyard. Probably wondering which horse to steal from the hitching post... Big trouble, both of them.... double big trouble. He was unable to make any further observations as Master Sackville had decided to make a bid for freedom.

"Now, now, that isn't the way and well you know it. We need to go down here, remember, from the two times before... come along, Master Sackville." Off the pair strode into the streets of Bree, Shirrif and reluctant felon. Falco had found something to do with his spare time quickly, and it pleased him no end.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

'My story is very similar to yours, in one sense, but yet it is different. My mother died in childbirth and I never knew her, and my father, a ranger, was killed in the wild when I was still a young child. My elven caretakers found me and took me away to their land, Rivendell. I stayed there with the elves for many years of my short life, and know more than the average woman my age would. I wandered in the wilds, from Rivendell, and ended up here.

'My main reason for coming along this journey is for the experience. My life has only been lived a short time, and I have a feeling about this journey, something just told me to go along. For me, it is just to have the experience of going,' Finëwen replied. She took another sip of her wine, thinking over the journey of her life, replaying some parts in her mind.

She glanced back at the elf. 'So what do you think is going to happen?'

[littlemanpoet]

The center of Falowik's world came near, speaking a light jest. She lightened his heart with it, but the easing did not reach his face. He had not even noticed the stones until she spoke of them, for he was looking through them at the image-fraught thoughts captive in his mind. Falco's scorn. Thoronmir's under-reckoning of them, which smacked of arrogance; but he would keep that to himself, for it was only first impression. Maybe the Ranger was able to keep them all safe. Time would tell. They'd need it; a motley bunch they were. Moody Elven ladies. Bumpkin Hobbits who were either overweaning or untried. A Ranger woman who seemed half Elvish herself, bearing their melancholy as if she'd breathed and eaten it all her life. He was no better than any of them, he knew, but he had hoped that they would be. Maybe the tests of the road would prove out hidden mettle. Falowik hoped so. He wished Doderic was coming with, to shepherd the three Hobbits, none of whom Falowik believed had much to offer. He would, of course, keep all of his impressions to himself. Uien seemed to be the only one of all of them, beside Thoronmir, who had anything of worth - that Falowik could see - to bring to the search.

Her hand came to his shoulder. She brushed his cheek; her touch sang within him like a lute's strings.

"Will you show me this place that was your home, my love?" His heart went cold. He turned and her hand fell. Memories of his harsh childhood flooded his mind. Her head tipped to one side and she watched him quizzically, as if wondering what his thoughts were, and with pleading in her eyes.

"Please, Laurëatan?" She clasped her hands before her. Falowik did not like seeing her looking like an abject beggar. He scowled, then looked from her hands to her face. Her heart, given to him, was in her eyes.

Come, old man, you've shared the story with her already. What hurt is there in walking its paths with her? Falowik allowed himself to hope that it might be well to bring her to those old rags of bitterness and regret. His face softened.

"We'll save The Prancing Pony for last." His hand reached and would take her by the waist and lead her walking close beside him, but Falowik forced himself to give her his arm to hold. She smiled and took his arm, and they walked into the road.

The Prancing Pony backed onto the hillside and faced west where the road curved westward to cross The Greenway, and southward to circle the hill. Falowik led Uien away from the hill with its Hobbit holes, and down to the hedge and dike that circled Bree from north to south on the west. Along the Hedge Road stood the shops and houses of tradesmen; it was there that Falowik had scraped and scrounged to keep body and soul together. He told Uien of Al Tanner, a hardbitten chap back then, and probably an old codger now, who gave him work and paid him a morsel of bread and a ragged blanket among the dogs out by the dike. Then there was Sam Miller, who had given him grain for payment, telling him to make his own bread; Falowik had worked for Miller just once. Falowik told the story of each of his Breeland caretakers; some had been worse than Miller, some hardly better than Tanner; except for Barliman.

The sun was nearing its height when they came to the place where Hedge Road met up with the East Road. Falowik pointed to the houses across the Road and closer to the hill, and told Uien how he had never gone up there because the wealthy of Bree lived there and would not have him, mistrusting him for a child thief.

They made their way back to the Prancing Pony, for Falowik was hungry. He was not sure if it had helped to tell Uien his stories. His tone had been sombre at first, but lightened as the day drew on. Still, he did not like it that all through the morning, he had sounded like one who could do nothing but complain; which was why his tone had become lighter with each story; this is how it was, plain and simple; it matters not to me anymore. But it did. His hardships had shaped him into a stunted, crooked tree, as it were, baked under the hostile sun, his roots reaching beneath the earth to slake his thirst in a sun baked, dry land. Uien walking with him was like a lake of fresh, clean, and clear water. But he wanted to know her mind.

"What think you of the stories of my childhood?" His tone was light, but his eyes and twitching cheek betrayed him.

[Elora]

Uien for her part had absorbed it all, hungry for all that she could have of Falowik. He gave her much, and she marvelled at it all. His arm clasped by her own, his presence beside her a living flame, his voice rising and falling, in and out of his memories. What cost had her request been honoured at? She could only guess. It pained him, she knew, and she had asked this of him. Silent but for a few encouraging acknowledgements, Uien let Falowik tell her all that he would.

They found themselves back at the Prancing Pony and Uien's mind was swimming with many things. Guarded and cautious, Falowik asked her of her thoughts. She thought she glimpsed a fragment of shame. In truth, the shame belonged not to him. It was that of those who had left a child to the cold mercies and tides of a troubled world, and to her for dredging up such sorrow. But how to soothe that? She looked up into Falowik's expectant face and marshalled her thoughts as best she could.

When she spoke, it was with a voice made quiet by her musings, without hesitation or artiface.

"It seems to me that Bree failed you, my love, yet despite it all your spirit and heart outgrew them. I can see now why the wilds called you so. What small town can contain one such as you, Falowik Laurëatan? Doubt not that better was owed to you than you received."

Uien smiled as she shaped his dear name. She drew closer to him, holding his gaze to hers which did not falter.

"It is as I feared," she said. He frowned slightly at her words and she pressed on. "Every moment that passes, each new thing I learn of you, the stronger my heart cleaves to you.

"Not all homes are such as you have known. It is my hope that you may look upon mine, though it is now an empty place. I would have you know it as I once did, to give to you what you have given me this day."

And perhaps he would find some measure of the happiness she had known, for it was her mind to share it with Falowik. Close as she was, Falowik's presence seemed to surround her. Her voice became a whisper as she drew closer still, her heart singing. She was floating again.

"I have learnt that home is a feeling, not a place." With that, Uien reached once more as she had on a night in front of another inn. Perhaps he would object now as he ahd then, and he had every right to, for such boldness. Nonetheless, Uien's mind had settled on one thing.

Gently, slowly, she pressed her lips to Falowik's in a kiss. Time fell away and it could only have been a moment. But for Uien, it was more than eternity. In that moment, immortality was theirs. When it broke, Uien sighed, "Home." She had found it after being without it for so long. It was Falowik. Her pulse galloping in her ears, cheeks flushed, Uien barely heard herself add to a shocked and frozen Falowik, "It is past time to give you glad memories of this place."

No sooner had she spoken so did the import of her actions and words catch up with her. Never had she done such a thing. Her presumption in daring kiss him uninvited cast her into a world of uncertainty. Would he reprimand her? Turn away? What would she do then? The answer was hers immediately: love him nonetheless.

Uien fought hard against the urge to repeat her actions and stepped down from where she had risen to her toes. She dared meet Falowik's eyes again, a little fearful of what she may find there. He was tense, coiled, as if struggling with something.

"Forgive me. Forgive me..." Her hand trailed down from where it had perched upon his shoulder. Her skin was both hot and cold, alive and she could still feel the softness of his mouth. Before she could hear the words of rebuke, Uien stole herself away. She slid past him, slowly at first, intent on making her room before she shamed Falowik further and staying to do it all again. Uien paused in the threshold of the Inn, to glance over her shoulder to where Falowik stood. Her best intentions were no match for her heart's demands. His back was to her. Breathing rapidly, Uien tore herself away to collect the key to her room from Butterbur.

Rattled and flustered, Uien dove behind the door and sank onto the bed, lightheaded. Her joy had undercurrents of fear now. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she closed her eyes. Foolish, impetuous, rash... you rush forward to claim something that is not yours by rights. And you would do it again, and again... Off-balance as she was, Uien was not aware her thoughts were spoken to the empty room. If I have driven him away, at least let him find happiness. Let him know love, even if it is not mine. Uien stared at the floorboardst, half waiting for the knock at her door. Surely she would be left behind now. Falowik had every right to request that it be so.

In the silence of the room, Uien curled up against the tide of criticism that rose in her mind. Her mother chided her, her father exclaimed in exasperated frustration. Her brothers shook their head at her. And an orc hissed at her with an unwholesome leer, "Not for you, not ever. You cannot wash us off through a thousand years. What use would any have for you now."

In the midst of this, Uien took refuge in a filament of hope that refused to fade. It burned stubbornly and she sheltered there, in the image of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the touch of his hand on her own, a stolen kiss. When Uien rose again, she crossed to the small stand and poured out water into a bowl left there. Again and again she swept the cool water against her flushed face. She could not wash away the broken cackling in her mind, mocking. Then Uien stopped and dried her damp face. Nor did she wish to wash away other memories, sweet and new. She would endure one for the other, and a great deal more besides if it came to it.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. She seemed fevered, eyes bright, skin wan, cheeks flushed. Through it, Uien found a smile. She would endure what she must, for had done so in the past. This time, she had a reason. It was Falowik. It was home. Uien turned away to study the view from her window. She sat there, pondering how to best mend the damage of her boldness, staring at the scene below.

[ November 02, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Lumiel]

Her hands rested softly at the sides of her glass, feeling the coolness of the drops of condensation that had begun to collect along the outside of it. Finëwen's past was similar to her own, and yet different, the opposite. Finëwen knew of elves and people while Lumiel, herself and elf, knew very little about them through first-hand experience.

She looked back down at her glass as the last question was put to her. "I would be a poor judge of that, I think. Hopefully we'll find this Eodwine fellow and bring him back to his home and stop whoever it was that took him in the first place." She said, and looked up at Finëwen. As she did so, she couldn't help but smile brightly. Finëwen glanced curiously at her, wondering what was so funny. Lumiel answered. "It's nothing really funny...it's just kind of interesting I guess that you look older than I and yet I'm several hundred years old, though I'm not sure of the exact age. Yet still, I believe you have more age in experience than I do." Her smile softened and she went on. "I wonder why Falowik was so against being the leader...he could lead us, if he wanted to." She left it at that, pondering it in her own head, waiting to see what hypothesis Finëwen may have for it herself.

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira sighed as she flitted gracefully to the stairs and entered her room, closing the door softly behind her. The bed looked inviting after the hard days journey and she stretched herself out upon it, reveling in the softness of the spun woolen covers and the fluffy coolness of the pillow that yielded easily to her weary head. Drowsiness encompassed her and she entered the sleep of the elves that was so peculiar to that race. Her blue eyes were half open, dreaming of things long past:

It had been upon a visit to Imladris, where she had tarried on one of her numerous voyages to the Grey Havens. Few elves were left, but the timeless beauty of things fair and past remained, like silver starlight before the rising of the sun. Few passed that way anymore, and Lira loved to wander there, keeping company with the lingering memories, recalling the laughter and dances of the elves before the Darkness.

One day, as she was nestled upon a stone fountain, a group of lot elves arrived: they were bedraggled, the toil and dirt of travel still clinging to the rags that hung limply from their bodies. There was a lady elf and one of noble mien, probably her son, and they were both bowed with grief and worry. Silent tears streamed down her face as they told those of Rivendell what had happened, but Lira could only just faintly hear that her daughter had perished or been lost in the Caradhras Mountains. As she drifted towards them, hugging the shadows, she recognized the mother as one she had once or twice seen in Lothlorien.

The son tried to rally a search party, but the consensus was the same: the daughter was dead. That night, a lament had been sung in the Hall of Fire, the voices of many elves entwining in a melody of mourning for her that was lost. They sang of a Maiden of Twilight with a cascade of golden hair, soft laughter, a woman gentle to all things. A carver was she and under her deft fingers a block of wood could become a thing of delicate and intricate beauty. They described how she and her family were journeying to the Grey Havens and how a storm had come upon them and that she had been separated from those who loved her. Long they looked for her, but to no avail. She had vanished as the fading twilight. With poignant sadness, the music of ethereal elven voice and the strum of the harp grew into an aching crescendo for the beauty lost and for grace disappeared. Tears trickled down Lira’s face as she listened in wordless sorrow to the minstrels sing their dirge in the flickering shadows of the fire’s light.

Before the family had departed for the Grey Havens, Lira had tried to gain the nerve to comfort them, but their grief was too painful, so she had merely whispered a few words of hope -- hope that even Lira could not believe was true. The Maiden had Twilight had faded from this world. She had later learned that her family had safely reached the Havens and had left for the lands of the Valinor, though no joy was in their hearts.

Lira jerked awake, panting heavily as beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. Her heart raced feverishly as she ran through the events in her mind one more time, and sang the song again. A Maiden of Twilight: Uien was named for the twilight. An elf of great beauty was Uien. It could not be: the Maiden of Twilight was dead. How could she have survived?

Rising, hope and joy and disbelief mingled in her heart, Lira hastened to Uien’s room and knocked softly, saying, “Uien, it is I, Lira. I must speak with you.”

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen took a moment to contemplate what Lumiel had just said, collecting her thoughts. 'I have hope also of the finding of Eodwine. As of myself seeming more experienced, I do not know what to say to that. I think of myself as more inexperienced than experienced. For the number of my years is very short, and what I have gone through does not seem as what one would consider experienced. Aye, staying with the elves, may be what someone might call a great experience, yet I do not consider myself so,' Finëwen said finishing her thoughts.

She took a sip of her ale and recollected her thoughts once more, 'I also wonder why Falowik did not wish to be leader. He seemed so hesitant towards it. Maybe it's something personal.' Finëwen shrugged at the thought and decided to leave it be. She finished what was of her wine.

Finëwen felt something nagging in the back of her mind, but simply ignored it. She ordered another drink, but this time an ale. She wondered if it would taste as bad as Lumiel had described it. She glanced at Lumiel, who didn't seem to be enjoying the drink, and waited for someone to say something next.

[ November 02, 2003: Message edited by: Alatariel Telemnar ]

[Lumiel]

As Finëwen spoke, Lumiel ran her finger along the side of her ale, drawing abstract images that she erased with her hand when Finëwen finished. She watched as the woman ordered another drink, this time an ale, but said nothing. Her own drink sat in front of her not even three-quarters empty.

"It seems a waste to just let it sit there..." she said more to herself than to anyone else. She had drunk all that she could stomach, and did not understand why anyone in their right minds would want such a thing. Thinking, an idea came to her and she stood up from her seat, the mug held up high in one hand. "Oy! This ale goes to any who carry a tune! Though among this lot, I think it might rot first!" she shouted above the noise of the crowd with a big grin on her face.

The offer of a free drink instantly caught the attention of many of the patrons, who scrambled to get in the better position for a song on the tops of tables and chairs and anywhere else they could find elevated space. Those who put forth the most effort were mostly young hobbits and a few young men and they laughed merrily as a few of those about to perform fell from their stations in a half-stupor. Finally, they organized amongst themselves a silently agreed upon song with one leader, a young hobbit with dark curly hair and warm brown eyes.

In a half-formed circle, they left space for Lumiel and she laughed as she went to join them. She cast a look back at Finëwen and motioned with one hand for her to join. Not waiting to see if Finëwen would join, she began clapping to the beat of the song. It didn't take her long to pick up on the songs for she had a quick memory when she put her mind to it. The group seemed to ignore the fact that she was an elf, perhaps because she seemed so young, maybe because she didn't seem to act like they thought an elf would, or maybe it was just because she had offered a free ale. Either way, there was a mutual friendliness amongst them and they laughed and sang and boasted of stories and great feats they had achieved (or so they said).

The time wore on and for a while Lumiel forgot herself. She also seemed to forget the hour. Finally realizing the time, she regretfully bade her newfound friends good night, hoping to see them again in the future. She was about to step away from the group and head towards her room when the leader from before, the dark-haired, brown-eyed hobbit, ran in front of her and stood defiantly with both hands on his hips. "Excuse me m'lady, but I can't let you pass. Not just yet anyway." he spoke with a serious tone and voice, and Lumiel looked back with confusion.

"I don't understand, what do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, you made a promise And though we be just humble hobbits, we have a sense of honor and we don't take kindly to those who show no honor, if you take my meaning." he went on. She tilted her head to show her lack of understanding. "The ale m'lady! The ale!" he exclaimed, his seriousness dissapating in the wake of warm, congenial grin as he laughed.

"Ah yes! I had forgotten, good sir, that I had indeed made such a promise. I never renege on my word, and I won't begin now. But the thing is, you see, one of your fellow honorable hobbits has drunk the ale I brought over there, and so I must give you something of equal worth." she said with all the eloquence she could manage in her mirth and put a hand to her chin as she thought.

A smile flashed across her face as an idea formulated in her head. Going down on one knee so that she was at the hobbit's level, she leaned forward and quickly gave him a peck on the cheek. Laughing girlishly, she skipped away, leaving a dumbfounded hobbit in her wake. Not one to be left in such a vulnerable position, the hobbit quickly came to his senses and called out, "Many thanks, m'lady, I got more than I bargained for! But, what is your name fair maiden?" he asked.

Pivoting on one foot at the sound of the hobbit's voice, she replied, "Lumiel Rovalhir, good sir hobbit. And yours?"

"Will. Will Branson." he added his last name to follow Lumiel's suit. "Will you join us again tomorrow for another round?" he asked hopefully.

"No, sir Will, but I may see you again. Good night." she answered as she turned one last time and headed down one of the wings to her own room. The hobbit named Will returned to his friends who gave him a queer look with sly grins and teased him. He took it good-naturedly and carried on with his fellow merry-makers. Back in her room, Lumiel took off her boots and cloak and laid them carefully by her bed. Folding down the sheets, the slipped between them and closed her eyes, falling into an elven sleep peculiar to her because of the human influence. She slept with her eyes closed, though her mind was quite awake. In her dreams, she laughed and played with the hobbit named Will, and she felt at home.

[littlemanpoet]

No, don't go! Falowik's heart was beating fast. It is better that you flee, dear one, for you know I cannot husband you. He touched his lips, bringing back the memory of her kiss, savoring it. His arms had not surrounded Uien, though they had begun to - he had forced them to his side; and wished that he had allowed himself to hold her close. And he knew that he must not do so, and that it would be best not to wish it. He knew that his love for her must remain at a remove.

Yes, she had crossed a boundary, and he was both glad and filled with consternation from it. It was good that the others would be nearby during the course of the search. He was sure that his resolve would weaken if left alone with her. He sighed and decided that he was not so hungry that a little time alone might not be more to his liking. He passed around the Inn and climbed the hill, threading his way between gardens and Hobbit holes until he was above them, atop the tree covered hill. He sat among a grove of oaks and took in the view.

The sun was hot; the shade was welcome. He could see the South Downs from here. His eyes gravitated to the North, where there were more Downs, and Deadmen's Dike. Not quite that far was an area of scrub where blood stained a rock and many hoof prints trampled the ground. That was their way on the morrow. He did not look forward to it, but was determined to see it through. Uien's presence would make it bearable. He smiled and lay on his back, allowing the memory of her kiss to wash over him again.

----------

The sun was far down the sky, and Falowik's stomach rumbled with hunger. He rubbed his face and got up. It had been too long a nap. He made his way back down the hill and to the Inn.

There was much dancing and carousing in the common room, and one of their party seemed to be at the center of it. Falowik recognized it as Lumiel. He smirked, appreciating her enjoyment, but it was not for him. He told Nob that he needed a room that he could take his supper in, to which Nob replied that his room was already prepared, and told him its number. Falowik went up the stairs and found Thoronmir's gear lying on one of two beds on each side of the window looking out from the second floor of the Inn. Thus had the search party's new leader apparently arranged things. Falowik lay on the unoccupied bed and waited for the Ranger.

[ November 04, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen turned to see people dancing around the room merrily, and that made her smile. Her heart felt joy once more, in which it felt it hadn't in a long time. She sipped at the ale, and couldn't see what Lumiel had disliked about it, and figured it must be elves that disliked the strong taste of it. Her stomach had a slight pain of hunger in it, and she decided to order some food.

After it was served to her and she had paid for it, she picked at it, watching what Lumiel had started. A few people calmed down after the ale was given away, but some still enjoyed the dancing, and all ordered their own ales anyways.

Finëwen ate all she could out of the plate, and left for her room. The sun had set, and it was now dark outside. Down the hall, she heard a few people talking in some of the rooms, but simply passed them by.

In her room, she set down her bag on a table. She noticed the blinds and window were closed, and the room seemed a bit stuffy.Opening it, a gust of wind blew in, and filled the room with fresh air.

The moon was now shining bright, a faint white glow. It was the same colour as the gown Finëwen had been wearing. She left the window opened, and continued to the bed that sat in the middle of the room. She lied down and tried to sleep, although it came uneasy to her.

[Imladris]

Gorby

I sighed wearily and rubbed my eyes and looked around. The men were, well, quite anti-social and, well, sort of austere in my ‘umble opinion. That elf Lumiel, I believe, had gotten a lively dance goin’ and I, for the life o’ me, couldn’t figure out how she had done it. I mean, she was an elf, for pete’s sakes! The jig was rather jolly and I couldn’t say no to such o’ thing at that.

Winking at Anson, I pushed my chair back with a resounding scrape and kept a sharp look out for a pretty lass. There was one: a cute little thing with golden bouncy curls and soft blue eyes. My heart fluttered and I looked again: she was so beautiful: her hair was like straw drying in a bright summer sun.

Making my way to her, wading through the swirling people, I finally found myself beside the lass. Leaning against the wall, her cheeks had a slight flush to them and lashes curled delicately above her river like eyes, she was clicking her fingers softly to the beat and her ruby lips were curled into a slight smile in her which her pearly whites glistened prettily. “Hello, miss,” I said nervously. “My name is Gorby Brandybuck,” I said as casually as I could. “Yours?”

“That’s not your real name,” she said, her smiling curving until it was just slightly flirtatious.

“Uh,” I said stumbling. Most people called me Gorby, but that was only a nickname. “Oh, the real name is Gorbilac, but most people call me Gorby or Orb, depending on how high I rate in their esteem,” I said with some chagrin. But she wanted to know, so I supposed that she might as well have all of it.

Tilting her head, she said, “Sapphire Greenfield.” She curtsied and winked at me.

As I bowed, I said, “Would you like to dance, m’lady?”

Giggling slightly, she took my hand (her fingers were delightfully soft and velvety) and nodded her assent. Putting my hand on her waist, we danced merrily together. We swirled and stumbled over each other’s feet. As I looked into her eyes and saw her laugh, it was as if she was just full of joy and happy to be just alive. I couldn’t imagine that anything could dampen her spirits. Finally, we flopped wearily down upon a bench and I ordered her ourselves an ail. “Well, Fire,” I said, coining a nickname for her, “thank ye for the dance -- dances.”

She tittered quietly and took a sip, the frothing foam sticking like cream upon a newly filled milk pan to her lips. Delicately licking it off, she said, “So, Gorby, what brings a Brandybuck to Bree?”

“I’m going on a search party to rescue a man from Rohan,” I said.

She arched her eyebrows prettily and said, “Rohan?”

“Yes,” I said nodding.

“Saphy! Saphy!” a stout hobbit with white hair cried out! “Best be getting home now!”

Sapphire smiled sadly and said, “I best go. I live at the Greenfield Bakeries,” she added as she disappeared.

I watched her leave sadly and found that Anson had come to sit with me. “Somebody likes somebody,” he said slyly, taking a sip.

“Oh, be quiet!” I said good naturedly. “I say, Anson, do you really want to go on this trip?”

He shrugged and said, “I’m just glad I’m going with you.”

I looked at him sharply and said, “You didn’t have your father’s permission to go, did you?” I scrutinized him carefully: no response. “You did this for me, didn’t you?” I said finally, feeling slightly guilty. Anson wasn’t exactly one to go on adventures, from what I understood, and he loved his siblings so much: I wondered how he had managed to tear himself apart from them. And had the sweet hobbit hole that he loved so much. And now he’d be trudging against the cold, probably tripping over every stone and twig on the ground, getting his clothes mussed and not being able to wash his hair. He nodded to my question and I said, “Thank you, Anson.”

[Elora]

Uien watched from the window, her palm pressed against the pane of glass as Falowik's golden head walked away from below. Her heart grew within her and then shrank. I have driven him away?

"No," she whispered brokenly to the glass. He did not look up. It could not be that this was so. This was his chance, this search party, the chance so long denied to him. She would not consign him to struggle. If one had to leave, it would be her, though each day would be like to a year and her heart would ever lie cold within her. Uien surged upright, spun for the door and there checked herself as a knock sounded. Lira's voice filtered through the wood. So, Doderic and Thoronmir had sent Lira to give her word of her explusion. Smoothing her countenance as best she could with a last bid for some shred of dignity, Uien moved to the door and opened it. With a wan smile, she waved Lira through.

"Please, be welcome, Lira," she said. Lira studied Uien a moment and stepped through.

"I hope I do not intrude," Lira began uncertainly, for Uien was far from calm and serene.

"No, please, will you sit?" Uien gestured to a chair which Lira took up with a nod as Uien pulled her own chair away from the window. As her back was briefly turned to Lira, her gaze directed at the now empty vista through the window, Uien was struck by the sense that Lira was watching her in turn. With a sigh, Uien sat.

"I do not have anything to offer you by way of refreshment. But then such niceties would likely only make this harder, would it not?" Lira raised a brow, unsure of what to make of Uien's statement.

"Perhaps," she replied cautiously. Uien braced herself and sat in silence, waiting for the expected words to be spoken. Lira, sensing Uien's unrest suddenly changed tack. "It may be easier if I sing for you a lament I heard first in Imladris."

Uien did not expect such a thing, but made no sound of demurrment. She instead nodded, wondering if a lament for foolish maidens who conduct themselves with a cruel disregard for the consequences of their actions. At her nod, Lira fell silent a moment, ordering the words and melody in her mind and started to sing.

In Lorien fair a maiden did dwell,
The fair beauty of twilight she loved well,
Beneath golden boughs would she dance and sing,
On the eve of battle,
Before the Ring.

Uien sat still as a stone. As still as the stones of Caradhras, as the lament went on to describe. As she sat, Lira's voice unfolded a lament of a maiden lost in a malestrom of ice. The melody of the lament was haunting. It soared and fell, weaving a tale of grief that fell on the very edge of the eternal peace of Valinor, to which the maiden was travelling with her family. The verses were the work of her brother. She recognised his voice in the words. He told of searching for her, in vain. He spoke of the anguish of realising the maiden was dead and the impossible battle to believe it in his heart.

When Lira's song came to it's ending, Uien was frozen to her chair, her head bowed.

"This I heard in Imladris. It was sung in the Hall of Fires the first evening that the last party from Lothlorien arrived. There were two there, a Lady and her son. Both were on the verge of ruin, stricken... by the loss of their beloved Uien Aduial."

Uien drew in a shaking breath as Lira spoke her name. Her eyes were closed. Lira paused leaning towards the other Elf.

"I remembered them because of their sorrow and because I had seen them before, in Lothlorien. I remembered them from happier times, when their family had been whole. So different from those I beheld that afternoon.

"They reached the Grey Havens, and they set sail. It is said in Imladris that they are the only two who ever set out for Valinor looking at the fading shore of Middle-earth, waiting for you beyond hope."

At that, Uien shook with a sob before she could press her hands over her mouth to still them. She raised her head, tears marking their course down her pale cheeks.

"It is you, is it not?" Uien nodded mutely at first. Through her tears she spoke brokenly.

"I looked for them. I could not find them. I thought the storm had..."

Lira placed a hand on Uien's shaking shoulder.

"They looked for you. Your brother went back up the mountain to find you. What happened, Uien? Where were you?"

Another violent shudder rippled through Uien.

"I was... beneath the mountain." It was all she could say of that. Lira sensed a darkness fall over Uien and she fell silent herself, wondering what that boded.

"They looked for me," Uien asked again. Lira smiled and nodded gently.

"Yes, your brother wished to return again. He could not, for your mother was fading with grief and the Havens were his only choice were she to find some measure of peace."

Uien nodded, imagining it for herself. Yes, for after Doriath and all that followed, that was his duty. THEY LIVE! There was silence in the room again as Uien struggled with this new information, this gift from Lira. Lira well understood the import of the lament and for the moment kept her questions for another time. There would be ample on the journey ahead.

"Lira, this is precious. They live, in peace in Valinor!" The joy of Uien's new knowledge glowed within her eyes.

"It will be as though you have returned from the Halls of Mandos, Uien Aduial," Lira observed sagely. Uien nodded pensively for the ramifications were significant. She had kin to return to, if she chose. No matter what she chose, it would not be easy to explain anyone.

"I am in your service, Lira, for you have restored to me a great thing. You have given me my family. There can be no greater gift. I am bound to you, by honour and friendship both."

Lira warmly clasped back Uien's hand. In that moment, Uien knew Lira understood.

"I should leave you. You have much to consider," Lira said simply by way of withdrawing. Indeed Uien did, not least of which how to explain to Lira what had happened. The hours of the afternoon stretched into dusk in a blur for Uien. So it was that Uien answered Twilight's call to her. She ever found it easier to know her mind and heart at this magical time of day.

Uien drifted as if in a dream down the stairs of the inn and out into the sunset. She did not hear Falco Boffin at the bar, with a fine example of a half pint in his custody, respond to a question from his companions regarding the strange elf.

"Who, her? Probably out to dance about some trees somewhere. Elves are like that," he said authoritatively, taking another pull at his tankard. Instead, Uien's feet trod the same path as Falowik's had earlier in the afternoon. Once she had found the oaks, Uien stopped. The new stars were starting to emerge one by one.

To greet them, Uien permitted herself a song, from memory. She had sung it often, upon a time, at twilight. In the trees, Uien spun, face upturned to see the stars. Alive! She wandered through the boles of the trees, hand trailing over their rough bark. When she came to stand still, Uien was facing the direction of the Grey Havens to the East.

Uien stood where she was for a long time, breathing in the cooler night as her mind stretched and raced. It would not be easy, but her choice was made.

"What would you say, mother? And what of you, brother? Would you look into my eyes and heart and bid me to follow it, as you yourselves have done?" Uien murmured this to the miles set between her and Valinor. "You always knew, did you not? My heart dwells not in undying but life. What would you say?"

The night did not answer Uien as she stood amongst the oaks. A breeze whispered through the leaves. The stars shimmered as ever they had since Varda had set them in place. Perhaps they would bear witness to Valinor to those she would send word to if she could. Perhaps...

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen took the last sip of her ale, a dance had started, she cared little for dances but watched the others go at it as they may, spinning and skirts whirling about the wooden floor, feet stamping, people cheering. Her grey eyes glimmered like ice under her hood, the group had gone their seperate ways for now, some sleeping others dancing, some engaged in casual conversation.

She was engaged with nothing but her thoughts. How she must look to others brooding and skulking in the shadows, oh yes all Elves must be like that anyway, musn't they? Always have a problem or some sad story of bloodshed and loss.

Esgallhugwen looked over at the two Hobbits who were talking, and why were they here? she pondered, no doubt by the command of the Master of Buckland and Falco. They seemed so young, so unexperienced, Thoronmir had vowed to protect all members of the party, she couldn't help but scoff lightly at this, we should all be here to protect one another, all here are capable of some skill that the other may not have, and there will certainly be use for more than one healer or warrior or tracker, one may see what the others miss.

She sighed heavily, loking about at all the faces though they couldn't see hers.

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir sat at the table with the others who had stayed in the common room. "Well," he said, "I suppose you want to hear my story as well."

"Yes, please tell," said Lumiel.

"I grew up in the Hills of Evendim, which is the very same place we are going to now. I had several friends, one of whom you may have heard of by the name of Halbarad. My friends and I were all summoned to war about 12 years ago at his request. We all fought in the battle of the Pelennor Fields, where all of my friends died except for me."

A silence filled the air around the table.

"Anyway, I've pretty much put it behind me," the Ranger went on, although the others caught the change in his tone and the momentary pause as he fought back the memories. "When I returned to the hills, a younger man had become the leader of my group of Rangers, and I just didn't seem to get along with any of them anymore. So I left them and I've been on my own for about 7 years, wandering around the North with only my horse, Brandir, as my companion. Lately, I've been hearing strange news from the hills, though. Whoever kidnapped Eodwine is also responsible for the disappearance of a large number of Rangers 5 years ago. I would guess that it is some organized force of Men, and that these disappearances are probably only part of a bigger plan. Although it is hard to guess anything about these people at all. Do you have any ideas?"

[ November 04, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[ November 04, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Elora]

"Bandits," Falco announced with some authority as he joined the group. He expanded after he took his seat, "Ruffians, cutpurses..."

"Odd fare for a band of outlaws to prey upon, Rangers," Thoronmir mused aloud. Several nodded at the table. Falco brushed it aside.

"Who else will they find out in the Wilds? You won't find sensible Hobbits out there, I can tell you that." Falco seemed oblivious to the fact that shortly there will be three out there, himself included.

"I've seen it before," he confided in them all, "Ruffians maurauding about. They'll roll whomever they come across and if a Ranger or Messenger is brave enough to venture out there... What else can you really expect? It's Big..." Falco managed to pause just in time to avert what even he would say is an awkward situation, "It's trouble of that sort," he amended.

"Are you going to eat that," he asked of Anson who had the good fortune to be the closest to a plate of bread and cheese. Anson blinked at Falco, which is all the time he had before the Shirrif commandeered the plate.

He piled on a hunk of golden cheese and took a healthy bite. Washing it down with a pull of ale from his tankard, Falco smiled and immediately filled his mouth. As he chewed and ate like a hobbit who had missed a day's meals, he endeavoured to listen as best he could to the talk unfolding at the table. He knew that this Thoronmir was one of those Great Warriors, and that was invaluable.

Fond of settling matters with an oversized steak knife, somewhat highly strung, Falco concluded as he swallowed his second mouthful. Having demolished the bread so swiftly, he loaded on another piece of cheese to the next and turned his attention to those at the table. Lumiel was smiling at the dancers. Probably wishes she was out dancing in the trees too, Falco thought as he took another long swig at his tankard.

Leaning back to do so, Falco noticed Uien re-enter the inn. She paused, studying the dancers and the room for their table. She met his gaze for an instant and Falco stilled. He wasn't sure what to make of her. Uien turned away, first turning to the bar to speak with Butterbur and then skirting the dancers to find the stairs. Something's on her mind, that much is obvious. Falco turned his attention back to the table.

Uien slowly ascended them, turning over her thoughts with each step. Down the hall, past the rows of doors on each side she walked until she came to a standstill before one. It was not her own. She raised her hand to knock and hesitated. What will he think of me if I knock on his door like this? But should he not know of what I have learnt? Yes, he should, for it shows that hope can endure beyond memories of darkness past. Her decision made anew, Uien tapped lightly on the door that Barliman Butterbur had said was Falowik's. She stepped back and looked up the hall to her own door nervously. No, he has to learn this before he sets out. Hope will be scant in the abandoned Wilds. What we have he will need to carry with him for it may be by that alone he suceeds.

Uien stepped back to the door. "Laurëatan, tis I. I need to speak with you, if you will." And what if he says he will not, or says nothing at all? What then, Uien?
As Uien listened for indication of a reply, she answered herself. Then I will find another way. There is always a way. Have I not learnt that time and again? Always.

[ November 05, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Imladris]

Lira

As Lira slipped from Uien’s room, a smile lit her face: a dulcet warmth glowed from her blue eyes as she turned them once again towards Uien’s door, remembering how happy Uien had been to hear that her family was safe. It was strange that Uien had survived and Lira wondered vaguely in what Darkness Uien had fallen on that dreadful day on the mountains. But whatever it was, it was passed and Uien was safe. Her brother had been right, Lira mused as she stretched herself upon the bed again, when he had protested to the skeptical elves that she lived.

The ponderings of Uien’s own family brought to mind the state of Lira’s own family. The subtle joy that had entered her heart and had made her forget her worries, fled at the thought of the journey to the north. The letter that had been wrapped around Corn’s leg was still in her pocket and, Lira once more went to read it. It was slightly yellowed and torn from the weather and from Corn’s curious beak, but it was yet readable:

My dear Lira,

This is Corn. Of course only a raven with so ridiculous of a name could only have been named from your father. Since he was the one who found it injured and dying in the corn field he insisted on naming (which I just admit is only fair) but Corn is such a queer name for such a magnificent bird.

We are well here and in the north, though we are swiftly departing it for the Grey Havens. I am glad, too, because the cold and wet is so uncomfortable and there are rumours of ruffians about...

Namarie with my love,

Mother

Lira smoothed the slight crumpled letter across her knee and traced the graceful elven script with her finger. Why did she send Corn, instead Silivren? Lira wondered, foreboding entering her heart. Long ago, amongst the entwining roots of a dying tree of Eryn Lasgalen, Liralwen, her mother, had found the injured dove, her white feathers stained with blood. Lira’s family had nursed Silivren back to health, but the dove remained devoted to Liralwen and Silivren had been the promised messenger to bring news of their reaching the Havens. It didn’t make sense that they would send Corn, a relatively new bird, to bring a message to her.

A raucous crying drifted through the window and a moment later Corn himself flung himself into the room amidst a flurry of feathers and landed with much enthusiasm upon Lira’s shoulder. Running his sable beak through her hair, he hunted for the glittering brass pins that pinned Lira’s numerous braids through her hair. But when his beady black eye caught sight of the letter, his eager flittering ceased, and he nibbled gently at Lira’s ear, as if he wished to whisper something to her. “What happened, Corn?” she whispered.

Rising, she went to the window and watched the sun sink down below the horizon: a crimson- purple glow spreading from behind the Downs. Crickets strummed upon their strings and began their peaceful, yet melancholy music of the evening. Lira smiled gently as she watched the hobbits ready for bed and saw the first star appear in the sky. She returned to bed, with renewed hope.

[ November 05, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik had just been dozing when there was a knock at the door. "Laurëatan, tis I. I need to speak with you, if you will."

Uien. Falowik sat up and brushed his hair back with his hands. He made for the door and opened it. Falowik smiled to see her. Her eyes were puffed, as if she had been crying, and they were tinged with fear; but her stance was eager. He wondered what could have brought her to tears, and fear.

"What is it, Fair One?"

"I have something I must tell you, Laurëatan!"

"Would you come in, or walk under the stars?"

[ November 05, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen sat up on the bed, sleep would not come easy to her. There was something nagging in the back of her mind; she sensed something indescribable. But then simply shook her head, trying to make the nagging feeling go away.

She took a handful of the now cold water on the table and washed it over her face. Yet, there was still a nagging feeling.Thinking that the fresh air would do her better, she decided to go the stables, and check on the stallion. Taking her bag with her, she left the room.

At the stables, the stallion seemed fine, yet the nagging feeling remained with Finëwen. She fed him an apple; he whinnied in reply, and then Finëwen left to go sit in the Inn's courtyard.

The moon was bright in the sky, shining down upon Finëwen, and anyone else outside. She sat under an oak tree, and set her bag down against her leg. She took out a few letters, reading them over and over again, her eyes tracing back and forth on the paper. Letters she would never throw away.

She sat, starring up at the stars. Her mind wandered, thinking of all the different places she had been and what she pictured of the ones she hadn't. She had a different feeling in her now; it felt a bit more of contentness. She came back down to earth, and quickly put the letters away, not to be damaged by the humidity in the night air. Finëwen now focused her mind on her surrondings.

[Elora]

Falowik's smile soothed the unrest of her thoughts enough to give Uien the chance to reply.

“Perhaps your room, my love, for I feel that I've dragged you around Bree enough as it is. I am sorry to disturb your rest.” Falowik nodded and stepped back, ushering Uien through. With a glance into the empty hall, he left the door ajar and turned to where she stood. She seemed uncertain still. The room was filled with beds, unlike her own, and chairs were hidden it seemed. Falowik gestured for her to sit and she did so, taking a perch on the edge of the bed that still bore the outline of his form upon it.

He sat also, beside her, examining her face in the soft light of the room. She smiled at his seeking eyes and shifted a fall of hair back over her shoulder as she gathered her bravery. There was no anger nor recrimination in his blue gaze, she was immeasureably relieved to see. This reassured her further. After a small pause, Uien stretched her hand out to Falowik's hand which she brushed. Her hand fell back to her lap and his own retreated to clasp between his knees.

As she had stood in the hall, it had occurred to Uien that Falowik would be minded to have nothing to do with her following events of the day. She gazed at her hand and let the sounds of the commonroom filter through from below. Uien took in a deep breath, hoping it would calm her further. Beside her, Falowik asked hesitantly, “Is there something amiss?” His voice was close, curling in her ear, and worried.

“No, at least that is what I hope,” Uien replied softly. “It has been a full day. Arriving, leaders chosen…” Uien lifted her head to look at Falowik, smiling in remembrance of the stolen kiss. She felt the flush of her cheeks stir and her heart spin and float. He was so near. To bury herself in his arms would have her heart overrun. The light from the room's lantern glinted in his golden hair and she reached to smooth it back from his brow as he looked back at her. Her fingers trailed down his cheek. “I thought you had left because of… but you have not." The remembered fear faded as she spoke. He was here, undeniably present beside her as below the music and dance changed from reel to jig. He shifted under her touch and she let her fingers drop away again, aware of a distance.

Uien’s voice had grew soft. “Have you ever wondered if something you truly desired or wished for would ever be granted you, my love, even though it seemed impossible?” Falowik nodded and she read the truth of that echoed in his face. “Hoped through time and sorrow beyond all for something that you feared was hopeless?”

“Yes,” Falowik said. There were words moving inside of him. She heard that too. Uien turned her gaze to the floor briefly and drew a deep breath. “Today, Lira sought me out and told me of a tale and a Lay sung in Imladris.” Falowik’s brow creased as he tried to follow her words.

“There is noone else I would rather tell than you, Laurëatan." Falowik seemed to still beside her and Uien set out the tale relayed to her by Lira. As she spoke, a delight so clear as to be almost incandescent grew within her. Her voice rose and fell, through remembered sorrow to newfound joy, as she told of the full tale. She recounted her last glimpse of her brother as the storm howled around them, and of her fruitless search in the frigid, preternatural silence that followed it. To this, she added the new glad tidings of her mother and brother's survival.

Falowik listened intently through her unravelling of her brother's search for her, and their sorrow-laden journey to the Grey Havens where they took ship, leaving behind his lament in Imladris. Falowik's his presence steadied her as she recounted it all. Her lips curved into a smile at last, unfettered and radiant with the discovery gifted to her by Lira. She looked up into Falowik's intent face.

“They live, beloved! My mother and brother, they survived the mountain and the orcs and they live even now.”

Falowik sat up straighter, surprise evident upon his face. “Uien that, that is…” he paused as he searched for the right word. Uien nodded, a musical note of laughter slipping free into the room. “Yes… beyond hope in a world I thought empty of such gifts until I found you. A weight lifted…”

“Where are they,” Falowik asked.

“Valinor, the last refuge for my mother and brother after three Ages of strife and loss."

Falowik had been silent as he sorted through what Uien had told him, nodding and encouraging her to continue on.

“I believed that perhaps this would strengthen your own hope, Falowik Melda.

“It is not truly impossible until such time as we abandon hope,” Uien murmured to the one she had just named beloved. Through this the music of the Prancing Pony wheeled and turned, rising and falling, below. “I would give you that, hope, if I could.” Uien turned one of her own hands over in her lap and studied the palm before sending her gaze to study Falowik's blue eyes.

“There is much now I hope for, with strength renewed. What of you, Falowik? What do you hope for?”

She shaped his name tenderly, imbuing it with what moved and floated within her as she leaned close and studied his face with her own silvery gaze. Questions and other things she saw there, but it lay to him to decide what words he would trust her with, what questions he would dare.

[ November 06, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[littlemanpoet]

"Hope for?" Falowik's brow furrowed and he cast about the room with his glance as though he might find the answer to her question in the rafters. He shook his head. He turned and glanced into her eyes quickly, and brought his gaze back to Thoronmir's gear on the opposite bed. Her eyes shown with delight in the new hope she had, and in the sharing of it with him. Falowik was amazed all over again that he meant so much to her! A high pitched peal of laughter broke through the general hubbub of dancing and singing down below.

"I hope - I hope always to be near you." His throat caught, and he closed his eyes tight at the strength of feeling that surged in him: he wanted to wrap his arms around her. He kept his hands folded before him. "I hope to find Eodwine alive." True as those things were, she was asking for something more. He pitched deeper within himself. He hoped for her joy to grow and grow. He hoped to be turned into an Elf! He hoped to become worthy of the love she bore in her heart for him. A fool's dreams. Vain hopes. Well, not all of them. He did not hope to discover his father. I hope that my life is worth the living, Fair One.

"I hope - I wish that there was some way to bridge the chasm between you and me, Elf and Man. But it cannot be. I am sorry, it is unkind of me to be so gloomy after the good news you've told me. I fear I am too small a man to meet you joy for joy." I did not have a family to lose, and cannot gain one back, so your joy is alien to me. He kept that thought to himself. "I fear I do not know how to take hope in what you have told me. Forgive me."

Sooner or later, old man, you are going to weary her with the same tune! Just as well for her sake.

He forced himself to smile. "I'm happy for you." But his eyes were haunted.

[Esgallhugwen]

Falco's blatant bantering about how it was just some ruffians or bandits drove Esgallhugwen to a hot level and great williness to retort. But she calmed herself chances and time will prove him wrong.

She stood up to leave, the sun had set and the first stars were beginning to appear; she stood outside the Inn door, watching people as they passed to go home or crossing her into the Inn to grab a last ale for the evening. Esgallhugwen walked into the stable to see that Morsereg was housed well for the night.

She sang softly to him, his ear twitched as he slept beautiful and dark, his mane shimmered like waves in the moonlight almost reflecting on Esgallhugwen's pale face. Perhaps rest would be best now, though I need little of it she thought attentive to the stillness of the night and the sleepiness that enfolded the town's folk.

Esgallhugwen took one last glance at the bright stars and headed towards her room to prepare for tomorrow. She walked up the stairs and turned left to her room, packing her rations, her extra medicines, blanket, linen bandages, water and a flask of Miruvor no doubt it will be greatly valued and needed.

With that done, she layed herself on the bed and tried to gain some rest.

[ November 07, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[Elora]

"Tis naught to forgive," Uien said softly as she gazed upon Falowik's bowed head.

"I too hope that Eodwine is alive. Why capture him if they wished him dead only?" Uien barely kept her arms by her side and her hands in her lap as she sat by Falowik. Reach for him, show him that what he wishes for is already his. Uien drew a sigh as she struggled with herself. Her fingers bunched the fabric of her tunic. It was the only other outward sign of her battle aside from the longing in her eyes. She let her eyelids float shut. After a moment, her fingers straightened and her eyes opened once more.

"Joy beyond joy is what you have given me already, Falowik. There is nothing small about that." There was a solemn certainty in her voice. "There is noone closer than you. Never has there been and never will there be." Falowik shook his head and Uien smiled.

"I cannot battle my heart, Laurëatan. Such strength has never been mine. I do not fight this path, nor do I regret it. Willingly I set foot upon it. I cannot, will not, turn back now. It is not within me." Falowik's head rose, his expression torn. Dount, denial and hope warred within him.

In a soft voice, Uien said, "I do not claim to see what lies before you and I. Yet in this world there are few things I can be as certain about. There is a way for you and I. We can bridge a chasm that is as wide as we choose it to be. I know this as I know I draw breath. As I know there is no other, Man, Elf nor Dwarf, that could ever make you small in my eyes or heart."

Slowly, Uien stood. She unfolded herself fluidly. "You will find a way just as you will find Eodwine, my love. If you will not trust and hope in that, perhaps you can trust and hope in me." Uien lifted her fingers to her lips and pressed them to her mouth. She stretched her hand and let it rest upon Falowik's brow.

"By the same grace that took my family into Valinor shall this be so. Good night, Falowik Laurëatan. May your dreams be filled with peace and laughter." She stood there, before him, for a long moment. Then she slowly turned away and moved towards the door. She shut it gently after her, smiling over her shoulder.

She returned to her own room at the same slow pace. With a small pause to glance West to a place she would only reach now through the Halls of Mandos, and those that waited for her, she found her bed and curled upon it. The room was filled with her whisperings in her own tongue. The lilting music of Sindarin rose from her lips to beg of the stars set there by Varda that he would accept what lay within him: the strength to reach for what so many would not dare to. Eodwine he already moves towards into unknown peril. Will he not do the same for the love that stretched between them?

Uien lay, staring into the darkness of night that gathered at the ceiling of her room overhead, hoping and wandering for many hours. The answer, she felt, lay in the outcome of this search for Eodwine.

[Imladris]

Gorby

Leaving Anston to his ale, I trudged up the stairs and flopped myself down upon the bed. Sleep did not come to me and as a chill entered the room I decided that I might as well put a fire on. Apparently Nob had been in here already for there was already a glimmering mass of orange embers with varying shades of read. Clambering down to my knees I leaned over, picked up the leather bellows that was hanging beside the stone fire place and carefully blew. Sparks flew upwards at the swish of the bellows and the flames leaped around the crumbling log with renewed life. Warmth radiated from the fire and began to warm my numbed fingers. Edging my self closer to the hearth, I tried to figure out how close I could get to the fire and still endure the heat.

It always surprised me that the heat could become so intense when just a few inches away it felt so pleasant and comfortable. My toes crawled forward, and I bit my lip to stifle the scorching pain. The last time I was near a fireplace I had made it an inch away from the dancing flames: maybe this time I’d break a record.

Almost there. A little more. My foot stopped voluntarily and I willed it to go forward. A spark landed upon my foot and I jumped, patting it out furiously. The cool air felt delightfully relieving after the baking my foot had submitted to. Inspecting my foot, I discovered that a few of my woolen hairs had been singed, but nothing too serious.

Climbing back into bed (leaving the covers off since I was streaming with sweat) and thought of the mission. Full of trouble, no doubt, as Falco said, but a little danger was good, too, I supposed. It was much easier to be cheerful about things when you didn’t do anything stupid, like trying to see how close to a fire your foot could go. I don’t know why I continue to do it: every time I get burned I think that my intelligence has just been lowered a notch. But I do it anyway: stupidly. Doderic and Lily were right: I am a hopeless cause.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik noticed that Uien had not included "Hobbit" in her list of those who could not make him smaller in her eyes. He laughed to himself at the oversight, and the unintended joke, as his mind turned to one Falco, whose jibes always were aimed at belittling him. Uien never let Falco get away with it.

Falowik removed his day clothes and slipped beneath the covers of his bed. The smile lingered on his face. He left the imprint of her fingertip on his forehead untouched. It was akin to the blessing an elder might give to someone leaving his home village on a quest. And so it was, for she was hundreds of years his elder, and at the same instance, the one who had chosen to give her heart to him, across the chasms of their differing races and final dooms. Though they could never completely bridge the chasm, he knew that she had given herself to him until he would die, and that he would love her for the rest of his life.

The dancing and singing wound down below. This Inn was a good place, owned and run by a good man. In the morning I must have a word with Barliman, Falowik thought, and part with him as friends do.

Melda, Uien had called him, and he wondered what it meant. It sounded like a good word. He would ask her some time. He closed his eyes. Let Thoronmir wake me if he wishes to talk before dawn arrives. He turned over, and his heart eased, soon fell asleep.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen noticed a few people leaving the inn. They were drunk, and their walk was a little tipsy, as they made their way down the dirt road. Finëwen's nagging feeling had gone away, and she decided to turn in for the night. The sooner she went to sleep, the sooner she could go on with her journey.

Yet, she didn’t want to leave the quiet spot under the oak tree. She was left undisturbed there, and could sit in her own thoughts, although she would like someone to talk to, to provoke thoughts within herself. But by just letting herself think, she could do that. Letting her mind wander struck up thoughts in her head, gliding her from one subject to another.

Getting up, she left the peaceful spot under the oak. It disturbed her thoughts, but she felt she needed to get a little bit of rest before the journey. The moon was now high in the sky, and it seemed time was going by quickly, yet not so, sitting there deep in your thoughts, time became very strange, as if... she was already getting lost in her thoughts again, and ignoring them, headed up to her room.

