The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Some time after Vanwe had left, a second elf arrived, this one apparently not a healer, but bearing the harp of Maglor in it's battered case. Entering the room, he set it reverently on a small table that stood in the corner by the door, placing Menecin's ornate leather pack in a chair that sat alongside it. Nodding courteously to the bard, who was following his movements with a chilling stare, the dark haired elf quickly hurried out of the room, Menecin watching as the door was shut and the familiar sound of the bolt sliding into place deepened his sense of isolation.

Vanwe had not come back. And like a glimmer of light that he could not contain in his grasp, he did not know if she ever would return. Indeed as time wore on he began to question the validity of the morning's events in his memory, no longer certain that she had been truly real and not a trick of weary imagining. And again he was locked in a fine cage, but was no longer contented to while away the hours in safety, struggling within his mind. For this vision of his child summoned in him fierce strength of will that had lain long dormant, and with it a gnawing dread that Vanwe had gone to return obediently to Her. For was not her mother's compulsion stronger than any warning. But a vow he had made to this maiden, not to lose her. Should he then wait here like a craven, while Naiore was free to show her displeasure at his daughter's mercy? No, far better that he should die than for Vanwe to suffer this. Blind rage flared sharply within him at the poignant memory of that intrusive presence that lay bare the terrors of the heart. No, his daughter must not be defiled in such a way!

Lifting with one hand the delicately turned chair, he ignored the leather pack that slid from it. And swinging it, to catch the seat in his left hand also, he then pivoted rapidly, breaking his spiraling thoughts as he shattered the seat against the unyielding wall. Almost immediately he heard the door to the chamber open behind him and quickly shut again, the bolt thrown back in place. Menecin sighed and looking at the ground, he saw amidst the splintered wood his pack, its contents spilling onto the floor. Underneath the patterned leather, a long pouch of dark brocade lay half hidden. Stooping down, he pulled it out from under the leather bag, carefully drawing open its strings to remove something wrapped in soft cloth. It was a flute of purest mithril, a gift bestowed on him in brighter times. But it too had been through much, and seen too many dark days. Wrapping up the flute again, the elf slipped it back in its pouch and set it on the table, and turned to examine the pack. Searching it, he grew increasingly restless, and not finding what he sought threw the thing into the corner and walked to the open window. If he had been left no weapons then but his bare hands, so be it. He had used them before now, to such a purpose.

Breathing deeply he looked again from behind the window frame out upon the gardens and the tangled woods beyond, wondering where Naiore might be in this place. So close, he knew, he could almost feel her presence. Slipping quietly out of the window, his looked down over the balustrade, to the one hiding in the shadows below, to the guard granting him the protection he had once desired, but who held him now as a prisoner of his past. Climbing over the balustrade, Menecin walked with skill noiselessly along the narrow roof that extended over a colonnade before disappearing amidst the branches of a spreading tree and from there to the wilder woods.

[Nerindel]

Toby Longholes

Toby sat cross-legged on the front step of the ranger’s quarters, a low structure nestled in the tranquil gardens of Rivendell, where seasoned rangers could find quiet rest bite and where novices could study and practice their skills. He had been relieved when the Rangers Rauthain and Amandur had go off with Avanill and left him behind, even Kaldir had forgotten him and carried on to the main house. They had not left him completely alone, he had the company of a young ranger. Efrin, he had introduced himself. The young man had told him that he was in Rivendell for study and reflection, ‘they wish to tame my wilder side,‘ the young man had winked roguishly as he guided him through the ranger’s complex to the room that had been set aside for him. After Toby had washed and changed into some clothes that had been left for him, they made their way to the kitchens to find something other than dried fruit and stale bread to sate his hunger, which had embarrassingly manifested itself into a loud grumbling in his stomach, something that the young ranger had found highly amusing.

‘So what brings you to Rivendell Master Periannath?’ the young ranger asked as they made their way to the front porch to enjoy the warmth of the fading afternoon. Toby slumped down on the step staring woefully into his bowl, what had brought him here? He thought wearily to himself, the rangers? No, he could not blame them it went back further than that, Bill and old man Sharky? No! Though they perhaps set him on a path, from which there was no return. His mother’s death, his father neglects? Yes that is were it began so angry and confused he had been, he had wanted, no needed answers. However, he never got them. His father fell in to despair and took little notice of anything, much less his son. So much did he crave his father’s attention that he did not care how he got it, he took to thieving small at first, apples from master chubbs orchard or carrots from farmer browns vegetable patch. Still his father paid little heed, ‘he’s justa lad, they get up to mischief don’t they’ he would reply absently to the angry hobbits, when they would call to complain. By the time his father finally died, Toby’s feet were firmly planted on the path he now travelled. A path of his own design he realised bitterly, setting aside his bowl, he was no longer hungry, instead nausea swept over him, He had done this to himself! He was here because of his own choices!

“Are you alright master Longholes, you do not look well can I…” the young ranger asked, now kneeling before him and looking him over with concern. “No, I am not and neither do I deserve to be,” Toby answered sullenly.

The ranger held his gaze for a moment “You know they have a saying here that a burden shared is a burden halved, and you’ll excuse me if I say so, but your burden looks mighty heavy for one to bear alone.” Toby’s eye instinctively narrowed with suspicion, but softened wearily as he saw nothing but compassion and sympathy in the young ranger’s dark eyes.

“I am not deserving of your compassion, Efrin, I would not make a good friend and no doubt many would try to dissuade you from my company if they knew the truth,” he sighed resignedly.

“I have done too many wrongs to ask for forgiveness and took to many wrong turns to ever find my way back!”

“There is always a way back, if you want it bad enough,” Efrin answered undeterred by Toby’s words.

“You don’t understand there is no way back, I am caught here between a rock and a hard place, trapped between rangers and the dark shadows of my past,” he snorted, then immediately apologised.

“Long ago I was taken in by the lies and promises of an old man, he did not ask much of me only to leave my home in Bree and spend sometime in the Shire and share with him the workings of the four farthings, and so for reason that are my own I agreed. Though now when I think back I do not think that even if I wanted to I could have refused the old mans request, it was like he was there but he wasn’t only his voice seemed real if that makes any sense,” he shrugged.

“It was not difficult for me to integrate into Shire life and become the old mans eyes and ears and through the lies and deceptions of the old man I grew to loath the peaceful folk of the Shire. The old mans words twisted at an old pain that already sat heavy in my heart, a resentment and sense of abandonment that I let him corrupt to his own wicked purpose. I never saw the old man after that first meeting, if I had truly seen him at all. Information was past by a southron man named Bill Ferney, who sometimes paid for my services.”

“Services? Bill Ferney? ” Efrin interrupted.

“Yes lad I am a thief and much worse I fear.” he said ruefully and without further word he continued. “So when the old man finally came himself to the Shire, he knew it was defenceless. Moreover, due to me he knew which hobbits to use to gain control. my services did not end there I was made a Sheriff and charged with weeding out any rebels, for I knew that there would be resistance from families like the Tooks and the Brandybucks and that others would secretly support them. The old man intended to break them entirely taking away all that they held dear, pipe weed, ale and so forth. I was embroiled so deeply in lies that I did not see what was happening until it was too late. I had wrapped myself in so much deceit and treachery that I had no choice but to leavein the end. So as well as being a treacherous worm I was also a coward, leaving my people to their fate.” Sighing heavily he buried his face into his hands.

“But far worse still I was fate to be forced into the self same situation, this time instead of a cunning old wizard it was a beautiful elven woman who held me prisoner to my own fears which I wore like a leash, that she yanked every time she thought I needed reminding.” he continued wearily through his hands.

“But you escaped her else you would not be here now?” Efrin pressed gently.

“Vanwe!” he whispered remembering why he had left Naiore's Company and lifting his head to face the young ranger. “We have to help her; she is why I left and how I found the rangers. Her mother did horrors to her that you could not imagine; I swore to myself that I would get her help.” He flustered rising to his feet, only to stop in horror as he saw Gilly standing in front of him. How long had she been there? Whom much had she heard?

“Help always comes when we least expect it,” Efrin whispered, “It is said that there is a new elf within the last house, perhaps this is your friend I will see what I can find out, but for now I think you must face your past if you are to carve a new and better future." The ranger nodded to both hobbits and strode confidently up the path that lead from the ranger’s complex to the last homely house.

Toby lowered his eyes unable to bring himself to look at the woman his shame burning in his cheeks, his terrible secret now exposed to one of the very people he had betrayed. Fear ripped through him, but he stayed his ground, even though the urge to flee was strong within him. He was tired of running Efrin was right he had to face his past, but he still saw no road to redemption. With a resigned sigh, he slumped down onto the step to await the woman’s expected admonishments.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

As she drew closer Gilly saw Toby had now set his bowl aside and was deep in sober conversation with the young ranger who stood near him. He seemed curiously deflated, slumped, as though a great weariness had caught him unaware, or perhaps as the ranger suggested, he was sick. After that cold river crossing, and having swallowed quite a bit of it herself, Gilly could imagine that Toby might truly be suffering a genuine complaint from the rough travel. But being careful not to interrupt the discussion, she took a few steps forward through the greenery and then halted among the bushes until there should come a lull in this serious talk, at which time she thought to approach them.

Try as she might, she could not help but overhear as Toby poured out the remorse of his heart, despairing the course his life had taken. Gilly was drawn in by the Bree hobbit’s confession, listening still more closely as he spoke solemnly of the Shire and an old man’s deceptions. As she struggled to understand, she was shocked by what Toby said of his true business with the Shire folk. And wondered that he might have known of her husband Carl and their friends’ activities in those bleak days of nonsense rules and restrictions. By then it had become so bad in Bywater that one actually had to ask permission of the shirriffs to travel from town to Hobbiton or Frogmorten. Why she had even had to take their leave to go her own parent’s farm outside town, those Southron ruffians going so far as to suggest to the shirriffs that she pay for the permit! And that just after the shop had burned and she and Carl hadn’t even a hatful of potatoes to offer them.

It sent shivers up her spine, as while standing in the gardens of Rivendell, in her mind she heard again the horns sounding that chill autumn day. She and her father had just come into town to complain to the Shirriff there. For one of the lines of maple trees that stood in front of the farm had been hewn down overnight and a band of men where threatening to make charcoal out it, and all the rest too along the road to Waymeet. And just as she and her father had entered Bywater Road, they saw Misters Brandybuck and Took having returned with the others from the War. So stern and tall in their strange clothes they looked. And Sam Gamgee from Hobbiton and Old Tom Cotton and his sons so brave, taking matters into they’re own hands that day. But most of all she recalled Mister Baggins’ persistent call for restraint, bless his heart. He would even be merciful to Saruman, it was told after. So noble and sad it was, she thought at the time, for he had almost died from it they said, when the wizard had tried to knife him for all his care to protect the scoundrel. But never let it be said that hobbits can’t rally in a pinch and see their way out of trouble! That was one thing old Sharkey hadn’t counted on!

But now seeing Toby, bowed low, so that his head rested in his hands and he looked for all the world as though his guilt threatened to sink him, she recalled these things, and began to understand in her own way, some little of what Mister Baggins must have been driving at. And seeing his regret, she felt strangely moved to comfort her fellow hobbit in his unhappiness, walking up to him as he bemoaned this net his fear had caught him in once again.

“Vanwe,” he whispered, suddenly. And quickly Toby raised his head imploring the young ranger standing there to help him find the one who went by this name. For he had promised himself to help her in her difficulties, and when he stood up quickly to go with the ranger, he turned and found Gilly standing there looking as much taken back as he himself, startled in this awkward moment. Gilly looked apologetically toward them, as she realized the blunder of her timing. But the young man drew close to Toby, and after whispering to the hobbit, nodded to them both and took his leave.

Looking red-faced and avoiding her glance, Toby sat down upon the stair at once, blankly staring at the ground under his feet. He moved not a muscle and Gilly could see he felt uncomfortable in her presence, and so felt more than a little uncomfortable herself. “There, there Mister Longholes, don’t mind me now! I am sorry but I heard quite a bit of your story. Intentional it was, of course. But if you don’t mind my saying so, many’s them that fell under the spell of that voice you spoke of. Like honey it was, and making such crystal sense, or so I heard tell. And plenty shirriffs too followed right along in his plans! But that was their own choice, eh? Not yours. All sorts of folk feel bad even now about letting things go as far as they did. Right clever that old man was, and you were not alone in listening to him, so please don’t be trying to carry that weight all on your own now. You might be strong, but it’ll crush you in the end. Mark my words, it will!”

“So much the better for me if it would. If only it happen more quickly!” Toby said with a melancholy grin.

“Surely you don’t mean that, now. Do you?” Gilly questioned, climbing up the stairs to sit beside him.

“I suppose not,” he said shooting her a quick glance. “Leastwise until I see something better done with my life then what I’ve been up to. But that day might never come. I’ve been of no great profit to anyone, not even myself, though I reckon Old Sharkey and Bill Ferny might have gotten something from me. And now what have I to look forward too?”

“Hush!” Gilly hissed. “Don’t speak so! You’ve only been living up to a bad lot’s expectations of you, and if you don’t expect much good of yourself you won’t get very far at all in changing things. But if you give up like this, I really shall think you the laziest sort of coward!”

“You don’t know me Mrs. Banks!”

“No I don’t, not really. But if you tried, I bet that by the time you were to reach the Shire, should you decided to return there, folk will take you to be the best sort of person. For now you know for yourself were such dark roads lead, and that is more than I can say for many I know of. It’d be better for you too than Bree, with that town’s bad influences, sitting at such a crossroad and all. The Shire’s quiet with naught but hobbits around you. And you’d have all four farthings to choose from!”

“Yes, and if I fell into old habits, all four farthings would hear tell of it in no time!”

“Well, I can’t say as you are wrong, but all the more reason to keep on the right road! And if you stray too far from a proper life, I’ll just have to hire Mister Kaldir to go after you and teach you the boundaries, won’t I? But speaking of him, do you know where he has got to? I’ve lost track of him,” Gilly asked, cranking her neck to peer through the bushes.

“He was here some time ago, but only for a moment and then went off again.”

“I do hope that he is feeling alright now, and you too. Think about it though, Mister Longholes, consider going back to make a clean start in the Shire,” she urged him, smiling brightly. “Mister Kaldir has offered to show me the way, and you could easily come along with us if you would like. It would be no problem, though it might set tongues wagging for a bit!”

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

Vanwe continued to help Léspheria tend the wounded of Imladris and with each new patient, she came to realise the extent of her mothers wrongness, as she came to think of it. Did she really have no regard at all for the life of others… of her own kin? A little guilt settled on her own heart as she wondered if there had been anything, she could have done to prevent this travesty. Her mother had insisted that the elves had abandoned them both, adding fuel to her own fears and doubts, but now among her kin she could not see it. The elves of Imladris showed her nothing but kindness and compassion and unlike the race of men, they had not turned her away after realising that she was not Naiore. Instead, they had welcomed her into their home and she had the strong feeling that if her mother came to reclaim her they would stand and protect her, her father and Léspheria at the forefront. Her guilt fuelled her need to undo some of her mother’s wrongs and she helped the healers as best she could, listening and following their gentle instructions.

With each new instruction, she grew in confidence with her ability, but was careful not to let it go to her head. It felt right to be using her gift to help others and no one here seemed to fear what she was doing and instead of the punishments she received at the hands of the Haradrim, she received only gentle praise and encouragement. The patients and the assistants showed her the same respect as they did the Lady Léspheria, which in truth puzzled her slightly as she was no where near as confident and self possessed, as the lady Léspheria appeared to be. There were of course those who regarded her with suspicion and looked on her with hateful eyes and she could only assume that her mothers hand was again somehow involved, but she would not press the matter and hurried past those who regarded her so.

She watched as Léspheria tended the last of the wounded elven warriors, dark lines now graced the elven woman’s soft and gentle features and the strong and confident demeanour of the woman’s frame was now marked with exhaustion and weariness. She too could feel the physical demands exacted by the use of their gift, it drained their strength and left them tired and weak, but on several occasions she had witnesses more in Léspheria, notably when they worked on the more seriously wounded. Pain etched her face as she worked, a pain that seemed to mirror that of the wound on which they worked to heal. She recalled the ranger Amandur telling her that Léspheria was sensitive to the emotions of others, back at the inn when the elf had taken a fall from her horse and she also remembered that when she had re-awakened she had told the ranger that her brother was in danger. But was this not what her mother did, sense the emotions of others and manipulated them to her own purpose? Was this not what they did when they manipulated damaged bones and flesh into repairing itself? A cold shiver ran through her as she thought that she too could one day be capable of the things her mother was accused.

“No!” she whispered, defiantly shaking her head. She was not her mother and she would not become her, She was Vanwe just Vanwe. She knew that she would never fully escape her mothers lingering shadow but at least here, she had her father and kin who seemed to accept and welcome her into their community.

However as she continued to watch Léspheria new questions entered her mind, had her first meeting with Léspheria been coincidental? Why then had the elf defended her against the bounty hunter? Her father had told her that Naiore had killed Léspheria’s mother, so was she out for revenge? Vanwe knew that these questions and many others would have to be answered if she was to find peace here among her own kind.

Vanwe purposefully walked over to were Léspheria was now washing her hands, then placing her own blood stained hands into a second bowl of warm water, she stared as the clear water turned a dirty pinkie red. “What is your part and why do you help the rangers?” she asked, reaching for the soap and purposely avoiding the other elf’s gaze.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain and Avanill stood watching as Amandur, his dark mood now unexpectedly lifted, strode easily up the path ahead of them, the old ranger dwelling on what was said in his parting. It would indeed be a gift to have a chance to start anew, as Avanill now had with them, one that he himself had much longed for in earlier days. But pushing aside his own self-reproach, Rauthain determined to help Avanill along the way as much as he safely could. Turning to the young man he addressed him, “It looks as though we will be traveling together for many leagues then. And so long as you keep to the path laid out for us, know that I will do all I can to support and defend you. But it would bring much relief to all, and perhaps Amandur also, if you were to allow me to bear your satchel for you. You should not be tempted to test such things in our presence, until that time when they may be used against the Ravennor.”

Avanill made no move concede to this wish, but fixed Rauthain with his impassive eyes. And after a pause the old ranger stretched out his arm gesturing with two long fingers for the young man to surrender his pack. “I assure you, I will keep it safe for you,” he said, “and will not touch its contents, for I do not know what to make of them.” And seeing Avanill remained unconvinced he continued. “Surely you will trust me for so little a thing. Let us not start out in such a way. But we must work as one force if we are to accomplish our aim.”

Slowly, the young man removed the satchel from off his shoulder, as if he had decided which road to take after much careful consideration, and held it out to the ranger. “Be careful with it then, for it might as well be filled with the rich findings of a dragon’s hoard, so rare it’s elements.”

“If half of what you have told us is true, then be sure I do not wish to disrupt the things of your craft, for they will prove useful to us in the end, and it would be folly to tamper with them,” he said slinging the pack gingerly over one shoulder. But let us go now, for I still have not seen what has become of Dúlrain, and would speak with him. And perhaps the elves might see to your hurts as well, if you were to ask it of them.”

And together they left the garden, bound for the place of healing, and the chamber that held Dúlrain. When at last they found him, Rauthain saw that the southern woman was still at the wounded ranger’s side, silent and mopping his brow. But as he drew closer and saw the ranger’s face, which had been turned toward the woman, he quickly grew alarmed to see him now unconscious and with a pallor that denoted great loss of blood. Frowning he looked to Benia. “What has befallen him, dear lady, for was not he mending well when I met you last in the Lonelands? And now he is sleeping in midday, and so wan he looks?”

“Truly, it seemed he was mending, but we were hard pressed by orcs, and in helping all in our company to cross the river this has happened, his deep wound opening and a fever setting in. But he is improving,” she said looking long upon the sleeping man. “And Lady Léspheria has said that he will recover.” But Rauthain could see in the woman’s face the traces of concern and hope she had this would be the outcome, for the lovely eyes held a plaintive look and her delicate brow raised, hinting of present care.

Ah worthy woman! the older ranger thought to himself. Does she not know that this is the fate of all that would give their heart to one who would wander as a ranger? Then becoming conscious that he was staring at the scene before him, lost among his own memories, he quickly looked to Avanill. “If the Lady Léspheria has said that he will be well once again, I would not doubt it. For she is an elf maiden of many strengths and not the least of them in healing.”

“She and many here have aided him in his need, and for that I am grateful,” Benia said, drawing Rauthain’s attention once more.

“He is a good man, and deserving of much, as are many of my brethren.” Rauthain said tuning to meet her gaze. “And I should be glad if he were to be able to continue on in his duty, for Kaldir sake as well my own. But though it is in the blood of my people to be quickly restored, I do not think even the elves could work this recovery in such short a time. But of these things I know little, only that they have great skill in the art.”

“But look here, surely his color has improved, even since we arrived,” Avanill declared, carefully studying the patient’s features.

“Has it? That is happy news, is it not?” the old ranger said, brightening. “Then if you will excuse us, we shall leave you now and will come again, perhaps tomorrow, to see your charge’s progress. For there is much to be done before we can leave.” And wishing the lady well, the two returned to the corridor searching out a place to bathe and bandage Avanill’s injuries before heading again to the rangers’ dwelling and the stables. For Rauthain was eager to find a way to send Juta north again to the horse’s master, and sought fresh horses for them both.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

After leaving the battlefield, Kaldir went first to the stables where he saw to the care of the pack pony who had carried Mrs. Banks so faithfully across the countryside. Having handed the little animal over to the Elven stablemaster and his assistants, Kaldir took a quick look around the other stalls, locating both Benia Nightshade's bay mare and Dúlrain's gelding. There was still no sign of his own horse. Having exhausted every other possibility for the wherabouts of his mount, Kaldir accepted the knowledge that the stubborn beast had run off and was simply out there somewhere, that is, of course, if he had not been eaten by orcs by now, which was also an unfortunate possibility.

"Too bad, if that's the case," he murmured to himself, giving Dúlrain's horse a parting pat on the neck. Turning to go, he bumped his wounded shoulder against an open stall door and winced. He looked down and noticed for the first time that the injury had been bound with the lacy shreds of a woman's petticoat, no doubt the work of Mrs. Banks. Kaldir smiled wryly with the good side of his face. How ironic that he should owe such a debt of gratitude, perhaps even his life, to someone he had abducted and carried along with him simply because he didn't know what else to do with her. He remembered the feeling he had had soon after capturing her and Benia outside of Chetwood that the two women had something fundamental to do with him and his destiny. Now, he thought, he was beginning to see what that something was. The gentle presence of the two women was slowly but surely drawing the poisons of Mordor out of his system, Gilly with her hobbitsense and humor, and Benia with her patience and quiet courage. Both of them were fiercely loyal to each other and, he was touched to notice, to a growing degree, himself. Under their influence, he was beginning to feel like a living soul again, no longer a battered and empty shell.

Crossing the open ground between the stable and the halls of Imladris, Kaldir let his thoughts drift to Benia. While she had shown an open and marked preference for Dúlrain over the past several days, he still had hopes that he could find a way to convince her to remain at his own side when the time came to leave the shelter of Imladris. Perhaps Dúlrain, for whatever reason, would reject her affections. Kaldir could only hope. In the meantime, while he honestly wished Dúlrain a swift and complete recovery from his wounds, Kaldir still felt determined to do his best to win Benia over for himself, Dúlrain notwithstanding. If his profession as bounty hunter toubled her - and he was certain it did - he could give it up. He could change. With Benia beside him, Kaldir felt certain that he could begin his life anew... perhaps even rejoin the company of his former brethren if they would have him. He turned the thought over in his mind as he entered the Hall of Healing. There was still time. Perhaps if he could show Benia that he was serious about changing his life... maybe, perhaps, if...

"Aigh!" Kaldir groaned aloud, as he entered a small side room to await the attention of the healers. "It would be so much simpler if I could just drag her off by her hair."

"Who?" asked a voice behind him.

Kaldir turned quickly to discover that he was not alone in the room as he had originally thought. Amandur sat in a chair off to one side, also waiting for healers and cradling what looked like a broken arm. Kaldir smiled ruefully and nodded to the senior Ranger.

"Greetings, Amandur," he said casually. "My apologies. I thought I was alone."

The older Ranger nodded in response, but persisted with a smile. "My apologies as well for eavesdropping, but seeing as you have already carried off both Mrs. Banks and Miss Nightshade, I can't help but wonder what female you are thinking of abducting now."

Kaldir laughed softly. "Miss Nightshade again, if you must know," he answered. "But it would not be for a bounty, I assure you."

"No?" Amandur raised an eyebrow. "I understand that there are certain people about who would still pay very well for any remnants of the Painted Sand Tribe. Even the women."

"That's true." Kaldir nodded gravely. "But I find my interest in bounty-hunting waning of late." He paused, giving Amandur a considering look. If anyone would be able to tell him how the idea of his returning to the life of a Ranger would be received, it would be Amandur. Kaldir chose his words carefully. "I would sooner offer my sword to protect the desert lady than I would use it to bring her harm."

"That is indeed good to hear," answered Amandur. "Many people, including Lady Léspheria, were greatly troubled by the disappearance of your companions from the Forsaken Inn."

"I confess my motives were not so noble then."

"And now?"

"Now I owe them both a great deal, which I hope to repay someday if I can." Kaldir hesitated for barely a second, then added rather defensively, "When I spoke just now of dragging Miss Nightshade off by her hair, it was a joke. To myself."

Amandur nodded his understanding. "Then would I be correct in assuming that Miss Nightshade may have had something to do with your recent change in interests?"

Kaldir's pale blue eyes narrowed slightly as he considered his answer. To tell the truth and speak of his feelings for Benia to another would reveal himself in such a way that the pattern of caginess that had protected him so well for so long would be broken. On the other hand, if he was serious in his desire to leave bounty-hunting and return to the society of his traditional brethren, he could not begin by lying to his captain. For a long moment, Kaldir's two conflicting sides struggled for dominance, the old lean, wolflike instinct to survive against the new hope and optimism that had recently taken root within him. Finally, coming to a decision, he nodded.

"You would," he said quietly. "I have traveled a dark and twisted path since Raven Falls. When I stole Miss Nightshade from her bed at the Forsaken Inn, my intention was to kill her for the bounty. Something I did not understand at the time stayed my hand. Since then, I find myself increasingly unwilling to be parted from her." He gave Amandur a piercing look, trying to gauge the reaction of the older Ranger. "She brings light to a side of me that has not seen the sun in a very long time. Because of her, whether I am able to forge a life with her eventually or not, I find that I wish to be a better man again."

Falling back into his old habit of hints and innuendos, Kaldir stopped short of voicing outright his interest in returning to the company of the other Rangers. Instead, he waited quietly for Amandur's reaction, to see if the other man had heard the underlying message in his words.

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Naiore

Naiore spent the hours of daylight that passed since she concealed herself in the tree behind the main hall of Imladris in stillness and silent observation. And in waiting. In the aftermath of the Battle at the Stairs, the place had become a beehive of activity, with a great deal of traffic moving about the grounds, and most especially back and forth between the stable and the main hall. The faintest smile traced around the corners of her lips as, at one point, she caught sight of the bounty hunter, Kaldir, who had once been at her mercy in Mordor. Fascinated by his strength of mind and his stubborn resistance to her will, she had let him live then in the hope of turning him to her purposes. She been so close, too close. But then Mordor had fallen and she had been forced to flee, leaving her work unfinished. Since then, he had become a dangerous foe. No, a worthy opponent. That was all. He thought he could destroy her, but she had wrought much change upon him during her time with him. Whether he was aware of it or not, he was still connected to her by a line of consciousness that bound him to her as if by a silken thread.

"And a mere tweak upon the thread..." she murmured, watching his tall figure move down the path toward the stable. "That fool orc said you were dead, Dunedan. I should have known better." Closing her starlit eyes, she reached out toward him with her mind, searching out his familiar aura of anger and hatred. Finding it, she arched a delicate eyebrow. There was something else within his aura now, too. Something new and very powerful.

"What is it, Dunedan?" Naiore whispered to his retreating back. "Have you fallen in love?" A chilling smile drifted across the elf's beautiful features. "Who is she?" the Ravenner asked as the bounty hunter vanished from view. "I wonder, my friend, if she is truly worthy of you."

[Nerindel]

Amandur

On his way to the halls of the healers, Amandur mulled over possible plans for their continuing hunt of the revennor of Mordor. With the addition of Avanill and his potions, they now had the means with which to subdue the elf for the long journey south to Minas Tirith. Where she would finally face the judgement of the King and the council of the United Kingdoms, but first they had to catch the elusive creature. Looking down at his broken arm, he cursed silently, the longer they stayed in the comforts of the last homely house the further from their grasp she would slip. But no matter how strongly he counselled himself that they should leave, he realised that it would be folly, they were tired and in need of healing and a chance to regroup and collect their thought. Mistakes were bound to be made if they carried on the way they were and mistakes were the revennor was concerned could prove fatal, he could only hope that the mistakes would be hers, perhaps the presence of her daughter and the elf who once loved her would be enough to precipitate such a mistake, he thought wearily.

Reaching the halls, he pushed aside his thoughts and sought out Léspheria, his grey eyes searching just to catch a glimpse of her warm, caring smile or the determination in her soft grey eyes as she fought to save the life of one of her patients. He inhaled deeply as he recalled all the little things that made him love her more and more. Many had counselled him against his heart and at first he had listened. She would have to give up much to be with him and that price seemed too high for them both. so they remained friends and when his heart would not relent and he longed for more than friendship he returned north to Anor and they saw less and less of each other, separated by work, distance, fear, uncertainty… But Amandur could no longer deny his heart, he had witnessed her pain over the past fortnight and it tore at his heart, she had strength and wisdom that always seemed to astound him, but still she choose to fight alone. He longed for her to let him in, he wanted to help her, but she resisted and he felt like he was losing her, but to what he could not say.

His eyes passed from elf to elf but she was not there, so he passed on to a small side room to await the attentions of the healers. Sinking down into a chair at the far side of the room he shook his head, ‘If only she could see how much she means to me and how much I would give to see her safe’ he sighed to himself.

“Aigh!” a familiar voice groaned, causing him to look up.

“It would be so much simpler if I could just drag her off by her hair,” the voice was that of Kaldir and Amandur allowed himself a wry grin as Kaldir’s words fitted with his thoughts at present. If only it were that simple! He thought to himself.

“Who?” he asked instead. Kaldir turned a rueful smile his way, surprised that he was not alone he greeted him and quickly apologised for airing his thought aloud. Amandur nodded, but his curiosity was fixed and he pressed on jovially.

“My apologies as well for eavesdropping, but seeing as you have already carried off both Mrs Banks and Miss Nightshade, I can’t help but wonder what female you are thinking of abducting now.” Kaldir laughed softly and explained that it was again Miss Nightshade to whom he was referring and that his reasons were honourable.

“No?” Amandur grinned raising a surprised eyebrow. “I understand that there are certain people about who would still pay very well for any remnants of the painted sand tribe. Even the women.” he went on pushing the matter and then listened intently as Kaldir went on to explain his waning interest in his chosen profession.

“That is indeed good to hear,” he said, explaining the concerns of Léspheria and several others at the inn over the southern woman’s disappearance. It eased his mind when Kaldir admitted that his intentions of the time were not so noble.

“And now?” he asked, suspecting that feelings for his captive was what had stayed his hand.

“Now I owe them both a great deal, which I hope to repay some day if I can.” Amandur bit his lip and nodded as Kaldir rather defensively added that he had been joking to himself when he spoke of dragging Miss Nightshade off by the hair.

“Then I would be correct in assuming that miss Nightshade may have had something to do with your recent change in interests?” he grinned. Kaldirs eyes narrowed as he contemplated his answer, then slowly he nodded, quickly confirming what Amandur had already guessed. He continued to listen as the ex-ranger continued to explain the changes he felt.

“She brings light to a side of me that has not seen the sun in a very long time. Because of her, whether I am able to forge a life with her eventually or not, I find that I wish to be a better man again.” Amandur could not begin to imagine the extent of the darkness Kaldir spoke of, but he could guess at its source and that it stemmed from the unfortunate events of Raven falls, but for wanting to better himself for the love of a woman that he did understand and a sympathetic smile curled his lips. And even though Kaldir did not speak it, he sensed that the ex-ranger was testing the waters, trying to gauge from him how if he chooses to return to the ranks of his brethren he would be received. It would not be an easy transition; there would always be those who would view him with suspicion, unable or unwilling to forget his past indiscretions. But as he took measure of the man before him he saw that the narrow mindedness of a few stubborn rangers would be nothing to him a man who had weathered the darkest depths, emerging forever changed but strengthened by his choices and now it seemed he was again willing to find his place among his people. Amandur in that instant resolved to help the bounty hunter embrace the light and walk again the path that was set for him before the trials of raven falls.

“If truly you find your interest in bounty hunting waning, perhaps you would consider again following the path of the rangers. I for one would be glad to see your return.” he smiled cordially.

“But I would not delude you, my friend, there will be those who may not be as eager as I to have a wolf among its flock so to speak,” he continued solemnly.

“Yet my voice may carry some weight in your favour among them and I have no doubt that young Dúlrain will strongly add his voice to your cause if that is truly your want. But ultimately it will be your own actions that will determine how you are received, as it is with all that walk our path in life.” he paused for a moment considering whether or not to bring up the past, to share with Kaldir the events after Raven falls as he knew them. He debated whether dredging up old memories would only prove to push the ranger further away? He could still see something in Kaldirs eyes that troubled him. Things left unspoken old hurts and grievances that would need resolving if he was truly going to leave his past behind him and start his life a new, with that thought in mind Amandur decided to tell the troubled ranger what he knew.

Looking up at the scarred face of the younger man he motioned for him to sit, his smile now faded and replaced with a sombre seriousness that marked the depth of what needed to be shared. He could not be certain how Kaldir would receive his words, only knowing with certainty that they must be spoken if any reconcilement was to be reached.

“Dulrain did not give up hope that you were alive for a very long time, he thought very highly of you and it took a very long time for him to accept that you were gone.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in then continued, “It was I who finally persuaded him to accept that you where dead. Do not mistake me I do not make any apologies for my decision, I saw what it was doing to him to hang on to a seemingly hopeless search.

The signs at the falls all suggested that you lost your weapons and were pressed back towards the river, were we assumed you were lost to the falls, the bloodied cloak and no sign of you emerging either side of the river suggested that you had not survived. My only apology would be that we did not consider that the orcs might have taken a prisoner; it was not usually their way. Dúlrain became consumed with guilt.” Seeing Kaldirs perplexed frown he nodded, silently agreeing that he too at first had not understood why the young ranger would feel any guilt when he was not even witness to the events.

“I do not know you as well as Dúlrain but from what the young ranger shared with me I discerned that he believed you would always be there to look out for him and it was unconceivable to him that it should be you who would get into any kind of trouble. When the apparent reality of what had happened finally sunk in and he was forced to give up his search and return to his life a dark cloud of guilt and despair hung over him. For once in your lives you needed his help and he was not there, he felt as if he had betrayed you; let you down and he has never forgiven himself. He immersed himself in his duties and tried to lead the life he thought you would have expected of him and then there was the orcs…” Amandur shivered as he recalled the first time he had witnessed his young friend hatred.

“I have no love of the vile creatures, but I pitied any of them who happened to run into Dulrain, he shows them no mercy, it was orcs who had taken from him the only family he had ever known and that he could never forgive or forget.”

“It seems Ironic that he should find you now, a bounty hunter, a hired sword, the opposite of what he has struggled to up hold in your memory. Though I believe irony was the furthest thought from his mind, to give up all hope that you were alive and then to run into you years later. It must have reopened old wounds and stirred up fresh guilt. I only wish I had recognised you when we first found you then perhaps both of you could have found some peace, but I cannot change the past. I only hope that you and he can find again the friendship you once shared, he again will need your strength and perhaps he will have his chance to save you as he seems to need to.”

As Kaldir digested and contemplated his words he smiled wearily and then again clapped Kaldirs good shoulder, “I do hope you choose to return to us my friend, but one more question I have to ask, What of Naiore?” he studied the Ex-rangers scarred features as he awaited an answer.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

The steady stream of wounded elves and rangers needing the healers care and attention was enough to keep Léspheria focused and busy enough for her own concerns and fears to temporary be pushed to the back of her mind. Nevertheless, each time a door opened she found herself glancing up, hoping that Amandur would walk through alive and well. She had not seen him since they parted at the stairs and she was beginning to worry, what if he had been hurt and could not return or worse if he was… she could not bring herself to finish the thought. Off course he would be all right, he had been in these types of situations numerous times before and survived, she silently reminded herself, if he were hurt, he would be here with the others? She thought trying to reassured herself.

Dipping her hands into the lukewarm water that had been provided for her, she let her thoughts return to Benia and Dulrain. The strength that the Southern woman drew from her love for the wounded ranger had astounded her. Benia’s love gave her hope and determination that Lespheria had not thought possible and she came to realise that if the woman could she would do anything to help the man she loved, she also suspected that if the roles where reversed the ranger would be of the same mind, no matter what other conflicts troubled his mind.

Again, her thoughts turned to Amandur, Wondering why if he was well she had not yet seen him, fearing that perhaps he did not wish to see her. She had been pushing him away so that he would not become a weakness that Naiore could use against her. Her stomach knotted as she realise how cold and unfeeling that decision had been, had Naiore herself not done the same thing, with both Menecin and her mother, until their persistence had become a nuisance to her and their love twisted and returned only in hatred and loathing. Léspheria paled as fear gripped her heart, would she have really thrown away his love for the pursuit of Naiore, was that what Lord Celeborn meant when he asked if she would let Naiore be her ruin. No! She thought resolutely, I love him; I could never bring myself to hate him, but what if it was too late?

“What is your part and why do you help the rangers?”

Vanwe’s question startled her out of her thoughts, taking her by surprise, even though it was not truly unexpected. Drying her hands, she turned to regard the younger elf, and pondered how and were she should begin. Did she really know herself what her part was? Did she only help the rangers at her brother’s request? Did she need to know why Naiore had turned from her kin, betraying her mother’s friendship?

“Come,” she whispered, setting down the towel and silently guiding Vanwe from the halls. They entered a small room that opened out into a sweet smelling garden, where they could speak more freely. Various books and scrolls depicting the healing and restorative properties of herbs and plants lined the far wall, small vials, drying herbs and various plants and flowers took up the other wall. A sturdy looking table sat in the centre of the room, a stone pestle and mortar, sat at its centre, with parchment and ink near at hand. Léspheria’s hand gently ran along the edge of the table as she walked towards the large glass doors that led out into the garden. It had been along time since she had entered this particular room, she could still smell the gentle fragrance of herbs and sweet scented flowers, which always reminded her of her mother.

A smile curved her lips as memories of herself and her mother working together in this room filled her thoughts, the hours spent studying the various properties of some new plant and trying to determine if it held anything they could use in their healing arts. Placing her hands on the vine engraved handles of the garden doors, she opened them outward, allowing the night air and the sweet smells of the well-tended garden enter the room.