She noticed that nearly everyone else had already gone to bed, except for a few that remained at the table, and a few others scattered about.

In her room, she set her bag down near the window. It had been closed while she was gone, and she propped it open again. The breeze flew into the room, filling it with the cold night air. Finëwen lied down in her bed, and closed her eyes. Once more, her thoughts drifted her away, and she slept.

[Meneltarmacil]

Done with his conversation with the Elves and Hobbits, Thoronmir retired to the upstairs room to get some rest. But first, he had something to say to Falowik.

He reached the room and knocked on the door.
"Yes, come in," said a sleepy voice from inside.
"Sorry to wake you, Falowik." said Thoronmir, coming into the room. "I just had a question I was going to ask."
"I'm listening," Falowik replied.
"Since you seem to be one of the strongest here, and helped to get everybody together for this mission, I was wondering if you'd like to be my second-in-command," Thoronmir said.
"I'll have to think about it in the morning. I'm too tired right now." said Falowik.
"Ok," Thoronmir said. "I'll talk to you then, Falowik. Good night."

With that, the Ranger went off to his bed and slept.

[ November 10, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[ November 12, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Elora]

General Post

Dawn saw a small group gathered in the courtyard of the Prancing Pony. Nob bustled back and forth, ferrying out horses for the Men and Elves and ponies for the Hobbits, as those onlookers who had risen for First Breakfast conjectured amongst themselves. There was much talk on what would or would not be found in the Wilds around them but the party that would venture forth did engage in that speculation. They stood by their mounts, checking saddles and girth straps, stowing their packs and each preparing themselves in their own way. Behind Lúmiel the hearty clink of copper coins being set in wager could be heard.

"Three coppers says as they find that messenger fellow and most return alive," one said. His fellow chortled good naturedly. "Only three, Longbottom? Not too confident, I'd say. How many is most?"
"No more than two don't return," Longbottom replied after some thought on the matter. "Add another three coppers," he added, ferreting more coins from the pouch at his belt.

"That'll be 6 coppers on them returning with the messenger with no less than two of their party missing, then, on say four to one odds."
"Four to one," Longbottom exclaimed. "Stonemason is giving out seven to one." Longbottom's cheery companion chortled again.
"Do you prefer to make longer odds on their survival then?" The bookmaker rocked back on his heels with a smile, took Longbottom's wager and moved off to do business again.

It was only when Doderic emerged from the Inn with Thoronmir and Falowik close behind him that the crowd's murmur hushed a little. Longbottom and folk who had also wagered leant foward to hear the Representative of the Master of Buckland speak.

"... this day are charged to seek Eodwine of Rohan, who was reported abducted by way of attack in the northern Wilds. You are also to come by any safe means into the possession of any information concerning unofficial settlements and encampments in the Wilds and return with Eodwine as soon as you may.

"Your provisions and costs shall be reimbursed to you by the Master of Buckland. If it proves unsafe, you are to return immediately to Bree and here report. Thoromir is your leader and Falowik his second.

"Have you anything to say?"

Doderic's gaze swept across the assembled group. Falco's mouth was open but nothing came out of it. Each, aside from him, had nodded slowly as leader and second were named. Uien had smiled and shot a glance to the Shiriff who stood by chance beside her as if daring him to object. His pony snorted but no objection was forthcoming.

"Then I leave you to Thoromir's and Falowik's care. May your paths be kind to you. Travel swift and carefully and may Bree soon greet you all again."

Doderic sketched a noble bow and patted Gorby and Anson each on the arm. The two shared excited grins with each other as they climbed into their saddles. The rest of the group did the same, perhaps not grinning, but each moving quickly. They rode out of the courtyard and through the streets to the western gate of Bree, lead by Thoromir and Falowik.

"Our course will take us paralell to the Brandywine River for a time," Thoromir called back to the riders behind him as he turned his horse north. The dawn which had been so clear, had the dewy grass and green rolling country ahead of them glimmering until the heat of the day took up its mantle over the lands. Many miles into the northern horizon lay the first tumbling hills that would become the North Downs.

For the moment though, the land was well watered by the nearby Brandywine and the surrounds pleasant. The group passed through the first day easily, covering many miles as they pushed north through the easier lands. They had settled into small groups, riding at ease and stopping to allow their mounts to drink and themselves take some sustenance. The only hiccup had come at the first night, after Thoromir had called a halt at a suitable place.

Falco had objected to certain people taking up a watch during the night, however he had soon been out numbered by his fellows. The Shirrif took to sitting in offended silence on his own, which pleased some others considerably. The night had passed without incident, and the second day was soon upon them.

It passed much as the first had. There was little sign of other folk. The lands were peaceful and the weather calm. In short, the only remarkable thing was the presence of the search party riding north. They had seen only one or two farmers the day before and none at all on the second day. The land had become a little less cultivated but no less pleasant. They were now two days north of Bree and getting into the cusp of the wilds. Aside from themselves and the occassional bird winging by, there was nothing else.

When they pulled in for the second night, set up camp and sorted out watches again, Falco was not inclined to choose silence as his preferred method of objection. He openly muttered about their venture being a goose chase. When Thoromir drew lots for the watch, Falco snorted and waved his hand at the announcement that he got the last watch just before dawn.

He sat down on a fallen log and poked at what had been started for the evening meal on the fire. "I'll watch.... very important that. Lots of things to watch in this big empty dangerous wild place. Imaginary thieves and dragons, likely. Long way to come on a camp rations to find thin air," he harumphed in a desultory tone to the light meal he was poking at.

Gorby and Anson seated themselves also, having not drawn a watch this night. What was supposed to be an exciting adventure was so far very dull. Their only excitement was their stiff rumps from two long days in the saddle. The prospect of a night of camp food followed by another long and boring day was loosing it's gloss quickly.

Thoronmir seated himself across from the Shirrif.

"We've made good progress," he announced from his study of his unfurled map. Falco gave up his stabbing of dinner and frowned across at the Ranger.

"Oh yes? Progress to where exactly? Where should we be looking, eh? Or are we to wander around in circles chasing our tails until we get dizzy, find nothing and go home?"

Despite the argumentative nature of Falco's question, he had a good point. The Wilds were a large place that could swallow a man as easily as a mouse. Thoromir studied his map in the flickering light of the fire.

"By the morrow, we will be clear of the Shire's borders. It curves back west here, you see," he said pointing at where the line curved away from the North downs and headed towards the Emyn Uial. Others had gathered around him, drawn by the discussion.

"Seems logical to head for Fornost first and move west in a sweeping search towards the Evendim Hills," Thoromir thought aloud. Uien studied the map and turned to Falowik.

"The men you saw did move north and west, did they not," she softly confirmed. Falowik nodded his head, leaning over the map and recalling what he had seen.

"Aye, they did. East lies only the Ettenmoors and Carn-Dûm further north," he replied. Lira spoke up, "Fornost was once a place of habitation. Perhaps it holds signs of recent use now. If not, we will still have covered ground that we would need to check."

Esgallgugwen added, "We are on the tip of the southern edges of the Downs now."

It became clear through the nodding of heads and murmurs of assent that Thoromir's suggested route was agreed upon. Come the dawn, they would make north east and move for Fornost. They settled in for the night with their directions now dealt with, beneath a clear night sky. In the north, clouds gathered on the far horizon, blotting out stars. Rain would be welcome in late summer. Without the generous waters of the Brandywine, which was now much reduced into the stream it was before being a river, the lands seemed a little browner and sparse.

Uien had drawn the first watch, followed by Finëwen, Esgallhugwen, Thoromir, Lira, Falowik and lastly Falco. She moved away from the fire so as to save her vision from camp-blindness, and settled in for her watch. Nearby the soft murmur of talk rose and fell. She soaked up the peace of the night, enjoying the dancing light of the stars overhead with her arms wrapped around her knees, and hoped that Eodwine would be found in Fornost, seeking refuge in the ruins there and waiting for help to arrive. It seemed possible on that fair, clear night.

[Imladris]

Gorby

My crude, iron fork scratched my tin plate. I nudged my food and stuck my tongue out at it: it was a very poor feast; the meat was tough, the bread was slightly dry and stale. Bringing the fork full to my mouth, I gagged and dropped the mouthful -- luckily it fell back onto my plate. “I don’t think I can stomach any more of this,” I whispered to Anson. “This isn’t real food.”

“What would you call it then?” Anson asked, gnawing upon a piece of meat.

I considered, different thoughts flitting through my mind. “Grub,” I pronounced.

“Grub is food, Orb,” he said, looking at me mock wariness and jokingly using Lily‘s nickname for me.

“Of course grub is food,” I assented vigorously, shoving the food in circles around my plate, “but the word grub doesn’t sound as pleasant as food. Grub conveys the image that someone has been grubbing for this lousy fare in a place utterly barren of good food: inded, a place that lacks good decent, hobbit-like food. See?”

“You are strange, Gorby.”

“The food will taste better once we have traveled a bit,” Falowik said as he passed us by and sat down by Thoromir.

I blushed crimson. He had heard me and my nonsense! The second of the camp! “Right,” I said weakly.

“Come on…eat a bite!” Anson coaxed. “See? I’ve already finished mine.”

Drat. He had. My stomach groaned begging for food: good food. Not nasty food. Good food. As my teeth came down upon a bread, I found it wasn’t quite so bad as it looked. Still, it wasn’t up to par.

We then picked lots and thankfully Anson and I weren’t picked. As we crawled underneath our blankets, I whispered, “I am going to sleep tonight…stones an’ all. I wonder how often we’ll luck out and not get picked to watch. Such a boring, nasty job…”
***********************
Lira

It was Lira’s turn to watch and, as her blue eyes barely glimmered in the star’s faint light, she thought of the semi-council they had had. She wondered why she had not thought of Fornost before, the once inhabited city. Her father would have wished to visit such a city and maybe she would find signs of him there.

Smiling in the darkness, she thought of their journey. The Brandywine had never been far away and she could had heard it chuckling as it ran merrily along its course. She laughed merrily when she remembered the little water fight Gorby and Anson had had one day. The thought of water reminded her of a lilting hobbit tune and she sang it softly, her feet tapping to the rhythm as her body swayed.

Looking at the stars, she saw that her watch was up, and, creeping toward Falowik, she woke him gently and said, “It is your watch now.” Nestling under her blanket, the fire warming her chilled toes, she wondered what they would find, if anything, at Fornost. At the name, a shadow seemed to pass over her heart at the name: a vague dread.

[ November 14, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik had been tempted to share Uien's watch with her, but knew it would be foolish, for his own would come soon enough; he half expected Falco to start his watch early out of mistrust for "that wanderer". He was not sure whether he would kick Falco back to his bed or spite him by letting him take the remainder of his watch as well as his own. [i]We'll see which way the shirrif's words lead,[i] he murmured to himself.

It was getting chilly for summer. Dawn was not far off - just a couple of hours. Falowik slapped his thighs and his arms (quietly) to stay warm and awake.

He was glad to have Gorby and Anson with; they lightened his mood with their amiable chatter. He hoped they would survive this journey, and feared that they would not. He had heard that hobbits were made of tougher stuff than they appeared to be, and hoped that it would prove out this time.

Finally he heard Falco's mumbling, which the air carried to him ahead of the hobbit's quiet foot steps. Falowik felt his shoulders tense and his jaw tighten in anticipation of another round of trustless words.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen picked at the food. She listened to the two hobbits who seemed to argue over it. It wasn't the best, but its better than nothing. Finëwen herself wasnt too fond of eating. She had to eat, of course, but she didn't eat a lot, never taking more that her share, and only ate enough on her plate not to be rude. In this case, it wasnt rudeness, she just didnt want to be wasteful. She sighed and took another bite.

There was another nagging feeling in the back of her mind, as it there was before. It seemed to be growing worse. Rubbing the back of her neck, she tried to make it go away. It still didnt help. She sighed, taking another bite of the food, and tried to ignore the feeling.

Feeling she was not hungry, she put the food away in her own bag, she might eat it later, or find some other use of it. Walking over to her stallion, she petted him and sat down against the tree next to him. She couldnt do much with the nagging feeling.

[Lumiel]

Their journey thus far had been short and uninteresting for the most part, but to Lumiel it was refreshing in a way. Never before had she traveled with a group of people, a group of people with whom she shared a common purpose. Not all of them got along well, but for the most part they were all congenial enough. A few of the hobbits didn't seem to take to the food, or grub as they termed it, but Lumiel knew that they would get used to it soon.

For her it wasn't the food or the constant traveling that mattered, it was what she saw along the way. The dawn as it sparkled jewel-bright on the fresh green grasses, the sound of the birds waking up the world, the stars at night giving a glimpse of that which lay beyond death...or at least that was what she saw anyway.

She kept to herself but not in a cold, aloof way. Rather, she seemed thoughtful and quiet, but warm in manner. She had little to add to what Thoronmir decided for their course, she knew how to track, but she had never traveled anywhere near here before. She felt somewhat useless so far as she simply seemed to tag along invisibly and had not yet had to keep watch for the group. She never dwelled on the thought for long and turned her mind instead to possiblities for what happened to Eodwine and what they may encounter.

The only thing she really disliked so far was Falco's treatment of Falowik. Falowik was a good man, that much she knew instinctively though she did not know the man well. There was nothing in his outward nature that hinted at any sort of deception and the small glimpse that she had so far seen of what was within him seemed true to her eye. Falco seemed to be an arrogant hobbit set on having his way. She tried to keep herself from making any judgements, she didn't know Falco or why he was the way he was. Nonetheless, she did not appreciate what he was doing for the group so far. If they were to have any chance in their journey, they had to work together and most importantly trust each other.

As the second day wound down, she set down a blanket and rolled up her cape beneath it as a pillow. She stared up at the night sky getting lost in its infinite pattern and felt into a strange sleep that gave her peace.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen gazed up at the stars, but was not comforted. Something knawed at her mind, she seemed to be hearing noises but when she looked around no one else seemed to have have heard them.

And there it was again a faint wailing or crying of something that was barely able to cling on to what remained of it's life. She sat up away from the fire looking about, she caught the horses grazing a little ways from the camp; the Hobbit ponies had nestled together dozing off their fuzzy ears flickering every now and again.

But it was not coming from the horses, it came again but fainter losing it's will and strength. Esgallhugwen stood up with a jolt carefully creeping towards a pile of large rocks and stones; the camp that were still awake gave her odd and startled looks at her sudden stealthy movement and caution.

Esgallhugwen peered over the sharp edged rock, something moved, it was painful for her to watch it. She raced back over to her saddle bags and hurridly took what she needed from them, setting it by the fire.

In her arms lay a wolf cub. At first glance many would think it was dead, in fact it should have been dead, whatever kept it alive Esgallhugwen marvelled at. It was limp in her arms, half starved, and to the Elf's raging horror both it's back legs were broken.

She set it gently down in the warm blanket, beginning her work. Esgallhugwen quickly spun open the lid to her green sappy concoction and dabbed some on the cub's nose, when it inhaled the pungeant odour it would help sooth the pain. She took one dangling leg in her hands, taking care when she pulled it back to align it so it would set properly when healed.

The bone made a horrible snapping noise, everyone winced as they gazed on. She pinched the thin leg together while scooping out some of the green sap she applied it, it became thicker, she wound it up and down the whole leg it seemed to be made of toffee as she stretched it out and wrapped it round.

Esgallhugwen snatched up a white linen bandage. With great skill she bound it tight and quickly. The other leg did not make such a horrible snap but was broken in more than one place and took longer to align properly.

Some gathered around her, hearing her sing all the while to the wounded pup. The Elf took up a spoon and another jar, a bowl and her flask of miruvor. In the jar was honey and she poured it sparingly into the small bowl along with the miruvor, also sparingly.

Esgallhugwen stirred it together, as she picked up the cub like you would hold a baby and tried to spoon feed it the honey. The cub stirred but did not open it's eyes when it was fed the mixture in the bowl.

She sang to it a little while longer until it fell asleep, she tucked it in the blanket. All was settled down again and Esgallhugwen went back to her quiet way, watching over the wolf.

[ November 16, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[littlemanpoet]

As second in command, it had been Falowik's assignment to take up the rear and watch their backs. That was well enough. But it had separated him from Uien except for at meals. As they had made their way north, coming into lands Falowik had known alone for twelve long years, his spirit had slipped and waned. He had felt the emptiness of all his wandering days and the shallowness of his purpose - survival - descended on him. Is that not my goal once again?

No, he told himself. There was more. They sought Eodwine, or news of his fate. It did not matter. Though he had told himself over and over again that things were different now, the old despair had come over him and he had no means to hold it at bay.

If only it could be just Uien and me he had thought, but knew that was just selfish. He had watched her often from his place at the back of the party, watched the smooth line of her face, the grace of her form, her long hair, and it was lifegiving drink to him. Once in a great while she would look back and see him invariably watching her, and she would smile. At those times his spirit lifted, and he recalled himself to his duty to keep an eye out for the sake of the party. Then watching the bleak land, his spirit would slip again, lower than before.

Eswen broke through Falowik's darkness; not with words, but by her kindness to a wolf pup. Falowik's eyes lost their haunted look, and softened. He went over to Eswen and reached a tentative hand to ruffle the fur of the sleeping pup between its ears. She did not say him nay. His touch was light and careful. A smile spread on his face unlike any of the half smiles and ghosts of smiles Eswen had seen until now. His eyes sparkled in the firelight.

"I am glad you are with us, Eswen." His voice was gruff. She smiled. Then Falowik became aware of himself and coughed into his hand, excused himself, rose, and went back to his place.

[ November 16, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Imladris]

Lira

The wolf cub shuddered and wailed plaintively in Esgallhugwen’s arms as the elf carefully bound the two broken legs. A tear trickled down Lira’s cheek as she sensed the incredible pain of the cub and the outrage of Eswen. “Dear Eru,“ she murmured as she kneeled down besides her, and sang a wordless song of comfort to the wretched cub. Corn fluttered over and alighted upon the cub’s the back and ran his beak gently through the wolf’s matted fur, smoothing the tangles from it. “Eswen,” he croaked softly.

The cub soon stilled as the soothing melody that Lira sang wove its spell and calmed the wolf’s troubled spirit. The fur was stretched tightly over the its bones, its yellow eyes were pale and dull…lifeless. “His heart is barely beating,” Esgallhugwen said, her eyes stared into Lira’s: rage and sympathy burned in them as she turned back to the cub.

“Who would do this, Mellon?” Lira whispered to Esgallhugwen as the elf bandaged the legs. “It would be difficult for a cub to break both his legs in open wilderness.” Lira shivered as she again felt the dark premonition that had assailed her earlier.

Rising, Lira took an iron pot, filled it with water, and put it on the fire. She untied her leather herbal bag and tossed in some lavender seeds and peppermint to make a soothing, warm tea for the starving cub. The steam billowed into a moist cloud as she poured it into a cup and crept towards Esgallhugwen, put it into her hands, and said, “Here. This is for the cub.”

[Elora]

Uien

Between the emptiness of the lands and the peaceful passage of day and night, Uien struggled with both the urge to seek Falowik and his company and the guilt from diverting him from his responsibilities. She would gravitate to him by the fire, or during the day as they rode further north and east. Her horse would fall back until she rode nearby. She would trade a smile for him and ride in silence but for a time, until she felt guilty. Falco made sure that she did not interfere in his watch, muttering about distractions.

Sometimes, all she would permit herself was a glance. Other times, when possible, she find her hand brushing Falowik's. Esgallhugwen's pup was the one thing that eased Uien's thoughts. The wolf cub had drawn the group together in many ways. Even Falco had sucuumbed to the pup's charms, but not before he made mention of the additional mouth to feed.

Through this all, the weather remained calm but for an afternoon shower that washed the heat of the late summer from the lands for a brief respite. The days had a similarity that could be comforting or unsettling by turns. There was no sign of ruffians and brigands, though they continued to set watches through the night and move with caution through the day.

Still, the lands were starlingly empty. It was as though they waited, though for what Uien could not say. To their right the beginnings of the North Downs passed for two days. It was not until the fifth day of travel that Thoromir announced that they would make Fornost the following morning.

This announcement came as they drew in for the night. Esgallenhugwen and Lira gathered around the wolf pup, who was proving both playful and resilient as it recovered in their care. Anson and Gorby were quick to get a fire going, hungry as they were. Uien, for her part, set about preparing the meal for that night.

Falco was up to his usual commentary on the "astonishing good fortune we are having in avoiding ruffians, bandits and kidnappers in the Wild." His meaning was clear. He sat, watching over the meal preparations, explaining it one more time to Uien.

"Very fortunate, we are. Open country, not much cover, and not once have we come across those who may mean harm." Uien gave the pot a stir and let the laddle drop against the side of the pot with a audible sigh.

"Perhaps you would have it otherwise, Shirrif. Would you be happier if we were waylaid?" Her voice held the beginnings of terse irritation. Falco smiled annoyingly at her and waved his hands.

"No, no.... not at all. Mind that broth doesn't burn."

Uien recollected the laddle, swallowed a burst of angry retorts and resumed stirring. Thankfully, it was soon ready. Uien called to the others.

"The broth is ready." Gorby had already fetched the last of their fresh bread and guiltily swallowed the early nibble he had taken from it. He handed it around as people gathered with bowls for their evening meals, watching each piece with some remorse for he was hungry indeed after 5 days of riding. Uien laddeled broth into bowls, one after the other, with a smile and a nod. She had already set a smaller cup aside with cooling broth for the wolf cub. Lira collected it with thanks.

Falowik came last of all, and she took his bowl with a warm smile that she aimed at his blue eyes without hesitation. Filling it, and passing it back, their fingers brushed again. Uien soon took up a seat beside him with her own bowl. Falco, who had been amongst the first to be served, took the opportunity to open discussion as he helped himself to a second serving of broth.

"What do you suppose we'll find at Fornost, aside from ruined stone houses of Men," he asked. His gaze slid past Uien, as if expecting her to bite once again, as he looked around the group. With them all gathered, he thought he'd take his opportunity to see if he wasn't the only one thinking they were on a goose chase. After five days of nothing beyond a wolf pup, field mice, squirrels and birds, Falco was reasonably confident that others would have questions.

[Imladris]

Gorby

It was pitiably poor fare we were served, as always. I shivered uncomfortably: this trip wasn’t what I had thought it was. Lots of traveling, but no true adventure -- save for the rescue of the wolf cub. I wondered if Eswen would name the thing. Listlessly, I dropped my hand and scratched his ear -- the tyke was such a cute little thing.

Sighing, I watched Falowik’s profile in the flickering fire’s light. Nobility was there in its rough features. The more I gazed upon him, the more I wanted to sketch it -- it would make a most interesting profile…forcing myself to my feet (which had somehow managed to fall asleep) I tottered to my bags and dug out my pen and a small blue bottle of ink. I held the ink up and realized that it really was only one small bottle of ink and that it wouldn’t last long. I sighed: there was only one thing for it and that was to use it sparingly. I sighed again, dolefully: so much for keeping a careful record of our ’adventures.’ Of course, if we didn’t have any adventures there would be no use to record them.

Moving to a different spot from around the fire so that I’d have an angled portrait, I pressed a piece of parchment against a plank of smoothed wood to get rid of the wrinkles that had been caused by the travel. I studied the man intently and decided to start with the nose. I thought it was slightly hawk-like and tried to convey that feature to the paper. Then the shaggy eyebrows that sat on his eyes and then the deep set eyes. Them eyes: difficult things them. They were such a pretty blue -- so much pain, such much hidden pleasantness, and such dignity and nobility were mirrored in their depths. How could one draw such aspects upon paper? I tried, and wished I had some paints, but I had not been able to bring them. His hair was also particularly difficult: fair and gold it was.

As I drew our second in command, I wondered why we had not come across anything that would give us answers. No sign of ruffians or scaliwags at all. No sign of the man of Rohan -- his name escapes me at the moment. I hated to admit it, but it seemed as if we were on a “wild goose-chase’ as Falco said it. I scowled: I did not think Falowik would lie. If an elf trusted him that was enough for me. From what I’ve hear, elves have impeccable judgments and tastes and Uien seemed no exception. However, I could not help but wonder if we were going in the wrong directions. Evil ones were uncannily clever: I couldn’t help but wonder if we were being duped.

By this time, I had finished my rough sketch. I sighed, and stared at the outcome. I wasn’t really quite sure if it was good or not, but I had tried.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lira

A day from Fornost, and the shadow had continued to grow on Lira’s mind. Something dark was there, lingering among the deserted ruins. Pushing the thoughts away from her, she walked silently beside Uien, a soft smile lightening her face as she saw the beauty of the Downs. Nevertheless, the foreboding returned as they set camp.

The hobbits eagerly gobbled down their dinner and she wished that there was more for them. “What do you suppose we'll find at Fornost, aside from ruined stone houses of Men," Falco asked.

Lira looked at him and frowned. He took things too light heartedly, too confidently, too narrowly. “We’ll find more than that, I suppose,” she said softly. “Something lingers there -- sorrow and darkness.”

Gorby spoke up and said, “I certainly hope we’ll find some sign of the marauders, because they certainly haven’t been up to anything lately. Not that I’m saying I doubt Master Falowik,” he added hastily, bending down over a sketch of something, “maybe we mistook their direction.”

Turning to Uien, Lira whispered in elvish, “We must be careful when we enter Fornost -- I fear it is tainted with evil.”

[Nurumaiel]

Anson wrapped his blanket tighter around him and tried to look comfortable. If this was what adventures were like, they weren't too bad, save that they were unbearably cold. He longed for the warm fire that always lit up that cozy little hole back home. They did have a fire lit now, but it wasn't the same when the cold winds could come and go as they pleased with no sturdy walls to stop it.

He glanced over at Gorby who was sitting a little distance away from the fire, his head dropped low. He seemed to be concentrating on something. Anson crawled up behind him and strained his neck over his friend's shoulder so he could see the drawing. Gorby became aware that someone was breathing directly in his ear, so he turned his head. "Oh," he said, smiling. "Hello, Anson."

"Hello, Gorby," replied Anson, sitting down alongside his friend. "What are you doing?"

"I'm drawing Falowik." Gorby hesitated a few moments, gazing at the drawing. After those few moments he looked up at Anson, uncertainty on his face. His voice low, he murmured, "Tell me, Anson, just what do you think of it? Do you think it's all right."

Anson screwed up his face and looked from the drawing to Falowik, and from Falowik back to the drawing. He did this for about two minutes, then he let out a long sigh and smiled at Gorby. "It looks just like him," he said. Gorby didn't look convinced. "Really, Gorby. I think it's very, very good."

"You think everything is good," Gorby sighed, but secretly he felt pleased that Anson liked the drawing. He received no answer from his friend, so he looked up from his sketch. Anson's face was once again screwed up, and he appeared to be thinking very hard. "Well, Gorby, I don't quite know what to say," Anson replied. "I think everything is good, you tell me. But isn't everything good?" Gorby could make no answer. "Oh, and by the way... these adventures aren't too bad. They're just awfully cold. It will be nice to go home to my family and tell them about the adventure I've been on." He grinned at the thought, then he stood up and patted Gorby's back. "I'm going to bed. Good night, Gorby."

[Imladris]

Gorby

I thought about how Anson thought that everything was good and about how dratted naive he was! Don’t get me wrong, he’s the best friend I have, but how could he think that everything is good when we are going on a chase after a man who might be already dead? After what had happened to the Shire under Sharkey’s rule? I shuddered as I remembered Sharkey and his thugs.

But maybe Anson had a point? What is good? Good is relative. Most people assume that “good” is good -- like King Elessar and Merry and Pippin and the other hobbit heroes. Nobody would willingly do what was bad to them, would they? So bad guys -- men that made rangers disappear -- would think they would be doing good because everybody knows that people don’t consciously do what is bad for them. So good to us is bad to them and good to them is bad to us. It didn’t make sense.

I shook my head: the world was too convoluted to be understood by a hobbit like me. I glanced again at the portrait of Falowik I had drawn. Anson had said it was good and he didn’t lie. My eyes strayed to Falco and then to Anson, huddled under his blanket near the fire. The world was good, I suppose. Except for the people who were evil and tainted it with their deeds.

[Lumiel]

When Eswen had saved the young pup, Lumiel watched quietly from where she lay. She had a passing curiosity about it but let it rest until the morning. In the morning, she took a look at the animal and saw its wounds and a look of pity passed over her face. She hated seeing others in pain, even if it was just an animal. Yet it seemed to recover quickly or nearly so and enjoyed the affection of most of the company. Lumiel had to admit, the pup sure did grow on you. She often would wrestle with it when they stopped for break, using only her hand to tussle its fur and gently play with it being careful of its still healing wounds. She laughed as it growled at her and yipped, and she growled back playfully, laughing at its antics.

Now though, it was evening and they were near Fornost and yet still they had seen no sign of anyone, let alone brigands of the sort they were searching for. It was strange, she thought. They couldn't possibly have missed the signs, there were too many of their party who had excellent tracking skills, herself included, to be so easily fooled or deceived. No, there was something more and she didn't like it. Silence and peace were all well and good, but not when waiting for an unknown danger. As they rode, she began thinking. What sort of people were they dealing with? Were they merely desperate bandits? Or maybe an organized group with some darker intent? Or had they all been duped and the truth was something else altogether? She glanced at Falowik. She doubted he would lie, she felt no concern over whether or not what he had told them was the truth, at least from his point of view. The truth is the truth, but the prism of perception more often than not distorted it into colors of the same thing. Yet still. Falowik did not seem the type to cry Wolf. The nagging feeling persisted at the back of her mind where it had taken root. Doubt clouds all, Farin had once told her. There was nothing to do about it at the moment except hope for some light about the matter soon.

As they made camp once more and settled down, the group seemed to quiet also. Each seemed to have their own tasks to take care of, and Lumiel felt somewhat lonely. She sat and ate in silence, the quality of the food not bothering her as she had grown up with it. When they had finished, they sat around the fire and kept close to keep their bodies warm. She observed quietly, and her eyes fell on the hobbits, Anson and Gorby. Gorby seemed to be absorbed in something in front of him, and Anson watched him work. She listened to the words that passed between them, and then Anson left for sleep. Gorby seemed to shudder for an instant and intent on something, though not his drawing.

Standing up, she walked over by Gorby and sat down, staring at the fire, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat. "It's cold, but it's a nice evening." she commented. Gorby merely seemed to shudder at the reminder of the temperature and Lumiel smiled. "Think of it this way: it's not raining. What's that?" she asked, meaning Gorby's drawing.

"Oh, just a sketch of Falowik. Only there's not much ink left now." he said somewhat wistfully.

"Well, you could probably ask Eswen if she knows how to make some sort of ink or pigment for you to use, she seems very handy when it comes to herbs and the like." She glanced at his sketch. "Anson was right, it is good. You caught his eyes very well. If you don't get the eyes right, the picture never seems quite right. "The eyes are the windows to the soul" as they say I suppose." Gorby thanked the compliment. To continue the conversation, she went on: "Is it what you thought it would be? The journey so far I mean." she asked, her hair shining like tinsel in the firelight.

[Imladris]

My heart popped into my mouth as the elf sat next to me: me, a humble hobbit and her so beautiful and all and being a member of the Fair Folk...I colored brightly when she complimented my drawing of Falowik. "Thank you, m'lady," I said. Then she told me that Eswen could probably make me a bit of ink if I asked her and I said eagerly, "Do you think she would?"

Lumiel nodded and said, "Yes, I think she would. Is it what you thought it would be? The journey so far I mean," she asked me.

I turned in the corner of my mouth in thought before replying, "I don't really know. I must admit that I thought we would have some sign of them -- it's rather disconcerting that we have seen neither hid nor hair of them."

Lumiel nodded and watched her hair glitter elusively in the lurid light of the fire. Elven hair was so pretty: it was as if their was a shiny brilliance coursing through their strands, like a burning river of light.

"You?" I asked, signing my name; it was actually more like a scrawl. Oh well.

"I, too, thought we would have come across more tracks and I wonder what kind of enemy we face," she said. I glanced at her: something about the way she said what she said, as if she was avoiding saying something caught my attention. I saw her eyes flick over to Falowik and then back to me. "Do you not trust Falowik?" I asked uneasily.

She remained silent for a moment and then said softly, "I just wonder if we are being deceived by our enemy."

"Or enemies," I added, agreeing with her. Yet is troubled me. She said she trusted Falowik, yet it seemed as if she was doubtful about something. I suddenly found myself in a quandry: if Uien trusted Falowik, and Lumiel didn't then where would that leave me? Two Fair Folk on the opposite end of the scale. I looked at Falowik and decided: I would just assume that Lumiel did trust Falowik: she had after all not even hinted that she didn't trust him and I could be reading a lot into a simple glance. Besides, Falowik was a good man.

Smiling brightly at her, I said, "So, my lady, what do you think of Bree?" I asked.

[ November 22, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Meneltarmacil]

After travelling through Eriador for quite a while, Thoronmir was surprised that the group had seen no sign of their enemies yet. The group stopped for the night at the edge of several ominous-looking rocky hills. Thorny scrub brush and gnarly, stunted trees were all that grew in this desolate place. They had finally come to the outskirts of Fornost.

"These lands were once covered by green forests and plains, and the city nearby was the capital of a great empire that kept this country safe from evil for many years. At least that was how it was before," Thoronmir was saying as they sat around the fire that night. "A shadow had grown and taken shape in the north near the Misty Mountains, and the Orcs and evil men of Angmar, as it was called then, fought many wars against the men of Arnor. Fornost was taken over by their ruler, who was known as the Witch King."

Everybody who had heard of the War of the Ring felt a chill in their hearts at hearing that name again.

"Eventually, Fornost was recaptured, but the shadow remains, and to this day the area is known as Deadman's Dike. I fear that there may still be some evil there. We'd do best to sleep in watches tonight. Two of us will stay awake for an hour, then wake the next two watchers before going to sleep."

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik brooded in the shadow of Fornost. So far everyone had kept their thoughts to themselves about the incident of two days past, except for a curt remark from Falco. Toward noon that day, they had come upon the place where Falowik had witnessed Eodwine's capture. Only, there was no sign of anyone's passage: no hoof marks, no blood on the rock, no sign of dirt displaced where the satchel had been thrown, not even his own footprints. It was as if the event had been erased from the record of time.

Falowik could imagine what they were thinking. It would be some version of what Falco had said at the time: No evidence nowhere for what the wanderer says he saw. Falowik had said nothing to defend himself, save what was obvious to him: The blood and hoof marks are gone, yes, but this is where it happened. He had re-enacted it for them, showing his hiding place, the bloodstained stone, the place where he had found the satchel, the path they had taken north, and where Eodwine had been when he had seen Falowik.

The rest of the party had been silent, except for Eswen cooing to the wolf pup who scrabbled and whined in her arms, its nose wriggling to a cacophony of odors to be explored, no doubt. Even Uien had looked into Falowik's eyes, searchingly for a moment, then hers crystallized with the certainty of his honor, which never ceased to amaze him. Her words were clear: If they have left no trail to follow, we shall have to find a fresh one farther north.

Thoronmir had consented to this. With a raised brow he eyed Falowik with a measuring gaze, then clasped his sword hilt with the opposite hand, pulled it up part way and shoved it home as if to drive home his decision. Whether it is as Falowik says or not, too many good men have gone missing or worse in recent times, and since we're this far, we should do what we can to find them or discover why they've gone missing. He had mounted his horse and led them onward.

It had been by no means a vote of confidence, but it had been the best Thoronmir could have done to rally the group if he doubted Falowik. As they moved out, the raven, Corn, had lifted from Lira's shoulder into the air and glided to the rock Falowik had pointed to as the one formerly bearing the bloodstains. With one clawed foot, Corn scratched three times at the very spot where the blood had been. Then he had cawed raucously, and flown high in the air, circling once, then he had flown north before them for half an hour; then he returned to Lira's shoulder.

Falowik had said nothing about the raven's actions. Though Corn seemed to be saying Falowik spoke soothly, others in the party might say that it was at best chancy to base one's hopes on the strange actions of a bird. The Elves among them might set more store by it, but not all in the party were keen on Elves. Falowik knew that he would have to let events prove his story, and he would have to bear the weight of their doubt in the meantime.

Falowik noticed Gorby out of the corner of his eye, gazing at him carefully in between scratches with a pen on a parchment. Falowik shuffled his feet self-consciously. The lawmen of Bree had been known to draw the likeness of a thief or murderer to go along with a reward bounty. Falowik wondered if Falco had put Gorby up to it. He overheard Anson, and Lumiel, saying that the likeness was good. Falowik sighed. They'd have their "wanted" poster if they sought to accuse him of an evil plan to get them lost and killed in the wild. If they wished it, so must it be. Falowik felt his gut harden with the old resentments spawned from wrongful accusation. His spirit had been sinking already, traveling into the trackless, unfriendly waste. Now his jaw tightened into a set frown and his eyes became icey. His posture became more angular, and when he looked one way or another, his head jerked quickly from side to side. Once he even startled Corn from Eswen's shoulder.

Uien watched him, and there was compassion and sympathy in her gaze, but even her solicitude turned to ashes for him, for it occurred to him that all the good that came from her was born from what she was determined to be rather than from an exchange of love between them. Falowik suspected that, at bottom, he was an object of charity by which she was giving meaning to her life. He did not want that, and found himself sickened by it the more he thought of it. The next time she touched him, he stiffened - and kept his eyes locked ahead of him, and he felt her hand slip away; it was like a cold stone door had been shut between them, and he had been the one doing the closing. But it was as it had to be, for it was the way things really were: harsh, cold, bitter, empty, and ruined; like the wilderness all around them, and like this old, old tower. Such was his life; these last few weeks with Uien had been a dream. He was glad to have woken from it.

Now he was waiting for the brewing storm to strike. One of the doubters would finally fail to hold back their thoughts, and would unleash a tirade against him; probably Falco. Falowik would welcome it; at least things would be in the open then.

[ November 21, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Elora]

Uien

It was as though an icy gale ripped through her, colder even than those that had pulled at her upon Caradhras. Swallowing pain, confusion and pride, Uien rose in that moment away and left Falowik to his solitude. For that was what he wanted, was it not? She did not know the answer to that question as she walked to where her horse nipped at the turf.

As she ran her hand over Thallion's neck, Uien could feel the seeping melancholoy of Fornost sink into her. She knew the tales of this once jewel of the Numenorian's northern kingdom. Arnor, it had been called upon a time, and Fornost like Annuminas had been filled with the light and music of the people who carved their cities from stone in the manner of Elendil's folk. For a time, all too brief as recounted by those in Lothlorien, the people of Arnor and the Elves had free traffic.

When war had fallen in the Second Age to darken the northern lands, Elves had stood beside the Men of Arnor to fend it off and hold it at bay. Yet time and darkness had crept past and Fornost had fallen into abandonment with the spreading malignant influence of Sauron's host. It was a lament, the all too brief life of Fornost and her people. Yes, Uien knew the tale of Fornost well.

Never had she thought to upon its doorstep now. Her mind and heart was restless and troubled. With a sigh, she retrieved the curry brush she had taken with her from her saddle pack brushed out Thallion's coat. The gelding whickered in delight, shivering and stamping at the care. The long, fluid strokes in a way also soothed Uien's mind as her brush passed time and again over his coat. She took her time about it, needing silence herself, and the simplicity of brushing down her horse.

Behind her, by the fire, people spoke. The evening meal was being taken, a watch was being ordered. Uien let it all pass without a word as she sorted through her thoughts. When she had finished with Thallion, she replaced the brush in her saddle pack and straightened. The sun was all but gone now, a ruby smudge upon the western horizon. Her mind drifted back to the withdrawn coldness in Falowik's eyes when last she had looked upon him and a great restlessness once again took her.

Without a glance back to the fire nor even a word, Uien slipped away into the growing twilight. I will not be long, she told herself. She could almost hear her brother's frustrated comment on her wandering feet even as she told herself that. I will not wander far. She let her feet carry her through the desolate lands into twilight's calm. After a time, she came to where she could make out a tumble of stones, twinned in battered ivy.

She stopped, on the outskirts of the ruin of Fornost. Then, and only then, did she let the silence and stillness slip from her. What was revealed was the full turmoil of her heart. To the weathered stones she spoke into the emptiness. Perhaps they held answers, shaped by mortal hands as they were. Perhaps they held some memory of the people who shaped them, some lore of their hearts.

"Is that he does not love me? I know it is not that he cannot love. Was that not what I saw in his face and heard in his voice? Was that not what I tasted upon his lips?

It must be, for I bring nothing to him of value."

The stones did not answer. Neither did the stars that flickered from the sky overhead.

"Is it my weakness, when I should be strength? All I possess is memory, and what use is that. Glad or grim, all I am is memory. All he has is the future, I am the past pulling him back. I do not know how to do this, only that I wish to above all else.

And that is not enough, clearly, to love him. He seeks more and should have it."

Her voice fell flat with despair. Uien's hands washed over her face, taking away the tears that sat upon her face, mocking her foolishness and ignorance. She fell silent, mind churning. The twilight seemed diminished as she absorbed it, empty and hollow. Uien knew why. It was becase it had been filled by the joy of a heart dearer to her than all else and now that joy pulled away and closed in.

Uien stood with her arms tightly wrapped around herself, cold as the stones nearby.

"In this mission will he find his future and be set free to follow it. I, who loves him dearer, will see to that. Even if it he depart. That is the path I am set upon, and I knew it long before now. I will not falter now, for he is my beloved though I am not his."

Beneath the mantle of her hair which spilt down her back and lifted on the evening breeze, Uien's shoulders quivered and her eyes shone with unshed tears. She should go back, but not yet. Not just yet.

Falco

The Shirrif had found himself warming to the business he was about. Individuals in the group seemed to be thinking for themselves, a promising sign. There were still some that adhered to Falowik and his word, predictably Uien amongst them. The business with the crow had tested his patience also.

The Elves had murmured amongst themselves about the import of the crow's strange behaviour. Falco, on the otherhand, remained determinedly practical.

"If it's a sign," he snorted in mild amusement that was a little forced, "then it's that the crow thought his talons needed sharpening for his next meal." That people wondered much as he did was a comfort to the Shirrif. Afterall, the prospect of being deep in the wilds with a group of gullible innocents was not a comforting one.

As the day had passed, Falco had been keenly observing Falowik. As Uien was often nearby, his observation extended to her also. What he noticed was truly curious. He had not seen words exchanged between the two, but clearly they were drawing apart. Was it some ploy to disarm the doubters or something else. He had unsaddled his pony with the rest of them at the end of the day. Uien had turned suddenly away from Falowik, pulling her horse with her.

The Elf had then busied herself with a desperate energy, unsaddling and then brushing down her horse. Then, with what could only be described as a sad sigh, she had simply walked off. If Falowik noticed anything of this, he gave no indication. To Falco though, despite her Elven nature, she seemed the picture of feminine upset. He could tell, from the way she carried herself as she walked away.

Either she was hurt and upset over something he had missed, or it was a fine act and the pair were up to something. Falco tethered his pony and stationed himself near the camp fire. The wolf pup gambolled blithely nearby and he idly played with it as he pondered things.

"Where is Uien," he heard someone ask as they neared the fire. Falowik had glanced up and around hastily at the question. It had been asked by Lira, Falco realised.

"She headed off over there," he furnished, pointing in the direction he had seen her walk off in. "She had a fair speed about her too, if I dare say so. Not running, nor strolling either." Falco threw that in for good measure, watching Falowik curiously. Falowik was watching the fire guardedly, it seemed to Falco. What was going on here? Those two have been as thick as thieves since they met.

"It's not wise to wander alone. Did she say where she was going," Thoromir said, brow furrowed.

"Not to me," Falco said. The rest of the group shook their heads. The wolf pup nipped lightly at his fingers in protest at the Shirrif's cease to their play. He ruffled the pup's fur between his ears by way of apology.

"Maybe she didn't think she needed to, this being an Elvish Riding Party after all. There's been no sign of trouble. Perhaps she doesn't appreciate the danger of wandering in a land reputedly filled with violent brigands, despite Falowik's earlier illustration," Falco said.

"I'm sure she'll find her way back safe and sound," the Shirrif said. "She seems capable enough, being a Big Tr... Folk and all."

Falco maintained a relaxed demeanour, smiling pleasantly, for behind it he watched the other Elves and Falowik closely. If there was something afoot, and the camp was unsettled enough to suggest Big Trouble was coming, then likely Uien would be in cohoots with her kindred and Falowik. He'd not be fooled by the pretense of cool distance between the two. The Shirrif prided himself on his powers of observation and for good reason, it had to be said. He'd seen the expressions on their faces when they thought noone was paying attenion. That sort of sentiment did not cool so quickly.

The pup tumbled over his hand, stalking it and pouncing in it's game. Falco watched through it all, as the Elves glanced at each other and Falowik stared at the fire.

"What's for dinner," he asked, inwardly pleased with his cleverness in appearing to not be taking any note of anything. Thoromir was still frowning and Lumiel looked at the Shirrif in surprise at the sudden change of topic.

"I think we'd all feel better with a full stomach," he added. Gorby and Anson nodded at his traditional and well founded hobbit wisdom.

[ November 22, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Lumiel]

As Gorby changed the topic with his question, Lumiel gave a bright smile and shrugged her shoulders inwards to accentuate her reaction. "It is the most wonderful place I have heard of yet in my travels, few as they have been. I would greatly like to travel there someday, though I know the King's law prevents it. Though the Green Dragon was a lovely place, as close as I've come to the Shire. I've never been to a place so warm and friendly, full of life!" she said, laughing lightly. Gorby seemed surprised by this reaction, not expecting the Shire to receive the nomination of "the most wonderful place" from an elf of all people, though he himself agreed whole-heartedly.

"Really?" he asked. He gave her a look of near-astonishment and smiled.

"Oh yes. My childhood was very lonely...and when I finally did get to see the world, most of it was aloof to me and seemed to be out of my grasp. When I came upon the Shire, or rather its inhabitants at the Green Dragon, I felt welcomed, like I was coming home for the first time." she replied, sighing softly at the end of it as her face settled into an expression of softness and fond memories. "I would very much like to go to the Shire for a time after all this is done." She waved her hand in the air to signify their journey. "Do you think that you could show me how to fit in a bit better? Well, I mean make me...I guess the word is more "hobbit-ish". I want to truly fit in there and have a home, even if it can only be on the borders of your beautiful Shire." She paused, looking down at the ground and blushing slightly. She realized after she had spoken that she had imposed upon Gorby and it was not proper of her to do. "I mean, if you and Anson wouldn't mind of course."

Gorby wasn't quite sure what to say. Of course elves had come through the Shire, and even a few had lived at the Green Dragon and nearby there for a time, but he had never heard of an elf asking a hobbit to maker her more "hobbitish"! He smiled and almost laughed at how strange it seemed but kept it back when he saw Lumiel's downcast face. "I'd be glad to Lumiel! And I'm certain Anson wouldn't mind giving a hand!"

"Oh thank you!" she exclaimed as her face perked up again. She wrapped her arms around Gorby for a moment in a friendly hug and released him just as quickly, laughing softly. Gorby was taken back by her reaction, he had not anticipated it at all. He could only stare at her in surprise and noticed how almost child-like she seemed and wondered at it for it seemed very unlike the other elves here.

At that moment, Falco made his suggestion about supper, and all agreed that a bite to eat would be a nice thing indeed. As the camp woke up with the movement, Lumiel smiled. She would finally have a home!

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:02 PM December 09, 2003: Message edited by: Lumiel ]

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen seemed as though the days had gone by slowly. She kept mainly in the back of the group when they traveled, and she would only walk, leaving her horse to carry most of her provisions, although they were small. She didnt need much and could go without food for awhile. It didnt really matter to her.

While everyone was off in their groups, she mostly sat by herself. The cub had brought many together, yet many alone. She tried to follow what was going on, but found it hard. Sleep came hard to her; most nights she would stay up, even if it wasnt her watch.

Falco had just suggested dinner, and even when someone offered her something, she simply refused, not hungry. She patted her horse and then unloaded some of the things off of his back so he could rest without the weight. He whinnied gratefully and began to graze at what grass there was.

Finëwen sat near the fire, watching the flames dance about. The wood cackled, as if laughing at them all. The cub played about a bit. Finëwen watched it and a glint of happiness came from her eye. The mood seemed to be weary yet cheerful.

Lumiel had been talking about her childhood, and that made Finëwen think of her own. She had enjoyed her time with the elves, and because of it, she had elven qualities. Yet, she didnt fit in with many of the elves, or so it seemed, because she was human. Finëwen shrugged that off and listened to the conversation.

[Elora]

Uien

As the moon steadily rose, the night sky was alive with a bright glittering array of silver motes. Uien's silence though was not introspection of the stars that heralded the ending of Twilight. Something else pulled at her awareness, inexorable... whispering.

The landscape was awash with a fragile light which she slowly walked through, towards the ruined stones that had earlier bore quiet witness to her distress. Uien reached the nearest, wound about with ivy that had the print of a long summer upon it's dark leaves. They were dry and she brushed them aside with light fingers, brow furrowed. The murmur of night creatures rustled further along, deeper into the tumbled stones of the ruined city of Men.

It was not that which drew her forward, deeper into the night. Uien's long pale hair shone a delicate silver as she bent forward and pressed her cheek to the stone. It still held warmth from the day that softly radiated through her skin. Beneath that warmth, a thin patina of a day's passing memory, something older abided. It was that which intrigued her.

Her brow furrowed as she strove to listen to the memory of the stone. It was a sighing whisper, beckoning, slipping away and then tickling back as it returned. Uien straightened, bemused. Curiosity inclined her to go to the next stone. It was taller than she. Perhaps a door lintel, Uien wandered as she neared. Who had passed through? Who had lived there?

She pressed her ear to it, listening intently. The song it sang, sorrowful memory, lament at the burden of the lonely years, was similar to the one she had heard just before. It was the same at the third stone Uien harkened to, and the fourth. As Uien wandered about in a place of ghosts through the tangle of stone and night's shadow, she was staggered at what was emerging.

The ruins of Fornost were alive, with melancholy, memories so old as to be dust now, fine and fragile in the winds of time, yet kept alive, locked in the stones that had been shaped, raised and then abandoned. The melancholy flooded into her, and her feet strayed here and there as she wandered deeper into Fornost and the night.

[Imladris]

Corn fluttered wearily to Lira’s hand and rested his head in the hollow between her thumb and forefinger. Lira smiled, recognizing it as a sign to be petted. With the finger of her left hand, she softly ruffled his jet neck feathers, admiring the flashes of deep blue that glimmered and then disappeared in the wavering, flaring light of the restless fire. Lifting his head, Corn’s black eyes stared deeply into the blue pools of Lira’s. Remembering Corn’s strange action at the rock where Falowik had seen Eodwine captive and how he had flown to the north and then returned, Lira murmured softly in elvish, “What did you see my friend, where did you go?”

The bird stared silently at her, his eyes grew blacker and his feathers drooped. Sorrow flowed from him -- deep sorrow. Lira’s spirit sank when her premonitions of dread and danger had been confirmed by Corn. Whether the evil rested in Fornost or not, she did not know. “Cannot you not tell me?” she whispered, touching the bird’s head with her lips.

Corn suddenly sprang to life and began to frantically pace up and down Lira’s arm, crowing violently, breaking the peaceful silence of the night. His sharp claws left small lines of crimson upon her flesh, and his wings flapped vigorously in her ears. Pushing up from Lira’s arms, he flew to the north, then returned to her arm and stood as still as a statue, his black eyes glittering sharply in the light, staring at Lira, then facing towards the north. “Fornost,” he croaked.

Lira remained silent, thinking back to the day that they had found the rock. There had been no sign, no indication whatever of their enemy. Yet Corn had believed Falowik and Lira trusted the man himself as well. Kissing his head, Lira sang softly in elvish to him, thanking him.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien was gone, off to explore, probably. Falowik watched the others, and noticed that one other of them sat apart from the rest: Finëwen; which meant that she was probably not in on Falco's little conspiracy. She was human, and a ranger, Falowik recollected. And quiet, which he appreciated. He got up and walked a little ways from the camp where Corn was squawking loudly on Lira's arm; then he came back by way of Finëwen. He stood facing her where she sat.

"I have not spoken much with you, Finëwen." She watched him, saying nothing, giving nothing away by her guarded expression. He sat on the ground across from her. "You wandered in the wild, I believe you said. What sent you into the wild?"

[Esgallhugwen]

Falco's comment aroused Esgallhugwen, she stood up and wlked up to him gently picking up the pup 'wouldn't want him to pick up any bad habits' she smiled wryly.

Esgallhugwen stroked the pup by the fire light. It had been revealed in the morning after his finding that his coat was as white as pure gleaming snow with a silver grey muzzle. His yellow eyes which were once dull and lifeless had now become bright, blazing like two newborn suns.

He licked her fingers as she played with him, healing fast that is well, but you must take your time little one, all will heal in time. Despite the pup, people seemed to be shorn apart again, Uien had become upset taking leave of the goup for a time, Falco would not cease with his smart remarks, and Finëwen seemed to be sad yet not caring.

The food was done and yet she took none, Esgallhugwen gave the majority of hers to the wolf. When he had finished, she was about to move slowly towards the only mortal woman among them and casually place the pup into her lap, when Falowik walked past and tried to engage a conversation with Finëwen.

Seems he already beat me to it. On to other matters then, what should I call you? she questioned, the pup cocked it's head to one side and barked playfully trying to jump up and down but being still inhibited by it's broken legs it merely rolled along the dry turf and blanket. Esgallhugwen had to continuously busy herself with dusting him off but it proved to be futile he'd just go into the dirt again. Than he took hold of her tunic and refused to let go.

She laughed, a full hearted laugh, never in many years had she done so, her clear voice trickled out of her like the breaking through of a stream in the dead of winter. Her spirit had been lifted for a moment because of this little wolf.

Esgallhugwen stood up with the pup in her arms and made her way over to Lira, Corn had again calmed down after his frenzy. 'Mellon' she waved to get her attention 'we have talked little on this journey for we have both been deep in thought taking council with ourselves but let us take a break and discuss these things with one another'

She looked up at the fading night sky 'Corn senses something and at times even this little wolf cub becomes restless in my arms and I know it is not because he want's to play. It is something all together different' Esgallhugwen looked back down at the white bundle in her arms. 'I feel this animals wounds were no accident and it was not just chance he was left there by our camp. It is grievous to think that someone or thing did this to an innocent animal'

Lira nodded her head deep in thought, 'Eswen' Corn croaked fluttering onto Lira's knee. Esgallhugwen let her time to think, playing again with the pup on an endless errand to try to tire him out.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen did not know an answer to Falowik's question. He caused her to ponder on why she had. Recollecting her thoughts, she said, 'I guess I just wanted to get away. I loved it in Rivendell, and don't get me wrong, I really did enjoy living there, its just I felt a need to leave. I loved my elven caretakers, but... I just needed to leave.

'So I started roaming just around the borders of Rivendell, and it just slowly extended farther, to here, the place of my birth. I drove myself into the wild, with the yearning for adventure to explore places I haven't been before. Living with the elves you learn many things, but you learn so much more experiencing it yourself,' Finëwen finished. She hadn't opened up to someone in a long time, and she was surprised at herself a bit. She truly did love them. Yet, she felt not at home; her home was there, but her life her was suffocated all those years ago.

The man still sat there, Finëwen decided to ask, 'How did your adventures start? You seem so much like a leader, like you could lead the search party, yet you don't. Why is that so? You just seemed so hesitant about it.' Finëwen realized that the question seemed a bit rude, and she lowered her head a bit and waited to see what the man would reply. She figured his story would be much more interesting than her own, considering how many years he had lived in this world. Finëwen respected that, compared to her own short life.

[littlemanpoet]

Finëwen repeated the words, 'needed to leave', like a spell spoken. Falowik noticed that she called it Rivendell whereas Uien called it Imladris, choosing to name it as Humans did rather than as Elves. Why would she feel the need to leave the Elves? To live as Humans live, he supposed. Then she questioned him, driving straight to the heart of the matter on her mind. She lowered her head as if embarrassed by the directness of her question, but her eyes did not leave his face. Falowik allowed himself the shred of a smile. He picked up a dry stick and began peeling the bark away.

"Well asked." He shifted his position. "I will answer your questions, last to first. I do not lead the party because I am less than you think. I have not the skill to direct this one here, that one there and have them be willing. I have been a wanderer for twelve years. I was born in Bree, but fled when falsely accused of thievery. I have no skills save how to keep my own flesh and fëa entwined. And now I have a question for you."

Falowik paused, watching her face; her eyes widened a little, as if she were renewing her guard in case she were attacked. He looked at his naked stick, which still had a bit of moist life in it, and began picking at threads of marrow. He regarded Finëwen again.

"I will not pry, but ask instead what it is about me you name 'leader'?

[Elora]

Uien

At the sound of a boot scraping on stone, a tall man whirled. The harsh sound of steel being drawn accompanied his action. When he saw that it was his scout, he slammed his sword home and impatiently waved him forward.

"What do you have," he asked of the other man in voice that rasped in the night. Around him, the other men had stilled, their snatches of conversation falling silent at the return of the scout.

"They are half a mile south west of Deadman's Dike. A group of nine, mostly Elven women and Hobbits. Three were of the race of Men. Only a small number were armed. They have made camp for the night and are easily seen for their fire."

The scouts report came swift, and his news was good. Flashes of white teeth in the moonlight night gleamed amongst the dozen men that listened eagerly. The man to whom the scout reported fingered the hilt of his sword in contemplation.

"Half mile south-west," he repeated softly.

"We could take them tonight," another said. The grim chuckling of the men about him confirmed that he was not the only one with an appetite for some sport. The scout crouched and began to sketch out the location of the party of mostly defenceless Elves, Hobbits and Men. As he did so, the others fell to speculating on how much of a fight would be had.

"Elves are fierce, filthy fighters I've heard it told."
"The Hobbits give good chase too. There were two on Pelennor Fields, they said."
"Wonder if they're tarks, those others."

Their leader scrutinised the map drawn in the earth between stones deep in Fornost's ruins. An easy mark, probably some sort of adventuring tour. They could be easily dealt with, and any risk that they saw too much or brought more serious problems back would be removed. Besides, the men are bored. There's been nothing since that fool from Rohan.

"We'll move in two groups," he announced and once again his men fell silent. They strained to take in the orders for this nighttime diversion.

With the precision of a man long accustomed to ordering men in the field, he set out who would go on foot and who would be mounted, their route and the tactics for the attack.

"Prisoners," one man asked when it was done. Their commader paused a fraction of a moment and then flashed a broad smile that gleamed.

"None," he replied succinctly. Those around leapt to the tasks before them. Before an hour had elapsed since the scouts return, they were off. The half moon created a wealth of shifting shadows which they exploited with cunning as they made their way from the heart of Fornost's ruins towards the party. To them lay the mastery of this land, for they had been preying upon it's bounty for some time now. They knew every rise, every dip, every curve of the land and they hugged them with the stealth of men accustomed to attacks in the wild.

For a while, they wove through the tangle of broken walls and stones that had become Deadman's Dike. Unerring, they found their way through the dead ends and twisting turns to emerge into position. Then, with the silence of a fell wolf pack on the hunt, men splayed out around the beacon that was the fire of the camp the scout had been tracking at distance.

Swords had been drawn well before they fell into position, blades dark with blood spilt in the past, some notched with heavy blows of those few who could fight back. They sank into waiting, watching their quarry move about the camp. Horses were tethered to one side. They'd be welcome prizes. Hobbits lounged by the fire. Noone watched yet, for the camp had not put in for the night. Some sat in small groups, twos and threes, talking quietly in the night.

Easy sport, a welcome diversion to soothe bored men that were dangerous at their most disciplined. When the distinctive cry of a carrion bird that frequented the wilds was heard, the men on foot sprang into action. Screaming foul curses in a dark tongue that arose amongst men long ago, they fell upon the camp. The harsh loud cawing of a crow rose as a bird shot skywards in a black flutter of wings.

They ran into the reach of the fire light as the group drew in on each other, milling about in panicked chaos. The sudden appearance as if from the very night itself, of men dressed coarsely, naked and lethal swords and daggers clutched, fell words of death falling from their snarling lips, was as though a nightmare was brought to life.

Inexorably they advanced from all sides, intent on their sport and death in their cold eyes. At the sound of wild and dischordant shouts, Uien straightened in alarm. She turned in the direction of the noise, eyes wide in her face. Attack, she thought as her heart began to pound.

"Falowik," she moaned in anguish. Uien whirled, light feet running back through the stones she had wandered through. The thought of Falowik under attack leant her a speed that rivalled the wind, her mind intent on one thing alone. She would not be separated from her beloved as she had been from her family.

Her boots came to a sudden halt when a shadow stepped out from behind the tall lintel stone she had listened to first.

"Well now, what have we here? Do my eyes deceive me," it asked in a voice made ugly by promised violence. The shadow stepped forward, free of the stone and Uien saw that it was a man, a sword in his hand.

"My very own Elf, all to myself, " he said. Horror dawned in Uien's mind. She made no reply. She knew the notes of threat in his voice. She had heard them before. Without a cry, Uien turned and sprinted back into the rocks. The heavy fall of his boots sounded behind her.

"No," Uien whispered, falling into her first language. "Not this again." She twisted and turned, seeking always to elude. His pursuit was dogged though, and he took to crooning to her as he hunted her through Fornost.

"That's it, my pretty, run. I'll find you." Uien whipped in a sudden turn to her right, catching her arm, sleeve and hair upon the rough surface of the stone she darted around. In a flash of terror, it was as thought an orc's cold claws scraped past. She could hear his breathing.

"No, not again. Ai, Laurëatan!"

Deeper and deeper into Fornost Uien ran, desperately trying to out run her armed pursuer and the promise of new torment at his hands. Deeper and deeper into memories so dark that they reached to trip her, snare her, she also ran. Headlong into a hell that she had left behind beneath Caradhras. The stones became caverns, the Man became a large, brutish orc, and death seemed inevitable. Around her, though Uien did not heed them now, the stones sighed as new evil unfolded before them and evoked the grief of evils past.

[littlemanpoet]

They were being attacked! Corn flew wildly into the sky, giving warning. Falowik stood, as did Finëwen. She drew a sword that caught the gleam of the fire, and held it at the ready. Falowik fumbled with his belt and pulled out his dagger. He knew himself for a fool to have nothing better than a dagger, but it was too late now. He must survive, somehow. As Finëwen moved forward to join the fray, Falowik crouched and looked around. Under the moonlight and by the fire, he could see that they were being surrounded. The moment they attacked, arrows flew from some riders behind them. One arrow flew right by Falowik. He fell to the ground as if he had been hit, scrabbled under a fallen log, and stayed flat there. And waited. The soldiers on foot passed within a swipe of the sword, but they did nothing to him. He could make out a few mounted soldiers nearby; they were coming closer. Two near him were hit by arrows, apparently from one of the Elven fighters; a good sign, that. In another minute, he was outside the melee. He crawled away, making toward the relative protection of the ruins of Fornost.

Falowik made his way to a wall of ruined stone undetected. From his vantage point he could see that not nearly as many soldiers were standing as had been at the start. Maybe I could have stayed with them and hung on. He looked at the dagger in his hand, disgusted at himself. Who had he thought himself to be, getting all these people involved in what seemed certain death, especially Uien?

Uien! She had not been with them. She was somewhere in Fornost, lost, or maybe they had already found and killed her! Or worse. His felt his stomach wrench as if he had been kicked there. He could not bear to think of her suffering, and because of him! He heard yells from the direction of the camp, and a scream. He feared what that meant. Falowik crouched low and slunk further into the ruins, listening carefully for any sound of footsteps or the scrape of steel against leather or stone or cloth. He kept himself hidden in the shadows, waiting for the battle to be done, and for the enemy to have picked over the corpses of the fallen, and to have left; and it would again turn to him to see who had died, and to report the failure of their task less than a week out. He buried his face in his hands and waited in his dark corner.

"Ai, Laurëatan!" Falowik's head rose. Uien! She was alive! And in danger, and too far away, he feared, for his aid. No, he could hear her quick breathing, and the heavy steps of boots, giving chase; they were nearing him. Falowik raised his dagger. You may yet serve, he said to it, and held it before him, waiting, listening. He hoped against hope that she would lead her hunter nearby; it did not occur to him to venture out and seek the villain, and so rescue her. He waited.

No. They were moving away again. Please survive, Uien, he whispered.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:39 PM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Elora]

Uien

At the sound of weapons being unsheathed to gleam in flickering fire light, many of the men smiled unpleasantly.

"This will be good," one said in a voice made ugly by bloodlust. Seven men circled the camp, feinting with their swords every time one of their quarry looked to make a break. One did so, a man who carried a dagger. One of the men marked him and turned to circle a little closer, the remaining six drawing in to resume their threatening.

If the group divided, they could be picked off all the better by the swordsmen on foot. If they remained densely packed then they'd be easy marks for the bowmen, though there's little sport in that. The tension built to fever pitch at the camp site as the moments drew on.

Elves and Men and Hobbits all drew together, turning this way and that, what weapons they had at the ready. But where would the attack come from, and how many waited beyond the firelight in the embrace of the night's shadow. Two of the six had particular interest in the Ranger. Take him first, deal with the others later. One or two of the Elves looked vaguely like they knew what they were doing, but still, they were women and Elves and they were alone in a wasteland that their aggressors knew as home in exile.

One of the men chuckled humourously as he circled with the others. His mouth distorted into a scream as he launched forward with a savage slice aimed at the Ranger. His men followed, and the attack was begun proper as the circle of swords closed in to slash.

Uien crouched behind a thick stone that towered above her, pressed against it's unyeilding surface and willing herself to absolute stillness. The scream from the camp split the night and obscured for an instant the sound of the nearby hunter's tread on the rocky ground of Fornost's ruins.

Her heart slammed in her hearing, and Uien fought against the rising fear that it's pounding would betray her location. His breathing was heavy, coming in gasps after being forced to pursue her into the ruins.

"There's nowhere to hide." Uien heard the clink of his sword as he scraped it past the stones he was walking by. "There never is. Each step leads you closer to where I want you, no matter where you run Elf." The agony of remaining still as he drew closer was almost unbearable. Worse yet was the thought that the scream that had broken the night was the herald of something too terrible to consider. Uien closed her eyes and held her breath.

His sword scraped closer to her stone, and then he was there. His slow, deliberate footfall passed, his sword dragging with his passage. Uien slowly twisted away, unable to remain still any longer and merely hope to elude him. With a burst of desperation, she was on her feet and sprinting. His yell was close to her ear, and a hand yanked in her sleeve.

"There you-" the man reeled back with a shout of rage as Uien lashed out and drove her shoulder hard into his leering face. He was forced to step back hard, his free hand rising to his now bleeding and rebroken nose. The material of her torn sleeve fell ignored to the ground. Uien allowed herself once glance over her shoulder.

"You'll pay for that," he bellowed in fury at her. She made no reply, turning her back and fleeing the way she had come. Her mother would perhaps have been horrified at her daughter's calculated use of her healing lore to inflict injury, but at that moment Uien did not care. She had to get to the others, to Falowik. It was why she had come, to heal, but not her love. She had come to heal Eodwine.

May the Valar guide you, my love. So desperate was she to find her way back to him, that the twists and turns of her path whipped by her. When a shadow, breathing hard, burst out before her, a cry of dismay escaped her and she stepped backwards as quickly as she could.

"Told you that this would end my way," the shadow said. His sword slashed through the air as if it thirsted to meet her at last. Uien whirled to the side, straight for the first gap on her left between a crumbled wall. With an oath, the man pursued her once again.

Frustration and despair circled within her. It was narrowly kept at bay by hope and a iron determination that this would not be the ending she chose for her or Falowik or any other. Uien scrambled over a wall that was nearly her height, a flung dagger bouncing off the stones inches from where she had been before she tumbled over the other side. Landing on her feet with instinctive elven poise, Uien was off again. No matter how she tried, she wound further and further into Fornost, hemmed by stones and shadows of men and past orcs. Yet her mind yearned elsewhere. Uien dove into the first refuge that presented itself in the unfamiliar ruins and gathered stones that lay about.

Again, her mother would be less than pleased with her daughter's proposed violence, but Uien hefted the first stone in her hand regardless. She had always been the best shot out of her siblings. A stone whistled to crash some yards away at the first glimsp of her hunter. It cracked into the ground and was quickly followed by another. He jerked to a standstill behind what cover he could. Uien paused, conserving what stones she still had remaining, one at the ready.

When she could see no movement, Uien lowered her arm and listened to the surrounds. He was gone. But where. Suddenly, her vantage seemed to be a snare. Uien slipped out over the lip of the stone wall she had been sheltering behind, throwing stone missiles from what once was perhaps a window of a family home. The eerie silence was worse than the man's taunts. Uncertain, Uien circled about, wishing ever more to have a weapon at her disposal.

The uncertainty lasted only an instant. Uien chose instead to try once more to get back to the camp and to Falowik. Once more she ran as fast as her feet could carry her over the stones and uneven ground. In the shadows, she never saw the heavy arm reach out to check her flight and send her rolling hard over the ground. But she heard the grunt of satisfaction that at last she had been brought down...

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira listened to Esgallhugwen’s fears for the wolf with sadness. Drawing her knees to her chin and clasping her hands around her legs, she nodded slowly and said, “I fear Fornost.”

Esgallhugwen looked at her quizzically and asked, “What do you mean?”

“It’s as if a sadness lingers there,” Lira murmured as Corn scrambled to her shoulder. “A dread feeling always comes to me when I think of the ruined city.” Dropping her hand, she stroked the cub’s chin with her long, skeletal fingers. She sighed and whispered, “He’s a cute little one.”

Suddenly, Corn flapped frantically into the air, cawing raucously the word of warning as men poured from the hidden refuge of the bushes, their swords gleaming with blood lust in the lurid light of the dying fire. Leaping to her feet, Lira stood frozen as she saw the men swarm around them. She could vaguely see the hobbits and men huddle around the fire swords and weapons drawn. With a swift motion, she withdrew the dagger, the gift of Esgallhugwen, and watch it brilliant whiteness glitter brightly in the dreamy, silver light of the moon. A passing thought rebuked her for being so thoughtless as to forget to bring her bow. Now she would have to fight almost hand to hand, at very close quarters with her enemies. Twirling the dagger easily in her hand, she shifted it to a more comfortable position in her hand as the company faced the tidal wave that fell upon them.

Lira was instantly torn from Esgallhugwen, who was lost somewhere in the screaming mess. A sword blade swung at her and she parried it with her dagger. Sparks flew, the blades screamed in agony. Her muscles tightened as his massive strength bore down upon her; blue eyes stared fixedly into his dark ones, the ones that froze with black hatred, his lips twisted in contorted scorn. Their blades rasped as they struggled to unlock the parry. Dropping into a half kneeled position, Lira twisted, slashing upwards at his face as she did so and with a final lunge thrust the blade into his heart.

Another was upon her before she had time to catch her guard. Almost instantly she was driven against the trunk of a massive tree, fending off the blows of her antagonist. For an elf, she was an able fighter and had great skills in weapons. However, she was a young woman against a man whose sadistic pleasure was to spill the blood of his victims and who lived for the joy of killing. He was stronger than she, and her strength was failing.

A livid form thrust himself between the elf and the man, his sable wings blinding him, causing him to stumble backwards. Onyx eyes hard as stone, Corn pursued him, his nails raking the man’s cheek until the blood flowed like rivulets down his cheek. Arms flailing wildly, he cried out in pain at the merciless onslaught of corn. Lashing out with his beak, crying hoarsely, the bird strived to tear his eyes out, eventually succeeding.

Glancing around, Lira saw the hobbits: Gorby was brandishing a burning stick wildly about him, while Anson loaded their small, wooden crossbows. Sprinting to them, Lira cried, “Behind that boulder, both of you!” She pointed to a stone and added, “I’ll protect you from behind.” The hobbits scuttled behind the boulder. Turning, to see if there were any who needed her aid, a searing pain ripped down her face, crossing her temple. Something hard hit her in the head, and she fell limply to the ground.

Gorby

I shivered as a chill wind managed to twist under my cloak and numbed my fingers. Huddling myself into a tighter ball, and grasping the quill feather which served as a pen, I continued my writing:

‘Tis mighty cold at night, here beside Fornoste. Thoronmere -- I scowled at the paper. I knew it wasn’t spelt right but I was to embarrassed to ask him how he spelt it -- is our leader. I think I heard that he was once a ranger. He realy is the perfect man for the expidition, since he has lived in the Evindim Hills.

Oh! I found an extra bottle of ink and some spare peices of paper (well wrinkled now, I can assure you) stowed away. I can only imagine that Doderic (fine fellow that he is) slipped them in when I wasn’t looking. Hence the reason I am writing.

It has been rather dull, to be perfectly honest. Not a sine of anything. The only jolly elf is Lumielle -- I know that‘s not right. The other elven lasses are too busy brooding and being depressed, subsequently extraordinarily dull company. Fin, I shan’t even try to spell her name (I have a hard enough time spelling as it is), is quite withdrawn.

And the fair is very poor. Nasty camp cooking. But I do supose it is better than starving, though my waiste has shrunk, since my trousers don’t fit nearly as well as they used to. But all in all I am enjoying this adventur. Every once in a while, one needs to be free of people, of village sounds, of seeing hobbits scurry this way and that, intent upon their business. To see a different of this world. When I think of Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, I wonder how it must have ben to see those grand places: Gondorr and Rohan! And the king!

I stopped writing for my fingers had developed a cramp. Sighing, I put my things away and once more thanked Doderic silently to myself. I made myself promise to thank him whenever I got back to Buckland -- unless something else happened to me instead. Quickly pulling my things back out again, I added: Thank you, Doderic, for the extra paper and ink. Putting them back again, I flung the sack across my shoulder and stared deeply into the fire, toasting my hands as I did so. For some strange reason, I was not sleepy this night.

A crash rent the silence, and I glanced quickly up, bewildered as I saw men, armed with cruel swords, hurry towards us, screaming all the way. Climbing to my feet, I shook Anson awake and bawled, “Wake up, Anson! Wake up!” Turning around, I looked anxiously for my cross bow, but didn’t see it -- drat me and my tendency to misplace things! I darted around, looking for anything to use as a weapon against them. Finally, I took up a burning log, and brandished it about me. Anson was beside, loading our two cross bows -- good fellow. Always finding the things I loose.

An elf came to us and ordered us behind a boulder. I was only too happy to comply -- it was too dangerous in the open. I don’t like to consider myself a coward, but I did want to live, if you get my meaning. And having an elf watching you back -- well, it couldn’t get any better.

As we crouched behind the boulder, I peeked around it, about to gesture the elf to come join us. I recognized her as Lira. But she didn’t. She paused, her blue eyes sweeping the area. A man at came at her, his fell sword falling: her head the target. Raising my crossbow, I opened my mouth to shriek a warning, but froze as his blade met her pale hair. My finger on the trigger, I could only watch in dismay as she crumpled to the earth. My finger squeezed suddenly, and I shot the man as he circled around her.

Jumping from my hiding place, I ran to her and saw that blood gushed from a wound that cut across her forehead down her cheek, nearly catching her eye. I smiled as I heard her breath shallowly, slowly. Anson was with me, and together, we dragged her best we could behind the protection of the boulder.

[littlemanpoet]

For a while, Falowik heard nothing but distant fighting outside the ruins. Then he heard a heavy step coming closer to his hiding place from the opposite direction, accompanied by a snuffling nose and muttered curses. The man stopped in the shadow of an outcropping just ten paces away from him. He could just make out the man's words, about a cursed Elf and a broken nose, and threats of vengeance. Falowik allowed himself a glimmer of a smile. Uien had defended herself and was still alive. The man's sword was drawn, and he was too far off for a dagger thrust. There were stones about, but Falowik did not dare to make a move for fear of making a sound and drawing attention to himself.

Light running steps were coming toward them from beyond the man, who tensed, readying himself. His arm went out just as the figure came by, and Uien lay sprawled on the rough ground.

"Hah! Dow yer dud, Elf. But baybe I'll cut off yer arbs ad legs so you cet struggle. Pay you back proper for by dose." He laughed with evil glee and raised his sword. It was too much for Falowik. He hurled himself at the man, his dagger raised, his feet dashing against the broken rocks the only sound he made; loud enough to draw the attention of the man before he got to him. The man was fast, and he swung his sword around at Falowik; but Falowik was not slow, and had suprised him. He tackled the man just as the sword came down and slammed his back. The man was bigger and heavier than he was, and in a moment, Falowik's back was on the ground and the man was above him, his sword raised for the kill. Then the man fell on him heavily. Uien stood above him with a heavy rock in both hands. Falowik scrambled out from under the man and took the sword out of his hands. He raised it, but could not bring himself to kill the man. He had never killed a human.

"Let us get away from here." Falowik said.

[Esgallhugwen]

A heavy omen was in Esgallhugwen's mind, she had set down the pup and was plucking the string of her bow. She had decided on a name for him, Nimrómen white-sunrise, it seemed to suite him somehow, with his yellow eyes and white fur.

Then they came, and all became chaos. Esgallhugwen quickly shot up hiding the pup in her saddle bag behind a boulder, she came charging back swinging out her sword and sticking it in the fire. The men laughed thinking the Elf women had no brains in her pretty little head.

With a flick of her wrist she pulled forth an arrow from the quiver strapped to her back, with amazing skill she set one alight it sang through the air hitting it's destined target. Lira had fallen as Esgallhugwen yelled out sending four more arrows into the chests and necks of their enemies.

But they only seemed to multiply, harsh flashes stabbed through her mind rembering her home and the fires and the ceasless onslaught of treachery and orcs. She did not want all her arrows spent, taking up her sword from the fire, it glowed red hot ever stronger. Esgallhugwen stood before the men that came at her, Nàrkir glowing like a spike of fire in her hands, her eyes cold and harsh like ice.

A tremor of adrenaline swam through her whole body, slashing the face of one that dared to come to close, the hot blade seared through his flesh a shrill cry of pain went up in the night as he grabbed at the scorched wound. Esgallhugwen skewered another while an arrow went whistling by her ear. Parrying a blow that came from behind she raced over to the Hobbits and the fallen body of Lira to protect them.

Esgallhugwen tried to assure the hobbits that we all should stick together and to fire as many arrows as they could at the chest and neck if they could see in the dark.

[littlemanpoet]

"This way!" Uien's whisper was urgent. Falowik followed her. The man they'd left on the ground behind them gave a call. Falowik's heartbeat sped. Uien looked around them as she ran ahead of him, her eyes wide with fear and watchfulness. Falowik heard heavy boots running behind him. You should have killed him while you had the chance, old man! At least he had the sword, unwieldy in his unpracticed hand, his dagger carrried like an afterthought in his left hand.

Uien stopped. Falowik almost ran into her. There was a broken rock wall on their left, head high. On their right was a ruined cistern, and beyond it a wide gateway, the black iron gates hanging by the hinges like hands bent the wrong way off of their wrists. On each side of the gate posts was the foot of a statue, rubble strewn at the base of each; their limbs, torsos, legs, and heads could be made out, but were a jigsaw puzzle on the ground. Before them the walkway continued straight. But two men blocked it, swords drawn. A third stood amid the gateway. And their hunter stopped behind them. They were surrounded.

It was over. They were lost. Four seasoned cutthroats were too many for Uien, a healer, and Falowik, no fighter either, sword or no sword. Such were his thoughts. Uien looked around her in every direction for some kind of escape, glacing at him with pleading eyes, and back to the wall on their left. She was trying to indicate it as their escape. He could not imagine either of them making it up to the top of it before arrows or daggers struck one or both of them in the back or worse. Despair took him. As soon as it did, his mind loosened from his plight to the irony of his position, and he imagined Falco using the loss of Uien and Falowik as proof enough that Falowik had been in league with the evildoers. Now there was a thought. Hope kindled, born of likely failure at such a reckless dare.

"I've brought them to you just as ordered," Falowik declared. "Here's the first one. Watch out though, she's cagey." Uien turned and watched him, the despair of betrayal wide in her eyes. He kept his eyes on hers, cold and unblinking. It was important for these others to be convinced that he cared for her not at all. He hoped that she could find some way to save herself. "She might cast a spell on you if you look her in the eye. You never know with these Elves."

The four men looked at Falowik, and Uien, in varied states of suspicion, confusion, and uncertainty. Uien wasted no time and bolted for the wall, jumping to the top in a single leap, and was gone.

"I told you!" Falowik yelled. "After her!"

The two men who had blocked their way climbed the wall and gave chase. Falowik stayed rooted to the spot.

"Dod't you go eddywhere, liar. Sack!" He eyed the other man standing before the gate. "E's playid' us! Take 'ib out!"

"You do and you're a fool!" Falowik said. "My orders come from high up, and if the Master finds out, it'll be the end for you." Falowik had no idea if there even was a master, and the words coming out of him suprised him as much as it did these two men. Sack was stuck in his tracks, confused. He considered making a dash for it now that his way was clear ahead of him, but these two might be faster than he was.

"Give mbe the MBaster's ndabe, liar!"

Falowik thought fast and made a wild guess. "You don't even know it yourself, fool. He doesn't tell anybody his true name."

"That's true enough," said Sack. "Maybe he's the Master's man after all, Toad."

"Baybe ad baybe dot. So why'd you attack be?"

"I had to make it look like I was her ally, of course." Falowik heaped all the scorn he could into his words.

"That makes sense to me," said Sack, leaning on his sword.

"At eddy road we're takid' hib to Lieut. Let hib decide. Who kdows? If he aid't what 'e says 'e is, mebbe Baster'll wadt hib for the dext leechig."

Leeching? Falowik thought. Drawing of blood? What for?

"You break your nose again, Toad? What'd you do, fall on your sword?"

"Shaddup, Sack! The Elf lady got be." Sack hooted. "Give be back by sword, you!" It would be best to play along for now. Falowik handed him the sword, by the hilts. "I still dod't trust you, Baster's servadt. Tie 'is hadds, Sack. You better go williggly or I'll slit you right here." Falowik let them tie his hands. He was still alive, and maybe Uien had gotten away. After seeing her jump to the top of that wall, and over, he did not doubt that she could lose her pursuers.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:03 PM December 09, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned to face the noise. The intruders were large, mean-looking men holding long, curved swords. They attacked without warning, and soon the whole camp was in chaos. He drew his sword and rushed at them, running into one of them and knocking him to the ground with a hard shoulder bash. As another assailant came at him from behind, he tried to turn away, but the man's sword still left a painful gash in his left forearm. Thoronmir swung his sword in answer and the ruffian went down. He turned around and saw Lira fall unconscious, or what might be worse, from another ruffian's blow. The ranger tackled the man as he was about to stab Lira dead. The first ruffian he had hit with the shoulder bash came at him from behind and tried to choke him, but Thoronmir heard him coming, spun around, and neatly finished the job with a mighty two-handed stroke.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:32 PM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Imladris]

Gorby

I notched an arrow to my cross bow and peeked carefully around. There were a few men fighting with the others but they were too far away to shoot. “Gorby,” came Anson’s, tense excited voice, “look at this.”

Turning, I saw that he was pointing to Lira’s wound. A scarlet river flowed in a deep gash from her jaw to her hairline staining the white hairs. It had almost taken out her eye. Dirt covered the wound and floated sluggishly along with blood that flowed profusely; her taught face was whiter than white, her eyes were closed and the mouth hung open. “Dear Eru…” I murmured. I glanced anxiously into Anson’s eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said in an almost panicked voice.

I glanced at her and, prying the silver dagger that had fallen from her hand, I hacked a piece of her dress off and, handing it to Anson, said, “Stop the bleeding, Anson. Press down until it stops.”

While he did that, I kept a sharp lookout for enemies, but I’m afraid I was mostly in a daze. People could die here. Lira might die. I suddenly realized that I didn’t know any of the party very well. We had traveled together, grumbled together, and the only friend I had was Anson. “How is she?” I asked blankly. It was hard to sound concerned and look out for enemies. I gripped my crossbow harder. Glancing back, I saw that her eyes were still closed, that her breathing was slow and shallow. I remembered her as one of the gloomy ones, the kind that are wet blankets at parties. I looked at her again, and remembered the intuition of elves. Maybe she had felt the attack. Maybe she was troubled by other misfortunes. I shook my head.

“I can’t stop the bleeding,” Anson said.

I swallowed. “Just keep the pressure on it,” I muttered. What did they do when people couldn’t stop the bleeding. I didn’t know. I simply didn’t know. Out of all my readings, I had never studied medicine.

Eswen came to us, telling us to shoot the men with arrows. I heard her only numbly.

[ 1:20 PM December 05, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Lumiel]

The night was peaceful and Lumiel was happy, happy to have friends even if there were together for a desperate journey for Eodwine. She was getting up to help prepare the supper when the harsh cries broke their camp and the brigands rushed forward. Although she had been in a sort of dream-like state, she snapped out in an instant and reached for her sword, drawing it quickly and readying herself for her first enemy.

It took only a moment and one came straight for her, swinging in a slow arc that carried lethal force. Obviously the man didn't know who he was dealing with. Her gay blue eyes had shifted to a harsh, cold fiery blue and she gave a battle cry in return as she flicked her wrist with amazing strength for her size and gutted the man below his navel. His eyes bulged and he attempted to at least finish his swing at Lumiel but she was already out of his reach as he clutched at his stomach where a deep gash was, bleeding darkly and coils near ready to spill forth. She turned to the next opponet who realized her skill and fought with more brains. The battle with him lasted about a minute, and Lumiel had saved her skin by quick thinking. The second man lay groaning with a cut in his head, Lumiel had managed to get behind him and give a quick blow towards his head.

Looking around, she saw Lira on the ground, being dragged by the hobbits. She turned to see how the others were and repeated Lira's mistake. Only the low victory growl of the brigand gave her warning enough and she turned, bringing her sword instinctively up to block, its dark surface shining. A clang was heard and her eyes widened in surprise at how close the man had gotten to her, since she had thought him down at least for the duration of the fight. The force of his blow knocked her back a step and he pressed his advantage, forcing Lumiel away from the group.

In a moment, she had regained herself and was now holding her ground against him. The man said crude things in an attempt to make her angry or fearful, so that she would make a mistake. She had been taught not to let emotion get in the way, and it wouldn't, even as she felt herself begin to shake as suppressed memories were touched by his words.

"Heh, the little elf lady plays rough...let me show you how to play!" he said, striking at her as she blocked it again, bleeding from a near-dodge away on her shoulder and on her stomach. "You're mine elf!"

"SILENCE!" she screamed and in a flurry of motions she parried to the left and right of him, forcing him to block and then swung upwards, bringing his sword to block again as he laughed at her, and she flicked her sword downwards again and forward to impale him below the sternum. He was quick and ducked to the side, getting lanced on his right side but not fatally. He fell forward and grabbed at Lumiel's shirt, dragging her down as she fell.

He gave a sigh of pain and Lumiel wretched her sword free from beneath him. She again turned towards the fire, hoping to see how the others fared and prepared to give help where it was needed only to be knocked down again by a heavy blow to the head. Her vision swam and blackness creeped inwards, but she stayed conscious, aware suddenly of a sharp pain in her gut as a foot connected sharply with her thus far minor wound, knocking her breath away and opening the cut wider. She gripped her sword, preparing to fight, but her hand was crushed by the same foot that had injured her. She grimaced slightly, but refused to let him hear her scream. Suddenly, she felt a sharp point at her neck.

"Silly girl, you'll hurt yourself with that sword, and you'll not hurt me again with it!" the brigand said sarcastically as he raised his sword for the final blow.

Sensing her danger, Lumiel wrenched herself towards the man and caught him off balance. She grabbed her dagger and lunged at the man, slicing at his throat. She missed and he punched full force at her face, having dropped his sword. She staggered back and he jumped on her and tried to wrestle the dagger from her left, undamaged hand. She reached with her bleeding right hand into her boot and took out her second dagger, stabbing him in the leg. He cried in agony and gripped her tighter, beginning to choke her. She had spirit enough left, but she was being worn down and was injured in several places, losing blood. She didn't know how much longer she could fight and the man was in better shape at this point than she.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:38 PM December 05, 2003: Message edited by: Lumiel ]

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen drew her sword. The others scattered under the attack. Arrows flew by. Finëwen made her way to the side of the group. A man charged at her holding a sword. She stabbed him before he could make a move. He fell to the ground, still dying. A bow and a few arrows were around his neck. She took the bow. It was in fairly good shape. Not as she was used to: elvish bows, but it would do. She took his arrows and began shooting the charging men.

One man made his way for two of the hobbits who seemed a bit preoccupied. Finëwen shot him in the back, he stopped from the blow, but didn’t seem to want to give up yet. He fell to the ground after an attempt to keep going after the hobbits.

Finëwen was about to stop and help Lira, but a few more men came up onto the camp. Why is our camp under attack? What happened? Finëwen wondered. It all seemed a blur to her. She stopped her wondering and took out another arrow and aimed it at a man.

[littlemanpoet]

Brigands were rushing upon their camp! Probably that Falowik had arranged to make them a flock of sitting ducks here by Deadmen's Dike, like as not. Falco's good ears were what saved him. His eyes were no help, for he'd been staring at the flames, and their afterglow made his eyes useless.

Falco heard the crunch of broken earth, and the whistle of a sword, and ducked. He was missing some hair on top now, but that was fine so long as his neck was still in place. He drew his sturdy dwarvish sword and, on quiet hobbit feet, scurried out of reach of the ruffian's second swing. Though he was stout himself, he was quick, and before the oaf could pull back, Falco had struck him on the shin bone hard as he could, and danced out of the way again. The man fell with a roar, and Falco let him lay. His eyes had adjusted to the half-moon-lit dark now, and he looked in all directions, ducking low until he could find an advantageous point to re-enter the melee.

This reminded him of the Battle of Bywater in more ways than one, except for the chaos. Whereas the Heroes of the War had organized their hobbit army well, few in their party had enough time to pay attention to what was happening to others; only themselves. So it was left to Falco to see that for all their superior numbers, the brigands were being mowed down by their smaller number.

Lira took one down, and her bird, Corn, blinded another. No sooner had another attacked Lira than Gorby shot that one with an arrow. Meanwhile, Eswen was filling the air with arrows that all hit their targets, and then took a heated sword and took out two more! Finëwen killed yet another!

These female fighters, both human and elven, were actually quite good! Falco was more of a realist than most hobbits, and that was saying something. So he quickly allowed his opinion to be altered regarding these fighting maidens' value to the group.

But Lira went down. And now Lumiel was the worse for wear. It was time to lend aid where he could. Falco snuck across the battleground, watching the mounted archers with one eye to make sure they didn't pin him to the ground, and came up behind Lumiel's attacker and split his head open. He deserved no better.

The melee changed now. All the ruffians on foot had been killed or wounded, and only the mounted brigands remained, numbering five. They moved away and took a position on higher land than that of their camp, behind a broken down wall. From there they began loosing arrows.

Thoronmir yelled out orders to douse the fire and take cover. Falco kicked the body off of the Elf maiden, whose face was covered with blood; her right hand was bloody too. Falco offered her his arm and helped her back to the others, and moved next to Gorby and Anson. Lumiel was shaky, but refused to lay down and rest. She wiped her face with her hood, and looked fierce and grim. Falco was glad she was on their side, but he kept that to himself.

[Imladris]

Lira

The elf’s blue eyes, glazed now from pain and loss of blood, slowly fluttered open as she looked around her. Esgallhugwen, a bloody Lumiel, Falco, and Anson were huddled with her. Corn was nowhere to be seen. Half rising, her head throbbing as she did so, Lira peeked above at the men that still encompassed them, circling like vultures, with the patience of wolves around them and their boulder of refuge. Where was Uien and Falowik? What if they had died?

Somebody held a leather flask to her lips, and golden liquid coursed through her, bringing new strength to her. It was Miruvor, and Esgallhugwen smiled sadly at her. Anson dropped the bloodstained cloth and said, “I tried to get the blood to stop, Miss,” he said.

Lira brought her fingertips to her head, tracing the cut. It was no longer flowing freely and had abated to a mere oozing. She rubbed it into her skin, and saw Gorby shoot at one of the shadows, missing. “Do not shoot unless the aim is true,” she whispered into his ear.

Taking the silver knife that Esgallhugwen had given to her, she cleaned the dried blood and dirt from the blade and handle. Crouching beside Gorby, she waited, struggling to resist the urge to lie down in blissful peacefulness.

[Esgallhugwen]

With most of the men dead there were still the riders to deal with. The camp had come together and the fire was doused, choking and spluttering from the hurried attempt to kill it's light. But where were Falowik and Uien, she worried for both of them worried that they had fallen amongst the bodies of those evil men.

Esgallhugwen had no time to think, the riders began shooting arrows. Thoronmir yelled out to take cover, Esgallhugwen the two hobbits and an unconcious Lira hid themselves behind the large boulder. 'I cannot tend to Lira's wound now, bind the cloth tightly about her head, I must leave to go retrieve some arrows from the bodies of the fallen' She cast her hood over her face; the cloak provided her well with the cover she needed to examine the corpses for undamaged arrows. She even took some that were not her own.

In cunning stealth she took to hiding behind the boulder again giving over what she could find of Anson and Gorby's hobbit arrows. Esgallhugwen had recovered much of her own, she picked up her sword it still glowed dimly from the heat.

They needed their horses as well, and the situation was already worse; Falowik and Uien were no where to be seen, Lira was unconcious, Lumiel is sorely hurt but her spirit still burned hot within her.
Esgallhugwen kneeled down beside Lira, the hobbit Anson did a very well job. Then she went to Lumiel and looked at her hand 'it would be best to bandage that mellon, it is difficult to grip a sword with a wet blooded hand' she wrapped a dry piece of cloth around her wound.

The men jeered and jested at them 'where 'as all the purdy ladies gone to, 'ope they 'avn't runs away on us' they laughed harshly, their horses champed on the cruel bits in their mouths.

Smoke was still rising from the dead fire, an idea dawned on Esgallhugwen it would be risky, but the men seemed dull-witted. She leaned over to Thoronmir, 'I have an idea and since it is my own it is my risk to take. I can call forth our horses, they will come quietly, I will be the bait as you would call it, whilst I distract them, you can come from any front you wish and attack them by surprise. But before you do this put Lira on her horse, Merkaliel will keep her safe'.

But as she spoke these words Lira awoke and Esgallhugwen gave her some miruvor to give her strength. She retold of her plan to Lira 'it is dangerous mellon' she said sadly trying to stay awake. 'We can not let them win now, this is only the beginning of our peril in this place' Esgallhugwen answered back.

She called the horses, they came quickly but quietly in the night hiding in the shadows of the ruined stone. Her quiver was almost full and her bow was on her back as she lept onto Morsereg.


They rode forward coming out of the smoke so to the men they saw that the rider and horse had materialized out of the dark mist by some witchery. Esgallhugwen already having a deep voice, that is sometimes heard in female Elves, lowered her voice further giving it a depth and age like that of thunder.

The men shared confused looks of amazement and fear unable to dicern and recognize that it was the ferocious elf woman that had slain seven of their men. Esgallhugwen called the men to her with carnage and bloodlust thick in her thundering voice.

And to the surprise of the camp three of the five came slowly to her. Horror took hold on some of the search party at the demonic and malicious change in one of their members who they had ever thought to put trust in.

'Oi! Who be you then?' one had the guts to inquire. Esgallhugwen laughed wickedly, hot ice seared through the horsemen and they cowered. 'You dare to question me?' she roared violently. The boulders almost quaked at her dark powerful form, she held up her sword 'this is the blade of the Elf that has been giving you much trouble, I have her body with me'.

That was the que to start the ambush.

[Lumiel]

A sudden release of pressure and Lumiel was freed. She looked up and saw the sturdy Falco behind her. "Thanks." she muttered as she quickly collected her two daggers and her sword and followed Falco carefully to behind a fairly large boulder. She knelt down on her feet, not wanting to give herself rest, she still needed to stay sharp. She mentally took a count of everyone and their condition. Lira was unconscious but awoke soon enough, somewhat bleary. Anson looked shaken and anxious but was doing his part, helping Lira. Gorby was keeping an eye on their perimeter, where brigands on horses still circled, with his bow in hand. She had seen Finewen not far off. Eswen was near and in good condition. But where was Falowik and Uien? She clenched her mouth for a moment and sighed out her sudden wrench of fear. Where ever they were, they would have to take care of themselves for the moment.

Eswen checked their wounds as she was the most skilled among them in medicinal arts. While Lumiel's face appeared fairly bloody, the wounds were minor, though they had bled a lot only because they were on her face. The cut on her shoulder hurt, but it was not serious. The gash on her stomach had begun to coagulate. Her right hand was bloody and had already started to swell with black and blue marks appearing. Eswen wrapped her right hand and Lumiel thanked her. "I can still fight with my left hand nearly as well." She was hurt, yes, but she had now had a chance to catch her breath so to speak, and she would not abandon the fight.

She listened carefully, tracking the movements of the riders. How many are there? she wondered. At that moment, she heard Eswen tell Thornomir of her plan. Indeed, it was risky, but it gave them a better chance than hiding behind a boulder. She gripped her sword tightly and leaned in close to the rock but stayed in a position where she could still watch the brigands. She had silently nominated herself to stay with the hobbits. Valiant as they had proven themselves, they were still in danger if several bandits decided to ambush their hiding spot, and a well-used sword would greatly increase their odds.

Eswen called the horses and they came swiftly yet stealthily. Esgallhugwen mounted her horse and rode forward. Lumiel assisted in helping Lira quietly onto her horse. She turned her head in surprise at what she heard and could barely believe that it was still Eswen. Her voice, already deep, became a sonorous boom, carrying with it a threat of power.

"Oi! Who be you then?" she heard somenoe ask in fear. She wondered the same thing. Eswen had changed in an instant in such a way that Lumiel could barely believe it. Yet her plan was working and Lumiel could find no fault.

"You dare to question me?" Eswen roared in the night. The air was filled with tension and Lumiel knotted her brow in concern. And then Eswen gave the the signal for the ambush.

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir and the others had already come up behind the horsemen, and at the signal, they sprang forward and attacked. The ruffians were trapped between Eswen and Lira on one side and Thoronmir and the rest of the party on the other. Thoronmir shot one in the neck with his bow, then leapt up on one of their horses, knocking another rider to the ground. He wrestled with the man until the ruffian was unconscious. Seeing that the others were still engaged in combat with the remaining ruffians, Thoronmir got up and ran off to help them.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:02 PM December 09, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik walked in front of Sack and Toad, uphill and out of the ruins of Fornost. He had no idea where Uien was. He hoped he had helped her to a good enough head start. He hoped that she was still alive. He hoped that she did not believe him to be a traitor. He could hear voices yelling over where he thought their camp to be. He wondered if that meant the fight still raged, or that the brigands were taking the pickings of the corpses of his allies. He banished that thought from his mind. Sack and Toad were making him go uphill, presumably to where the rest of their party waited, or at least had been when this fight had begun.

They came out from behind the last broken wall in time to see a horse and rider Falowik did not know, shouting in a deep, sinister voice at what seemed to remain of the brigands; and then there was Thoronmir, Lumiel, and Finëwen attacking the five mounted brigands from the other side, the three hobbits close behind. Who's side is that rider on? Falowik wondered. If it was the brigands', Thoronmir and the others were rushing to a quick death; if it was Falowik's allies, the brigands were in trouble. One brigand went down, and Thoronmir wrestled another rider off his horse and to the ground.

"Dhis looks bad, Sack!" It was Toad. Falowik snapped out of his reverie. His hands were tied behind his back, so he had no real choice but to play as if he was still their Master's man, whatever the consequences. It was either that or die.

"We better hide," Falowik said. "It looks as if we may be the ones who have to report back to the Master." Sack nodded, but Toad gave Falowik a suspicious look; but he nodded and the three of them snuck back behind the wall, and watched, and waited.

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira dimly realized that Lumiel was helping her upon the sturdy back of Merkaliel, who nickered anxiously as Lira’s pale hair met the tawny mane of her steed. Fog settle on her brain, dimming her mind and she only distantly heard the instructions of Esgallhugwen.. “Follow Eswen,” she whispered, scratching Merkaliel’s withers.

Forcing herself to sit up straight, Lira devoted all her strength and attention to sitting steadily upon the horse. Ahead of her, Esgallhugwen called to the men and, as her voice resounded through the hills and echoed within the ruins of Fornost, she seemed to morph into a shadowed phantom, dark with deadly power. Her sable cloak drifted in a billowy storm behind her, her voice, laden with chill horror, thundered through the hill; her sword, glinting with pale fire, glittered in her hand as she scoffed at the man who dared to ask her name.

Fear took hold of Lira as she compulsively clutched at the fine mane of Merkaliel. This was not the wounded Esgallhugwen: this was a ferocious demon rising from the curling smoke of the dying fire. Blood lust tainted her voice, her crystal grey eyes laughed mockingly with cold disdain in the face of her enemies. Strength rang from her voice, power flowed through her arm as she flourished her sword.

Waves of dizziness drowned Lira: her mind reeled as she stumbled as she saw the Esgallugwen she knew become the shadowed, dread queen that grew before her. Merkaliel, with a flurry of flying mane and tail, reared to her legs, releasing a horse's scream that wailed with haunting fear. Falling from her perch, Lira fell to the hard ground. She could feel a trickle of blood seep from the bandage as the wound broke open again. Pain burned within her as Lira rose to her feet, the silver dagger clenched in her hand as Merkaliel marshaled herself beside her mistress.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:58 AM December 22, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Lumiel]

As the ambush began, hope lived within Lumiel that they may yet win this battle. Yet fear dwelled in her as well, fear for Eswen. She did not understand the change, and it was a frightening one.

Lira and her horse were heading away when the horse's fear overcame its devotion to its master and it reared in terror of the changed Eswen. Down Lira fell, hard on the ground. Her horse, realizing its master's danger, stayed in front of Lira.

Without a thought, Lumiel swiftly ran to Lira, staying low to the ground, so that the brigands would not notice them; Lira was too hurt to battle. "Mellon, are you alright?" she asked softly of Lira.

"I...I am alright. My wound opened again." she said somewhat sluggishly as she put a hand to her head gently.

"We have to get you out of here. Here, I'll help you back on to Merkaliel." she said. Gently, she eased Lira up and then helped her up onto her horse. Lira gripped the mane tightly, but Lumiel was worried she would fall again. "I will come with you, two elves should keep faith in Merkaliel. Eswen and the others can handle the brigands left, I believe." she said with confidence in the others, though still she worried. But could she really leave Lira in her condition? No, she would have to leave the brigands to the others and keep Lira safe.

She whispered softly to Merkaliel letting him know that she was a friend and mounted swiftly behind Lira who spoke to the horse, urging him on away from the fight. Lumiel leaned forward and gave Lira support so that she would not fall again. She grimaced behind her as she saw new blood seeping behind the gash on her head, already bandaged.

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira gripped her silver dagger strongly, ready to fight if need be. Wavering unsteadily to her feet, she watched in fear as Egallhugwen, the Dark Queen, flourished her sword her powerful voice thundering across the plains inspiring fear in both friend and foe, clash blades with the first of the brigands. Gorby and Anson ran from their hiding spot and -- Merkaliel shuddered as Esgalhugwen cried her battle cry causing Lira to tumble to the ground. Tiny rocks stabbed her and silent tears trickled from her blue eyes at the pain. Scrabbling at the ground, the corpses of brown uprooted grass in her fingers, she encountered a small chain. With bleary eyes she saw that it was finely melded and glittered dully in the moon. Curling her hand around it, she breathed heavily trying to raise herself to her feet. With a sigh, her arms collapsed from underneath her, and she panted slowly and shallowly. She entwined the golden chain around her fingers: it reminded her of one her mother had worn…

Strong hands helped Lira to her horse and, turning, she saw that it was again the elf Lumiel. “I must fight,” she mumbled. A sticky liquid dribble from under the bandage and trailed to her chin, dripping to the ground. Dizzily, she gripped her dagger as Lumiel led her away from the battle. “Esgallhugwen and the others will be overcome,” she whispered.

Lumiel assured them that Eswen and the others could defend themselves ably and Lira urged Merkaliel away from the fight. Turning back, she could see the Dark Queen slay her enemies saving them from certain death.