“It’s beautiful,” Vanwe, whispered behind her, she did not need to look back to know that Vanwe referred to the breathtaking beauty of her mothers garden, which the healers of Imladris maintained in her mother memory. Small white star shaped flowers trailed up across a small stone statue of a woman at the centre of the garden, like stars in the darkness of the night air.

“This was my mother’s garden,” she smiled turning to face Vanwe, “The healers now tend it, to honour and preserve her memory.”

Vanwe’s contented smile faded and she turned from the garden to regard her with sorrow-filled eyes, “Do you seek to avenge your mother’s death?” she asked hesitantly.

Léspheria thought for a moment, and then placing a reassuring hand on Vanwe’s shoulder, she shook her head, “No, it would not have been my mothers want and I would not dishonour her memory by seeking such a course.” Vanwe frowned then not fully understanding, but Léspheria simply smiled forlornly.

“Naiore and my mother were once friends, but that is not why I am connected to you or your mother. I have something to show you.” she turned from the elf and made her way to the shelves of books and scrolls, it took her a moment to find what she was looking for, but pulling out a large scroll she unrolled in on the table and beckoned for Vanwe to come and look. A silver swan marked the top of the parchment, “This is the family tree of the house of Finarfin.” Vanwe’s eyes widened in surprise, she had discovered during her search for her mother that she was of that elven house, though at the time, she hadn’t known what that meant and a part of her still didn’t. Léspheria stepped back to allow Vanwe to study the ancient parchment, she watched the young elf’s eyes and long fingers trace the names and families.

“This is your family?” Vanwe asked, pointing to the names Valaindon and Finderon.

“Yes, those are the names of my parents. The name next to mine is that of my twin brother Lóthaniel.” she smiled.

“And this?” Vanwe frowned pointing to a blank space further along the aged parchment. It looked as though a name had been removed or forgotten.

Léspheria looked at the space and sighed, “I too once asked the very same question and was told by the lore masters that it was simply a mistake. I had no reasons then to doubt their words and thought no more on it, until recently.” she paused for a moment and then went on, “For someone to have their name remove or left out of their family line, they must have done something terrible that brought great shame on their house. It is far easier to erase the memory than to live with the shame. She said shaking her head regrettably. Carefully lifting the scroll, she held it before the light of one of the lamps, so that the faint indentation of a name could be seen.

“Naiore Dannan!” Vanwe whispered holding Léspheria‘s gaze, she already knew that it was her mothers name that had been removed, why else would Léspheria show her this document. However, had her mother not said that her kin had abandoned them, did this not prove it!

“The elves did not abandon Naiore, she abandoned them,” Léspheria said as if reading her thoughts. “Naiore used and betrayed my mother as she no doubt used and betrayed your father. My mothers friendship was so strong that she could not give up hope that her cousin was beyond help, a loyalty that in the end cost her life, as I believe your father love almost cost him his.”

Tears ran down Vanwe’s cheeks as she hugged her arms tightly about her chest, realising that Léspheria spoke the truth, had not her mother just tried to use her to betray her father! She turned away to face the moonlit sky, ashamed that she had allowed herself to be used as her mothers tool.

“My father believes that she is flawed, does that mean that I too may carry the same flaw?” she whispered uncertain that she really wanted to know the answer, but Léspheria stood before her, smiling reassurringly “No I do not believe you carry your mother’s flaws. Have you not wondered why I did not mistake you for Naiore when first we met?” Vanwe looked up nodding her head, “Yes I have wondered…,” she whispered holding the others gaze.

“I share with your mother the ability to sense the emotions of others, though we use our gifts for entirely different purposes,” she added seeing the shock in Vanwe’s jewelled eyes.

“I have never met your mother, something that my family has taken great pains up until now in ensuring, perhaps fearing that I would follow my mothers course or worse Naiores. But it was impossible for them to hid from me the legacy of Naiore, her crimes are known in other lands, especially in Rohan were she inflicted the most pain. Our kinship I did not know until you revealed it to me back at the inn then remembering the gap in my family line it all fell into place. Although you fitted the descriptions I had of Naiore, your emotions did not. They were not those of someone who had committed the crimes your mother was accused, they did not fit with her reputation, your eyes are unmistakably those of your father, who I had met. Your fear and uncertainty stopped me from revealing to you our kinship, I feared that the knowledge would cause you to flee, so I chose to befriend you, to gain your confidence so that I could help you when the time came and you learned the truth of your heritage for yourself. But it seemed that fate had different plans for you and me.” Lespheria sighed.

“I knew the rangers searched for Naiore, but I did not know that they tracked you in the hopes that you would lead them to their quarry. Not until the arrival of Amandur did I know this and I was not pleased. Until then I had not thought your life in any danger, I knew that Naiore would know the rangers searched for her, I worried what she would draw from your presence, she trusts no one and I was sure after you told me of your life in Harad that that mistrust would also extend to her daughter. However, my brother was in trouble and I had to leave, I made Amandur promise to keep an eye on you and gave you my key hoping that with the rangers and the bounty hunter about you would use it, then I left to help my brother. However, before I could even reach him he sent word for me to return to the inn and help the rangers in their search for Naiore, so I turned back to rejoin the rangers. Through the course of our journey from Bree I have sensed your mother’s presence as she has sensed mine, I know the flaw your father speaks of and it is not in you, you must believe me on this Vanwe,” she urged gently.

“It is our choices in life that make us who we are and what we become, you may always have to live with the shadow of your mothers past but your action will help others to see past your parentage. Does the sun refuse to rise simply because the clouds block her light and hid her beauty?” she smiled sympathetically.

For a long time the two elves looked out at the heavens, each lost in their own thoughts. After a time they spoke again, Léspheria listened and answered Vanwe’s questions telling her a little of the history of their kin and of the Valar. Vanwe also told her about the deaths of Tallas and Meathor, to which Léspheria informed her that Meathor had not been kill by Avanill and Barrold that day, but by orcs at the battle of the ford. They talked until exhaustion caught up on them and they both fell asleep on a bench beneath the stars in the garden of her mother, the healers did not disturb them, it was a warm night so they laid covers over them and let them sleep.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir listened quietly as Amandur spoke long and seriously of Dúlrain, events following Raven Falls, and Amandur's own role in things. Most of it Kaldir had heard before or pieced together from earlier conversations, but the part that he hadn't heard, that touched him most deeply, was the bit about Dúlrain's feelings of guilt. He had not known that the old loyalties still ran so deeply within the younger Ranger.

"Perhaps I have been harsh," he murmured to himself, remembering how consumed he had been with his own anger. Part of that anger had been rooted in his damaged memory and the inability to recall many faces and large portions of his life prior to his release from Mordor, but the rest of it, he knew quite well was purely temper. He had been furious at being left behind, and that anger was a large part of what had kept him going, had kept him alive through his years of darkness and torment. Over those years, he had learned to use his anger as both a weapon and a shield. Now that same anger would be a difficult thing to put away from himself, a very difficult thing, but Benia Nightshade and Mrs. Banks had already helped him to begin the process. He could do it, especially if he were accepted back by the Rangers and would no longer have to rely solely upon himself.

Kaldir felt greatly enouraged in that direction by Amandur's words and demeanor, but the older Ranger was correct in that there would doubtless be certain individuals among the other Rangers who would never trust or accept him. It was unfortunate, but not a situation that Kaldir found particularly alarming. As long as those individuals did not try to interfere with him, he believed that he would be able to co-exist with them. On the other hand, if they chose to make trouble for him, they would have a wolf of their own making to contend with. He had very little patience with those who would trip him up out of nothing but prejudice or irrational malice. By the same token, if they left him alone, he was confident that he could prove his worth. He smiled cautiously as Amandur clapped his good shoulder.

"I do hope you choose to return to us, my friend," Amandur concluded with a weary smile. "But one more question I have to ask. What of Naiore?"

"Naiore," echoed Kaldir. His expression darkened visibly at the mention of the Ravenner's name. He rose from the chair he had taken at Amandur's invitation and walked to the far side of the small chamber. The image of her standing on the rock just outside the very walls of Imladris, her inky leathers stained with blood, rose up starkly in his mind. Just as abruptly as it had appeared, the image began to melt and bleed into a different one, one of Naiore in another, darker place, smiling serenely and clad in the finest of silks. He remembered gut-wrenching pain. Fire. The lash of whips. He lowered his head, fighting to push the memories away. Then, very deliberately, he reached up and struck his wounded shoulder sharply with his fist. The jolt of pain that followed cleared his head. After a moment of silence during which he waited for the real, actual pain to subside, Kaldir turned once more toward Amandur, his face pale but determined.

"Naiore must be killed," he answered bluntly. "Whether it be by my hand or that of another, I care not. I trailed her this far with the intention of doing the deed myself, the king's justice be damned." He paused, his pale blue eyes meeting Amandur's gray ones directly. "But I wonder now if I am up to the task."

When Amandur did not reply immediately, he continued gruffly. "Something happened on the battlefield to remind me that perhaps I am not the best man for the job after all. The Ravenner can smell weakness like a jackal." Without thinking, he raised a hand to touch the battered side of his face. "The damage that was done to me in Mordor was considerable. Not all of the scars are visible to the eye and, even now, not all of the wounds have healed. I found that I was more vulnerable to her presence than I would have thought."

"With that in mind, I think the wiser course would be to throw my sword in with you - if you will allow it - than to continue hunting her on my own."

Amandur nodded. "That would be acceptable to me, but I must warn you that our intention is to bring her to face trial in Gondor, not to kill her."

"The Valar help you, then," Kaldir answered calmly. "She will find a way to free herself and she will kill you in your sleep. Do not underestimate her."

"We won't," said Amandur gravely. Kaldir thought he intended to say more, but at that instant the door opened and they were joined by a pair of Elven healers. Amandur communicated to him with a glance that they would continue their discussion at a later time, then he rose to greet the healers.

Hours later, after the healers had treated his and Amandur's injuries and the two of them had parted company, Kaldir found himself back in the Hall of Healing. It was well past sundown. He had gone there to look in on Dúlrain, and perhaps have a quick word with him if he was awake, but upon finding the right room, Kaldir went no further than the doorway. Looking in, he saw Dúlrain lying asleep in the bed. His color was much better than it had been when Kaldir had parted company with him at the edge of the battle field and his breathing was good. Kaldir was relieved to note as much, but it was the sight of Benia that made him stop in his tracks. She sat in a chair beside the bed, her long, raven hair flowing loosely down her back, the candlelight shining off the silver of her jewelry. She sat perfectly motionless, her slender fingers intertwined with those of the sleeping man, her gemlike eyes never leaving his face. Watching them together, Kaldir suddenly felt like an intruder. Turning, he left as silently as he had arrived.

"She belongs with him..." he murmured, replaying the little tableau over and over in his mind. How could that be? She and Dúlrain barely knew each other. Remembering the way she looked at Dúlrain, Kaldir felt a sharp stab of jealousy. She should have been his. He had not carried her with him halfway across Middle Earth just to deliver her into the arms of another man. He scowled fiercely at the thought of doing such a thing, but, even so, he still wavered. Amandur's words of earlier in the day still haunted him.

According to Amandur, Dúlrain had never deserted him. If that was true, then all of the self-righteous anger that Kaldir had been using as a wedge to drive his childhood friend, his brother, away from him was false. If Dúlrain had never betrayed him, then what right had he, Kaldir, to try to take Benia? Aside from his own love for the desert woman, he had no right to her, no claim. In fact, by all that was right, she belonged with Dúlrain. Yet Kaldir knew he could not let go of her. Not yet.

With these thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, Kaldir returned to his room, feeling irritated and torn in his heart. Unable to find comfort in the softness of the room's feather bed, he lay instead on the floor, on the rug in front of the fire. When sleep finally came to him, it was fitful and thin.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Menecin made wide search of the area, in which he sought for some sign of Naiore or of his daughter, before circling back toward the stream, creeping silently among the trees, as was his wont from his days of soldiering in Gil-Galad forces. He had searched for Naiore once since that time, and flinched revisited by the vision of the many orcs that had bore down on him, imagining them to be at hand once again. The same single-minded desire flowing strong through his veins, the urgent sense the he must find her and free her, pervading his thoughts. Only now it was not Naiore, but her daughter that he sought. This was his duty, and a thing he again felt compelled to do.

For even in the dawn of the Third Age, when Naiore Dannan was thought a trader by many, having fought beside Sauron against the alliance, he along with a some others had sought her out, believing that it was not of her own free will that she had done what had been attributed to her. Then he had not abandoned her, as her parents had done, leaving behind their shame as they sailed westward. He would not forsake her in her bleak circumstances. Even now, though she had tried to kill him in Ithilien, he knew he must somehow try to bend her will once again or else break her, though surely either might die in the attempt, for well he knew of her murderous intent.

But there was the matter of Vanwe. In earlier days he had easily cast aside his life at court to find Naiore, but this was his daughter and he could not leave her, or have her witness that which he saw as necessary. And she should not, having only just found her parents lose them again to wander Middle-Earth alone, once again.

Thinking these thoughts, Menecin followed the water walking among the deep shadows of the trees, hidden even from the stars, until he came to a place where the current became broad and slow. And there carefully hiding himself amidst the darkness, he sat watching closely for those who might wish to ford the water, and also eyeing the steep sides of the valley for those he searched for. But none came, save two men and a horse that moved slowly through the gloom, along the bank toward him. And seeing from a short distance that the one, a ranger by the look of him, wore an orc’s sword at his side as well as one more suitable to him, Menecin stood up in the darkness to greet them.

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

Rauthain

After discussing the matter with several of the rangers staying in Imladris, Rauthain learned of a trustworthy fellow soon bound for more northerly terrain, and who was willing to pass through the Ettenmoors before making his way westward. And Rauthain had, over a lengthy supper arranged for Juta to be taken back to his rightful owner, as soon as this traveler had prepared himself to leave. That they had reckoned to be in a few days’ time. And so Rauthain in his eagerness to settle this business, thought to see to state of the horse though the hour grew late, and to determine if Juta was indeed sound enough for the journey back. For the old ranger would not have his friend think that any harm had come to the animal entrusted to his care, and the gentle beast had done his service well.

At last entering the stables, the two men passed through the corridors that held the tall and proud horses of the elves, who snorted at them and stamped in the lamp light, until at last Avanill called to Rauthain, saying that he had found Juta in a dark corner of the stables far from the other mounts that lodged there. Grabbing an oil lamp from off its stand, the ranger held it in front of him to gain a better view. “What a site you are, my friend,” Rauthain pronounced under his breath as he drew near, for the horse was heavily mud flecked, with all manner of chaff entangled in his hair. “Then again, I suppose that same might rightly be said of me, if you could but speak.” He joked, sliding open the stall’s door to pass inside.

As he patted and swept the dusty brown shoulder removing the lose dirt, Juta swung his head around to study the ranger with one large brown eye, and swiftly turned back again swishing his tail as he heard the door close and Avanill lean against it. “You know, you might stand a better chance of finding a fresh horse if you showed that you knew how to take proper care of one,” Avanill advised the ranger, amused. “The both of you look as though have been camping in Midgewater Marsh.”

Rauthain squatted down easily, checking Juta’s hooves for signs of damage. “Yes well, we have not been keeping to the roads or sleeping in comfort. Neither have I had idle time,” he said grinning as he stood up, feigning an attempt at picking out burrs in the dim light. “And my attention was not to be spared for such things, for I have had to keep one eye on my traveling companion so that he might not stray. But now it is a different matter, true?” The old ranger not waiting for a reply, squinted looking around the stall, “I could use a little more light than this dim spot affords. Perhaps you would accompany me and share your appraisal of Juta’s appearance if not your help, so that as you suggest we that we might acquire decent animals and that more quickly.”

Handing the lamp to Avanill, the old ranger drew the horse from it’s stall and once in the passage, began rapidly cleaning its mane with a well practiced hand, and the tail also he swiftly uncluttered, as Avanill held aloft the light. After finishing this, Rauthain led Juta outside, picking up a brush along the way. And Juta, no longer hemmed in by walls, held his head higher, listening attentively to the sounds of the night. Setting down the lamp by the door, Avanill followed along as the ranger headed toward the river, little more than a broad stream at this point, but very swift. Walking upstream, Rauthain looked by starlight for a calm pool in which to bathe the horse, but had to go some way before at last he saw a spot where the water flowed wide over the unyielding stone. But he sensed something amiss, and as he looked about, his hand moved to his belt, the sound of Avanill unsheathing his sword echoing nearby. The thought that the orcs might have found some other route to this place flickered quickly through his mind. And seeing movement among the trees, Rauthain brandished a sword quickly, but was unexpectedly met not by the clash of metal, but rather by a calm greeting in the ancient tongue of the Quendi.

Immediately, the ranger lowered his blade aghast to find he had drawn not his own that lay newly sharpened at his side, but the far more sinister sword of orcish make that he had taken up when he traveled alone. “I am heartily sorry,” he said apologetically, beginning to discern the shape of a tall elf among the shadows. “We have but only today come from battle, and I have not yet forgotten that orcs would threaten this sanctuary. I am Rauthain son of Hauthain, one of the King’s rangers,” he said with a short bow. “And this if you will, is Avanill, who has fought bravely in the defense of Imladris this day.” Stepping forward and sheathing his sword once again, the younger man nodded, acknowledging the elf’s presence.

“It is good that you remain on your guard, for there is more at hand than merely the orcs,” the voice deep yet rich replied. “Though I have seen no one other than yourselves the many hours I have watched this place.”

Wondering if he spoke of the Ravennor, Rauthain studied this stately one who stood motionless among the trees. Surely he was no watchman, but rather seemed of noble descent, great care softening a piercing glance. The ranger held his peace, for something in the manner of this elf troubled him, and he would not venture to speak further of his business there or of Naiore. “We have come only for a short while,” Rauthain explained, “To bathe this poor beast as best we can, and will not risk more, if you deem it unsafe here.”

“Of that I am certain,” the elf said gravely. “But here, let me relieve you of this corrupt weapon you carry,” he offered. “For I am familiar with what might be done with it, and it is not seemly for such a weapon to be present in this refuge. It bodes evil to see it here.”

Indeed Rauthain had considered casting the blade aside when upon the stair that very morning, but something had stayed his hand. At the time he reasoned that it should not find it’s way into the wrong hands by chance, and so seeing the opportunity to be rid of the thing, and knowing that the fair folk might find such weapons to be offensive, he surrendered the hilt to the dark haired elf gladly, thanking him.

“I will see to it then,” the elf said as he took hold of the sword and held it, testing its balance in his hand. “And do not tarry overlong out of doors, but find your comfort tonight in the brighter places.”

It struck Rauthain as strange that such a warning should be given a ranger, and he asked Avanill if he desired to leave. But the young man’s courage did not waver at the elf’s the ominous words. And when Rauthain turned again to the trees, he saw the elf no more, but only the straight trunks, grey in the flickering starlight.

[Everdawn]

Avanill

Avanill had been dumbstruck by Amandur’s reaction. The young man was so sure that only a minute ago he was headed for an untimely meeting with the grim reaper. So-so he thought in his own mind for he did not know what to make of the actions of the last hours. He did know one thing that was embedded within his mind now; he was going to make a decent man of himself, not only pay for the deeds of Barrold Ferney but also for the ill-deeds of his mothers past.

He had not found favour however, in parting with his various poisons, but in order to gain the trust of Rauthain and Amandur it would have to suffice. Besides, he knew that they would have no reasoning to kill him now, now that he was needed when the time came to subdue Naiore. Until this moment he had never fully understood the consequences of his actions, he would have to face Naiore, he, Avanill who betrayed her. He would have to be strong, after all, he had hoped that Barrold Ferney was still too drugged up to notice the difference between his fingers and his toes.

Presently however, he and Rauthain were walking Juta to a stream. “When he is clean, I bet he is a magnificent animal. Probably a darn sight better than my horse.” Avanill confessed. “Belonged to my mother, I can’t bear to part with the evil blighter.” He was quiet again, taking in the serenity of the elven landscape.

A few minutes later Avanill had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. And reflecting to his past experience, being watched from the dark of the forest was not a good sign. He drew his sword. Rauthain had done so as well, although the watcher spoke and Rauthain lowered his blade, Avanill however did not, his experiences with elves taught him to be cautious.

Rauthain began introductions, I am Rauthain son of Hauthain, one of the King’s rangers,” he said with a short bow. “And this if you will, is Avanill, who has fought bravely in the defence of Imladris this day.” Obviously the older ranger trusted this elf, Avanill did not speak but did opt for sheathing his sword. If anything was to happen, he was comforted in his mind that he still had numerous daggers.

The elf’s presence however was unsettling to the young man, still as always it did not show upon his face. The elf took Rauthain’s sword and held it, leaving time for quick words between men. But when they were done, the elf had, well, disappeared.

Once more Avanill drew his blade. “Elf comes, says this place is dangerous, takes your weapon and leaves? No offence to the fair race my friend, but something is definitely not right to me, and I ought to know” he said searching. “You don’t think he has anything to do with her do you?”

Barrold

Meanwhile a long way away from the ranger and the young man was another man, still managing to trudge through the underbrush without making much of a racket or loosing his balance in the dark of night. He had managed to come quite a way from where Avanill had left him, he had gone back to camp only to find it empty, and angered once more went on his way. Cursing under his breath Barrold took a seat on a nearby log to catch his breath. Damn the Boy he thought to himself, I dont envy his position though, 'Her nibbs' wont be too happy though. Probably already knows... Ill kill him myself when if I have to! He did however, thank Avanill for not killing him as he knew the boy well could have, he had been handed the opportunity on a silver platter. Avanill had taken the opportunity to escape, but Barrold was not phased that easily. He knew what he wanted, Gold, and lots of it as well as an elf bride.

Shaking his head half in awe half in anger, Barrold Continued on.

After what seemed an eternity Barrold came to the edge of a river. He did not know for sure, but he had an idea that this River lead to Rivendell. And if that wasn't where Naiore was headed, his name wasn't Ferney. Rivendell not only meant Naiore, but also Elves. This would mean that Barrold would have to take precautions. And drawing his sword he receded into the line of the woods and made his way slowly towards Rivendell hoping to find the notorious elf again.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

“It may very well have to do with her,” Rauthain whispered staring at the woods where the strange elf had disappeared. “But I do not think that he would warn us if he meant us harm. As for my weapons, I have my own sword, and through the orc blade has sufficed in battle, I am more accustomed the feel of this one. But let us hope all the same that it shall not be needed, and heed this warning without question, for I do not feel it is unfounded counsel. Indeed the elf seemed of some rank and perhaps is privy to intelligence we know not of. For though Imladris is well protected, the Ravennor may have dared to boldly breach its guard.”

“I still do not like the look of it,” Avanill said softly. “If this elf were important, why would he be wandering about alone with her abroad?”

“This I do not know,” Rauthain admitted, taking up Juta’s reigns. “But I do know that this topic would be better taken up inside the confines of our lodging. Come let us leave this lonely place and keep to the shadows until our return. For whether orc or their mistress be here about, we should not become a mark for them.”

“Aye, we should take care that we might accomplish what we set after, and once in the guest house we can ask who this elf might be.”

“True, perhaps they know of him, though I would not count on it. But let us not talk further until by the light of a hearth.” Rauthain suggested. And Avanill nodding his agreement set out toward the light of the Homely House, sword at ready with the ranger following behind him. And so they walked in silence among the shadows, hiding themselves also from the stars of Varda, in hopes that they might not be discovered and they might not be struck down. And the ranger felt again the weight of his burden crowding in upon him with each step.


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Naiore

As the day stretched on and activity decreased steadily in the vicinity of the back gardens, Naiore let herself sleep, awaking once at a hint of motion over by the corner of one of the buildings. Casting her senses in that direction, she thought she caught the impression of anger... a disturbed mind. Elven?

"Menecin!" she hissed, her back straightening against the rough bark of the tree trunk. "Has my Vanwe delivered you to me at last?" She leveled a piercing gaze in the direction of the perceived motion, but saw nothing further, only the pale green of leaves swaying in the afternoon breeze. The slender figure of Vanwe, leading her dark-haired and tragic father to his doom never appeared. After what seemed to be an eternity of waiting, Naiore felt a flush of rage and disappointment. Realizing that Vanwe was not yet fulfilling her purpose, the Ravenner pushed the flood of emotions away and settled back into waiting. Awake now, she reached out again in search of Vanwe and Menecin. Though she still felt the vague presence of the Bard's consciousness, his madness, she found she could not determine from whence it came. Her clear grey eyes studied the trees, the shadows, the corners of every wall.

Her vigilance continued through the afternoon and into the night as daylight waned and faded into darkness. She waited until the moon rose and, then, with the shadows gathered around her like a shroud, Naiore unwound her long legs and slid down from her hiding place. A restlessness had taken hold of her that was rooted in the continuous feeling she had that Menecin was somewhere nearby. Almost unconsciously, she listened for the sound of his singing, the melliflous tones of his flute. Only silence found her. And then the sound of voices. Two men approached, leading a dirty and illkempt-looking horse along the path that led from the stable to the stream. Instantly, she recognized one of the men as Avanill, the other as a ranger from the Forsaken Inn. Moving like a shadow herself, Naiore trailed them to the stream, taking a few seconds along the way to retrieve her bow and a small clutch of arrows from where she had hidden them earlier, selecting only orcish arrows from amongst the Elven ones. The elves must think her deed the work of a stray orc.

Unaware that she watched them, the two men chatted amiably as the ranger gave his horse a bath in the moonlit stream. Naiore knocked an arrow to the string and raised her bow. The traitorous Avanill, obviously not a prisoner but a willing co-conspirator of her pursuers, would have to die. Though she would have preferred to look into his arrogant eyes and squeeze the life out of him with her silken garrotte, an arrow would do the job. She smiled serenely as she sighted along the shaft of the arrow to his heart. The ranger would have to die, too, his presence an inconvenience, but not an unhappy one. It always pleased her to release a ranger from his mortal condition. Besides, it would not do to have him running about, raising an alarm. Left in the woods, it could be days before the bodies were found. By then, she would be long departed into the west or the south, her objectives accomplished.

But the arrow never left Naiore's bow. Someone else had joined the two men at the stream. Unable to see the newcomer, Naiore froze, straining her ears into the darkness, but the rush of the stream concealed the words. Though she could not make out what was said, the voice sounded Elven. Lowering her bow, Naiore crept closer, reaching out with her senses. Suddenly she stopped short as her mind came into contact with a familiar consciousness. A rush of jumbled emotions - anger, love, and madness - collided with her thoughts. Forgetting Avanill, she melted back into the shadows, her inky leathers blending with the surrounding darkness. Menecin!

She was unable to see him, but she knew with a cold certainty that the newcomer was Menecin. A smile again touched her lips. Perhaps she could achieve her goal without the help of Vanwe. She would wait for the Bard to emerge from the trees with his companions, then she would strike him down and be on her way. Pity it would have to be an orcish arrow to fell her former lover and the father of her child, but she had not the time to retrieve an arrow of Elven make. That he would be destroyed would have to be enough for her.

Patiently, Naiore waited, but when Avanill and the ranger finally finished their business at the stream and departed back toward the safety of the buildings, the Bard was not with them. Her attention now focused on the unseen elf, Naiore let them go and reached out again into the darkness with her mind, but the presence she had sensed earlier was gone. He had slipped away amongst the trees. Naiore hesitated, debating with herself whether to pursue him now or to wait. Cautiously, she glided in the direction in which she had heard his voice. Getting there, she found nothing, only the careless tracks of the men and their horse. Frustrated, she followed the stream bank for a short distance before turning back. Menecin had been a warrior at one time and, at that time, had been possessed of strong skills of woodcraft and concealment. Tracking him by moonlight when he did not wish to be found would be an exercise in futility, even for her. Perhaps she would wait for Vanwe to fulfill her task after all. Perhaps the time for Naiore to wreak her revenge had not yet come.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain slowly opened his eyes, it took a few minutes for them to adjust to the brightness of the morning light filtering through the open arched windows and for a moment, he felt slightly disorientated wondering where he was and how he had got there. but as he stared at the ivory ceiling and the ornately carved beams he knew that he could only be in the home of the elves for only they had such skill at woodcraft, then it all came back to him, Naiore, the orcs, the river, his injury, the flight to Rivendell. Benia! He thought instantly, but turning his head, he saw her, in a chair next to him her dark head resting on the edge of his bed, had she been here all night? He bite back a wince his wound still a little tender as he propped himself up, careful not to wake the peaceful slumber of this beautiful woman. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, a peaceful calm emanating from her, infusing him entirely as her exotic beauty once more captivated him. He drew closer, his dry cracked lips almost brushing the silky softness of her skin.

The round metal handle of the door turned and he gently pulled back without feeling the warmth of her lips. A tall elven woman entered silently closing the door behind her, a jug and wash basin sat in one hand and a fresh towel in the other. She smiled as she saw that he was awake. “Ah! Master Ranger, it is good to see that you have decided to remain among the living, you gave us all quite a scare,” she grinned, her musical voice the merest of whispers, so as not to disturb the rest of the young southern woman.

“It will take more than the blade of an orc and the chill of a river to drag me from these lands,” he laughed quietly, his gaze turning again to sleeping form of Miss Nightshade as he remembered again the conflict of his heart.

“She has barely left your side,” The elven woman whispered following his gaze.

Dulrain looked up surprised. “How long have I been asleep!” he asked.

“Since yester morn,” the elven woman replied, setting down the jug and basin on a table at the far side of the room, “You are a very luckily man to have found the love of such a kind and caring young woman, many would envy you,” she continued as she poured water from the jug into the basin.

“Love” Dúlrain whispered looking back at Benia’s peaceful face, he had not considered her feelings not fully believing that she would ever return the yearnings of his heart, believing that her heart already belonged to Kaldir.

“I will leave you now, there have been a few others who have inquired as to your condition and they will be most anxious to hear that you are awake and well, but still you must rest. I will have breakfast brought for you and your lady and Lady Léspheria will look in on you later to check on your bindings.” the elven woman smiled, then turning she left the room as silently as she had come.

Alone again Dúlrain looked down again at the sleeping form of the southern woman, did she really love him a warm feeling spread over his body as he gently moved a stray strand of her dark hair from her face, she stirred and he drew his hand away.

“Good morning,” he smiled as she slowly opened her eyes.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia awoke to the lightest touch of a hand, the gentle smoothing of a stray hair away from her face. Opening her eyes, she looked immediately to Dúlrain to make sure that he was still breathing, to see if his color had improved. She was startled to find him not only awake, but propped up on one elbow. And smiling. Her heart rejoiced at the sight of his clear gray eyes, lucid again at last.

"Good morning," he said softly.

Afraid that she might be dreaming, Benia reached out and laid one hand gently against the side of his face. "You're awake," she murmured. "Please, by all that is true, tell me that I am not dreaming."

Dúlrain reached up and enfolded her delicate hand in his. "You are not dreaming, fair lady. I have indeed lasted the night and awake feeling much better."

"The Valar be praised." A radiant smile broke across Benia's face. She bent forward to kiss his forehead, but the Ranger bent forward as well, intercepting her and touching her lips with a tender kiss of his own. Closing her eyes, Benia kissed him back, letting all of the love she felt for him flow through her lips to his. Nearly overcome with the intense mixture of joy and longing she felt for him, she wished that that single kiss could last forever.

Letting her lips linger against his, she whispered, "I was so frightened for you."

"Be frightened no more, my love," he whispered in return. "I shall not leave you."

"My love," echoed Benia, and they kissed again. When she finally drew back from him, her amber eyes sparkled through tears of happiness, as her slender fingers intertwined with his. Then, suddenly, she laughed.

"Good morning," she said, the realization striking her that she had never answered his greeting.


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Nerindel's Post - Vanwe

Not to far away another was rousing to the harmonious sound of birds singing, slowly opening her eyes Vanwe realised that she must have fallen asleep while speaking with Léspheria in the garden. A light mist clung stubbornly to the ground and dew clung to her hair and the blanket someone must have put over her while she slept. She felt refreshed and well rested, no nightmares or thoughts of her mother had plagued her dreams that night. She gasped in wonderment as the suns first rays spread out over the eastern horizon washing the valley in its golden light, chasing away the predawn mist. Pulling her blanket tighter, she sat for a moment just gazing idly at the beauty around her, listening as the birds of the valley greeted the new day. And in that moment of peace and tranquility Vanwe felt free and unburdened the woes of her life swept carefully aside so that she could enjoy the simple pleasure of watching the sun rise.

However, the trails of her life could not be so easily swept aside and even as she looked out over the valley she could not help but wonder if her mother was out there somewhere waiting for her to deliver her father. How long would she wait and what would she do when she realised that her daughter was not returning. Vanwe worried that by not returning she would bring more trouble on the elves, but she could not betray her father. The healer in her still wanted to believe that her mother suffered from some illness, a sickness that infected her mother like some evil poison making her do the terrible things that she was accused of doing, something she could heal. But the part of her that remembered the treatment she had received at the hands of her mother, the part that remembered her mother had abandoned her to the harshness of the hardrim desert, already knew that her mother was beyond any help or redemption. Closing her eyes she sighed wearily then turning away from the beauty of the new dawn she walked back toward the house.

As she drew close she could hear two voices, one she recognised as Lespheria's and another she did not know. "I have just left master Dúlrain's room and it will please you to know that his fever has finally broken and he is awake," the unkown voice was telling Léspheria.

"Indeed that is wonderful news, Celebnariel, and Miss Nightshade, she too must be relieved by this news?" Léspheria replied.

"Indeed I believe she will be when she awakes to find her young man awake before her," the unknown voice replied lightly. Vanwe too found herself pleased that the ranger was well after their efforts to save him and that Miss Nightshade was still with him and not with the bounty hunter, Léspheria had explained to her the previous night how the southern woman had come to end up in Rivendell though the fact that Kaldir was also nearby made her more than a little uncomfortable.

As she reached the open glass doors, she saw that two baths had been drawn, two large metal tubs sat in the middle of the room, the delicate aroma of lavender and rose hip rising in the steam coming off the hot bubbly water. Lespheria sat in a robe combing down her long dark hair, wet from the bath that the elf had obviously just taken. another elf the bearer of the unknown voice poured another jug of hot water in the second tub to keep it warm, but at her approach both women stopped what they were doing and turned to smile at her.

"Good morning," both women greeted pleasantly, "Did you manage to sleep well?" Léspheria asked.

"Yes, I did sleep well, thank you," she replied honestly.

"Vanwe, This is Celebnariel and she looks after the guests of Rivendell and some of the rest of us too" Lespheria laughed introducing the tall elven woman.

"I thought that you may be indeed of a warm bath and some fresh clothes after your journey," the other elf smiled warmly, indicating both the bath and a fresh set of clothes that sat on a nearby chair.

Vanwe looked down at herself realising that she still wore the fine mint silks of her mother’s gown, now smeared with the blood of those her mother saught to destroy but that she had helped to save, an irony was not lost on Vanwe as she slipped out of the fine garment and handed it to Celebnariel.

"I will see that it is washed and returned to you," the elf smiled taking the delicate gown. Vanwelooked at the dress for a moment wondering if she ever wanted to see it again, but nodded her thanks all the same. Slipping into the warm water she closed her eyes for a moment as her tense muscles relaxed.

"If you should require anything further myself or any of the other attendants of the house will be more than willing to help," the elven attendant said as she moved towards the door, Vanwe nodded her thanks, then Celebnariel turned to Léspheria, "I will have breakfast brought to you presently my lady," then a slight smile of amusement crossed her lips as she told Léspheria that the ranger Amandur had asked after her several times and as vanwe looked at Léspheria she was sure she saw the confident elf's pale cheeks colour ever so slightly as she replied.

"You may inform him that I am well and will speak with him shortly, after I have checked on my patients." with an amused grin Celebnariel nodded and silently left pulling the door behind her.

As Vanwe washed Lespheria told her the news that Celebnariel had brought with her, the news that Dúlrain was awake and that his fever had broken, She also informed her that the hobbit Toby longholes was in Rivendell and seemed to be favouring the company of Mrs Banks. "They say he came in with Kaldir and the ranger Rauthain."

Vanwe nodded relieved that the hobbit had managed to escape her mother, or at least she hoped he had escaped. There came a knock at the door and Léspheria rose to answer it, returning shortly with a tray laden with breasfast. After drying and slipping on the pale green elven dress that had been left for her she joined Lespheria and together they sat down to eat.

As they ate Léspheria delicately brooched the subject of her mother again, telling her that she could teach her how to resist her mothers intrusions. Vanwe accepted Léspheria's offer and they began at once, it was more difficult than Vanwe had first imagined, but with Léspheria's gently instruction she slowly began to build up a mental barrier. It was weak at first, but Léspheria assured her it would get stronger with practice.

By mid-morning Lespheria stopped the lesson telling Vanwe that she must check on her patients, Vanwe nodded her understanding. She was eager to go find her father and speak some more with him, tell him of the things she had learned. The two women left together and as Léspheria entered the halls of the healers Vanwe carried on towards the stairs that lead to her room, but as she approached she heard a familiar voice, one she had not been expecting. In fear she pressed herself against a pillar so she could not be seen, as the debonair form of Avanill walked across the hall, he was speaking with two elves and she strained to hear what they were saying.

"The young elf, Vanwe is well, and is she is currently in the company of the Lady Léspheria," one of the elves was telling the young man.

Vanwe did not wait to hear any more she slipped away back down the hall, she did not know why he was here, but if her mother had sent him, she would not lead him straight to her father, instead she decided to explore the halls of the elven house until Léspheria was again free and she could share her concerns with her.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir awoke late with a throbbing headache. The pain seemed to start in the damaged side of his face and spike upward like a stiletto behind his eye, almost as though a splinter of bone had come loose in the night and worked its way around to stab into the flesh. It gave his cheek muscle a slight twitch and caused his eye to tear, but at least his head was clear of the nightmares that had beset him all night. That was a bonus, anyway, perhaps a benefit of his surroundings, the influence of the Eldar.

He changed into the fresh shirt that the elves had provided and, in doing so, was pleased to see that the wound to his shoulder had improved greatly and no longer hampered his movement. In fact, the headache gave him worse pain than the shoulder. That was good. He would need his full strength. He had a feeling that Naiore was still nearby, though he had no tangible proof of it... only the nightmares and the headaches. The word he had heard late the evening before, upon the return of an Elven scouting party, was that Naiore had fled into the west on heels of her retreating orcs. Tracks had been found. And a single strand of golden hair. Even so, Kaldir had his doubts. Naiore would never be so careless as to leave such an obvious trail. If so, she would have been captured years ago. Having tracked her for years himself, he knew full well of her ability to disappear into a poisonous nothingness. If a hair had been found, it had been planted. He was sure of it.

The hobbit, Toby Longholes, had said that she hunted Menecin, her former lover and the father of her child. Her orc assault on the stairs had been an attempt to get at Menecin. Would she give up so easily? Kaldir thought not. And now Vanwe was in Imladris as well. All the more reason for Naiore to linger. But where? He had seen her on the rocks below the stair. She must have crossed the river again in order to plant the tracks and the hair, but where had she gone after that? Kaldir had a strong suspicion that it wasn't far, else why the persistent throb in his face? Else why the nightmares? Naiore Dannan could not have gone far.

With his nerves feeling jangled and raw from both the pain behind his eye and the restless night, Kaldir went down to the great hall for breakfast. He was disappointed to find neither Benia nor Mrs. Banks in attendence, Benia having remained with Dúlrain in the Hall of Healing and the hobbit lady having already put in an appearance and gone. He then spent a quiet hour or so eating and speaking with the elves of the scouting party, who had come down to breakfast as well. He was interested to discover that many of them shared his doubts, though they were equally as non-plussed as to where Sauron's Ravenner actually had gone, if not into the west. The Elves had gathered up some stray orcs as prisoners but, upon trying to interrogate them, found them patently unhelpful, more prone to growling and spitting than saying anything of value. In the end, the prisoners had been executed and burned, their weapons and armor buried. With all leads exhausted, the Elves had found themselves with no other choice but to return to Imladris. Kaldir listened to their words with interest, but upon taking leave of them found himself no wiser than he had been before.

With his face still throbbing and having nothing pressing to do, Kaldir went outside to catch a breath of fresh air and to think. The Elves of the scouting party had hinted that Elladan and Elrohir planned to call a counsel for that evening, but, until then, Kaldir found himself at loose ends. He found a large stone in the clearing behind the main hall and sat down upon it, turning his face up to the sun in the hope that a touch of sunshine might draw some of the pain out of his face. He was sitting like that, pondering the questions of both Benia and Naiore, not to mention what had become of his horse and other belongings, when he heard the approach of a firm footstep on the path. Turning, Kaldir saw Rauthain. He nodded to the old Ranger.

"Good morning," he said purely out of an obligation to say something. He still regarded Rauthain with distrust and, admittedly, some dislike, but the fierce resentment that he had once felt toward his former brother-in-arms had faded somewhat of late. With that in mind, Kaldir felt that he could spare him a little courtesy.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly found that when she awoke the second time, it was getting rather late in the morning. The sun was already up, though it had not yet crept over the edge of the deep valley, and had the bed been not quite so soft, she would had thought that she was at home again, snug and safe in her nest. But the politely insistent rapping on the door she eventually realized was not the small fist of her youngest son. Springing up and padding across the floor, she answered the knocking, not a little embarrassed to be caught sleeping so late in the day, but she had been tired and sore, and not knowing what to do with so much time on her hands had returned to sleep after a most satisfactory breakfast. But upon opening the door she found it was the same elf that had so kindly attended to her the day before who now appeared at the threshold, and much to Gilly’s delight she bore her old clothes carefully folded.

“Oh, how splendid!” the hobbit exclaimed. “It will be so wonderful to get back into familiar clothes again! I will start to work on them straight away. Were you able to find any green thread?” Then realizing that she hadn’t been thinking, and not wishing the elf to surmise that she didn’t approve of the elfin garments lent her, she quickly added, “I mean no disrespect of course, but I’m not used to such fine clothes as elves make.”

“No offense taken, Mistress Banks. I doubt that I would feel at home in the raiment of the Periannath as well, but I hope that you do not mind a little elfin handiwork among your clothes,” she said flicking the folded dress open to lay it fluttering down like a banner across the rumpled bed. There Gilly saw that all was mended, and the torn border of her coarse dress had been replaced with a new one, not nearly so mean, but having woven into it a subtle pattern of trailing vines.

“Oh, by the blessed Hill of Ilmarin, what’s been done to my poor dress, it is beautiful!” Gilly exclaimed. And when the elf opened the stack of the hobbit’s colored cotton petticoats, she saw that they were nearly remade with matching ruffles sewn on to the bottom edge. At a loss for words and brimming with emotion Gilly turned around and gave the elf a hug, quite surprising of the woman of the Eldar. But quickly recovering, the attendant pointed to the neck of the dress explaining that she did not understand the knots that dangled there and so had not addressed their condition. “Then you did all this? And so quickly!” Gilly said in amazement. “Never mind that ragged mess of knots. It’s just my habit for tatting that put them there in the first place. It doesn’t look like much now, does it?” she said smiling, “But once it was a bit like lace. Easy enough to fix given this idle time, and I will show you how, if you would like. But I have lost my shuttle,” she said remembering that the river had claimed the treasure of her pockets. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pin and thread on you that I could borrow?”

The slender elf produced the green thread Gilly had asked for, handing it to her. “Unfortunately, I have not a spare moment to sit and learn your craft, but I will look forward to seeing what you make, for I have not heard of tatting before now. But I will bring you a pin if you require it, for that is easily found, and anything else you need.”

“I would appreciate that very much,” the hobbit said. “And sorry to be of such trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all. If you need me I am Novfuinien,” the elf said excusing herself.

“Two questions before you go,” Gilly said hurriedly retrieving a letter from off the table. “I have a message that I need to get to Bywater. In Westfarthing.” But noticing Novfuinien’s puzzled look she began again, “It is to go to the Shire along the East Road. Do you know of anyone headed that way?”

“Ah, I see. I do not know of any traveling there myself, but will ask those I meet. Do not worry, we will find a way for it to go, so that it will arrive there safely” she said as Gilly handed the letter to her. “What is your second question?”

“I was wondering if you might have seen Miss Nightshade yet this morning? I thought earlier to catch her at breakfast, but did not find her there. ”

“No, her bed has not been slept in, and they say she still waits beside Dúlrain. That is all I know. But a word of caution before I go Mistress Banks, do be careful not to wander too far in the gardens as I heard you did yesterday. For even though the orcs were routed I would not recommend it, at least for a time.”

“Not to worry Miss Novfuinien, I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime, and am in no hurry to meet with any more. But if you think the way to the great hall and back safe enough I’d be very much content to wander that path and few others, save maybe to visit Dúlrain and Miss Benia, and though the gardens are quite lovely, I will limit myself to staying close by.”

“I do think the great hall would be safe, but now I must go. I will return shortly with the pin,” the elf said pulling the door to as she disappeared behind it.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

The dawn that had at first arrived cool and misty, but now was beginning to show the promising signs of becoming a fine, clear day, did little to cheer Rauthain. And remembering his task and elf’s strange warning, he found once again he could not revel the in the cool stillness of the morning as did the birds of that place. Waking before first light, he had wrestled in the bleakness before daybreak with the overwhelming sense of futility that had haunted his thoughts. Knowing he would not accomplish anything by succumbing to the taunts of his imagination, yet unable to quiet the corrosive chatter of his mind, he arose to see if any others might be found awake. But fortunate his sleepless became, for at last in searching out conversation, he had found another as restless as himself laying the halls of healing. It was after checking once more on the sleeping Dúlrain, the southern woman still at his side that he came across one trying to get up from his cot. And helping him into a chair, the two sat together for some time wiling away the quiet hours of the morning.

In the course of their talk Rauthain found this newly made friend willing to spare his horse so that it may keep fit while he nursed his crushed limb, but providence granted not only this, he had also heard tell of another animal, its elfin rider fallen in battle the day before. Hoping to secure this horse also, now that the hour had grown later, it was on that errand Rauthain now went, so that Avanill and he might be prepared once the others declared themselves ready. Avanill wisely chose to stay with the other rangers saying that he dare not accompany Rauthain in his negotiations, lest his reputation jeopardize the delicate transaction, and though the old man would have liked to placed full trust in him, he was sure to carry Avanill’s bag with him as he left.

The warm sunlight had chased away the chill of the evening as the grizzled man walked with purpose through dew-laden grass. And with the brightening day the man’s spirits began to lift, though it rankled him to delay thus in Rivendell. They should have been off long ago. One could as easily draw out the details of their plans along the way as in the airy halls of Imladris. And Dúlrain could follow when he was sufficiently improved, surely he would understand their haste. But the ranger’s brow furrowed as he caught himself. Had he really changed so little over the years?

Putting the troubling thought aside to concentrate once again on obtaining the horse, the ranger quickly rounded the corner, and looking up from the rock-strewn path his step was arrested by a sudden pang, for there was Kaldir a stumbling block before him. Fully unprepared for this chance meeting, Rauthain was acutely aware that it might be his only opportunity to speak with Kaldir alone before they were bound together by their hunt, a prospect he did not relish, though he should be glad of Kaldir's skill on the journey. For Rauthain had not quite forgotten his treatment at the bounty hunter’s hands the last time he had brought up that volatile issue which had separated them. And as he sunned himself upon the rock, Kaldir’s aspect struck the ranger as but a little less welcoming than that of serpent. Expecting the worst, Rauthain approached. “Good morning,” the bounty hunter said indifferently, observing him with one pale eye.

“Yes, it is a good morning,” the ranger replied sullenly, looking about him as if he hadn’t noticed the fine weather. “A good day for riding, surely… or tracking… but truly not suited for idle waiting.” He grinned trying to make light of his anxious desire to be moving once again.

“Then you must practice patience,” Kaldir responded opening his other eye, and lowering his chin to look at him squarely. Rauthain could see that this eye wept, the muscle lightly twitching beneath it. Feeling a vague sense of responsibility for those deformities, his smile quickly faded.

“It never has been my strong point,” he remarked looking away from Kaldir to sit on a stone across from the bounty hunter. “But you have lately taught me not to offer excuses, nor ask pardon for my shortcomings; and I have learned also not to crave forgiveness from one as unyielding as yourself. Rest easy, I will not plague with you the matters of my conscience,” He replied, his bitterness spilling into his words.

“Are you my father, that you should feel the need to rebuke me for being forthright?” Kaldir said with sarcasm.

“No, no, Naldir was a far better man than I! And though this trait of yours wears hard on me, it has stood you in good stead, to be sure,” Rauthain conceded pushing a stray gray lock away from his broad face, and wishing intently for his pipe.

The bounty hunter closed his eyes again. “So you have met my father,” he mused.

“Yes, when I brought him the news of your death. In time we had a great deal in common, and soon grew to be friends.” Rauthain saw the muscles of Kaldir’s jaw ripple as the bounty hunter grit his teeth. “But then he was a forgiving man, even when I spoke of what lay at the foundation of my contrition, though he grieved sorely for you until his death, saying always, he was to blame.”

“We had not parted amicably. But do not fool yourself Rauthain, you have little in common with him.”

“You are right. No more than you perhaps, for Naldir was not so strong-willed that he would not allow himself regret trying to impose that will upon you.”

“I see that he spoke freely.”

“What else would two childless widowers do, other than lament their loss? For both you and my own son tasted death far too early.”

“I can think of many other more useful things to ponder,” Kaldir said sharply. “But what madness you speak, I was never dead, though I was taken from my kin!”

“No you are wrong, you have died. And it is fortunate that your father did not live to hear of the trade you now practice. For though he might understand how you have fallen into it, I think it would pain him to know you have persisted in it.”

“Many of my decisions have pained him.”

“But you do not need to cling to them.” Then remembering Dúlrain’s words that had stung him so sharply outside of Bree, they now seemed fitting. “You had made your choice to turn your back on him, never hoping in your own survival. And everyday since, you have made that choice. You chose death, rather than life. You chose to isolate yourself, when you could find healing and simple comfort in the small things of life. When you could chose some worthy woman like Miss Nightshade to be your companion, someone who could understand your hardship. Live with hope Kaldir, you have survived and through you Naldir. Take heart.”

“But we have not yet finished what we set out to do.” Kaldir said under his breath, looking more like the man Rauthain once knew, like the man Rauthain had once thought so highly of.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

“But we have not yet finished what we set out to do,” Kaldir said under his breath. Across from him, Rauthain nodded and the two men fell into silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Kaldir closed his eyes again, letting the sunshine caress his upturned face. The pain and latent chill in the scarred muscle of his cheek were finally beginning to subside under the sun’s warmth, which put him into a slightly better frame of mind than he had been in only a few moments earlier. He let out a long breath as the faces of two women, each the polar opposite of the other, floated before his closed eyes, each of them pulling at his soul with equal force and in opposite directions: one of them elven, one mortal; one fair, one dark; one hated, one beloved, both of them with hands on his destiny. He opened his eyes and cast a sideways glance at Rauthain.

“Are you suggesting, then, that I marry?” he asked dryly. “I believe that is what my father and I quarreled about, though the memory is hazy. So many of them are.”

Rauthain shrugged. “It might do you good to embrace life for a change.”

Kaldir laughed softly. “And what makes you think me capable of such a thing, I wonder, if I am indeed a dead man walking.” He said it with sarcasm, but as he did so, he remembered his own words to Dúlrain on that deserted side street back in Bree, when Dúlrain had offered to return him his grandfather’s sword. Do not offer such a thing to a ghost, he had said. At that same moment in Bree, even as he rebuffed the hand of friendship offered to him by Dúlrain, Kaldir remembered noticing the bright spark of pleasure it had given him to claim Benia Nightshade as his wife, even as false as the claim had been. Maybe it really was time he embraced life again. His thoughts had most certainly been moving in that direction of late. “And what makes you think Miss Nightshade would have me?” he added abruptly.

The older ranger shrugged. “And what makes you think that she wouldn’t?” he countered the question with another question. “Anyone with eyes can see that you care for her. She seems fond of you.”

“Fond but not enamored,” mused Kaldir, thinking of the way Benia looked at Dúlrain. “But then, who would be enamored of me?" He ruefully smiled his one-sided smile. "I am not a handsome man, though I might have been considered reasonably attractive at one time.”

“I’m sure you have other qualities to recommend you,” suggested Rauthain. “Miss Nightshade, though she is from the south, seems to have good head on her shoulders. I’m sure she can see your better aspects.”

“Like forthrightness and the inability to forgive?”

“Like forthrightness, patience,” rejoined Rauthain with a smile. “And a masterful command of sarcasm.”

Kaldir laughed. “Yes, that would come in handy when one is courting a woman.”

Rauthain’s smile widened to a grin as the two fell into silence once again, but this time it was a more companionable silence. Finally Kaldir rose to his feet and flexed his stiff shoulder.

“Well, my friend,” he said to the older Ranger. “I hear that a counsel will be called tonight for all those who pursue Naiore. I’m assuming that you will be there.”

“Of course.”

“Then I will see you tonight. In the meantime, I need to get busy and secure myself a horse and some supplies for the upcoming journey. My charger seems to have gone missing, though I do have a mare in the stables I could use in a pinch. Miss Nightshade will be staying behind and will not have a need of a horse, I hope, until I return.”

“Till the evening then,” said Rauthain, rising from the stone he had taken a seat upon and beginning to move again down the path toward the stable.

Kaldir watched his retreating back for a moment, then called after him, “Thank you for being a friend to my father in his last years. I had no idea. I will think about your advice.” With that, he turned and walked back toward the main hall, feeling markedly better both in his head and his heart. He would give Rauthain’s words some thought. Serious thought.

[Ealasaide]

Nerindel's Post - Dúlrain

Dúlrain joined Benia's gentle laughter as she belatedly returned his greeting, he too only realising that she had not returned one. He gazed lovingly into her deep amber eyes, losing himself in the warmth of her smile. Knowing that his heart was now hers forever and always, he no longer struggled against it. Letting the warmth of his love returned infuse him with such joy and happiness that it cast aside any fears or doubts that he may still have been carrying. They loved each other and no matter what trails they may face in their life's that one truth would always remain strong and unyielding. This he knew with undying certainty as that held each other’s hands their love intertwined like the very fingers they clasped so tenderly together.

The door to the room opened again causing the two lovers to turn, breaking the spell that had been holding them so raptly under each other’s loving gaze. Swinging wide the open door admitted another elf, this one slightly shorter than the other, but with the same free flowing dark hair and the same cheerful glint to her grey eyes. The elf dipped a short curtsy, and then crossed the room to deposit the large silver tray she was carrying.

"Mistress Celebnariel thought that you might like some breakfast," she smiled again turning to them. "She also advises that master Dúlrain try to eat something and if you excuse me I tend to agree, Lady Lespheria is a wonderful healer, quite gifted, but her tonics for loss of appetite are ... shall we say far from pleasant." Then as though to emphasis the point the young elf's delicate features screwed up in disgust and Dulrain rather thought that she was indeed remembering the foul some taste. He looked at Benia and then with a smile of suppressed laughter he nodded saying that he would most defiantly try. The young elf content with his reply simple nodded then departed to attain other chores of the morning.

Slowly letting go of his hand Benia crossed the room to examine the contents of the tray. She lifted the lid of a tall silver teapot and the aroma of a sweet smelling herbal tea wafted across the room. "Hmm, that smells wonderful," He grinned inhaling deeply of the strong refreshing smell.

"There is enough here to satisfy even a hobbits veritable appetite," Benia laughed lightly lifting another lid. But even as she tried to hide it he caught the briefest glance to the open window and he knew she though of her hobbit friend.

"You think of Gilly, is she not here? He gently enquired.

"Oh, yes. She is here and well by all accounts, " she assured him. "But I have not spoken with her since our arrival and fear that I have failed in my duty as friend, I could not bring myself to leave you until I knew you were will." she added slightly abashed as she returned to his side.

"Well, you can see that I am well and I would not wish to keep you from your other duties," he smiled raising her hands to his lips and kissing them gently.

"I would not want Mrs Banks to think that I was holding you here to myself, she just might have a few things to say about that, " he winked jovially.

"I daresay she would," Benia laughed. "But if you are not so eager to be rid of me I will stay awhile longer at least to share in this delicious feast the elves have kindly prepared for us."

"Only a fool would be eager to rid himself of such radiant beauty," he answered pleased that she would not be leaving so soon.

After washing the pair shared breakfast and pleasant conversation, there was no mention of Naiore, Kaldir or even the journey that brought them to their present location. Instead they shared what fond memories they had to share. Dúlrain described to Benia the beauty of the sun rising over the sleepy hills of Evendim with it’s golden rays touching the calm waters of lake Nenuial in the lands north of the Shire that when he was not wandering he called home. Benia smiled warmly at his description delicately closing her eye as if recalling some distant memory. When she again opened them she described to him the shifting sands of her desert home, and how the moonlight glinted a silvery blue hue against the majestic peaks of the grey mountains to the west of Harad’s great desert. They continued to share these small intimate details about themselves and their lives until the door to the room again opened admitting the elven lady Léspheria. Benia remained and he felt her hand gentle squeeze his assuringly as the elven healer bade him good morning, then carefully removed his dressing. They both gasped with surprise the wound was all but fully closed scar tissue and extensive bruising the only clues that any real damage had been done.

“B...But I don’t understand it still feels like I have been hit by a mountain?” Dúlrain muttered shaking his head in confusion.

“That is to be expected,” Léspheria grinned. “There was some external damage that shall need a little longer to heal. While I can manipulated the bodies own restorative powers nature still demands that we keep a little bit of pain to remind us that we are not indestructible, but I can give you something to help lessen natures toll if you require it.”

“No that will not be necessary, but thank you. It will do me no harm to be reminded of my limits,” he laughed wryly.

“Perhaps,” Léspheria smiled “But you should rest, allow the healing to transpire.” She stressed with a gentle firmness. This news distressed him but Léspheria assured him it would not be for long and with Benia’s concerned gaze he relented. The Lady then left to attend the others of her halls leaving them again alone. The day was drawing on and short while later Benia also excused herself, “I too must leave, she is right you should rest. I Promise I will return as soon as I have seen that Gilly is well and we have spoken a little.”

“I will hold you to that promise,” he smiled. “But I would ask one favour,”

“Anything!” she grinned.

“I would know what has become of the others of my company, Kaldir, Amandur, Rauthain and even master Longholes.” He asked staring out of the window, wondering if they had already continued on without him.

“I will see what I can find out,” She smiled drawing him back from his thoughts, still holding her hand he pulled her gently forwards and kissed her tenderly, a long lingering kiss before letting her go. Alone again with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling he carefully replayed the events of the past few weeks in his head until sleep again took him.

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Ealasaide's Post - Benia

As soon as Benia left Dúlrain’s side and entered the hallway, she noticed the absence of rangers about. The halls were remarkably quiet, with very few elves making their ways quietly down the wide hallways, speaking in hushed tones amongst themselves, although the hour was not yet late.

“There must be something happening...” she whispered to herself, but even as she did so, she raised one hand to her lips, remembering the tenderness of Dúlrain’s kisses. She was too happy to want to trouble herself with the graver matters at hand. For just a short while, anyway, she wanted to revel in her happiness at both Dúlrain’s recovery and their newly acknowledged love for one another. She did not want to think about Naiore or any of the other unfortunate circumstances that had surrounded their arrival in Imladris. She just wanted to be in love.

But the world would not wait. She had promised Dúlrain that she would find out what she could for him about what had happened with the others and what was happening now, whether they had gone on without him or remained there in Imladris. Seeing the near empty hallways, Benia wondered if the others had indeed already left. She decided to go in the direction of the Great Hall to see what she could discover. After that, she would seek out Gilly.

She had not gone far when she was intercepted by Celebnariel, the elven lady who had been left in charge of caring for the needs of Imladris’ guests. The elven lady broke away from a group of other elves and came to meet Benia as she rounded a corner.

“Greetings, Miss Nightshade,” Celebnariel said softly. “Is there something you need? I do apologize if I have been remiss in some way.”

Smiling, Benia shook her head. “Oh, no, Lady Elf, you have been most kind. Since Dúlrain is so much improved, I thought I might see what I could learn of the others of our party... Kaldir, Rauthain... Toby Longholes. I have not laid eyes on any of the lot of them since getting here and was wondering after their welfare.”

Celebnariel’s fair features grew serious. “I can assure you that they are fine, but I am afraid you must wait a little while longer before seeing them with your own eyes. Elladan and Elrohir have called a counsel that meets as we speak. Your friends are all in attendance there.”

“And my friend, Mrs. Banks, as well?” asked Benia, her amber eyes turning grave.

Celebnariel smiled gently. “No, the counsel is only for those who actively pursue the Ravenner, whose name I shall not speak in these halls. They are deciding what course of action they will take next. As for your hobbit friend, I believe she may be found in her room, engaged in something she calls...tatting?”

Benia laughed softly at the elven woman’s confusion. “Yes, that is something she does. It’s a form of lacemaking.”

“I see.” Celebnariel nodded. “Would you like me to take you to her?”

Gratefully, Benia accepted the elven woman’s kind offer. Momentarily, she found herself outside Gilly’s door. Benia knocked gently at the beautifully carved door and, receiving no answer, knocked again. Still receiving no reply, she pushed the door open only to find Gilly sound asleep in an easy chair before the fire, a newly started bit of tatting on her lap. Benia sat down in the chair opposite her friend.

“Gilly!” she called softly. “Wake up! I’ve so much to tell you.”

“Miss Benia!” Gilly exclaimed, blinking owlishly. “There you are at last! So is Dúlrain feeling better now?”

“So much better!” A wide smile broke across Benia’s face. “Lady Lèspheria has indeed worked wonders. The wound is completely closed and he...” she paused, reaching across to take hold of Gilly’s hand. “Gilly, he loves me.”

Gilly smiled and squeezed Benia’s hand in return. “That’s wonderful, Benia. You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you so happy. I take it you share the same feelings for him?”

“With all my heart.” Benia sat back in her chair, a dreamy smile playing around the corners of her lips. “I fell in love with him the moment he lifted my veil on that dusty little backstreet in Bree. Do you believe it possible merely to look upon someone once and know that you love him? I never believed it could happen to me. Or that someone of his... his stature could ever care for me. Any minute now I am afraid I will wake up and find myself back on that cold riverbank, dripping wet, with Dúlrain at death’s door and Kaldir barking orders at us...”

“Yes, that was an awful time, wasn’t it?” agreed Gilly. “But it really is over now. So much has changed since then, hasn't it? We are all warm and safe and dry and, I, for one, hope to be headed back to The Shire soon. Would you believe that Kaldir has offered to take me back himself?"

"Has he!" exclaimed Benia. "Well, that would only be right. If it weren't for him neither of us would be here in Imladris, anyway. I suppose, in an odd way, I cannot hold fault with him as I owe him my current happiness. But you, it would only be right for him to see you home again."

Gilly sighed. "Yes, I am anxious to see Carl and the boys as soon as possible. It's only been a few weeks since I left them, but it really does feel like a lifetime. What about you? Do you know what you will do next?”

Benia hesitated. “I-I don’t know. I suppose it depends on Dúlrain. Before all of this happened I had planned to join some of my mother’s people on a journey back to Harad, but I am afraid I have long missed them now. And, I confess, I am rather hoping to spend a bit of time with Dúlrain if I can, before his duty calls him away.”

“Yes, I guess they do still have the matter of that evil elf out there to deal with.”

“Yes,” rejoined Benia. “I hear that Kaldir and Rauthain and the rest of them are in counsel as we speak devising a plan.”

Gilly nodded, acknowledging that she had heard the same thing. The two of them talked a bit longer, discussing what they knew of their companions’ activities since arriving in Imladris and so on. Finally, Benia bid her friend a good night and returned to the Hall of Healing and Dúlrain. While she would not be able to tell him what had happened at the counsel, she would be able to assure Dúlrain that all of his companions were in good health and they had not left him behind.

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Amandur

Restless Amandur had risen early leaving both his charges to seemingly wander free. However Amandur was neither reckless or naïve, he had many friends among the elves of Rivendell who when need be would act as his eyes and ears. Neither Avanill nor Toby would even be aware that they were being watched until they tried to do something stupid like leave without him knowing. His frustrations at not yet capturing the treacherous Naiore Dannan weighed heavy on him, but as he paced the empty halls he knew that she was not his only concern, though ultimately the elf and her ties had become the main cause of his unrest. No matter how much he tried he could not ignore the fact that this elf he hunted in the name of the king; a woman that had brought so much pain and suffering to the free peoples of middle earth was cousin to the elven woman he loved. A kind and gentle spirit whose sole purpose in life was to see peace established and maintained throughout the lands. So opposite were they that it was almost inconceivable that they were of the same race let alone of the same blood, but there it was that one small tie that wormed a little fear and uncertainty into his mind.

From the beginning it had always crossed his mind that Naiore would not be one to come willingly to face the Kings judgement and even now with Avanill’s promise of a miraculous potion he was not entirely sure she would allow herself to be taken alive. He already felt Léspheria slowly slipping away from him as she closed her mind, hiding her emotions from the prying intrusiveness of her cousin. Distancing herself from the others, him more so of late so it seemed. That she saw their feelings for one another as a weakness pained him deeply, could she not see that without her his life had no meaning; no purpose, his time in Ammunias had shown him that. He had found no contentment in his position without her there to share it with him. Something had been missing and it had taken this journey to show him what it was and now he was to forget that and bury his feelings so Naiore could not use them against him. Already she was a wedge between them, weather she knew it or not. If he killed her he would loss Léspheria and if he did not he feared he would still loss her, at least the kind and emotional elven woman he fell in love with.

With a heavy sigh he looked up, only to realise that his restless wanderings had brought him to the halls of the healers. Looking around his gaze finally met a familiar face, not a healer but Celebnriel an attendant of the house and a confidant of the lady Léspheria, she gave him a almost knowing smile as she asked him if she could be of assistance.

“Good morning mistress Celebnriel,” he grinned back. “I would speak with Lady Léspheria if she is available.”

“Alas Master Amandur you call at such an early an hour, the lady and her guest still lay in silent slumber and should not be disturbed.” The elven attendant smiled sympathetically.

“Then I shall return later at a more respectable hour,” Amandur replied with a short nod of understanding.

“I shall inform the lady that you called, she will be most pleased to hear that you are well my Lord,” Celebnriel smiled playfully giving him the honouree title he refused to accept, then turned to resume her morning duties.

“My Lady I would ask one more question of you if you can spare me a moment,” he called after her. She stopped and slowly turning she bent her head in acquiescence to his request.

“I would hear of another guest of these halls, a ranger and friend, Master Dúlrain?” Amandur asked his brow furrowed in genuine concern for his comrade. “When last I saw him he was in a bad way, I would hear if his condition has improved.”

Casting a brief glimpse at the door she had just left the elven woman smiled warmly, “Then be at ease Master Ranger your friend is well and even now is awake. His fever broke in the night, he is still a little tended but he will live.”

“Ai, that is good news indeed,” he smiled his troubled brow relaxing slightly. “I would speak with him if the healers deem him well enough to do so?”

“Ah, alas my friend I must again be the one to refuse your request, as the young ranger is not alone. The healers have deemed that he not be troubled by to many guests at once, he still must rest.” She smiled regretfully, “But I shall inform him that you have called and to expect you later in the day.”

“Thank you Celebnriel,” he replied wistfully

“I am sorry I could be of no better help to you,” she smiled shaking her head.
“Not at all Mistress, That I know the lady Léspheria and Master Dulrain are well is service enough and I thank you.” He said returning her smile. Giving a short incline of her head in gratitude she turned and went back to her daily chores of attending the needs of Rivendell’s guests.

As he made his way to the feasting halls he pondered who the guests where that Celebnriel had mentioned but not named, he guessed that Léspheria’s guest had to be Vanwe, it only seemed logical that they would be together and that they would have had much to discuss. As to Dulrian’s guest that could be either Rauthain or Kaldir, he assumed that latter after the conversation they had shared the previous night.

He just reached the halls when he was approached by an elven messenger, “Master Amandur?” the elven lad asked catching his breath and slightly unsure if he was addressing the right man.

“I am he,” Amandur replied,

“My Lords Elohir and Elladan ask that you join them for breakfast.” The elf said having now caught his breath.

Nodding his assent Amandur followed the young elf through the long corridors to a fair sized study, within sat at an oval oak table were the Lords Elladan and Elohir. They were not alone to Elohir’s right sat Belegar the proud and stolid captain of Rivendell’s guard, then opposite him sat two tall and extremely lean fair headed elves, their garb and the delicately carved long bows that sat at their sides marked them as elves of the Galadrim. At the window looking out over the silent beauty of the valley and lost in thoughtfully recompense was Lord Celeborn.

“Come join us Amandur,” Elladan gestured indicating an empty seat next to Belegar, the table was laden with an assortment of fresh fruit, breads meats and refreshments. As he took his place Elohir introduced him to the others at the table.

“Captain Belegar you know,” the elven Lord said pausing to allowing the two men a moment to nod their greetings. “Across from you are the brothers Hallaer and Voronwer, along with our Lord Celeborn they are the last of the Galadrim left in Middle earth,” Elohir smiled with a slight look of regret and sadness crossing his grey eyes as he introduce each in turn.

“Now that introductions are out of the way we will begin!” Celeborn announced turning from the window and taking his place at the head of the table. “Belegar if you please,” he nodded to the elven captain.

“Yes my Lord, The orcs have retreated and no trace of them now remain from here to the forest of Rhudaur, we have burned the bodies and set guards at every entrance to the valley as a precaution, should the orcs think to be so bold again.” Belegar reported.

“And Naiore?” Celeborn asked as he filled his goblet, with the clear crystal waters of the mirrormere.

“We followed her trail through Rhudaur and nor-east toward Hithaeglir, but lost her at the edge of the wilds. It seems to us that defeated she fled with her orc ramble back to their dark holes in the mountains,” Voronwer reported, sneering at his own implication of the elven traitors association with their most foul-some enemies.

However Amandur remained unconvinced, he had discovered from Avanill that Naiore had sent Vanwe into Rivendell to retrieve Menecin and as far as he was aware she had not yet achieved this end, no she would not give up so easily, he thought shaking his head. “ She has not yet retrieved that, which she came for,” he spoke aloud seeing the perplexed stares of the others. “If I have learned anything of our quarry it is that she does not give up so easily, many years have the rangers hunted the Revennor of Mordor and many times she has given us the slip, but not before accomplishing her objective.”

“I assure you Master ranger that she shall not slip into this valley without us knowing it!” Captain Belegar announced defensively.

“Forgive me Captain I meant no offence, merely to point out the ladies determination. I have recently learned that Naiore’s goal was not to enter these halls but to have her daughter lure Lord Menecin from the safety of his protectors.” He added apologetically.

“So the orc were a diversion?” Hallaer cut in frowning with disdain at Naiore’s cunning.

“But she did not count on Vanwe strength to resist her compulsions and on meeting her father and seeing her mothers lies her daughter has forsaken her mothers request and Naiore has lost and will be forced to move on or risk being found!” Elladan announced with a satisfied grin. But Amandur again shook his head.

“No Grandson,” Celeborn said, turning to study Amandur’s troubled grey eyes” I do not believe she will move on until the last remnants of her elven past are completely erased. The elf we once knew is gone and only the shadow remains, twisted with hatred that she would stop at no ends to achieve her goal, this is what you believe is it not Captain Amandur?”

Amandur nodded that this was so, “But my Lord, if she mounts a second attack I do not know that we will be able to hold, we lost many a good elf in the first assault, that our numbers are to few too resist!” Captain Belegar frowned.

“No the orcs failed her once I do not think she will use them again,” Elohir put in his eyes narrowing in silent contemplation, “no if what Amandur says is true she will come herself.”

“This can not be allowed!” Celeborn announced fixing Amandur with his steady gaze, “Elven blood must not be allowed to be spilled in these hallowed grounds, it that was for this very reason that we agreed to allow King Elessar decide what was to be done with Naiore.” Amandur nodded understanding fully what was being asked of him.

“I will have the guards fall back a little to tighten the net that she may not slip through unnoticed,” Belegar said raising to his feet. He then looked uncomfortably between Amandur and his Elven Lords, as if unsure that he should speak of his other concern in front of the ranger.

“We are all friends here,” Elladan prompted.

“What of the bard?” Belegar whispered, “I do not have the elves to spare to search for him.”

Amandur started at this new revelation, “Menecin is missing, Naiore may already be here!” he exclaimed ready to jump from his seat and check that Lespheria and Vanwe where indeed still safe in their room as Celebnriel had informed him.

“At ease master ranger,” Celeborn said resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “As far as we know Naiore has not the bard, rather he has chosen to part our company and as yet I know not if this is for better or worse.” He sighed forlornly.

“We will use what skills we possess to locate the bard and try to convince him to return!” Hallaer and Voronwer offered together, as they rose from the table.

“Very well, but tread carefully, we know not to what end Menecin’s madness will drive him.” Celeborn warned.

“I will go with you!” Amandur said rising to his feet, the two elves looked at each other then smiled sympathetically understanding his need to act. “We thank you for your offer, but we will be quicker alone. We mean no offence but if we are force into a confrontation, what use will you be.” They said indicating his bound sword arm. Remembering his injury he nodded his understanding and sat back down as the elven brothers followed by the captain of the Guards left the room.

“You should have Léspheria look at that if you are to continue with your task,” Elladan said lifting a green apple from one of the bowls and rubbing it on his tunic. “You do intend to continue,” he asked stopping the apple inches from his mouth and turning to regard him.

“Off Course!” Amandur frowned defensively.

“But you still doubt yourself and your ability to lead,” Celeborn whispered.

“I have already lost one ranger and nearly a second,” he sighed heavily raising from his seat and turning towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Death has always been a part of the rangers way of life you know this, as did Maethor?” Elohir reminded him.

“It still does not make it any easier to bare, what if I cannot protect her?” he whispered betraying the truth of his fears. The three lords looked at each other then smiling Elladan and Elohir approached him.

“Do you forget the ambush of the pass my friend, when first we fought together?” Elladan grinned.

“No,” he answered not fully understanding.

“Then you will remember who it was that saved our hides.” Elohir said suppressing a wry grin.

Looking out over the valley Amandur remembered that they along with Lespheria’s brother, Lothaniel had been dispatch on an errand into Mirkwood when they had been ambushed by Goblins in the pass. They had managed to surround them and their prospects were looking grim, when Léspheria sensing her brothers danger had come to their aid, dispatching several orcs with her bow before they could make her position and in the confusion he and the elven lords had managed to take the offensive. He grinned despite himself as he remembered this.

“I understand what you are telling me my friends, but I can no longer control my feelings for her and fear that they cloud my judgement. For her safety I would have you command her to remain and pursue Naiore no more.” He sighed.

“But this is not your choice to make, Amandur. Léspheria also has her reasons for searching for Naiore, this you know!” Celeborn gently counselled him.

“Even if it means we loss her completely?” Amandur answered turning to face them.

“Yes, if it is to be so,” Celeborn whispered. Amandur could feel the sadness in the room as they each contemplated this possibility. The elves had done everything possible to prevent the encounter that was to come, but still it would find her it seemed the fates had deemed it so and no matter what they did it was inevitable that the two were meant to eventually meet.


“You should go to her and explain to her how you are feeling I am sure she will understand, if she does not already know, “ Elohir smiled encouragingly.

“We will call counsel tonight and decide what is to be done about Naiore, for now you need to get that arm mended and talk to Léspheria,” Elladan added.

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Amandur and Léspheria

It was late afternoon by the time he found the courage to return to the halls of the healers, he stopped by Dulrain’s room hoping to find the ranger awake but it was not to be and the healers quickly ushered him away saying that the ranger needed his rest. He was directed to a small office that opened out to an enclosed garden. There he found Léspheria sitting on a bench reading from the small journal they had discovered at the home of Tallas. He started as he realised that silver tears trickled from her delicate almond shape eyes, so intent was she in what she was reading she sensed not his approach. Reaching into the pocket of his tunic with his good hand he pulled out a clean handkerchief and gently offered it to her. Looking up she smiled, taking the kerchief and wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Amandur asked, sitting beside her.

“I will be,” she smiled. “I was just reading my mother’s journal,” she told him holding the book up for him to see. “I think I now understand, they where childhood friends, my mother and Naiore. They grew and learned together, forming a bond that was hard to break. Like any loyal friend she could not believe that Naiore was lost to the shadow, but she was wrong and Naiore betrayed her tricking her into giving secrets that she relied to our enemies in Dul Guldor. After that my mother realised that the only way to save her cousin was to set her spirit free, so she pursued Naiore back to Mordor were too late she discovered that the flaw was Naiore’s alone, a flaw created in her thirst for knowledge.”

“And you, what do you believe?” Amandur asked cautiously taking her free hand in his. She was surprised by his question and for a moment lost for words, “I do not believe that there is anything left to save if that is what you mean, though I wish there was for Vanwe's sake,” she frowned.

“Forgive me I had to ask, you do know that it may be…” he began, but raising a delicate finger to his lips she silenced him.

“I do know,” she nodded. “I just ask that it be the last resort, if all else fails.”

Looking deep into her eyes he nodded, even if he did not understand her reasons he trusted her. Realising that he was staring he let go of her hand and looked away embarrassed that he had been so bold, when she had already request that he bury his feelings.

“I am sorry I can not do it, I can no more hide how I feel than I can prevent the sun from rising,” he sighed.

“No, my love it is I who should be apologising,” she exclaimed taking his hands. “I was wrong together we are stronger, I see that now.” She smiled hopefully.

“My love!” Amandur echoed “Are you sure?” he asked knowing what she would have to give up to bind herself to him.

“I am, I always have been, only I have been to blind to see it, can you forgive me.” She replied sadly.