Her head became light, and she slumped from the back of Merkaliel Falling into the arms of Lumiel, she lost consciousness. Her head was thrown back, her mouth partially open, perspiration dripping from her forehead.
*********
Gorby

I saw Eswen cry with a terrible voice. What had she become? I didn’t know and I frankly didn’t care. She was doing a smashing good job frightening our enemies and I was, frankly, rather positive that elf would not change sides. She was, after all, an elf.

Turning to Anson, I said. “May the Valar protect you, and may we meet each other again.” It sounded frightfully corny, but, after all, what else could I say? He was my best friend, and had left home and family for me. And, I would give anything to live through this fight to see him again…actually, I hoped more that he would live through it so that he could see his siblings again.

Shaking hands with him, I looked around for a weapon. A crossbow is a fine weapon certainly, but wasn’t much use at close combat. The wood hatchet was by the fire, stuck in a half chopped log of wood. Scuttling over to the wood, I threw down my crossbow, and, screaming like a mad man, I rushed into the midst of the battle heaving my axe at the air.

A burly man came at me, I tightened my grip upon the wooden handle, with a terrifying contortion of my face, I slashed at his knees and --- missed. Hurling myself into his belly (surely I could not miss at such close quarters!), I slashed the blade across his stomach and jumped away from the waterfall of blood and gut. I was absurdly pleased that I had not missed.

I looked around. No phantoms seemed to linger. Eswen seemed to dwindle into a flickering candle flame. We had won.

[littlemanpoet]

"This don't look good at all," said Sack.

"Keeb id dowd, Sack!" whispered Toad harshly.

"We should leave and report this as soon as we can," Falowik said.

"What about Lank an' Slout?" Sack asked. "We've heard nowise from 'em."

"We oughta wait for 'eb," Toad said. "They'll have kilt the elf lady by dow adyway. Wod't be log."

"So you think," said Falowik. "She's far more dangerous than you realize."

"Pig dug!" Toad retorted. "I jus' abou' had'er if'd you'd a let be alode."

"I saved your life, fool. We should leave, now!" Falowik let those words hang between them. He had been working his bonds, stretching and flexing the strands of rope. It was loose on his wrists now. He bided his time.

"Why're you id such a hurry to be god, 's wud I wad to kdow." Toad's suspicious eyes glowered at Falowik.

Falowik played a gamble. He felt pretty safe with it. "Fool. If any of that group returns and gives word, you've failed the Master."

"He's got a point, Toad."

"Shaddup, Sack! We're goid' dowhere udtil we hear frob Lagk a'd Slout."

[Imladris]

Gorby

I looked around and panted deeply. I couldn’t believe we had won, it didn’t seem possible. A broad smile lit my face as I gazed about our bloodied field of battle. Corpses littered the ground and a stink of blood filled the air.

Gripping my axe, I wandered around the camp, just staring at the ground. Suddenly I stopped in horror: two eyeballs were resting upon the ground, torn. I covered my mouth, my stomach turned all squeamish like, and I hastily turned away.

A man, one of our attackers, was on the ground, a tainted raven upon his chest. It was Corn, and I could almost see the blood lust fade from his eyes. Blood spilt from the man's eyes like a crimson river of gore. Shudering, I rushed to the man, I found that he was unconscious, but I bound his hands and covered his eyeless sockets with a bit of cloth. Dragging him to the fire, I let him be and looked around for Thoronmir and Falowik: they would give him justice.

A pair of elves stumbled through the brush: Lumiel was half dragging an unconscious Lira to te fire as well. With a quiet, mournful chirp, Corn fluttered over to her, combing his beak through her hair.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:05 PM December 17, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Elora]

Uien

It seemed as though hours had passed since she fled through the wall. Uien settled down and let the panting men pass her by, guilt nearly swallowing her whole. Shee had fled and left Falowik behind. Had she mistaken his intent? Did it matter? She should not have gone. When it seemed that enough time had passed, Uien rose again and set off in a new direction, back to the wall. She set a blistering pace, hoping to set as much time between her and pursuers as possible, worn down with running endlessly through the tangled warren of broken stones. It wasn't hard to find the way that Falowik and the others had gone. The whisper of stones told her much.

Uien flitted from shadow to shadow, following their siren song to a place that was unfamiliar to her. The stones care not if we live or die. Why follow them,[i] she asked herself. [i]What else would you follow,[/i[ she returned. It was the noise from within that was harder to move through.

Falowik's cold face by the wall repeatedly stared back at her as she moved along the whispering path. She trailed as fast she dared. The moon would shortly sink and before her yawned the moonless hours of pre-dawn, when the night was unbroken by light.

Her heart scudded hard in her chest. [i]Surely it could not be,[i] she reasoned as Falowik's flat and hard expression beat at her memory again. [i]It made no sense. Betrayal, from Falowik? No, she would reject that. For he had held them all off from following, had he not? It would have been a simple matter to hand her across as she stood close by his side, held at quarter by the other men. He had felled her attacker when he could have simply wrapped his arms around her and thrown her to him. He knew she would not resist his arms.

Filled with her own thoughts and the memory of the stones, Uien came to a wide empty place. There was a square, now in ruins, with broken columns dotting it down each side. A small building, stone, stood at the far end. Uien paused, listening to the stones. They were in here... did she trust them? What else could she do? Uien crept forward, from column to column, waiting for attack to fall in the failing moonlight.

Uien crept forward towards the dilapidated garrison house with all the caution of a spooked deer. She walked light and lithe despite the travails of the night, swift and cautious to the last stone column. Men's voices could be heard softly and Uien held her breath and sank down into a crouch.

She heard unrest, doubt, uncertainty and impatience. There were two voices and that of Falowik. Suspicion shimmied through the two men that accompanied him. They waited, she deduced. The night had not gone well and those they waited for were delayed. It was some comfort, that deduction.

Uien crouched in the embrace of the remnant of what once had been a pillar. In an age past, she would have been hunkered down in the great square of the city, flanked by colonades of magnificent stone columns, surrounded by the music of water contained into clever fountains. A flag marked with the white tree of the Kings of Numenor and the seven stars would have fluttered in bright daylight. A green, lush sward of grass and carefully tended trees would have graced the square.

That was in ages past. Now, it was a ruin of wrecked stone, tangled growth of neglect and forgetfulness, and memories that whispered ceaselessly around her like ghosts. The building that the two men and Falowik made use of was once a garrison, a small one room structure whose roof now gaped at the setting moon and fading stars like an open, toothless mouth.

Uien waited for time to slip past, sluggish and slow, and then ghosted closer when she was reasonably sure the square was otherwise empty. Each step was painstaking, cleaving a way through stones and rocks and vines withered with the summer's heat, through memories of her own darkness and that which had visted Fornost. She moved as fast as she dared, which was not fast at all, harvesting pools of shadow and slipping through bare spaces of the last moonbeams like a silvery fish through water - barely a ripple.

It was like a game, she told herself, when she would hide from her brothers. Instead of stones and dead cities, there were golden trees. Instead of evil men, there were those she knew and loved. But one thing was here that was not in the Golden Wood, and she would not leave this dark place and him behind. For he had not betrayed her, her beloved. She refused to allow that and if that made her fool, then so be it.

Uien clung to that childhood memory and drew from it vestiages of strength that carried her closer, imagining that even now her brothers closed in around her, calling her name and laughing softly. When she came to realise that she stood in the shadow thrown by the back wall of the broken garrison house, Uien's eyes went wide with surprise and her breathing stilled. She was close now, very close.

The voices inside were those of the men, and Falowik's also. Uien's brow furrowed as she followed their talk. Yes, they were unsettled and they were waiting for help. That meant that there were others they expected to arrive. She knew of at least two that perhaps even now turned back for this place in frustration at not being able to find her. Uien's mind sped. She could not wait for that. She leaned her back against the aged stone wall and it's coolness spread through her tunic and undershirt down her spine.

If she had a sword.... then she'd provide them with the means to kill her and Falowik, her Brother replied for her. She was no warrior. She was a healer... and that meant that she could heal great injury - or cause it. The whispering of the stones rose in pitch, itching at her awareness. It was that whispering that enticed her forward into this nightmare, and drew in Falowik also.

A chill spread through Uien at the very thought, but it was that or consign Falowik and her heart to something worse. These men had a familiar reckless violence. Blood hung off them in the air. Death was in their voices and eyes. Swallowing her heart, Uien moved forward clinging to the wall. She gathered up a stone, sighted a nest of dried vines and shrubs and threw it directly into the growth. The stone make the desired impact and rustling as it rolled to settle. The talk within the garrison hissed to a halt.

"Ain't Lagk a/d Slout," said one nervously. The hesitant footfall of a man neared the door. As he peered out, Uien rolled another stone across the broken pavers and curled herself tightly. She heard his boots crunch on the rubble around the garrison, broken tiles that had long shattered on the cobblestones.

"Oo's 'ere," he called, his sword a sibilant hiss as he drew it. By pure chance, Uien's two stones had woken a resident of the tangle of vines and bushes and the growth shuddered with outrage. He neared, the back of his head and ragged clothing all Uien could see. From that angle, she deduced as he crept back towards the rustling leaves, she could reach his throat if she was swift and silent... and brave.

It was a gambit, she knew, but waiting was far worse. Not daring to breath, Uien darted out from the shadow of the back wall towards the man as he crept towards the weeds. The faintest sound of her soft soled boots scuffing against the cobblestones as she leapt for his back drew him up. Before he could turn and get his sword about, Uien's weight hit his back. The man sucked in a breath that was caught within his lungs as her deft fingers found his airpipe.

Her face was devoid of emotion, she dare not let it slip now, as she stopped his airway with precisely the right pressure. His eyeballs widened and expanded, as though they would pop and he hit the ground clumsily. Uien rolled over the stones hard, coming to her feet and shaking. He writhed, clawing at his throat.

She stared at him for a moment, expressionless, and then darted back to the cover of the back wall of the garrison. If she dared feel, she would likely be ill. If I am fast enough, I can unstop his breathing, she reasoned with herself. She had not killed, not yet...

The clatter of his sword as it fell from a nerveless grip had been unnaturally loud, bouncing and skipping off stones. Uien leant against the stone wall, unfeeling the chill now, surrounded by the whisperings once again. The man choked loudly on the stones and Uien squeezed her eyes shut. It would be a cruel way to die. His legs were kicking frantically. She had to be fast.

There was one other to deal with. The garrison was now quiet within, waiting. The noise of the choking man could not be hidden. Uien turned and crept along the back wall, away from the corner that she had been waiting in. She peered around the opposite corner and examined the edge of the square beyond, lest the others had circled around the square. Another gambit, but one she had to take. Uien slipped forward up the side wall, closest to the doorway. The silence was dragging all into its heaviness.

As Uien came to the front corner of the side wall, the moon failed utterly and set for the night. A darkness all but absolute descended upon Fornost and all was shadow now. But this made little difference to Uien, for she had endured shadow deeper and fouler than this and she had not something so precious at stake, merely her own life, before now.

She could make out the very tip of a drawn sword that caught the faint glimmer of retiring stars. Most had already cast a veil around their silver glory. It was well that moon nor star looked upon what she would do, Uien realised. The square was now silent. The other man was likely dead. His face would join other evils within her soul, but this one was earnt. This one was all her own. There was no innocence here. Only memory and death.

Uien moved forward in silence, elven feet elven light, face set in grim lines of fell beauty that noone could see in the darkness. The sword tip wavered as the one who held it shifted stance and attempted to pierce the pre-dawn murk with his mortal sight. Uien again stilled her breathing and reached into a lifetime of healing lore. Not death, she hoped, but incapacitation. In her hand was a heavy stone. All she had to do was dive through the door, beneath his sword and smash it into his knees. He would not walk then.

Her mind went blank as she launched herself into a low roll. She heard a roar of surprise and rage, and the crunch of splintered bone. She felt the shocking heat of steel as a sword sliced through her shoulder, narrowly missing her neck and head. She felt the warmth of blood and the touch of her now filthy undertunic as it settled on her skin. She felt him hit the ground, cracking his head on the stones and then the silence reigned supreme.

Uien gathered herself back from the fallen man, stone clattering uselessly to the ground, blank of purpose and words. The last sound, that crack of his skull, reberverated through her hearing. It was a wet and final sound. A sob shuddered from her lips as she realised what it heralded. It was death. She had killed another, she a healer, and for what?

Not what, whom...

"Laurëatan," she ventured within the darkness of the garrison. Uien's voice was light in that heaviness, and it floated. She heard the crack of skull shattering on rock and swallowed hard. There was movement by a wall, and Uien turned towards it.

"My hands are bound," he said and Uien nearly sat down with relief. Recalling the sword of the now dead man, she reached forward with numb hands and gathered it up. Working carefully in the poor light, aided by elven sight, Uien slit the rough ropes that had bound Falowik's wrists, heedless of the blade that cut into her own hands as she did so. It seemed right that she spill blood, little as it was, of her own given what she had wrought.

"There will be others coming," she whispered as the ropes slipped free. Falowik took from her the sword and stood. She rose beside him.

"What of the two here," he asked. The wet collision and crack of head on stone, the sound of a man choking...

"Dead," Uien replied as a wave of despair wailed through her. "I killed them. I did not mean too..." In the darkness, Uien pressed her now killing fingers over her mouth to keep that wail within her. Blood trickled down from her shoulder and hands. She felt a hand at her elbow and allowed herself to be pushed forward.

"We should go," Falowik said. She heard questions within him. He peered out the doorway as another who now lay cooling had.

"There is a place that is safe," Uien murmured strangely. She felt disembodied and disconnected. "The stones sing of it."

Falowik turned back towards her, troubled by the tone of her voice, hollow almost and great many other things.

"It is this way," Uien said as she walked past him on unsteady legs, out into the square without looking this way or that. Falowik stepped after her. The stones whispered of a place that had proved safe until all was lost upon a time. All was lost now, was it not? She was a murderer. Yes perhaps all was lost, and perhaps not, said a voice of reason through the growing numbness of shock.

Back towards the procession of broken columns Uien went, Falowik trailing uncertainly. He caught her up again.

"Is this a good idea," he asked, thinking of the others at camp and the two other men that he knew remained within the ruins. Uien did not answer, blank and listless. He set his hands on her shoulder and felt the cool wetness at her right shoulder. With alarm he drew his hands back and seized her own, also sticky with warm blood on cold flesh that was shivering.

"You're bleeding!"

"The stones are whispering," Uien murmured disconectedly. "They see everything, remember everything." Uien fell into a whispering singsong, words familiar and words unfamiliar to Falowik as she fell through the tongues of Men and Elves. Shock had her now, and gone were her walls against the memories held trapped in Fornost's ruins. Held in abeyance for so long, they poured into her, flooding her, filling her.

Uien stood, whispering and shivering, in the ruined square of Fornost. Memories of stone merged with memories of dark forgotten places beneath mountains. Only the tentative touch of Falowik's hands on her face through the track of tears that fell unheeded, brought her back for a moment.

"I am cold," Uien observed through her shivering before being swallowed by the memories, hers and others, again.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien had come back for him. She had killed twice to save him, even while her own life was in danger. She, a healer, who would not harm anything or anyone, had killed for him. Falowik, you old fool, she loves you not to please herself, she simply does. He was amazed. And chastened. Get out of your self made jail, old man, and live in the open!

Uien was bleeding - for him - and feverish with it, murmuring and whispering in a delirium. He touched her face, softly, gently, and found tears.

"I am cold." Her voice sounded far away. Falowik did not have the art to use Uien's packet of herbs and cloth. He had to get her back to the others. He slid his arm around her waist, and she absently placed her right arm around his shoulder. Holding a sword in his right hand, Falowik guided her slowly, carefully, as noiselessly as he could; there were still two villains left. She rested her head on his shoulder once when he paused, and his heart melted again. He would see her through this, and never let any doubts come between them again.

"The stones! The stones!" she moaned, and swerved around him, losing her balance, and fell into his arms. She struggled up and tried to move back into the depths of Fornost.

"Uien!" he whispered. "We must go back to camp!"

[Elora]

Falco

"... And I still say we go on and find the two who are missing. If there are more brigands, then they will be on their way here quick smart now that they know where we are. If we get to Fornost, we might be able to stop those two from sending more on!"

Falco stood with his hands on his hips, fists clenched, and his eyes blazing rightful anger at any who gainsaid him, which was most of the group to be honest. Others were injured and most wished to tend their hurts. There was a prisoner also, presided over the Elf's grim crow. Falco did not wish to go anywhere near crow nor blinded man.

"Now, who's to say it's their fault," Anson said wearily. It had been a long night.

"Look around you, youngster. Do you see Uien? Where did Falowik disappear off to when things got thick here?"

"That may well be, but 'tis too early to fling accusations about. We don't know if they have survived."

The Ranger, their leader, was predictable in his support of the other Big Folk - or so Falco thought. He folded his arms stubbornly.

"At least we will have more cover at Fornost then this forsaken hill," he persisted, dropping for the moment his suspicions concerning the source of the attack. He'd remember them when the time came again, as he was certain it would. The rest of the group mulled over matters and murmured amongst themselves.

"I think the Shirriff is right," one lone Hobbit voice ventured uncertainly. The group silenced, turning their collective attention on its owner. Gorby swallowed and reddened, uncomfortable at siding with the Shirriff now that he had such speculation.

"If those Men came at us in the ruins, we'd better be able to cover ourselves. Wouldn't we?"

"Or bury ourselves," Lumiel muttered. The idea of being penned by ruins under attack, stone coffins, was not pleasant.

"Perhaps," Thoromir said. Gorby resumed his intent inspection of the ground at his feet in what remained of the camp's fire. Noone had tended it since the onslaught began.

"Very well, those who cannot walk can be carried on the horses. We have two without riders at present. Fornost is a mile at the most. We should make it by dawn." A ripple of voices danced around the group and movement followed.

In the pre-dawn darkness, they filed warily, leading their horses and injured, and their blind prisoner, towards the ruins that were now called Deadman's Dike.

"Keep alert," Falco advised the two young hobbits nearest to him. "It would not be above them to come at us unawares even now, such filth as they are." A strange anger lit the Shirriffs gaze, and Gorby and Anson attempted to move forward a little.

"We'll soon see, yes we will," Falco muttered to himself as he imagined the reckoning when they found that scoundrel Falowik and his elven cohort.

Uien

Through the empty darkness came a voice. She knew it, that voice, and it reached for her. She reached for it, across the chasm and the coldness, and for a long frozen moment she thought she would not catch it. And then she did.

"... make for camp," the voice said.

"Falowik," Uien breathed in relief and recognition, as though she had only just realised he was present. She smiled, incongruous and unfitting as it was.

"It's you." After all the terrible things she had done, he was there. There was a warmth around her, turning back some of the chill that seeped through her. She shivered still, but not so much. The Stones whispered and sang still, but for the moment she was on an island. It was ricky and far from steady, but it was an island of some clarity.

"Yes," Falowik replied close in her ear. " And we should go, for camp, now."

"Of course," Uien replied pleasantly, at odds with the disarray of the sea that lapped at her island's shore, eating away her unstable ground.

"It is this way," Uien said, pointing the direction of the camp out. She belatedly noticed the bloodiness of her hand and she frowned at it.

"I am bleeding," she said, puzzled at how that could be. The sea lapped closer, churning and eroding her tiny island of clarity. Then they started moving, she and Falowik. Her island had shrunk to a small foothold by the time they made the outskirts of Fornost. Falowik paused, checking nervously over his shoulder and peering into the greyness that hinted at the coming day.

Uien sat on a stone, a mistake, for the song it held leapt up at her.

"My love," she started in alarm, but too late for her foothold was gone and the sea of memory, sorrow, war and darkness had her again. There were evil things in it, and she had to swim it or drown. Falowik spun from his inspection of their surrounds to watch Uien sag. He caught her up, catching the murmuring in Elven and long forgotten Aduanic that fell from her lips. Her eyes were closed and her head lolled forward.

There were evil things in that sea, and their horror brushed against her. It was too much, that burden and she pushed it away with leaking strength. It brushed again and the secrets burst over her like a thick, clinging mat of weed.

"Ai, no!" Uien whispered in a terrible low keen.

"What!" Falowik demanded in alarm. Uien shook her head, attempting to dislodge the secrets of Deadman's Dike, the evil that had followed in Fornost's failing footsteps. She was drowing in this sea. She could feel it sucking her under its black, briny surface. Falowik adjusted her weight up and started forward again.

"Terrible things have been done here, Laurëatan. Terrible crimes. I can see them."

"And we can see you," came a stronger voice through the fog of dawn.

Falowik looked up to see the shapes of horses loom through the greyness. All Uien could see was blood, blood spilt, and empty eyes starting blindly at the darkling sky.

"Well now, what have we here." Shirriff Falco Boffin strode forward and rocked from his heels to his toes as he took in the worn state of Falowik and Uien.

"There are at least two others still in there," Falowik said in a voice made hard by the suspicion in Falco's.

"Is that all? Running short of allies?"

Falowik glowered and tightened his grip on Uien.

"What's wrong with her then," Falco said, noticing the strange way the elf was standing. She was leant forward, head bowed and limbs slack. The stains on her shirt were dark. He peered at her and then at the sword in Falowik's hands.

"She's injured," Falowik said as he drove his sword point into the earth and unhitched her pack from where it hung over his shoulders. "There could be something in here."

Falco scowled, suspecting a ruse. Yet, there was too much blood for a trap.

"Give that to me then," he said reluctantly. Equally reluctant, Falowik handed it across. "Hurry up then! If she's hurt then there's no sense in wasting time."

"Where are the others?"

"They'll be along soon enough, though you might wish otherwise." Falco riffled through Uien's pack and pulled out odds and ends. "No idea what most of this is, but these will do well enough."

Falowik opened his mouth to first ask the Shirriff what he meant about the others. Then, when the Shirriff pulled a little knife from his belt and set towards Uien's shoulder, he thought again.

"What are you doing?"

"Can't bind if I can't see it, can I? Question is, what have you been up to tonight." The Shirriff sliced at the torn shoulder of Uien's shirt to reveal the injured shoulder beneath.

"Nasty, but not life threatening... Don't look at me like that, Wanderer. I've seen my share of sword wounds, great and small, tonight included. Know what I'm doing, I do."

Brusquely, Falco began winding cloth around Uien's shoulder and then set to work on her hands. In that time, Uien continued to murmur strange, lyrical words that belied the darkness they spoke of, faintly.

"Poisoned dart," he wondered aloud.

"No, not that, I think," Falowik said. His head darted up to again stare hard at the fog.

"There he is! I've found him," Anson called. "You shouldn't have walked off like that Shirriff. Thoromir wasn't happy at all."

The rest of the group soon gathered. The Shirriff stood once again, leaving Falowik crouched by the prone Uien.

"All's well as ends well. Look who I found!"

Falowik watched a worn, weary and bloodied group dismount and draw closer. Only one remained mounted, slung across a horse with his head bandaged.

"Valar be praised," said one Elvish voice and then faltered as the song of the stones that was drowing Uien lapped at their awareness also.

"Uien's been hit by a poisoned dart," Falco said.

"I think not," returned Eswen. "This is a dark place." As she listened to Uien's whispered words, her face paled. "Very dark. We should not linger here long."

"We will stay as long as we need to, and no longer," Thoromir said as he eyed the stones.

"Apparently there are two more of the scum in there. Is that right, Falowik," Falco asked blandly.

"Aye," Falowik said and turned to stare at the stones also and then back to Uien.

On horseback, those that lived to tell of the night's encounter sped with all haste west, for there was much to tell. Their Master would not be pleased, but it had to be told, for there were foes about capable perhaps to undo his long nurtured plans.

[Imladris]

Gorby

I wandered disconsolately about the remains of the camp. The fire had long died due to lack of attention, but a faint heat still came from the glimmering embers and somewhat scattered ash. I took out my scanty ink and dimpled paper and curled myself beside the stones that had encircled the fire. With my pen, I scratched a hastily drawn sketch: it was our campsite with the men attacking, a flurry of black that was supposed to be corn, the severed eyes that nestled like eery specters in the ground. I drew Lira and the axe that descended to take her life. I closed my eyes: it had been a dark night. I considered drawing Eswen in her horribly black form (now looking back, it was quite terrifying) but I decided to leave that for another day.

I looked around me: saw Lumiel dragging Lira and heaving her onto Merk, where the elf slumped upon the mare’s back, somehow maintaining a shred of gracefulness about her. I didn’t see Eswen and --

A groan escaped the man, and I turned towards him. His mouth was partially open, his lips cracked and bleeding. Splotches of blood formed upon the ragged cloth that covered the horror of the empty sockets. His hand twitched and I crept to him softly, looking at him.

Cruelty was carved into his features and his mouth, though open in misery, still managed to sneer with arrogant, brutish barbarity. I wondered what his eyes held: what poison filled their cup, what malign hatred leered from them. I glanced at the eyes that still laid neglected upon the wilderness floor: lifeless they were, empty was their cup, blankly they stared at me.

I turned again to the prisoner: he looked thirsty, I thought. My brain told me that I should be kind and bring him some, but I rebelled at the thought. He had tried to kill us. Yet what was the harm in showing a little kindness? But I would be dead if he had his wish. I shook my head. There was nothing forward. I decided to compromise and get some old water that wouldn’t taste too good. Musty and stale, that’s what I needed. I would take some from Anson’s water skin, because it was older than mine, which I had just filled but some time ago.

Pouring it into a small wooden cup, I held it to his lips and said, “Drink.” He wasn’t going to get any sympathy from me.

And apparently he didn’t want it, neither, because he fought the liquid that I forced to trickle inside his mouth. He spat it out and he must have had an uncanny ability to see me because it sprayed right on me. But it didn’t do no harm, really. The vest was already travel stained.

“Hobbit scum!” he snarled.

I ignored the insult and said, “Why? We have done nothing to you.”

I could almost see imaginary eyes roll under the bandage with scorn. “You won’t get any answers from me, little rat.”

And I didn’t feel like talking to him; besides, Falco was calling a meeting and I felt obliged to go over there. He thought that Uien and Falowik had set us up -- and my spirits crashed. What if they had? Where were they? It didn’t make sense. There were so many reasons for them to go off and disappear and who knew how many ruffians were about. Yet, they never should have gone off in the first place, I said to myself resentfully. We could have used them. Yet how could they have known we were to be attacked, unless they had arranged, yet why would they have arranged it since it didn’t really help them really, and why had they gone through all this trouble to gather a ragtag search party that nobody of importance would mind at all if we would meet death in the wild? It stumped me -- pure and simple. But I remembered Uien, elf maiden. You’d think that there’d be a hint of the evil that were so plainly visible in one so fair as her -- even in Falowik. I shook my head.

And then Anson stuck up for them: good for him. I flashed a small smile at him and then turned back to that arrogant, prissy hobbit. He wanted to move back Fornost. I shuddered.

“Or buried,” Lumiel muttered.

Now there was an interesting thought. Uncomfortable, unpleasant, morbid thought. So typical of an elf, I thought.

We were soon on our way to Fornost, however. No shadow haunted our steps, no arrow flew into our midst, and just maybe Falco was right to come here. Maybe, maybe not.

We found Uien wounded and Falowik too. I smiled to myself. So much for them setting us up…

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:32 PM December 30, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Esgallhugwen]

They had won, after binding their prisoner, she retrieved the white wolf cub, Nimrómen, from the safety of a hollowed dead trunk of a tree. Eswen smoothed his fur back and headed towards the gathered members of their camp.

**************************
Esgallhugwen was one of the last to come from the mist to the borders of Fornost's ruins, her sable green cloak rippled and spread out in the cold air. Lira was on one side, the blind prisoner on the other spitting and cursing.

"This is a dark place." As she listened to Uien's whispered words, her face paled. "Very dark. We should not linger here long." She slid off the back of Morsereg and knelt by Uien's side, the stones moaned and sighed in Esgallhugwen's ears but she was able to resist the darkness of their tales, their whisperings.

Falco eyed her with distrust and caution taking a step back with arms folded. She pulled back her hood truthfully revealing a sorrowful Elf not a Dark Queen, 'get her off that stone and on the ground, a horse would be better, but not yet. The dark memories of this place are coursing through her, she cannot withstand them in her weakened state'.

Esgallhugwen warmly assured Falowik that Uien will recover, she read from both their faces what had befallen them, Uien had killed. She had killed for love.

[littlemanpoet]

For the first time in his life, Falowik did not care what others thought about him. Maybe it still mattered, for if the others doubted his loyalty to the group, it would be harder to work with them. But for himself it did not matter. There was one who would have given her life to save his, and her well-being was utmost in his mind. He was concerned for Lira, too. She had been brave, by all accounts, and had received a fierce head wound. Falowik was no healer, but he was determined to help them both as much as he was able, and was happy to hold the water cup for Lira to drink, and to hold the wet cloth to Uien's fevered brow. He did whatever Eswen and Lumiel asked, for they knew the most about the healing arts since Uien and Lira, the two most capable healers in their company, were unable.

Thoronmir came and knelt beside Falowik as he held a wet cloth on Uien's forehead.

"Next time we must not be separated," their leader said. "I do not ask how or why it happened this time, but I need you to help set an example for the rest. They look up to you. Stay by my side and we will hold better against the foe."

Falowik nodded. "You are right, Thoronmir. I confess that in all my years of wandering alone, I used and needed nothing but a dagger, for I stayed away from the lands of men, and trapped what game I needed for food. I need to learn the art of the sword. Will you teach me?"

Thoronmir was taken aback. "You know not the sword? Do you not think that it is overlate in our quest to ask for this?"

Falowik closed his eyes and lowered his head, then faced the Ranger. "It is true that we will have little time for lessons, and I am sorry that I did not prepare myself better for this journey. But I have never claimed to be a warrior or war leader, as you know. It seems to me that I would be of more use if I know how to use the sword better than I do."

"That is true," Thoronmir replied. "There will not be much time, but when there is, I and others among us can teach you what we may." Thoronmir looked around him at the swordswomen. "Truth be told, these shieldmaidens put me in mind of the Lady Eowyn for their prowess. You will find that there is much to be learned from them as well - as long as you are not too proud."

Falowik smiled. "You have nothing to fear from me in that regard. I am just a humble wanderer blessed with good friends and allies." He turned back to Uien and seemed on the verge of saying more, but closed his mouth. Thoronmir saw his expression soften and decided that it was high time to start ordering things about so that everybody got a hearty breakfast.

[Lumiel]

The battle had been fierce, yet they had all survived but not unharmed. Lira was still weak from her head wound and rode on Merkaliel as they headed deeper into Fornost. Lumiel stayed by her side, feeling a certain responsibility for the elven woman. As she walked among the stones, a strange feeling came over her, as though they were not alone. It was not the feeling of danger, but of unseen eyes of a place long dead that still lingers yet. Her bright manner was dampened by the very air around her and she was silent for the most part.

She tried to help take care of the party's wounds as best she could, but she was not a Healer by trade. Her own wounds were healing well and she had always been quick to recover. Her hand was scratched but fine, her nose was a bit sore, and the cuts on her abdomen and shoulder were nearly healed.

When they found Falowik and Uien, relief flooded Lumiel's heart. She had prayed for their safety and whether by the will of the Valar or simple luck, both were still alive. Uien was hurt, but not fatally. Rest and skilled hands would cure her ills soon enough. Falco doubted them, to say the least. Lumiel wondered about them, but did not doubt their intent. Naive as she often was, she knew truth when she saw it, and she knew that Falowik loved Uien as much as he may deny it to any other. And Uien she trusted.

Poor Uien, she thought. She's killed, but she had no choice. She looked out across the rock-strewn landscape and thought back to the battle. She had blocked it out until now because to face it would only hinder herself. She had never killed a man. She walked a distance from the group as she felt a retch in her throat. With a few deep breaths, she calmed herself and held her eyes to the horizon. Words came unbidden to her lips and she sang a lament for the men, wrong as they were. She could not hate them, she would forgive them and pray for a peace in death that they had never achieved in life. The others would think her a fool for it she knew, but she did not care. The others only heard a soft voice singing in elvish not in a beautiful voice, but in a sweet, young one in mourning.

She ended her short song and blinked away tears before returning to the group, who stared at her strangely. Only the elves and probably Finewen would know that she had sung a lament for their attackers. The others were preparing for a breakfast and she went about helping. She had not done the right thing, merely the necessary thing.

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira’s eyes slowly eased open as she woke into consciousness. She saw Uien and Falowik in the camp, as well as the others scurrying about the camp. She herself was resting in the hollow of boulder and her head had been rebound with soft cloth. A meager breakfast was being prepared, but Uien stood a little apart from the group, her head bowed.

Slowly, Lira stood to her feet but stopped as pain surged through her head. Clutching the rock to steady herself, she closed her eyes as she waited for the pain to drift away. When it merely throbbed as a dull ache, she found Lumiel and asked what had happened. Lumiel briefly told her as she continued her work and Lira listened with a frown when she was told of Uien‘s kill. “Thank you, Lumiel,” she murmured as she turned away and approached Uien.

“How is your shoulder, Uien?” she asked softly, standing beside the healer.

“It is better,” Uien answered absently.

Turning her blue eyes towards her, Lira said softly, “It is no wrong to kill to save another. If you had not done what you did, Falowik would be dead. If we have not slain them that attacked us, we also would be dead.” Lira paused and, gazing at the rising sun, said, “It is hard to kill, to watch a human’s life snuffed out. I understand your grief.” With a short nod, she turned away.

With a joyous caw, Corn fluttered to her arm and gazed with a beady eye at her, his beak open as if with a smile. Bringing his head towards her she whispered, “My brave raven.” Then she kissed his feathers, and whispered to him in Elvish.

A foreboding sorrow haunted the ruins of Fornost: death was close.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen cleaned her blade and set it back into its hilt as she listened to Lumiel's song. She then rushed to the wounded to see if there was anything she could do. They both seemed well and were walking, so Finëwen sat down next to her horse and rested for a bit.

Those men she killed she began to feel sympathy for. But, she did not regret it. She felt sickened inside at what she had done, yet there was no regret. She would have to get used to those feelings if she wanted to remain living safely in this world. She sighed, pushed the thoughts away and took a sip of water from her flask. She had only a few scratches, and they would heal quickly, but she saw a few of the others were staggering a bit, and hoped they would mend soon also. She took one more sip, and then got up to see what she could do.

[Meneltarmacil]

After finding water and healing herbs and helping to tend the wounded, Thoronmir spoke to Falowik alone.

"I've tried to discover who the ruffians were and where the survivors fled after the battle. So far all I know is that they headed west to the hills near Evendim, but it's still a mystery as to who they are. My best guess is that they came from the East as they somewhat resemble the Easterlings I once fought at the Pelennor Fields, but their manner of speech is different somehow."

"Falowik, you were among them and had the closest look at them. Is there anything you can tell me about them that may be useful?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Falowik," Thoronmir said, "you were among them and had the closest look at them. Is there anything you can tell me about them that may be useful?"

"They have a ring leader whom they call the Master, who doesn't tell anyone his true name. One of them said something about maybe the Master might want me for the next leeching, which means it's something that happens often. Drawing blood. Why, I don't know. That's all I could gather so far. What do you think?"

[Meneltarmacil]

"I'm not sure," replied Thoronmir. "Doesn't sound like anything I recognize. Perhaps Easterlings are hiring and arming local mercenaries for something."

"But what would they be trying to do?" asked Falowik.

"I don't know, but our answer lies somewhere over there." Thoronmir pointed to the craggy hills in the west. "We'll make for Evendim tomorrow morning. Perhaps then our questions will be answered."

[Imladris]

Gorby

I sighed and sat down, resting my weary feet. I looked at Lira, leaning against the trunk of a tree, her eyes half closed. A purple colouring crept from around bandage. I cringed, thinking of how she had protected Anson and me. Taking out my parchment, I took my quill, dipped it in my bottle of ink, and began to sketch her, how she had looked when she had come to Anson and me, offering to protect us.

Her scrawny legs, the blue skirt that had flapping around her ankles, her blue eyes cold as ice. In her hand I drew her silver dagger in a threatening her skeletal hand while the other beckoned to an imaginary place off the page. Her head was turned the opposite direction. I started to draw her hair braided, but then decided to take artistic license and drew it long, and swirling about her body. If I hadn’t done that, then it would have looked as if she was bald.

Putting the picture on my knee, I admired it, though lamenting once again I did not have paints. Once we reached Bree, I’d have to paint it for her. Carefully folding it up, I crept to her side and tapped her leg. Opening her eyes fully, she kind of smiled at me and said, “Hello, Gorby.”

I bobbed my head at her and my eye strayed to the wound. I knew it hurt, but how did it hurt? Was it an ache, or was it as if a fire burned under her skin. How did it feel like to be injured, to feel life slowly. I stared at her.

She looked at me quizzically and said softly, “You fought bravely, Gorby.”

I shook my head. “No I didn’t. You could have died.” I cringed again at the memory of the sword falling upon her and I did not shoot before then. I lowered my head in shame, my eyes closed, my teeth biting my lips.

“But I am alive,” she said with a smile that showed her teeth that glistened softly. “And we all could have died, including you. You did no wrong.”

Dropping to my knees I took her hand and said, “Forgive me, elven maid.”

“There is naught to forgive, little halfling,” she murmured, stroking my curly hair.

Kissing her hand, I took my drawing and dropped it on her lap. Creeping away, I glanced behind me and saw her staring at the open drawing, her lips upturned in a small smile.

[Elora]

Uien

Uien smiled at Lira, grateful for the other's words. The killings were done and she could not undo death. She had tried that before, and woe came of that. Uien looked across to where Falowik spoke with Thoromir some distance away. She watched the pair, her gaze resting on Falowik for a time.

"I would not undo them, yet death sits heavy on this place as it does me. You feel it also." Lira nodded and sent a troubled gaze to the stones that stood around them. Uien tried not to think of them, their insistent urges and tugs. Eswen neared and added, "As do I."

Uien's gaze returned to Falowik and a love made real in the darkness of Fornost. They were dragged into that darkness and the only way free of it was to push through it. Drawing a measure of strength from the man she watched, Uien spoke in a low voice to the two Elves that stood near her.

"A terrible secret lies in this place and the stones will keep it no longer. Feel how they push at us." Lira and Eswen murmured their assent, Eswen stroking Corn's sleek feathers that shone blue black with the morning light. Nearby, the prisoner moaned.

"There is new evil here, and the stones have yielded it to us. Rumour of terrible sorcery. We cannot move on, surely, until we know what it is we move on to. I fear this has much to do with Eodwine."

Lira frowned at the dewy turf and Eswen grimly stared at the blinded man that lay across a horse.

"We have the means to come to the bottom of this," she said. The prisoner would know of this evil if it was linked to Eodwine. Uien and Lira nodded.

Lira looked up and back to the stones with some reluctance. "We should not dally here. The day is passing."

"Yes," Uien said, "and it would be best if we come to this secret in daylight." Her shoulder throbbed but worse was the prospect of returning to the stones. Yet it had to be and she would bear it. She would bear a great deal for the man who had surely saved her in the night. Uien turned to the bandaged prisoner.

"It would be best if he guided us, rather than the stones. I will see to him if you can gather up the others," she said. To that end, Uien moved towards the man to do what she could. She had just laid her hand on the man's brow and was inspecting the bandages around his now empty eyes when Falco Boffin materialised, arms crossed and face red.

"What are you doing," he demanded.
"What do you think," Uien returned tersely, little disposed to entertain the Shirriff's antagonism.
"I think you're fraternising with our enemy and your ally," Falco announced, pleased to have an invitation to express his suspicions. Uien sighed and pushed back a harsh comment on the Shirriff's mental prowess.

"I am trying to heal what I can."
"Where is your pack then." Falco looked across to where it lay on the grass.
"What herbs would have eyes to re-grow Shirriff? I would be interested to know!" Falco's face darkened further.
"The you admit that you cannot be healing him," he pounced, voice rising an octave.

Uien's patience snapped, audibly it seemed to her at that moment. With an external calm that she did not feel, she spoke with icy anger that rained over the Hobbit who quivered before her, uncaring who listened or what they thought.

"Is it a great crime, Shirriff, to ease a prisoner's pain and discomfort so that he is better able to communicate with us? Are you such a heathen you would deny him that basic care? Are such a blind fool that you would have him die of shock or loss of blood before you could speak to him?

No, I am not attempting to heal his loss of sight. It is impossible. I am healer, not sorceress. You are a Shirrif, not a healer. Do not presume to instruct me on the proper application of healing for be certain that I shall not educate you on your laws. They seem cold and indecent to me, and I would have nothing of them!"

Falco had in that time moved from red, to purple and now was pale with shock and dismay. Uien closed her mouth and then in silence turned back to the prisoner. After an uncomfortable stretched moment, Falco strode off and Uien sighed again, this time in disappointment. Words spoken in anger and haste, no matter the provocation, were rarely of any merit but they could not be unsaid now.

Uien checked the prisoner's bandages, adjusting slightly and offering water. The man was in considerable pain but remained oburately silent beneath her touch. Whe he made no reply, Uien asked again if he wished water.

"You'll get nothin' from me, witch," he grated with some effort.

"Then I will have nothing. Still, I will not have you suffer needlessly. I will return with water," Uien replied. She winced at the strain on her shoulder as she stepped back and lowered her hands. Holding it, she walked back towards her pack and bent, retrieving water bottle and a packet of herbs that would dull the pain.

A high, clear hobbit voice sounded at her shoulder as she gathered what she wanted.

"Eswen says that there is something we should see in the ruins. Must we?" The uncertain waver of fear touched her heart for she felt it herself. She looked up into Anson's face from where she crouched and smiled gently.

"It is important, I think, Anson. Had I choice, I would not go in there. But I cannot turn aside, for Eodwine's sake... and our own. I will go back in there, though I hope not alone."

Anson nodded and sighed, staring at the forbidding stones, and said nothing of whether he would accompany them. Lira and Eswen were moving through the camp, speaking in turn with each about the need to venture into Fornost. Falco sat on a boulder, arms crossed and fuming. He glared at any who approached and sent particularly displeased glances in Uien's and Falowik's direction at every opportunity.

"Of course I'm going" he announced sourly. "I'm not letting either one of those two out of my sight!"

Uien poured out some water into a wooden cup, crushed the herbs and sprinkled them into the water. The scent was soothing and pleasant and she breathed it in as she rose to her feet and returned to where the prisoner was.

"Drink this," she said, guiding the vessel into his bound hands. His fingers closed around it and he lifted it to his mouth with all the desperation of a thirsty man, despite his earlier rejections. At his first taste of the herbed water, he paused and spat it out.

"Witch," he snarled.
"As you wish," Uien returned. "It will soothe your pain, but if you prefer to suffer then I will not gainsay you that." Uien turned her back on the man and walked towards the gathering group. The wooden cup sailed over her shoulder and landed on a bare patch of earth nearby. She bent and scooped it up, looking back to where the prisoner hunched on horseback. The cup had been drained.

Lumiel was nearest to her when Uien rejoined the group, Thoromir and Falco still speaking with each other.

"What was that about," she inquired as she looked at the cup in Uien's hands.

"A battle of thirst over stubborn pride," Uien said with a small smile. Perhaps now their prisoner would tell of the darkness in Fornost and release her from the burden of speaking for the stones. Lumiel frowned at the riddle of Uien's reply and set it aside.

"Are we moving out," she asked instead.
"I hope so. I do not wish to be within Fornost come nightfall," Uien replied with heartfelt conviction.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:14 AM January 13, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen walked about the camp with Lira at her side discussing the need, however unpleasant, that they must venture into the heart of Fornost. She looked at Uien giving the water to their prisoner and something cold passed through her, she had no thought or care for people like that.

Could it be because for a lingering moment she was very much like them? That she was capable of that pain towards others? An urge crept into her to touch the stone looming above, dark despite the sun having risen.

Her hand reached out pale like crystal in the sunlight contrasting strongly with the dark stone. She pressed her palm against the cold rough surface and the voices hit her with renewed strength.

Esgallhugwen's mind was tossed back into her past, or at least it seemed like the past but she could recall nothing.

There was snow but something was wrong with it, it was red, thick and steaming with newly spilt blood. She can smell it, horridly familiar and poignant, looking across the chill wilderness desolate and red.

Lira looked at Eswen stricken with fear. The dark haired elf seemed to be in trance, but her right hand the one that wasn't in contact with the stone reached across her stomach to her sword that hung in the scabbard at her side. Her fingers stroked the pommel.

Uien and Lira stood far off in the distance, but where they stood no blood could be seen it was pristine and white and they glowed with purity. As Esgallhugwen looked down upon herself she was drenched in blood, it ran into her eyes, down her chin, trickling off her fingers.

'Eswen.... Esgallhugwen!' Lira called softly trying to avoid alerting the others. Eswen's hand was now gripping her sword, ready at the call.

The season began to rapidly change before her eyes, into summer, but nothing really changed. The grass she was standing in was mingled with crimson, which reflected in the sun dark like garnet. She looked over again in the distance to see emerald green and it blinded her and enraged her. Her sword gleamed and the voices moaned and beckoned of sorrow and despair, but it was warped and something else came to mind.

Her breathing had stopped as if in preparation she lifted the sword part way and turned to Lira. Something remote and dark was in her eyes, she couldn't see her friend there, she couldn't see Lira.

Falco had turned his head and noticed what was going on. Esgallhugwen took a step forward her hand still upon the ruined block.

Her face was harsh and spiteful. Another step. Lira backed away but did not call out. Esgallhugwen stopped and a struggle was in her limbs, she uprooted her hand from the rock with effort and the rough surface cut at her hand.

She returned the sword fully to the scabbard and stepped backwards. A tear sighed down her cheek her eyes quivered. 'Forgive me!' escaped her lips.

Lira stepped forward to touch her hand but Esgallhugwen flinched and backed away, she didn't deserve to be given affection. Falco continued to stare storing what had happened in his head, his suspicion growing.

[Imladris]

Gorby

Just catching a bit of time to right, considering the rough tymes we have just gon thruu. It was aweful, those snarling beests of men. They tryed to kill us all, and Lyra almost dyed. And I culd have saved her…but I couldn’t it for som reeson …I couldn’t mooove…but the strang thing is that she forgave me…she didn’t hait me like I thought she wuld. I’m happy, in a strange way.

It’s amazing how companions can remind a hobbit of food -- or it could just be my typical oddness. For eckample: Lyra reminds me of red wyne…red wine because she is so warm, yet so high…I spose because she’s an elf and all. Anson’s like a mug of fine ale -- he’s always there when you nead him. Eswen is like a plant that heals you when you are wounded, but kills you when you eat too much of it. Scary, that is. Oh, I’m too tired to go threw the others, but maybe I’ll describe them another day…

I dropped my pen and blew into my chilled fingers. We had to go to Fornost….I didn’t want to go. It was clear what was to be found: nothing but past…and unpleasant things that crept into your dreams as nightmares.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lira

The stones, like the incessant dripping of water, whispered their secret tales of woe into Lira’s soul. They cried for life gone, at the shadow that haunted the forbidden ruins. When she closed her eyes, specters of the past flashed before them, images of death.

Lira looked around her, trying to ignore the stones. A frown creased her forehead, and she watched Uien try to heal the wounded prisoner. Her blue eyes widened and turned cold, like ice upon a frozen river. Her fingers twitched slightly, and she breathed heavily. She could imagine his pain, the pain of having your eyes ripped out by a mere bird -- yet the man had tried to kill her. It was only because of Corn that she was alive. With the drink that Uien gave him the pain would be depart and that was all that mattered. Turning away, she rushed after Esgallhugwen.

They soon finished speaking with the others, and they were walking together in silence each troubled with their own thoughts. Lira did not wish to venture into Fornost. Fear and pain throbbed within her as she listened to the stones’ lament. They were warning them not to venture within the ruined city, telling them the cost. With a swallow, Lira pushed the thoughts away and managed to summon a wan smile to her face.

Eswen was leaning against the stone, her face pale. Slowly, unbidden, her hand reached for the sword that hung at her side. Lira could feel the turmoil of grief and anger that raged within the other elf. “Eswen…Esgallguwen,” Lira called softly, as her hand tried to intercept Esgallhugwen‘s. With a soft snarl, Esgallhugwen pushed it away.

A smile curled about her lips as the sword rasped from it’s scabbard. Her eyes burned with fury as she gazed upon the drawn blade, but then they turned upon Lira, as a hunter looks upon his prey. She looked down upon the elf, her brows hooding her blazing eyes, her face contorted mask.

With a gasp, Lira looked into the other’s eyes, pleading with her. This was not Esgallhugwen that stood before her, but a dark lord who lusted after blood, who killed for sport. She backed away and thrust herself against the stone as she murmured in elvish, “It is I…Lira, your friend.”

The blade glittered eagerly in the moonlight as it drew nearer: a mocking grin twisted itself, carved itself upon her fine features. “Mellon…” Lira whispered.

With a convulsion and a backwards step, the sword returned to its scabbard. “Forgive me!” Esgallhugwen cried, as she turned away. Her brows relaxed, her eyes softened, dewy with tears.

Lira touched the limp hand that hung at her side, but Esgallhugwen backed away. Lira went after her and grasped the hand again. With the other, she turned Esgallhugwen towards her and said, “Mellon, it was a nightmare…nothing more.” Hugging her, stroking her soft, dark hair, she whispered in her ear, “You will always be my friend.”

[Lumiel]

The darkness was ubiquitious in the camp's atmosphere. The spirit of Fornost was a harsh one, and not one to be ignored. Lumiel sighed and pulled a stray hair behind her ear, hearing the wind whisper to her of things long gone but not yet forgotten. She wondered at it, the pervasiveness of the cruelty that once happened here. Even as a silent grave, it stank of death and misery. The others were affected by it as well, especially her fellow elven companions, and most obviously Eswen and Uien. She herself felt it too, an acute perception that nevertheless remained only in her peripheral vision.

They could not afford such distractions as they made their way into the very heart of Fornost. Either they would overcome it, or they would have to come to terms with it. She only hoped that either way, none of them would lose...anything...of themselves.

She was anxious for them to be on their way, and kept herself busy by keeping watch on their surroundings. Not that she didn't trust the others to do it, but she wanted to. It gave vent to her annoyance and time to deal with whatever it was that Fornost was. For as she watched, she listened. She let herself go, letting the spirit of the environment take her as it would, to some key to the mystery, to some understanding. But it was as evasive as their quarry.

Tired of watching and waiting, she went to the center of the camp, where Gorby was writing in a journal. He finished and closed the book as she sat down beside him and he looked up. "Lumiel." A pause. "I might be just a hobbit and not as sensitive as you elven folk...but sure as rain there's somethin' unnatural here."

Lumiel nodded. She enjoyed Gorby's company, though she did not know him well. "It is everywhere here, it is what Fornost is. But its name evades me. But we need to hurry, my mind, my heart, tells me so." she paused. "How are you doing so far Gorby? And Anson too?" She turned to face Gorby when she asked and she gave a small smile. As dismal and grey as this place was to the soul, she was determined not to be overtaken by it. She would prevail.

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira, with a reassuring smile Esgallhugwen, left the dark elf to her own mournful thoughts. Dropping the ground, her back against a crumbling ruin, Lira gazed at the golden thing she had found in the wood before she had drifted into unconsciousness. Vines of gold and silver entwined about each other, while a tear drop pearl hung from the center. A silver leaf clasped into a golden eye. Lira recognized the necklace: her mother had one just like it. As she held the pearl in the palm of her hand, she could feel scratches upon the back. Turning it over, she saw that the word Liralwen was engraved in curling strokes upon the milky surface.

Blue eyes soft with tears, Lira let the necklace hang from her thin fingers as she searched the horizon. It was her mother’s necklace and as long as she had remembered it had never left her mother’s neck. Bringing the pearl to her lips, she kissed it and then clasped the necklace around her own neck.

Rising, she saw that Esgallhugwen was wrapped in her black cloak apart from the group. With a little sigh, she filled two cups with water and brought one to Esgallhugwen. With a smile, Lira said, “I thought you would be thirsty, Mellon.”

Staring into her own cup, she saw a bandaged face in the wavering reflection. With expert fingers, she nimbly unwound the linen wrappings and looked at her face once more. A purple bruise lingered over the injury which was now stiff with dried blood. “It will scar,” Lira said softly, tracing it with her finger, wincing at the sting the slight pressure caused.

Gorby

I didn’t answer Lumiel right away because I wasn’t sure of what to say. “Anson’s alright, I suppose,” I said cautiously. A guilty feeling washed over me: Anson and me really hadn’t spoken since the fight, but I figured he wouldn’t want to go Fornost. No sensible hobbit would.