Overcome with joy he pulled her gently into his arms, not even feeling the pain shooting up his arm as he held her tight, their lips met and he kissed her passionately with the longing of a thousand ages. There they remained in each other’s embrace until Léspheria remembered his injury.

“You should let me fix this,” she smiled affectionately. He nodded allowing her to remove his dressing and as she worked they discuss what they had both discovered since arriving in Rivendell, though for the moment he did not tell Léspheria of Menecin’s disappearance not wishing to worry her further.

As the first stars began to twinkle in the evening sky a bell rang to summon them to counsel, “What ever course you decide I will follow, but please I beg you do not ask me to remain,” Léspheria whispered taking his now fully healed arm.

“I promise you I will not,” he whispered nodding his head, then together they made there way to the council chambers of the Lords of Rivendell.

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The Counsel of Rivendell

Once all were assembled the Lords of Rivendell rose and silence settled on the room, “Welcome friends, we are gathered here this evening to discuss a matter of grave concern!” Elladan Announced.

“For too long has the lady of the swan been allowed to roam free in our lands, her crimes against the free peoples of middle earth left unpunished?” Elohir added taking in the steady gaze of all those gathered.

“But no longer, you are gathered here this evening all connected in one way or another to the ladies crimes, together you possess the knowledge and skill to put an end to the ladies reign of terror!” Elladan concluded gesturing for Amandur to speak.

“It is the decree of King Elessar that this criminal is brought to Minas Tirith to face the Justice of Gondor and their Allies,” Amandur informed the counsel pulling a worn parchment from his vest and passing it about for all to see.

“And just how do you propose we do that?” Kaldir asked dryly looking over the kings orders.

“That is what we are here to discuss!” Amandur answered patiently.

“Even if you do manage to capture her, how long do you think you can keep her?” Kaldir hmpf’d shaking is head. “Even in bonds she will find ways to manipulate and toy with our minds setting us against each other for her own twisted pleasure!” he hissed through grated teeth.

“That eventuality has been brought to our attention already and my young friend here thinks he has a solution!” Rauthain put in, gesturing for Avanill to rise and submit his idea.

“I have some skill in appocrathy and have concocted a potion that will subdue the mind of its victim without ardently affecting the victim’s motor functions!” Avanill grinned, confident in his work.

“And just how do you intend to administer this potion, you just can not walk up to the Revennor of Mordor and demand that she drink!” Kaldir demanded sceptically, his pale eyes narrowing in distrust.

“Darts!” Avanill replied his gaze coldly meeting Kaldir distrust. “It is the only way!”

“There is a surer way!” Kaldir retorted, his hand patting the hilt of his sword.

“No!” Lespheria interceded rising to her feet, drawing the looks of the others. “What I mean is that it should be our last resort and only if all else fails,” she explained.

“Bringing the Revennor to Minas Tirith will serve to strengthen Gondors alliances and aid in securing peace with the south lands,” She informed the gathering.

“So your interest is merely political!” Kaldir growled, Amandur made to rise in Léspheria’s defence but she patiently raised a hand to stopped him.

“No, Master Kaldir, that is but one reason for pursuing the lady, like you I too have every reason to pursue the lady and demand vengeance, but that is not the way! I will keep no secrets from you Naiore killed my mother and that they were cousins was of no consequence to her as it is not to me! She stated firmly.

“We need not become like her to beat her!” Léspheria said her voice softening to a gentle whisper. Kaldir stared for a moment then reluctantly nodded his understanding.

As Léspheria again took her seat Amandur rose, “Then it is set we will track our criminal dispatching any resistance she may set against us, Avanill will administer his drug then we will return to Gondor our prisoner in tow,” he refreshed. “Kaldir you and Rauthain shall take point, Lespheria and Avanill will be with me, when the lady is within sight we will regroup and pen her in that Avanill can take his shot!” He concluded.

The others nodded their agreement, while Kaldir lowered his head contemplating his own recently perceived weakness. “Is there a problem Kaldir?” Amandur asked seeing the ranger’s pensive look.

“Down by the river…” Kaldir began reluctantly, still struggling with sharing this weakness, but realising that if he was to be again accepted by his brethren he would have to gain their trust. “I caught a brief glimpse of Naiore, but this is not what vexes me,” he continued looking directly at Amandur, carefully avoiding the gaze of Rauthain and the others. “I had her in my sight but I froze unable to move as the memories of my previous encounter with the lady assaulted my mind, If it had not been for the courage of Mrs Banks I would not be here now!” he admitted grudgingly.

“My Cousin has that affect on all who have had the unhappy misfortune to have survived her encounter and some who have not!” Léspheria sadly admitted, drawing the gaze of the tortured ranger. “But I can help, I can teach you how to gather up these memories and lock them away behind a wall that even my cousin with her formidable skills can not penetrate!” she smiled sympathetically, “I have been teaching this skill to Vanwe and can teach it to you if you are willing to learn.”

Kaldir looked at her sceptically his eyes narrowing as he contemplated her offer. Reading his doubt Léspheria continued, “I too like my cousin can read the emotions of others, but unlike her I do not toy with or manipulate these emotion but as a healer I have learned how to use positive emotions to lock up those that others would use against us to hurt us or change us! I can teach you how to defend yourself from Naiore’s invasiveness! ”

Kaldir stared for a moment in silent disbelief, then nodded, “I thank you my Lady and will be grateful for any assistance you can offer in this matter.” he courteously replied.

“Then it is settled, we will leave tomorrow under the cover of darkness!” Amandur announced.

“But what of the others, Benia, Mrs Banks, Vanwe and Master Longholes,” Rauthain asked

“It will be too dangerous for them to continue on with us, they would be safer here if my lords will permit it?” Amandur stated, turning to Elladan and Elohir for their consent.

“Indeed the ladies and master Longholes are welcome to remain our guests until your return,” Elohir graciously assented.

“We believe it best if Lady Vanwe remains here with us, there is much she does not know and more that she yet must learn. It is now clear to us that if given the chance Naiore would harm both Lord Menecin and her daughter and any other of her house who would get in the way!” Elladan added his concerned gaze falling pointedly on Léspheria, who nodded, fully understanding his warning.

“Then it looks like you are decided, we wish you all…”Elohir began, but was cut short by a cry from the stairs.

“No Wait!” They all turned to see Vanwe breathlessly enter the room from the stairs, she started at the sight of both Kaldir and Avanill, the bounty hunter she thought was sent to return her to her desert prison and the insidious mercenary hired by her mother to aid in her villainous plans. However, she quickly composed herself and spoke.

“You must let me come with you, I would know what is to become of my Mother!” she announced flatly, her gaze turning to Léspheria for support.

“It would be safer for you to remain here where we can protect you and your father,” Elohir gently pressed.

“I thank you my Lords for you kindness and your protection, but she is my mother and no matter her crimes that will not change!” she replied turning to address the lords of Rivendell.

“I don’t Condone the things she is accused of doing nor do I believe she should go unpunished," she continued turning to face the rangers.

“But I must be permitted to come with you, if for no other reason than to see this nightmare to its end!” she ended again facing Léspheria her eyes pleading, hoping that she at least would understand.

Léspheria turned to her lords expectantly, the same pleading in her eyes, she did understand Vanwes need, she too harboured the same need if not for the same reason.

Reluctantly the Lords of Rivendell conceded stressing that Vanwe was now Léspheria’s responsibility, the elven healer nodded her understanding gesturing for Vanwe to take a seat beside her while they waited for the decision of the rangers after all the capture of Naiore was their task! But moved by her determination and strength of words the rangers eventually agreed to her inclusion.

“Then all is set,” Elohir began anew smiling in Vanwes direction, “We wish you success and pray that the Valar keep you safe and guide you in this arduous task,” His brother finish, marking the end of the counsel of Rivendell.

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[Everdawn]

Once again after the longest of times, Avanill found himself alone again. Rauthain and the other rangers had gone on their separate ways to do their business. Avanill stood for a time in the middle of the path just below the ranger’s quarters which had been provided for them. He was taken aback by the beauty of Rivendell and he had seen no sight as spectacular as it in all his travels. He wandered why the elves would leave such a place.“This world is too big for me” he sighed, shaking his head as he sat down on a near by stone bench.

There he put his head in his hands and rubbed the dark circles which had formed under his eyes. At this rate, the young man thought, he would be looking old well before his time. He quickly pushed this thought from his mind as he realised once again that he was alone . Avanill could not deny that the temptation to slip away was of colossal proportions. He sat back on the bench and looked around and for a few seconds his breathing became laboured before he shook himself. “No” he said to himself “Your smart Avanill but you can’t go now, they will need you if they get their hands on her . He grinned, the thought of Naiore in chains, and Avanill was sure that he could be the only one who could subdue her.

Suddenly he had a thought, one which he had failed to notice before this minute. Would the rangers kill Naiore? Avanill, being form the ‘underworld’ knew that this was the only conceivable option for a villain as Naiore who had been caught, but somehow Avanill thought that things may not work that way under Elessar. Could there be a possibility that she may escape and come after him? After all it’s only what he would do. Frightened by this thought he stood up and shook himself again and walked away at a steady pace.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

After many hours spent in planning, the room had become hot and close. Elladan and Elrohir were among the first to leave. Throwing wide the doors, Elrond’s sons spoke to encourage them once more, before turning so that all might follow them, ascending the steps into the stillness of the evening. It was a great relief when the cool night air spilled down the stairway washing over them, slowly rousing them from their sober thoughts of what lay ahead.

As the room emptied, only Kaldir and Rauthain remained behind, watching the others leave. And standing up after a few moments, Kaldir nodded to the old ranger and wordlessly moved toward the threshold. “Tarry yet awhile,” Rauthain requested. Turning slowly, Kaldir silently fixed him with his pale eyes. “I have marked what concerns you,” the ranger explained. “And it has troubled me also. Since I first learned that you followed the Ravennor I wondered what hold she might yet exert over you.”

"She has no power over me or my actions." Kaldir assured him. "I worry less what she might attempt, for what can she do but kill me? Of greater weight is what I might do to fail my companions or myself. She has left many scars upon my mind that have yet to heal fully. It is that weakness that concerns me. No other."

“Do not be unduly troubled by this, for you will not ride alone. And Dúlrain has your well being at heart as well as your interests.”

“And he lays injured as you have seen, attended to by Miss Nightshade. I do not think that he will be up to such a task,” Kaldir pronounce dryly.

“Ah Miss Nightshade! I suppose there are worse things than being wounded in body. If only one could be sure to receive her tender ministrations,” Rauthain sighed.

Kaldir allowed a faint smile at these words; “She has proven her merit, has she? Yet she is not quite as docile as you seem to believe.”

“No matter. One can easily overlook such things.”

“Are you so determined to carry on my father’s work to see me wed, that again you bring it up?” Kaldir’s said, his voice edging toward impatience.

Seeing this, Rauthain joked, “Married? You? No, I know better than to place my hope on that. I only thought to ask her to keep house for me in my advancing age, so that I might protect her from men who would toy with her affections, such as you and Dúlrain. Though you may visit, of course.”

“If it is a housekeeper you want, I would suggest Mrs. Banks,” Kaldir countered, visibly relaxing. “She has skill enough to make even your poor rations palatable!” he quipped, turning to climb the steps.

Rauthain laughed, “I see you do remember small things! But stay a little while longer, for I have not spoken yet of what is forefront in my mind.” Obliging, Kaldir paused on the stairway. “It was only a short time ago when my focus lay solely on capturing Naiore, to vindicate myself as well to avenge who you once were. But now I see that such things must be secondary, and that my past continually threatens to overshadow my usefulness. Dúlrain will not be the only one to keeping watch over you. You have my word.”

Kaldir smiled grimly, his eyes meeting Rauthain's evenly. "While I appreciate your offers of vigilance, I assure you that I am in no need of a nursemaid. As for the past, perhaps I am as much at fault as you ever were in that I believed myself stronger than I was. I do not plan to make that mistake again. This time, I shall bear my limitations in mind. As for yourself, you would be better served by concentrating on the matter at hand than by worrying yourself with me."

“I will remember your words, but humor me, for I too am determined not to make the same mistakes again,” Rauthain said getting up to join Kaldir. And together they climbed the steps, leaving the stagnant air of the counsel hall behind them.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

As the daylight failed and nighttime once more overtook the woods behind the Last Homely House, Naiore Dannan again uncurled her long legs and slid out of her place of concealment in the tree. Glad to be able to move about again, she stretched once, gracefully, before tossing her long braids back over her shoulder and taking up her bow. She had dozed off and on throughout the day, watching and listening when there was something to be learned, sleeping when there was not. So far, though, there had been no sign of Vanwe nor any further sign of Menecin, since she had heard his voice the evening before. Still, she waited, believing in the effectiveness of her works, in the power of her maternal hold over Vanwe. The little whelp would not fail her. She would bring Menecin.

In the meantime, Naiore had learned very little that could be of use to her. She had not seen either of the traitors Avanill or Toby Longholes, nor had she seen Léspheria, though she could sense the healer’s presence. Her cousin. A cold smile touched the corners of Naiore’s fair lips. “If only, dear cousin,” she murmured. “You would come for a walk in the woods...”

The only one who actually had come for a walk in the woods, or close to it, had been the bounty hunter. He had stopped within easy hearing distance for a little talk with the old Ranger Naiore had seen first at the Forsaken Inn. They had had a rather dull chat about old times and the bounty hunter’s late father, whether or not the bounty hunter should take a wife and so on. The only thing that she considered of even mild interest was the fact that the bounty hunter’s ladylove was indeed present in Imladris, a southern woman from the sound of it. Naiore wondered if it was the same southern woman she had seen hanging around at the Forsaken Inn, the same woman she had seen mounting the stairs during the battle two nights earlier. She was fairly certain that it was, and filed the knowledge away in the back of her mind. Perhaps it would come in handy, perhaps not.

Of more interest to Naiore at the moment, though, was the information that Kaldir had misplaced his horse. She had seen the great gray horse on a number of occasions and been impressed by the strength and speed of the beast. If she could find the stallion before his master did, it could be of great advantage to her. She would be in need of a swift steed to make her escape, once she had dealt with Menecin and Vanwe to her satisfaction. Kaldir’s stallion would fit her needs beautifully.

Moving like the shadow of a shadow, Naiore retrieved her pack from where she had hidden it beneath a stand of bushes and slung it easily across her shoulders. She would leave the elven refuge and make a quick reconnaissance of the surrounding area. Since she planned to be on her way again shortly, as soon as her business had been concluded, she needed to decide on the best way out of the area. If she found the bounty hunter’s stray horse in the process, then so much the better.

Choosing her steps carefully, so as to leave no tracks, Naiore left the valley by the same hidden pathway by which she had arrived. As the moon rose higher, she followed the steep path northward into the foothills of the Misty Mountains, planning to circle around to the south of Imladris and ford the river upstream of the Stone Bridge.

Gaining the high ground of the plateau above Imladris, Naiore paused at the tree line, her slender figure still hidden amongst the last fringe of trees. Her starlit eyes scanned the open ground. She must be very, very certain that no one watched before she stepped out of the shadows. Finally satisfied that the way was clear, she broke cover and fairly flew across the open ground, taking shelter again in the shadow of tall, standing stone. She was just preparing to pass the side of the stone and move on when she heard the sound of a voice coming from the far side. A very familiar voice.

“By Garn! Bite me again and I’ll gut ya, ya worthless nag...” the voice trailed off for a moment, before starting up again with a litany of mixed grumbles and curses.

Reaching out with her mind, Naiore’s thoughts touched a familiar entity. Smiling a smile that held no hint of warmth, she confidently rounded the side of the tall stone, her silken garrote held loosely between her fingers. Avanill and Longholes had turned traitor. If Barrold Ferny had, as well, then it would certainly be the worse for him. Perhaps she could take a few minutes to explore what Barrold Ferny knew about fear, then she would leave his carcass on the rocky ground for the crows. Perhaps with an orc’s arrow protruding from his chest? She must be sure to conceal her tracks.

He was hunched over in a small clearing bordered by the large stone and a few scrubby bushes, trying to start a fire with a flint and striker. The twigs he had chosen for tinder, however, were too green and smoldered stubbornly, refusing to light. Ferny’s swearing grew increasingly louder. Beyond him, Naiore was pleased to see the silhouette of a large horse. A large gray horse. The smile on her lips widened ever so slightly.

“I see you have found me a horse,” she said smoothly, stepping into the clearing. “Very good.”

“Hguh!” grunted Ferny with a start. He stumbled backward, his eyes fixed first on the black leather of her boots, then flying upward to her face. “Wot! You’re back then...” he grumbled. “Not even an ’ello, Barrold, or nothing. ’Ere I’ve been waiting for you, got you a good horse n’ everything...”

A dangerous glint came into Naiore’s beautiful eyes as she looked down at him. “Do you find fault with me, Barrold?” she asked. “Do not forget to whom you speak.”

Ferny’s eyes narrowed slightly, then he smiled. “Naw, no fault with you, ma’am.” Looking past her into the darkness, he pushed himself to his feet. “Where’s yer daughter? Isn’t she coming with us?”

“Coming with us?” questioned Naiore. “Of course. I promised her to you, didn’t I? But we are not going anywhere yet. Our work here is not yet done.”

Ferny groaned and spat noisily at the ground. “Not yet done... the place is crawling with elves and orcs and I ’ad a ‘elluva time getting this ’ere ’orse up ’ere, biting and kicking the whole way. Whaddya mean we aren’t leaving?”

“We leave when I say we leave and not a moment before,” answered Naiore, her voice velvety and soft, but firm. “I know where you are now and here you will stay until I return. I have business still in the elven refuge and will return with Vanwe when we are finished. You and the horse will be ready and waiting.”

Ferny muttered something unintelligible and nodded grudgingly.

Naiore gave him a long stare, but something in his demeanor made her pause, turning her silken garrote between her pale fingers.

“If you leave,” she added coolly. “If you fail me, I will find you. Your worst nightmares cannot prepare you for the horror you will endure upon our next meeting.”

“Garn! I’ll be here...” Ferny muttered sullenly.

"Good," purred Naiore. "I expected nothing less. Your loyalty will be greatly rewarded. All that had been promised to the others will go to you now. And you shall have Vanwe for your bride."

A greedy grin flitted across Ferny's rough features. "Yeah. I been loyal, not like them traitors... poisoning me and running off like cowards to the Rangers..."

"Yes, cowards and traitors," echoed Naiore. "And they shall pay with their lives."

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

The shadows of the wood retreated as the sun rose in the east, bathing the deep valley in the light of a cloudless morning. Seeking the cool water of some rivulet that ran to meet the elven stream flowing past Imladris, Menecin abandoned his concealed outpost. With weariness, he made his way toward a rill. No rest had he allowed himself, and no food had passed his lips since he had begun this vigil. Now murmuring to Ulmo, he sought only to slake his thirst before resuming his watch over the valley.

Naiore was here. He could feel it instinctively; though he had not gained sight of her since he had left the protection the son’s of Elrond had provided him. He had in the night however, overheard a brief conversation between two guardians of the valley that the path of a golden haired woman had been found leading away from this place. And though it could well have been Hers, he knew it would be deception. She would not allow her movements to be traced unless it where to her advantage. No she had some design in this. But then it could be Vanwe’s trail, for she had no cause to conceal her passage and perhaps wished to be followed now that she had learned the truth. His hand moved to feel the cool steel of the sword he had taken from the ranger, his dark ruminations playing out behind staring eyes as his anger increased. He would not so easily fall into this trap.

At last a trickle he heard above his own thoughts, and there he found before him a small glimmering thread running down from the mountains through overhanging trees. Studying the woods for a time, Menecin could see no trace of movement in this isolated spot, and so knelt beside the stream. Scooping up its icy waters he drank deeply, clearing his head and satisfying his thirst. And with wet hands wiped his face before moving on to find this trail he had heard tell of.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore re-entered the vale of Imladris from the north, following the same hidden pathway that she had made use of before. She moved quickly along the narrow path, her figure a mere shadow flitting between the gray tree trucks as she made her way back toward her place of concealment. She had tarried too long in the night, taking too much time over the serendipitous reunion with Barrold Ferny, which, in turn, had made her late in returning from her scouting run across the river. Now, as dawn’s first pale fingers of light traced across the valley, she raced to reach her vantage point in the trees before the elves of Imladris awoke and began to stir about in any true numbers.

Today. A soft smile of anticipation touched the corners of the Ravenner’s shapely lips. Something deep within her told her that today would be the day that she exacted her revenge. This gentle dawn that made the morning dew shimmer silver against the pale greens and deep browns of the forest floor, would end in a dark cast of red. She touched the hilt of her Noldorin dagger. Today, Vanwe would bring her Menecin. The waiting would be at an end.

Smiling to herself, she skirted the edge of a thick patch of undergrowth. She had only to cross the narrow rill that lay ahead. Beyond that, only a hundred more paces or so would deliver her to the vantage point she had occupied since her arrival. She would be there in no time, but she must hurry. As she broke from the cover of the underbrush, she stopped abruptly. An elven male knelt before her on the path, barring her way, his dark head bent toward the ground studying the faint mark of a single footprint. Hers? Naiore’s clear eyes narrowed, her hand closing around the hilt of her dagger. He must not be allowed to live and raise the alarm.

She drew her dagger and, moving soundlessly, slid toward him. With luck, she could cut his throat before he even became aware of her presence. She must be silent and sure.

Naiore was almost upon him when suddenly he looked up, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers. Naiore froze. For a fleeting instant, she was paralyzed by a rush of conflicting emotion... shock, disbelief... triumph. She should have known him at once. A single glance should have confirmed the line of his shoulders, the long-fingered hands, even the wave of his hair. She knew him that well, as she was sure he knew her. Deftly concealing her drawn dagger, Naiore held her ground. A falsely loving smile played across her face.

“Menecin!” she purred. “at last I have found you...” Vanwe had not failed her.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

For what seemed the hundredth time Vanwe nervously smoothed the silken folds of the elven dress that had been fitted her. She stood before the door of her fathers chambers, staring intently at the grain of the wood trying to draw courage. She had come to tell him of her intention to leave with the rangers and Léspheria when they continued their search for Naiore. She was unsure just how the bard would take the news, he had already all but warned her not to pursue her mother, but she knew in her heart that if she could not heal her mother she must at least help to see that she could bring no harm or suffering to others. She hoped her father would understand this.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she finally knocked on the door, when no answer came she knocked again. It was then that she noticed that the guards that watched the door the previous day were not present. “Father!” she called, knocking again with a little more urgency. “Where are they?” She panicked, “why does he not answer?” She turned her head looking up and down the hallway, hoping to find someone who might answer her concerns but the passage remained silent and still, the occupants of the house still in restful slumber. Thoughts of her mother raced though her mind, her eagerness to have her return with her father, the compulsions so strong that she had almost succumbed to her mothers will. In blind panic, she hammered on the door calling out her father name praying that he was but asleep and had not heard her earlier call.

But still no reply came, giving no thought as to what she may find Vanwe threw open the door and rushed inside, the room twin to her own was empty and looked as if it had not been occupied at all, there was no sign of a struggle as she had feared, but now her fear was replaced with confusion. “Were could he be?” she mused. Footsteps outside the door suddenly drew her attention and she darted forwards hoping to find the bard returning to his room, but only succeeded in startling a young elf that had come to air the room and change the linen.

“My apologies,” She sighed disappointedly, “I meant not to startle you, I had hoped you were my father,” she explained turning back towards the empty room dis-heartedly.

The young chambermaid frowned in confusion, “You don’t know… I mean no one has told you?”

“Told me what?” Vanwe asked turning back to the elf her eyes shining with fear and concern.

“Lord Menecin, Miss Vanwe, is no longer here; he took his leave of the house sometime yesterday and has not been seen since. It is said that he seeks the one responsible for the attack at the river, an elf miss they say, can you believe it!” the elf answered.

“I’m afraid I can,” Vanwe replied regretfully, a mixture of fear, anger and concern sweeping over her. How could he go after her when warning her not to do just that! Could he not see that this is what she would want! What if she had found him and killed him already! Panic filled her and her eyes widened in fear, “I must find him!” she cried as she turned and raced down the hallway to find the one person she was sure would help her, leaving the bemused elven chamber maid to stare after her in confusion.

Reaching her destination, she pounded heavily on the door. “Come,” came a sleepy voice from within and Vanwe entered to see Léspheria standing by her bed blinking the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes.

“Vanwe, what’s wrong?” She asked seeing Vanwe’s distraught features.

“He’s gone he’s gone!” is all she could manage as fat wet tears finally rolled down her cheeks. Léspheria came to her, “Who’s gone?” she asked wrapping her arms around the younger elf in an effort to comfort her.

“My father,” she sniffed. “He has been missing since yesterday. Oh, Léspheria he is looking for Naiore, I fear the worst, we must find him. What have I done for her to hate me so, first she hides me away in the desert , leaving me to suffer at the hands of the Haradrim, then she snatches me from the inn just as I find comfort and friendship and now she would take him and any kinship I may have, it‘s not fair!”

Pulling her to arms length Léspheria steadily held her gaze, “Listen to me Vanwe you have done nothing but want what should have been your from birth, family and kinship! No matter what she cannot take that from you, you have family and kin that will always be here for you. Your father too bears not fault, only that he loved your mother and for that, he has already paid a great deal. No Vanwe do not fault yourself, the fault is with Naiore and she alone must live with this.”

Stunned by the sudden strength in Léspheria’s words Vanwe wiped away her tears and nodded.

“Now come we must look for your father,” Léspheria smiled reassuringly. Vanwe waited as Léspheria threw on a forest green dress and strapped her sword to her waist, then lifting a small bundle from her dresser she handed it to Vanwe.

“I believe this is yours.” Vanwe blinked as she recognised her own pouch that she had lost when her mother had snatched her from the inn. She nodded her thanks and tied it to her belt, leaving the contents unchecked for now. Then together they left in search of the missing bard.

[Everdawn]

Avanill had, that night found himself a place where he could see the stars shining brightly in the sky. For a while he pushed the worries from his mind and began naming the various constellations. Avanill smiled to himself in the dark, he knew where he was and that he could see, which was more important to him still were the stars that guided his way home. He thought of his home, and his mother who inhabited the lands nearby.

The young man understood why he had decided to join Naiore in the first place, and there had been no questions asked on the elf’s part fro he came highly recommended, by Atantri. The thing Avanill could not understand however was why his mother in the first place had become her prime black-market dealer. Had she been tempted by money? He found this unlikely because Atantri had already been wealthy. In his heart of hearts however, Avanill knew that his mother like him was tempted by what many men could not-can not refuse; greed.

Avanill turned his attentions to the ground and kicked at the dirt, he was caught mid-swing by the appearance of a Linhurin Plant. He used it often in many of his poisons- his body froze. Rauthain still had his satchel. Avanill could stand being without it for a few hours, yes but when he missed it this long he felt exposed. He tapped at his side, checking that his sword was still there in case he had to defend himself. Unlikely the young man thought but not out of the question.

He had found another bench to pass the night, deciding against going to the ranger’s quarters. He was still a little weary of them, he was after all a criminal himself, and not only for the murder of Tallas either. Besides, he had spent so much time out in the wilderness he scarcely felt at home anywhere else.

Avanill was woken in the early hours of the morning by the strange feeling that he was being watched. Once he knew of this he jumped up with a cry only to see a stoic looking male elf staring back at him, his hands clasped in front of him.
“You are Avanill?” he asked in a slow voice.

“Yes.”

“I thought as much.” Replied the elf

Avanill was still weary but had relaxed himself slightly. “And?... You are?”

“That is not important” said the elf. “As I will never be here again, I am sailing over the sea. The others sent me to find you; they were concerned that you may have left us.”

Avanill frowned. “No I haven’t left, as a matter of fact I was going to find them now, well that is as soon as I woke up.”

“Then if you may go on your way now I have established your whereabouts.” Replied the elf who then walked away.

Avanill in turn went in the opposite direction. Being woken up by an elf in the early hours of the morning was not one of his favourite things to do.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

The morning sounds of woodland critters stirring echoed in Amandur’s ears as he silently searched the woods to the rear of the last house, with dawns light he had risen and sought to help look for the elusive bard, now that his arm was healed. still the bard had not been found and fear was mounting that perhaps he had found what he had been looking for! But what that actually was Amandur remained uncertain, yes he looked for Naiore but to the ranger it seemed that the old elf longed of something else entirely a release perhaps. Shaking his head wearily, he crouched again to examine the earth at his feet, but once again, he found nothing but animal tracks and woodland debris.

Looking about he decided that with the time that had passed he might be better searching the higher ground, he was just turning when a sudden snap of dried twigs caught his ear, reaching for his sword he silently crept in the direction of the sound, it had come from behind him back the way he had just come. Footsteps drew closer how many he could not tell, pressing himself behind a large pine he held his breath and waited sword ready for who ever approached.

He let out a relieved sigh and instantly lowered his sword as he saw Léspheria and Vanwe enter the clearing, Lespheria had bent in almost the same spot he had to examine the ground. “Nothing but animal tracks and the usual flora and fauna debris!” he grinned wryly slipping his sword back into his sheath and slipping out of his concealment. The two women looked up with a start, but relaxed as they realised it was him.

“I believe he may have taken to higher ground by now,” he continued pointing towards the northern ridges of the valley.

“He most certainly will have needed to stop for water some where,” Léspheria nodded wiping the soil from her hands.

“Do you think we are too late?” Vanwe asked nervously.

“I do not know, as yet I have found no trace of either elf, but they do say no news is good news?” Amandur shrugged sympathetically.

“Then we should make haste, there is a rivulet ahead, perhaps it will reveal some clue?” Lespheria urged.

“We can but hope,” Vanwe sighed and then all three silently set off in the direction Léspheria indicated the rivulet ran.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Looking up Menecin's mind reeled, his pulse quickening, shocked by sudden appearance of this proud and willowy elf who had pervaded his thoughts for so many years, her fragile and perfect beauty unchanged by the passage of time. The large silvery eyes, which sparkled in the morning light as she smiled looking down on him, bore no trace recognition of the cares that had lain so heavy on him. She seemed untouched by the horror that had issued from her, unbent under the weight of her crimes against him. "Menecin," she purred. "At last I have found you…."

As he stood up he let his gaze fall, feeling a twinge of longing that chilled him as he traced the fullness of her cheek and gentle curve neck, resting on the rhythmic flicker of light and shadow that shown there, betraying her tenuous life. So close. She had chosen her phrase well, echoing the words he had spoken to her in Ithilien, and filling him immediately with the impulse to protect her…. " Naiore," he whispered, his deep voice barely audible. For now in the new day she seemed deceptively pure once more, only her armor hinting at the darkness it protected.

He reached out to caress her cheek gently, to feel the soft warmth of her skin, allowing himself the pleasure of her feigned affection for the last time, but he stopped short. Her attempt to kill him had been all too real, and the scars too deep to be forgotten. It was no nightmare that had driven him to this precipice, but the hopelessness of an insurmountable grief that gripped him. What malignancy coursed though under that exquisite exterior to feed her cursed ambition? How had they reached this moment? He wondered. And how was he possibly to find the strength to do what was necessary? Steeling himself he looked deeply into her eyes - those eyes that seemed to carry for him the glory of Elbereth's efforts - searching for an answer. Then he, remembering the weapon he carried and his intent, despaired anew. For if he, who loved her even now, could not find it in himself to set her aright, what hope was left them? And what future could there be for his daughter, other than to follow in her mother's ways? Retreating into himself once more, he struggled with his predilection, smothering the rebellion that consumed his heart. He had one thing only to ask of her before raising a hand against her.

"Where is Vanwe?" he demanded, his voice grown suddenly hard.

"Vanwe!" echoed Naiore, the false smile on her face fading into a look of maternal concern. "Surely the child is with you. Did she not come to you?" Naiore moved a step closer toward him.

Menecin’s mind swam. It was the first time he had ever heard her speak of Vanwe to him, the child of his devotion, and his eyes narrowed as he stepped back a pace. "Why did you not tell me before of our daughter?"

"How could I tell you?" she asked, her voice still soft and soothing. "By the time I learned that I carried your child, we had long parted ways. For all I knew, you were dead. Had I known that you lived, I still could not have gotten a message through. Not from where I was." She paused, the serene smile returning to her lips. "It simply could not be done. But, you see, I have sent our daughter to you now, that she might know her father before it is too late."

He smiled wryly. "And learn what I have become? Something that I am sure you know well, for you are the architect of this prison, also laying its very foundation."

"None but the architect of a prison would know better the way out."

"I am beyond your reach," he said as she advanced once more, closing his eyes against the assault of his senses, her familiar scent plunging him into the past once more. "I can no longer grasp you, for my love is naught but illusion."

"Love is always an illusion, dear Menecin," murmured Naiore, reaching out a slender hand to touch his face. She let her fingers trail gently down his cheek to his shoulder, his arm. "That is where we have always parted ways, but touch me now. You were once the lover of my body, siring a child. See me now. I am very real." She closed her hand around his right arm, just above the elbow, pulling him into her embrace. His eyes flicked open at her tightening grip in time to see the icy coldness that had risen in her eyes and turned all of her soft words to lies. Breaking away, he took a few steps back, stumbling across the rill. Quickly brandishing the orc's sword he realized that Naiore's hand held a naked dagger, but found himself unable to attack.

Naiore took a step in pursuit of him, but stopped short, her clear gray eyes looking past him into the forest beyond, the faint murmur of approaching voices suddenly audible in the dawn silence. "She comes!" hissed Naiore. "And she brings others." She let her gaze return to Menecin, her eyes meeting his at last with undisguised contempt. "Come, my lover," she purred, turning her dagger so that the finely honed blade shimmered in the soft morning light. "Let me release you from your prison..."

Menecin froze, unable to strike at her, yet not willing to let her dispatch him either, for Vanwe's sake. Suddenly, he heard the soft rustle of leaves someway off and again the muted echo of voices. Naiore hesitated, her eyes narrowing. Menecin turned partway to discover who it was that approached, but could discern neither his daughter nor anyone else. Fearing some trick, he wheeled round to face Naiore again, only to find her gone. She had melted away into the undergrowth once more.

Staring unseeing at the scarred hands that had failed him, Menecin let drop his sword, falling to his knees to cradle his head in his hands.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

For the second night in a row, Benia decided to forego the lovely bed in the room that the elves had prepared for her in the guest wing of the Last Homely House in favor of a cot in Dúlrain’s room in the Hall of Healing. She slept lightly, her slumber regulated by the deep, even sound of his breathing. This night, unlike the night before, she managed to sleep without waking almost to dawn, when suddenly she was awakened by the sound of him crying out sharply in his sleep. Fearing a relapse, she rose and went to his side, only to discover that he had been dreaming. His color remained good and, at a touch of her hand, the dream seemed to subside, returning him to a peaceful quiet. Smiling gently, she kissed his forehead and turned to go back to her cot when she realized that the water pitcher on the table beside his bed was empty. Picking it up, she went to find Celebnariel or one of the elven healers to get the pitcher refilled.

Carrying the pitcher loosely in one hand, Benia walked into the corridor. Through the high, arched windows facing the east, she could see the first hints of light beginning to paint the sky. It looked to be a fine day dawning.

"Good morning, Miss Nightshade," said a deep voice behind her. She turned quickly and was surprised to find that Kaldir had appeared behind her in the otherwise empty corridor. He nodded toward Dúlrain’s door. "How is he?"

"Good." She smiled. She was surprised to find Kaldir stirring about so early, but then, she remembered, he had never slept much during the time she had spent traveling with him. He had always been up before dawn. She looked back in the direction of Dúlrain‘s room. "Actually, he is remarkably well. I would never have believed such a speedy recovery possible had I not seen it with my own eyes."

"That is a relief to hear," answered Kaldir with a smile of his own. "He was in rather desperate straits when I last saw him. I came by several times yesterday to look in on him, but each time found him either sleeping or otherwise indisposed -"

"Yes," Benia cut him off, a slight flush rising in her cheeks. "I’m sorry to have occupied him so, but I am glad to see you now. I had been hoping to speak to you about... how I behaved at the river. It was reprehensible."

"Reprehensible?" echoed Kaldir, an amused smile widening on the good side of his face. "How so?"

"Why, I fairly accused you of trying to kill him when all you were trying to do was save us all. It really was inexcusable. It’s just that I was so frightened... "

"Think no more of it, fair lady," said Kaldir, a soft light coming into his pale eyes. "I have not given it a second thought."

"It is very kind of you to say so," answered Benia. She looked down in surprise as Kaldir suddenly reached out and closed one of her hands in his, drawing her after him into a small room that the healers used to treat patients with minor injuries. "What - " she started to ask, but stopped herself as Kaldir closed the door behind them. He still had not let go of her hand. She looked at him curiously.

"I, too, had hoped to catch you alone for a moment," he explained, taking the pitcher from her other hand and setting it to the side. "I wished to speak with you about something of great importance.

"To me," he added, taking up her other hand. Benia waited as he turned her hands over between his to look at the tattoos on her palms. Not quite sure what he was up to, she watched as his finger traced down one of the fine lines of pigment. Whatever it was that he wanted to speak to her about, she thought, he certainly seemed to be taking his time to work into it, which was rather unlike him. Usually, he was so curt.

"Your tribe has an odd custom," he commented at last, "this business of tattooing their women. It marks you for easy capture and death. Why do you do it?"

Benia shrugged, still wondering where he was heading with this. "Tradition," she answered honestly. "Pride. My mother's hands were tattooed before mine. Her mother's before hers, and so on for hundreds of years, as long as our people have been in existence. We are who we are."

"I nearly killed you in order to take these hands as trophies,” Kaldir rejoined bluntly. “For which I would have been very well paid.” He gave her a sideways look. “Do you know what stopped me?"

"No." Benia shook her head. "Though I have often wondered."

"Loyalty."

At a questioning look from her, he continued, "Your loyalty to Mrs. Banks. That night in the Forsaken Inn, you made a conscious choice to allow me to carry you off to near certain death rather than to cry out and endanger your friend. Very few people would make that same choice."

Benia withdrew her hands from his and moved a few paces away. "Gilly is my dearest friend in the world. I would sooner die than see any harm come to her."

"As would I now, too, rather than see any harm come to either of you," Kaldir said quietly. "But I must ask - how do you feel about me?"

"About you?" asked Benia, her amber eyes studying his scarred face. "I-I don't know. When I first met you, you terrified me. I knew that you meant me harm and I thought more than once of how I might destroy you in order to save myself. But now..." she trailed off thoughtfully. "Now I can see that you are a man of honor, in your own way. A man of courage. And of loyalty, if one can be so lucky as to earn it from you. Dúlrain thinks very highly of you."

"Dúlrain," repeated Kaldir darkly. "Has he yet spoken for your hand?"

Startled, Benia hesitated. "No," she answered finally, barely loudly enough for Kaldir to hear her. "He has expressed some affection for me but... but he has not spoken of marriage."

"Then let me speak of it."