The elf Lumiel appeared to be rather restless: her eyes kept flicking here and there, as if she was trying to peer through the trees to see if any enemy approached. “I’m glad that we found Uien and Falowik,” I said softly, a flash of smug satisfaction that that Falco had been proved wrong, for once. It was not blatantly clear that the elf and human had not set us up…clear, to me at least.

I looked at Lumiel, remembering her hesitance regarding Falowik before. But her face didn’t say anything to me and I let the matter drop. “Why did you want to join us, milady?” I asked, not out of curiosity but because it was awkward to sit there in silence.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen gently took the cup from Lira. Yes, she would be left with a scar upon her pale face, ruinous and harsh a constant reminder of what befell her.

Deep in her own thoughts Eswen gazed into the water, she knew the malice and woe of the stones around her, as did the other Elves, she was determined never to be consumed by it again; not for her sake but for Lira's who strangely seemed to see something in Esgallhugwen. That is why Lira was her friend, because she could see what others could not and she had hope.

She sipped the water and turned to Lira 'my skill in healing may not be as great as yours mellon, but I may have something that will reduce the scarring after it has had a little time to air out'. Eswen produced a clear crystal jar from under her cloak, she set it in between her and Lira along with a fresh linen bandage.

Gorby was talking quietly with Lumiel, the young Hobbits were so friendly but even they were intimidated by Fornost. Never once had they ever spoken to her, not that Esgallhugwen couldn't see why, her behaviour hasn't been the most pleasant on this journey, she did not know what they thought of her; it would be rude to pry.

And there were the ever watching eyes of one Sheriff Falco Boffin to contend with who had seen the incident between Lira and Esgallhugwen. She looked at him with a cautious glance well aware of the potential to put forward his knowledge to give strength to his suspicions of the big folk and the lingering presence of the Dark Queen that Eswen could conjure up.

It was a ploy to confuse and assail their attackers with no intention of harming her companions, but how was he to know that. Esgallhugwen shook her head if it must be delt with it must be delt with.

The dark haired Elf stood up and glanced upwards, the sky seemed pale and hazy, almost grey. Eswen walked over to tend to the horses and ponies who were trying to graze on the dry sickly grass of Fornost.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:22 PM January 23, 2004: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[littlemanpoet]

There were more than a half dozen riderless horses wandering around over the heath. It occurred to Falowik that given time and nothing better to do, they would wander back to the camp from which they had come. That would not do. They had saved one mount for their captive. Falowik suggested to Thoronmir that it would be wise to corral the rest of the horses and some one or two of their number bring them back to Bree, as well as their captive; upon arrival in Bree, the captive could be questioned at length, the returning member of their party could make a report, and reinforcements could be sent.

Uien wanted to go to Fornost before that was done. She felt that it was urgent for the Elves among them to understand what the stones were saying, and for all of them to seek out evidence among the ruins for any sign of the ruffians and their allies or superiors.

Falco gave out that the stones talking was so much claptrap, and that of course they must search out Fornost, which made sense, and though he mistrusted the Wanderer's reasons, he agreed that rounding up the horses made sense. He also said that in his opinion the Wanderer should be one of those who went back to Bree. Falowik refused.

Thoronmir, having listened to their arguments, made his decisions. They would first round up as many horses as they could, then go to Fornost and search through the ruins for signs of occupation, and then the decision would be made as to who would return with the horses and their captive to Bree, and they would separate at the break of the following dawn; but only after the captive was vigorously questioned.

If any of the party had objections, they were not given voice.

They broke camp and hunted down the wandering riderless mounts; it took longer than they thought it would, and some ran away north that Falco pointed out might have stayed around if they hadn't been chased; and Falco further suggested that that must have been in Falowik's mind to do by way of warning his nefarious comrade brigands. Falowik glowered at Falco but gave no answer. In the end, they captured five mounts and the rest got away.

It was past noon when they made for Fornost. Uien and the other Elves grew more apprehensive the closer they came to the ruins. Falowik did not know what they felt, but he vividly recalled how it had affected Uien when she had been weakened by her wound. He was convinced that some Elvish gift, or curse, made it possible for her to perceive things in the very stones that bespoke of what had passed. It was what the Elven ladies were saying, and he saw no reason to doubt them.

They passed the first broken down walls, their mounts striding down a main road into the depths of the ruins. It was a gray, dark, and dank place. Deadmen's Dike, it was called by Breefolk. An evil place. Now they knew it was an outpost of brigands. Falowik believed that they were not mere brigands, though. They had a Master who used the blood of others for some dire purpose. It could not be good.

Thoronmir led them in. Uien and the other Elves moved now in trance like states, some of them more lost to normality than others. Falowik stayed close to Uien for fear she might run among the stones in a fever and do harm to herself. Lumiel seemed least affected by it of the Elves, but still seemed as one possessed by whatever sense. Meanwhile, Finéwen, the only female human among them, glanced from side to side, serious of face, but as unaffected by whatever the Elves felt as Falco. Lira seemed to shy away from the stones, her hand involuntarily coming to her wound, as if shielding it from the stones. Eswen seemed nettled by the place, as if she fought with something or someone the rest of them could not see. Anson and Gorby rode side by side, looking left and right, their faces written with unease. Falco took up the rear. His sword was drawn.

[Lumiel]

Lumiel tilted her head and paused for a moment before answering. "For...for honor. For myself and one that I loved. I made a promise to a man named Farin, who was like my father, that I would redeem his honor and find my place in the world. This quest will help me towards that end." she said. "But even if I didn't have such things to compel me to act as I have, I would still have come along. There's a man out there who needs help, who's alone and afraid." Her eyes showed the sympathy that she felt for Eodwine, though none of them had met him. "If we don't try and do some good in this world, what are we doing?"

Though she did not raise her voice, a certain passion entered her speech as she finished. She believed in the goodness of the world, in the necessity of preserving it. She would always do all she could to live as she should and to help others do the same, regardless of what may be required of her. She had a warmth, a light, a fire within her that shone fiercely when called upon, that could break darkness and carry burdens greater than what most could hold. But she had yet to fully tap into this, her greatest strength.

"I know that all of this" she swept her hand towards the landscape, "has cast a veil upon all of us, heavier on some than on others. But remember, all of this was once beautiful and full of life, though it may have forgotten. Eventually it will forget its hurts and renew the life that once flourished here." She paused. Her eyes seemed distant and Gorby wondered at her. It was hard to imagine that Fornost had ever been vibrant and lovely. "Besides, I'm expecting you to teach me some hobbit songs when we get back to Bree!" She laughed and stood up, going to her horse. The laugh pierced momentarily through the dismal fog that had penetrated their spirits, but it was quickly swallowed up once more.

Gorby shook his head. A strange elf, that one. But pleasant at least.

It was decided among the group to delve deeper into Fornost before deciding who would return to Bree with the prisoner, and they prepared to leave. Falco was quite blunt in his suspicions of Falowik's suggestions, but Lumiel merely scoffed. She didn't know what exactly was going on, no one did, but she did not believe Falowik or Uien to allied with their enemies.

As they plunged deeper into the heart of the mystery that was Fornost, the sense of impending doom became heavier. Lumiel kept close in her mind fond memories and fought off as best she could the strange trance that Fornost seemed to cast upon the elves. She seemed least affected, and she wondered at it. She realized though, that there were reasons for it. She had not grown up among elves, and any special elven senses she had were not as acute as the others. Her human upbringing had its benefits.

Still, she held the reins tightly as they entered the forbidding Deadman's Dike and whispered an elven prayer. The others seemed wary as well, and several had swords drawn. She hoped that they would not be attacked here, their chances of victory would be slim. They had been lucky the first time, but now they knew a little more about the brigands and what they were after. And their enemies had the group's fear on their side. Lumiel stayed on edge and prepared for the worst that could happen.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:14 PM January 24, 2004: Message edited by: Lumiel ]

[Imladris]

Gorby

My pony stumbled over the rocky path that led into Fornost: the abandoned city steeped with shadow. I glanced at the elves: Eswen and Lira looked as if they would rather be a hundred miles away from it, and I couldn’t blame them. If I could feel so uncomfortable about it, what did they feel. I remembered hearing a stray word of speaking stones that only the elves could hear, and I wondered what they whispered in their ears, what grieves they described.

I shuddered and, leaning over to Anson, whispered, “Well, Anson…” my voice trailed off, and I frowned. Not a bird sang, not a cricket chirped, even our ponies’ hooves were dead upon the ground. It was as if a silent hand shushed our every move.

Straightening, I slumped into the saddle and huddled deeper into my cloak. I looked at Lumiel: her face was smooth of wrinkles, though her eyes flicked here and there like a hawk’s. I dug my heels into my pony and clucked to him. He lowered his head and slowed his walk. “No, faster,” I instructed kicking him. With a little snort, a shake of the head, he broke into a lumbering trot before he fell into a walk. Leaning forward, I whispered into his ear, “I don’t have any sugar to persuade you, but I want you to go to Lumiel. She’s an elf,” I nodded my head wisely and continued, “She always makes me feel better when she sits beside me.”

To my everlasting delight (I always knew ponies had sense), he trotted over to the elf. I noticed that his hooves actually lifted off the ground…they used to be dragging. As we neared Lumiel, she turned around and flashed me a smile.

Grinning back, I shrugged and slowly maneuvered my pony so that her mount and mine were head to head. I didn’t say anything but I looked at her: she seemed to have a glow, like the dying light of a firefly. I couldn’t imagine that she would want to know anything about our humble nature, but she seem sincere enough. With a small cough, I asked, “So do you play an instrument?”

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen sighed as she rode atop her horse, which seemed to be getting nervous and tenser. She patted her on the side and whispered something in elvish she always heard the elves in Rivendell say to their horses when they tensed up. Finëwen knew little elvish herself, but could interpretate it when spoken. The horse calmed down a bit.

Finëwen watched the others. She was somewhere in the middle of the group, not really bothering to listen out for things, but still paid attention, just the same. Finëwen was grasping at the hilt of her sword with one hand and grasping the reins with the other: tension seemed thick in the air. The only sound Finëwen could hear was the footsteps of her own horse on the rocky path.

Not knowing what to think or do, Finëwen just rode without speaking. It seemed as if it would be a quiet journey: the only thing audible to Finëwen being her own horse's hooves hitting against the ground, echoing with every step.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:47 PM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Alatariel Telemnar ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik found himself in charge of the extra horses, who had never had much at all to do with them. The prisoner's horse was controlled by Thoronmir, toward the front of the group. Falowik had found rope, and not knowing what better to do, had tied the rope around the horn of each saddle. At least, that was what he called the things; it was what they looked like to him. Falco had given him a look as if he were dotty, but said nothing for a change.

Uien was toward the front, looking around her, looking as if she were fending off insults form every corner. At one point, after they had wandered for some time about Deadmen's Dike, Thoronmir's hand went up. They were in a courtyard before an old broken down manse. The walls had the blackened look of soot. Litter of human activity was everywhere. There was a fire pit near one wall. Bottles and paper lay on the ground nearby. Thronomir told Falowik to tie the horses down and help him search the manse while the others looked over the grounds. Gorby and Anson were assigned guard duty at the gate, where they were to keep an eye on the prisoner. Lumiel and Finëwen were sent around back of the manse while Lira and Eswen were to search every inch of the front. Uien insisted on joining Falowik and Thoronmir. Falco insisted on joining them, to keep an eye on the wanderer and the Elf woman.

The floor was littered with rubble that was mostly former roof and walls. The roof was still intact in one back room. There was hay on the floor, and a rancid smell mixed with that of old hay dominated the room. There was a table and rickety chairs in the middle of the room. Uien studied the table. There was nothing on it, except for scratches gouged in the surface. Thoronmir checked the walls while Falco kicked among the hay here and there. Falowik looked all around, trying to imagine what had gone on in this room. Was it a headquarters for the brigands? Then they might be back, but it seemed as if this place had not been used for a while. Was it an outpost? Falowik wondered if there might be shallow graves in the courtyard.

Lumiel and Finëwen came in with scrunched up noses. They reported an old latrine in one corner of the back yard, and a working well not far from it. Falco said what was on his mind about the filthiness of brigands. Falowik asked if they had found any shovels or spades, to which they answered 'no'. He asked if there was a shed or anything like it nearby. They hadn't seen one.

"I'm going to look in the other rooms again. Falco, would you join me?"

Falco gave him a startled look. "What for?"

"To look for tools. Like shovels."

"What would brigands want with shovels? Not bludgeoning weapons, surely!"

"To dig graves."

Falco's brow shot up. He nodded with a look of reconsideration.

"Lumiel and Finëwen," said Uien, "if Thoronmir agrees, please check around the outside of the manse for sheds. See what you can find that brigands might have used at the command of some leader whose purposes the brigands might not have known." They looked confused. "Such as building an army or torturing captives. Or anything like that." Uien looked to Thoronmir, who nodded his head. Lumiel and Finëwen left the manse.

Falowik led Falco into the next room and started looking closely at everything.

"You're not just looking for shovels, wanderer."

"The name's Falowik, if you don't mind."

"Falowik, then. What's your thinking?"

"Any clues that might explain what our enemy would want with captives, and the blood in their veins."

"Mighty evil sounding, that."

"Indeed. I wonder if we might not find a no longer used throne room of sorts here."

"They say the King of the North once made this his seat of rule."

"No, much more recent, I'm thinking. Just guesses, of course."

"Of course!" Falco eyed him with suspicion. They kept looking.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:59 PM January 31, 2004: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira stared at the manse, her blue eyes wide as she took in every crumbling corner, the soot blackened planks, the weeds that struggled in the courtyard, the broken pottery, and the scattered ashes of old camp fires.

Esgallhugwen stood aloof from Lira, her grey eyes downcast. Lira flashed a gentle smile at the other elf, and then began to walk towards the left hand side of the manse. A wooden porch surrounded it, though the boards were warped and rotten. Tiny insects scurried within the labyrinth of holes and snake slithered between the cracks and disappeared into the shadows.

The greensward in front of the manse was a graveyard of skeletal weeds, moldering leaves of autumns past, and piles of stone here and there. The rings of dead fires dotted the yard, while a grove of dying trees sprawled beside the path. So far they had found nothing to explain the unaccountable darkness that seemed to grow in Lira when they had neared the abandoned city. Frowning, Lira slowly made her way over to the grove, wondering if the wound had made her slightly delusional.

Lira saw that pits of long rotten fruit littered the ground, and a rank mephitic stench saturated the air. Gagging, Lira stumbled, tripped over a gnarled root and fell headlong into a pile of rotting leaves. Shaking her head, Lira saw that the leaves hid something in their depths -- something that was had a pallid milky hue.

Shaking Esgallhugwen’s helping hand off, Lira gently brushed the leaves away and gasped: the empty sockets of a human skull stared up at her, the remains of an abandoned web fluttering in the breeze. The jaws were twisted into an agonized scream, the skull crushed, the fragments of bone scattered across the ground.

Ashen pale, Lira glanced up at Esgallhugwen, then, turning away, she stared at the skull and other bones that littered the area. Her blue eyes turned cold as steel, her jaws were set, and she fingered her dagger contemplatively. Corn, with a shrill squawk, dived from the branches of a leafless tree and rummaged in the leaves. He picked something up and then flapped to Lira, dropping in her lap rags of silver and sable colouring: the colours of a man of Gondor.
****************
Gorby

I paced back and forth between the gates while Anson rested against the mossy wall of Fornost. A chill seemed to have settled in my bones, and I soon began to wonder how the guards of cities such as Bree and Gondor ever manage to wait out the night. It swiftly became incredibly boring just walking back and forth, waiting for something to happen. Not even the snapping of twig broke the silence.

Finally, I went and sat down by Anson. “Too bad no surprises such as barrels of Longbottom Leaf and delicious meats await us here,” I said with a sigh to my fellow hobbit.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Remember when Merry and Pippin were the guards at that place called Orthanc?” I asked. “Meriadoc told me about it a long time ago,” I said. “I told you too, but you just don’t remember probably,” I said mournfully.

I looked around and wondered what the others were finding. Hopefully they wouldn’t find a thing and then Anson and me could go back home to our decent hobbit holes. This wasn’t really an adventure so far. Not only had we not found Eodwine and gallantly rescue him from his enemies, but we didn’t even know who had attacked and whether they really came from Fornost. I highly doubted they had, too. The place looked too deserted.

“Gorby,” Anson whispered, “what happens if someone tries to get past us?”

I rolled my eyes. Anson always was worrying about the worst. “Nothing will happen….there’s nobody here.”

“That’s what we thought when we were attacked,” he whispered back.
He did have a point there and now I could feel my back begin to prick, as if my hair were rising like the shackles of a frightened dog. “Then we’ll run to that ruined house over there,” I said, gesturing to the manse that Falowik and his crew had gone into. “The big men will protect us.”

“What if the big men run faster than us?” Anson asked, his brows puckering in concern.

That one got me. I looked at him and saw how small he really was, how pitiful he looked in his torn breeches and faded jacket. I never should have asked him to accompany me, to leave his siblings. I really hadn’t considered the possibility of Anson dying…nobody could hurt Anson. I coughed and said, “Then we’ll die.”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:59 PM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir continued to search for clues about the men they had fought last night. His initial search turned up nothing, but after searching through a pile of broken stones, the glint of metal caught his eye. He reached down and picked up what he had found.

"Over here! I think I've discovered something!" he called.

As he waited for the others, he examined what he found. The object was a small dagger, but not any ordinary one. The wickedly sharp blade was stained with blood. The hilt was crimson red and had silver skulls with burning red gems for eyes at either end. A black serpent was carved along the crimson hilt in between the skulls, which was the only thing Thoronmir could clearly recognize. He had seen the same black serpent on red being displayed by the Haradrim armies at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields -he again felt the loss of his friends in his mind- but he had never seen it accompanied by a skull before.

"What is it?" asked Falowik. "What did you find?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:47 PM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[littlemanpoet]

Uien moaned when she saw the knife in Thoronmir's grip. "Death! Death! The stones speak of death and terror!"

Falowik saw the blade in Thoronmir's hand, who explained that it was a Haradrim blade.

"What do you suppose it's doing way up here in the north?"

But his question went unanswered. Lira came rushing into the room.

"I've found something! Skeletons among the leaves! In Gondorian garb!"

"Paydirt!" cried Falco.

They all followed Lira to outside. Thoronmir cried for torches to light up Lira's find.

"To think they didn't even bother to bury them one foot down," Falowik murmured.

One after another, they uncovered skeleton after skeleton, their bones crushed, sometimes even twisted.

"This is what the stones speak of," Uien said, "but not only this."

"What, there's more?" Thoronmir said.

"The stones do not speak as we speak, I cannot interpret as if with words, Thoronmir, but there is more evil than even this. Would that it were not so."

"What do you make of it all, then?" Falco said. "And don't let me hear that you'll be wanting to send some of us back to Bree now. We need to see this through!"

Thoronmir said, "Let's spread out again. I'd wager there's more to be found. Let's to it! Me, I'm going to have a word with our prisoner. Falco! I'll be wanting the help of a lawman. For persuasion."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:46 AM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Lira rushed in the ruined arch-way to find the others. Black scorch marks slithered up the broken mounds that were once walls, the pitch contrasted sharply with the pallid white of crushed bone.

The fires that seemed to have consumed everything brought back memories of Esgallhugwen's home, torched and purged of all life by orcs. But orcs were not the ones that did this to the bones.

Thoronmir came striding out followed by the rest of their company, Esgallhugwen shyed away from the bright torches, her cold grey eyes scanning the darker, as yet unlit, areas.

'What, there's more?' Thoronmir said

'Theres always more' Esgallhugwen whispered to herself.

She walked over to the bones, crushed skulls and gnarled limbs swimming in old rotted leaves. The shredded garb of Gondorian men and an evil dagger, fire pits and bones.

'Skulls crushed as if in sacrifice' she pondered what she said, kneeling, unafraid to brush away the decayed scraps of leaves and twigs. The company exchanged glances of curiosity and fear as Lira inched forward to Eswen's side.

Thoronmir gave the order, fan out and look for further clues of what had happened in this tortured place.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:15 AM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falco followed Thoronmir toward the prisoner, who was sitting with his back to the wall by the gate where Gorby and Anson stood guard.

Falowik and Uien went back into the manse.

Falowik said, "You said the stones say more than what we've found. Do you think we'll find it here? And what think you of Eswen's words of sacrifice?"

"She senses as do I, my love."

"Sacrifice to what god or demon?"

"I know not."

"Let's see if we can turn up any clues here."

Uien halted and looked up.

"What is it, Uien?"

"Listen!"

Out of the north came the harsh sound of many birds. Crows. They came fast, flying low, filling the sky like a cloud of storm. Their cawing filled the air to maddening. Falowik and Uien covered their ears. The crows circled and winged about above the manse for several moments, then flew back into the north.

"That is ill news," Uien said. "Someone has power over birds to use them as messengers, and is fearless enough to send them openly."

"All the more reason to find what lies hidden in this place. And I still want a spade!"

[Imladris]

Gorby

I threw rocks and watched them with dull interest as they skittered across the ground and then landed in a small cloud of dust. Anson still leaned against the stone wall, eyes half closed, head downcast as he slowly stripped a wayward stem of its brown, crisp leaves.

I looked at the hurrying elves and men as they fanned across the dying greensward and stared after them longingly. No matter how unpleasant their search was, it surely wasn’t as unpleasant as loitering about an abandoned village on guard duty -- as if there was anything to guard against! With a sigh, I turned to Anson and said, “What about you and me go and explore a bit?”

Anson lifted his head and frowned. “But we are supposed to guard,” he said cautiously. “Besides, I don’t really want to go in there. The elves don’t like it.”

As usual, Anson was being responsible. Good old Anson. “Well, this guard duty really is a job for one,” I said. “If there’re any problems, just let me know.”

I tried to ignore Anson’s puppy dog eyes as I left and at the same time tried to smother my guilt and inflame the spirit of adventure. But as I climbed through the gate, stepping lightly on the ground, I didn’t really see why we were here at all. It was barren, deserted, brown. No life grew…even the weeds were dying which was strange for them since they can thrive just about anywhere to the dismay of any gaffer.

The brown skeletons of the weeds tickled my feet a bit, but that didn’t bother me really. It occupied me in trying to side step them and seeing if it would tickle me as much if I stepped differently. I imagined myself as a tracker seeking an unknown menace to society and that these weeds were his tracks and that if I stepped wrongly then the tracks would be mussed and I would loose my prey. It was quite unreal I know, but what else was I supposed to do?

My foot landed on something wooden. Then a low reluctant creak as I put my full weight on it and jumped. A hollow echo, a relieved sigh as I stepped from the wood and scraped the weeds away. I saw that it was a door to an underground cellar, more than likely. If it was a cellar maybe there would be a bit of decent food down there. But with our luck, the bread would be moldy, the vegetables shriveled and dry and the wine sour. I shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt to explore it. But the door was bound with iron and a rusted lock encircled the iron handle and a tarnished iron loop that was attached to the ground. Peering at the lock I saw that much of the metal had been eaten away and that it would easily break with a strong enough blow. I looked around for a rock and soon found one; it took only short work for the blows to break the lock.

A rickety ladder led into darkness and it took me awhile before I gathered the courage to climb down. I had to tell myself that even harmless cellars are dark and that the only danger they held was a spider contentedly spinning her web or else sucking the juice from an unfortunate fly. But not even those eight-legged creatures greeted me as I descended.

It was not as dark as it appeared: more brownish grey than pitch black which is what I had expected. I was in a large circular room paved with flat stones and the walls were lined with brick and in the center of the room was a large wooden post: strange, for cellars are dark and small with the solid dirt for walls. Also there were no bins of vegetables which was most curious for a cellar.

That was when I realized that I wasn’t in a cellar. A chill wind crept down my spine from the opening above and I hastily moved forward.

Something hung from the walls and clanked against them when the wind blew. I crept towards the hanging things and touched them: made of cold iron they were. Iron bracelets were attached to a strong chain: manacles stained with a brown that was not rust. I dropped it and shuddered. I knew that it was dried blood.

Making my way towards the wooden post that stood guard in the center of the room, I saw that a whip with nine leather strips hung from it. Shards of glass stuck from the leather and at the bottom broken chunks of pottery were attached. Beads of sweat dropped down my forehead as I imagined a warden, a mocking laugh upon his twisted lips, jeer and shout as he brought the cat o’ nine tails upon a shackled prisoner’s back; I could hear the agonized screams as the pottery and glass tore his skin into ragged ribbons, saw the blood running down like crimson rivers, staining the stones; I saw the iron manacles cutting into his wrists as he writhed in agony. I turned hastily away and saw a stone table draped in shadows out of the corner of my eye.

I didn’t want to go look at it, but a budding curiosity bid me go on. Slowly I crept towards it not knowing what to expect. I almost wished that I would find crumbling plates and scattered silverware upon it…what else would a table be used for? But who would eat in this hole of death and suffering?

The table was smooth, clean. A lean, long, dagger laid in the center. The silver skulls upon the dagger leered up at me. Strange writing was carved deeply into the stone and I wondered what it said. Shackles were at the foot and head of this stone table. I gasped and wondered why a man would be bound upon a table….some sort of torture maybe.

With a sob, I stumbled from the underground chamber and clambered up the ladder as fast as I could. Slamming the door down, I put a rock upon it and ran back towards Anson.

“What did you find?” he asked.

I glanced at him, wondering if I should describe it to him. No. He did not need to know, did not need to see it -- he could not bear pain or suffering.

Turning to the prisoner, I rearranged the bandage which was beginning to slip. Then I asked, “Who are you?”

Silence. The man curled his lips and spat at me. I leaned over and I whispered, “I saw the underground room and I saw the blood and the cat o’ nine tails and a strange table. What was it for?” I stared at his bandaged face, imagining his cold brown eyes.

A broad smile grew upon his face -- a cold smile as if he gloated over me. “You did, did you? Was there a dagger upon it?”

I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see. “Yes.”

“It was a sacrificial table,” he said in a whisper. “Men were put upon it, and shackled so they could not struggle. Then maybe their brains would be beaten out, or their heart ripped out with the beautiful dagger you saw and the priests held it, the heart still pumping, in their hands and --”

“Enough,” I tried to shout, but it came out as a mere squeak.

“Oh, but there’s more,” the prisoner said, with a soft smile. “You see, the priests leech you, suck the blood from you until no more comes out. And the blood is caught in a flagon which is sent to --” the prisoner stopped here, a satisfied smile on his lips. “You see, hobbit maggot,” he said in a whisper, “you’re still alive when they’re bleeding you, and they make it as painful as possible. And as they lay prone on the alter, their faces contorted in pain, you can read the dread as they feel their life and hope slowly draining from them; you can see, nay taste, their fear as they realize that they are dying and that not one can come and save them.”

Without answer and ignoring his hollow chuckle, I turned away and huddled against the wall, shuddering. I couldn’t get the images out of my head. I buried my face into my hands, trying to drive them away: I tried to think of flowers, but their petals dripped with blood; the sky was stained crimson; men with sacrificial bludgeons and knives lurked in the shadows of the Old Forest. I tried to think of Anson, but he was bound upon the table. I gasped and cried wishing that I was back home in Buckland alone with my pipe and sister.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:57 PM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Lumiel]

As they traveled, Lumiel talked softly with Gorby, talking of matters of little importance to hold back the weight of Fornost. Soon though, an eerie silence seemed to pervade everything, and they all fell silent. They soon came upon the ruined manse, shrunken and decrepit but bloated with death and misery.

Thoronmir split them up and they tried to discover the secrets of those who had taken Eodwine. Lumiel went with Finewen, and they said nothing as they went away from the manse to search for any sheds as they had been instructed. They quickly found what they were looking for. It was a slovenly shed, with only enough room for two people. It was empty and filled with dust, but it held no secrets that they could see.

They exited and went on searching. Not far away, yet hidden well amongst shrubbery and a few scraggly trees, was a door that blended into the surroundings fairly well. Lumiel had been the first to sight it and the two women headed towards it. When they approached the door, it seemed to be well-kept, the door was not rusty or blackened as the shed had been. Finewen grabbed an indentation on the surface of the door and pulled but it would not give.

"Lumiel, grab here, on the count of three, we'll pull." said Finewen. Lumiel nodded an agreement and Finewen spoke again. "One - two - three!"

They yanked hard on the door and it swung open with a whooshing noise that swept a breeze past their faces. Finewen stepped back at the nauseating smell and Lumiel gave a sour face. She was used to odd odors, and even most unpleasant ones did not phase her. But this was more than that, it smelled of an unspoken horror. Beyond the threshhold the light of the day penetrated only about five feet because of the angle of the sun. Lumiel stepped forward and through the door with uncertainty, Finewen following.

It was a stone tunnel, well-made at that. There were racks along the wall for torches, but most were missing. As they entered deeper, the light faded to an ephemereal glow that gave both the woman the palor of the dead. The stench grew and they made a turn in the tunnel, slanting down the floor deeper into the ground. Before them were several doors, each heavily bolted with only a blocked slot at the very bottom, presumably for food. One door was open and Finewen went to the door to see what she could find. Lumiel saw several bones along the edge of the floor, most of them raggedly cracked, as though some great force had shattered them. She pressed on, attempting to ignore the scene of death and the wrenching of her stomach and her head that threatened to cast her to the ground and opened another, different door. It did not have the same appearance as the others, it was not made to imprison. She opened it and it rusted loudly on its hinges, creaking loud enough that Lumiel instinctively looked over her shoulder to make sure that nothing had been woken by its metal scream.

Inside was a table, a turned-over chair, and several lamps. Across the paper were strewn papers and a dingy quill beside a spilled bottle of ink. Touching her fingers to the ink, she found that it was cold, but dry. She carefully separated the quill and bottle from the paper and set them aside. She had caused minimal damage to the papers and she tried to discern what was written on them. Even her elven sight was of little help. AS she was gathering the papers, she saw a seal stamp on the floor. Bending over it, she took it in her hands and tried to make out its symbol, again to no avail. Anxious to leave, she turned on a heel and eagerly left the room. Further up the hall was Finewen.

"I think I found the Keeper's room. There were several papers and a seal stamp, but I can't make out what they say in this light. What did you find?" she asked as she approached her.

"This place was not only a prison, it was a place of torture. There were shackles on the wall and bowls just out of reach of them. Further down there's a cell in the floor, filled with oil. I couldn't tell how deep it was but...there are few beneficial uses for such things. The bones tell tales as surely as the walls." she said. She seemed to be in pain of some sort, but Lumiel couldn't blame her. Whoever had been kept her had not lived the remainder of their life in peace. They had been brutally, cruelly killed. "There was also a few rusted knives, whips and the like about. Most of them seemed to have the same design on the handles, but I could not see them properly."

Lumiel nodded and spoke, "I think we've found all that we can here. I see no purpose in staying any longer." Finewen heartily agreed and they quickly found their way out of the tunnel and into the warm sunlight. Away from the stench of decay and blood, Lumiel realized that the hand that held the papers was shaking slightly. There had been more within that hellhole, but she did not have the heart to search out its evil treasures of blood.

Looking at the papers, she saw that names were written on and other things, but she couldn't make sense of exactly what they were or why they were written. She would give it to Thoronmir, perhaps he could figure it out. Shifting the papers to the other hand, she held up the stamp. On it was a hideous skull, its jaw open in the impression of its last death cry. A snake slimed its way from one of the eye sockets and around the rim of the skull. She felt a wave of nausea pass over her and she clenched the stamp tightly in her fist, hiding it from view. "What do they say? The papers and the stamp?" asked Finewen.

"I can't understand what the meaning of the writing is...there seems to be names and other words, but I don't understand." She paused. "The stamp is a skull with a snake. They had much experience with the correct shape of a skull, I think, to create such a thing of horror." The all-too-real image cast upon the stamp filled her mind for an instant and she spoke again to clear it. "Do you see any other sheds around Finewen?" she asked as she looked for Thoromir and the others within her sight.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen crouched alongside the bones, when she noticed something that brought her searching to a halt. She began to realize that the lower leg bones, the fibula and tibula were broken the same way for many of the victims, a clean break.

She picked up two broken halves that she thought belonged to the same victim and held them together imagining the flesh and life still remained intact, she placed them aside and picked up another pair. This concluded her suspicions.

Her fleet footed-ness brought her quickly to the two hobbits who were gaurding the entrance. Eswen pulled a bundle from her saddle bag, it was little Nimrómen; 'Forgive me little one in our distress I have almost neglected you, but thankfully Morsereg has kept you safe and out of harms way'.

She unwound one of his leg bindings and examined the break (it was almost healed), then she went back over to Lira, holding the pup, 'the same tool was used to break all the legs of the Gondorian men and who knows who else, the same tool broke Nimrómen's legs'.

Lira looked at the white pup with worry. 'He was left as bait for us to find. The black birds that flew past earlier must have seen us coming and told their Master' Esgallhugwen breathed, discontent in the grey haze of Fornost she pulled her cloak tighter around her and cast her hood about her face.

The sun couldn't seem to break through the thick mist that had encroached upon them, the others were spread out searching, trying to find anything they could. Esgallhugwen sighed and tried to pierce the shadowy veil with her keen sight, but to avail.

She watched the young Hobbits, Gorby and Anson, looking around the front while keeping an eye on their prisoner. Yes, the prisoner, the grey eyed elf walked over to him(having given Nimrómen over to Lira).

Esgallhugwen pulled the prisoner up off the ground rather roughly by his greasy stringy hair, having no patients to barter or coax things out of him. He gasped and shouted curses.

'rader a nasty way to handle your prisoner may not talk after what you'd done, sir' he spat.

'Aye, you may not want to talk, but you will talk none the less' Esgallhugwen's elvish lilt sang back at him.

'Ah, so ye be one of those lady elves, be ye then? What good der ya think ya can do 'ere, prancing about...'

'My good sir' she mocked cruelly ' seven of your good comrades I have slayed with naught but a blink of my eye, I think it best you tell me what I need to know'.

[littlemanpoet]

The prisoner sneered. "A quick death by your sword's a mercy set next to what 'appens if they gets me again. Find some other screamer."

Thoronmir and Falco walked up.

"Did you hear that?" Falco asked, ignoring the fact that everybody else was at least as near to the prisoner as he. "Makes you wonder what might have happened to this Eodwine."

Gorby and Anson grimaced at each other, then looked at Thoronmir, who stood regarding the prisoner with a determined expression.

[Imladris]

Lira

Brows furrowed slightly, Lira watched cooly as Esgallhugwen dragged the injured man from the ground, her long fingers grasping his hair. Lira did not know what to make of her -- already she could see glimmerings of the Dark Queen flash through her words and treatment of the prisoner. Yet he had killed them mercilessly, and he would gladly watch them die.

With a shrug, she stood beside Esgallhugwen and glanced at Thoronmir. His jaw set, their leader regarded the prisoner as if determining the best way to break him, the best way to squeeze the needed information out of him. Physical pain would be useless, Lira was sure: the man was not afraid of death obviously. Though his eyes were pecked out by Corn, it had not in anyway intimidated him...instead, it had increased his hatred of them.

A stifled sob reached her ear, and she turned quickly. His face pallid, Anson was kneeling beside Gorby and patting him on the back. Gorby himself was curled in a tight little ball, his face covered by his tanned hands. He was no longer crying, but a little sniffle every once in a while escaped from him.

Gliding towards him, she laid a hand upon his head and murmured an elvish blessing. "What ails thee, friend?" she whispered.

There was a moment of silence. "I saw something terrible in a cellar," he said softly, turning his large, glassy brown eyes towards her. He blanched, and trembled. "It was as if men were tortured and bled to death in there."

A torture chamber the words echoed in Lira's mind. The legs of men broken in cleanly in twain, the smashed skulls, their jaws contorted in a scream. "Would you bring me to this place?" she asked gently.

His eyes widened, his mouth slackened, and his face tightened. Breathing quickly, he said, "Yes, milady."

Kissing him on the forehead, she helped him to his feet. His little hands clenched within hers as he led her to the cellar.

The air was still and heavy within the chamber as she stood beside Gorby at the foot of the ladder. The hobbit had insisted on coming with her, but he was pressed close against her and she could feel him tremble. It was as he had said: the alter, the whipping post and the manacles hanging upon the walls. Yet there was something else as well, off to the side.

Slowly she drew towards it and soon saw that there were two slabs of stone, about a foot high and a little more than five feet apart. Chains, with manacles at the end, were slung around the small pillars. A butcher knife rested upon the first of the stones.

"What is it?" Gorby whispered softly.

"I don't know." Lira stared at it and closed her eyes. Whispers touched her ears: a song of grief.

Weep for the tears of the innocent,
For the lives wasted and spent,
Cry for the torturous pain,
For the bodies of the slain.

Wash us clean from the crimson tide
That poured from a victim's side,
Whose body was cleaved by the blade alone
Upon this cold bed of stone.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she saw a ranger lying upon the two slabs of stone, hands and feet shackled to the ground. A man, garbed in black robes, swung the iron rod and brought it upon his legs. A snap of bones, a shrill scream, a lingering echo.

With a shake of her head, she opened her eyes. Gorby was beside her, shaking her. "Let us leave," he said plaintively.

She nodded and followed Gorby towards the ladder. But at the foot of it, she looked back at the "iron bedm," remembering the dirge of the stones.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:29 AM February 08, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Meneltarmacil]

"What is your name?" Thoronmir asked the prisoner.

"I ain't tellin' you." the man replied, and spit at the Ranger.

"You will tell me your name, or I will be forced to leave you here. In this environment, far away from civilization, I doubt a blind man could live for very long. It would be much better to die quickly than to choose that alternative."

"I still ain't tellin' you, western scum!" he said defiantly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Thoronmir said. "You leave me no choice but to stab you with this razor-sharp knife I found. Oh, you'll still be alive, of course. But if you don't bleed to death first, the wild animals will find your trail easily and kill you. Unless you tell me what I want to know."

Thoronmir was only bluffing, but he made it sound like he was serious. He pulled out the knife he had found and pressed the tip ever so carefully against the man's flesh.

"Don't do it! I'll talk!" the prisoner cried.

"Good decision," Thoronmir said, putting the knife away. "What is your name?"

"Boris," the prisoner answered.

"And where did you come from?" Thoronmir continued his questioning.

"I'm from Bree, myself, but the Master came from Down South and said I'd be paid lots o' gold if I joined him." said Boris.

"And you have no idea who he is?" asked Thoronmir.

"That's right," said the man. "I ain't got no clue."

[littlemanpoet]

Uien touched Falowik's arm. "I think we will find no more within these walls, my love."

They joined the others in the front of the manse, and overheard the prisoner's latest words to Thoronmir.

"He talks to us!" Falowik said to Uien.

"Ask him about the leeching!" Uien said.

[littlemanpoet]

"What about the leechings?" Thoronmir asked the prisoner. "We've seen evidence of them down below ground, so out with it."

"You're gettin' nothin' more out of me."

Thoronmir knelt down beside him, and drew out his knife again, and laid it on the prisoner's cheek. "Do I have to show you again that I mean business?"

The prisoner winced and began to sweat. "I'll talk! I'll t-" An arrow pierced his throat. He fell over and lay bleeding on the ground. The party members looked to where the arrow had come from. A man jumped down from the wall behind the manse, and was lost to sight. They heard his running feet.

"After him!" Thoronmir cried. He gave chase, passing through the manse. Falowik and Uien were on his heels. Falco, surprisingly quick on his feet for all the weight he carried, went around the right side of the manse, followed by Gorby and Anson. Lira started to run, but looked back and saw that Eswen had not moved.

"Go!" Eswen waved her on. "I shall wait here for Lumiel and Finéwen."

Lira ran around the left side of the manse, and caught up to Anson and Gorby as they slipped through the bottleneck of the back entrance. She passed them by and soon overtook Falco.

Falco, for all his quickness, was gasping before long, and Anson and Gorby passed him by.

"Slow down, shirrif, and think." He came to a stop and looked around and listened. He could hear more than one set of hooves retreating into the distance. They knew this Boris was still alive, and they knew he'd talk, so they came back to shut him up. Clear enough. An' now they're headed off west. That's clear enough too, the bumpkins. Ruffians never were very smart, none that I ever knew anyways. The others'll be comin' back soon enough. I'm back to the manse to see what the other Big Trouble have found. With that he retraced his steps and found Lumiel and Finéwen relating their discovery to Eswen. Falco asked for a repeat of their tale, which they were quite ready to give.

"So this skull and snake keep showing up, eh?" Falco said. "It's as if somebody's got it in his head that he's the new dark lord or some such."

The two elves and one human turned and gave him looks that put him on edge.

"What'd I say?

"Someone styles himself a new dark lord, you said," Eswen remarked. Her eyes were slitted, watching him. "Do you know something, or were you thinking aloud?"

"Just thinking! Just thinking! Why? Do you think I'm right?"

"Time will tell," was Eswen's mysterious response. Lumiel and Finéwen visibly shuddered.

The others returned and reported pretty much what Falco had figured using his own wits. And he told them so. It was in his mind that these folks ought to know that he had a good head on his shoulders for figuring things out. They didn't seem too convinced, though.

Lumiel repeated their discovery to the rest of the party.

"It's time to move on," Thoronmir said. "Let's to our horses and follow the riders to their hiding place."

"I hope it's not too big a hiding place," said Falco, "nor a fortress, for that matter. And what about some of us going back?"

"Not now," Thoronmir answered. "It's time to give chase. Let's go!"

Uien insisted that the prisoner at least deserved burial. Thoronmir allowed them the few moments necessary to gather brush and other debris from around the manse, to cover the corpse. Then they mounted their steeds and gave chase.

They had already lost perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes. Falco was pretty sure that they were not going to catch the fleeing horsemen, and said so. They did not slacken their pace, but they did not go faster than the hobbits' ponies could stand.

After an hour, the hoof prints divided, going two different directions around a hill. Thoronmir chose the path taken by the most horses. At the next hill there was another split.

Thoronmir called a halt. The sun was westering.

"I do not like this," Thoronmir said. "We are in their land, I wager, and our enemies could be anywhere."

As if on cue, rows of horsed brigands appeared atop the hills on both sides of the party, as well as on the hill before them. Sixty strong, at least.

[Lumiel]

Sickened by what she and Finewen had found as well as by the disturbing findings of the others, Lumiel's mind for the first time felt a true whisper of fear. All around her, she could feel the echo of the screams, though they had long fallen silent. This manse was throbbing with the hate and anguish felt so violently by those imprisoned here. While she had never felt true fear like this before, though it was a mere wisp in her mind, she knew it could grow and overtake her whole being if she did not control it. Taking a few deep breaths, she repeated a short elvish prayer in her head and remembered the words and heart of her father. Her fear passed and she sighed. As the two women approached the encampment, she heard an arrow whistle through the air and heard the sickening gurgle as Boris, their prisoner, died. Instinctively turning towards the source of the trouble, she saw a dark shadow of a man outlined on the top of a hill. She was too far away to hope to catch him, but some of the others ran to try to catch him. With hurried footsteps, she made her way towards Eswen and Falco. She and Finewen described what they had found and showed them the stamp and papers with the strange seal. Then Falco spoke.

"So this skull and snake keep showing up, eh?" Falco said. "It's as if somebody's got it in his head that he's the new dark lord or some such."

Lumiel stopped as his words percolated through her head and she paled visibly at the thought. Though she did not look to Finewen who stood beside her, she could tell that the woman was as distraught as she at such an idea. Falco had obviously no idea why what he had said had so disturbed the three women.

"Someone styles himself a new dark lord, you said," Eswen remarked. Her eyes were slitted, watching him. "Do you know something, or were you thinking aloud?"

It had not crossed Lumiel's mind that someone may be trying to fill the void left by Sauron and Saruman, yet as it entered her thoughts it chilled her to the core. She had not been in any of the battles of the One Ring, she had not known what it was like to live in fear of death and worse under the rule of the Lord of the Ring. But she knew enough of it to know that another dark ruler could not be allowed to arise. As all of this flickered through her mind, the others returned empty-handed and she gave a recount of their findings.

Thoronmir announced his decision for them to follow the horsemen and Lumiel hurried to her steed, gripping the reins as they gave chase. Unfortunately, they had already lost precious time and with the hobbits among their party, they were slowed. As much as she had come to enjoy their company and as valuable as they were to their journey, it was beginning to seem more and more likely that they would be a burden.

As they went, the paths of their quarry diverged and a warning bell sounded loudly in her head. Yet what could they do except continue the chase? The sun was nearing its resting place and Thoronmir called them to a halt.

"I do not like this," Thoronmir said. "We are in their land, I wager, and our enemies could be anywhere."

As he spoke, brigands arose on all sides except behind them, sixty strong at least. "Gorby! Anson! Falco! Get in the middle!" she cried to the hobbits without thinking. As stout a people as they were and with brave hearts, they were still the most vulnerable of their group and she would not let harm come to them if she could help it. She backed closer to the hobbits and drew her sword. It glittered silver with blood red from the setting sun and her hair echoed its sentiment as the last rays of the sun picked up and embellished the fiery glints in her earthen hair. Her dark blue eyes were like a warm sea set into a tempest by the dark arches of her eyebrows set like unmoveable stone on her brow. She would prevail.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen waved Lira on, she could not leave Lumiel and Finéwen without trace of where their companions had gone. They had only gone so far when they had to come back to retrieve the horses and ponies.

At first it seemed difficult to catch up, Morsereg was hungry for the chase but Eswen checked him quickly reminding him that they must wait for everyone. The Hobbit ponies were fast in their own right and they tried desperately to keep up with the large fast horses.

The horse trail began to split up, she was about to call out but they were already surrounded by sixty mounted men. Lumiel yelled for the Hobbit's to hide in the middle of their party, she was one of the first to draw her sword in protection of them, it glowed blood red in the failing light.

The men didn't respond. Esgallhugwen looked at each man that surrounded them, rough, vile and cruel, bent on torture and slaughter. All whisps of a time that people wished was utterly destroyed, only to find that they would be swallowed up again by the darkness of it.

She came to the Hobbits, 'keep a close eye on all of them, if you can, stay near and at hand to Lumiel and myself, we will help you' her face was hooded but a lovely, caring Elvish voice emanated from the sable green cloth.

Nimrómen shifted in her saddle bag, Eswen hoped he would be able to take the rough ride that awaited him, she had no time to set him aside in safety. The men made no move, Esgallhugwen fitted an arrow to her bow, still no move.

The uneasy tension rose among their company, what were they waiting for? What strategem did they have in mind? The silence was reverberating with death and foreboding.

[Imladris]

Gorby

I tried to keep my dratted pony at a somewhat reasonable pace as we dashed as quickly as we could (which wasn’t very fast at all I’m afraid) after those who had killed that poor blind prisoner. I could tell that the others were impatient (you can read it in the humans’ but not so much in the elves), and I could feel my face turn bright red with embarrassment. It was because of us hobbits that we couldn’t go as fast as we needed to go. I remembered something that Merry or Pippin had once said and I had to agree that we really were nothing but a rag-tag piece of luggage.

Turning to Anson, who trotted beside me, huddled in his ragged jacket, I said, “So, what do you think about this wretched business?”

“Dreadful…awful,” he said quietly. He turned his head, and I could see that he was looking back towards the Shire and all the way back to his own hobbit hole.

I frowned. It was my fault he had come on this horrid business, my fault that he had left hearth and home and pipeweed, my fault that he couldn’t dance and sing with his own siblings. “Do you think that Eodwine is still alive?” I said hopefully. He probably wasn’t though – more likely one of the skeletons Lira and Eswen had found. I shuddered.

Anson shrugged in reply. “I want to go home. Falco can find some strong able bodied men to rat out these men who serve the new Dark Lord….” His voice faltered and his ruddy cheeks blanched paper white.

A chill crept up my spine and I said, “Nonsense. The man may style himself as a new one, but the old was conquered and we can conquer this one as well. I just hope we find Eodwine soon.”

“We really should go back,” Anson muttered, as if he was ashamed of himself.

I looked at him sympathetically. I wanted to go back too – I had not idea there would be so much danger when I had been almost forced to join. But, what if Eodwine was alive…could we leave him to be tortured to death? But he probably wasn’t alive and then we’d be one band going against who knew how many.

I shook my head. Suddenly, an echoing stillness descended around us…the horses stopped, the elves’ eyes hardened. I looked up, and saw mounted men with twisted faces surround us. Lumiel ordered us to stay in the center and then a circle was formed around us hobbits. I swallowed hard. Then, as if their arms were commanded with a single tug of a string, they drew their swords. Then they paused. The glint of their drawn blades was like the lightening heralding the thunder of their mounts as they charged down upon us.

Lira

With an elvish blessing, Lira drew her knife and held it ready in her hand. It would be almost useless against their mounted assailants, but it would kill at least one before she herself fell under the onslaught. She wondered why the hobbits did not draw their crossbows, and then saw that they no longer carried them. She shook her head. They, with typical hobbit foolishness, had probably forgotten them at the manse.

Like a river released from a dam, they roared towards the small group. Arrows sung as the elves loosed them and several men fell to the ground; if the arrow had not killed him, the hooves of his fellow riders quickly trampled his remaining life into the ground. But in an instant their bows were useless and they fought hand to hand. With a shrill whinny, Merkaliel reared to her feet, her sharp hooves casting both man and beast to the ground.

A tortured scream and she saw Gorby fall – an arrow buried in his pony’s heart. It seemed as if time slowed as she saw the hobbit crawl from under the animal, his face white, lips trembling. Turning, she saw Esgallhugwen and Lumiel hewing their foes before them. Anson was helping Gorby climb onto his own pony. Should she leave the others and bring the hobbits to safety, away from death and bloodshed? With a brief struggle she made up her mind and, going to the hobbits, she said, “Make for the manse and hide somewhere, anywhere! I’ll follow behind.”

Somehow, they fought their way through them; somehow they made it towards the edge of the ring that encircled. Shrubs straggled the barren land and to the left was a dead copse of small trees. An arrow whizzed, and Merkaliel stumbled to her knees. An arrow protruded from her neck, blood dripped down, staining her amber coat. With a cry, Lira leaped clear and landed on her knees beside the fallen horse. Rising to her feet, she looked around for Anson and Gorby. Fear clutched at her when she Anson’s pony galloping madly across the plain, and Anson himself was lying prone upon the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Gorby was no where in sight.

[Lumiel]

A seeming moment of eternal silence followed as they drew their weapons. It was broken by the earth-shaking pounding of sixty horses bearing down on them heightened by the harsh, gleeful cries of their foes. Victory would be sure for them, their master would be pleased. And they would be able to have some sport...

Lumiel whispered softly to her mount, a calming, soothing word before the brigands were upon them. This was only her second true battle, but one had been enough for her to adapt as was necessary. Although they were outnumbered, only so many of the men could attack them at once. If they had bows, she didn't know, but it would be stupid to use them now, they would kill their own men just as readily as their group, unless they were able to draw any of their company off.

Back and forth her blade flew, too quick for the men to follow, and she wrecked havoc around her. In her first battle, she had been injured, and she would not let it happen again. Her qualms of bloodshed and right and wrong disappeared before the necessity of her own life and those of her companions and any hesitance that she had had before was vanished.

So far, she had been holding her own and had been able to kill a few already in the first moments of battle. Her sword seemed to sing victory for her, though that was unlikely here. She did not look to her friends to see if they were alive, but listened and used what glimpses she could catch of them to try and see how they were. She heard a neighing scream behind her and heard Gorby give a cry as he fell. So they did have bows. Near her, Esgallhugwen was a dark force striking fear into the hearts of their foes. Even as they raised their swords against her, their hearts quailed.

Off farther to the side, she heard Merkaliel scream and she turned to see Lira falling to the ground. Somehow, they had made it almost out...and Gorby and Anson too, she guessed. But where were they? She had to take attention away from them. Gathering her will, she gripped her sword tightly. Her all too calm battle demeanor fell away in an instant to be replaced by a mad grin and glinting eyes. She gave a high, harsh, loud battle cry and raised her sword as her horse reared, kicking wildly at the men. The wind caught her hair and tossed it like a web in the air. The men were not sure what to make of it, she had so suddenly changed, and for the worst they feared.

"Come, come! And I will slay thee before the sun sleeps! I will show thee true pain and power, of which your foul master knows nothing!" she cried as demonically as she could. She then added in elvish, in the same voice, "Lira, run!" so that Lira would know that Lumiel knew she was in trouble. She laughed then, and it filled the air in strange echoes. Her foes now turned their attention to the main group; renewed by Lumiel's outburst and insult they seemed almost to forget about Lira and the hobbits.

Lumiel had no time to consider how the others had taken her actions nor if they approved of it. She had not become a Dark Queen as Eswen had, nor was such a queen in her. She had put on a show for their enemies and they had fallen for it. Though her heart remained calm, her eyes darted wildly and she cackled as her blade sought the soft, vulnerable flesh that gave such a scream. She only hoped she had given Lira and the hobbits a chance.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik
Falowik had the sword in his hand that he had taken from one of the ruffians back in Deadmen's Dike. His hand was sweaty. He was convinced that they were doomed, but he was going to go down fighting. Better death than what he had heard of from Gorby and Lumiel. The sixty-plus ruffians galloped down the hills from three sides. Falowik had been expecting, waiting, for Thoronmir to call an immediate retreat from their precarious position, but the order had not come. Maybe I should have been the leader. He shook his head. Fool, there was no way you were ready, and you are no more so now. He raised his sword and watched the fighters among the group - he did not consider himself to be one - to see what they did, and copy them.

Uien took the reins of the extra horses from Falowk and joined the hobbits in the middle of the group. She was a healer, not a fighter, even though she had killed. Falowik knew that she would again, if it came to the final moment. Lumiel seemed seasoned and confident as she watched the riders come down the hills and charge among them. Thoronmir seemed just as confident. What was wrong with these people? Then Falowik began to see.

Since they were all horsed, their foes could only come at them so many at a time, and had to make room for each other in their attack, which meant that only about a dozen of the brigands could engage them at one time. They had a chance! Falowik's eyes went wide with hope. A fierce eagerness swept up in him. He had never felt the sensation before. He let out a whoop of his own and swung at the closest enemy, who parried his blow and pulled back for a quick cut underneath Falowik's slow blade.

"Falowik!" Uien cried in fear behind him.

He reacted with a wild swing that glanced off the other man's arm, sending the sword that would have struck off Falowik's head useless, off to the side. He was alive! He hollered again and swung as hard and fast as he could. The man went down, cut at the shoulder and thrown off his mount. Falowik saw another foe come up where the other had been. He knew he had been lucky and reckless. He tried to be more in control this time.

He would have to thank Eodwine for having trained his mount for war so well. Flithaf moved as if he knew precisely how Falowik should swing next. Falowik allowed the horse's movements to guide his swings just as much as his own eyes did, and somehow it worked! Instinct took over. He knew he wasn't good at this, but in the heat of battle, the next move was all that mattered.
Lumiel screamed and cackled and taunted the foe. Falowik didn't know why, but it had a powerful effect on him, filling his veins with fire. His sword swung faster as his foes' hesitated: it was their undoing. The first wave of attackers lay on the ground, and their horses were getting in the way of the next wave. The humans, elves, and hobbits who still stood took the moment to catch their breath.

Falco

Get in the middle? What do you take me for? Falco was determined not to be mere baggage. It was times like these that made him wish he'd taken his pa's advice and learned the bow. Ah well. These ruffians would feel the worst of his dagger, sword, and cudgel then. And he knew the best job for a quick and sturdy hobbit like himself. He got down from his mount and waited for the foe to fall from their horses. Keeping his wits about him, he stabbed the fallen to make sure they would not rise again. Let the others scream and holler. I'll stay quiet and do good hobbit work. Someone has got to be practical around here.

Gorby fell. It looked to Falco like Lira jumped off her horse and went to Gorby. Anson was right beside Gorby and pulled him onto his pony. Lira remounted her steed, and the three of them pushed back the way they had come.

Lumiel started screaming and cackling. "Lira!" she called and some elvish word Falco didn't know. Lira, Anson, and Gorby were pushing east, Lira swinging her sword right and left, cutting a swath for their escape. Are they crazy? thought Falco. It's an hour back east! Those ruffian horses will overtake Anson's pony in minutes! Or they could be dropped from behind by any arrow!

"Don't divide the group!" Falco shouted. Too late. They weren't listening. Falco shook his head. Big Trouble through and through! It was the foolishest thing he'd ever seen a soldier do because safety was in what little numbers they had all in one place; but these elves thought they knew best. Ten horsemen came around the long way, pointing at Lira, Gorby and Anson, yelling to each other. Fool elves! He could not catch up to them, so he left them to their fate, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

Falco turned back to the frey at hand. There were more fallen ruffians to put out of their misery. He was glad to oblige.

[Nurumaiel]

Anson

By the time Lira had reached Anson, he was already struggling to sit up. His face was pale and he was shaking all over. Lira helped him up and gazed at him, apparently wanting him to say something but unsure of what to ask. Anson looked about him and his eyes widened. "Gorby?" he asked her, but no sound came from his mouth. His eyes widened with fear at this and he clutched her hand, trying to speak to her but finding he could make no noise whatsoever. Lira put her free hand on his brown curls and spoke gently to him. "Don't worry, Anson," she said. "You've just had the wind knocked out of you." She cast an uneasy glance behind her at the fighting, wondering how much more time they had.

"Do you think you can walk if I help you?" she asked. "We have to find Gorby."

Anson gave a stiff nod and allowed Lira to help him to his feet. She began walking forward as quickly as she dared, one arm about Anson's shoulder. He clung to this arm, his eyes travelling desperately about, searching for Gorby. It was not long before his breath came more regularly, and soon he was brokenly telling her what had happened. When Lira's horse had screamed, the pony had become terrified and went into a mad frenzy of fear. Anson had quickly concluded that it would be better to jump off, but the pony had already taken off at an uncontrolable gallop and Anson had been flung off. Gorby had still been clinging to the pony's mane when everything went black.

Lira and Anson followed the pony's tracks, looking desperately for Gorby. Both realized that they were easy targets for the attackers and they were solely relying on the rest of the group to see their plight and assist them by keeping the enemy away. The color had come back to Anson's face and they began moving quicker.

At last Lira gave a cry and sprang to one side, Anson close behind her. Gorby was lying face up on the ground, breathing heavily and staring up at the sky. When he saw Lira and Anson he smiled faintly at them and held out both his hands. Anson took one and Lira the other and they pulled him to his feet. "Are you all right?" Anson asked, embracing him warmly.

Gorby nodded. "I do believe I am. I almost got trampled by your pony, though."

"I'm sorry!" Anson cried, grasping his hand tightly.

"Don't worry yourself over it," Gorby replied. "The bravest man may turn coward in the face of a steel blade, and I fancy ponies aren't any different."

Lira had watched this reunion with a little smile. Through the most dangerous fights, Hobbits would always remain simple, gentle folk. Taking the hobbits' hands, she said, "It would be best if we were to find somewhere to hide. Our best chance is there."

"But, Lira!" Anson cried. "Isn't your horse hurt? I heard a horse scream, and here you are on foot." A shadow of pain passed over Lira's face, but she murmured, "That isn't what we need to worry about now." As she led them away, her eyes searching for a hiding place, Anson and Gorby exchanged a look that clearly showed they were both thinking the same thing... Elves were grand entirely.

[Imladris]

Lira’s blue eyes swept the landscape, looking for a suitable place for the hobbit’s to hide. Fear bubbled up inside of her, clutched her, as she didn’t even find anything that could hid someone so small as a hobbit. Taking a hobbit’s hand in each of her own, she sprinted across the plain, the brown grass bending noiselessly under their feet.

Lira did not know how she managed to protect the hobbits from the assailants that swarmed around them…she only knew that her hand was stained with red, her dress was spattered with brown flecks, that the hobbit’s faces were white with fear. She stooped and picked up a sword and a bow and arrows from a fallen man, sheathing her dagger, and they continued on. Gorby stumbled to the ground, and Lira and Anson bent to help him to his feet.

A tremor shivered in the ground, the brown dry grass trembled. Turning, Lira saw ten horsemen galloping towards them, blades drawn, a cruel smile about their lips. She and the hobbits were almost near the copse of trees, only a few more minutes of running and they would be safe…maybe. “Come on,” she whispered, redoubling her pace.

They could hear the pounding of hooves chanting the coming of their death as they entered the shelter of the trees. Lira led the hobbits into the midst of the copse and stopped at the base of a dying oak. Dropping her sword to the ground, she gripped Anson under his arms and heaved him to the top bow, then did the same to Gorby. As she lifted them, she said, “Climb as high as you can and lay perfectly still. I’m going to keep them off our trail,” she said as she disappeared through the trees, bending and snapping twigs as she went, making the trail as noticeable as she dared. Then she circled back, swung herself into a tree near the hobbits, and waited with her bow drawn.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen had been witnessing what Lira and the Hobbits were going through but could do nothing being engaged with more than one enemy around her. She knew who had killed Gorby's brave pony, who took his own life, rearing up just in time to save his master from the cursed arrow.

She galloped up to him and drove her terrible blade into his heart "a heart for a heart, though yours is of lesser kind" she cried as arrows went whizzing by her head. Her horse reared with a resonating roaring scream knocking men clean off their mounts.

A number of spears were sticking up from the ground, failed casts that never had a second chance at their target. Esgallhugwen plucked one up from the ground and with an awe-inspiring cry of her own threw it at close range.

The cruel twisted metal spike struck the target's throat with great force, but missing the voice box he choked and spluttered as he slid off his horse, Eswen rode up to his fallen body, blood foamed from his mouth, she took the spear from his throat and his life with it.

The mangled bronze glowed with crimson blood with the last failing rays of the sun, the stars arose from their deep blue cloak and the moon cast ominous light on all the figures who were engaged in battle. Eswen threw the spear one last time leaving it embedded in the man's chest.

Then a second wave crawled over the hilltops, after all they could only come in so many at a time. Esgallhugwen drove at them with fear and power as a shepherd drives cattle to the slaughter.

She was full of wrathful tyrant-like slaughter, but the thought in her heart was pure she must do her best to keep any further men from getting to the Hobbits and Lira who were sitting in a rather tall sickly tree, susceptible to arrows and perhaps spear throws. Lumiel was doing her share taunting and harrasing the men trying to distract them from their exposed companions.

And now Eswen had been surrounded by four horsemen, with notched blades and tempers full of hate against her for killing many of their own men, she taunted them further "hah, you dare brandish your swords at me when they are barely sharp enough to cut a loaf of bread! You fools! My sword will play your ribs like a violin and you will weep to see an end to that sweet melody"

With that she struck the one to her left in the head, dodging the swing that came at her next, parrying yet another, she managed to miraculously dispatch all four without injury to herself.

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir drew his sword and fought desperately against the brigands. He fought hard, slaying at least ten foes, but he knew it was hopeless. "Enough of this!" he called. "We must retreat!"

Doing so proved to be harder than it looked. Everybody was surrounded by foes. He frantically tried to cut his way through to aid some of the others, but in the process, he got a nasty cut across his left arm with a ruffian's scimitar. He swung to cut the man down, but there were too many of them. He kept fighting, trying to reach everybody and get them out safely.

[Lumiel]

The battle raged harshly around her and screams filled the air as the combined swords of their company rent through one after another of the brigands. Yet too many there were, and they too few. Unaware if her diversion for Lira, Gorby, and Anson had succeeded or not, for she could not afford to spare her attention, Lumiel heard Thoronmir sound the retreat. "Enough of this! We must retreat!"

His voice carried to her, and she knew he was right. Both her and her mount had gone this far with few injuries and those being only a few superficial cuts by close calls. She did not know how many she had slain, but knew only that the pile of dead near her was growing steadily. The smell of blood was sharp in her nose and her head seemed to pound with the ringing and clashing of metal and steel, staccato in its warlike rhythm.

As well as they seemed to be holding up, she knew that their momentum was dying. Her own arms were beginning to feel heavy, though still capable of arcing and slashing her sword as need demanded. A rosy pink crept from her cheeks and she suddenly realized how restrictive her clothing seemed to be. She had been trained since childhood for battle and her stamina and strength were remarkable for a woman her size. Yet if she was beginning to tire, what of the others?

She carefully backed away towards Thoronmir, keeping a close eye and count on all the foes who were at the moment a direct threat to her. She made it to Thoronmir and saw in her peripheral vision a sword cut across his left arm. Instinctively she turned and buried her blade under his armpit and a gush of warm blood flowed down the already slick sword. He grunted and fell to the ground. Lumiel had no time to notice this as a scimitar sliced across her back as she was jerked closer to Thoronmir. She grimaced in pain and turned to her new foe. She had been saved by her horse, who had realized the danger before her and pulled her away just in time to avoid death, but not injury. Blood seeped down her back in trickling rivulets and soaked her shirt. It was not fatal, but it had cut near the muscle. They had to escape, and soon. "Thoromir!" she called loudly to the man since her back was turned to him at the moment, though he was no more than two feet away. "I've got your back!" She could help defend him as he made his way out of the circle of ruffians. She would depend on her horse to make sure she was safe. He had saved her once, he could do it again, or at least she hoped.

[Esgallhugwen]

"We must retreat!" Esgallhugwen heard Thoronmir call across the plain, it was then she realized that they were no longer together as one group but had spread out during the fighting. A significant amount of corpses had encircled Morsereg and herself, he had no choice but to leap across or crush their bones with his massive heavy hooves.

She urged him on calling to the others who may not have heard "retreat" she shouted, slashing the face of another rider. The vile man clutched at his face in pain letting go of the reins, his horse reared in terror and he fell backwards onto one of his dead companions, Falco finished him off.

A barrage of arrows came swooping past above her head, Eswen could distinctly hear someone from the other side crying "bring her down, bring them all down!" his voice was harsh and loud. She bolted to one side then to the other, trying to dodge and loose some of her own arrows upon them.

Esgallhugwen had taken down five men and wounded five more before she was hit, twice in the thigh and once in the front of her left shoulder. Giving a blood curdling scream at the men that shot her she killed them swiftly, two in the chest one penetrating the skull.

The hot blood began to ooze from her leg and across her arm as she sped toward Thoronmir and Lumiel who were trying to make their way out of the fray. Mosereg whinnied with concern for his friend and master "I'll be fine, keep going!" she told him gently yet sternly.

Her whole body throbbed with every heartbeat, but she was used to being wounded in battle having fought many a time before. A smooth white scar ran across her back from many years ago when she was captured by orcs and tortured for who knows how long in those deep treacherous caves, slashed, beaten, and stricken by hot blades and whips.

Esgallhugwen always remembered her mother having died there. Her passion grew, vigour and power renewed in her limbs she struck the enemy with renewed force, aiding in the company's retreat.

[Imladris]

A twig snapped, a sword glinted in the filtered sunlight. Lira crouched on the limb, barely breathing, and hoped that the hobbits wouldn’t do something foolish to bring attention to themselves. She pushed herself against the trunk of her tree, hoping that her dirtied green dress would go unnoticed against the bark.

With a flurry of feather, Corn, his black beak stained with blood, silently landed beside her. He was weary, and he swayed unsteadily upon the branch. His tail feathers drooped, and his eyes were glazed as he stared back towards Fornost. Lira frowned in puzzlement, but then she realized, as she heard the clashing swords, the cries of men, the echo of retreat, that they had been defeated. She faltered and a tear trickled down her cheek. Who had died, and who had lived?

A man strode through the copse, dead leaves crunching under his heavy footfalls, and paused, his black eyes glittering. With a mocking smirk, he called out, “Do you think that this rotten wood can save you, you little runts? And do you know what will happen once we find you? We’ll bind your wrists tightly with rough rope so that it will bit into your skin, causing the blood to ooze from the wound as if a burning fury were cutting you with a heated blade. You will be tied to a stake, your back bared to the leather strips of whip. Broken pottery and glass will be bound in the tails and they shall strike your flesh deeply. If you’re lucky, the wounds won’t get infected. But, after we finish breaking your bones, burning your flesh with heated metal, and starving you, you’ll be killed on the alter as a sacrifice. They’ll bleed you like a stuck pig, except that you’ll be alive, writhing in agony.” He snorted and then laughed coldly. “Maybe we’ll stuff the fat little weasels with herbs and bread until they can’t eat no more and then cook them for ourselves!”

Lira gagged and drew the bow close to her ear, aiming for his heart. With a silent elvish prayer, the arrow with a chilling hiss, sped from the string and buried itself deep into the hunter’s heart.

[Nurumaiel]

Anson cringed as the arrow buried itself in the hunter's chest and hid his eyes so he did not have to see the man topple over, his eyes staring in cold death. Gorby's arm slipped about Anson's shoulders and stayed there, silently comforting his friend.

"Perhaps," Anson murmured in as loud a voice as he dared, "it would be better if I did die on this mad quest."

"Oh no, certainly not," said Gorby briskly, trying to hide the concern that flickered in his eyes. A terrible thought hovered on the edge of his mind. Was Anson despairing?

"I've no doubt that my family will miss me," Anson continued as though he hadn't heard. "But the fact is my father won't miss me. He doesn't care for me very much, you know. I'm always so timid and weak except when it concerns my father. It isn't his fault. 'Tis mine. I argue against everything he says, even when he's right. I set a bad example for my brothers and sisters. And so maybe it would be better if I died."

"I guess it wouldn't!" Gorby cried hotly. "Indeed, Anson, your whole family loves you and sometimes you even amuse your father by your insistance on arguing with him. I've seen it before. Your mother would die of a broken heart, anyway."

Anson's eyes looked tortured. "I guess he isn't dead, but he's gone far off somewhere, and I loved my pony," he murmured. A silence fell as the three of them pondered this. They had all lost their steeds, and so in battle the first of their friends had fallen, animals though they might be.

More of their hunters drew near, and the hobbits held their breath and each other's hands, their wide, trustful eyes turned to Lira, who placed another arrow to her bow.

[Meneltarmacil]

"Come with me!" Thoronmir said to Lumiel. "Stay close!"

Both of their mounts were alright at the moment, but that could change rapidly. He made it to where the hobbits stood with Lira, with Lumiel still close by.

Thoronmir, Lumiel and their horses managed to get through the enemy lines around the hobbits and Lira. Thoronmir called to them. "Follow me! We're leaving!"

Lira and the Hobbits managed to get behind Thoronmir and his horse Brandir, but suddenly an arrow from one of the ruffians hit Brandir in the side of the head. The horse fell to the ground, pinning Thoronmir underneath. He frantically tried to get out, but couldn't move. He just barely managed to turn aside as a long knife stabbed the ground beside him. Finally getting up, he found himself, Lumiel, Gorby, Anson, and Lira surrounded.

This was all my fault. I shouldn't have led these people to their death. he thought. Well, there was no use in worrying about it now. They would just have to make as best a stand as they could here.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik heard the call for retreat.

"Uien! Let the horses go! Leave them!" Falowik was not sure she heard him. He swung his sword again, and his blow was parried. He turned his steed and looked for Uien. He was very lucky, for the man he had engaged had followed his parry with a swing, and the Flithaf's quick movement was the only reason his head was still connected to his shoulders.

There was Uien. She had heard him. He cantered the short distance to her.

"Hop on!"

He reached down and grabbed her hand, and she jumped onto Flithaf's back behind him. She kept her head low, her arms around his middle, trying to give him all the sword swinging room he needed. Thoronmir and Lumiel were not far away. He urged Flithaf after them.

Their enemies tripped and kicked over their dead and gave chase. Were they going to make for the copse where Lira and the hobbits were? Where was Falco? He certainly didn't want the bothersome little runt killed. Flithaf was catching up to Thoronmir and Lumiel.

[Imladris]

Lira could vaguely hear the soft, faint tones of the hobbits as they murmured together in the tree. She would have told them to be still, but it didn’t really matter for, unless they were miraculously rescued, the ground would be stained with their blood before long. Already the rustles of leaves whispered of the other nine coming towards them. They would not fail to find their fallen comrade, and they would not fail to guess that the shot came from above. Tilting her head just a little, she could see Anson’s wan face, his sad eyes turned towards her. She smiled a little at them and whispered, “Fear not, little Hobbit,” as she drew another arrow to her ear.

Behind her there was a din of galloping hooves and, turning, Lira saw that it was Lumiel and Thoronmir making their way to the copse.

Swiftly they ran through the woods and into the shelter of the copse. Thoronmir’s steed had been shot from under him, pinning him to the ground. With a cry, Lira swung herself from her tree and dashed forward to help him.

After he had wriggled himself free, Lira rasied and saw that their foes had gathered in a tight circle around the copse. Their faces looked weary, and slightly frightened as they hedged themselves around the copse, unwilling to enter it. The field of battle with their corpses while their little band had somehow remained alive and still able to fight.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco felt the ground tremble with the pounding of horses' hooves. It was too dark to see much except by the faint light of the moon, but he could hear and feel it all well enough. All the Big Trouble folks galloped away and left him among his pony and the extra horses. He let the horses wander where they would and kept the reins of his pony in his hands.

Make no sound, he whispered to himself.

The enemy thundered by him and left him alone in the valley surrounded by four hills. What to do? Watch and wait. Now that all the hubbub was over, his heart had stopped beating so fast, and he realized just how tired he was. And don't fall asleep.

He got on his pony and lay close to his neck, and let him wander among the horses, aiming him in the general direction of the copse on the hill. There might be something he could do yet. Time would tell.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen's sword clashed with another man as Thoronmir and Lumiel sped away with Falowik, Uien and Finewen close behind. But where had that bothersome Falco gotten to? He was not close at hand and the horsemen were still coming at them.

She had no time to find him among the bodies, whether alive or dead, she knew he was no fool, or hoped he wasn't in any case. She made a dash to the copse of trees to see Thoronmir's brave horse go down on top of him.

They were surrounded. The wall of horsed men had become impenetrable, but they paused unsure as to whether or not they should make their way into the copse or keep their distance.

Four of their mounts were gone, not including Falco's, the night was upon them and the keen night vision of the Elves set in. Esgallhugwen was caked in her own blood, she refused to take the arrows from her wounds knowing that the barbed points would only make the bleeding worse.

With nimble fingers, she swiftly broke the shafts in half reducing the pull on her shoulder and thigh. Now she would be able to use her bow once more.

[Lumiel]

Escaping the mound of the newly dead as well as the main group of their foes, Lumiel followed Thoronmir closely as they made for the small copse of trees. The light of day was nearly gone with only an orange echo left of it fading to the west.

A warning in her mind caused her to draw up her mount sharply and stop, looking around. She had no time to warn Thoromir who was now nearly in the copse. In the dead light, she saw the remains of the brigands approach the copse, surrounding it. She was about to cry a warning when she heard a strangled, twisted scream of a horse and the thud as it hit the ground. "Thoronmir..." she whispered.

The brigands had the copse surrounded. But they didn't know who was within the trap of the trees and who was not. Lumiel laid low on her saddle and searchingly looked behind her for her companions. She could hear their horses. At least two, but she didn't know who. She anxiously waited for them to approach, they would need a plan and a lot of luck.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen stood among the others, blood-soaked, as their enemy closed in around them. Now that there were no more dead corpses around them, it made steering her horse and fighting much easier, though she did not know how long it would be before the ground around them was littered with dead bodies, and who's bodies they would be, but now was not the time to be in doubt: she had to fight, along with the others. The sun was slowly setting to the west of them, and it seemed the battle last into the night.

Gripping tightly at the reins, they came closer. There were cuts here and there on Finëwen, but nothing majour, or at least not yet. The odds hadn't looked too great, but they had made it so far, though there were wounded. Finëwen did not know how much longer they would last, but she would not give up anytime soon. After seeing several torture devices, she could not let her companions come to such a horrible demise and stood her ground.

Then came a round of arrows, Finëwen narrowly dodging them, as she steered her horse. Fortunately, everyone else missed them by only a few hand lengths (and even less) also.

After what seemed a pause, the men charged. Finëwen gripped her sword and the reins tightly, though her knuckles were cut up and bloody. Clinging swords with a charging man, he managed to cut her along the arm, leaving a somewhat deep wound, only before he had Finëwen's own sword jabbed into him. He fell to the ground, littering it. More charged, and Finëwen responded to them also with her sword.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik

Falowik and Finëwen veered to the right and back down the hill as the horsemen that had been held in reserve galloped past them and up the hill. Lumiel went in closer, and had to dodge arrows for her trouble. Falowik was stunned that they were being left alone. But the entirety of their foes had for some unknown reason decided to concentrate their efforts against Thoronmir, Lira, Eswen, and the two hobbits. Maybe they thought that Lira was a mage, or something. In any case, they had to do something. Draw some of them off so that Thoronmir and the others had a fighting chance? Only Eswen had bow and arrows.
Falowik was unsure whether to join Lumiel or not.

Uien hung onto him tightly, murmuring in Elvish. It seemed that she was again in some kind of trance, spurred by what, Falowik could not imagine. She was beyond his words and would be of no help for strategy.

A pony came up beside them. The rider sat up straight. It was Falco.

"Wanderer!" He spoke in a hoarse whisper. "They've left the land they were defending exposed to our eyes."

Falowik looked back. Sure enough, there was nothing but dead bodies between them and whatever lay westward. He looked back up the hill to the copse and their surrounded allies.

"But we can't leave them alone up there."

"Do what you must. I'm going to have a look. You be sure to be alive when I get back!"

With that, Falco was off at a gallop. Whether the enemy saw him or not, Falowik couldn't tell. Unsure as to the best course of action, he urged Flithaf up the hill to aid Lumiel. He hoped Eswen would do her dark queen thing again soon. They needed a distraction.

Falco

Falco passed the field of the melee and met no friend or enemy. He noticed the two dead ponies of Gorby and Anson and clicked his tongue at the waste. He rode on, following the rough path that skirted the hill going northwesterly. The moon was high now and the stars shone. It was quiet now that he had a hill between him and the melee. He stopped. Before him was a wide lake, stretching for miles. Of course, Lake Evendim. He went a little farther, approaching the shore, heading north along the edge of the lake.

[Imladris]

Her bow ready, Lira glided swiftly to the edge of the copse where she had seen Esgallugwen lingering in the shadows. “Mellon, are you standing guard?” she asked as she pressed herself against a tree. Glancing towards the other elf, she noticed that shafts of wood protruded from her shoulder and her thigh and that the feathered portions of the broken arrows were scattered about the ground, as if the elf had thrown them carelessly aside. “You must have your wounds treated before they become infected,” she whispered softly in the elvish tongue. “I am sure you do not wish to die a painful death if the infection spreads, or at the very least loose a limb.” She smiled gently at Esgallhugwen and said, “Please, Eswen, leave me hear to guard in your stead.”

The other elf shook her head and said, “Soon -- but not now. Look at them,” she whispered, gesturing towards the drifting shadows that circled the copse, “they mean to keep us here, penned like sheep to slaughter.” She laughed softly: they both knew that any man who entered the copse would die. “Within these trees we can live for a very long time, and eventually they will leave us, impatient to wait for us any longer. The only way they can route us out is if they set fire to the trees, but their minds are not sharp enough for that. They have lived and learned only to kill; I doubt that any one of these men know how to think.”

Lira stroked the dry, creviced bark of the tree and looked sadly at the brown shriveled leaves that clung to its wasted twigs. “It is not fire I fear, Esgallhugwen,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “We have hardly any food left as most of it was on the hobbits’ ponies which are both gone. We will starve long before they tire waiting for us.”

Death. She had not been able to escape its presence. Death was the hand that caressed a slumbering child’s cheek, that stole a baby from the cradle, that clothed a lover‘s heart in sable; the one that rescued the aged from disease and pain, the companion of the armies of Middle-earth. With a little sigh, she said, “We are going to die.”

[Lumiel]

Falowik and Finewen neared and she whispered to them. "Stop!" In surprise, they turned to her. In the near dark they had almost passed her by. In a glance, she took them in. Falowik and Finewen were unhurt for the most part, and Uien was riding with Falowik. Looking at the elf, she saw that she seemed to be in a trance. There was nothing she could do about that. She turned back to the other two. "Where's Falco?" she asked with concern.

"He went that way" said Falowik, pointing towards the dark horizon, "towards the area that the company came from. They've left the land unguarded." explained Falowik. The decision of the stout, stubborn hobbit surprised Lumiel.

"The others are trapped in the copse, the brigands have surrounded them. There are about twenty of them, I think. We've got to come up with a plan." she whispered in explanation of the situation.

"A distraction would work." Finewen said softly. "They can't see in the dark and they don't know how many of us are in the copse and how many are not. They won't know where we are. Numbers won't matter."

Falowik nodded agreement. "It's probably the best chance we have to save them. But we have to do it very soon, before they start watchfires and patrols. They won't take any chances."

An idea clicked in her mind and her eyes widened in hope, a small, unseen smile accentuating it. "I have a plan. You two can draw them off. Start off a good distance away. Get their attention. Give a show of bravado." she said in short, staccatto sentences as her mouth tumbled over the words in an effort to keep up with the pacing of her mind. "We've killed most of their company, they'll want revenge. They'll think that just two of you are easy pickings. If you can draw enough of them off and keep them busy, I'll sneak up on them. I can see them in the dark, but they can't see me, like you said Finewen. I'm sure that I can take out a few of them before they even realize that they're being attacked. Once the others within the copse realize what's going on, they can help me pick off those that remain." she finally finished. She looked at the man and woman, wondering what they would think.

"But what of Uien?" asked Falowik. "I won't be able to fight them and protect her at the same time." Lumiel hadn't thought of that. Her brow creased for a moment in thought and she spoke again quickly.

"We can leave her with my horse. I've found that he's loyal and smart, he'll protect her. Not having him might make it easier for me to attack the brigands as well, since I'll be a much smaller target." she said. It might not be the best idea, but it was the best that she could come up with. She trusted her horse, he had saved her life and she believed he could save Uien's as well, if it was necessary. The idle thought came across her hurried mind that she had not yet named him. Well, maybe after the danger was past she would get around to it.

Falowik seemed to consider this, looking at Uien with worry. Could a horse be trusted to protect the woman he loved so much? "Alright. So long as she's safe." he said. Lumiel dismounted and convinced her nervous horse to lay on the ground. Falowik eased off of his saddle and carefully took Uien down. It seemed she could barely stand and Falowik gently supported her as he led her to the horse and helped her sit down, leaning her upper body against his dark, shining coat. Lumiel rubbed his nose and whispered to him encouragement and hope. "You're sure he'll stay with her?" asked Falowik, his face filled with worry. Lumiel nodded.

"If our plan is to have any chance of success, we need to hurry." said Finewen. "Their attention won't be distracted entirely by the copse for very long and as quiet as our voices are, they carry too well in this land." By way of agreement, Falowik mounted his saddle with one last look at Uien. "Good luck, Lumiel."

"May the Valar protect you." she whispered in return as she turned and headed towards the copse. Her feet swept quietly over the bent grass as she weaved between the dead bodies. The smell of decay was beginning. She ignored it and kept her eyes on the copse, making sure that none of them saw her. As she neared, she crept on her belly. As she approached in an almost snake-like manner, she could feel the cut on her back opening up again, oozing blood slowly. But the pain only seemed to push her on and she finally stopped about fifteen feet away. She would wait for the signal.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco

Falco and his pony climbed a ridge that came down to the water's edge. Just before he reached the top, he saw a settlement on the shore between two arms of a hill. In the moonlight it appeared to be surrounded by high stockaded walls on every side. Falco reined his mount, turned around, dismounted, and tied the pony to a nearby shrub, and checking his weapons, stole over the ridge and into the valley, keeping to the shadows of trees and scrub. His hobbit feet were very quiet, and he was small compared to what these people probably expected. Before long he had snuck up to the foot of one wall of the stockade.

He moved slowly and carefully, as quietly as he could, to the nearest corner. A locked gate was not far away. He crept to it. He heard voices.

"Wonder what's keeping them? There were only ten enemy. Eighty strong should have wiped 'em out in minutes. They ought to be back by now."

"Cleaning up the evidence, probably. Can't leave any signs thereabouts."

"I don't like that it's just us five to guard the whole lot of 'em!"

"Easy now. It's just a couple of hours. Come morning there'll be enough to watch the laborers."

"I still don't like it."

Falco stole away with his new information. He hoped the others would still be there when he got back.

Falowik

Falowik and Finëwen rode down the hill and partway of the next, and from their hooted and hollered. It was not long before ten horsemen started down the hill, coming in their direction. Falowik hoped Lumiel would be able to take some out. In any case, he and Finëwen would give whoever survived a rabbit chase to remember. It was a good thing they had a head start.

Uien

Death everywhere. Screams and howls surrounded her. They were attacked by orcs borne by wargs. Death and blood was in the air. The others fought desperately, making a ruin of the enemy. There were no stones to speak for the dead here, just the hills and the trees. The bodies of the dead piled up around her and she could not escape them. An orc face scowled within inches of her own and threatened her. No, that was another time, another place. It was all blended together in a nightmare of blood and death. The hills ran red and the trees moaned with it.

A voice broke in. "Uien! Let the horses go! Leave them!" The voice of her beloved. She dropped the reins as a familiar horse thundered near. "Hop on!" A hand reached down and grabbed hers. She jumped up behind Falowik and wrapped her arms around him, keeping her head low. She was safe now.

Thundering hooves. Cries in the night. It was all a blur of noise and darkness. Blood and death were before her eyes and she could not escape. She was in a prison of nightmares. Her lover went away and left her alone. Someone pulled her off the horse, and put her on another one. They made her rest against the horse's neck. Warmth. They were closer to the blood and the death now. She could feel it and smell it. She could taste the evil of death and slavery.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen stood next to Lira, managing to have gotten off her horse. Her wounds still bled slowly and the aching throb only added to her anger, very much like when one tries to bring down a great bear or wild cat, the more wounded the animal is the stronger and more bloodthirsty it becomes before it tears it's pursuers to utter pieces.

"You can stay back or you can stay close" she whispered to Lira and the Hobbits "whatever you think is best, I'd perfer if you stayed back even my horse could not carry all of us and it is a sad fate that your faithful mounts have been slain, so take my place as gaurd and prepare yourselves" she saw the riders race off towards Falowik, Finëwen and the rest who were not trapped in the copse.

"The time has come for me to try and do my part, stay here with Thoronmir unless he tells you otherwise, even though we lost our mounts and some of us are wounded, we would be lost without his leadership". She hopped on top of Morsereg's sleek black back and warily made her way around the ruined stone wall, that was part of the copse, she saw the men run off with Lumiel fairly close behind even without a horse.

She raced quickly among the dead bodies, a black blur almost unoticible in the shadows. Esgallhugwen drove her horse towards Falowik, coming up behind the hill so the men wouldn't see her. "Do not worry", she spoke soft and quickly in thier ears, "you will not have to run".

The Elf seemed to grow tall and dark as she mustered her strength and power, the moon with all its light and beauty cast an evil shadow upon her pale face, and her eyes seemed to glow like silver stars in a harsh cold winter. Morsereg reared and screamed throwing his head about.

At first the men reared in their horses with sickly humour on their faces thinking the enemy was making a mistake that would lead to their advantage, but their hearts soon qailed before the dark menacing shape its eyes shining in the star and moonlight like beacons of death and impending torment.

"You lowely worms," she cried at them "who think of yourselves as brave men, who think you have no fears, you had found yourselves strong and inexsaustable, fools you must feel now to know you have brought merciless death upon you, beautiful and lovely but a terror and plague to all things mortal, you have brought me down upon you and I will not deprive myself of taking your lives, be thankful if you come to an end swiftly!".

She raised her sword as Lumiel crept up towards them.

[Lumiel]

She could feel the steady beat of her heart, throbbing a quick pulse through the cut on her lower back. It seemed to echo in her head as she waited for what seemed an unrelenting eternity for Finewen and Falowik's signal. And then it came.

She could hear them shout and holler to the brigands, and heard their horses neigh in challenge. Those surrounding the copse had a quick council and then ten of the men pounded off to meet the two on the hills. They passed not far from where she lay pressed on the grass, looking like another dead body among many. She lay still as stone as her eyes silently followed them. It was time.

There were fourteen men left, all spread out along the edges of the small copse. Quietly, she got to her feet and nearly crawled towards them, taking out two daggers from hidden folds as she went, her sword sheathed for the moment at her side. Two were just ahead of her, and she could hear Eswen's dark voice penetrating like a knife through the night air, making the men back up a pace in fear.

Taking her chance, she swept forward, still carrying herself low to the ground, and cut the hind leg tendons of two of the horses as she ran between them. Both cried in pain and surprise and fell towards the ground, either throwing off their masters or landing on top of them. Before they hit the ground though, she rolled beneath the one on her right and threw a deadly aimed dagger at the neck of the rider who was not ten feet away. He had only barely turned to the sudden attack, his sword half unsheathed. He clutched at his throat with claw-like hands and slumped off of his mount, which trampled over him in its fearful hurry to escape.

Behind her, she heard the thunderous gallop of a horse with the war cry of a man. Turning on one foot, she saw he was nearly on her, sword raised in his right hand. She stepped deftly to her right just as the horse sped by and yanked on the reins as hard as she could. The horse neighed fiercely as it was thrown off-balance and stumbled to the ground, throwing the rider off several feet away. Knowing that he was the greatest danger to her at the moment, she drew her sword and ran to where he now lay. Seeing her unnaturally calm battle face beside her blood-sick blade gave his instinct the jump it needed to let him survive. He rolled away and quickly to his feet as she swung with a quick darting motion at where he had previously been. He returned with a heavy-handed overswing and Lumiel blocked it, pushing out and around as she did so, nearly throwing the sword from the man's hands. Two were gone and she had a third busy. She only hoped that the others could take care of the rest.

[Imladris]

I jumped at the scream that ripped the air and the next thing I knew I was sitting on the ground, trying to figure out just why something was screaming and just how, exactly, I had fallen from the tree. Shadows darted hither and thither, Lira was shooting arrows at them. I grinned broadly for I realized that some of our party had come to rescue us from this horrid copse that kept us from complete escape. With a shrill cry, I danced wildly at the base of the tree, much too exited to realize that there were still men about, and that I could be killed in a wink. But, as the cries of men came dangerously close to me, I stopped my dancing and crouched in a little hollow between the great roots and waited. I hoped that none of our party would be slain. There was Fin, the human girl, Uien, Falowik, and Lumiel -- I shut my eyes and prayed that she would not meet her doom. I couldn’t understand how that Falco could think that Uien and Falowik had set us up -- [I] Falco! [/] My head shot up and I frowned. I hadn’t seen him for hours and I thought he had come along with us. Now that I took a minute to think clearly, he wasn’t here at all -- he had disappeared. Even though I despised him, he was a hobbit and I hoped nothing too serious would happen to him.

I suddenly noticed that all was quiet and that not even the wind whispered of secret things. No clash of iron, no whistles of arrows. Just an immense stillness that echoed in my ears.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco had made it back to his mount when he stopped in his tracks. Falco, Falco, what are you thinking? There's only five of them. He turned around and crept back to the settlement. There had to be a way in for a hobbit. He followed the wall to one corner, turned west and followed it to a large gate, big enough to drive wagons through. There was no easy entry there either. He kept going until he came to the water's edge. He would have to swim, but then he would be under the wall and in. It was a good thing it was still the height of summer.

Falco came up inside the wall, dripping wet. Nobody was nearby. He carefully drew his dwarven made sword and his dagger. He had rough work to do and needed to make quick work of any foe who stumbled upon him.

The settlement was not very big. It was a stockade of timber surrounding a small village with all needs for daily survival inside. Except that there were no smials or houses. Instead there were three long buildings, running east to west, a dirt road passing before them from one gate to the other. The building closest to the north gate was the barn. He could hear lowing and bleeting and neighing coming from it. A brigand stood at the door of the middle one. Maybe that was the prisoners' quarters. Which made the south building the brigands' quarters.

Falco knew that two brigands were stationed at the south gate; at the north gate was one more. He had not realized that, and was happy that he had moved with the stealth of hobbits. That left one more unaccounted for. He could see the doors to the other long buildings, but no brigand stood in front of it. The Maybe there was a back door that he could not see. The thing to do was wait it out and let them create a weakness he could use. He crept along the water's edge until he came to a dock. There were five long boats with their bottoms to the sky. He made note of them; a good hiding place if needed. Up from the boats and the dock was a kitchen house or smoke room. He could smell the stench of roasted meat laying over it. He hunkered up to it and hid in its shadow from the light of the moon, and waited.

The fifth brigand came walking between the middle building and the barn and had words with the brigand guarding the west door, gesturing broadly. The two of them left the door and made for the brigands guarding the south gate. The brigand at the north gate saw them leaving their posts, threw up his hands, and jogged across the length of the settlement to join them.

Falco's heart raced as he crept low to the ground, wishing for cloud cover to obscure his passage. It did not come. The five brigands were heatedly arguing about whether one of them should go over the ridge and check to see what had happened to their cohorts. Falco came up to the middle building. The door was locked with a chain. Falco shook his head, wishing for better luck. He hoped the brigands would stay put, because he was going to have to let them out of his sight. He scurried down the length of the building and came to the end, turned, and found a door in the far end, close to the wall of the stockade. He checked the wall to see how it was built. It would not be climbable in a pinch. He looked to the door; chained and locked as was the other. He could still hear the brigands debating. Good.

He pulled out his cudgel and levered it between the door and the chain, choosing the link that looked to be weakest, and gave a hard yank. His luck changed. The link broke, and without much noise. He pulled the chain loose from its moorings, opened the door, and went in. It stank of man's sweat. The building was lined with makeshift cots, and the cots were full. He went to the first one and shook its occupant awake. The man's eyes opened, looked, and flinched. Falco put his finger to his lips.

"I'm a friend," he whispered. "There are only five of these ruffians guarding the whole place. Everybody up and overpower them! Quietly!"

The man's eyes widened and the look of sleep left them. He got up from his cot on weak legs. Falco winced to see his condition. These brigands had been starving him. The rest of them were in the same condition. Falco wondered if Eodwine was among them. Even in their condition, they were more than a match for five brigands. He told them his plan and it was passed down the line. They followed him out of the east door, that he had broken into, and divided into three groups of forty men, hiding behind each long building. Falco was the first in line behind the brigands' building.

The five seemed to have come to a conclusion, and had decided to send one of their number out to see what had happened over the hill. That one was going to find Falco's pony. But they had made the prisoners' job easier. The brigands let the one through on horse and closed the south gate behind him. The others broke up, two of them coming up the road, walking straight back toward the north gate, one of them heading toward the broken door. All the prisoners flattened themselves against the wall. The two brigands passed by the opening between the first two buildings, and the one stationed himself before the door of the middle building while the other went back to the north gate.

At Falco's signal, the three groups moved out. The forty behind the barn chased and surrounded the guard headed for the north gate. The forty behind the prison building split up between the two guards at each end. Falco led his own forty on the most desperate part of the plan, crossing the open lawn to the south gate where the last guard stood. He heard them coming, turned, and drew his sword, then seeing the rage in forty pairs of eyes, he knew he could not win, and dropped his sword. So it was with all of them. They were quickly overcome, tied up, and prisoners and captors exchanged roles.

Falco remembered the one who had left, and expected his return at any moment. He had forty of the freed men stand waiting for the last brigand's return. Meanwhile, he opened up the barn and let the horses out. The men saddled them and found weapons in the brigands' quarters, and sixty of them were on horseback ready to follow Falco to the aid of the ten.

The one brigand returned, with Falco's pony in tow. The doors were opened for him and he rode in, quickly surrounded by forty men who pulled him down from his steed. This one was foolish enough to think that he had the advantage while mounted, and used his sword before they took him down. He did not survive. Five of the freed men were injured; Falco hoped not seriously. Falco mounted his pony.

The sixty horsemen left the settlement, armed with swords. They galloped out of the valley and over the ridge. Falco hoped that they would find his allies alive.

[Imladris]

Gorby

Standing beside the tree, I pressed a wrinkled, grubby piece of parchment against the bark and then began to ever so carefully scratch across the surface:

Forgive me for not dating this, but I have quite forggotten the time since it has rushed buy in a colorful blur of swords and blood and insteruments of tortur. We have just eskaped deth by a hare’s breadth and now our elves and men are mulling around, wondering where Falco has got two. I suppose they don’t go out to search for him because it’s always best to stay put when one member of a party is lost -- but since I think we’re both lost (Falco from us and us from Falco), I do wonder what will happen if both parties deside to stey put. I suppose we could send won of our fine elves to search for them, but then again, it really is quite dangerous walking alone…

I miss my poor pony and I’m sure Lira laments the loss of her mare…the name was much too complicated to pronounce much less spell but she told me once it meant “wind” or something of that nature. It’s a shame we hobbits lost our ponies because most of the food was packed on them…speaking of which, I’m starving. My knees are quivering as I speek -- oh blast, my pen just punctured the parchment into the bark. Oh well…where was I? Food, yes. I’d give anything for a pipe and smoke, with some sugared roles and a bit of butter melting on some corn bread. And some taters would be in order as well…

Oh no! Sixty men have been seen galloping across the ridge. I suppose that we did alright with the first sixty…but we’re wounded, arrows are in short supply -- speaking of which it’s been quite gruesome watching the elven ladies plucking the shafts from the dead corpses. Blood and guts tend cling to the arrow part, like seaweed on an anchor I’d imagine…

The horsemen are drawing nearer and they’re friends -- not enemies! Falco’s at the head and I’m sure he’s mighty pleased with himself at his long awaited chance at leading somebody or something. Naturally, he came to our rescue just a wee bit late but better late than never.

The poor men are starving -- you can see their ribs through the tatters that serve for clothing. Whip scars as well….Their heads are little better than a skull with a skin stretched tightly across it and eyes staring hollowly from the sockets. And here we are with little food to spare…but they must have come from somewhere and that somewhere must surely have some food unless they were starving them…Cruel thought. They could stand to live a few years in the Shire to get some meat upon their bones. Oh happy thought! Maybe Eodwine is among them: he surely must be -- I can’t imagine that they’re could be anymore hideouts in a cold, barren place as this.

From what I gather from the crowded, loud, rushed conversation, it seems as if Falco rescued them from some guards…and swam in the cold water no less. Funny, I didn’t think he’d have it in him to brave the water, much less the men…I wonder if I would have had the courage, or the brains to do what he did…

I stopped and put my things away and crept towards the group of men. Licking my lips, I said shrilly, “I suppose we’re going to go home, then, to the Shire, since they’ve been found, aren’t we?”

[littlemanpoet]

“I suppose we’re going to go home, then, to the Shire, since they’ve been found, aren’t we?”

That had been Gorby. The brigands had called it quits when they realized the sixty horsemen were not friends, starved as they were. These brigands had been responsible for their starving, and for the lashes on their backs.

"Back to the Shire!" Falco answered. "I should think not! We have all the reinforcements we need right here! Leastways, once they get some vittles in them."

"Is Eodwine among you?" asked Falowik.

One of the stepped forward. "My name is Heremir. I'm a Gondorian, captured last year at Fornost. I know of the one you speak, this Eodwine. He was among our number most recently, but he tried to escape, a foolish thing to do, and they took him north, to make a gift of him for the Master, they said. He was well until then. A firey spirit had that one. It's too bad he's as good as dead now."

"Not while I am still standing," said Falowik. "What work did the brigands set you to, if any, Heremir?"

"Farming and husbanding. This Master of theirs means to build a great army. For that he needs food and drink for his men. He uses folk he captures as slaves until they are nothing left but skin and bones, and the blood running in their veins. The Valar know what he does with them."

"So there is food and drink to be had back where you were held?" Falco asked.

"Aye. And now we may actually get some of it," Heremir said, a slow smile spreading over his face. Then he looked about. "Are you their leader?" he asked Falco. "Or is it you?" This last was said to Falowik.

"Not I", said Falowik, nor Falco here, though he is a brave and resourceful enough hobbit. Thoronmir is our leader." Falowik pointed to the man lying on the ground, wounded.

[Imladris]

Not going home. The words rang hollowly in my head and I sighed. All I wanted was a nice comfy hobbit hole, with a nice comfy fire warming the tips of my toes. I glanced at them, and brushed the fur aside. I nodded: it was just like a suspected. They were turning blue because of the chill.

I couldn’t believe that Eodwine had decided to escape. Didn’t he realize that the good people were always rescued, I though bitterly. But that was only true in fairy tales. I suppose that he had doe right in escaping -- if only he had known he was going to be rescued and then all of our troubles would be over. But instead he had gotten himself captured again and now he could be dead because of his foolishness.

The men heaved up Thoronmir and another tossed me behind one of the skin clothed skeletons. “You should drop by the Shire when we rescue Eodwine,” I said cheerfully. “Get a good feeding and experience real hobbit hospitality.” I knocked myself over the head and said, “Except that you couldn’t go into the Shire proper because of an edict that the King made. But Bree is just as good,” I said.

The man nodded.

I suppose he was too hungry to talk. I couldn’t say I blamed him. Soon we reached the prison and passed through the formidable wall. The best thing about the place was that we were shielded from the wind, though the greatest allure was the food that it promised.

[littlemanpoet]

There was a celebratory atmosphere at the settlement. Five cows were butchered and the grain stores were opened. Bread was baked and meat cooked, and for the first time in months and years for some of the former prisoners, they had a feast. Falco kept looking, nibbling on a beef leg bone, until he found what he was looking for: the beer. Now it would be a real feast.

There was just one problem. Some of the party wanted to return to Bree while some wanted to go north toward the holding of the Master, which the prisoners said was apparently not far away, considering what their former captors had always said. About 60 of the former prisoners wanted to go with the party, and 120 wanted to go to Bree.

It was Falco's opinion that Thoronmir needed to be brought back to Bree, with his injury. They no longer needed a Ranger to protect them, and an injured one at that. Thoronmir heard Falco air his opinion and kept his peace at first.

[Meneltarmacil]

"Falco," said Thoronmir, "I believe you may be overreacting. I was not seriously injured when my horse went down, just a twisted ankle which our very talented Uien was easily able to fix." He gestured at the healer, then got up and walked around the room to prove his point.

"I am quite capable of continuing, but since most of the prisoners have been found, we shouldn't have to risk everyone to find Eodwine. I will search for him, and whoever wishes to come with me may do so. If you decide to go back to Bree, you are certainly welcome to. What say you?"

[Esgallhugwen]

The words that the last brigand had said to Eswen as Falowik and herself took him down still rang harshly in her ears. "You will fall to the Master, then he will have his way with you". The familiarity of those words was blood curdling and heart wrenching.

Many years ago, in mortal reckoning in an Orc hold where she had been taken, where her mother died alone, she heard those very words spoken by someone in the shadows that she could not see. As she was whipped and cut with blades and whips she always fought to hold on to her sanity and her life.

The words had always haunted her and now with renewed force. Esgallhugwen said nothing as Falco came over the hill with sixty men at his back, clothed in tatters with bones sticking out like spikes and needles.

Esgallhugwen felt guilty for the poor Hobbits who wished to go home, that was very understandable, considering what they had been witness to. But she would continue on with Thoronmir, she needed to find this dark force, she needed to see if her premonition was true, if there was any link at all.

Sixty of the men wanted to go onwards as well, while the rest, about 120 wished to go to Bree. Esgallhugwen sat away from the group, who was celebrating, she took the sword from the last brigand they killed; looking at the sword she asumed he was of some higher rank than the rest.

It was a short sword, suitable for horseback battle, the pomel was a silver skull with a snake running through the eyes. The snake had two red rubies for eyes and they stared back at Esgallhugwen with a burning light.

Nimromen, the little white wolf cub, was limping among the ex-prisoners, sniffing here and there begging for scraps of meat. If she were to go on she would have one of the Hobbits take him to Bree or to the Shire and keep him until she returns, there would be no chance she would return unscathed.

The arrow wounds burned slightly as she cleaned and bandaged them, a dark figure loomed above her, it was one of the prisoners.

Pray tell what could this poor soul want, especially from me when all the others are far more friendly.

She looked up at his stark face, drawn and pale by starvation and labour, Esgallhugwen was amazed he could even stand in his state. she stood up leaving the brigand's sword on the ground,

"please, won't you take a seat" she gestured to the bench she had been sitting on. "Thank you" he replied as if relieved that she did not turn him away.

He looked into her clear grey eyes, "M'lady why are you sitting all alone, when merry making is under way?"

Esgallhugwen looked back into his green eyes "my apologies, I prefer to be alone for the most part, what do you wish of me?" she tried to prevent him from having to get up she could tell his young bones ached, and he looked so terribly old.

"I am one of the men who wishes to stay with the group and not return to Bree. And perhaps in that time I may find the answer to the riddle that is you, that is what I wish Lady, for there is an air about you different from your companions".