"You?" she exclaimed, her dark eyebrows knit in confusion. The idea that Kaldir might feel some attachment to her had never occurred to Benia. She had been so caught up in worry and fear and concern for herself and Gilly, and, more recently Dúlrain, that she had been blind to what had apparently been obvious to everyone else. Thinking back, she remembered certain comments that Gilly had made and, suddenly, Dúlrain's incoherent ramblings made sense to her, he loves her, never be mine! Disbelieving, she shook her head. She should have seen it, she thought, remembering, too, the time that Kaldir had handed her the strand of wild morning glories as he walked beside her horse the day before they had entered the Lonelands. She should have seen it.

"Yes, me," responded Kaldir, leaning back against the closed door. "Is it such a horrible thought?"

Benia blushed hotly. "No, no, not at all!" she stammered. "It's just that you surprise me. I had no idea that you cared for me. Even a little bit."

"I care for you a great deal," he answered. He pushed himself away from the door and came to stand in front of her, one hand gently grasping her elbow. The other hand touched the fine silver chain that ran across her cheekbone. "Before I met you, Benia, I knew only anger and hatred. While I thought that I was doing well for myself, I was actually drowning in it. I believed that the anger was all I had left and I nurtured it carefully. But then I met you." His rough hand cupped her cheek. "As I spent time with you, I began to believe that perhaps there was more left in the world for me than anger. I began to wish for more. Because of you, I began to wish to be a better man again."

Benia looked up at him as his pale blue eyes searched hers for some kind of response to his words. Sensing her hesitation, he continued. "With you beside me, I believe I am capable of it."

"What would you have me do at your side? Aid you in hunting down my kinsmen?"

"No." Kaldir laughed and shook his head. "I knew the bounty-hunting would trouble you. I have already spoken with Amandur about returning to the ranks of my former brethren, and leaving bounty hunting behind. He seemed amenable."

"You would do that for me?"

"I would." He looked deeply into her eyes. "And, having once practiced the trade of bounty hunter, who could better protect you from the pursuit of others who would kill you for a price? I offer you not only my love, but my protection, as well."

"And if I turn down your kind offer?"

He shrugged. "Then I see Mrs. Banks back to her home in The Shire and I will trouble you no more."

"Will you still give up bounty hunting?"

He gave his head an enigmatic tilt, then shrugged again. "Perhaps. Perhaps not." His blue eyes narrowed slightly, giving her a piercing gaze. "I suppose it depends on how things go with me when you are gone." He stepped away from her, turning his back. Benia stared at his broad shoulders.

"I don't know how much you know about me, or how much Dúlrain or others may have told you," he continued after a long pause, speaking with his back still turned to her. "I spent several years as a prisoner of Mordor during the war. Horrible things were done to me that I would not begin to describe for you. You see the scars on my face and my body, but there are other scars that you can't see, that may never heal completely. When I am with you, the pain of those scars goes away. I feel a kind of peace and calm that has been unknown to me for a very long time.

"You give me hope for the future."

Uncertain of what to say or do, Benia crossed her arms in front of herself, hugging her elbows, but still said nothing.

"I need you, Benia," he finished at last and turned to face her again. "Will you become my wife?"

Benia opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again, still speechless. So many questions whirled through her mind, not the least of which involved Dúlrain. She loved Dúlrain with all of her heart, it was true, but it was also true that Dúlrain had as yet made no offers or promises for the future. But there had been so little time. And Dúlrain knew of Kaldir's feelings for her. Would he really take it upon himself to step aside for his friend, who so obviously needed her with him? She remembered Dúlrain's words on the stairs... never be mine. Was it just delirium? Confused, Benia shook her head and reached out for the pitcher that Kaldir had taken from her and left on a side table.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Kaldir moved toward her again. "Then, you will think about it?"

"I will," answered Benia. Gravely, she looked up into his face and saw the trace of hope in his eyes. She knew then that he had meant every word that he had spoken, that he would be the best husband to her that he knew how to be. That he loved her. But what about Dúlrain? Kaldir needed her, she argued against herself. But she loved Dúlrain. Did Dúlrain really want her? And if she chose Dúlrain, what would become of Kaldir? Would he fall away again into the life that he now talked so readily of casting aside in pursuit of a better existence? The questions made her head spin. Finally, hugging the empty pitcher to her breast, she turned to go.

"I will think about your offer," she repeated awkwardly. She gave Kaldir a last troubled smile and, turning, fled the room.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

Vanwe could only but watch as Léspheria and Amandur methodically search the way for signs of her father’s passage, she felt useless in the presence of such skilled woods folk. Her mother and father where out there somewhere, each struck by an illness that she was powerless to cure or prevent. Her hand strayed to the knife in her belt each time a twig snapped or the leaves rustled, she glanced uneasily in every direction half expecting her mother to suddenly appear before her and the nightmare to begin anew.

“Here, look!” Amandur called, pointing to a fresh print in the damp earth of the bank. “He can’t be far ahead,” the ranger assured her as she and Léspheria came forwards for a closer look.

“He is alone, that is a good sign!” Léspheria smiled comfortingly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Vanwe nodded, but still her hand remained wrapped around the hilt of her knife and her vigilant gaze continued to watch the trees nervously as they moved on.

“There ahead!” Amandur whispered, “I thought I saw something moving upon the rill!”

Vanwe did not hear both Amandur calling for her to wait, she had seen the movement too, it was her father she knew it! She ran headlong unheeding of the possible dangers towards him. Breaking through the trees, she found him on his knees cradling his head in his hands, a rusted sword lying inches from his feet.

“Father, are you alright?” She implored kneeling beside him, then checking him over for any sign of injury when he did not reply. Lowering his hands she looked deeply into the crystal blueness of his sapphire eyes, she could see his anguish and her own eyes now filled with a mixture of relief and genuine concern, “What were you thinking coming out here alone, what if she had found you?” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she contemplated what might have happened. “Please, I could not bear to loss you too!” she whispered lowering her gaze to the ground.

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

Léspheria

“There ahead!” Amandur whispered, “I thought I saw something moving on the rill!”

A sudden flash of anger, hatred and intense loathing hit Léspheria’s senses, “No wait!” she called throwing her hands out to stop the young elf, but it was to late Vanwe was running as fast as she could towards the rill and out of the safety of the woods. Both she and Amandur instinctively ran after her their weapons drawn. Finding the young elf bent over the hunkering form of her father she and Amandur took up defensive positions either side of the two elves allowing Vanwe to tend her father in safety. Léspheria’s grey eyes swept the undergrowth, her mind reeling, whose torrent of emotions had she sensed? She cast a sidelong glance towards the bard, his emotions where turbulent at all times and it was possible that the emotions she had sensed were but another erratic outburst from the tormented bard, but… she paused turning her gaze back toward the heavy brush. But, she sensed nothing; if Naiore had been there, she had left post haste.

“All clear,” Amandur announced coming up beside her, but she did not hear him, still staring at the morning shadows of the thick brush.

“What is it?” Amandur whispered his head inches from hers as he followed her gaze.

His words gently waking her from her doubtful contemplation, she turned to look at him, studying his thoughtful gaze. “No, nothing” she sighed shaking her head, I thought I sensed something, but it was just him,” she whispered nodding in the direction of the bard.

Amandur turned again towards the direction of the brush not entirely convinced, “do you think we should move our plans ahead?” he whispered still scanning the area ahead.

“Perhaps it would be wise!” she replied her attention now fixed on the two elves kneeling on the damp ground. “On our return I shall advise the others to make ready to leave.” Amandur whispered following her gaze towards the bard and his daughter, "You still intend to allow them to come?" he questioned.

Léspheria nodded, "Yes, they need an end if they are to find any semblance of normality, they need closure Amandur, we all do!" she sighed wearily looking into his eyes and then turning back to the two elves they waited silently.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Running through the list she held in her mind, Gilly sat on the edge of the chair feeling quite contented with her sense of accomplishment. Everything seemed to be working out well. Her dress was fixed, except for the tatting that she had half finished, and which would likely be ready to set in place by the end of the day. Novfuinien had found someone to carry her letter, and she had also received word that Dúlrain was much improved, though Benia still watched over him. Quite genuinely pleased to hear this, Gilly had debated going there herself, but having seen that Benia had a soft corner in her heart for the man, she had chosen not to disturbed them, hoping to grant them some rare sheltered time together now that the crises had past. For as she commented at length to Novfuinien, it was about time her friend found a bit of happiness in life!

Only one piece of unfinished business remained, Dúlrain’s companion sword. Gilly eyed it dully glinting by the door, as if it were winking to remind her of the past few tumultuous weeks. She had dutifully cleaned it as well as she knew how, and it had polished up nicely indeed, but Kaldir had said that he would show her how to put the finishing touches to it, so she could hand it back to Dúlrain in as good a shape as when she had received it. And this she dearly wanted to do now that he had awakened and she found herself ready to make her way back home whenever it suited Kaldir. It had been so good of Dúlrain to part with it in the first place, and as she reflected, it had come very much in handy.

“Ack, there is nothing for it, is there?” she said to herself, sliding down off the chair to pick up the weapon. “Seems the student must track down the master, if she’s ever to learn such things!” But as she went to open the door’s latch, a light but rapid knock was heard on the other side. With blade in hand Gilly opened the door wide to find Benia standing on the threshold, looking not at all like the picture of joy that the hobbit imagined. She showed not even the slightest inkling of it.

“What has happened?” Benia asked stepping into the room and quietly closing the door behind her. “Has some one been troubling you? Why do you answer the door armed?”

“Oh no, Miss Benia, quite the opposite. Actually, I’ve been treated a ways better than I could have wished, and have even managed to made friends with an elf. Imagine that, would you!” But Benia seemed restless, and her glance did not stay long on her friend, but nodding, she crossed over to the window, and then back again. “Here,” Gilly said pulling the chair away from the wall. “Why don’t you sit yourself down? You are making me nervous with all your walking to a fro.”

“No thank you, I could not possibly sit just now. But still, you have not told me why you hold a sword in your hand.”

Gilly chuckled, grinning broadly. “It is only a coincidence. I was just going to set about finding Mr. Kaldir to help me sharpen this before I return it to Mr. Dúlrain. He had promised to show me what to do, but I haven’t seen him since we got here, and my friend Novfuinien tells me he’s about this morning. So I was just off to find him. The man is like a regular ghost coming and going all unseen!

“But tell me about yourself. I thought that I would find my old friend with a smile brightening her face now that Mr. Dúlrain is out of danger, and instead it is right cloudy weather. He is alright, isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes he is,” Benia said with a wistful smile. To her friend’s surprise she suddenly stopped pacing and settled down in the chair. “Gilly,” she said after a moment. “I have no mother now…”

“I know that Miss Benia, but your mother was a marvelous woman!” Gilly declared, for the hobbit had always thought very highly of her.

“And I have never had a sister.”

“No, I don’t reckon I ever heard of your having a sister,” the hobbit shook her head, wondering where all this was leading.

“But I do have a very good friend, and that is you.”

“Benia, what is troubling you so? You seem a restless as a cat in the fish market. Can it be so hard to tell such an old friend?”

“Gilly I would ask you to be more than a friend for a moment, but mother and sister also, leaving your own feelings aside, for I know you have become a friend also to Kaldir. I have a weighty decision make, one that has taken me by surprise, for he has just now asked for my hand.”

“Ah, small wonder then that you are so serious today! But it is an easy choice. How can you give your hand without your heart also? I have seen how strongly you care for Mr. Dúlrain, so in accepting this offer you would be injuring Mr. Kaldir as well as yourself.”

“If it could only be that simple,” Benia breathed, and Gilly listened as the story unfolded of her meeting Kaldir in the halls of healing, and of her own doubts. And the hobbit grew sad listening, for there seemed no clear answer anymore, and she grieved over her friend’s dilemma. For each choice seemed bitter, and it was no longer a question of her friend’s happiness, but only of what would accomplish something good. And in that, the scale tipped in favor of Kaldir. For to choose Dúlrain seemed to mean to loosing him, or to tempt him to turn his back on Kaldir, which in a way would also be to loosing him. And to deny Kaldir would be like cutting down a tree that was slowly returning to life after a fire.

“I confess, I am at a loss,” Gilly said in the end. “But I think that you shouldn’t hurry yourself to answer Kaldir. No doubt he made a good case, though I daresay he was late getting out the gate. But I don’t feel at all good about you taking up with him permanently, not yet. Not as good as I would about Mr. Dúlrain. And I think your mother would have agreed with me…father too, for that matter. It is easy to overlook a scarred face, but if those hidden scars he mentioned disfigure his heart, oh that would be a hard road for you, and one I don’t care to see you travel. Best to find out before deciding just how sound his is, as it’ll only come to the forefront over the years. But then again, I don’t suppose he’d be keen on waiting, for if you will excuse me for saying it, he is sure to know a little of your feelings for his friend. ”

“Well, I think we both already know what sort of things he has been capable of,” she said looking briefly at her hands and then rising again to return to the window. “But his words were honest. And I see that he is trying to find his way out, and that I can help him. But I can’t bring myself to a decision, and I feel I can’t breathe, thinking of it.”

“Oh just wait until I see him again, he will get an earful from me! What was he thinking of, letting you get so attached to Mr. Dúlrain and then springing this on you? Cruel it was!”

“No please, I will handle this Gilly. I don’t think he sees the position he has put me in.”

“Sees or not sees, someone should open his eyes for him! He’s no way blind is he? And he has sense enough to know what it is he’s done. My guess is that he already knows!”

“Well, if anyone is to open his eyes it should be me,” Benia said walking over to the hobbit and resting a hand on her shoulder. “But I need to think all this over. I need quiet and room to walk, fresh air after being indoors for so long!”

“There is a nice garden close by, maybe you could do your thinking there. But do let me know what you decide. I will be worrying over it until you do.”

“I will,” said Benia promised. “For I think in either case, I will need a friend.” And with that she left, and Gilly was alone.

Forgetting the sword and picking up her tatting instead, Gilly headed out the door also. She was quite upset, and needed to cool down, and with that thought in mind she headed toward the Great Hall.


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

Menecin

Downwardly spiraling thoughts assailed the elf as he fell to questioning again each moment of his long life. Had then all that he had done been only self-serving, and all that he loved false? Surely not all love was illusion, for he felt his own love had been truly given. He had cared deeply for Naiore. That would never change, though he now felt confused, and as if his searching for her had always been based in his own need of her, or rather, what she had once represented to him. And that had now become a howling emptiness inside. Something that had never really existed.

“Father, are you alright?” a voice said beside him. And he felt the light touch of a hand on his back as Vanwe knelt down, heedless of the sodden earth beneath her knees. Raising his eyes, he saw concern and relief etched in her expression. “What were you thinking, coming out here alone?” she chided, the tears rising to her eyes. “What if she had found you? Please, I could not bear to loose you too!” Lowering her head she wept, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

And those tears moved her father’s heart. Surely they were not born of deceit or pretense, but of the natural upwelling of emotion. No not all love was an illusion. Naiore was not right in this. Lifting her chin to wipe the tears from her face, Menecin looked again into her eyes. “See, you have found me at last, and would not loose me, and neither I you. For when you did not return to me, I went in search of you.” And then rising to his feet he helped her up also, now that he noticed Léspheria and a ranger stood watching the brush. “But you are right, it is not safe here and we should return.”

“But why have I found you so disconsolate?” She asked earnestly. “Do you not know that there are many who would help you if you would only ask?”

“I thought that I had lost you Vanwe, that your mother had coaxed you from safety.” He looked around at the brush surrounding them. “I thought that I too was lost, but I know now that none of this is true.”

Vanwe looked up at him, puzzled.

“Come let us leave this place,” Menecin said starting off toward Amandur unsteadily. Picking up the rusted sword, Vanwe ran to his side to lend him support, and he leaned heavily on her shoulder, smiling down at her. “I apologize, daughter, for I fear that I have not taken as much care as I ought, and now have become a burden to your slight shoulders!”

Vanwe returned his smile and walked silently by his side, to where Léspheria and Amandur were waiting for them.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

On their return, to the last house Amandur took his leave of the others and made his way towards the ranger’s quarters. Briskly he strode down the long corridors turning right towards the room in which Rauthain had been housed. Standing before the door of his brethren Amandur knocked urgently and then entered the ranger’s quarters, as expected the older ranger was already up and dress.

“Amandur,” Rauthain greeted him with a slight incline of his head.

“Rauthain my friend there is to be a change of plans we will be leaving sooner than expected!” he quickly informed him. “Find Avanill and Kaldir and have them prepare to leave as soon as possible!” he finished turning sharply to leave.

“Off course, but if I may ask, to what do we owe this sudden change of plans?” Rauthain quickly asked.

Amandur paused at the door pondering his answer and then turned “a feeling,” he replied simply, gaining a questioning look from his old friend.

“We found Lord Menecin upon the rill that borders Rivendell’s woods this morning. Lady Léspheria thought she sensed something or someone, off course it could easily just have been the bard she sensed, but I am inclined to believe that the emotions she sensed and the presence of the bard were more than mere coincidence!” he explained moving towards the open window.

“You believe Naiore is still here?” Rauthain asked in astonishment, though it did make some sense to him that the elf would linger yet awhile.

“Yes, but not for long, after this mornings activities she will soon be on the move again.” Amandur replied solemnly, staring out over the deceptively peaceful valley. Rauthain nodded his understanding as Amandur strode purposefully back towards the door.

“And what of Dulrain?” Rauthain asked, “I daresay he will be reluctant to be left behind.”

“I go now to speak with our young companion and to learn of his condition from the healers, we will meet at the stables when everyone is ready!” Amandur answered thoughtfully. The two men nodded to each other and then Amandur left to seek out the young ranger and his healers.

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

Dulrain and Amandur

Dúlrain awoke to the morning of the third day to find that he was alone; he sat up blinking against the bright morning light filtering through the room. Looking around he noticed that the jug and pitcher that normally sat on the dresser was missing, he smiled realising that his love must have gone to fill it. Contented and feeling much stronger he rose from his bed, wishing to surprise Benia by being dressed and walking about before her return. A dull ache remained in his side as he pulled on a fresh shirt and pants, but it was nothing that gave him too much trouble. Pleased with himself he walked up to the large windows and opened them out, letting the cool breeze of the summer morning chase away the stagnant air of his curative prison.

As he stood looking out over the valley he thought on the past several days, his feelings for Benia had grown so much that for the short periods they were apart he found himself eagerly anticipating her return, as he did now! A reminiscent smile spread over his face it had been long since he had known such happiness and in the presence of such a fair and wondrous woman, he wanted no more than to keep her happy and safe. She had strength and spirit that he admired and like him, he knew she would never be contented to stay in one place for too long. Giving into his fantasies, he pictured what their life would be like together, several hours passed, until a brisk knock at the door shook him from his reverie.

“Come!” he called gaily, turning from the window to see who had come to visit.

“Well I must say you at least sound better!” Amandur laughed as he entered the room.

“Indeed I am my friend, it is good to see you though I had thought to see you before now!” he laughed in return.

“Aye and you would have if the healers had allowed it and you where not otherwise engaged,” Amandur grinned jovially.

“Aye I have been pleasantly pre…” he began his voice trailing off as his eyes swept across the items Amandur held in his hand. Cold reality swept aside the fantasy of the past two days and he now thought how foolish he had been to think that he and Benia could ever have all that he had dreamed for them. His internal struggle of love and loyalty instantly returned, to have Benia would mean to loss Kaldir, but to deny his heart would mean losing them both for he would certainly have to let them both go, their happiness would bring him pain, a pain he was not sure he could bare.

“The healers tell me that you are well enough to leave their care, I managed to procure these from them though reluctant they were to relinquish them,” Amandur grinned holding out the belt from which hung the two swords that Dúlrain usually carried at his side.

It was with a heavy heart that Dúlrain took the weapons, carefully strapping them to his waist, “Does this mean I will be permitted to continue on with you when you leave?” he asked as he tucked the extra length of leather behind the buckle of his belt. “Indeed,” Amandur nodded, “It may be that we will be in need of your services!”

“And Kaldir?” he asked looking up from his belt.

“He will be joining us,” Amandur answered his grin melting away and his brow furrowing with concern. “He has spoken with me about giving up his old ways and returning to the ways of our brethren.”

With a heavy sigh Dulrain turn again to the open window guessing the reason for his brother’s change of heart. That he was thinking of the future meant that he had not given up on life; he knew that he should be happy that his brother was finding his way, but the pain of losing Benia was unbearable. Closing his eyes against what he knew he must do, he asked Amandur when they would be leaving.

“As soon as everyone is ready,” Amandur told him, slightly confused by the young ranger’s reaction.

“I must first speak with Miss Nightshade, and then I will join you,” Dúlrain said turning again to face his captain, his head held high but his eyes betraying his sorrow.

“You need not do this!” Amandur sighed reading his young friends intent, “You could let the lady decide?”

“No I could not place so heavy a burden upon her,” he sighed.

“Yet you would cause her sorrow by not returning!” Amandur demanded.

“She would soon forget me and Kaldir will make a good husband and she a good wife, they can find peace and happiness together, don’t you see this is what I want for both of them.” Dulrain went on, turning again to look out over the valley.

“Even at the expense of your own happiness?” Amandur pressed, “Do you not then love her?”

“Off course I do!” he snapped angrily, rounding on his captain. “So much that it physically hurts, but who am I to deny my brother this chance of happiness! Benia has some feeling for him I have seen it, she can cure him of his hurts and he is the better to protect her from the evils of this world. She was not meant for me, it was only happy circumstance and chance that we met at all.” He finished dejectedly.

“I will speak no more of the matter, my mind is made up!” he said firmly as he turned too searched for his things.

“Then I will expect to see you at the stables once you are ready,” Amandur sighed turning to leave.

As soon as his captain was gone Dúlrain fell to his knees his head in his hands, his whole world was crumbling before him and he could see no way out! After what seemed like an eternity he rose, steeling himself against what he must do.

Finally finding his pack he made preparations to leave, packing only the essentials and gaining rations from the kitchens of the elves, once satisfied that he had all that was needed he reluctantly threw the pack over his shoulder and went in search of Benia, still unsure of exactly what he was going to say to her!

[Ealasaide]

Benia

After leaving Gilly in her room, Benia walked swiftly in the direction of the gardens, feeling as though she could scarcely breathe. She needed time to think. More than once she raised a hand and rubbed her temple where a throbbing pain had begun to set in. While she felt deeply fortunate to have such a wise and caring friend as Gilly, Benia found that Gilly had raised more new questions than she had offered answers. She found herself wondering now if Kaldir really did understand the kind of pressure he had placed upon her. After all, she knew from hard experience that he was a man accustomed to working his will by force, if by no other means. He was a smart man. Was the guilt he had placed at her feet - should she refuse him - merely another weapon he wielded when it suited him, like the sword at his side, in order to gain a certain end? She had seen him in action. He was a master at manipulation and deceit. Could he really have changed so much?

Gilly had been right in that it was easy to overlook a scarred face. The hidden scars were the ones that she should beware. Like jagged rocks under the placid surface of a lake, a disfigured heart would only be revealed with time. Had Kaldir's heart merely been wounded by his experiences in Mordor? Or had it been disfigured in some ugly and dangerous way? Gilly had been right to urge caution. On the other hand, Gilly had not seen Kaldir's eyes when he had spoken to Benia of his need for her and his hopes for the future. They were not the same eyes that she had looked into that afternoon in Bree when he had forced her to hold a knife to his throat and ordered her to kill him, yet the situation seemed remarkably similar: she could either save him or run him through; the choice was hers. Or was it? Both then and now, while she held the knife, he still seemed strangely in control, bending her to his will by the sheer strength of his personality.

Instinctively, Benia reached up and touched the carved wooden whistle that she still wore on the leather thong around her neck. Dúlrain. A sad smile touched her lips as she thought of the too brief hours of happiness she had shared with him the day before. Surely that happiness was not already a thing of the past. With her other hand, she wiped a tear from the corner of one of her amber eyes. If it were merely a choice of the heart, then there would be no contest at all. Her heart would always and completely belong to Dúlrain. All she had to do was picture his face in her mind, his clear gray eyes, his gentle smile, and her heart would flutter in her chest like a butterfly. A song would rise to her lips. But now, with the thought of losing him forever staring her starkly in the face, she found herself unable to breathe. The dull throb that had begun in her temple shifted to the pit of her stomach, where it continued to trouble her with a persistent ache.

"Dúlrain," she whispered, closing the carved whistle in her fist. "Please..." she added softly, unconsciously echoing the single word she had spoken to him when she had lifted her veil in those few fateful seconds on the dusty sidestreet in Bree. Feeling suddenly light-headed, she reached out for support and found herself steadied by the touch of a strong hand. Wishing for Dúlrain, she looked up only to find herself looking into the concerned eyes of an unfamiliar elf.

"Are you all right, miss?" he asked gently. "I was behind you on the path. It seemed you were about to fall."

"I-I'm fine... thank you," stammered Benia. "Thank you." Carefully, she disengaged herself from his grasp.

"You're very pale," he persisted, giving her a stern, though caring, gaze. "Are you sure I can't at least help you to a bench?" He gestured toward a stone bench that stood in a bower only a few paces distant from where the two of them stood on the garden path.

"Thank you," Benia repeated softly. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then gave him a weak but determined smile. "But no. I'm fine, really." She took a step back.

Finally seeing some color come back into her cheeks, he nodded agreeably and set off again past her down the path. "Be careful," he called over his shoulder to her as he disappeared around a bend. "If you start to feel dizzy again, be sure to sit down."

Benia nodded at his back. "I will," she murmured, but sitting down was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She needed to walk, to think. She needed space. Turning, she happened to glance up and see the crowns of the tall oaks and pines that lay in the forest beyond the garden walls. That was what she needed, the solitude of the forest, not a busy garden where elves sang incessantly and zipped up and down the paths like so many brightly colored hummingbirds. She needed to be alone. Without thinking of what dangers might still lurk in the forest so soon after a battle, Benia went to the gate and slipped outside. Within moments, she was concealed within the shadows of the trees.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her drawn dagger as she faded back into the undergrowth. She had sensed Vanwe, Léspheria, and the ranger well before she had heard their actual voices. As Menecin turned his head toward the sound of their approach, she had weighed the option of rushing in to finish him, but decided in the last instant that there was not time. Even a slight struggle on his part would have held her there long enough for Vanwe and the others to reach them. Knowing that if they found her she would be captured, she had then seized the opportunity to escape while Menecin looked the other way. A burning rage raked over her as she slid silently into the trees.

"Another betrayal!" she hissed. First Toby, then Avanill, and now Vanwe had turned against her, one after the other, all of them traitors. Toby and Avanill, well, that could be expected; termites, the both of them. But Vanwe! Naiore had never believed for a moment that Vanwe would fail her. But she had. And, not only that, Vanwe had caused Naiore herself to fail in her only objective in coming to Imladris at all. Because of Vanwe, Menecin still lived. Naiore took in a deep breath, her slender hands still trembling with rage. She was unaccustomed to failure and had no intention of making a habit of it. Still, she could not believe that she had been so wrong about her own daughter. She had been so sure of Vanwe, so sure of her own success when she had set her plan into motion that failure had seemed inconceivable, yet the inconceivable had come to pass. Someone else must have had a hand in it. Nonetheless, Naiore had never been one to dwell on failures. There would be other plans, other chances. Already, her mind raced ahead into the future.

Slowing her pace, Naiore turned and let her gray eyes scan the forest around and behind her, her ears listening for any sound of pursuit. There was none, only the soft chirp of birds and a murmur of distant voices moving away from her, as Vanwe, Menecin, and the others retreated back in the direction of the buildings. Naiore reached out with her mind, touching each of their minds in turn. She sensed strong emotions flowing from all of them, yet each one stood clearly and distinctly separate from each of the others: Menecin, Vanwe, the ranger, Léspheria. Cousin. Interfering meddler. Perhaps she was the real reason that Naiore’s plans had failed, managing somehow to undo a mother’s careful work. The Ravener’s eyes narrowed slightly.

They would pay. All of them. Maybe not today or even tomorrow, but the time would come when she would have another chance at them. She could be patient. For the moment, however, she knew that she must concentrate on her escape. Barrold Ferny awaited her on the ridge above the elven refuge with travel supplies and the bounty hunter’s gray horse. She must retrieve her own pack and her two curved swords from where she had hidden them in the forest, then rejoin Ferny on the ridge. From there, they would make their escape. Once she knew that she was free of pursuers, then she could begin to think about circling back to renew her efforts against Vanwe and Menecin. After all, this time, she had come so close.

As serenity once again began to settle over Naiore’s fair features, a slight frown creased her brow. Ferny, her one loyal and remaining ally, expected nothing less than Vanwe as his reward. She had promised him at least that, but now, with this latest betrayal, it did not appear as though she would be able to deliver. Her frown faded to an expression of cool neutrality as she flicked a stray braid back over her shoulder. It was an inconvenience, that was all. She should have known better than to make such a promise, but the one advantage to a scoundrel like Ferny was that he would not be particular about his reward just so long as he was well paid. She would see to it that he was. For the moment, however, he would still have to make do with the mithril book covers he had taken from the home of the slain ranger, Tallas.

With renewed calm and confidence, Naiore arrived at the place where she had hidden her belongings. She was relieved to find them undisturbed, precisely as she had left them. She smiled to herself and bent down to pick up her pack, but went instantly motionless as the sound of softly rustling leaves arrested her attention. Straightening, she reached out with her mind. Was it Vanwe - Menecin, perhaps - coming to find her, after all? Judging by the sound, it was only one individual, and that person was not taking any particular care to conceal his or her approach. Whoever it was seemed completely unaware of her presence and moved with no attempt at stealth. Touching the stranger’s mind, Naiore realized at once that it was neither her daughter nor her former lover who moved with such careless and heedless energy along the nearby path. She could sense in the stranger great turmoil and unhappiness, but no malice or fear. Naiore relaxed.

Judging herself safe for the moment, she bent once more and finished the task of securing her pack and her swords to her person. Straightening once more, she looked in the direction the stranger had gone, her curiosity piqued by the question of who might be roaming about the woods alone when there very well could still be orcs about. It wasn’t an orc. She could tell that by the quality of the creature’s mind. But who was it? Moving stealthily, she followed a course that would eventually intercept the stranger’s path. The silken garrote twisted between her fingers. Reaching the point of intersection well ahead of the stranger, Naiore concealed herself around a bend and waited. Her starlit eyes watched the path with interest.

When the stranger finally did appear, a chilling smile danced across Naiore’s beautiful face. “Perhaps you can be of use to me,” she murmured as the slender figure of the southern woman she had seen on the stairs came into view. “Aren’t you the bounty hunter’s lady?” Falling into silence once more, she waited until the southern woman had passed, then Naiore moved in swiftly behind her, dropping the silken garrote around the unsuspecting woman’s throat. Pulling it tight, she forced the woman first to her knees, then the ground. As the woman’s fingers scrabbled helplessly at the tightening garrote, Naiore placed her leatherclad knee between the woman’s shoulder blades, pinning her to the earth. She bent down, placing her lips next to her captive’s ear.

“Do you value your life?” she asked coolly. The woman stopped struggling, but Naiore felt a wave of fear wash over her from the consciousness of the downed woman. Naiore tightened the garrote. “Do you?”

The southern woman nodded, struggling for breath.

“Then do not move a muscle.” When the woman nodded again, Naiore transferred both ends of the silken garrote into one hand and pulled a short length of rope from a side pocket on her pack with the other. When she was certain that the southern woman was well under her control, she released the garrote and bound the woman’s wrists tightly behind her back. Leaning forward, Naiore spoke to her again.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked. “Some call me the Lady of the Swan.”

The southern woman nodded. “I know who you are...” she gasped into the moss and dry leaves that carpeted the forest floor.

“Good.” Naiore smiled. “Then you know that I would just as soon kill you as look at you. The only reason you still breathe is that you may be of use to me. Are you not my old friend Kaldir’s ladylove?”

The woman said nothing, but her spine stiffened under Naiore’s weight which gave the Ravener all of the answer she required. “I thought as much,” continued Naiore. “Benia, isn’t it?”

“How - ?”

“You would be surprised at the things I know,” Naiore answered. She unwound the garrote from the southern woman’s throat and put it away, drawing her dagger in its place. Rising, Naiore took a firm grip on Benia’s thick black braid and the back of her neck with her free hand and, with surprising strength, hauled the semi-conscious woman to her feet. Pushing her ahead of her, Naiore forced her to walk. “Move quickly,” she ordered, maintaining her grip on the back of Benia’s neck. “Remember that I hold a dagger to your back. If you attempt to get away or even if you fall, it will find its mark. Walk.”

Benia said nothing, but stumbled forward at Naiore’s bidding. Moving in this way, with Naiore half-guiding and half-pushing Benia along by an iron grip to the back of her neck, they arrived very quickly at the base of Naiore’s hidden pathway out of the valley. There Naiore paused. Reaching around to Benia’s face, the Ravener closed her fingers around the fine silver chain that the southern woman wore across her cheekbone and gave it a firm tug. The chain snapped at either end, falling limply into Naiore’s hand. Smiling confidently, Naiore dropped it in the center of the path.

“We must make sure your lover finds you,” she said. “He and I have some unfinished business.”

“He will bring others with him,” Benia responded, twisting in Naiore‘s grip. Her amber eyes flashed with anger and, Naiore noticed with interest, fear. For herself? Or for the bounty hunter? “And they will kill you.”

Naiore laughed her silvery laugh. “I see that you do not know him as well as I do. Kaldir will come alone, and, when he does, you and I will be waiting.” She pushed the southern woman forward and upward along the steep path.

Behind them, the spangled chain sparkled in the grass at the base of the path, like a trace of dew touched by the morning sunlight.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly sat on a low bench close by the Great Hall, squinting in the sunshine as she tatted rather furiously. The hobbit was mumbling to herself as she worked to pull out a mistake she had made. It appeared that she was having trouble concentrating on her work, and from time to time she stopped and looked around, absently waving her hand over an untouched plate of food that sat beside her.

She was beginning to worry, Miss Benia still had not returned from her walk. And though she had left messages for her friend to meet her here, both in the Halls of Healing and at her room, Gilly was starting to imagine that Miss Benia might have succumbed to her anxiety and fainted away in some unknown recess of the garden, or worse yet run off. But surely, she would not do that with out saying goodbye. It wasn’t in Miss Benia to hide from such problems. She would sort it out in time, Gilly consoled herself. It was just a rather messy job and no doubt that was what kept her. At least that is what the hobbit fervently hoped.

Looking up once more after pricking her finger, she brought her injured hand to her mouth in time to see Kaldir walking with long strides toward the entrance to the guest wing. "You’ll not find her in there!" she said to herself, quickly going back to her work, and reminding herself with each loop that Benia wanted to handle this situation with Kaldir. "And you’ll keep your peace Gilly Banks. Don’t go about meddling where you’re not entitled, or no good will come of it."

But honestly, someone should tell him, such things; else he’d never learn! She reasoned. A person’s heart is not so much to be given as it is to be won. And if it weren’t for his ill-timed proposal, she wouldn’t be a worried sick over Miss Benia. Her friend would be sitting here right now, smiling, as she ought to be, with a brimming heart and full stomach. Gilly looked mournfully at the food spoiling in the sunshine next to her. But he’s gone and robbed her of all that, just as if he had taken her hard earned gold.

Finally, striking a compromise with herself, Gilly decided not to speak at all to Kaldir about Benia unless he brought it up. Then she could not be blamed for what she said, for she had always prided herself on her honesty, and being honest she would not take pains to hide her opinions, from him either. And so as she tatted, Gilly began to construct in her mind all that she wanted to say to him, until she was surprised by the sudden appearance of a pair of well-worn boots in front of her. “Mrs. Banks,” she heard the familiar voice of Kaldir say. “I have been looking for you.”

“For me, Sir? Why is it you’d be looking for me?” Gilly asked, thinking to herself that the man probably wanted to find out from her where Miss Benia was, or more likely what answer she might be expected to give. For hadn’t she been sitting here in broad daylight all along?

“I had promised to take care of a sword for you,” Kaldir said. “Do you still have it?”

This wasn’t the reason she had expected, and she softened somewhat to see that he had not forgotten his promise. “Dúlrain’s sword you mean? Yes well, I do have it. As a matter of fact, I was about to ask you whether we could get it seen to earlier, but I had entirely forgot!” she babbled, and remembering Benia’s distress at seeing the sword, she looked again to the plate beside her.

“After you have eaten then,” Kaldir said noting her gaze. “I will not be staying in Imladris much longer.”

“Oh no, I have already eaten, this isn’t mine. Quite cold by now anyway I should think, or I’d offer it to you,” she said, realizing that happily Miss Benia would be granted a little more time to consider the offer extended her. “So you’re leaving then?”

“Hmm…” Kaldir affirmed. “I will accompany you to the Shire when I return,” he said sitting on the bench, so the plate was between them. Observing the hobbits edgy demeanor, he spoke again as he stretched out his long legs “Tell me, if this food is not for you, who is it for? Master Longholes?” he pursued, joking good-naturedly with the hobbit.

“Really now, sir, I’m sure he is capable of looking after himself here!” Gilly exclaimed, clearly offended by the implications. “It is for Miss Benia!” But she became all the more flustered wondering if this mention of her friend actually counted.

“Miss Nightshade,” he mused. “And yet the food is cold. Where is Miss Nightshade that you would be so uneasy speaking of her to me? Has she gone again to the Halls of Healing?” he asked carefully studying the hobbit though pale eyes.

Gilly could bear it no longer, “Gone to be at Mr. Dúlrain’s side?! Excuse me for being so bold, sir, but I can’t go on with much more of this, or I shall burst. And as your friend, I mean to set you straight while you still have time to make things right. Your talk this morning with Miss Benia couldn’t have come at a worse time. Yes, I haveheard about it. But what did you mean professing your affection for her after she had gotten her heart all tangled up with Mr. Dúlrain! Don’t you know you should have said something long before this! No she is not with Mr. Dúlrain, though I would not blame her if she were! And neither should you, if you would just think twice about it!” Gilly paused, regretting this unruly outpouring. “And if you were to tell me now that I can find my own way home, I would understand, entirely”, she added with a note of sadness. “But I just can’t abide to see you upset her so, even though she wished me to hold my tongue.”

Gilly saw that Kaldir steady gaze wavered ever so slightly, as if some thought had occurred to him. “Mrs. Banks, if she is not with you and not with Dúlrain, where is she?”

“That is just it, Sir. I don’t know! She found me in my room early this morning and went out for a walk just after that. She said she would come back, but hasn’t yet, and no one has seen her since morning. I’m getting worried Mr. Kaldir, really and truly worried. You don’t think she could have gone to the river to drown herself? I have heard of such things you know!”

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir listened to Gilly's outburst with a growing sense of misgiving. Not being particularly well-traveled in matters of the heart, he had been under the impression that his conversation with Benia that morning had gone rather well. True, she had seemed a bit troubled at their parting, but he had chalked it up to the suddenness of his proposal, rather than the circumstances. If she wished to reject his offer of marriage, all she had to do was tell him. He would accept her decision either way, whether it favored him or Dúlrain in the end. However, the knowledge that he had upset her so much that she would seek the counsel of Mrs. Banks so quickly and then vanish into thin air troubled him greatly.

“Drown herself!” he repeated, surprise and concern showing plainly on his usually impassive face. “Surely not. I can’t imagine Benia doing such a foolish thing... even to avoid me. But this notion of a walk does trouble me. The woods are far from safe. Did she say where she planned to go?”

Slowly, Gilly lowered her tatting into her lap, thinking hard. Finally, she shook her head. “No, I don’t think she did. She said she needed to take a little walk and think things over. I suggested a lovely garden they have not too far from the guest quarters...I think she went in that direction when she left, but, not having gone along with her, I really can’t say for certain.” Gilly paused, a haunted look coming into her kind eyes. “Oh, Mr. Kaldir, you don’t think anything awful has happened to her, do you?”

Kaldir shook his head. “I certainly hope not.” He rose to his feet and looked down at the hobbit lady with a gentle look in his eyes. “It is easy to lose oneself in a place like Imladris. Perhaps she has just found herself a quiet corner and lost track of the time.” He paused, his hand landing idly on the hilt of his sword. He gazed thoughtfully past Gilly toward the door that led in the direction of the gardens. “On the other hand, it is always best not to take anyone’s absence for granted. Just this morning I told Benia that I would sooner die than see any harm come to either one of you. To be the cause of it, would be unacceptable.”

When he glanced back down at Gilly and saw the fear in her eyes, Kaldir smiled encouragingly. “I shall be off to find her at once,” he said, kneeling down to look more directly into Gilly’s face. “Rest easy in your heart. After all, I am a tracker and a hunter. I should be able to find her fairly easily. If I have done her any harm with my talk of the future, then I shall do what I can to set things right with her again.” He rose again to his full height and, turning away, added under his breath, “Her happiness does matter more than mine.”

Leaving Gilly behind, Kaldir went to the garden that she had described. As he walked, he turned over the things Gilly had said in his mind: that he should have spoken for Benia sooner; that once Benia’s feelings for Dúlrain had taken shape, he should have stepped aside. If he really loved her, Benia’s happiness should matter more than his. Kaldir frowned darkly. Perhaps Gilly had been correct after all. His interpretation of the situation had been that since Dúlrain had yet to speak for Benia’s hand, he, Kaldir, was still free to do so. If she wished to reject him in favor of Dúlrain or anyone else, all she had to do was tell him. So, what was the problem? Why had she gotten so upset? He sighed. Apparently, he had no understanding whatsoever of women. That was the problem. Admittedly, he had never spent much time around them. He had not even had a mother around growing up, his own mother having died giving birth to him. He had no idea how their minds worked, he was discovering, particularly not in matters of the heart. He had never proposed marriage to anyone before, and, while he knew that his proposal to Benia had not been made under the most ideal of circumstances, it had certainly never occurred to him that she would be upset by it.

Walking through the garden, he thought about all of this as his eyes scanned the well-trodden path for any sign of Benia’s passing. He had noticed that morning in the Hall of Healing that she wore a pair of elven boots in place of her own, which made distinguishing her trail from that of the many elves who trafficked the garden nearly impossible. As a last resort, in the hope of eliminating the possibility that she had strayed outside, Kaldir deserted the path and went to the seldom-used gate that led out of the garden to the woods beyond. To his dismay, a single set of fresh footprints showed that a woman had passed that way. Kaldir slipped through the gate and followed the faint trail of boot prints into the woods.

For a long distance, the woman - Benia, perhaps?- followed a straight path through the trees, turning only with the turns of the trail. Her strides were long and steady, without any pause or hesitation, like a woman in a hurry... or a woman deep in thought. Kaldir paused to examine a low-hanging branch that hung across the way. A grim smile touched his lips as he found what he had both hoped and dreaded to find: a single long, black hair caught in the rough bark. Her head had apparently brushed the branch as she stooped to pass. He drew the hair from its place of rest and pulled it between his fingers. It did look like hers. Tucking it away into his pocket, Kaldir passed under the branch and continued along the way, his eyes studying the ground. Rounding a sharp bend, he stopped abruptly.

A second set of elven boots had joined the first. A second woman.

“No...Benia...” he murmured, his hand reaching up to touch the scarred side of his face. His pale eyes narrowed as he deciphered the tale told by the, now, two sets of prints. Benia had been seized from behind by the owner of the second pair of boots. Whoever it was had forced her to the ground, held her there briefly, no doubt to tie her wrists, thought Kaldir, then dragged her to her feet again. The second woman had then forced Benia onward, deeper into the forest. Kaldir drew his sword. There was only one elf who would do such a thing to such a gentle creature as Benia Nightshade, if the footprints and the strand of hair did indeed belong to her.

For a fleeting instant, he felt a familiar rush of memory and muzzy thinking as the horrors of Mordor sought to free themselves from the dungeon in the bottom of his mind, but he forced them back with a steely determination. If Naiore had Benia, then he must go forward. He must think clearly. With all of his senses alert, Kaldir tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword and followed the trail where it led, northward, through the valley. Finally, at the base of a steep and well-concealed trail that twisted upward out of the valley to the ridge above, he stopped. The two females had stopped there as well, briefly, before continuing onward.

Catching sight of something shiny in the grass, winking at him in the afternoon sunlight, Kaldir bent and closed his fingers around a short length of silver chain. It was decorated with tiny silver spangles. Kaldir recognized it at once. His face grew hard as he tucked it into his pocket alongside the single strand of Benia’s hair. There was no doubt now who had made those tracks. His only hope was that he might get to her before it was too late.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

As Naiore pushed her captive into the camp high on the ridge above Imladris, the southern woman stumbled and fell. Barrold Ferny turned from where he had been tightening the cinch strap on the saddle of the bounty hunter’s gray horse. Naiore watched as his close-set eyes first widened in surprise then narrowed suspiciously.

"That ain’t Vanwe!" he objected harshly. He straightened, eying the southern woman with a mixture of irritation and, Naiore noticed, appraisal.

"How observant of you to notice, Barrold," she replied coldly. "Pick her up. If she pleases you, you may have her when she has fulfilled her usefulness to me. In the meantime, tie her to that tree." With a nod, Naiore indicated a scrubby tree near the fire pit, that stood well-removed from the boundaries of the camp. "We will soon be having company."

"Who?" asked Ferny. He reached out and grabbed the southern woman roughly around the elbow and dragged her to her feet. When Naiore did not answer immediately, he spat at the ground. "With all them elves around, and orcs, it’d be nice to know who’s coming for dinner," he grumbled. "Wouldn’t it, sweet’eart?" he added into the southern woman’s ear, a wide and rather lecherous grin creeping over his features.

The southern woman looked at him sharply and tried to jerk away, but Ferny’s grip was too tight on her arm. He pulled her back toward him, his eyes glittering dangerously.

"That’s enough," quipped Naiore. "Tie her to the tree. Make sure the bonds are secure."

For a brief instant, Ferny glared at Naiore, then dropped his eyes and did as he was told. "Later, sweet’eart," he muttered to the southern woman, pulling the ropes tight around her torso.

Naiore watched with detachment, letting her mind drift, searching, searching, searching... The bounty hunter would come. It was just a matter of time. She took a seat on a large stone, curling her long legs up under her, and waited. As the minutes passed, Barrold Ferny completed the preparations for their departure, his eyes slipping again and again in the direction of the exotic dark-haired woman tied to the tree. While this woman was no elf, Naiore could tell that Barrold Ferny had already decided her an apt substitute for Vanwe as part of his reward. She smiled to herself. Scoundrels like Barrold were so easy to control, to satisfy... so base. He was vastly different from Kaldir, who had been so interestingly difficult. She had enjoyed the challenge that the bounty hunter had presented back in Mordor when he had lived or died at her whim. It would have been enjoyable to joust with him again, but this time, she knew she did not have the time for games. She would use the leverage that she had in the person of the southern woman against him. And she would play no games. Finally, at last, Naiore felt the presence she had been waiting for. She sensed him faintly at first, on the far reaches of her consciousness, but it quickly grew stronger. The bounty hunter was coming.

Naiore turned to Barrold Ferny. "He comes," she said sharply.

"Who?" grunted Ferny yet again.

"An old friend," answered Naiore with a smile. "I believe you would be familiar with him in his professional capacity. A certain bounty hunter? It seems that we have his lady."

"Ah, crikey..."

"Be on your guard, Barrold." Naiore slid down from her perch on the stone and took up a position near the bound woman, her dagger in her hand.


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

Benia

"No..." Benia whispered. She twisted her hands behind her, feeling the coarse rope bite into wrists. An hour or so earlier, she had been upset with him and willing to believe any number of evil things about Kaldir, but now as he approached the trap that Naiore Dannan had set for him using her as the bait, Benia could only see him as the man who had delivered her and Gilly and Dúlrain safely into Imladris, and who had only a short while earlier held her hands in his and asked her to become his wife. She cast a fearful glance over her shoulder in the direction of the Ravenner. He must not be allowed to fall into such evil hands. Knowing that her life would be forfeit if she dared even to attempt to thwart the evil elf’s plans, Benia strained against her bindings. She came to a decision. As far as she could see, her life had already been forfeited.

"KALDIR!" she screamed at the top of her voice. "NO! SHE’S -" A sledgehammer-like blow struck Benia full in the face, cutting off her words, and plunging her into a state of semi-consciousness. Benia slumped against her ropes. Slowly, she struggled back toward consciousness. As her amber eyes fluttered open once more, she saw that the Ravenner had not moved, still standing like a woman of ice off to Benia’s side, her eyes distant and cold. Barrold Ferny grinned down from directly in front of her.

"Now, sweet’eart," he said in an oily tone. "That wasn’t too smart." He pulled a filthy handkerchief out of his pocket and shoved it deep into her mouth, snorting with laughter as she gagged and struggled to breathe. "I’ll hit you again if I have to..."

"Hush," ordered Naiore. Her clear gaze scanned the perimeters of the camp. Slowly, she stepped up behind Benia, raising the naked dagger to the bound woman’s throat.

Ferny stepped back, glancing around nervously.

"Greetings, dúnedan," purred Naiore in the direction of a thick patch of underbrush. "It has been a long time. You haven’t forgotten me, have you?"

When only silence answered her, Naiore laughed softly, a silvery sound that was both chilling and beautiful at once. Benia felt a trill of shivers race down her spine.

"It’s no use pretending that you are not here, my friend," she continued. "You are quite near. I can feel your presence. Show yourself that we might speak civilly."

Benia stared with horror as there was a soft rustling and Kaldir stepped into the clearing, his sword drawn. Still, he said nothing.

"Very good." Naiore raised the tip of her dagger to touch Benia’s face. Behind her, Benia heard Barrold Ferny draw his sword. "Now drop your sword," the elf ordered Kaldir, ignoring the man behind her.

Kaldir shook his head, his pale eyes filled with bitter loathing. "I cannot do that."

"You forget that I have something you value." Naiore’s blade traced gently down Benia’s cheek. "Shall I carve her up slowly? Would that suit you better? Perhaps I shall start with her eyes." The point of the dagger pricked the smooth skin just to the outside of Benia’s right eye. The muscles twitched along Kaldir’s jaw. Scarcely breathing, Benia watched as Barrold Ferny crept along the outside edge of the camp, moving himself into position behind Kaldir. She did not dare move as the tip of dagger pressed deeper into her flesh. She looked again at Kaldir‘s eyes and saw not loathing now, but pain.

"Give up your weapons and she lives," said Naiore. "I give you my word, my friend, but defy me and she shall die a slow and torturous death." Again, the chilling laugh. "I’m sure you know well what things I am capable of."

A long silence passed as the four of them stood motionless, in a temporary stale mate. Unable to speak, Benia prayed within her heart that Kaldir turn and walk away, leaving her to her fate. She had been foolish to wander off when she knew full well the danger that surrounded them. She deserved whatever happened to her. But he did not. Closing her eyes, Benia waited for the cut of the Ravenner’s dagger. Her heart sank as, instead, she heard the soft clink of steel striking gravel. Kaldir had dropped his sword.

"Search him and bind him!" barked Naiore to Ferny, withdrawing her dagger.

Benia opened her eyes in time to see Barrold Ferny kick Kaldir’s sword out of the bounty hunter’s reach. He sheathed his own blade and, fetching a rope, tied Kaldir's arms behind him, once at the wrist and again just above the elbows, pulling his broad shoulders back at an awkward angle. He attached a second rope, for additional control, around Kaldir's throat in the shape of a noose. Then, as Naiore watched, Ferny searched him for weapons, adding a small pile of daggers and small throwing knives to the sword on the ground. At last, Ferny nodded.

"He's clean."

Naiore stepped away from Benia and sheathed her dagger, returning to her place atop the stone. "Bring him to me."

As Ferny reached out to push the bounty hunter in the direction of Naiore, Kaldir, who had been enduring all of this in a smoldering silence, raised his head and gave Ferny threatening glare. Instinctively, Ferny dropped his hand and took a step backward. Scowling, he cinched up on the noose around Kaldir's throat instead. Naiore stilled him with a raised hand.

"What is it?" asked Naiore, her hand falling again toward the hilt of her dagger. "I thought we had a deal - your life for hers."

Benia watched as Kaldir nodded. "We do," he said gravely. "But I would like to speak with her first."

Naiore paused for an instant, then nodded her agreement. "Very well, but make it brief," she said impatiently. "You and I have much to do." Turning her gaze toward Ferny, she continued, "Take the rag out of her mouth. I don't think she will be screaming again."

Barrold Ferny did as he was told and, at a glance from Naiore, retreated a short distance away, still keeping a firm grip on the rope around Kaldir's throat.

"Why didn't you leave me?" Benia whispered as Kaldir stepped within a pace of her. "You should have left me."

Kaldir merely shook his head and bent to rest his scarred cheek against her soft hair. "She doesn't want you. She wants me," he said softly. "This way, I can perhaps gain you some time. Dúlrain will find you. I am sure of it."

"What will she do to you?"

Again, Kaldir shook his head. He started to say something else, but was cut off as Barrold Ferny, at a nod from Naiore, jerked sharply on the rope, causing Kaldir's head to snap violently backward. As he was dragged away, Benia heard his last words to her, uttered so softly that she nearly missed them:

"I'm sorry."

Unaware that she was even doing it, Benia made a soft keening sound in her throat as she watched him be forced down on to his knees in front of the Ravenner. Smiling serenely, Naiore uncoiled her long long legs and slid down from her rock. Her slender fingers stroked the bounty hunter's scarred face.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

After leaving Amandur, Rauthain went directly to the ranger’s lodging to look for Avanill there. But finding him gone and no one else about in that place, the old ranger hurried to gather those few things that he had brought with him on his journey, heaping them in a small pile within in hand’s reach of the door. When he had finished, he left again quickly to search not only for Avanill but Kaldir also, and it wore heavily on him as he strode over the grounds that he should find them. For he was eager that they make haste now that Amandur had bid them be ready to depart, and would leave this place just as soon as the horses were saddled and their provisions obtained.

Going to look for Kaldir’s room, the old ranger stopped those who passed by him, asking where the guests might be staying. He did not feel comfortable in the beautiful halls and gardens there, but as if he somehow were intruding on the place, disrupting the natural flow of activities, like a branch that water must swirl around in passing by. But at length his heavy boots found the threshold of the room he had been told was used by his friend, and though all was quiet inside, he knocked, the sound echoing lightly down the hall. “Kaldir,” he called, but no one answered. And so, after a few moments decision he opened the door that creaked on its ancient hinges. At first glance he thought he had the wrong chamber, for this one seemed unoccupied. Indeed Rauthain, finding it both empty and reasonably orderly, stepped into the room to check for a sign that anyone had lately been there. Crossing over to the bed, he ran his hand across its fine coverlet, but it appeared smooth and unused. And the fireplace, it was clean with newly stacked wood in the grate. And it was only when he opened the empty wardrobe expecting to find Kaldir’s weather worn bag and rope that he recalled Kaldir had lost his gear when his horse had run off in battle.

So the old ranger moved to close the cabinet door when he heard someone clear her throat behind him, to his relief, a woman by the sound of it. Turning, he saw Mrs. Banks standing in the doorway scowling at him, a fistful of green lacework in her hand. “What are you doing poking around here then, while Mr. Kaldir’s away?” she demanded of the ranger, in a manner that put him in mind of a small but outraged lap dog.

Placing one hand on his chest and stretching out the other, Rauthain bowed deeply to her saying, “My apologies Madam, but I see now that I indeed have the right room. I have been looking for our friend Kaldir, but from the look of it, this room is little used. Do you know where he might be found? I carry a message for him that is quite urgent.”

“I don’t know about any urgent messages, but I do know, he’s off on important business of his own. And also that you ought not be prowling around places you’ve no right to be, Mr. Rauthain!” she scolded “And I have half a mind to tell him that I’ve seen you here poking about his room, when he gets back.”

“Please see that you do,” Rauthain interjected. “For we are to leave as soon as we can ready ourselves. That is the message I carry, and I think he will also deem it an important one, if you would be kind enough to tell him.”

“I see,” the hobbit said, looking around her. “He don’t have much to pack here, as you can see. But he’d be needing a bite to eat on the road, won’t he?” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t expect you’d leave without him?”

“Without him? No, I should think not. Why? Where is it exactly that he has gone?” Rauthain enquired growing a little anxious. “And what is this important business you speak of. Surely he has not gone to seek the Ravennor alone!”

“No sir, it’s nothing like that. It’s Miss Benia…Miss Nightshade. She was in a bit of a quandary and needed to sort herself out,” the hobbit began.

“Ah,” Rauthain said, Quick to suppress a smile of relief, as he remembered his discussion with Kaldir about the lady only the morning before. “But what has that to do with Kaldir?” he asked.

“Well, everything really,” the hobbit continued. “But to the point, she was a bit distraught and Mr. Kaldir has gone to find her and make sure she is alright.”

“Do you know where they have gone? I do not wish to intrude upon them, but as I said it is urgent”

“No, I don’t know where either of them is. And to tell you the truth, I have not seen them for some time,” she sighed. “But if he hadn’t have found her wouldn’t he have returned?”

“I would think so. But there again I am no better off then when I began!” Rauthain said with a hint of exasperation. “But if by chance you see them would you tell Kaldir that we are to leave?”

“Yes, yes. You can count on it.” The hobbit said straightening out her tattling.

“And I will also keep an eye out for them,” the ranger said, cocking his head sideways to view her work. “You do nice lacework Mrs. Banks, if I might say so. My wife also used to be quite good at tatting in her youth.” Then suddenly remembering the shuttle that he had found by the river, he untied the pouch at his side and drew out the little wooden thing, handing it to the hobbit. “I think that you might get more use of this than I would, though it reminded me of her to find it.”

“This looks like the one I used to keep in my pocket, but lost when we crossed the river Bruinen!” she exclaimed.

“It very well might bethe same, for I found it also in the waters of the Bruinen, and I’m glad it has found you again. But if you will excuse me, I must set about my business. Do not forget to pass on the message!”

“Thank you sir, and I won’t.” Mrs. Banks called after Rauthain, as he walked down the hall and outside once again.


It had been quiet some time since Amandur had charged Rauthain with the task of finding his two fellows, and still the old ranger had not been able to alert them. Now after looking again about the house he decided to return to Amandur to tell him of the delay, and strangely enough as he walked toward Amandur’s quarters he met Avanill walking along the path in the opposite direction.

“Hey there, Avanill!” Rauthain hailed him. “I bring from Amandur news that we are to leave immediately, but I have not found Kaldir. Have you seen him today?”

“Earlier on, I saw him entering a garden, but not since then,” Avanill said gestering back up the path.

“Isn’t that the way of it?” Rauthain grumbled. “And now I suppose we might never find him! Was he alone?”

“Yes, quite alone, and looking about there quite intently, though he seemed more interested in the ground than the blossoms. Why do you ask?”

“Evidently, the blossom he was looking for was Miss Nightshade, who had gone off on her own. I imagine I should try to find one or the other of them then, for I don’t think they would be far apart, but wish me good hunting if you will.”

“I do then. Is there something that I could do, meanwhile?” the young man asked.

“I suppose you might get our horses saddled. It shouldn’t take Kaldir long to prepare once we’ve found him,” Rauthain said as he started to leave. “I will let Amandur know were I am going,” he called over his shoulder. “But you might want to let him know when you and the horses are ready.”


By the time Rauthain reached the quarters there were a few rangers about, and Amandur was not to be found among them. The afternoon was already growing late and the old ranger did not want to wait, but still he pulled out a chair from under the small table, and sat for a while, waiting for Amandur to return and collect his things.

Finally, eyeing the cloak that lay over Amandur’s bags, he got up and slipped from his shoulder the satchel containing Avanill’s stores. He held it in his hands, as if weighing something in his mind, but then got up and walked over to the cloak. Placing the sachel under the soft folds, he was careful to conceal it well. He could wait no longer and would not have Avanill jump him in the lonely garden, to take off with these potent powders. At least this way too Amandur might have a little more hold on him, when the boy came back with the horses.

Closing the door behind him, Rauthain left making quickly for the garden were Avanill had last seen Kaldir.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

Dúlrain Searched the house for Benia walking as if treading a shadowy path of dreams detached from the reality of true happiness by the weight of what he had now convinced himself was the only solution to the war that waged within his heart and soul. His brother had crawled with every ounce of strength he possessed from the pitched blackness of his tormentors prison and now stood precariously on a precipice, one push and he again could fall into darkness, Rauthain had all but warned him that it was so! But ahead lay life, love, friendship all things forgotten and stripped from his brother by the twisted hands of fate that had so cruelly delivered him into the hands of Naiore Dannan. Who was he to denying his brother theses things, did he not deserve this chance more than he, had he not suffered enough! His loyalty and conscious threw its weight heavily into the pitched battle.

Pausing momentarily he closed his eyes remembering the softness of Benia’s gentle touch as his heart countered his conscious in a heartbreakingly concise strike. He breathed deeply remembering the sweetness of her scent which lingered tantalisingly in the southern woman’s wake, beckoning him to stay with her forever. As he opened his eyes and continued up the winding stairs he was remained of her bravery and the fierce loyalty she had shown her friends, the strength and being of who and what she stood for and his undying love of that strength waged against the tide of his love and loyalty for his brother and so it continued until with clarity he saw that Benia was already bound to Kaldir, a small slither of thread that held him in place, a stabling presence that called his brother from the brink of darkness, without which he might slip and tumble back into the bleakness of his internal prison!

Taking a deep and steadying breath he realised that he again stood before the door of his quandary, his hand reached out to touch the dark wood as he pictured the woman he believed within. Her gentle smile and the loving warmth of her amber eyes filled his mind and for an instance he almost gave in to his hearts desire.

“I’m Sorry!” he whispered letting his hand slip from the door and turning . There was no point in upsetting her any more than he had too, he would leave with the others and not return, Kaldir would return and together they would escort Mrs banks to her home and with time he would be forgotten and she and Kaldir would find happiness together, all that was left for him to too was insure that his brother lived to return. With a resigned determination and a heavy heart he started to leave, but stopped as the door behind him slowly opened, he turned expecting to see the warm smile of Benia but was surprised to see it was the elven attendant.

“Good day Master Dúlrain it is good to see you up and about,” she smiled pleasantly, “If your looking for miss Nightshade she is not here at present, I thought she might still be with you,” she said her warm smile broadening, but seeing Dulrain frown pensively she asked him what was wrong.

“it may be nothing,” he said shaking his head thoughtfully, “but I have just come from looking for the lady downstairs, perhaps I just missed her,” he shrugged.

“No Master Dúlrain, I have been here all morning and have seen no other guest but Mrs Banks, Even Master Kaldir’s room has been untouched, oh no wait Master Rauthain was here sometime ago speaking with Mrs Banks, I remember noting that she looked a little trouble once he departed."

Dúlrain’s frown deepen slightly, "Do you know were the Hobbit lady went?" he asked.

“I’m sorry after the ranger left she went down stair, where she went from there I cannot say,” the lady answered apologetically.

Dúlrain nodded, thanking the elven lady for her help and left to look for Gilly if anyone knew were Benia might be it would be her. As he searched for the hobbit woman he asked those he passed if they had seen either of the two women, while none had seen the southern woman, several remembered seeing the hobbit woman heading out towards the gardens and this is where he found her, her head intently searching left and right.

“Mrs Banks!” he called gently wishing not to startle her, she turned and he saw clearly the worry and concern etched on her face.

“Oh! Master Dúlrain,” She cried as he crouched down before her. “I’m ever so worried, its Miss Benia …” she paused seeing her concern mirrored in his grey eyes, but he gentle prompted her to go on.

“Oh! Dulrain she went for a walk alone this morning and has not been seen back since, Masters Kaldir and Rauthain have both gone to look for her and neither have returned, what could have happened too them!” she sighed. Dúlrain followed her gaze beyond the gardens his own concerns and fear racing in his mind. “why would she have gone alone, it just does not seem like her to such a thing?” he whispered not understanding, but noting Gilly’s silence he turned to look at her.

“Oh Mister Dúlrain, she was so confused, feeling how she does about you and all!” Dúlrain frowned still not fully understanding.

“It was Mister Kaldir, He proposed to her.” the hobbit woman whispered sympathetically.

Dulrain dropped to his knees in shock, feeling as though his heart had just been rent from his chest, a numb constricting feeling caught his breath and his chest tightened.

“Oh Mister Dúlrain I am sorry, but I am so worried what if something has happened to her, perhaps I should have gone with her but she said that she needed some time to think! surely the others should have found her by now?"

Hearing the fear and worry in the hobbit woman’s voice he swallowed his pain and gently turned Gilly to face him. “I promise I will never let anything happen to her, but I must ask you something, it may be important so think hard.” he said levelling his eyes gently with the hobbit woman, Gilly nodded.

“Did you notice if Benia still wore the whistle that I gave to Kaldir in Bree?” Gilly thought hard for a moment then nodded, “Yes, yes she did!” she replied hopefully.

“Good, then there is hope, if anything has happened she at least has a way to call for help.” he nodded encouragingly. “Gilly I need you to find Amandur, let him know what has happened, Tell him to continue on we will catch him up as soon as Benia and the others are found.”

Gilly was about to protest and argue that she was going to go with him , when he sympathetically took her hands, “I promise I will find her and the others, but if something has happened it may be dangerous, I know and understand your loyalty to your friend, but I need for you to stay here and let Amandur and the others know what has happened.” She was silent for a moment then nodded reluctantly.

“Now go, I will find them!” He urged, Gilly nodded and hurried in the direction of the rangers quarters. Rising Dúlraian turned and went in search of the others. Finding the dusty prints of Kaldir and Rauthain he followed them into the forest that edged the elven refuge, he paused in horror as the tracks of the others told their terrible tale. With a sharp whistle he looked backwards towards the stables and after only a moment he heard the heavy hoofs of Dir Galloping towards him, grasping the reigns he lead the horse as he intently followed the tracks further into the forest, He had to find them! She had to be safe!

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

As Kaldir was dragged away from Benia by the rope around his neck, he could hear her make a soft keening sound in her throat. The sound alone would have broken his heart if he had been in any other situation, but under the current circumstances, it ripped at his soul as well. He knew that he would never see her again, at least not with the same eyes. To an outside observer, it might have seemed odd that he had accepted Naiore's deal so quickly, but Kaldir knew that, evil though she was, her word was as good as a bond. Benia would not be harmed... so long as he held up his end of the bargain.

At a sharp blow from Ferny, Kaldir stumbled and fell, landing heavily on his knees before the Ravenner. It was a posture that he had sworn he would never again occupy. The touch of her fingers against his face felt like the touch of death. Out of an ancient habit, Kaldir averted his face.

“Here we are again,” said Naiore crisply. “We have much to do, my friend, so I will remind you but once. Do not defy me. I no longer have the time for games. Remember... if you resist me, I shall have Barrold cut out your lady’s eyes one by one. Do we have an understanding?”

When Kaldir nodded, she smiled. “Good. Then look at me.” Finally, reluctantly, Kaldir did as he was told. His body stiffened in pain as Naiore forced her way into his psyche. All of the demons that he had sought so long to keep at bay came rushing forth, yet he did nothing to push them away from him or to stop Naiore. The mental walls he had once been able to push up against Naiore’s invading consciousness lay dormant. He let her in, let her do her work unopposed. If he wished to save Benia, he had no choice. He merely endured the pain as Naiore’s sharp mind slashed through his memory and conscience like a scythe through dry grass. In the end, nothing remained of him but his fearsome fighting skills and the intense determination to use them for her defense. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. Naiore smiled and stepped back. Kaldir was gone.

Only emptiness remained. Emptiness and death. The husk that was once Kaldir, slumped into his bindings. Inside his head, Naiore continued to speak as outside of him she began to untie his bindings with her own hands. “There are others,” she said. “They are coming. It is your job, my friend, to stop them. Kill them. Do not let them pass. I will keep your lady safe for you while you do your work for me. When you have killed as many of them as you can, make your escape. You will find us in Gladden Fields. Your lady and I will wait for you there. Remember. Kill any you encounter.” He said nothing as her silken voice droned on and on. His mind in tatters, he merely stood there and accepted his weapons back from her hands. The only thoughts he was able to grasp were her face, her voice, and the content of her repeating commands. He must kill them. Kill them all.

“Go now,” said Naiore. Wiping the blood from under his nose, Kaldir nodded and walked away to do as he had been instructed. The farther away he got from Naiore as he moved back in the direction of Imladris, the more he became aware of his surroundings, but it was not with the same awareness that he once had. It was the awareness that he had once thought belonged only to the world of nightmares. Even the faintest sounds rang out at him with intense clarity, every detail of the woods shone as though outlined in black. He wiped again at the blood that ran from his nose. Nothing connected.

Reaching the base of the trail that Naiore had used to get in and out of the vale, Kaldir hesitated, listening. Someone was approaching down the path. Drawing his dagger, he concealed it behind his leg and waited. Before long, an old ranger appeared, moving slowly between the trees, his attention focused on the ground. Tracking. Like the silent hunter that he was, Kaldir waited, his dagger at the ready.

Seeing him at last, the old ranger quickened his step. “There you are!” he exclaimed, a look of relief appearing across his weathered face as he approached the waiting hunter. “I was beginning to think we had lost...” His words trailed off in confusion as Kaldir neither moved nor responded, his face expressionless and cold.

Before the old ranger could say anything further, arm himself, or even fall back a pace, Kaldir seized his opportunity. He stepped forward and with a single fluid motion, sank the blade of his dagger into the unprotected torso of the older man, pushing it in to the hilt and upward between the man’s ribcage to his heart. Feeling the ranger’s hot blood gush over his hand, Kaldir merely twisted the blade. As the old ranger began to go limp and fall, dying, Kaldir let him drop to the ground. Puling the dagger free, he wiped it clean on the shoulder of the man’s cloak.

Then, for a flashing instant, Kaldir hesitated. A fragment of memory raced across his detached mind. This man. Laughing... He knew him. Rauthain?. Equally quickly the moment was gone. Someone else was approaching through the trees. He could hear the soft clop of a horse’s hooves. Stepping over the dying man, Kaldir sheathed his dagger and drew his sword.

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

Naiore

Naiore watched from the center of the camp as Kaldir's tall figure disppeared from view. She felt a combination of triumph and disappointment that she had gained such an easy victory over him in the end, but all mortal men had their weaknesses. Conquering Kaldir had simply been a matter of finding his weakness. Naiore glanced over at the black-haired woman tied to the tree. Once she had found that weakness, the rest had been easy. The pity was that she had not had the time to do a proper job of exploring and corrupting his mind. In her haste, she had been forced to make do with a shallow destruction of him, nothing more. Too bad! What a fearsome weapon he would have made had she been able to turn him completely to her will without destroying him as part of the bargain. It was such a waste.

With Kaldir gone to carry out her bidding against what elves and rangers he could find, Naiore turned her attention toward the more immediate business of her own well-being. It was then that she noticed for the first time the low-pitched keening of the southern woman. Turning to Barrold Ferny, she snapped, "Shut her up."

"Gladly," muttered Ferny. He stepped up to the bound woman and raised a hand to strike her a fierce backhand across the face, when she fell abruptly silent. Ferny chuckled and tickled her under the chin instead. "Smart move, sweet'eart," he said pleasantly. "You an' I are going to get along just fine. Don't start up again or I'll rattle your teeth for real."

With that, Ferny dropped her a slow wink, to which the woman responded with silence and a glare of pure hatred. Ferny cawed with hoarse laughter. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see what Naiore's response had been to his moment of fun, his laughter trailing off as he saw that Naiore had slung her pack on to her shoulders and strapped her curved swords into place.

"Wot!" he exclaimed. "Are we leavin', then?" He nodded in the direction the bounty hunter had gone. "Wot about 'im?"

"He will not be coming back." Naiore smiled coolly. "He will be either killed outright or captured and executed for his sins. We needn't worry ourselves with him any further."

Ferny's jaw dropped open, exposing a mouthful of black teeth. "So's we just leave 'im. 'Is knowing where we are and everything? Wot if 'e gets away? They can follow 'im, right? Right to us."

Naiore's beautiful gray eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Perhaps it would be better to be sure of the bounty hunter's demise. If he survived the contact with the elves and rangers at all, she knew well that he would be wounded and vulnerable and, consequently, of very little further use to her. She nodded. "Then you may stay behind," she answered smoothly. "Kill him yourself. I'll leave you the horse. When you know the job is done, you may rejoin us quickly by horseback."

"Wot about 'er?" demanded Ferny, gesturing to Benia with his thumb.

"She pleases you?"

"She ain't bad."

"Then she comes with me," answered Naiore. "For safe-keeping. When you return, you may have her to do with as you please." Naiore turned and drew her dagger. With a quick, fluid movement, she cut the rope that bound the southern woman to the tree. Her wrists still tied, Benia Nightshade fell away from the tree, careful to keep her distance from Naiore. The elven woman laughed. "Yes, it is wise to fear me," she said, sensing the dread and hatred that now rolled off the woman in waves. With her dagger, Naiore pointed toward a path out of the campsite that would eventually lead into the south. "Now go. Remember I will only be a step behind."

"How will I find you?" called Ferny as the two females began to walk swiftly out of camp, Benia first with Naiore tightly on her heels.

"Make for Gladden Fields."

[Everdawn]

“Right, the horses” muttered Avanill after Rauthain. It was the first time he had thought about his own horse which he had left in Bree, and for the first time in his life he wished he had Amathalay there with him, still the elves had offered their services and a horse of the elves would in no doubt work harder, be faster and stronger than his mother’s old horse. His mother… Avanill paused on the path to the stables intent on fulfilling Rauthain’s request. He had completely forgotten that he would have to tell her about this. He swore under his breath and grinned nervously. “Just think” he said “Its self preservation also.”

Being around the ranger’s quarters that day had unnerved Avanill, which anyone who knew him would say that that was near impossible because he wore a frown for quite some time. He now knew what part he had to play in all of this. And anyone would have thought this enough to settle any man uncertain of his fete, but not Avanill. Sure, all he had to do was hit Naiore with a dart, but getting within the vicinity would be hard enough, not to mention shielding himself from her mind games.

Wandering thoughtfully to the stables a thought struck him. He knew a potion which would cloud the mind to an almost waking dream. If he could find some way to dilute it he may be able to inject her himself. “Damn!” he cried out loud, scaring one of the horses. He realised that his satchel was still with the other rangers. “Thankyou for making this easy for me.” He said sarcastically upwards as if talking to the roof. As if in answer a lantern fell from the roof narrowly missing the young man who had jumped out of the way to avoid being hit, he landed lightly upon the hay but it was what rolled out of a pocket that surprised him the most.

Rolling away from him in the hay were two tiny phials, both light blue in colour. Avanill’s face lit up. He looked at a horse who had peered its head over its stall. “I hadn’t even thought of that one” he admitted picking himself up, grinning. “That one will come in handy.”

Once he had all horses saddled he took them in turn to the front of the rangers quarters where he had prepared his own belongings and sat down on the steps and waited.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

In another room in the house two elves packed in solemn silence, all that had needed to be said had been said, concerns aired, fears confronted until father and daughter had come to a solemn understanding. Vanwe emptied the contents of the pouch that Lespheria had returned to her onto the bed, lifting the crumpled notes scrawled in her hand she read over them sombrely, a silent anger spread over her as she saw the depth of her denial in the words she herself had written, so long ago it now seemed but a distant memory, a fleeting fantasy! Screwing up the notes she tossed them defiantly onto the cold black coals of the unlit fire and then turning back her deep blue eyes fell on the dark twisted leather, that served as a reminder of what lay behind. Golden strands of fine elven hair had become caught up in the leather braiding, the hair of her mother that Hanasian had given her, the irony struck her as she picked it up and held it delicately in her hands. It had been Naiore who had abandoned her , the Harad camp a prison of her mothers design were she could be left and forgotten. Closing her hand around the twisted leather she felt her fathers concerned gaze on her, putting the truth of her past back into her pouch, with the little copper she possessed she turned and smiled in his direction, but his gaze had already dropped. Fastening her pack and tying her pouch securely to the elven belt she now wore, she walked up and laid a comforting hand on her fathers shoulder.

“It will be ok,” she whispered softly.

“You can’t possibly know that, You do not know her as I do!” Menecin replied after a moments silence, turning, his eyes studied her gravely, “I do not know if I can protect you?” he admitted regretfully.

Vanwe nodded smiling sympathetically. “I know the danger we face, but you do understand why we must go, don’t you?” She asked looking up at him.

Menecin nodded and took his daughter into his arms “We need this to end!” he whispered, affectionately kissing the top of her head. Vanwe remain in the warmth of her fathers embrace comforted and secure like a small child for several moments before gently pulling away.

“I’m so glad I found you,” she whispered as she turned and reached for her pack, her father smiled down on her but a small glimmer of fear and sadness still shone in his eyes as he too took up his pack and adjusted his weapons. Vanwe slipped the small knife into her belt then they were both ready to leave.

They met Léspheria in the hallway and together the three elves made their way to the stables, where Léspheria was relieved to see her white mare had found her way safely into the care of the elven stable masters, Amandur’s dark charger was also there stabled in the next stall. Léspheria then spoke quietly with one of the elven stablemen who quickly left, returning a short while later with two more horses fully tacked and then handing the reigns to the two stunned elves he turned back to speak with Léspheria. Vanwe with her fathers help fastened her pack to the saddle of the grey mare she had been given, it was a beautiful creature and reminded her of devrion and the horses back at the inn, wondering sadly if she would ever see them again she adjusting the stirrups on the saddle and looked up to see Léspheria approach leading a white mare and a dark and noble looking charger that she recognised as Amandur’s mount.