She gazed at his face and he seemed hard set and determined to stay with the group. "Tis hard to crack the riddle of Lady Esgallhugwen, none now know the answer, those who do are few or gone".

[littlemanpoet]

"You won't be getting rid of me that easily. Remember who saved your hide up on that hill back there. If it weren't for us sensible hobbits, you'd all be slaves or dead by now! Isn't that right, Gorby? Anson?"

He turned to them for support. They looked away. Come to think of it, they'd been part of the trouble in the first place. Wet behind the ears is what they are.

"Anyhow, I'm not going back to Bree. Not yet. You need me. That's plain to see as the hair on my feet. But who will go back to Bree? Someone has to take these folks there, and all this cattle and wagons full of grain and whatnot, it's a tall order if you ask me."

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir looked around at the prisoners, then caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

"Awyrgan!" he said. "I'm glad to see that you're still alive."

"I'm lucky to be alive, with what I've seen these barbarians do to their prisoners, Thoronmir," said a slightly younger Ranger. "You look the same as ever."

"I remember this place when it was first built," Thoronmir said, looking around at the room he was in. "This was the town hall for the settlement that we protected from the hillmen when they were still our enemies. What happened here?"

"They came upon us from the north," Awyrgan replied. "You should have seen them. There were a thousand at least, and they quickly overwhelmed our defenses. Some of us fled to the hills, others were captured or killed."

Thoronmir knew the pattern all too well. Most servants of Sauron or Saruman followed the same strategy. "Did you get a good look at their leader?" he asked. "We have reason to believe that he is more dangerous than it would seem."

"No," the other Ranger said. "I've never heard his name, and I don't think anybody but his top lieutenants know who he is."

[Nurumaiel]

Falco wanted to go on, was insisting that they go on. But Anson wanted to go back. He for once did not seek comfort in either Gorby or Lira. They would probably want to continue, anyway. A feeling of shame crept over him when he realized how terrified he was, how much he was hoping they would go back to Bree. Gorby and Lira were so brave. So long as someone was in danger they would continue.

It wasn't that Anson didn't care about the danger this person was in, whoever he was (see, there he was trying to rescue someone when he didn't even know the name), but he did care about his family and his home and he wanted to go back to them. He didn't want to see anymore death. He hadn't left to rescue this person in the first place, he had gone to accompany Gorby because he was Gorby's friend.

Gorby's friend...

Gorby would be wishing to go on, Anson knew that. To look at him now he looked as though he wanted to go back. They all probably wanted to go back, things were so dreadful. But Gorby was just as noble as the others. He wanted to go back but he wouldn't until their mission met with either success or failure. If he did go back, he would regret it for the rest of his life. But Anson knew he wouldn't regret it. Or would he? Would he regret leaving Gorby to himself and without a real hobbit friend?

Anson dropped his head. A great weariness came over him, and he didn't want to hear anymore talk about whether they should go back or not. He did want to think about it. Stifling a despairing groan, he closed his ears and mind to everything.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco overheard Thoronmir's exchange with yet another Ranger. He rolled his eyes. More big trouble.

"A Ranger who can't make a decision in battle to save his own hide, much less his party's, ought not to be leader, that's what I say. You don't seem half the leader you make yourself out to be, Master Thoronmir."

The Ranger looked at Falco, standing there with his chest thrust out. The Ranger raised his brow. This hobbit had a tongue in him!

"Oh? And who would you see as leader instead, Master Falco Boffin?"

"Someone who can keep his head about him enough to know when to call for a retreat! You were mighty lucky back there, not losing a one of us."

"You are referring to yourself as someone who can - ah - keep his head about him?"

"I don't go around blowing my own horn, unlike most big folk I know, but now that you've said it, who was it that found this place and brought all the men to save your skin? And you talk about this place as if you know it. I don't think you knew it was here at all. Look at it! You can tell by the new wood that it was built in just the last five years! What say you to that, oh wise Ranger?"

[Meneltarmacil]

"Falco," said Thoronmir, "This place was, as you said, built recently. Several Rangers, including Awyrgan and myself, helped to establish it about five or six years ago as part of a resettlement project for the North Kingdom, so it really hasn't been around that long. I figured that it had been destroyed by our enemies when they first came here, so I didn't bother looking for it. As for the battle, we were all horsed at first, so we did have the advantage of speed. When we began to lose that advantage, I called the retreat. I stayed with the others to try and protect them until everybody had gotten in one place. My horse fell on me, but I did manage to get back up and continue the fight. We were going to charge straight through at the weakest point in their lines once everybody was together. I stayed where I was mostly because I was waiting for you and didn't want anybody to get separated from the group. I don't doubt your courage in handling the situation like you did, and I think you did a great job of it. However, I would appreciate it if you had given me some indication of where you were during all that time we were waiting for you."

[Imladris]

Gorby

My heart sank to my toes and seeped out of my feet and was lost to the cold ground of the base. The food didn’t look as appealing as it should have, considering how hungry I was. I sighed. I didn’t want to go on and look for Eodwine; I didn’t want to stumble about in the dank and cold; I didn’t want to hear Falco complain and grumble and say how low everybody was when he was the lowest; I didn’t want to practice everything I learned from Meriadoc and Peregrin about honour and nobility; I just wanted to have a decent smoke (I had lost my match and pipe and tobacco long ago), feel the fire warm my wooly feet, and the prospect of a warm bed awaiting me. I sighed again and shook my head. But I couldn’t just let a man die out there…I couldn’t with live myself if I turned my back on him now. Of course, he was probably a corpse by now…but that didn’t matter. He seemed like a brave and honest man, thus he deserved a decent burial.

I wandered my way to Anson -- and stopped. He had fallen asleep on the floor. His face was wan and taught, as if he was having a wearisome battle within himself. I suddenly knew that he wanted to go back and that he had his family, his siblings, to take care of. He had come to accompany me, and what had it gained him? A lost pony and heartache.

I sat down next to him and waited for him to wake up, which the clatter of plates, the laughs of men, and the shouting of Falco all did in good time. “You don’t have to go along with me,” I told him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. I looked at him hard, and smiled.

I glanced up and saw Lira gliding towards us. She had taken her bandage off, letting the purplish slash dry out so that it could heal properly. It was going to leave a fine scar I thought with some fascination. It really was too bad that I hadn’t gain such a fine one to show off before my hobbit friends. I shrugged. “What do you want to do, Lira?” I asked.

She crouched to the floor and gazed at me. Her wide blue eyes seemed to be glazed with unshed tears, and her face was paler than usual. Her hair was limp and uncombed. “It might be better to go back to Bree.”

My jaw dropped. This was coming from an elf. She averted her gaze from me to Anson and said, “More people will die if we continue to Eodwine who was taken back to this Master. He might be already dead.”

“So you want to let one die, to let the others live?” Anson asked. Lira nodded, and now I was confused. Everything had seemed so clear-cut before she had answered with the typical deepness of the elves.

[littlemanpoet]

"A fancy speech for one who ain't. And I'll make sure to pass a message through the enemy next time they separate us. Here, brigand, kindly tell Thoronmir that I can't get to him right now since I'm about to go find your camp and raid it and storm out here with sixty of your prisoners! I think Mister Brigand would be most happy to relay such a message."

"Falco!" Falowik walked up to him. "Your fearlessness is not in doubt, but the civility of your tongue is. Be careful before these Men decide to gag you!"

The Men laughed. Falco reddened in anger.

"They'll find me more trouble if they try."

Falowik raised a hand. "Peace, Falco! I hope now that you doubt me less, knowing that Eodwine does exist, and is in danger. I hope also that you will continue with us. We would all do well to have your courage and resourcefulness with us."

"Well....." Falco kicked at some dust on the floor. "I suppose I could come along if you insist."

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen tended to her own wounds by the fire. Fourtunately, they didn't go very deep and weren't that bad.

'...I suppose I could come along if you insist,' Finëwen heard Falco say. They had been talking, but she didn't really pay attention to most of what they were saying. She assumed herself that she would go... but the thought had never really occurred to her before now. She could always go along with the hobbits as far as she could. But then again, what was there for her after this. Her life after the finding Eodwine was nothing, if they ever found him at all.

As she thought about that, she wondered why Eodwine had left his men in the first place. It doesn't seem like the right thing to do. If she herself was in that position, she surely would have never left her own men. He must have feared for his life, Finëwen assumed. But then again, she did not have much of a life to loose, maybe he had.

Shrugging off that thought, Finëwen watched the flames swaying back and forth. She had not talked to anyone much on the trip, and she wondered if she ever would. She glanced around at the others and looked at the few who had tried to start up conversation. Falco seemed as if he was set on continuing with the others now. After a bit, Finëwen decided she would also. After all, there was not much left after this for her.

She looked around at the men who were prisoners eating merrily. One of them noticed her sitting by herself and walked over. He offered her some meat and she accepted with a thank you and he asked her to come join them. Finëwen did and sat down among a few men who all ate and talked amongst themselves. She nibbled at the meat and listened to their conversation.

[Esgallhugwen]

A long silence seemed to blacken their camp, as everyone realized that they must either continue on or head back, the parting would be bitter. She picked up the white wolf cub and held on to him gently,

I will have to say farewell to you also little one

Esgallhugwen looked over at the prisoner who still sat beside her, "what be your name then, it would be best to know it since you're one of the sixty or so that may be accompanying us on this mission". He looked up at her and smiled "my name is Kildirak, I'm a ranger".

She nodded "Kildirak, if it doesn't pain you will you walk with me to the two hobbits and Lira, it isn't far" she stood up and gave him her hand. They walked over casually and sat next to Lira, Eswen's smile at the two Hobbits was happy but filled with the sadness that only years of knowledge could bring to the elves.

"Mellon" she spoke softly to Lira "I know you will not go any farther and that you wish to turn back, I can see it in your eyes and the thought pains me to know that you will go, so I wish for you to take Nimromen with you back to Bree or the Shire if you plan on returning there, the path that lays ahead of me is too dangerous for him to go on; but do not be despair at our parting when the time comes which is not as far away as we should like, we will see one another again"

Esgallhugwen put her hand on Lira's shoulder and smiled at her despite her woe.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien ate little. Just enough to meet the need of the her growling stomach, and a little drink. These men were emaciated! She walked among the former prisoners, pacing down ragged aisles created by sprawling bodies and legs huddled around makeshift tables full of food. She could hear their labored breathing, saw the sores on their legs, arms, and heads. So many of them, so ill used! She would have to talk to Thoronmir, get him to change the plan. Out of nigh unto two hundred men here, merely half could survive a trip either north to this evil Master's holdings, or to Bree. The rest needed to remain where they were and receive care. Of those who needed to stay here, about eighty in all, one quarter of them were on the mend enough to be up and about; another quarter needed to stay abed for a few days, with exercise inbetween; another quarter needed uninterrupted bed rest; the last qwarter needed rough and immediate surgery.

She went to Thoronmir and explained this to him; then said, "I know that we need to make haste to the holding of this evil lordling, but I must stay and use my healing arts, much as I wish to go on."

Falco and Falowik were listening, near at hand. Falowik said, "Maybe I should stay and help you."

"No, love. Your place is at Thoronmir's side. You need to see to Eodwine."

Falco said, "No telling how far the hold of this overlord is from here."

"That is true," Thoronmir said. He looked to his friend, Awyrgan. "Know you aught of the distance from here to this overlord's keep?"

Awyrgan nodded. "It is not so hard to tell. The same wagon leaves full laden one morning, and returns empty two nights later. This keep cannot be more than thirty leagues away, I wager."

The discussion devolved into how many should go north, a small party in secret, or a host of close to one hundred. Some prisoners were sure that the enemy numbered more than five thousands, others were just as sure that there could not be more than half a thousand. Falco was quite confident of, and argued vehemently for, secrecy and a small number. Some said that the a select group led by Thoronmir should go north, some stay to protect Uien and her hospital, and some others should return to Bree. Others said that they should not be split up into so many smaller groups while the enemy was still in its strength. And so the debate went.

Falowik and Uien left the strategy to those with a mind to it. They walked to the water's edge.

"You will need someone to remain behind and help you. Perhaps Gorby and Anson would be happy to. They do not seem overjoyed that we march north at dawn tomorrow, whether as a small company or a large."

"I will ask them. I wish that I could go with you, but I am needed here."

"I know it. You are wise and kindly to remain here. I would expect nothing else from you."

She moved to him. They stood together, looking west over the lake, watching the sun ride down the blue.

"Come back alive, Loréatan. And bring Eodwine back with you."

"With the strength of your will to keep me, I'll be safe, no matter what may befall."

Others noticed them standing there, but left them to themselves.

Back in the center of the settlement, Lumiel came running from the captives, whom she had been guarding.

"Thoronmir! I have news! There is one among the enemy who says there is a secret way into the Master's hold! Maybe he lies, but he may speak the truth!"

Thoronmir, Awyrgan, and Falco followed Lumiel back to the captives.

[littlemanpoet]

"What is your name?" Thoronmir asked.

"I am called Furman Hunter."

"You speak of a secret way. Why should we trust you?"

"I will tell you my story. Do with it what you will. I used to live outside of Bree. I was on one of my hunts when I struck upon these others. We got to talking, this was before the Master had started his thing, and they said they'd heard there was good wages to be guards for a lordling up in the Hills. I took up with them. We guarded and what not, but year by year the things we were to do got worse and worse and I never liked it, but there was no way out or be killed, so I made sure to survive. That's my crime. And now you have come and I am freed of my service, no matter what you decide to do with me. I have no love for the Master or his ways. If I can help you to find a way to bring back your friend, and we all come out alive, I will say good-bye to all the wages and return to my simple life of hunting."

Falco spoke up. "I trust him no more than I do this Master he speaks of."

Falowik held his peace. He felt that Falco had a point, but it might be the best or only way they might find. And with Eodwine captured, this lancing was probably in his future. They were running out of time.

"Nevertheless," said Thoronmir, "this Furman will serve as our captive scout and we shall see if things are as he claims. Tell us about this secret way, first."

Furman told them the way, which had to do with tunnels for waste that went unguarded.

Falco wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Would that we had a ring of invisibility without a cursed Dark Lord the other side of it," he mumbled.

"We shall leave at dawn," said Thoronmir.

[Imladris]

I looked hard at Lira…clear liquid seemed to be seeping out of her wound and it looked more reddish. My stomach churned…was it infected? It had to be…a wound never looked so sick before. In fact, Lira didn’t look well at all. Her blue eyes were pale and cloudy, dark shadows gathered under her eyes, her face was white, her shoulders sagged. She looked lifeless -- hopeless. I wondered if that was why she wanted to go back to Bree…to get away from the death of everything. In a way, I couldn’t blame her. “I want to go,” I repeated, darting a defiant glance at Lira. For some reason, I was sure she would want me to stay here being useless. I didn’t know a thing about healing and I knew I’d be in the way.

“No, you‘re not,” Lira snapped.

I frowned at her. I had never before heard an elf snap. Frankly, I didn’t think the creatures were capable of it.

“Yet another reason for me to go,” I said. “He’s a hobbit going with many men. And even though he’s not the most pleasant hobbit to be around with, it wouldn’t be fair leaving him alone.”

“You’d be leaving Anson as well,” she returned. I flushed. Yes, I would be. It would be like a slap in the face not to stay with him. Then we could talk over old times, have a somewhat decent pipe, laugh with the men. I bit my lips. Besides, I’d only be in the way. Nothing much I could do to save Eodwine. I giggled. I could help Eodwine like I had helped Lira. I tittered again. “Maybe I should stay here,” I said. Definitely better than tramping through the wilds.

[Lumiel]

The prisoners, joyous as they had been to escape their hell, had settled down somewhat being still weakened from want of food. They ate in a merry mood, looking forward to a promised vengenance for the wrongs done unto them. And their group too, had lived through the night. Lumiel had only a few bumps and bruises, her worst hurt being a gash across her lower back which seemed to be healing well.

Among the others, the wounds seemed also to be of a minor nature, with the exception of a few. Uien was quiet, even more so than usual. Her heart, melancholy as it always seemed to be, was a shrouded mystery to Lumiel's eyes. Lira had a few troublesome wounds, and she seemed weary and heartsick of the whole business. But Lumiel's heart went out most of all to Gorby and Anson. They had fought bravely, and their valour had helped save them all. Yet the journey was beginning to wear on them and they were somber and silent, keeping to each other's company and to Lira.

For herself, Lumiel had not spoken much to the others, focusing only on coming to grips with the events and gained information of the past few hours. She kept guard over the captives, who seemed sullen and tight-lipped. Lumiel did not speak to them but merely watched, and saw to their needs. She did not feel an anger towards them, though if she had none would have faulted her. Some were silent in stubborn refusal to believe their defeat, yet others seemed almost repentive, relieved for it to be over.

Bringing water to one of the prisoners, the man spoke to her, the first of this group to do so. "Lady Elf..." he began quietly, taking the cup of water in his bound hands. "I...I am sorry for what I have...done." he spoke haltingly, as though struggling to control his thoughts and his voice. "It didn't start like...this. I never thought...that..it would be so...vile." he avoided her gaze. "Will you...forgive me?" he asked finally, raising his sad eyes to meet hers, sincerity in his face.

"Forgiveness for your trespasses is not mine to give..." she answered, staring at him in amazement and pity. Could he actually mean it? Did he want to repent? The man seemed to grow smaller at her words and his eyes fell to the ground once more. "But if it is forgiveness that you seek, you must seek it out yourself. Right what you have done, and forgiveness will come." she finished. She watched him a moment more. There seemed to be something different about this man. She waited, seeing if he would say anything more, but he remained silent.

She got up and began to walk away when he called out to her. "Wait! M'lady...I can help you. You are looking for the one we call Master, no?" his eyes were alight and he seemed almost to tremble. Those around him glared, either in amazement, hope, or hatred but they kept their tongues. He seemed oblivious to his companions. "I know of a way into his hold...I know where he is!" he exclaimed frantically. A few of the men around him looked prepared to strangle him but Lumiel was quickly at his side, glancing dangerously to the others, daring them to try and hurt him.

"Will you tell me the way?" she asked calmly of him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Yes...if it will end the evil I was a part of." He begged of her to release him, but she would not. She did though, separate him from the main group of the captives and he told her his story and of what he knew.

"Furman Hunter, you may be forgiven yet." she said to him in a strong but soft voice. She stood and turned to find Thoronmir, he needed to hear this. Furman called after her, asking her name. "Lumiel. Thank you Furman." she said with a smile before hurrying away. She told Thoronmir of the information and he questioned Furman himself. Falco, his usual self, doubted him. Though he had reason to. Lumiel couldn't help but feel he was telling the truth, she trusted him.

Finally, Thoronmir made a decision. "We shall leave at dawn."

A thought came to Lumiel. Though she trusted him, even though the others did not, someone would have to watch him. She went to Thoronmir and spoke directly to him. "Someone must watch him, we cannot be entirely sure of him yet, though I think he is sincere." she paused. "I will guard him as we travel, if you don't mind." She wanted to get to know this man better, understand him. To see if he was true.

[littlemanpoet]

The party started at dawn, as they had planned.

Thoronmir and his Ranger friends took the lead, followed by Lumiel and the prisoner, Furman. Behind them rode Eswen, Finëwen, and Lira. Falowik and Falco took up the rearguard. It felt strange to both Falowik and Falco to ride together, but with the other hobbits and Uien gone, the natural companions of the two, and Thoronmir occupied with his friends, they fell into stride next to each other, and did not seem to mind each other's company overmuch.

It was a bright day, and the wind was from the northwest, cool and crisp. Their spirits were high and they were will provisioned for a week's traveling, which Furman assured them was much longer than they needed. Thoronmir wished to take no chances with their stock, however.

All through the morning they passed ripe fields of grain: rye, wheat, and barley; and on hills not covered by grain were cattle grazing. Such a bucolic setting was a surprise to them all, but even an evil Master styling himself the new dark lord needed to feed his troops.

Furman was quiet all through the day, and promised to speak more of what he knew when they set up camp.

[littlemanpoet]

It was dark in the hills, and they made their camp under the eaves of a big oak tree. Furman had made no sign of being ready to flee, and had been quite friendly to Lumiel and the others. A great weight seemed to have been lifted from him, and he smiled often. But now his face was dour as the others listened to him.

"I have not heard as much as I would like, and cannot tell you all that might be said, but I tell you what I know. The Master's keep is on the northern edge of the Hills of Evendim. It is new built and not many hands could be spared to the task, so it is not a great structure. It has a thick wall and is four square, and stands on the northernmost hill of Evendim. Its stones and mortar are black, whether painted or mined so, I know not. The wall rises twenty feet, is eighteen inches thick, and extends one hundred feet from corner to corner. Behind the wall is the keep itself, a humble building yet, only a few years old, two stories tall. I am told that it is as any lord's castle, serving as home, army barracks, and seat of power; but this one serves in one way more: as a temple. I have not seen the sanctuary myself, but I have heard that it is black, and stained crimson with the blood of many human victims. The Master drains the blood from his victims and collects it in vats, kept cool below ground. He drinks one goblet fresh when the victims are leeched and killed."

At this Furman broke off, and his eyes grew haunted. He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.

"They say that he drinks blood to extend his life, that he is thousands of years old already."
Furman looked from eye to eye. "I believe it. I have never seen him, but from what is said, I do not doubt that this new dark lord is a sorcerer, and that he does evil magics to live ever longer, and that he enslaves the ghosts of his victims, and speaks with other dead that should not be roused, and with fell dark spirits."

Thoronmir spoke. "Where is he from, Furman? Who is he?"

"I know not his name, but I have heard just two things as to where he is from. Maybe you can make more of it than I. He is said to have come from the east to here, by way of the northern waste, and that he had come from the south before that, having turned his corner, so to speak, north and east of the Iron Hills. A long trek he must have made, east of the sea of Rhun. Where before then, I do not know. But there is the other thing. They say that he was a lieutenant of Mordor. What that may mean, I cannot say, for I have been among the hills for many a year. They say that he was injured in his body in a great quake, and barely escaped with his life, would that he had not, for he is evil. There. I have told you all I know about that. All that remains to tell is the way into his keep, which I can best tell you by showing it to you when we get there."

[Imladris]

Lira listened to Furman speak to Falowik of this master. “They say that he drinks blood to extend his life, that he is thousands of years old already." She only knew of one person who drank blood: Thuringwethil, the Woman of Secret Shadow. But Furman referred to this master as he .

Lira frowned. Whether Thuringwethil had perished in the destruction of Sauron’s Isle was unknown -- could she have survived? She wondered if Thuringwethil could enslave the ghosts of victims and speak with fell spirits. She shuddered. Turning to Furman, she asked, “Are you sure this master is a he?”

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen listened closely to Lira's words "are you sure that the Master is a he?". It was a good question the master could be anyone, so much evil failed to pass when Sauron was destroyed.

She sighed and leaned up against the large oak tree stroking Morsereg's broad neck, she set down her saddle bags filled with provisions and some medical supplies. Eswen cautioned Kildirak to stay behind, he was in no shape to go on, he needed the healing attention of Uien.

The stillness in the air was threatening, the fields and cows they had passed earlier on were misleading signs of the danger that awaited them.

Who knows if this Master is already awaiting us, ready to take our blood without second thought, to take our lives. I will not go quietly.

Esgallhugwen's face become firm and resolute but did not lose any of its beauty, she looked above, black clouds were coming in. It would start raining soon, and it would not rain lightly.

[littlemanpoet]

"I do not know if the Master is a he. The Master has only been spoken of as a he, but maybe it is a woman."

Furman gave Lira a look of undinted curiosity.

"If it were a woman, who would you think her to be?"

[Imladris]

Lira considered, wondering if she should even mention her concerns. She did not know much about vampires…was almost completely ignorant of them. The sky growled with angry thunder and long fingers of lightening clutched at the far mountain tops. It began to rain.

Swallowing, Lira said, “I believe that this master might be a vampire named Thuringwethil, Woman of Shadow. It was rumored that she was destroyed along with Sauron’s Isle, but her death was never confirmed.” Lira paused, and continued. “She was the fell bat of Melkor, his messenger. She had iron claws as well. Vampires are blood suckers, but whether she would drink it to extend her life I know not.”

Lira fell silent, chewing on her words. Not much was known about Thuringwethil. How could she still be alive?

[Esgallhugwen]

The roar of thunder fell on the company like an anvil, lightning flashed and for a few precious seconds made everthing visible before it fell back into darkness. Lira spoke up against the thunder.

“I believe that this master might be a vampire named Thuringwethil, Woman of Shadow. It was rumored that she was destroyed along with Sauron’s Isle, but her death was never confirmed.” Lira paused, and continued. “She was the fell bat of Melkor, his messenger. She had iron claws as well. Vampires are blood suckers, but whether she would drink it to extend her life I know not.”

Vampires were rare and therefore Esgallhugwen knew little of them; a flash flew across their heads, "they are difficult, if not impossible to kill" her words were barely audible over the rumbling above them. If her death was never confirmed then it was all too possible that Thuringwethil was yet alive.

Do not single her out as the only probable candidate for the Master, there are others, one is bad enough without worrying about possible others. She looked at Furman "is that all you can tell us?".

Esgallhugwen glanced around their campsite, the large tree she was under no longer could hold up the heavy rain fall, water dripped across her face looking like tears. "There won't be a fire tonight", she returned her gaze to Furman and awaited his answer.

[littlemanpoet]

Furman covered his head with his hood and looked at Eswen. "I can tell you that this storm is coveted by the Master. I do not understand how it may be, but they say that on nights like this, full of storm, he is sure to take a victim. He has been waiting long for such weather, it has been so calm. Pray that his Eodwine is not first on the Master's list this night."

Sleep came fitfully to the party through the long hours until dawn.

The rain did not stop, and the sun's rising was hidden by the heavy downpour. The were slowed by the wet going, but it was well that it rained; for the Master's troops stayed in, not fearing invasion so far from any settlement. All day the rain poured, and slowed them as they wound their way through the hills, avoiding the Master's main road to be safe.

The next rain-soaked night gave them no better rest.

The next morning dawned as dim as the previous day, and passed just as wet and uncomfortably. As the sky began to dim toward twilight, Furman directed them to the top of a hill, over the brow of which could be seen a fortress on the next hill. It was as humble as Furman had told them. There were no trees about, but fields with low brush. It would be impossible to approach with horses unless no one was looking their way.

Furman explained that they must go to the east side of the fortress, where they would find a ditch and a narrow pipe. They would have to crawl up the pipe into the fortress. It would stink. They would not be able to use their weapons until they came out of the pipe. In other words, it would be dangerous, but it was the only way. Unless they wanted to storm the fortress with their small numbers. Once Furman was done explaining, he looked around the group to see if there would be any questions or complaints, now that they saw what would be necessary.

[Imladris]

“Well, Anson,” I said. “Safe at last. I never realized how troublesome and adventure can be.”

Anson nodded and said, “I would like to get a pipe and a bit of tobacco.”

“I don’t believe we’ll find any here, though,” I sighed, kicking at a stone. It danced away through the tufts of grass and skittered to a stop. I trotted after it and kicked it again where it pattered off into a forest of weeds and stones. I was too lazy to go and look for it so I said, “From insane adventure to complete boredom.” I wondered if there was a happy medium between the two. More than likely not, I presumed and sighed.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if we had a nice hobbit hole and a fire and our gardens,” Anson said, patting me on the back.

I nodded glumly and collapsed onto the ground, which creaked in protest. A voice within the ground. Fingers of chillness traced my skin as I imagined a morbid wight creeping within the dirt. I shuddered and rolled off the mat, brushing the dirt away. A wooden trap door was revealed to us.

[Lumiel]

The thunder rolled like the ocean across the sky, accompanied by the stacatto flashes of lightning in the dark, morbid sky. Rain fell heavily in great dollops, soaking all below. The chill seemed to seep to the bone and memories of sun and dry clothes were swept away to only be recalled like remnants of a dream.

It all seemed like a dream. Lumiel was riding behind Thoromir and the Rangers on her horse, whom she had decided to name Felweth. Her dark cloak lay heavy on her skin, her brown hair plastered to her head and face. Small puffs of air blew from Felweth's nostrils, and the thought of a dragon sleeping dangerously in its lair flashed across her mind.

Beside her rode Furman, bent over in his saddle, his form a dark, unreadable shadow. She felt something for this man, a sympathy for his plight, a connection that went beyond the simple rope that linked his bound hands to her small hand which held the rope. As anxious as he had been to talk before, he was now silent and pensive, loath to speak or interact with anyone. But Lumiel had managed to get a few words out of him when they had stopped to rest.

She had asked him what he knew of the Master, but he would speak nothing of it to anyone save Thoromir, when he asked. She did not press the matter, he had his reasons she supposed. Instead, she asked him of his life before what he had become. He did not understand, but he seemed willing to talk of it.

He spoke of his home, where he grew up. A mother, a father, and a much older sister who married and moved far away when he was but a boy. His mother had died a few years later giving birth to a still-born child. With nothing to keep them tied down, they left for a life in the wilderness, away from the world. There he learned to hunt and track, he learned the ways of the woods, and of the woodsman. His father died an old, but strong man, and Furman continued his accepted life. Until he stumbled unknowingly at the time across such a malevolent force as they now faced.

His voice was soft and halting, and he did not meet her gaze. It seemed he could not. But he spoke. Lumiel never interupted him, but held her attention on him, encouraging him with her silent acceptance of what was. It was what he needed. How could he come to terms with what he had done? With what he had been a part of? He did not know where to begin the healing that he so desperately needed to be whole again. Yet somehow, speaking to this elf helped him...speaking of his past, of his once joyful innocence, helped him regain some of who he had been before. It seemed he could almost like her, almost enjoy her company. Almost. He seemed stubborn in his punishment against himself. He was unworthy of all who were there, he didn't deserve to live. And certainly he was beyond sympathy. Or so he thought.

He could not banish it anymore. As much as he tried to exile himself, he could not, for Lumiel was always there, silent and accepting. How was it possible? he asked himself again. And finally, he broke his silence on the matter. "Lady Elf, why do you linger? Why do you dote upon the needs of such a hellish fool as this?" he guestured to himself. "I am undeserving of your care and sympathy, save it for Eodwine, for the others for whom you fight. Remember how you found me." he said, looking into her eyes, pleading with her to give him the damnation he wanted.

Her eyes softened and her brows angled just slightly, and a strange expression of pity and regret mingled with an unconditional love of all things played out on her face. "You do yourself wrong, Furman. A fool you may be, but no more so than any other on this Earth. It is better to knowingly play the fool than laugh at one, not knowing that you are the true fool." she paused, gauging his face. "You didn't start off intending this, Furman. But you were a part of it. And here you are, trying to right what you did. You will need all your strength and bravery, and for that I give you willingly my care and sympathy, for in the end it may save Eodwine." she said. Furman swallowed and took in a deep breath, looking away. A faint sparkle was in his eyes, nearly hidden under the shadow of his bent brow. Lumiel gently turned his face to meet hers once more. "I believe in you." she said in a gentle yet strong voice that seemed to reach him.

"Thank you Lady Elf." he said, looking down again. His road out of all of this would be long and hard, and he hardly realized it yet.

"Please, call me Lumiel." she smiled at him as they stood up to remount and begin their journey again. Felweth labored through the mud stoutly, and several hours later they stopped once more, and Furman told Thoronmir the rest of what he knew. The fortress was within sight. The end was nearing. They were at the center of the storm.

[Nurumaiel]

A shiver went through Anson and he put out a hand to stop Gorby, forming on his lips the word stop. Yet he never spoke that word. Rather, he stopped himself and a different kind of shiver went through him. A shiver of excitement. For a brief moment he was back in the Shire with Gorby and they were mere children. They had just discovered a secret trapdoor by Merry Brandybuck's home and were debating over whether they should open it or not.

He could smell the grass as they crouched down by it, soft curls falling in their round, inquisitive faces. Gorby had wanted to open it right away; Anson had been afraid there might be a monster locked up inside there, something Meriadoc had caught in his adventures. Gorby had gone into a long narrative of what they would do to the monster when it came up, ending with it lying slain and the two hobbit children crowned heroes for saving the Shire, and Anson had relented... in that point, at least. His next objection was that Meriadoc might not like it. Gorby hadn't been able to answer that, but he didn't care.

Gorby had pulled open the trapdoor, babbling something about hidden treasure, and when the slow creaking had died away and there was nothing but a murky blackness and a deep pit that seemed to go on forever he had lightly jumped in without hesitating. Anson, too terrified to stay by himself though the sunshine surrounded him, had followed.

Inside they had found nothing... nothing? Nay, they had found hidden treasure of a sort. All sorts of pretty baubles sat here and there, bright-colored balls and richly painted toys. They had gazed about in awe, their little fingers yearning to touch those toys and play with them. And then they had heard that loud laugh and turned and, oh the horror, seen Meriadoc Brandybuck, his gaze fixed straight at them, laughing. Anson had always felt awed by Merry Brandybuck and a bit uncertain about them. It wasn't natural for a Hobbit to go have adventures. For a moment it flashed through his mind that Meriadoc Brandybuck had gone on adventures because he was insane and now he was going to lock them up in that dark room forever.

But Meriadoc had ceased to laugh and looked about him with a helpless gesture at all the toys. "I see you've found this little lair," he said. "My children's lair." He had paused a moment, then a broad smile had come to his face. "Would you like to play with the toys?" he had asked. The two children had not answered, for they were still rather surprised, but they had eagerly leapt at those bright things and had spent a merry two hours playing, and Meriadoc Brandybuck had actually played with them.

Anson stared at this new trapdoor and a little smile flickered across his features. They might not find toys but perhaps they'd find something delightful, such as pipes and tobacco. And if they found a monster they'd just have to carry out Gorby's plan of yore.... what a shock Lira would have when she returned and found they had slain a fierce monster.

He touched Gorby's shoulder. "Let's open it."

[Imladris]

Gorby

I was surprised that Anson of all people wanted to go down into the trap door. But I couldn’t be more thrilled…finally he wanted to go on an adventure!

The trap door didn’t open very easily. I was afraid we would have to get an axe and chop it open, but Anson discovered a lock that I had overlooked. It wasn’t rusted like the other one had been, but we had a terrible time opening it all the same.

The door opened quietly, without a creaking protest, which was nice. It always made me uncomfortable when a door creaks…it just makes everything more spooky.

There was a iron ladder which Anson and I clambered down. The tunnel wasn’t pitch black like the first one I had discovered which was nice. Blackness is a herald of doom and doom usually means death.

We crept into a large room. Gold over spilled from dusty bags and large wooden chests. Gems sparkled upon the floor and were imbedded in the blades of axes and swords. My jaw dropped, my eyes widen. So much wealth! Then we heard a low, snarling, growl.


Lira

Lira listened to Furman’s plan and said, “Will we not be slain anyway once we leave the pipe?” There was a short pause, and Lira continued, “Is there no way we could go in disguise there?”

She waited again, praying that they would not have to risk their lives in such a way. Then she laughed. It was musical, like water. What craven coward she was. Afraid to go into a fortress because lives would be risked. Had not thousands of other brave warriors risked their lives?

[littlemanpoet]

Lira asked her question, then laughed. Furman regarded her in confusion.

Falowik spoke up. "We could try going in using a wagon, as if most of us were prisoners or slaves, but that would take time. I fear for Eodwine's life this night. I would that we go as soon as we may, even if I have to drown in that watery pipe in such a storm as this."

Falco stood. "If the Wanderer is willing to risk his life, then this hobbit shirriff can do no less. I will go tonight and face what danger may come."

[Meneltarmacil]

"I will also go, even if there is no other way but through this pipe," Thoronmir said. "For I have sworn an oath as a Ranger to guard this land against evil, even if those under my protection do not appreciate it." He looked knowingly at Falco as he said this last part.

"But I must have some clear idea of what we will be facing once we are inside," he continued. "Furman," he said to their captive. "Tell me all that you know of the Master."

[littlemanpoet]

"I have been in the fortress, or I would not know of the pipe. The Master chooses to keep his fortress cleansed of rubbish, unlike most such abodes. So his slaves are ordered to sweep and shovel away food that is tossed away after it is eaten, and human dung, and any other filth that collects in the fortress. Even the prison cells below are kept clean. I wager this is so that the blood he collects is unspoilt.

"The upper floor is no more than a ring of rooms built from the wall of the fortress. One gets to them by stairs at each corner. It is much like any fortress without lookout posts along the walls. The main floor has matching rooms beneath the ones above. In the center of the main floor is a square gutter down which all the rubbish is dumped. It is caught in a round basin below. From the basin extends another gutter, which leads to the wall, where it joins the pipe. The gutter passes by the prison cells. If Eodwine is in one of the cells, the pipe into the fortress leads us to him by the shortest way.

"If Eodwine is not in the prison cells, then he has been taken by the Master to the temple, which is on the main floor. The temple is walled off from the rest of the fortress, its own little house within the larger house. I have not been inside it and can tell you nothing about it. If the Master has taken Eodwine in there, our only hope is to overcome the guards we meet, and fight our way in. We would lose more lives trying to save Eodwine than we would if we let the Master have him."

Falowik stood. "That is a cold, calculating thing to have said, Furman. It may be true, but we have sworn to save Eodwine, and to save any others that we may. So if it is as you say within the fortress, be assured that we will free what prisoners we may, as Falco did back at Lake Evendim. Who knows? It may be that they can help us to overcome the Master's guards."

"Aye," said Furman, "that may be. I hope so. I have told you all I know."

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen

An uneasyness infected the company as they neared their destination, what would become of them if they managed to come out of the pipe alive? "Furman", Esgallhugwen asked gently attracting his attention "do you know how many gaurds are usually about the confines? It would be helpful in our cause".

The bent man nodded, " four large men gaurd the main gate but I hope for us not to go that way. No one gaurds the pipe and from what I've seen about only two or so men gaurd the stairwell entrances. I know not of how many more there could be, or how many are posted at the inner house, if any".

Esgallhugwen nodded "my thanks Furman, Falowik fears for Eodwine this night, would it be wise to use the storm as cover for our entrance, getting to the other end of the pipe will be no easy task, and if the storm is trully coveted by the Master our fates may await us in the inner house".

Kildirak

Kildirak's green eyes shot open with a start, the cracking of thunder above him sounded too much like the cracking of a whip. He sat up in bed allowing his eyes to adjust to the candle light.

His eyes focused across the hall, to his shock a hole seemed to be there that he had never seen before. With caution despite his slightly aching limbs he slid off the bed and crept towards the hole.

The floor creaked where the hinges met the upturned door, Kildirak slowly poked his head inside, he tiptoed into the tunnel at the end the glimmer of gold met his eyes. But that thought soon turned to distress when he saw two shadowed figures, whom he almost didn't recognize amidst the sparkling treasure, the sillouettes of their curly locks gave them away.

He was about to speak when a low growling sound came to his ears.

[littlemanpoet]

In the end, none of the party wished to be left behind. They went back down the southern face of the hill as the storm raged above and around them, and kept to the lowest part of the valleys between the hills as they crept toward the pipe, which extended down the east side of the fortress hill. It was wettest where they passed, the torrents pouring downhill, and before long they were not only wet, but covered in slimy mud up to their necks.

They made the pipe. It was made of iron, and was rusted at its extremity, sharp edges ready to cut stray hands.

Falco forced his way among the Rangers in front and whispered hoarsely. "Thoronmir, let me go first! I'm quiet and small, and I see well enough in the dark. Let me scout it and pass word back!"

[Meneltarmacil]

Falco forced his way among the Rangers in front and whispered hoarsely. "Thoronmir, let me go first! I'm quiet and small, and I see well enough in the dark. Let me scout it and pass word back!"

"All right, Falco, you'll go first," Thoronmir said. "Get inside and whistle if you are okay. Don't take too much time looking around. If we don't hear from you within five minutes we'll all go in prepared for serious trouble."

"Okay," the hobbit said, "I'm going now." He started inside.

"Falco," the Ranger called after him. "Be careful in there, and good luck to you."

[Lumiel]

It was decided. They would all be a part of the rescue attempt. They made their way around carefully to the pipe, tying up their horses in a nearby yet secluded grove. Horses would be very dangerous to bring within, and they would have need of them when all was finished. If they lived, that was. Lumiel rubbed Felweth's nose affectionately and hugged his neck, whispering soft reassurances to him. Felweth nudged her neck and face in reply and whinnied softly, as if sure that he would see her again. Lumiel prayed that Felweth would be alright, that whatever evil fate might befall her would be spared of him. All she could do was have faith.

The rain came down in torrents, leaving nothing dry. Mud was inescapable, and they were soon covered from head to toe, or nearly so. "Thoronmir, let me go first! I'm quiet and small, and I see well enough in the dark. Let me scout it and pass word back!" said Falco in a hoarse voice. Despite her dislike of the hobbit's attitude in general, she had to admire him. Such small stature and such a quick seeming temper belied his courage and perseverance.

"All right, Falco, you'll go first," Thoronmir said. "Get inside and whistle if you are okay. Don't take too much time looking around. If we don't hear from you within five minutes we'll all go in prepared for serious trouble."

"Okay," the hobbit said, "I'm going now." He started inside.

"Falco," the Ranger called after him. "Be careful in there, and good luck to you."

Falco nodded and quickly scrambled into the pipe and was soon lost to sight and sound. She stood just behind Thoronmir and the Rangers, with Lira and Eswen behind her. She looked over to Furman, who crouched right beside her. He seemed anxious, but his face glowed with hope and something else. She kneeled next to him, ignoring the mud since she was already covered. "Furman, are you alright?" she asked him.

His eyes shot up to meet hers, as though he had been snapped awake from a dream. "What? Oh. Well, yes, better than I have been in a long time. But..." he paused, as if unsure how to continue. "I'm glad that you are all here, glad that you may be the beginning of the Master's demise. I'm glad that Eodwine may be saved, that others have already been saved. It's just - " he stopped, his already low voice halted by a look of Thornomir who put his finger to his mouth in a silencing guesture. Furman looked down with a pensive face and clenched his jaws, his still-bound hands laid across his knees.

Lumiel had a feeling of what he had been about to say and leaned in close, placing a hand to his shoulder and whispered quietly enough that the only evidence that she had spoken to any watching would have been the movement of her mouth. "It's just that you're afraid. I won't let you or any of the others die. Trust in me." she finished and pulled away again. Furman sighed in response and she could only hope that she had eased some of his anxiety.

She moved over a foot or so to Lira and Eswen and grasped one of each of their hands. "Mellon, may the Valar protect us." she spoke softly, loud enough just for elven hearing. She gave Lira a hug and whispered by her ear, "Life has been lost, but it will come again, it lives in you." She let go and looked at her with wide, expressive blue eyes, a warm smile on her face that seemed to banish the fear and danger of the moment away, at least for an instant.

She turned to Eswen and in turn gave her a hug as well. The tall, dark elf had always seemed somewhat aloof to her, but she had a large heart, Lumiel knew, and one filled with bravery and strength that could last through the darkest night until dawn. "Thank you, Eswen, but don't lose yourself in the night." she spoke to her. Ever since the first appearance of the Dark Queen, Lumiel worried. The Dark Queen was a powerful force, but one which she would not like to see dominate in Eswen. She believed in Esgallhugwen's strength though, to control it. She gave Eswen the same hopeful look she had given Lira and went to Finewen who was not far away.

She seemed alone and quiet, almost numb to the outside world. Her hand played over the handle of her blade and her look was a distant one. Lumiel sat down beside her and gently took one of her hands. "Please don't stay so far away." Lumiel said. "You're an amazing woman, Finewen, and you have such great promise." she whispered. She squeezed her hand once before letting go. Although they had not gotten to know one another very well, Lumiel probably shared the most in common with the young woman. Lumiel hoped she would survive. She hoped that they all would, but she had a dark sense that none of them would be the same when they came out. She stood and quietly walked to Falowik, pulling a stray hair behind her ear which had been plastered to her face.

She put out her hand and Falowik, a bit confused, grasped it tightly. Lumiel grasped their hands with her other hand and he did the same. "Uien would be proud. Never doubt yourself, you're stronger than you realize." Her soft blue eyes seemed set under her brow with a fiery strength, yet her face and her pose gave off a sense of youthful, almost naive hope. She gave one last squeeze of their hands and went back to her place by Furman.

Thoronmir looked at her with an expression half between rebuke and thankfullness. Before he could speak, she struck out her hand once again and he took it in a strong grip. They shook once, a good strong shake, and Lumiel mouthed to him, "Thank you." Without him, they most likely wouldn't have made it halfway through their journey alive. He had done so much for them, and "thank you" simply did not even come close to the gratitude they all owed him. Any further guesture she might have given was cut off by a short whistle from within the tunnel. The others heard it as well and stood, their muscles tensed, awaiting Thoronmir's order.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik

Thoronmir gave quick commands. "I'll go first. Falowik, you come right behind me, since you are the one who can spot Eodwine. Awyrgan, follow Falowik, and watch his back. After Awyrgan, Lumiel and Lira, with Furman between them, followed by Finëwen, and last of all, Eswen to protect our rear. Eswen, I've seen you with a blade, and know you to be at least as able a swordswoman as any here. Honor us with your skill, and any other strategies you deem wise." He gazed at her meaningfully.

She nodded once. Falowik could not tell if she had understood any special meaning from Thoronmir's words. He could not imagine what the Ranger had been talking about. As they took their turns shinnying up the pipe, Falowik wondered what they would find.

It was hard going, and it stank. Falowik tried hard not to retch. He was glad that it had been raining so hard, for if it had not, the stench would have been worse, and they might have been stymied by their noses alone.

Falco

Falco lay hunkered down in the mess in the pipe, letting his eyes adjust to the light. It had been pitch black in the pipe, and the half light had seemed almost like noontime to him.

He was in a dungeon, it seemed. He smiled. Had not the famous Gandalf been known to have said of one Dark Lord, "wise fool"? Well, here was another. There were two guards. One stood at a door at the other end of the walk way, and another was seated at an official looking table. There were groans and mutterings off to left and right, but Falco could not see any of the prisoners to even guess which one, if any, was the famous Eodwine.

He could hear the others crawling up behind him. They were being awfully noisy. Humans! Such a noisy lot! Big trouble, indeed, even when they were well spoken enough, which Falco had to admit to himself, Thoronmir was turning out to be. He was a good fellow, for all his lumbering big folk ways.

As silently as he could, Falco placed one hand before the other, hauled himself up, placed one foot on the floor of the ditch, then the other, and stayed hunkered down in the mess. He scrunched up his nose. He was going to be glad when this portion of their adventure was behind them. At least the stench penetrated the whole prison, or he'd be found out already! He wondered how the guards could stand it! They probably wouldn't have to for long, not if their little group had its way.

Thoronmir was just about at the end of the pipe.

[Imladris]

Lira crawled on hands and knees through the pipe, eyes fixed on Lumiel’s head. The elf was full of a quiet, joyous confidence that never seemed to diminish. Lira smiled. The elf had a good heart -- hopefully she would not fall in this mad rescue attempt.

The tunnel reeked of filth and the putrid, rotting remains of leaves and other plants. Pale, limpid roots clung to the top of the iron pipe; spiders scurried amid the fungus that clung to the tunnel’s sides. They crawled on slimy muck that layered the pipe, like soured icing upon stale, hardened bread. She could feel the squishy mud ooze between her fingers; heard it cling to her knees with a gasping sound, that would release with a squeak-like sigh as she crawled forward. Cobwebs, the burial ground of unnumbered insects, stretched across the pipe like dead, wispy curtains.

She could vaguely hear the clank of prisoner’s shackles, the harsh chortling of their guards as they mocked and insulted them. She shuddered, wondering if the place within was as filthy as the pipe.

The opening of the tunnel came in sight. Guards paced back and forth, shadows flickered on the walls from a sickly fire.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen followed Lira and Furman into the tunnel. It reeked but Finëwen continued on, though she didn't see how she could. The tunnel itself is not what bothered her. She wanted to complete what she had started, but she did not feel no different. She had gained nothing from the trip, not even the experience of it all.

Drawing nearer to the end of the tunnel, Finëwen saw nothing for herself. After this she had nothing to go back to except an empty house, for her elven parents had passed over the sea years ago. She enjoyed living with the elves for the time that she did, but does not feel it her place, though she was raised as one of them. She just hoped that if she were to die, she'd be dying nobly...

The lights grew lighter, causing Finëwen to squint her eyes. The filth in the tunnel was not so bad anymore. The light was too bright to see what was at the end of the tunnel yet for Finëwen.

[Imladris]

I shuddered as I heard the snarling noise. It seemed to choke me with invisible fingers, drinking my strength away. As soon as my eyes became adjusted to the dark, I saw a lank wolf eyeing us with golden orbs. Spit dripped from his white fangs, his fur was stiff on his neck. He looked evil. Felt evil. I shuddered again, wishing to go back.

That was when I noticed that the tunnel ended behind the dog -- or at least I assumed so. Bags were piled behind the wolf and I saw a glint of gold. I gnawed my lip, considerring. If there was gold in those bags, what else would be in there? Clues as to the master was? A pip and some tobacco, I thought with yearning. I nodded and said, "We should kill him and look at the bags. We have you with us," I said, just now noticing the newcomer as a ragged ranger. "You could kill him easily, could you not?"

He nodded and I turned to Anson. "We have a ranger with us," I said with a smile. "He'll help us kill it -- or we'll help him kill it."

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

Lira and the others

Thoronmir now neared the end of the pipe. He stopped, made sure that everyone was ready, and, with a gesture of his hand, burst from the pipe, sword drawn. Lira crouched waiting to spring as soon as Furman had disappeared from the pipe. It reminded her of a running race she had often played when she was young...

Furman began to wiggle himself and she scrambled forward after him. She slid from the pipe onto a wooden floor and, drawing her knife, she climbed to her feet and glanced quickly around, looking for the enemy. She saw Furman grappling a guard, and a guard pulling a blade on Falowik.

She heard a soft step behind her and whirling around, she saw another guard lunge at her with a heavy sword. She parried it with her dagger and dodged underneath his arm, driving her knife into his belly.

[Lumiel]

As soon as they entered the dark, dank tunnel, the outside world became muted. All feeling of rain and wind disappeared, all that was in evidence of the dreary weather was a hollow echo in the pipe and the soaked companions crawling upwards through the pipe. Lumiel's heart pounded anxiously as they slowly made their way in. The grime and muck clung to her hands and feet, and she avoided contact with it as much as was possible. Not so much because the smell and feel bothered her (though it certainly was not pleasant), but more because the slime would hinder her movements once they were within.

They paused near the end. She could see two pair of feet outside. It was amazing that the guards didn't hear them. Confined and waiting, every noise seemed amplified dangerously. Finally Thoronmir gave the signal and they burst forth from the tunnel, one after the other, blades drawn.

Before she could fully take in the situation they had leaped into, Lumiel saw Furman attempt to take down one of the guards with only his bound hands. His years spent in the wilderness had strengthened him so that even bound, he was dangerous. But still, he could not take on another fully grown, armed man by himself. The guard clutched at his throat, since Furman had thrown his arms around his neck and was now attempting to choke him, and reached one hand down to a dagger at his side.

Before he could raise it for a lethal blow to Furman, Lumiel rushed forward, silent except for a sickening squish of her boots. The man glanced toward her with wide, fearful eyes and let out a strangled gasp as she plunged her sword into his gut and wrenched it upwards, killing him instantly. Furman released his hold on the man and Lumiel stepped behind the dead guard to avoid the blood now pumping out of him. Taking a dagger from her belt, she quickly cut Furman's ropes. Reaching down to the dead body, she pulled the sword from its belt and shoved it into Furman's hands. "You'll have better luck with this." she whispered to him with a faint smile and quickly turned to the rest of the skirmish now taking place.

Falowik was dealing with the second guard and Lira was near another dead body. Whether the third guard had been summoned or merely had walked in on the situation, Lumiel didn't know. She only hoped that their essential element of surprise was not entirely lost.

[Esgallhugwen]

Despite the unpleasant circumstances, Esgallhugwen was able to keep a foot hold in the thick slime that caked the tunnel. They neared the end and she could see thin rays of light slipping past her companions that had gone ahead.

While scaling up the tunnel conscious of the sludge beginning to weight her down she contemplated Thoronmir's words, how he sould have been refering to the Dark Queen in all her dread and glory. Eswen knew she might have to bring her out again when they confronted the Master, which they pobably would.