“We will wait here for the others they should not be long,” Léspheria said as she loosely hitched both horses to a nearby post. Vanwe nodded as she stroked the long face of her mare, while Menecin watched intently the sway of the trees in the forest beyond.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

As the trail steadily became clearer Dúlrain realised that at least Rauthain was not far ahead of him, he was just bending to examine the trail again when he heard the familiar voice of the older ranger ahead, abandoning the prints he quickened his pace in the direction of the sound, hoping, no praying that all his fears were miss placed and Benia and Kaldir were safe with the older ranger!

Kaldir sword drawn was the first sight that greeted him as he stepped into the clearing. Instinctively believing danger to be near he let go of Dir’s reigns and drew his own weapon. Giving a cursory glance around the clearing to determine were the perceived danger lay his eyes fell on the still body behind his brothers feet a greying head slowly turned to one side and Rauthain’s grey eyes stared blankly out at him in silent warning that was lost on the unsuspecting ranger. Stepping back apace in horror Dúlrain again let his eyes search the clearing for signs of the rangers attackers.

“What happened, where is ….” he began, stopping in disbelief as his eyes fell on the blood soaked hands and sleeves of his brother, raising his sword defensively he stepped back apace.

“What has happened here?” he asked refusing to believe what his eyes were clearly showing him.

Kaldir did not respond instead he advanced with lightning quick steps, shocked by his brothers sudden attack he barely managed to bring his sword up in time to fend of the decisive blow of Kaldir‘s sword,

“What are you doing! Why are you doing this?” he questioned pushing off the attack and quickly side stepping to avoid the next, but still Kaldir did not respond.

Defending blow after blow he desperately tried to get through to his brother, to understand what was going on. The ringing of their weapons echoed through the forest. Their swords again locked and as they push heavily against each other, their eyes met and Dúlrain gasped in silent horror, his bothers cold empty icy eyes stared back at him devoid of all emotion or recognition.

“She was here!” He strained through gritted teeth, “And she has Benia!” he concluding knowing that she would be the only reason that his brother would give in to this enemy, a great sorrow and sadness swept over him, but still Kaldir said nothing, the battle the only thing driving him and in that instant Dúlrain knew that his brother was lost.

“Noooooooo!” he screamed finally pushing off the press of Kaldir’s attack. He stepped back, but the person that was once his brother would give him no respite and came at him again, this time though Dúlrain did not just parry the blow meant to kill him as he had been doing up until now, he took the offensive and pressed his attacker back. Kaldir was gone but Dúlrain was determined that Naiore Dannan would not have what was left to use as her mindless puppet, even if it meant severing those strings himself! With bitter irony he realised that this was the very thing that Rauthain had been trying to warn and prepare him for before, but he would not hear it and now it was too late for the older ranger.

As the battle ensued Dúlrain came to realise that although Kaldir was gone his fighting prowess had been left intact, his careful feigns time and time again repelled by the one person with the knowledge to do so, again and again he was forced to defend as the empty shell of his brother countered with precise precision. Anyone else would have been finished by now but Dúlrain knew his brother, their fighting style was one in the same only Kaldir’s years as a bounty hunter utilising more unorthodox techniques gave him the upper hand.

As Kaldir again gained the advantage and brought his sword down to bear, Dúlrain quickly raised his sword to defend realising too late the feign, expecting a dagger he turned to avoid the cutting blow, but instead received a boot to his now exposed, already wounded side.

“That’s new!” he gasped in shock as he stumbled backwards, dropping to one knee as the sharp pain shot through his side. Forcefully biting back the pain he raised his sword to met the downward thrust of his attacker. Knocking it wide he quickly rose, stepped back to gain his bearings. He now leaned heavily, his sword raised he knew he would have to end this soon or he would not survive to save his brother from Naiore’s grasp. Kaldir was the better fighter he had always known this, but he could not leave his brother this way! Straining against the pain he surged forward, but unhindered Kaldir easily avoided the desperate strike and their sword clashed again.

“Please, brother fight her, you did it before, you can do it again! You are stronger than this!” He cried in a futilely desperate attempt to reach some part of the man that was his friend and brother. Pulling away again, he caught out of the corner of his eye the flash of Kaldir’s sword raised to deliver a killing blow that he realise he would not be able to counter in time, in that instant knowing that death was upon him he turned and swung with all his strength, if he was to die he would take his brother with him!

“Forgive me!” He screamed through tears as his blade cut deep into Kaldir exposed side, Rib bones crunched under the force and Dúlrain pulled sharply upwards as he drew the sword from his brothers body. Realising instantly that Kaldir had not delivered his blow, he looked up, to his abject horror he saw the flash of recognition in his brothers eyes, he had hesitated!

“Oh Eru!” Dúlrain gasped his sword slipping from his shaken hands, “What have I done?”

As Kaldir slumped forward Dúlrain dropped to his knees to catch him then lowering him to the ground he futilely attempted to staunch the flow of blood pouring from the deadly wound, the wound he had delivered. As the warm life giving blood of his brother soaked his hands he could not help but think that Naiore had in some way won two victories this day, even if she herself did not realise it.

“I am sorry brother it seems that I am destined to fail you always!” he wept in despair, realising that his efforts to stop the flow of blood was useless. He stared in horror and disgust at his own blood soaked hands unable to bring himself to look at his brother for fear of what he might see.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Rauthain

Rauthain’s body stiffened with pain at the blow, and he looked questioningly at Kaldir for a moment before his legs gave way and he collapsed heavily where he had stood. Another surge soon claimed his full attention as he lay awkwardly there. The grimace was brief, cut short, for it left in its wake a calm stillness that he had never known. No longer concerned with the Ravennor or Kaldir, or indeed with any of the workings of Middle-earth, but having a vague notion that in being so wronged, his own guilt equaled, it was receding from him. So satisfied, he felt no anger toward Kaldir, but rather a great relief that over shadowed his thready perplexity.

Truly he had lent the gloom dominating his existence a goodly part of their bulk. And as his life now subsided the shadows also fled from him, driven out by thoughts of those brightest moments of his life, of son and wife.

Opening his eyes, the ranger became aware that a haze had descended upon him and heard too a loud drone in his ears. He imagined his son to be before him in the mist, and turning his head, remembered with sudden clarity that some danger was nearby. At last he recognized the dim outline was Dúlrain. But now, growing confused, he lay on sodden ground with overwhelming pain trying to move. And groaning he thought himself struck down by a pool at Raven Falls, his hand trailing in the strangely warm waters, as the mist of the falls thickly gathered round. All that could be heard was the imagined roar of the river as it plunged down over steep rock, and the sound of clashing steel close by. Closing his eyes again, he found that his grasp on life grew weak, and he willed himself to remember his wife receiving him home, as she had may times after long separation. There with his son at her side. He longed to catch them in his arms, but found strangely he could no longer lift them. A thick veil closed in about him and felt as if he were now floating on the surface of the Mitheithel, the rushing water stilled into utter silence, quieted along with the breath of his body.


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

Gilly

Truly, what had she been thinking? This whole mess was her fault, once you got down to it. If only she had gone with Benia she wouldn’t be running down this path to deliver a message and three people wouldn’t have had to gone off to search for her friend. But of course Benia would have strayed from the garden! It had been days since her friend had allowed herself the freedom of the outdoors. If only she had accompanied her, she could have talked a little sense into Benia, kept her from anything rash. But now after many slow hours had passed, she had to let Amandur know what was keeping Dúlrain, before she fell to pieces, as she felt she would. Tears were not far off.

Quickly drawing up to the rangers’ quarters, she saw sitting on the steps that the same tan and dark haired man who had been in their company a few days earlier as they left the battlefield. He nodded to her, and she nodded in return, but approaching the steps, she did not stop to greet him as would have been proper. She felt too pressed for time. Instead, she mounted the first step with determination, and swinging his knee around to make way, he watched her in silence as she passed by, to knock on the door behind him.

“Who you looking for?” came a voice at her back. Gilly turned around to meet the deep blue gaze leveled at her, and thought to herself that it may not be wise to say too much to this stranger. She still hadn’t the presence of mind to sift her words. “If it is Amandur your after, he’s not here, nor Rauthain.” He lifted his chin toward two saddled horses waiting close by. “I am expecting them myself at any time, though I can’t say when they might show up.”

“You are going with them then?” Gilly ventured timidly, looking at the horses.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” he said standing up, to tower over the hobbit. “When ever Kaldir and Rauthain return.”

“Why, where have they gone?” Gilly asked, shrewdly trying to gauge just how much this fellow knew.

“Rauthain had said he was off to find Kaldir. And Kaldir? Well the old man said he was looking for your Miss Nightshade,” Avanill said dusting himself off.

“I see. Then you know as much as I, and they have not returned yet,” the hobbit said, relieved at least to find that Rauthain trusted this man, leastways enough to tell him such things, and an idea began forming in her head. Let these rangers, these men, look for her friend if they will. But she would not stand idly by. She could not. She had come too far, all three of them had for that matter. Hadn’t she found her friend when she disappeared from the Forsaken Inn? She could not longer fret alone doing nothing but tatting in her anxiety, and trusting Benia’s safety to others.

“Sir,” she said her eyes beginning to glisten from the worry that weighed down her heart, spurring her decision. “I’ve been given an important message from Mr. Dúlrain to tell Mr. Amandur. It is urgent, mind you, but truly, I have no time to lose here. Would you be willing to help me and give it to him for me?”

“I don’t see why not,” he replied. “But as I said, I expect him soon.”

“Unfortunately, I hadn’t figured out just what needs doing until just now, and have dawdled too long. It can’t afford a moment’s delay,” Gilly said. “And not knowing you, still you see, I feel forced to trust you. But if you’ve been raised to have any sort of honor of all, you’ll see Mr. Amandur gets this message.”

“I don’t know that honor has anything to do with messages,” Avanill said, sitting down once more. “But let’s have it then.”

“Thank you Sir! I can’t tell you how much it means to me! Tell him that Mr. Dúlrain has gone after Miss Benia and the others. And that he said not to wait for them, but that they will catch up and join him, just as soon as they can.”

“Is that it?” Avanill asked the hobbit, who biting her lower lip, gave him many a rapid, shallow nod. “Then I will tell Amandur as soon as I see him,” the man said. “Easy enough.”

“Many thanks,” Gilly said, her voice wavering as she hurried down the stairs. “You have no idea how much help this is!” And without waiting for his response, she jogged up the path, tears rolling down her face the moment her back was turned. Passing through the garden once more, she was on her way back to the guests’ quarters to fetch her sword, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around she saw through blurry eyes, that Toby stood holding out a handkerchief to her.

“Mrs. Banks!” he was saying. “What could have happened to you, to make you weep so. I thought it near impossible to be gloomy or depressed in a place like this.”

“So the stories say,” Gilly said sniffing, and gratefully taking the handkerchief, she dabbed her eyes. “But it is not Imladris that has brought me to tears, but my own stupidity and Miss Benia’s continued ill-fortune. It seems even in such a lovely place as this she must still be haunted by trouble. It is just not right that she can’t ever find a moment of real peace.”

“Then have you had an argument?” Toby asked.

“No, no. It is just that she has gone missing, when, had I been a better friend, I should have been with her. And now Mr. Kaldir, Mr. Rauthain and Mr. Dúlrain have all gone off to find her and none have come back yet. I am so worried. It was near noon when Mr. Kaldir left. I don’t know what has happened, though I can think of any number of horrible things. But I do know that something is terribly, terribly wrong! And I am off to find her myself, once I get my sword and hers.”

“Alone? You can’t do that Mrs. Banks. There are foul things around, maybe even close to where we stand. Why don’t we alert the elves? They know this place better then anyone.”

“You are right, Mr. Longholes, I’m sure they do. And it’s not as though they haven’t been extra vigilant these passed few days. But you know that if something’s to be done right, you must do it yourself. And I will not fritter away anymore time, I’ve thrown too much away already.” She paused, seeing that Toby looked unconvinced, “Of course, you are free to tell them if you’d like.”

“You can’t do this, Mrs. Banks! After all you aren’t a ranger, or an elf!”

“I’ll thank you not to tell me what I can or can not do, Mr. Longholes! My feet can be just as quiet as yours, and I can track as well, too. I’ve learned a few things on this journey, and for all his eccentricities Kaldir has been a very good teacher. But don’t hinder me now, I must be off,” Gilly said picking up her skirts to climb the steps back into the building.

But Toby followed behind, trying to reason with her. He knew what might lie in wait. “If these men have gone off and not returned, how can you believe your efforts might go any better?”

“I don’t know that they would, only that I must try!” Gilly said. “But please do go away and stop plaguing me. I won’t change my mind, you know! Shoo!”

“But I can’t let you go alone, like this. And if I cannot talk you out of it, well then, I will just have go with you, though I would rather not. Frankly, you are in no state to be traveling, and your crying alone is bound to get you discovered!”

“Suit yourself Mr. Longholes,” Gilly gave in, hoping that Toby would change his mind. “And I promise to stop crying if you promise to stop lecturing.”

“Agreed.”

"Then we are off," Gilly said, handing Toby Dulrain's companion sword as she swung Benia's weapon over her shoulder once more.

[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

As he fell to the ground, Kaldir struggled to breathe. The blow that Dúlrain had struck with his sword had broken two or three of Kaldir’s ribs, ripped through the muscle of his chest wall and pierced his lung. As Kaldir slumped forward, Dúlrain caught him and lowered him the rest of the way to ground, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood from Kaldir’s side with his hands.

“I am sorry, brother, it seems that I am destined to fail you always!” wept Dúlrain in abject despair.

Scarcely hearing him, Kaldir pushed the other man’s hands away from him and, curling his body around his pain, tried to force himself upward upon his knees. Dúlrain had not failed him. Kaldir had let him strike the killing blow. His own sword raised to finish the younger man, Kaldir had hesitated as a shred of memory caught upon the jagged edge of his mind like a gossamer handkerchief upon a thornbush. Dúlrain. At one time, he had called this man friend, even brother. The one who lay dead behind him was Rauthain, another friend, murdered in the name of that treacherous bitch, Naiore. Kaldir knew that he must be stopped before he could finish even one more heinous act, but unable to free himself completely from Naiore’s thrall, did the one thing that he knew would be effective. He had hesitated and left his side unprotected. Dúlrain had done his part with lethal accuracy.

Unable to rise, Kaldir lurched forward, his scarred face landing in the soft earth of the forest floor. With blood filling his wounded lung, his breath had already begun to gurgle in his chest. He had not much time.

“Murdered,” he growled, falling heavily on to his side. He coughed, spraying the ground with a fine crimson mist.

“Yes, I have murdered you, my brother,” groaned Dúlrain, again trying to do what he could to stop the rush of blood from Kaldir’s side. “Forgive me, I - “

Hearing him this time, Kaldir reached out and closed Dúlrain’s wrist in a still powerful grip.

“No!” he said fiercely. A thin trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. “I...murdered Rauthain. Would have...murdered you. This - “ he tightened his grip “- this is my peace. No murder. Peace.” For the last time, he fixed his pale blue eyes on Dúlrain’s, searching for a sign that his brother understood. Seeing at last a dawning comprehension enter the other man’s face, Kaldir closed his eyes. Already the pain had begun to recede and blackness begun to creep inward from the corners of his mind. He coughed again, sending another fine mist of crimson blood into the sparkling air. Somewhere in the darkness, he could hear a woman singing like a nightengale, in a Haradrim dialect, a song of warm desert winds and shifting sands. He could see her gentle face before him, her kohl-lined eyes, shining like gems... had he managed to save her? He couldn’t recall. He had tried. Remembering something, Kaldir released Dúlrain’s wrist and dug something out of his pocket. He tried to press it into Dúlrain’s hand, but found that his muscles no longer obeyed him. His fingers refused to open.

“Find her,” he whispered. “Save her. They go.”

Summoning a final deep breath, he murmured, “Gladden Fields.” And with that final breath, the pain that had haunted him for so many years departed Kaldir at last. The peace that he had been denied so completely since that fateful day when he had fallen into the hands of Sauron’s minions at Raven Falls descended over him, not so much like a shroud as like a woman’s silken veil, lowered over him with love. And forgiveness.


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

Barrold Ferny

Three times, Barrold Ferny started down the path toward the hidden entrance to Imladris and three times turned back, each time grumbling to himself and kicking at stones. The first time, he got nearly to the place where the path declined steeply downward into the vale. Then, remembering the value of the mithril book covers he had left in his open pack back in the camp along the ridge, he went back. Shouldering his pack, he started again along the path that the bounty hunter had taken. This time, he only made it a short distance before deciding that the pack was too heavy and cumbersome. If he did end up having to finish Kaldir himself, he didn't want to be burdened with the extra weight. Kaldir had always been dangerous with a sword in his hand, but after what Naiore had done to him, Ferny trusted him even less than before.

Thinking back on the cold, empty eyes of the bounty hunter and the thin trickle of blood that had dripped persistently from his nose when Naiore had finished with him, Barrold felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"Spooky," he muttered. "That's what that was. Right dead spooky..." With a nervous glance around him, he took off the pack again and hid it under a pile of brush. With his sword drawn, Ferny started for the third time back along the trail toward Imladris. Again, he paused where the trail took a steep downward turn.

This time, he was greeted not by silence but by the sound of clashing swords echoing up from the forest below. Then, abruptly, the sound of fighting stopped. By Ferny's guess, someone had just died, but whether it was an elf or Naiore's bounty hunter, he could not say. He hoped it was Kaldir. If so, it would save him a good bit of trouble. Maybe he'd just assume that it was. Of course, if he was wrong and Kaldir turned up again later on, Naiore would have his hide. But by then, Ferny argued against himself, he planned to be long gone and, if Naiore wanted to skin him, she would have to find him first.

"Wot about 'im," spat Ferny in disgust, mocking himself. Why did he have to go and open his big mouth back there in the camp with Naiore? Of course, the Ravenner was right. The bounty hunter was a dead man or as good as one. There was no way he was coming back, so why wait? It would be just another useless delay. Ferny turned his head and spat at a beetle crawling in the dust by his foot. If he had just been smart and kept his mouth shut, he would have been miles away from this place by now. The beautiful southern woman would be his to do with as he pleased, and that evil elf would be on her own. After what he had witnessed Naiore do to the bounty hunter, Ferny's only real ambition was to put as much landscape between himself and the Ravenner as possible. Finally, he decided he would not wait any longer. As far as he was concerned, the bounty hunter was dead. Sheathing his sword, Barrold Ferny turned and jogged back to the campsite where he had left his pack and the bounty hunter's gray horse.

Shouldering his pack for the second time that afternoon, Ferny eyed the gray stallion. He looked fast, that one, and could probably fetch a pretty penny on the black market.

"I'll just take off and head west," he said to the horse. "Go back to Bree and make my gold off o' yer smelly gray hide. Forget 'er and 'er big promises." He spat at the ground, having no desire to hurry himself to rejoin Naiore, yet not wanting to hang about Imladris any longer either. The place would soon be crawling with Elven tracking parties. He had nearly convinced himself to flee back into the west on his own when he thought again of the bounty hunter's frighteningly empty eyes. Naiore would not be a good enemy to have lurking about out there. He might be able to slide by with a little white lie about the bounty hunter's death, but to desert or betray her outright? Thinking hard, he reached up and scratched his head, catching a stray louse, which he pinched absently between his nails. There was also the matter of the southern woman to consider. He pictured the smooth silkiness of her skin and the shine of her long, black braid. She had been promised to him, and, by garn, he wanted his chance to unloose that braid and roll around for awhile in the glossy veil of her hair. While she certainly wasn't no elf, she was definitely good enough for Barrold Ferny.

"Wonder if she can cook..." he mused, his mind made up at last. If she couldn't cook, he figured that a few well-placed kicks would teach her soon enough. She'd learn.

Thinking these happy thoughts, Ferny went to mount the gray horse and get on his way. Unfortunately, he had reckoned without the animal's ill temper. No sooner did Ferny get into range than the horse, with lightning swiftness, shot out a huge, ironclad hoof. It caught Ferny squarely on the hip and sent him sprawling. With a litany of curses flying, Ferny picked himself up and, momentarily forgetting the value of the horse, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. The horse whinnied and shook his head as though hugely pleased with himself. Barrold Ferny growled deep in his throat, but let loose of the sword. If he killed the horse, he would never catch up to Naiore. Cautiously, he edged his way around to the side of the gray stallion and pulled himself awkwardly into the saddle. The hip where he had been kicked throbbed mercilessly. Angrily, he gave the horse a solid kick in the ribs and flicked the reins. Instead of going, the gray stallion simply turned his head and eyed the man suspiciously, baring his large, square teeth. Ferny bared his teeth right back.

"I don't know what he called you," he snarled. "But I'll call you Dead if you...don't...GO!" He finished by landing a stronger more vicious kick into the animal's ribs. This time, the horse trotted obediantly forward and Barrold Ferny was on his way. Urging the gray stallion into an easy gallop, Ferny made his way southward to rendezvous with Naiore Dannan and to collect his reward.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur gazed again at the map laid out on the large oak table before him. After leaving Rauthain he quickly packed his things and headed for the library. Already he had determined that the passage south, west of the misty mountains was closed to the Revennor with both Rohan and Gondor watching for her passage and her diversion in the blue mountains would now be foiled and the Soldiers of Annúminas returning via the Shires borders would prevent her heading north.

“So were then would you go?" he whispered contemplatively, tracing his finger over the mountain pass, would she risk going so far east as to enter Eryn Lasgalen? No! he thought with a shake of his head. The Elven king would have heard of the attack on Rivendell and would be watching his borders closely, no that way is also closed to her. He smirked at the irony. “So what will it be north or south?” he pondered aloud, To go north would mean passing between the eyries of the eagles and the Carrock, but no one now knew weather either were still inhabited, but would she take the risk? He considered. We could skirt the mountains and cut her off at the Rushdown, he carefully contrived.

“And south?” he mused aloud, his finger following the course of the Anduin and stopping were the river Ninglor joined its course. “The Gladden!” He mused, their was something…. Stopping mid thought he abandoned the map and rummaged round a number of leather bound tomes that were piled beside his feet, finding an very dusty black leather bound journal, he put it on the table and dust rose into the air making him cough, but as the dust settled he opened the book skimming through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

October 1st SA 3434

We set camp on the banks of the River Nanglor, in the gladden fields.


Something or someone watches our passage, shrouded in an inky darkness. Elrond tells me he senses great anger and malevolence, but as yet all attempts to capture this creature have fail. It seems to know our plans before we even set them in motion. It moves leaving little evidence of its passage, If I did not know better I would think an elf trailed us! But the creature whatever it is must be caught be for it can pass what it has seen to its foul master!

October 2nd

The mornings scouts were attack, several good elves and at least a handful of Elendil’s men were lost. It was our shadow, those who escaped are stricken with some kind of madness and babble incoherently of a dark horror shrouded in beauty and darkness. I quicken our pace, but news of this horror spreads through the ranks and Elendil’s men dishearten. I double our efforts to capture this creature and prove that it is just flesh and blood and can be killed.

October 3rd

Another scouting party is lost as we leave the cursed lands of the Loeg Ningloran (Gladden fields), But the identity of our shadow has been discovered and it is more terrible than I could have realised! Our shadow is indeed an elf and a lady of my own court, one of the scouts a sentry of my house managed to mutter her name in my ear before passing on to death. I have said nothing of this to the others, the alliance is too important and is needed if we are to overthrow Sauron and his armies of Barad-dûr. The name of Naiore Dannan will not be allowed to poison this alliance with fear and doubt, no that secret for now I will keep to myself.

Gil-Galad.

“So it will end were it began!” Amandur mused dryly as he closed the journal, and turned his attention back to the map, strategically plotting how best to move against his fugitive. Totally unaware of the unhappy set of circumstances besieging his rangers.

The hour bell rang for the third time and finally realising the passage of time he cursed, quickly gathering up the map and ran with much haste through the corridors of the last homely house and down the path to the rangers quarters. He stopped short seeing the slight form of Avanill pacing back and forth in silent contemplation, a troubled frown fixed heavily upon his brow.

“Hail there Avanill, did I not say to Rauthain that we were to meet at the stables?” he queried, cocking his head to take measure of the young mans concern.

[Everdawn]

The thought passed in Avanill’s mind to infact load the other rangers bags onto the horses to save time for when the other rangers came back seeing as they were behind already. And he himself was not fanatical at the though of waiting, especially when he knew that each minute they were left waiting, was another minute of preparation Naiore may have to anticipate their coming.

It was only when he had begun to stack Amandur’s things upon his horse that he noticed an article which was very familiar to him, so familiar infact that it came to his realisation that it belonged to him. It was his satchel that the rangers had taken off him when they had first come across him. He sighed deeply before sitting on the ground examining it. He sat for a small while thinking over in his head the correct plan of action. He now had his weapons (as such) back within his reach, would he taken them back or leave them in the hands of the rangers? The question was trust. He knew that the rangers trusted him enough to let him wander alone, and keep his own weapons, but obviously not enough that they would give him back these particular effects. They had been right, Avanill thought, to keep them from him, afterall would he trust him in their position? Surely not.

But what if they did not trust him at all to administer the potion to Naiore? If he didn’t have his things at the right moment they could all be in dire straights. No, in order for him to be able to work successfully the young man needed his potions and powders by his side in case Naiore struck at an awkward moment.

As if a light bulb went on inside his head, Avanill realised a solution. He didn’t have to take back his whole stash, he only needed a little bit, and with what he already had he would now need to take even less. That way the rangers would be able to keep the satchel and not know if anything had gone missing. He flipped it open and began to search for that which he would need, the darts and the base ingredience, he could culture them on the road, he knew that. In not time he had what he wanted and had replaced his satchel among Amandur’s things.

It was not long after that the older ranger came to the young man. “Hail there Avanill, did I not say to Rauthain that we were to meet at the stables?” he said. Avanill’s head snapped around.

“Well, yes, that was the original plan.” Admitted the young man. “But no one came, call me impatient, so I decided id get the horses up here so we don’t have to carry our baggage too far.” He shrugged, handing Amandur the reigns of his horse.

“There was another thing, Mrs Banks…” Avanill stopped to remember exactly what it was that she had said and Amandur waited in anticipation.

“She said that Dúlrain has gone after Benia and the others. She also said that he said for us not to wait, but rather to continue and the others will catch up. Now heres my predicament, do we leave their horses? I suppose that’s the right thing to do after all, so they can infact find us again. I just hope they can…” Avanill began to stare into the distance once more.

“I just hope that we don’t run into her on our own.” He added.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

As Kaldir drew his last breath, Dúlrain witnessed a peacefulness settle over his brothers disfigured features. A sad smile mixed with a sense of loss and the warmth of knowledge that his brother was now finally free of his torment settled over the young ranger. “Go now brother and let your spirit be guided to the halls of Ilúvatar, were the peace denied you in this life now awaits. We will met again and in those great halls we will be brothers once more! but till then rest easy I shall honour and protect all that you held dear in this life.” and as he bowed his head his eye caught a small silvery glint from his brothers hand, the hand that he had tried to press unto him during his last breaths. Slowly he uncurl the stiff fingers of his brothers hand and freed the fine silver chain, the tiny medallions sparkled in the afternoon light as he held them up.

“Benia!” he whispered Kaldir’s words coming back to him. “Thank you brother.” he smiled, as he carefully slipped the fine chain into his pocket, turning he instinctively put out his hand to retrieve his own sword but stopped, the dark red of Kaldir’s blood still glistened on it’s blade and although he knew that he had giving his brother the peace that was so long denied him, he could not bring himself to take it up. Instead he stood leaving the sword were it lay and looked down at the ancient weapon that still hung at his side drawing the blade he looked at the Quenya inscription which loosely translated read To Protect and Serve! and so it shall once more he thought believing that it only fitting that those who held Benia would find justice by the sword of Kaldir’s true heritage.

He was just about to slip the sword back into it’s sheath when he heard a rustle in the bushes behind him, quickly he turned the blade before him, to see the stunned look of two hobbits. With a sigh of relief he lowered his blade, “Mrs Banks, Mr Longholes you should never sneak up on a ranger so!” he said as he slipped the blade into it’s sheath. But the hobbits did not register his words and as he again looked up he saw that Gilly now looked past him, her dark brown eyes wide with horror and grief as she looked upon the blood soaked bodies on the ground.

Moved by her grief Dúlrain knelt down before her and as he took both her hands she looked at him her tear filled eyes gazing at him questioningly. “He is at peace now!” he gently assured her “They both are!”

“But how did this… happen?” she quivered shakily, struggling to understand.

“How no longer matters,” he sighed heavily turning his eyes to the still form of his brother, “just know that he died honourably and is now at peace, a peace that we both know has been long denied him in life.” he finished his tear streaked eyes meeting Gilly’s in silent understanding.

They both nodded and he rose again to his feet, “We must hurry Naiore has Benia!” he said turning to retrieve Dir.

“What!” Gilly and Toby gasped in unisons, shaken violently from the silent numbing ness of their shock and grief.

“Before Kaldir died he told me that Naiore had Benia and that they were heading for the Gladden fields on the other side of the Mountains,“ he told them as he unbuckled his pack from Dir‘s saddle. “But we should hurry if Naiore should find out that Kaldir is dead she might just deem that Benia has out lived her usefulness and I can’t let that happen!” he continued as he pulled two spare cloaks from his pack.

“You mean us to come with you?” Toby asked anxiously.

Dúlrain looked up but his gaze fixed on Gilly and the sword strapped to her back, “You mean to follow even if I did not invite you, do you not?” he asked meaningfully. Gilly nodded, “Yes I believe I would, what kind of friend would I be if I did not?” Dúlrain nodded his understanding then turned to Toby, “And what of you Master Longholes do you mean to continue with this new leaf you have turned?” Toby glanced at Gilly then turning back to Dúlrain he nodded, “I owe Mrs banks a debt and I mean to repay it by keeping her safe till we return to the Shire!” he said determinedly

“Very well then we should hurry!” Dúlrain told them as he re-buckling his pack.

“But what about them! we can not just leave them here for the scavengers!” Gilly exclaimed looking back at the bodies of her friends.

“No we can not!” Dúlrain said as he came up behind her his hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder, “Dir will bare them both back to Rivendell were the elves will afford them a proper and fitting burial.” he handed her one of the cloaks, “We have no shrouds so these will have to do, say your goodbyes Quickly Mrs Banks for Benia still needs our help,” he whispered gently as he beckoned Toby to help him with Rauthain, So that the Hobbit woman could have a final moment alone with the bounty hunter she called friend.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

He was at peace.

Gilly stepped forward in her shock, feebly trying to take in the scene before her. Not even the carnage of the battle had prepared her for the sight of the powerful form of Kaldir, laying lifeless, crimsoned on the forest floor beneath ancient trees, Dúlrain’s bloodied sword resting beside him. Recognizing the weapon, she looked up in disbelief, to see the man who had captured Miss Benia’s heart, as he now bent over Rauthain, shrouding him in a clean cloak before carefully hefting the limp body onto the horse Toby held ready. He seemed to hesitate, gritting his teeth as raised the old ranger’s bulk in his arms. Toby letting lose the bridle, hastened to assist him. Dúlrain was in pain... but he said Kaldir had died honorably…Gilly’s brow furrowed. Surely Naiore had done this, or had she? It could not be as it looked to the hobbit, and yet…. And yet Dúlrain had said that Naiore was not aware of Kaldir’s condition. What was he keeping to himself? Was it Naiore, or had Miss Benia inadvertently brought this bloodshed about?

Though she felt she had come along way in putting aside her prejudice against ranger folk, this was far beyond her realm of reference. Afraid to think any further, fearful of what she might conclude, she told herself that Dúlrain was a good man. Indeed, behind his hopeful words of assurance regarding Kaldir, he looked quite somber, and his grief was no doubt real. But the urgency of her friend’s peril that he expressed, struck the hobbit hard now that their captor turned guardian had perished, and Benia was at the mercy of the Ravennor. She could not afford to doubt him, though she felt had lost all her moorings.

“Oh Mr. Kaldir!” Gilly said, kneeing down to look at his face for the last time, in the few minutes she had before they departed. She saw that though the scars of his face were now hidden and his countenance peaceful, his life’s blood shined, speckling the earth and tracking also from mouth and nose. A fresh flood of tears rose spilling over their confinement. “What ever has happened to you?” the hobbit wept, picking up his clenched hand, a thing she never would have done while he lived. And rocking back and forth, she held it to her chest, giving in to her own hurt. She remembered the gentle look he had as he spoke to her, declaring that he would rather die than let anything happen to Miss Benia and herself, and here it had already come to pass, as if he had wished it upon himself. But his life was spent and Benia was still missing.

“I should never have spoken to you so, as if you had no heart yourself! And it looks as though you were meant to break mine one way or another. True you had let Miss Benia live and love, but you have gone and gotten yourself killed along the way. We did not bargain for that. And now, who have you to mourn you but Mr. Dúlrain, Miss Benia and myself?” she said her voice cracking. “And we all must leave you here in Rivendell among the elves!” Reaching in her pocket for the handkerchief Toby had lent her, the tattling shuttle fell as she pulled it out. Picking it up in her hand, she looked at the little wooden thing, and quickly placing Kaldir’s hand back gently on his side, she tucked this symbol of domesticity in his pocket as a token of her friendship. “I could see you did not fear death, and it was a blessing too,” she whispered earnestly. “But you know, I’m afraid now for Miss Benia. We will take good care of her, Sir, Mr. Dúlrain and me. You know that we will! We will find her for you!”

Seeing that Dúlrain and Toby were leading the ranger’s horse over to where Kaldir’s corpse lay, she took the edge of her sleeve and wiped the blood from his face. Her heart sunk as Dúlrain covered him in the dark cloak. And together they all worked to place him beside Rauthain on the horse. Turning away, as Dúlrain secured the bodies, Gilly drew Toby aside. “I hope that you might accept my apologies, Mr. Longholes,” she said. “I had no right to treat you the way I did you earlier. You only had my best interest at heart I can see that. I just am a bit overwrought, you see.”

“You needn’t apologize, Mrs. Banks, you have had ample reason.”

“You are too kind. And you shouldn’t feel that you must see to my safety, for I do not know if I will lead you to your death. I can’t think why you should say you feel so indebted as to brave that. But you are welcome to stay with my family, if we return, until you can find a place to call your own.” She looked at the ground, “And if I do not make it back, please let my husband Carl and the children know what has become of me.”

“I do not doubt that you will return, and I have seen that you know how to use a sword,” Toby smiled. “You have everything to live for Mrs. Banks, do not give up!”

Just then, they heard Dúlrain command his horse in strange words, gently slapping the animal’s flank. Bearing his sad cargo to that fair house, Dir began to steadily walk back the way they had come. Once he made sure the horse had set off, Dúlrain turned quickly to pick up his pack, and he frowned. Toby rushed forward and slung the bag over his shoulder, without a word. And Gilly went to fetch his sword wiping the dark blood off on the moss, “Your sword, Mr. Dúlrain!” Gilly called to him.

“I have another that is of more worth to me, Mrs. Banks,” he said as he began walking. “Come, we must be off.”

Gilly ran to Toby and carefully slid the sword firmly under the flap of the pack, and the two hobbits fell in soberly behind the ranger. Gilly kept silent as she realized that he was following back a set of tracks very well known to her, the tracks of Kaldir.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur took the reign’s Avanill offered him and noted with mild surprise that his gear had already been brought out and strapped to the mounts saddle. He listened intently as Avanill passed to him the message of Mrs Banks. “gone after Benia and the others?” he frowned, “Just were have they gone and which others?” he silently mused, not hearing Avanill’s query regarding the horses.

“I just hope that we don’t run into her on our own.” Avanill was adding as he looked up again.

“on our own?” he echoed, “just who and how many of our company look for Miss Nightshade?” he asked truly perplexed, “and where have they gone not to warrant a swift return?” he questioned as they lead the horses from the rangers abode.

“She did not say!” Avanill shrugged after a moments thought. “But now I think on it Master Rauthain did say something about Miss Nightshade going off on her own and that he suspected Kaldir would be not far behind her, infact he left sometime ago to tell the bounty hunter of our departure perhaps these are the others the hobbit woman refers too?” Avanill offered.

“And did Rauthain happen to mention were he would begin his search?” Amandur asked, his frown deepening with a mixture of frustration and mounting concern as Avanill described the place where he had last seen Kaldir and directed Rauthain too!

Halting his horse suddenly Amandur looked out towards the silent woods, the place Avanill described was not to far from were they had found Menecin earlier that morning and where Lespheria thought she had sensed Naiore, “This is more than just mere coincidence!” he muttered shaking his head sullenly, then flicking his reigns he with Avanill almost running to keep up beside him hurried towards the stables.

“Have the stable master have horses ready that perchance the rangers do return, they will be no longer delayed and will be able to catch us up swiftly.” he told the young man. “But I fear that Naiore may have had some hand their disappearance and rather that it is we that shall need to catch up to them!”

“If we are not already too late!” Avanill muttered speaking aloud the thought also in his mind as they entered the stable yard where they were greeted by Léspheria and her two elven charges.

Léspheria smiled at his approach but seeing his worried frown and sensing the tribulation that rippled over his mind her delicate smile slipped into a worried frown of her own. “What news passes unheard that you frown so with worry, my love?” she whispered as he drew up beside her.

“Miss Nightshade has gone awry and with her also Master’s Kaldir, Rauthain and Dúlrain!” Amandur answered evenly as he hurriedly strapped his belongings to his own horse who greeted him with a impatient snort.

His eyes then verily fell on a familiar sight a small satchel not his own but one that he had seen before, lifting it he looked across to Avanill who was now speaking with the stable master per his request. “Rauthain must have left it ere he want in search of Kaldir,” he muttered to himself. opening the straps he quickly looked inside, nothing seemed amiss from what he could tell and again he looked thoughtfully in the direction of the young merchant. Perhaps I was to swift to pass judgement he mused, closing the satchel and stowing it with the rest of his gear.

“Young Master Avanill there tells me that he saw Kaldir, searching the ground close to were we found our bard!” he whispered to Léspheria giving her a significant look that told her more than he was willing to speak aloud, she nodded then let her searching gaze sweep across the valley. Amandur knew she searched not with her eyes and after only a moment Léspheria turned back to him and shook her head sadly, he knew now that the others were no longer in the hallowed havens of Rivendell.

“What is it? what is wrong?” Vanwe asked seeing Léspheria’s concerned, both elf and ranger looked at her sympathetically , then her father spoke. “Something has happened and Naiore is the cause!” he said coldly staring out towards the canopy of the forest beyond, his voice distant but contemplative.

Amandur nodded, then as Avanill returned he gave the order to mount up. “It may be that we five alone must stop Naiore! But still it can be done!” he assured them with a distinct air of confidence that he did not wholly share. “We make for The Gladden fields!” he added spurring his horse forward and taking the lead, the three elves followed silently behind with Avanill left taking the rear, not Amandur’s ideal choice but his only choice! He would have to trust that the young man had truly seen the error’s of his ways.