One by one they crawled out of the tunnel like some thing from a child's nightmare, sickly and covered head to toe with mud and green slime, their swords drawn and glimmering. Immediately she beheld the others go to work on the gaurds swiftly and as quietly as they could, though the muck made an irritating sucking slopping noise as it slid off their boots.

There had been two gaurds, but a third came around the bend, Lira finished him quickly. The silence that followed seemed more sickening then the sucking slurping noises of their boots.

Kildirak

The snarling beast before them made the hair on Kildirak's neck stand up, yes he knew how to kill a wolf, but he only wanted to use that as a last resort. "Surely there could be some other way to get near those bags, who knows how long this beast has been down here. Put here to gaurd this chamber no less. What if he is starving? I know all too well what that feels like".

The faint candle light flickered on the figure of the dark wolf, it ribs jutting out with every gasping breath. It's eyes flashed with more hunger and fear than any beastial authority.

"You two", he whispered as low as he could "look for some rope that might be nearby or anything that you can find that would suit that purpose". They all started looking about them keeping an eye on the wolf to make sure he didn't try and attack.

The hobbits, Anson and Gorby picked up a few things, a steel chain, leather whip, golden necklace that had fallen from one of the near bags, but no rope. Just then the wolf began to step forward ready to lunge.

[littlemanpoet]

There were no more guards in the dungeon. Their luck held, for the dungeon itself was walled off from the rest of the keep with thick walls, and was below the main floor. Better yet, there was a ring of keys at the belt of one of the guards. The prisoners did not speak, but looked at their saviors eagerly, hoping for release. None of them looked in great health, but none were starving either; the Master needed them leechable.

Thoronmir handed the keys to Falowik, who unlocked the prisoners, asking any if they knew what lay before them. It occurred to Falowik that it might have been well to have kept one of the guards alive, but there was not surety that they could keep him quiet. They would have to find their way.

Thoronmir bade the freed men to escape down the pipe. They watched them clamber in one by one: eight in all, out of ten cells; two had been empty.

Eodwine had not been among them.

Thoronmir unlocked the heavy wooden door to the dungeon and looked both ways before proceeding.

Falco tugged on Thoronmir's shirt. "Let me scout ahead!" he whispered. Thoronmir nodded and the hobbit scurried into the darkness.

***

Falco returned after perhaps five minutes. "Up one flight of stairs, and there are two guards at the main door to the left, and two more by another door to the right, in front of some fancy little house inside the larger house. It's like this Furman said! It must be this Master's temple."

"Are there no more guards than that?" Thoronmir asked.

Falco shook his head. "Far as I can make out, they're all asleep in barracks. Locked in from the outside, if the nearest is any clue to that!"

Falowik had been listening. "So even his own guards are his prisoners."

"Aye," said Thoronmir. "We still have the advantage of surprise, due in large measure to the pounding of the rain above. Lumiel, Awyrgan and Furman, attack the guards at the main door. Join Falowik and Eswen, and me at the temple when you have finished there. Lira, Finëwen and Falco, search out the rest of this keep and make sure that none come upon us unawares. When you have finished, join us. Now to it!"

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir, Falowik, and Eswen proceeded to an archway directly across from the temple doors. They could see the two guards in front clearly, but the guards couldn't see them.

"Eswen, take your bow and aim for the guard on the left. I'll take the one on the right," Thoronmir whispered hoarsely. They drew their bows and fired. The guards fell, not knowing what had happened. "Wait here, I'm going to check something," said the Ranger. Thoronmir proceeded from the archway to the courtyard surrounding the temple to scout the area, ducking low to avoid detection. He paused and looked upward as he crept around. He smiled as he saw what he was looking for. The temple's roof was made of wood, not stone, so it wouldn't be that hard for somebody to break through. A low wall ran around the edge of it, perfect for a grappling hook and rope. He dashed back to the archway, drew a good length of rope out of his pack and tied a hook to it, then waited for the others. He would tell them of his plan when they had all arrived.

[Imladris]

Lira nodded and crept up the stairs that led from the dungeon. Her knife was drawn, Falco padded in front of her, and Finëwen glided behind her. The dungeon itself was like a large cellar, Lira noticed. The walls were firm dirt, the floor was grey stone. A straggling, dying root here and there bulged from the wall.

The stairs were dimly lit by flickering torches. Not a cobweb clung to the corners; clouds of dust did not appear when their feet fell upon the stairs. It was relatively neat, compared to the torture chambers they had found and the grave yard of bones. But why? Was it because the master's presence was so close? Did he, or she -- Lira shuddered at the thought of the vampire -- make sure his domains were neat? Lira chuckled. How men grew lax when authority was afar.

The stairs led to a smallish hut. Herbs and meats hung from the wood panelled ceiling. A fire was dying in a small fireplace. Coils of rope were tossed into the corner. A small window was set in each of the four walls. A guard, a large black bottle by his hand, snored from the table. His head was cradled in his burly arms, drool stretched from his lips before splattering onto the table. Lira grimaced and Falco smothered a snort. The guard was exactly like a swine. All he needed was a square snout with huge ovalish nostrils, a bloated stomach, cloven hands -- Lira shook herself. What was she thinking?

Lira and Finëwen took some rope and tied him to the chair. Tearing a large stip of cloth from her dress, she stuffed it into his mouth and secured with a bit of rope tied around his head. She snorted. The man was indeed in a heavy drunken stupour.

Lira peeked out each of the windows at the barren landscape -- not even a weed straggled for life. "There is no one outside," Lira told Falco.

Falco frowned and shrugged. "So much the better for us."

"Maybe they are at the temple," Lira murmured. "There may be a sacrifice and the others might be watching." How gruesome.

"Let's join the others," Falco said.

The two ladies nodded and left the small hut with the dungeon cellar. The temple was soon in sight.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen was instructed to keep lookout whilst Thoronmir talked with Falowik about the order in which they were to enter the temple when everyone had arrived. Her bow was at her side in case any more guards should appear.

She was relieved to see Lira, Finëwen, and Falco come around the bend from the dungeon cellar. She smiled and beckoned them over with a wave of her hand so they would know the coast was clear.

"What news? I see Eodwine is not among you" she whispered.

Eswen did not know what Eodwine looked like but seeing that it was only the three, it was easy to assume he had already been taken by the Master.

"Thoronmir means to tell us his plan once Lumiel, Awyrgan and Furman arrive, until then we must hope to avoid detection" she motioned them to follow her up to the archway.

Kildirak

The wolf jumped up at them teeth bared, gobs of foaming drool hitting their faces. Kildirak had to act fast in order to save the Hobbits from the hungry jaws. He looped the leather whip into a lasso and tossed it at the wolf's head.

His skill at roping animals paid off. The rope looped around the its head and with a swift practised motion Kildirak tugged on the rope, it tightened around the beast's neck.

Kildirak's grip tightened as he pulled back making the whip taught. Luckily just in time before poor Gorby's face was nearly gnashed off.

[littlemanpoet]

He was in an evil dream, and wondered if he would ever wake up. It had started pleasantly enough, among quaint hobbits and northmen, then a foray into the hills in search of signs of missing men for a report back to King Eomer. But it had led to capture, witnessed by a wanderer that his captors had never seen. So he had hoped, when he still had hope. They had tried to break his spirit by showing him their machines of torture in the ruins, but they had not been able to. Then had come days and days of being herded along with scores of other men, out into fields to work a slave holder's lands, then long nights with at first a growling stomach. The growling had been replaced by a stretched and empty feeling, then numbness, the last stage before starvation. He had been fed as little as possible to keep ghost and flesh together. He grew desperate and saw a chance to escape while his limbs could still carry him, and took it; but one of them had seen and caught him before he was over the first hill. He remembered their words then: this one has a strong will, the kind the Master likes to drink; send him north. They had tied him down in a wagon and he had spent two bumped and jostled days before reaching the fortress, where there was no chance of escape. Surely the wanderer had forgotten about him, or done nothing in the first place. The Master's henchmen had fed and watered him well, for they had needed him fatted for the Master; so it was with all the prisoners who came to the fortress. He had watched those who had arrived before him, taken one at a time, their screams, ravaged with horror and loss, raising the hair on the nape of his neck. Something worse than death awaited him. Finally, the last prisoner before him was taken, and despair had set in. Now it was his turn, on a wild and stormy night, the kind the Master liked best.

They had brought him into the temple and lain him on the altar, and left him alone, naked but for a loin cloth. The entirety was wrought in black marble, shining luridly in the lightning flashes that could be seen through the hands' width thick glass of the tall windows just below the domed ceiling. The altar, round as the rim of a goblet, was in the center of the temple. At the circumference of the altar was a gutter, and there was an aperture of some kind near his right hand. He had heard the talk from the guards. They spared no detail of the horror, so he knew what was coming. The Master would cut the arteries of both wrists and ankles, and would keep the wounds open with water as needed, until he was bled dry. His blood would flow into the gutters and the Master would open the aperture; his blood would flow into a vat down below. But the Master would have a goblet handy, and the last thing Eodwine would remember, in his bodily life, would be the agony of his chest cut open, his heart removed, its contents poured into the goblet, and drunk by the Master.

But that was only the beginning.

The Master wielded power over the dead, the ghosts of his victims; and he had control over evil spirits that were all the guard he required in his temple. He himself was safe from them as long as he had drunk blood within the last twenty-four hours. It was his power now, for both his necromancy and his continued life. And Eodwine would become his slave, tied by the continuation of his blood in the vat, to the Master's will. So it was told to him by the guards, who said that they had it so from the Master himself. He believed them, for he imagined that the Master's weapons were not least, fear and terror in the hearts of his victims.

Eodwine acknowledged to himself, that he feared greatly. His heart beat as if he was sprinting. Lightning flashed. Rain poured. Thunder rolled. A shadowy figure entered the chamber through a portal Eodwine had not seen before. The Master.

[Meneltarmacil]

Awyrgan, Lumiel, and Furman had returned and told Thoronmir that Eodwine was nowhere to be seen. Thoronmir considered this, and then made up his mind.

"We can't wait any longer. Eodwine is definitely in the temple, which means the longer we wait, the less likely it is that Eodwine will survive. We'll have to go in. Falowik, Eswen, Lira, and Falco, you'll take this rope (he gave Lira the rope and grappling hook) and climb to the roof. Take the rope with you, then proceed to the side of the temple farthest from the door. After my group breaks through the door, count to five and then smash a hole in the wooden roof with your weapons and lower yourself in. Eodwine should probably be close to your location. If there are too many guards, use your bows and attack from above. Awyrgan, Finewen, Lumiel, and Furman, you'll be with me and create a distraction at the front door. Be cautious, as the Master will likely have traps set. Have you got all that?"

Everybody nodded.

"Alright, let's GO!" he said. He handed Furman a scimitar he had taken from a dead guard. "Use it well, but don't double cross us. I'm warning you." he cautioned him.

As they came up to the temple door, he whispered to Awyrgan so that nobody else could hear. "Take this. If Furman turns against us, shoot him before he tells the guards of the plan." He handed the other Ranger his bow and quiver of arrows, and Awyrgan nodded.

"GO!" Thoronmir shouted, and kicked the door open. The sight that greeted him was definitely NOT welcoming...

[Imladris]

Lira swung the rope and watched the gleaming grappling hoock skitter across the roof and latch onto a lip of wood. She hoped that if anyone had heard the rope the guards, or the Master himself, would pass it off as hungry rats scaveging for a stray crumb.

Noiselessly and swiftly, she climbed up the rope and crawled to the wooden roof. Splinters speared her palm and she swore silently. As she waited for the others to climb up after her, she tried to dig them out, but failed for they were buried deeply, and her nails were jagged and stubby.

She ceased her efforts when the rest had climbed the rope and, drawing her blade, she gripped the dagger between her teeth and began to crawl across the roof of the temple. She passed silently over the planks of wood, hoping that the others would do likewise. The grappling hook would be enough to alert their enemies...she hoped ony that they had been too concerned with their own sacrifice to notice a few scratchings upon the roof.

She slowed as she neared the farther edge of the temple and put her ear to the wooden plank. There was silence, save for a soft whisper of metal against metal. She could hear no groaning, pitiful whimperings, or pleas for mercy. She closed her eyes, and murmured a prayer for Eodwine. Then she crouched, dagger held ready in her hand, as she waited for Thoronmir's people to smash through the doors.

Under her hands, the roof began to shiver and tremble, as if some force bade them do so. Lira frowned and hissed, "Back away, back away!" She pushed Falco across the roof, and gestured Esgallhugwen back. Falowick, she gathered, was somewhere behind her, out of sight.

As she began to retreat the wood splintered beneath her, crumbling under her weight. She fell through the roof, struggling to grasp the jagged edges of the cavernous hole. As she fell, she vaguely saw the dim form of an alter, and a man bound to it, naked save for a loin cloth.

Guards filled the room and Lira knew that they had been waiting for them. As she plummeted to the stone floor, a sharp crack resounded in the temple: the sound of her broken neck.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen swiftly climbed to rope, the last of them to go up. They awaited for Thoronmir to break though the entrance but that chance did not come before the worst befell them.

The roof which consisted of wooden planks began to quake under their feet, Lira had urged the others back but before she could save herself the roof gave way, and she fell. Esgallugwen rushed to hole and a sound echoed up to them, it took everything in Eswen's body not to scream out in pain and anguish at the twisted form sprawled out on the tile.

But also when that sound came something snapped inside of the dark haired Elf, something more violent and terrible than before. Her clear grey eyes narrowed and seemed to glow with wrath and power.

Her body trembled and the air about her grew cold and still. Esgallhugwen picked up her bow and adjusted her quiver on her back.

The guards came then swarming over Lira like some insectile vermin. With a swift fluid motion that could only come from the Elves, Esgallhugwen began to rifle arrow after arrow at the enemy.

The Dark Queen in her smiled maniacally when she downed more then five men with arrows protruding from their eye. Falowik a little uneasy at the abrupt change in one of his comrades gathered courage and took down a fair share of the guards himself.

It was then that Esgallhugwen heard the front door being smashed in, good they made it in, she turned quickly to Falowik and Falco, tying the bow to her back.

"I'm going in, I ask you to cover me until I've cleared the way then you can enter the temple, use the rope to get down Master Falco it would be a perilous fall for you" the depth in her sweet Elvish voice was laced with anger and sadness.

The fall was steep, but when she glanced throught the hole she noticed a pillar with a huge lantern hanging horizontally from a bronze bar. It would be the perfect way for her to get down safetly enough.

With a shift of her feet she was down the hole and reaching across for the bronze bar, her long thin fingers glanced off the bar and latched on to the lanterns chain ahead. The force with which she came down pulled the lantern at an awkward angle spilling the hot embers, one grazed her cheek but did not burn her bad enough to promote a scar.

The Dark Queen landed on the black marble silently with a bend of her knees, but the gaurds had seen her descent. One came up to her right as she drew her sword, the impact of the pommel hitting his mouth shattered all of his front teeth, he screamed as blood splattered over the glistening tile.

The Dark Queen has risen.

[Imladris]

Lira opened her eyes and rose from the floor. Looking behind her she, she saw a shell of skin, a corpse with the neck at an odd angle. Her corpse. That she was dead did not matter to Lira, for she was fëa now. Before the thought had sunk into her, she became aware of dark presence in the room. Black arrogance mingled with scorn assaulted her and, turning, she saw a dread being stand between two of the black pillars, bound to them by strands not of bodily making, as if the very essence of the spirit had been used to hold it as a slave there, at the beck and call of the Master. It was not a balrog, but some other spawn of evil .

Lifting her hands, Lira cried, "You will not harm me nor my friends!"

The spirit laughed. Cold and harsh it was upon her ears, like sharpened blades upon her skin, wounding her, weakening her. "What can you do to me?" the spirit asked. "I am under the power of the Master!"

The Master ...suddenly, Lira realized who he was, and wondered why she had not known it before. The Master was the Lieutenant of Sauron, the Dark Numenorean who had forgotten his own name and entity in his vile service: The Mouth of Sauron. Lira's heart quailed and she wavered.

She could feel the spirit envelope her, gnawing at her as the ocean gnaws at the rocks, grinding them to dust. She fought against and cried, "He will be defeated again! The dark cannot stand against the light!"

The Spirit laughed again, mocking her, like poison in a wound. "You cannot defeat him!"

Yes, he could not be defeated...he was a new Dark Lord, the bearer of Sauron's name. He was destroy the Shire, a vengeance for the destruction of his lord, and from there spill the blood of Arda's inhabitants upon the land, making it a wasteland fit for a dark lord. Not man nor elf could stand in his way.. As she saw the destruction in her minds eye, and remembering all that she had learned, she drew herself up and, clinging to a single thought, cried, "He will be defeated as he was defeated upon the Morannon before the Black Gate by Mithrandir the White!"

The Spirit almost snorted in disgust and said, "But he was not truly defeated was he? He has now come back, stronger than before. Before this day is out, he will drink your blood as well as the blood of your companions. He cannot be defeated." He gestured toward the alter.

Her last hope dashed, Lira felt a tidal wave of fear, mingled with hopelessness, drown her. She struggled with it, grappled with it, but it became stronger -- a leering monster. Stretching out her arms in supplication and defiance, she cried, " Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima! O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!"

[littlemanpoet]

The moment the Master entered the chamber, the roof gave way. Rain poured in, and something else: a human body, which hit the stone floor and did not move. It was a young woman! An elvish woman. Guards poured out from hidden recesses. Another interloper came swinging down nimbly from the broken roof, using a lantern chain for purchase. This one landed on two feet and quicker than Eodwine's eye could follow, drew and loosed five arrows into the guards, killing all five with each arrow. Only an Elf could use bow and arrow to such a pin point. The rain fell upon the altar, and Eodwine was drenched in moments. Lightning flashed.

Where had the Master gone? Eodwine looked up. He stood at Eodwine's head, goblet in one hand, that dagger, sharpened to a fine point in the other; it was the one Eodwine had been told about, bearing the ugly device of snake crawling through a skull's eye sockets that he had seen on the shields and hauberks of the guards. This dagger was singular, though. It's hilt was hollow, and an elixir was contained therein that, with a flick of the Master's thumb on a small switch, shot the elixir down the surface of the blade, and the wound opened by the dagger could not close, the blood could not thicken but would seep like water until the victim was drained.

The rain poured. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed and growled. The door broke open and more of the Elf woman's allies rushed in. The battle flowed before them.

"Man of Rohan," said the Master in tones sibilant as a serpent, disdainful of the melee raging around them, "it is your time to feed my life. What is your name, that I may honor your memory and sacrifice?" The Master's face was drawn tight against the bone so that it was no great task to imagine the skull beneath the skin. His eyes burned with a fierce will; but he was not disfigured. His expression mocked his seemingly honorable words; this one knew no honor.

"Tell me yours and I will tell you mine, fiend."

The Master smiled. "You would barter with me over a name? Fool." An arrow sped through the air at his head, but halted in its path just beyond the altar, and dropped to the floor. Another came swiftly after, and joined its brother on the floor. The arrows stopped coming. "See how the arrows cannot hurt us? We are safe here, you and I."

A rope descended from the hold in the roof.

The clouds burst and the rain came down like a waterfall. Eodwine turned his face away from the roof to breathe.

Suddenly, a high clear voice called from the midst of the temple, "Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima! O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" The words fed Eodwine, bringing hope in the midst of darkness, even though hope seemed far away. He looked up and saw the Master cringe.

"I know who you are," Eodwine said. He was desperate to live, and his life on the dagger's edge, not in figure of speech but in truth, made him as wreckless as a man could be with all four limbs tied down and without defense. "You were the lieutenant of Barad-dur. I saw you there, on the Morannon before that final battle, running back to hiding with your tail between your legs like a wipped cur, Mouth of Sauron!"

The downpour ebbed and thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Silence! Do not incur my wrath, fool, or I could make your sacrifice most painful, and your existence beyond death most agonizing. Yes, I was the Mouth of Sauron, but no more. I am the Dark Lord now, and my power grows. Your blood shall aid me. I shall tell you my name, for it is precious to me. I am Herugor. Do you hear! Herugor!"

The name echoed through the chamber, and the melee stopped for a moment as both sides in the battle looked to the altar, transfixed. Lightning flashed overhead and thunder shouldered the lightning aside with a crash. Light and dark flashed on the forms of warrior and guard alike, making them appear as if they were moving though they did not. It was the Elf woman with her quick arrows who broke the tableau with five more arrows into the necks of five more guards.

"Now tell me your name, man of Rohan."

"I will not."

"I have it already from the guards, and can speak it for you, but it is best if it comes from your own lips."

"Liar."

"You dare much, messenger of the King of Rohan."

[Esgallhugwen]

The Dark Queen moved quickly, dispatching the guards. The storm above them seemed to grow in strength, the thunder roared hungrily overhead.

The arrows she let fly at The Masters head fell uselessly to the ground. A dark haze was protecting him, she could see it moving and twisting about him and Eodwine.

Esgallhugwen gave up the pursuit of taking down the Master, for now, she had made the way clear for Folowik and Falco to enter from the roof. The rain poured down heavily as she called up to them, the coil of rope descended.

A voice called out " Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima! O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" Before she could react something struck her in the chest sending her flying across the black marble.

The voice was beautiful like the dawn but it was afraid, it was Lira's voice!

Esgallhugwen slid directly into Lira's cold dead body, gasping from the wind being knocked out of her, she looked downward on her fallen friend, the only one she had ever had for many years.

Her gaze led upward and she beheld a figure of auroral light.

"Lira!", the drenched Elf called out almost in disbelief that she was still here, then she knew the terrible power of the Master, knowing whom he truly was. Lira would not be able to leave until he was utterly destroyed.

The Dark Queen came to her feet and heard the Mouth of Sauron shouting at the man tied to the altar, his voice thick like poison.

"I am Herugor. Do you hear! Herugor!"

The fighting stopped, all seemed deadlocked, unable to move due to the uttering of such a name. The Dark Queen would have none of it and soon took down five more gaurds breaking everyones reverie.

Her fiery grey eyes scanned the temple for her assailant, but when she saw it she couldn't surpress a shudder. The shadow loomed above them, it was bound to two black pillars.

The Dark Queen stepped back in terror, it soon became apparent that the spirit would soon be liberated from its imprisonment. It was furious at Lira for having call upon Elbereth's grace.

Its tentacle like limbs slowly uncurled like snakes from the marble pillars, it laughed visciously at the two Elves that stood in front of it.

"You see, the Master's power is great, your feeble little Elvish darts can do nothing to stop Him or me" the spirit bellowed glowering down on them.

"Perhaps, but what of this!" the Dark Queen hissed angrily up at him despite her fear and drew forth her Elvish blade, the spirit stepped back unsure of the blades potency, then it smiled, if it could be considered a smile.

"Ha, so you have shown your true nature, like all your kind you wallow in deciet and folly, wrongfully mistaking it for courage and wisdom, your blood especially shall be prized by the Master, dark haired one, he will take it from you as slowly as possible".

Esgallhugwen's grip on her sword tightened, other figures began to appear, black and wretched, The guards, their souls have returned by His command.

"May the Valar protect us, mellon"

[littlemanpoet]

By the time Falowik and Falco slid down the rope, few guards were left standing. They pulled their swords out and took stock, side by side. Eswen was wipping out arrows and shooting guards left and right. Falco's jaw dropped as he watched arrows shot at the Master stop and drop.

"Take care, Wanderer!" Falco slipped into the shadows and made his way as quietly and quickly as he could around to the back of the altar, to the unseen left of the Master. He froze as the Master named himself: Herugor. Falco didn't know the name, but it sounded none too comely. An evil name for an evil man.

***

Falowik attacked the nearest guard and got embroiled in a trade of blows. He saw the front door burst open. Thoronmir, Awyrgan, Finewen, Lumiel, and Furman ran in, sword drawn and ready. Their plan had not worked out as they had hoped, so far. Lira was dead.

Next moment, Falowik froze. The dead guards picked themselves up off the floor, their wounds open and bleeding, arrows protruding, and took stances of readiness for battle. There were a little over two dozen of them. The guard he had been fighting withdrew and started to run from the hall, but was cut down with a single stroke by one of the dead guards. Next moment, he rose, his head cloven from top to eyebrows, and his eyes were baleful.

Then something new caught his eye; where there had been blankness, or blackness, there was now a red smudge. It grew and gained shape. A rope came from it toward the altar, where there was a hole in the floor. No, it was not a rope, it was some kind of living tentacle that became more blood red with each second. Revealed by flashes of lightning, it was large as a troll and wore its shape, red as blood - in fact, it seemed to be made of blood! But its eyes bore malignant intelligence, and its mouth gaped hungrily.

"Uien," Falowik whispered, "I wish you were here now. Of maybe I don't. This may be farewell, my love."

He gripped his sword and began to fight his way toward the others.

[Imladris]

Lira could feel the presence of Esgallhugwen support her like a dark pillar. Summoning her strength, she said, "By Elbereth the Fair we will defeat you." She felt Eswen's mind and, together, they converged their wills against the spirit.

The spirit faltered for a brief moment but a glance at his Master and at the spirits of the dead guards made his fear vanished and he laughed. Three mere elves only stood in his way -- they were nothing but a pebble.

Lira's heart sank as she glanced at Eswen. The tall elf gripped her sword as she turned to face the spirits of the dead guards that marched upon them. Drawing her dagger, the mate of Esgallhugwen's, Lira prayed to the Valar, asking for their protection and their strength.

She could feel Lumiel's will with them as well, and together, the three elves faces the spirits of darkness, recalled from the dead. Lira shook her head. They would not be enough. "Uien...Uien..." she called. "Help us..."

[littlemanpoet]

Uien lifted her head. Gorby and Anson were sitting beside her. It was night. She had been washing the forehead of one of her patients. Storm wrack rumbled in the distance, to the north.

"Loréatan!"

Gorby saw a sudden distance in her face. Her eyes looked upon some place far away. He nudged Anson and pointed at her. Both stared in wide-eyed fascination. Something was happening to her, and they did not know what. Something Elvish.

She had heard voices, clear; voice she knew, one man to whom her heart was tied as long as her life continued; and three others - her lips formed their names - Lira - Esgallhugwen - Lumiel! She reached for them with her mind, and flew more swiftly than the Eagles over the hills, into the rain and wind and lightning and thunder, to the fortress on the last hill, a black fortress. She flew to the minds that had called to her, three elven women, and one human man.

The two hobbits saw a tear gather and fall from Uien's eye. Anson frowned and wondered if she was thinking back to bad. Then her face changed to a look of horror.

Uien's closest connection was to Falowik, even though he was no Elf. She laid her awareness over his as carefully as she could, and saw what he saw: they were in a large chamber with a dais and altar to which was tied on his back, a man. Standing over him was a being who was wholly evil. Lira was dead, and Eswen stood over her, Lumiel joining them. Dead guards walked and swung swords with strength and quickness that could not be there's. Worse, an evil spirit took shape from the blood of many dead, and was forming it into a giant, bigger than any troll, but with the intelligent malevolence of a balrog. It was this demon that the Elven women fought, yes, all three, for though Lira was dead, her fëa lived on.

Uien urged Falowik to join the Elven women. He ran to them. All five joined in common purpose to withstand the despair of the demon. The demon walked free now, and came at the five of them, gathered in the center of the chamber while the others fought desperately against the inexorable dead.

Uien knew through Falowik that Falco crept closer and closer to the Mouth of Sauron; they needed to do something to distract the villain, before he slashed Eodwine's wrists and ankles - for it was indeed Eodwine of Rohan, the one they had come in search of. The bird! What of the bird?

Gorby and Anson watched Uien, whose face had gone pale and bleak, as if she had lost hope of healing all these patients. They glanced at each other, troubled, and shivered.

[Imladris]

Gorby

I watched in stunned silence as the tears trickled down Uien's face -- the excitement of victory had gone from me. For the ranger and us two hobbits had vanquished the wolf, and discovered that he guarded skulls, treasure, and a bit of exotic food stuff as well that had been preserved in jars. But the sweet fruit turned to ash, and my pipe went out when Uien began to act all strange.

I could tell, even with the lack of elvish intuition, that something bad was happening. I just hoped that my friends would survive through it, especially the elven ladies. I was glad then that Anson had stayed here...or that I had stayed here with Anson. I forget how it happened.

Lira

Lira grappled with the spirit, struggling against its florid thought. She felt another mind caress them and she smiled. Uien had come, and Falowik joined them as well. But the guards surrounded them, attacking them with swords fueled with malign swiftness.

Living guards poured through the doors of the temple, and a black shadow dropped from the fallen roof and fell upon them, tearing at one of their throats with curved claws. It was Corn, come to aide them. Where he had been, Lira did not know. She had not seen him since the last battle.

The guard crumpled under Corn's attack, and she saw him flit off to kill yet another. Blood and skin dangled from his beak, which he swalled like a worm from the ground.

Lira glanced back at the fallen warrior, and paled as she saw his spirit float from his body to join the army of the dead that circled around them. "Do not kill the guards!" she shouted to Corn.

A vague, shodowy image floated to her mind: Falco, crawling on hands and knees behind the Master. A distant voice, the bird! What of the bird? whispered in her mind. Lira understood, and turned her thoughts to Corn: Plunge upon him as you would a sparrow, play with him as you would a hawk!

Corn cawed and swooped toward the Master's head, pecking it like a woodpecker upon wood. With a rasping laugh, the raven danced off, fluttering in front of the Master, lashing at his limbs.

[littlemanpoet]

That bird of Lira's had flown in! Falco inched closer and closer to the villain, this Herugor. Corn was the bird's name. Lira lay dead on the floor, and Falco could not see her, ducked behind the altar. He wondered if the bird could tell. Suddenly Corn came in sight, flying over the head of Herugor. Corn dove and harried him. It was his chance!

His plan was to give Herugor the same wounds he was going to give Eodwine. Falco raised his dagger and while Herugor was distracted, slashed at his flailing arms and caught him above the wrist. Blood flowed. Herugor roared with the pain.

Suddenly, Falco saw a giant that he had not seen before, hunkered down behind the altar. Now it turned toward them. Its mouth opened, and a cold, evil voice assaulted his ears.

"I smell blood!" The giant came toward Herugor.

"No! Stay back!" The giant kept coming. The dead guards turned from their foes and looked at the giant and Herugor; they dropped their swords, clattering to the floor, and walked toward Herugor. Falco was glad he was not Herugor.

"Hobbit!" Eodwine craned his neck to get Falco's attention. "Untie me!"

Falco shook his head, clearing his mind from the fascinating horror, and took a look at Eodwine's bonds.

"I'm Falco, Shirriff of the Shire, here to find out if you were real, and if so, to save you. Well, you're real enough, so now to save you."

"My thanks!"

Herugor turned to run from the chamber, and stopped before he was two strides away from the altar, seeming to fear leaving it.

Falco grunted. "These are iron bonds. Is there a lever?"

"I know not."

Herugor backed to the altar, staring at the advancing giant and guards. He leaned against it. There was a click. Suddenly, the irons came undone from Eodwine's wrists and ankles. In a motion more fluid than Falco expected, Eodwine kicked Herugor in the back, sending him hurtling toward the giant, which welcomed him with open arms and maw. Herugor screamed.

Eodwine, Falco, and all the others watched in fascination as the red giant held Herugor to its body, and little by little, screaming until his mouth was blocked, he sank into the body of the giant. And was gone. The dead guards fell to the floor. Suddenly, the chamber was filled with the sound of many moaning voices. Falco felt that he could almost see the faces that went with the voices, rising from below, into the air, and out into the storm above. The giant melted to the stone floor until all that remained was a puddle of blood, surrounding the pale, leeched corpse of Herugor. Two horrible voices rose from the chamber together, filled with despair and loss. At last, there was no sound but the rain.

[Meneltarmacil]

When the battle started, Thoronmir had smashed the doors in to the sight of Lira falling through the roof and the guards swarming around her. Everything that could conceivably go wrong did. The Master turned and looked at him, then gave a chilling laugh. Thoronmir had recognized the Master's voice from the Battle of the Morannon and tried to warn the others, but the confusion kept anyone from hearing him. No sooner had he slain several guards than they came back to life and resumed the attack. He saw Awyrgan fall to the floor, dead. Then he heard the Mouth of Sauron speak.

"I am Herugor. Do you hear! Herugor!"

A few seconds later, Thoronmir had been grabbed by some horrible thing with gigantic tentacles. He tried to struggle free, but the beast seemed to be draining his very life away. Just as he was about to slip into unconsciousness (or worse), he heard Herugor scream in pain. Suddenly the beast was gone, and Thoronmir, released from the tentacles, fell onto the temple floor. He felt life return to him, and knew that they had won the battle. He caught a glimpse of some gigantic monster attacking Herugor, who quickly died a horribly painful death.

Thoronmir got up off the floor and walked over to where Falco had just freed Eodwine. "Falco, I don't know if you realized it," he said to the hobbit, "but you just saved my life. Thank you."

Thoronmir turned to the man whom Falco had released. "Eodwine, I presume."

[Imladris]

The Master, screaming in agony, sank into the giant, melding into the giant's form. Around her, the spirits ceased their fighting and, wailing with despair and fear, they drifted away, like mist before the dawn.

She felt an urge to leave, a calling voice beckoning her to leave these mortal lands. Her task was done, and she was dead. She had no business in the land of the living.

Corn, bedraggled, perched upon her corpse, running his beak through her hair, and nibbling caresses at her ear. Lira smiled at the bird, and then turned to Esgallhugwen. Mellon she whispered may the grace of the Valar protect and strengthen you.

She kissed Esgallhugwen on her brow, and then her fëa departed to the Halls of Mandos.

[littlemanpoet]

"Eodwine, I presume."

"The same." Eodwine offered his hand in greeting to the man, turning to the Hobbit. "Falco, is it? You are a fine Hobbit, and I am glad to make your acquaintance." He turned back to the Ranger. "You are familiar to me, I'm thinking. I know not how, and missed you name. But I wonder, might it have been in the War that I saw you? I was in the charge of the Rohirrim at Pelennor, and marched to the Morannon. Did I see you then, mayhap?"

"Thoronmir is the name," the Ranger replied. "And I too was at Pelennor and Morannon. And now that you say it, I do believe that I did see you there! Well met, friend!" They slapped each other's backs and grinned in that way that comes to none but common veterans.

Eodwine turned to look at the Elven woman's corpse, and those who knelt over her in mourning, not least the crow they called Corn, who combed her hair with its beak. "Who was this lady who gave her life for mine? I am forever in her debt, and would know in whose honor I shall live the rest of my days."

"She was Lira," Thoronmir said, "not the most beautiful of Elven women, but her heart was true and her courage great."

They walked over to the others. Falco was unusually silent, and wiped away a tear.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen stood there watching all the others. There was not much she could say. What would she say? Everybody else seemed to be handling things well. Or from what she understood. Everything seemed to have gone by in one big blur and it was only getting blurrier. She listened to them speaking, about Lira. She glanced at Lira. Dying, seemed like a wonderful thing. Finëwen had always hoped to die in honour.

Well, it seemed as if their task was nearly over. Wondering what lay ahead of her after this trip, Finëwen continued to listen, half paying attention, though for a moment it seemed as silence had overtaken the group. Mourning for those lost, Finëwen assumed.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik helped Eodwine find clothes off the tallest guard corpse. The shirt had a hole at the heart, from the arrow that had pierced it, but it would have to do.

Next, the party found a stretcher packed away in a store-room, doubtless used by the guards to haul the leeched corpses away. They cleaned it, and placed it next to Lira, and carefully moved her onto it.

Through these things happened, Eodwine met and befriended most of the party: as well as Thoronmir, Falowik, and Falco, he met bright Lumiel, and dark and powerful Eswen, and Furman the former guard of the Master. Eodwine paid close attention to Furman at first, and decided that this one had done much to aid in his own rescue, and in the downfall of Herugor, and maybe had paid his debts at least in part. He would be given no ill treatment from Eodwine.

One other kept to herself, but Eodwine noticed her. She had made herself useful as much as she could, but she never smiled, and seemed to keep herself apart from the party as much as the others included her.

After they had carried Lira out of the fortress and walked around the hill to the car, and laid her on it, he walked over to the silent girl.

"Who is this silent beauty?"

The girl looked about her and saw no one else to whom his question could be addressed, or to whom he could refer.

"I am called Finëwen, sir." She looked up at him briefly, then looked away, as if she could not find the right thing to do with her hands; one finally came to rest on her sword hilt, the other chafed at dirt that was not there on her trousers.

"Call me Eodwine, Finëwen. The party is about to move out. Will you walk with me?"

Surprise was in her eyes. She nodded, and they began to follow the wagon. Eodwine asked her how she had become involved in the adventure, and through fits and starts of slow speech, over the course of many hours, he had her story from her, and began to relate his own.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien blinked and sighed. She looked about her. The wet rag lay limp and crushed in her hand. Gorby and Anson watched her with wide eyes, full of worry. She smiled briefly.

"They have saved Eodwine, and the Master is no more."

Their jaws dropped, then they grinned, got up, and did a little Hobbit jig arm in arm before sitting down. Anson was first to speak.

"Then why are you yet sad, Uien? Is Falowik dead?"

She smiled again. "No. Falowik has survived. All but one have survived. Lira is dead." With mention of her name, tears flowed again from Uien's eyes. "I am sorry." Uien reached out and smoothed the hair on both the Hobbits' heads, for they were wiping their eyes. Lira had been their special friend, and it was only right that they should mourn.

[Esgallhugwen]

In a blur it all seemed done. The Hobbit Falco had saved the day, it wasn't the first time one of the Little Folk had done so and it surely wasn't going to be the last.

As Esgallhugwen turned to Lira a soft whisper came to her ear; Mellon, may the grace of the Valar protect and strengthen you. There eyes met for one brief moment, Eswen's still and sad, but Lira's gaze was filled with a light, she would finally be at peace.

She kissed Esgallhugwen on the brow and departed from the land of Middle- Earth to the Halls of Mandos.

They had found a stretcher in the back and gently lifted Lira onto it, they carried her out of the fortress and layed her on the cart that stood around the hill. Eswen led Morsereg up with the rest of the company.

When the large black horse saw the blonde Elf he whinnied mournfully and nuzzled her hand affectionately. Esgallhugwen sighed and pulled out the Elvish blanket from her saddle bag, the one she used to keep the wolf cub warm.

In a ceremonial manner she laid it down across her friend, the grey clouds that were once black drifted away and a beam of sunlight broke through making the silver and gold thread sewn into the blanket glisten.

The dark haired Elf mounted her horse and followed behind the wagon. Esgallhugwen barely spoke and had only done so when she introduced herself to Eodwine as politely as she good despite the pain that was eating away at her.

The loss of another one she cared about was almost to much to bear, ever since their first meeting at the Green Dragon Inn, Lira had been so kind despite Esgallhugwen's apparent unfriendliness.

She had tried so hard to heal the wounds within me, she believed that I still had goodness, she believed in the goodness of everything and everyone.

Esgallhugwen looked ahead of her but her eyes began to cloud.

Yes mellon, and now she can rest from all her toils, away from the pain that you feel you caused, but that is not so, be glad and cherish that memory of companionship, hold dear the fact that there is still hope for you!

There is still hope for me in any of this?

Of course, there is much you have yet to accomplish, do not be burdened by false guilt, remember the words of Lira.

She lowered her head and clenched her eyes, crystaline tears fell down her pale cheeks. Her grey eyes looked up to the clearing sky, a rainbow could be seen stretching across the hills.

The voice at first was low and barely audible except to Lumiel, then it began to grow first slowly, gaining strength. It soared over the hills like an eagle or a swan.

The voice was haunting and beautiful, singing in the Elvish tongue:

A Lament for Lira

~*~

Nairë an Lira

Lira Nen yassen si lei nórë?
Là andavë sé Eryn Lasgalen var vanima Ithilien
Lei dolce óma nira là na hlarë sé questi nórë ata

Mi ormë rauma mandë denominato lei
Ai! Quello lei hroa era rácina sé quello úro nómë
Quello lei Fëa era incarcerato mi ungo
Sé i mórnië i carnë rauco é venuto mal lei sfidato a lui

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!
silvren penna miriel
o menel aglar elenath,
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!

Lei órë era silmë ar isilmë
Lei rinunciato ambar quando àra ortanë

Ràsa chiamate, ninquë falassë a laica campi
Tinda a laurë fiori ondeggiamento mi ëar hwesta
Lindo lindë di lúcë

Mai fare lei mírë hen na vaxë lacrimenen
Lei fare nyényë lá lillor nyérë sé firima nórë
Lá lil fare lei sentire i nwalya di anqualë

Sérë sé sacro Aman, melda Lira
Sérë si oallo i móta di Endor
Mi nórë di oira lómë

[Imladris]

Lira dead. But...but...she was an elf. She could not die...elves did not die. They were quick, swift with their arm and keen of eye. No, no...it could not be true. I brought my eyes to Uien's face and I said, "How did she die?"

"She fell, from the roof. Whether by strange magic or by accident the roof caved and she broke her neck upon the stone floor." Uien brow wrinkled and a silent tear slipped from her eye.

Not only had Lira died she had died by freak accident. I shook my head. It did not end like this. If she had died she should have died in glory and splendor, by either throwing herself in front of an arrow to save another or in combat. That was how it always ended in the tales.

But tales always lied to you. I kicked at a stone and watched it trip across the uneven surface of the grounds. But wait...hadn't King Theoden of Rohan died from an accident as well? I thought. Killed by his own horse, wasn't he? Pity...why did so many brave men have to die in such a...a...an awful way? It wasn't right...they deserved better.

Truth be told, they deserved to live, but if they had to die could they not have died killing their enemies? Why did they have to die by accidents?

And Lira...she was so ugly in a darling way. Her voice -- that beautiful, water like voice that could cheer me up and comfort me on the dark nights. Gone. All gone.

I buried my head in my arms and sobbed.

[littlemanpoet]

The wagon passed through the parted doors of the north gate of the settlement. The way was lined three deep with onlookers, eager to see who returned, and with what news. Uien's words had traveled quickly across the settlement, and those gathered craned their necks to see if what she had said was so.

Furman drove the wagon. His head was held high and his eyes were clear of shame. His words had proven true, and through his aid, Herugor had been defeated, his evil ended, and the prisoners set free.

Eodwine sat next to him, beaming to see the familiar faces of the friends he had made among the freed men in the settlement. A hue and cry of welcome went up as he waved to them.

Falco stood behind Eodwine, his hand resting on the man's shoulder, so that he could see all the hubbub, as he had put it. Big people could be big trouble, but they were not so bad, for all that. Falco was beginning to like adventure. The borders of the Shire were beginning to feel close.

Behind Falco lay the body of Lira, surrounded now by wildflowers from the hills nearby, picked fresh by Lumiel, Eswen, Finëwen, and Falowik. The crowd quieted as they saw the Elven maiden's corpse, unmarked by any wound, her head propped by blankets so as not to roll where the spine had been broken.

Lumiel rode on Lira's right, and Eswen on her left. Falowik rode directly behind, riding Eodwine's chestnut charger, Fleethaf. Riding alongside him was Finëwen. Falowik looked for Uien in the crowd but did not find her. Thoronmir and Awyrgan came last.

They wagon stopped in the center of the settlement, before a pavilion that Uien had asked to be made. It was made of leather, for the hide of cattle was the best covering to be had in the hills. A bed had been made in the pavilion. Uien stood with Gorby and Anson before the pavilion.

Eswen, Lumiel, Falowik, Thoronmir, and Finëwen lifted Lira's body from the wagon, and laid her on the bed beneath the pavilion. Uien, Gorby, Anson, and Falco walked behind them, and they surrounded her. The three Elven women lifted their voices in an Elvish lament for Lira. Finëwen joined them, for she knew the words, having been raised in Rivendell. The men listened, quiet. For his part, Falowik felt that he saw a green country filled with light. He knew that Lira would be happy there.

Her body rested in the pavilion until the Elves took her away.

The crowd parted. Eodwine joined his old settlement friends, and they heard his tale. The Rangers had the tale from Thoronmir and Awyrgan. The guards who had served under Herugor had it from Furman. Lumiel and Eswen walked by the shore of the Lake and spoke together; no one heard what they said. Falco seemed much friendlier than he had in the past, and Gorby and Anson welcomed his tale, and had to cajole his own heroics out of him, and slapped him on the back when they learned that it was his knife that had cut the Master. Finëwen sat outside the immediate crowd gathered around Eodwine, and seemed willing to listen.

Uien and Falowik walked to the Lake's shore and passed by Lumiel and Eswen. Eswen's wolf cub came by to sniff their hands, then returned to her as the two kept walking. They walked until the sun set, then walked back again.

The pavilion was left unguarded, except by a crow who perched on the strongest pole. Its voice sounded almost human when it cawed.

[littlemanpoet]

When they came through the gate, Falowik searched the crowd. She was not there. He smiled at the cheering crowd. When they quieted in respect for Lira, Falowik allowed his expression to come more in line with the sombreness that had been with him since the day had begun. Looking ahead, he saw the pavilion that had been erected.

Uien was standing there, his lodestone. He would never try to explain what that meant to any but her. It was not that he felt such a strong love for her, though that was true. Whatever place she was in, that place was the magnet of his life. It could not be explained, it simply was.

When they stopped, his eyes were on her alone, even as he dismounted. Hers were on him, and there was relief in her eyes. He helped to carry and lay Lira's body on the bed in the pavilion. Then they stood there, and Falowik's heart was slain by the beauty of the lament the women sang. He thought of all the things he remembered of Lira, for the song seemed to draw the memories from the depths of his mind. She had been a good friend, uncomplaining and loyal, and had fought for the cause even beyond her death. Lira would forever hold an honored place in his memory. Farewell, friend. May it be well with you in that far country.

The song was ended. The crowd dispersed. Uien remained standing, looking upon the form of Lira in repose, beautiful now in her final sleep. Falowik came to Uien's side and waited. At last she took his hand in hers, and they walked beyond the settlement gate and to the shore of the Lake, waving to Lumiel and Eswen as the sun lowered toward the horizon of the Hills to the west of Lake Evendim. They walked for a long time and spoke little. Falowik was at peace, his heart full with Uien walking beside him.

They stopped at last far down the lakeshore as the stars appeared.

"Where shall we go now, fair one?"

She looked at him, her eyes large and luminous, reflecting the light of the brightening stars.

"I have thought of accompanying the Elves as they return Lira's body to Eryn Lasgalen, but the passes of Ered Mithrin are an evil to me, and I would not go that way again, Lauréatan."

"I do not care where we go, as long as we go together."

Uien smiled. "That is as I would have it, my love."

He took her in his arms and they watched the stars for a long time, exchanging few words before they started back to the settlement.

[Imladris]

Anson beside me, I looked at Lira as she layed upon the bed in the pavilion. I looked at the wreath of wild flowers in my hand and I set them on Lira's cold, white brow: a crown for her unseemly face.

The lament was sad behond words, revealing forgotten memories. I could feel the tears trickle down my cheeks as I remembered her kind forgiveness when I hesitated at the first attack, I remembered every smile, every delightful word that fell from her lips, her beautiful voice that sounded like rushing water. It did not seem fair that she should have died. She was such a beautiful elven lady who lived in a forest...at least, that's what I think she said.

When the song had finished -- though it still sung in my ears, like the lingering scent of rain after a shower, I leaned over the bed, and I took Lira's hand and stroked it. I traced her scar upon her face, and whispered, "Goodbye, Lira." Then I leaned over and kissed her on her smooth forehead.

[Elora]

The day she had longed for, through night and day, joy and turmoil, had come and it was both sweet and solemn. Uien's heart was filled with many things, some difficult to name. Lira's passing was at first a sudden and bitter blow. Yet Uien still held a belief common amongst her kindred. Whilst the event that brought Death could be a terror, a horror beyond all imagining, Death itself was freedom for a while from the troubles of mortal lands. Lira would come, bound ever to the Circles of Arda by Illúvator to that from which the Elves were shaped, to peace in Mandos' Halls beyond the westward seas. For Lira, peace was a treasure she had precious little of here in mortal lands. It was a hard won boon, but a gift nonetheless and Uien's sadness stemmed from the sorrow of those around her and a sense of absence left by her passing into the Halls.

Yet her heart was not full only with such sadness. Uien's heart was filled with many bright things. The one who lit her thoughts and soul so stood with her again. She could not deny that a cold fear had stalked her that never would it be so. That always would she feel that absence, deep within her very being, a loss that not even Mandos' Halls nor the hallowed hill of Tirion or the jewelled shores of Alqualönde could assuage. Gone was the chill, banished with Falowik's words, presence, arms around her. Uien had not the gift of foresight. But hope was alive in her again and whatever the future held, she could face it gladly.

As they walked beneath the deepening twilight, a smile curved Uien's lips and her mind skipped, wandering at what would come. Where would they call home? The answer to that shone bright, already written upon her soul. Home, wherever it would be, was always in Falowik. She looked sideways, studying him through her lashes. He was quiet, wrapped in his own thoughts just as his hand was twined about her own. Soon they would come back to the others. Already the party would be preparing to set out, and they would want to know if any would accompany those escorting Lira to Eryn Lasgalen. Could she dare Ered Mithrin?

The name had lost some its dark power, a great deal, but not all. What if ruin again lay there? Yet deep within her a voice sounded asking a different question. How was to embrace the future with the man she so loved if she remained so enslaved to the past? Surely ruin lay in that. As the settlement came back within bow shot, Uien slowed and took a deep breath. What she was about to say would be the beginning of a path difficult at first, but would not end in woe.

"Beloved Lauréatan, the road our feet walk together will be long," she began slowly, gazing up into Falowik's face. She brushed her fingers down the side of his jaw and smiled. "That I do not doubt. Lira followed us, you, into a perilous place. She did so willingly, and proved to be a companion true and noble. If it be your wish to follow her now to Eryn Lasgalen, then by your side shall I happily be. It is you I embrace. I will remain a prisoner to dark memory no longer."

Falowik's brows rose in surprise, forehead furrowing. Never had he expected to hear her say that she would venture through Ered Mithrin.

"I will not bid you follow me there," he replied, shaking his head gently from side to side.

"I well know it, and that is why I will for my choice is to walk with you, my love, regardless of where it is that we find ourselves. Bree, Eryn Lasgalen, Ered Mithrin, Caras Galadon, the toppled ruins of Barad-Dûr. It matters not anymore."

"It doesn't," Falowik asked, mystified. Uien's smile deepened. "Nay, for I have found the only home I will ever wish for. Long have wandered seeking just that. Feckless would I be to turn away in fear now."

With that, she drew closer and rested her palms upon Falowik's chest over his heart. It's steady beat filtered through her hands and called to her own. Now was not the time to decide, and she knew that also. Falowik had only just arrived. But when it did come time to decide, she would not be the one to draw him from the path that he most wished to take. He was a man of honour, something she had seen in the very first twilight that brought him to her so many evenings ago. If he believed that it was right to escort Lira, then with him she would go. Who knew what would come then? The world was a new place, new lands, and it was theirs to make of it what they would.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen enjoyed the time she had spent with Eodwine. It felt nice to talk to someone, for it seemed as if she had talked hardly any at all throughout the trip. She had listened intently with the group as he told his story. Her heart sank with the laments for Lira. It had been until then that she realised how much loosing her had meant to Finëwen. She did not know her well, but she had enjoyed the time she had spent around her.

Everyone seemed to have gone off by themselves or with someone else. Finëwen sighed and began to wonder what was next for her. She played around with the dirt in front of her. Journeys home seem to be always quicker than the journey to your destination. But the journey beyond the journey home seemed to be too far away. Unable to grasp. Finëwen placed her chin in her hand and stared blankly at the ground.

[littlemanpoet]

The gathering broke up and Eodwine remained sitting where he was, near the bonfire that had been built away from the buildings, halfway to the Lake. He allowed his thoughts to wander and stared at the Lake, shimmering in the moonlight, and at the fire, now lowering to a red glow among the burning embers. He looked up across from where he sat, and noticed someone sitting alone, hand in chin. He recognized Finëwen. Ever alone, it seemed. He got up and walked over to her, his steps quiet.

"Forgive me for speaking if you would rather be left alone, but I wonder what you are thinking, looking so wistful."

Finëwen had started at first, apparently unaware of his presence. Now, in the dim light of the fire, she seemed embarrassed to have been found out. Her mouth opened as she looked up at him. He waited for her to speak.