[Ealasaide]

Barrold Ferny

Barrold Ferny had never been troubled by such a thing as conscience. Nonetheless, as he rode away from Rivendell, seated in the bounty hunter’s travel-worn saddle, astride the bounty hunter’s gray horse, and on his way southward to claim the bounty hunter’s woman as his reward for services rendered, Ferny found himself casting a nervous glance backward over his shoulder more often than he would ever admit to anyone, half-expecting to see the bounty hunter looming toward him out of the thin mountain air, his pale blue eyes burning like coals from the shadows of his disfigured face, his hand reaching out for the back of Ferny’s neck. Instinctively, Ferny shivered and cast another glance behind him, seeing nothing but the back end of the horse and a steep, narrow mountain trail that lengthened behind him as he put more and more distance between himself and what he believed to be the now dead bounty hunter.

He flinched as a soft breath of cold air touched the back of his neck. “Go away,” he muttered, flicking his collar up with one hand. The horse, or Hay-jaws, as Ferny had taken to calling him, suddenly whinnied and swished his tail, pricking his ears back as though he, too, had felt a cool breath and perhaps heard a word or two in his master’s voice. Ferny reined the horse to a halt and scratched his nose.

Gladden Fields. By garn, that was a long distance away and he’d have to cross the Misty Mountains to get there, unless he managed to catch Naiore up before she reached whatever pass she intended to take. As far as he knew, there were only a few ways to get through the Misty Mountains: one was the High Pass that lay to the north, the other two were far to the south of Gladden fields, being the Redhorn Pass just north of Moria or there was the possibility of going through Moria itself. Now that was a scary thought, but it would be, oh, so like Naiore to choose that route. But surely even she would not risk passing through Moria. Or would she? Ferny shuddered in spite of himself. Rumor still said that Moria was an evil place. If the bounty hunter’s ghost was ever going to grab him, it would be in Moria. He would never make it to Gladden Fields.

“Woulda been nice if she’d said how she planned to get there...” he muttered, dismounting to study the trail. He was not much of a tracker, but even Ferny could see that two females had passed that way recently. If he kept up his pace, he figured he could overtake them by nightfall. The trail that Naiore had taken out of the campsite on the ridge had led south only briefly before taking an abrupt turn to the north. Squinting up at the late afternoon sky, Ferny realized that he had been riding north for over an hour.

“She’s making for the High Pass,” he said with finality. “Eh, Jaws?”

The horse merely snorted and turned his great head to look back down the path toward Rivendell.

“Stop that,” growled Ferny, pulling himself back into the saddle. “He ain’t comin’ after you and we ain’t goin’ back. Yer givin’ me the creeps.” With that, he flapped the reins and chupped to the horse, who started forward again with a slight jump. Ferny again thought he felt the brush of cold fingers against his neck and, with a sharp bark of revulsion, kicked the horse into a trot as the path temporarily leveled ahead of them.

“Ain’t no such thing as ghosts and you’re dead,” he grumbled to the air. “So go away, confound ye.” He had killed plenty of men in his lifetime, Ferny had, and never lost a wink of sleep or a moment’s peace over it. Why the bounty hunter was hanging around, he couldn’t quite figure out unless it had something to do with what Naiore had done to him. Ferny remembered again the blank look that had come into the man’s eyes as he walked away from the Ravenner, sword in hand and blood dripping from his nose. He cast another look behind him.

“Mind games,” he muttered. “Bounty hunter ain’t here. It’s mind games playin’ by that evil elf. That’s what it is. Messin' with me 'ead. Makin’ me think ’e’s ’ere.”

He reined the horse to a stop and looked back over his shoulder. “YOU’RE DEAD!” he shouted. He felt his heart skip a beat as echoes floated back to him from the distant mountains, a soft voice repeating, “You’re dead.” For a moment, he almost thought he heard his name added to the end. With a cold sweat breaking out all over his body, Ferny kicked the horse forward. He had to catch Naiore, get his reward and get back to Bree. Now. Barrold Ferny was not going to spend a night alone in the woods. Wasn’t it true that ghosts could only get you if you were alone? He thought he had heard that somewhere. Well, come flood or lightning, he was not going to spend a night alone.

The trail remained level for some distance, lined by brush and the occasional overhanging tree. Riding fast, Ferny saw the tiny figures of Naiore and the southern woman at last come into view, mounting the higher ground in the distance ahead of him. An oily grin touched his face as the horse, of his own accord, suddenly surged forward. Ferny’s grin vanished quickly as the animal abruptly veered off the path and gained speed, heading directly for the low-hanging branches of a gnarled old oak. Before he could react, the lowest branch caught Ferny across the midsection, scraping him as cleanly from the saddle as bacon from a pan. He landed on the ground in a sputtering heap.

The gray horse stopped several yards away and turned back, baring his large teeth and swishing his tail. Ferny had finally had enough. He struggled to his feet and drew his sword, so angry that he could not even find words. Instead, he uttered a guttural growl and, raising his sword, charged full at the gray horse. The horse whinnied and gracefully side-stepped the man’s wild-eyed attack. Then, with a flick of his long tail, the horse turned and trotted away, back up the path toward Rivendell.

Still holding his sword limply in his hand, Ferny watched as his erstwhile mount disappeared into the distance. Then, finally, he managed to find words... curse words and a lot of them. Belching a litany of profanity, he sheathed his sword and began to jog in the direction of Naiore and Benia Nightshade. If he hurried he could still catch them by nightfall.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

It was with a heavy heart and a strange sense of foreboding that Vanwe left Rivendell with the others. And even as they reached the eaves of the forest she turned in her saddle and looked back over the valley, silently wondering if she would ere return to walk in the gardens of her kin. But even as her eyes lifted and she looked further unto the west, she thought of her room, as modest as it was at forsaken inn and the friends she had made therein. It comforted her to know that they were safe, unmarred by the shadow of her mother. A smile as sweet and innocent as the morning dew played upon her lips as she turned thinking of the stable master tending his chores with his loose and easy whistle and the innkeeper and her ever welcoming countenance, even of cook the dowdy hobbit woman who often and anon complained that she did not eat enough she also thought on fondly.

Feeling her fathers gaze upon her, she turned and saw the warmth and affection that only a father has for his child when he perceives happiness in their face. “What fond memories doth bring so sweet a smile to my child’s fair features to chase away her bitter sorrows?” he asked as he came up beside her and for the first time since they meant Vanwe perceived that she saw the first hints of a genuine smile, not a weak smile borne out of sorrow or pity, but of affection and interested curiosity. She returned his smile and silently wondered if the warmth she now felt was what it felt like to be part of a family, did families share both happiness as well as sorrow? So eager was she to know her family she decided to open up to him. As they rode she recounted to him her time at the Inn and of the friendships she believed she had established as a member of it’s staff as short as that time was. But ere as she spoke the healer within her strove to draw out her father believing that if he to could remember happier times it may in some small way aid in the healing of his sorrows.


All went well as Menecin shared with her his time under the tutelage of Maglor, the greatest bard the elves have ever known he told her reminiscently. He spoke of names and places in a time long forgotten and not known to her but it mattered not! That he was sharing these things with her made her happy and while she kept on smiling Menecin continued to speak of such times, until eventually their talk came back to Naiore and the pain and hurt embroiled in her memory that neither one was yet ready to share and so a gloomy silence eventually ensued.

Is this the way it will always be? she thought miserably, will she always be a thorny wall between us preventing us to fully embrace each other? NO! she thought defiantly then turning to her father she spoke to him of her life in Harad, wither he would hear it or not! But in none of her recount did she seem bitter to toward her warders, “fear controlled their actions, fear of Naiore and fear of what they could not understand,” she told him seeing the hint of anger burning in his eyes. Then pulling the small piece of twisted leather from her pouch she held it out for him to see, I have carried this as a reminder of what lay behind a reminder to always look forward, but look now my mothers golden strands have become entwined with the reminder of that prison which she construed, a bitter irony don’t you think? But still their was no bitterness in her words only sorrow.

As she returned the leather to her pouch, her father spoke, soft and gentle were his words, “You are a stronger person than myself, to forgive such wrongs and stronger yet in mind than perhaps even your mother perceives, this may yet aid you my child, but yet be cautious for our hearts can sometimes betray us!” then lowering his head he rode on to speak with Amandur.

She sighed deeply shaking her head sadly. “Will he ever find peace?” she whispered as Léspheria’s white mare drew up beside her. “I don’t know?” Léspheria replied sympathetically “but that doesn’t mean you have to give up trying,” she smiled encouragingly. Vanwe nodded as she stare at the weary hunch of her father shoulders, so heavy with burden that she would eagerly lift for him if he would just let her.

Suddenly Léspheria stopped her body suddenly erect, her head turning slowly, listening! Vanwe thought as she too reigned her mount and strained her ears.

“What is it?” Amandur called noting their halt.

“A horse!” Vanwe suddenly cried recognising the clip clop of hoofs upon the soft snap of dried twigs.

“One and riderless,” Léspheria added. Amandur nodded as if a silent conversation had passed between them, then he rode off in the direction Léspheria indicated the sound was coming from leaving Vanwe and the others to anxiously await his return.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

For most of the afternoon, Naiore traveled on a northeasterly course, one that would take her directly to the High Pass through the mountains. She moved quickly, urging her captive, Benia Nightshade, to maintain a grueling pace only a few steps ahead of her. Fortunately for Miss Nightshade, the southern woman was a well-behaved captive and, apparently, well-used to walking. The entire day, she neither slowed nor faltered, which pleased Naiore no end. Nor had she made any attempt to speak. Since Kaldir had walked away and Barrold Ferny had put a stop to that annoying keening, the woman had not made a sound. In fact, she had not even looked at her captor. She had simply lowered her dark head and walked, hour after hour, holding herself in a stoic silence. Naiore smiled to herself, reaching out with her mind to touch the mind of her captive. Interestingly, she found no hint of the fear that had been so strong in the woman earlier. Now she found only deep sorrow and a trace of resignation.

Such a pity to hand her over to that oaf Ferny, thought Naiore. Sooner or later, he’ll only kill her. With a little training, she would have made someone an excellent slave. Not that Naiore would be interested in a slave herself. She was much more comfortable on her own. No, the southern woman would have been an valueable commodity that could be traded away to some less than scrupulous character in exchange for a favor or a horse. She was quite pretty. Naiore imagined that the exchange rate for her would be quite high in the right marketplace. Besides her value as a slave, there was also a cash value attached to the woman. Her tattooed hands gave her away. Unfortunately, though, Naiore had already promised the woman to Ferny and she was not one to go back on her word. Too bad. Such a waste.

Thinking of Ferny, Naiore cast a glance back over her shoulder. She and her captive had been climbing in altitude more or less steadily through the course of the afternoon. Now, as the sun began to dip lower on the horizon, they had reached the peak of a high ridge. Her keen elven eyes scanned the landscape behind them, looking for a sign of pursuit, not just by Ferny but by anyone. INstantly, her gaze fell on a puff of dust in the distance and a small black speck, jumping about and waving his arms after another speck of dust that seemed to moving rapidly back in the direction of Imladris... the horse no doubt. The fool had managed to get himself thrown and lost them their horse. A flash of irritation trilled down Naiore’s spine, then vanished. It was just as well that the horse was gone. They would not be able to take him through the mountains, anyway, at least not by the path she intended to take. As she watched, the black speck that was Ferny stopped fussing with the vanishing horse and turned in her direction. Seeming to catch sight of them, he began to jog toward them.

Naiore turned again toward her captive and gave her a considering stare. It was not good that Ferny had been able to spot them from such a distance. They had been careless. Ordering the southern woman to stop, Naiore slid her pack from her back and pulled two cloaks from main compartment. One, she put on. The other, she tied around the neck of the southern woman, spreading it across her slender shoulders. The cloaks were elven made and would serve to camouflage them against the rocks. Once the cloaks were satisfactorily in place, Naiore urged her captive forward again, but instead of pursuing the northeasterly course they had been following, she made a turn due east. While she had hoped to lead her pursuers into believing that she intended to take the High Pass over the mountains, her real destination was a smuggler’s trail, not often used and said to be frequented by orcs, that lay to the south of the other pass. Ferny would know it well, if he would just let the light into his shuttered brain long enough to remember that it was there. Once he reasoned thngs out that far, she was certain that he would realize that that was where she planned to make her crossing. Having no fear of orcs, she would wait for him at the base of the trail.

[Everdawn]

Avanill had for most of the time continued thinking about his task at hand. He was sure that the others did not know that he had accessed his belongings and in any case, it was not that for which he still worried. He was considerably concerned about the making of the venom which would stun the ravennor until a time which they could apprehend her.

Now however, all anxiousness aside, he was feeling more and more sercure within himself while all the outside had began to come undone. Amandur had wanted to find the others right away even though the message had said otherwise, and rightly so, the native woman had gone missing along with Kaldir, Rauthain and Dúlrain and Avanill while still a very junior member of the team couldn’t help but think that it all want a little ironic. Still, he thought, things could be worse. How much worse however, was only limited by the reaches of the imagination.

He had gone and run his errand to the stable master just as Amandur had instructed, and upon his return the faces in his presence were considerable more different than that had been minutes before. “It may be that we five alone must stop Naiore! But still it can be done!” Amandur said instructing them to mount their steeds. Avanill shook his head in disbelief as his horse took up the rear of the pack.

“Five? Great… Im going to have to ask for that satchel sooner than I had intended” he said quietly to himself.

From the front came commotion, the arrival of a riderless horse. Avanill sighed to himself and thought that ordinarily, a riderless horse just mean that its rider was too intoxicated to ride home to his wife. Now however, was a different story.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

As Vanwe told him of her years in Harad, Menecin’s anger waxed within him once again. Gone were the memories of attending to Maglor, playing for the great musician whose burnt hands could no longer feel the strings of his harp. Menecin’s thoughts turned instead to the many laments his master had composed around his bitter experiences. These things Menecin had learned in his youth, and yet before him Vanwe, who should have been allowed to wander freely the hidden places of Middle-earth, had instead endured unpardonable treatment at the hands of the ignorant, and known the scourge the ancient Dark Lord had produced in the harsh desert tribes. But his anger quickly dwindled as she spoke on. How was it that she could find it in her heart to feel pity for those who had treated her with such cruelty? And as she told of the prison her mother had bound her to, Menecin wondered, recognizing a reflection of himself in her words. Riding his dun horse silently at her side, he fingered the notes she had cast in the cold the fireplace in Imladris, and which now rested, hidden beneath his brigandine breast plate. It had been his only clue to the nature of his daughter, as he longed to discover more of her ways. She had curiosity, but the strength and subtle determination of her mother also shone in her, as brightly as the golden tresses she inherited and which graced her fair head. He could see that Vanwe was no captive, but many of the strong had faltered painfully in the presence of Naiore, and he did not wish to see her follow her mother's path nor yet the noble path that had spelled the end of Valaindon.

“You are a stronger person than myself to forgive such wrongs,” he spoke softly to her. “And stronger yet in mind than perhaps even your mother perceives. This may aid you my child, but yet be cautious for our hearts can sometimes betray us!” Indeed his own had only this morning, and that when he knew it could not be trusted. But this he would not speak of. Having warned her, he tugged at the reins, guiding his dark pointed stallion to walk beside Amandur’s charger, his thoughts circling round Naiore once again. He could hear Maglor’s rich voice in his mind, telling of a jewel that had caused much pain. But Menecin knew he had made no such vow to his dark jewel, and the only oath he allowed himself was given his daughter, and that he clung to as to life itself.

“Amandur,” he addressed the ranger. “I stress that which you no doubt are already aware of. We must be more than careful, not only before we find Naiore, but once we have her among us,” he said, so that the others might not hear. “True there are now five of us, and together we might have some hope, but I am concerned for the Ravennor’s kin, capable though they might be. I knew Léspheria’s mother well, before I came to live in Imladris. Her great compassion at first ensnared her, and when she pursued Naiore, having learned the truth of her cousin on my return from Henneth Annun, Naiore destroyed her given the chance.” He paused, grabbing Amandur’s upper arm so that when he turned he might search the ranger’s eyes. “We must take pains not to give Naiore any chance, any opening, for she will see what lies close to our hearts and use it against all of us, and to that tactic I suspect all five of us might prove vulnerable.”

Amandur looked over toward him, concern written in his expression, but Menecin saw that he looked passed him, over his shoulder to where the others rode. “What is it?” Amandur asked suddenly, so that Menecin also turned and saw that both Vanwe and Léspheria had stopped their horses, and were listening intently.

They called back that they heard a rider less horse. And listening too, Menecin made out the uneven pace of an ungoverned animal as it stopped and started, and his heart sank. He placed himself between the women and the direction the sound emanated from, as Amandur swiftly rode to discover the beast. “Prepare yourselves!” Menecin cried out, as the ranger’s horse disappeared behind the undergrowth. “Have you a knife as well as your sword?” he turned to ask the young merchant who had drawn his weapon. With a slight smile Avanill reached down and pulled a long dagger out of his boot. The elf nodded. “You had best keep it at ready, my friend, for though this horse sounds to be without rider, it also is heavy footed, and may bear some danger unlooked for.”

Léspheria too, already held half drawn her bow of mallorn wood, and Vanwe, a small blade. “Daughter,” Menecin called quickly when he saw Vanwe's short knife. “Do you know how to handle a bow?”

“No, father,” she replied, almost apologetically. “I have had no cause to learn.” Riding rapidly to her side and pulling in his mount, Menecin presented her his Noldorin sword, removing his bow from off his shoulder.

“It is just as well, for chances are you would prove over bowed. But I have heard rumor that the lady who rides with you is well versed in battle,” he said with a smile. “Stay close by her in trouble.”

And riding forward once again, he nocked an arrow in place as he went. Feeling it strange to be so arrayed after such a long time, as if he had been given his life to relive once again.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

No words passed between Amandur and Léspheria, from long years of experience they both knew to be cautious and to always keep their guard, but nevertheless he caught the gentle warning in the endless deep pools of her starlit eyes . A ride less horse could mean a number of things and not all coincidental chance, the danger of a feint was heavy on all their thoughts. With a slight nod and Menecins words of warning still fresh in his mind he turned and swiftly rode in the direction she indicated the sound was coming from. Behind him he heard the bard order the others to prepare themselves. He well knew that the Kin of the Revennor where the most at risk it was ever on his mind But three of his rangers were still missing and the possibility that the mount he would find belonged to one of them and the implications that might mean also flitted through his mind.

Now hearing the soft clip clop of hooves with his own ears he silently dismounted, looping the chargers reigns over a low hanging branch. Without a sound he passed on towards the sounds of the approaching horse, crouching behind a bramble thicket as the horse passed through the trees. Peering through the thorny tangle he came to recognise the familiar creamy markings of the dark chestnuts forelegs. “Dir!” he whispered breathlessly slowly standing so as not to startle the beast. But the horse either did not notice him or it didn’t care that he was there, as it walked by with a slow and steady gait, its head bent low with sorrow and despair.

Moving quickly forward Amandur took the geldings reigns, gently resting his hand on the animals forehead in a friendly and calming gesture, but Dir pulled meaning to continue sorrow reflected in his large dark eyes as he stared back at him and then to his cargo. Amandur’s eyes widened as they fell on the two large dark bundles secured to the geldings saddle. Whispering a few elven words in the horses ear he let go of the reigns and with stilled apprehension moved towards the two motionless bundles. He paused for a moment then taking a steadying breath he slowly drew back the hood that covered the face of the first body, to reveal the scarred face of Kaldir, he turned away bringing the back of his hand to his mouth and nose. The smell of death had already begun to lay on the man who only yesterday had recanted his old ways in hopes of a better life. Solemnly he moved to the second bundle, his mind already convinced that he would find the body of the bounty hunters young, loyal, headstrong friend. Fighting back the grief and anger that welled within him he removed the hood covering the second body and was startled to see not the body of Dúlrain as he had expected but that of Rauthain, though now seeing that it was Dir that carried them this made sense and gave him some hope that at least Dúlrain was still alive though it did not make the loss of his kin any easier to bare. Quickly he studied the bodies trying to determine some clue as to what happened to bring about the deaths of two highly skilled rangers and if Naiore’s hand had been in it as he sorely expected.

Kaldir’s wounds were indicative of a fierce battle ending with the mortal wound to his side. However Rauthains wounds or more over the lack of puzzled him, it were as if only one blow had been struck. He looked for Rauthain’s sword and found it still strapped to the dead rangers waist, drawing it out he found it to be clean and sharp edged as if it had not been drawn in battle. Either he knew his attacker and had no cause to expect an attack or he had been completely caught off guard he concluded ruefully. Carefully re-shrouding the bodies of two men he had not only counted brethren but friends, whispering again in the geldings ear letting him continue onto Rivendell with his heavy burden.

He watched for a moment wearily as the gelding passed out of sight, then returning to his own horse he mounted and quickly returned to the others. “Rauthain and Kaldir are dead, but Dúlrain is still alive!” he said solemnly as he approached them but without stopping or offering anything further he indicated for them to move out . For several long minutes his eyes searched the way ahead, his thoughts on Dúlrain and what he would be capable of in his current frame of mind, grief, sorrow, anger, hatred, revenge, all things that could get him killed if he went after Naiore alone. He was now firmly determined that he would not allow that to happen, they had to catch up to Dúlrain before it was too late! But still the warnings of the bard Echoed in his mind.

“Is she near!” he suddenly asked turning to look on Léspheria.

“No she is not near,” Léspheria answered shaking her head sympathetically. Taking a brief glance back at the sullen faces of his companions he quietly related to Léspheria what he had found, his concerns regarding Rauthain’s only wound and his fears for Dulrain, while she nodded her agreement he could see her look turn pensive.

“Something more troubles you!” he pressed looking at her intently. She looked at him a moment longer then nodded slowly, “It has troubled me why Naiore should take Benia as I fear is the case. As far as I am aware the Southern woman has had no quarrel with Naiore and her only misfortune is to have been travelling in the bounty hunters company with whom the revennor is more than familiar, however with Kaldir admission of weakness around the revennor, his feelings for Benia and my own thoughts of Naiore’s presence this morning there may be more reason for Naiore to take Benia than I had first assumed.”

“Kaldir!” he frowned making sure he was understanding her reasoning, “Yes,” she sighed sadly, “Benia may have been the weakness she needed to finish what she had first began with him those many years ago!” he caught the hint of sorrow and pain in her eyes as she turned away to look ahead at the forest that now thinned out before them. Her words with the evidence he witnessed troubled him in his mind scenario after scenario played out in his mind each more troubling than the one before! Did Kaldir kill Rauthain? Was Dulrain force to take action? More urgent now seemed their need to catch up too the young ranger, but still Menecin’s words drew caution, they all had a weakness that could be exploited by this dangerous elf! Glancing back he took measure of each member of his company. There was strength and determination in each, but would it be enough? He thought wearily. It will have to be! He silently told himself as he turned back to the path ahead.

“I need your help…. I need to know how to keep the elf out of my thoughts, we all do!” he whispered to Léspheria. With a weak smile she turned nodded her understanding.

So it was that as they continued Léspheria spent time with each member of the company teaching them how to build up defences against Naiore’s possible intrusions using but only their strongest gifts and a strong strength of will. While Amandur and Menecin with the help of Avanill kept them moving on the path of their evasive prey, stopping only when it became too dark to continue on safely through the treacherous mountains pass Naiore had chosen to lead them into.

[Ealasaide]

Barrold Ferny

As darkness fell, Barrold Ferny stumbled up to the hollow at the base of the smuggler’s pass where Naiore Dannan waited with Benia Nightshade. Breathing hard, he bent over and placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. It had been years since he had had to jog for such a distance and uphill to boot. His lungs weren’t quite up to it. He coughed and, unable to speak just yet, waved a greeting at the elf. She nodded sternly, watching him narrowing gray eyes. He glanced past her at the steep path that lay ahead of them. He had been such a dolt to think - even briefly - that there were only three ways to get through the mountains. Of course, the Misty Mountains were peppered with trails and passes, although many of them were cheats and deceptions that led nowhere or to bad ends. He’d used this particular trail a number of times himself, laden with smuggled goods and dodging the patrols of orcs. The moment Naiore’s tracks had turned into the east, he had known where she was going.

Ferny sighed. It was a difficult climb. Surely, Naiore didn’t expect him to accompany her through the pass. His plan was to collect his little prize and be on his way. He glanced over at the southern woman who sat quietly to one side, her head lowered and eyes closed, resting. She would be his soon...

“Where is the horse?” Naiore’s voice sliced through his thoughts.

“Wot?” asked Ferny.

“The horse. Where is it?”

Ferny turned and looked back over the dark lowlands behind him. “Run off,” he grumbled angrily. “Dern ’is hide. Bounty hunter’s dead, though. I ’eard ’im fall meself.”

Beyond Naiore, the southern woman stirred, then curled herself into a tighter crouch, her eyes pressed tightly shut. Ferny nodded in her direction. “I’ll be takin’ my prize, then,” he said to Naiore. “And, with yer leave, be gettin’ on my way.”

"Be getting on your way?" asked Naiore smoothly. "I believe you owe me a horse."

Ferny blinked stupidly as Naiore's fingers touched the hilt of her Noldorin dagger. “Wot’s that? An ‘orse?” he echoed in disbelief.

Naiore nodded. “You were to bring me the bounty hunter’s horse. Now that the horse is gone, I believe you owe me another one. You may have your prize and be getting on your way only when your debt has been paid and I have a horse.”

Ferny felt a flash of anger. “Where am I supposed to get an ‘orse out 'ere?”

“That is your problem,” answered Naiore. “You lost the horse we had. Now it is up to you to find another one. I suggest you steal one once we reach the other side of the mountains.”

“Thankless serpent...” muttered Ferny furiously under his breath, knowing that there would be no arguing with the Ravenner. If she wanted a horse, then a horse it would have to be. He squinted up at the steep path ahead of them and sighed. “Prob’ly just as well,” he muttered, sitting down. “Prob’ly too hot fer me in Bree anyways. Got me some friends ‘roundabout the Dale.... I’ll go there...” Ferny’s ongoing dialogue to himself trailed off abruptly as he noticed Naiore walk over and pull the southern woman harshly to her feet.

“We goin’ someplace?” he asked.

Naiore rounded on him, her eyes glittering dangerously. Ferny scrambled to his feet.

“Do you think we are safe here?” she answered coldly. “Shall we sit here and wait for the Amandur and his rangers to ride upon us in the night? I think not. We go until we can go no further in the darkness. Only then shall we rest.” She paused. “They do not know these pathways the way I do. The darkness will stop them long before they can catch up to us. Besides” - she smiled almost pleasantly - “There may be orcs about.”

Ferny grinned almost by reflex. Let ’em come. Naiore’s orcs will slow them down... Despite his tiredness, Ferny resettled his pack on his shoulders and followed as Naiore led the way swiftly up toward the smuggler’s pass, the southern woman walking silently between them.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

As Dulrain bent once more to examine the rocky trail in the growing darkness that slowly crept in about them , his eyes scanned as ever before and behind them. The mountains were bleak and rocky at this height, filled with dark holes and crevasses in which danger nearly always lurked, Dulrain however knew this barren lands and was careful to keep them clear of orc patrols and the wild cats of the mountain, the pass was narrow and Ideally suited for ambush, so Dulrain had no choice but to take them the long way, up over the pass but still the danger of running into an orc patrol was ever present. Rising again he looked back to his companions they were both weary but neither one complained not even master Longholes, instead they’re heads are hidden in the depths of their hoods as they struggle on against the incessant winds that whistled through the mountains.

“Is their any sight of them yet?” an out of breath voice whispered as she caught up to him. “No” he replied wearily. He had hope by coming higher they would spot their quarry and gain an advantage over Benia’s captors , but it was beginning to seem that the elf demon had had a similar if not the same idea. Looking passed Gilly Dúlrain noticed Toby standing stock still, only the slight movement of his head indicating that there was any movement at all.

“What is it ?” he asked in a hushed voice, Toby did not answer but pointed towards the lip of the ridge they stood upon, dropping to a crouch and indicating that both Gilly and Toby should do like wise he crept quietly to the edge and cautiously peered over.

“Three…maybe more, I don’t rightly know they’re tongue, but it’s sound to me like they’re searching for something or someone if ye get my meaning,” Toby whispered crawling up beside him. Dulrain remained silent as he stared out in to the darkness, he saw the three orcs that had caught Toby’s attention were infact five and were just below them on a lower fleet, to small to be a patrol…a small hunting party perhaps? he mused as he watched the dark figures below scout out their prey, thankful for the moment that he had chosen to take the higher pass. But as he was about to sneak away from his hiding place he noticed a small light further down the orcs trail, squinting he could just make out another two orcs, suddenly realising that it could well be a patrol he looked in the other direction and sure enough he caught sight of another two scouts before their patrol a commonly used hunting strategy that he should have recognised at once! “Nine?” he whispered, “Orc patrols usually consist of twelve, so were are the other…. “ Suddenly realising the likely location of the three missing orcs he quickly grabbed the two hobbits and all bar dragged them to the nearest cave, snapping a gorse bush and using it to hide their trail as they passed, breathing heavy he drew his sword and held it ready.

“What…” Gilly began but her word were quickly muffled by his gloved hand as he quickly moved to silence her, just then they heard the guttural voices off the missing orcs.

“Heresss I tellss you, I saw something!” the first orc hissed and Dulrain held his breath as he heard the sound of the orc sniffing about the night air not far from were they were hiding.

“There’s nothing up here but the chill and the hash windeees you blundering meat head, rangers and elvesees she said!” the second hissed clapping his arms about his arms in an attempt to warm up.

“I saw something heards it too, small likes!” the first said growing angry at his companion.

“Probably just sharp teeth, them likes to hunts frightened orc’s at night!” the second retorted with a sneer. But as the fist orc made to lunge for the second he was stopped with a fist in his face, Dulrain and the two hobbit heard the crunch as the orcs nose broke and he fell screaming to the floor!

“Enough!” snapped the third who up until now had been quiet, he sniffed the air and walked a little ways forward examining closely the ground before him. Dulrain chanced a look and noticed the orcs eyes narrow as he scrutinized the place were they had first spied the patrol below, he pulled back against the stone wall of the cave as the orcs head turned in their direction. Silently he adjusted the grip of his sword ready for the confrontation he was now sure would come, he knew he would have to be quick so as not to alert the others below.

With bated breath he listened as the footsteps of the orc drew closer and closer, but just as the creature drew near the entrance a cry rose up from below. “Grashik! The forward scouts have caught the scent of elves further up the main pass” Cried the voice of the second orc. Grashik took one last look at the cave then with a shake of his scared face he followed after his companions.

“I don’ts dnow dhy dhe didn’t dust dets us daves da demale and da dman!!!” the first orc grumbled as he followed still holding his broken nose.

“Who know and who cares, we get to kill us some nasty elves and have a bit o man flesh for supper tonight, so stop yer whining!” the third orc growled as he caught up with them. Dulrain let out a sigh of relief as the voices drifted further into the distance.

“That was too close for comfort!” Toby sighed as he sheathed the dagger he had instinctively drawn after Dulrain had dragged them into the cave, he stood and wiped himself off before offering his hand to help up Mrs Banks, who was staring at the broad back of the ranger, Dulrain had rose and now stood at the cave entrance staring out at the night sky his features pensive against the moons soft light.

“At least we know she is still alive,” Gilly offered, “that is a relief to know” she pressed when he did not respond, he looked at her with a weak smile he knew what she was trying to do and not only for his sake but for her own as well. But as he looked at her eyes he saw the same concern etched on her face. But he had seen what Naiore had done to Kaldir, turned him into a mindless puppet. He had done what he had to, but would he be able to do the same for Benia if it came to that. As he felt his eyes well he looked away, unwilling to contemplate what Naiore could do with the woman he loved.

“We can’t stay here, we have to move!” He said to the hobbits as he slipped out of the cave, silently he lead them on till the hobbits could walk no more then they took shelter in another dank cheerless cave, he let them light what fire they could to the back of the cave, but he stayed at the entrance vigilantly watching, no rest would he find while Benia was still out there alone, with only her captors for company. As he looked up at the havens he murmured softly of his love for the southern beauty praying to whatever spirit would listen that she remain strong until he could find her, even offering his life to Eru if only hers could be spared.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Amandur chose a flat shelf of stone that jutted out sharply from the steep mountainside on which to make their hurried camp. A few stunted evergreens bordered the ledge on one side, serving to shield them somewhat from the chill air that descended from the heights above. It was a fortunate discovery, well protected and avoiding the loose stone of the mountain pass. And cutting the lower branches, they kept the horses on the green boughs deadening the sound of their hooves.

As the darkness of the evening deepened, a mist began to gather, lowering from the head of the mountains, until the camp was swathed in the damp blindness. Menecin pulling back his hood sat listening to sounds echoing strangely along the hillsides. All in their company were quiet, speaking in hush voices to one another if they chose to speak at all, so that the elf could hear the dripping of water far off and falling stones, perhaps from the foot of some small creature as it scurried to avoid an owl’s grasp. And he became aware of Vanwe in the darkness, standing before him. “Father,” a soft whisper broke through his thoughts. “You must eat now, ” she urged him, holding out fresh fruit and bread in her graceful hands. Taking them with thanks and setting them aside, he gestured for his daughter to sit awhile beside him.

Obediently, Vanwe settled herself down, and together they sat in silence for a while peering through the gloom, before the bard spoke again. His mind had turned to her. It troubled him that she knew so little of her lineage. How ill prepared was she to withstand a gale without a sure footing in the knowledge of the distant past or a sense of the part which she now played. “My child…” Menecin murmured turning to stare next to him, to where the darkness seemed less deep. “Do you know anything of the race of your kin?” But before she could answer he shook his head lamenting, “Ah, but what would those in the south have to say of the Quendi, the Eldar!”

“Very little, and of what was said I am unsure. It is only that which I have learned lately I trust, for the people of Harad view elves with deep suspicion and spoke of them as if they were a proud and warlike race, but now that I have seen Léspheria and you and have seen those of Imladris, I do not believe any longer that it is true.”

Menecin smiled faintly in the gloom, “Then though you have not heard the Noldorlantë, its effect has still been felt by you! It is true, there have been some among the Quendi who have been proud, but pride is not the sole province of our race. And the true nature of our kin would rather we work toward the repairing Middle-earth than any rending of it. Let us hope that we have learned from our mistakes. But know that your lineage holds many of great wisdom and strength. Never have doubt in yourself, for their blood flows in you as well.” He paused looking off to where the edge of the shelf fell steeply off into the gorge they had been following. “Do you know the name and purpose of these mountains?”

Without hesitation he heard her soft voice reply. “They are the Misty Mountains. They run, a hedge of sheer peaks, north and south for many hundreds of leagues.”

“Yes, they are the Hithaeglir that were raised by the rebellious Morgoth long ago as a barrier, so that Oromë might not easily hunt down the fell creatures under his sway. It seems fitting that we should also be crossing them. I believe you may not have heard the name Hithaeglir before today. Do not let their stern faces dismay you, that was many long years ago, and though they daunted the Teleri with peaks that pierced the sky, they are not now as treacherous as when they once caused elves to turn aside. Indeed, though they are yet lonely and desolate, Morgoth’s handiwork has eroded, and with care they too have become surmountable.”

“I am not afraid,” she whispered.

“Then you have learned Léspheria’s lessons well, and I too will take up this shield she has provided, though I must hope to have the strength to wield it well, when the time comes,” he said pulling up his hood again.

“But do we not share the same blood, the same lineage, that same strength?”

“In part, yes. Long have I been weary, taking no joy in this place, yet not willing to journey westward. But in seeing you Vanwe, and knowing of your perseverance, it returned hope where I thought it had been banished forever.” Noticing that she grew still, he continued, “My child, do not feel burdened by this. You have given me a great gift. Even if we were to fail, I should always treasure it. For I have in my confusion been wasting away, watching my life fade into nothingness, and you have returned it to me.”

“I have done nothing.”

“You have done much more than you realize, my daughter. Much more.”

With that the two lapsed into silence again, and Menecin saw that Vanwe was looking up as though she sought out some star to guide her through the mist surrounding them.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia had not spoken a word since Kaldir's tall figure had walked silently out of the camp above Rivendell, his eyes strangely vacant and a trickle of blood dripping from his nose. He had not looked at her then, though she had willed him to do so, hoping desperately to catch a glimpse of the man she knew still lingering within the depths of those pale blue eyes, but he had passed without even a glance. She had known then that he was dead, at least in his soul. Now, Barrold Ferny’s confirmation of the bounty hunter’s physical death at the end of a sword pained her, but she knew that it must be so. She mourned Kaldir bitterly, knowing that she had been the cause of his death. She hoped that the end had come quickly for him and without pain. He had suffered so much in his lifetime, it was the least she could hope for him. Silently, in her heart, she sang a Haradrim death lay, forgiving him any ills he had done her and asking his forgiveness for her part in his demise. When the time came, when she was free to mourn him properly, she promised herself that she would sing out to all of the four directions, to the all of the Guardians of the Winds, that they might see him home to the halls of his forefathers and give him the hero’s welcome that he so truly deserved. In the meantime...

Benia cast a wary glance over her shoulder at Ferny. They had been climbing higher and higher into the mountains for hours. The air had grown bitterly cold. The full moon floated above them, a glowing orb that lit their way like a distant lantern. Naiore, sure-footed and fleet as a tigress, led the way along a pathway that twisted and turned like an insidious argument, sometimes so narrow that it was difficult for even one to walk abreast, bounded on one side by barren stone and on the other by a sheer drop off of hundreds of feet. Other places were so steep that they had to climb, pulling themselves upward from stone shelf to stone shelf with their hands. Benia’s own hands had been unbound that she might have an easier time of it, but Ferny was never far behind, driving her onward and frustrating any hope she might have of escape. In the last hour or so, however, he had begun to lag. Naiore Dannan flew along like a shadow some twenty paces ahead of Benia on the narrow path, while Ferny dragged an equal distance behind her. At one point, Benia found herself alone, the elf having vanished around a bend ahead of her and the man not yet appeared from around another one at her rear. Benia paused and leaned out over the empty darkness.

Thinking of Kaldir, of her father, and of both men’s early deaths, she stared down into the silent abyss. A single step could end it all... a moment of weightlessness perhaps and then the nothingness of death. She would bring no more harm to those who sought to protect her. Her foot inched forward.

Just then, the whistle that Dúlrain had given to Kaldir back in Bree, that she had stolen in the Lonelands and still wore on a thong of soft leather around her neck, slipped free of her bosom and swung loosely in the space between her and the beckoning darkness below. Instinctively, she reached out a tattooed hand and closed the beautifully carved wood in her fist. “Dúlrain,” she whispered. “What of you? Do you know the fate of your brother? How I pray you lie safe in your bed in the hall of healing, that you do not follow me on this desperate trek.” Raising the whistle to her lips, she kissed the smooth wood.

“Be safe, my love,” she sighed and slid the artifact back into the neckline of her dress. “I would sooner die than lead you to an early death, as I have led your brother and nearly led you once before when you sought to come to my aid. Be safe now. Heal thy wounds and forget about Benia Nightshade, though she loved you like life itself...”

“What are you natterin’ on about?” A rough grip closed around her arm and jerked her back from the abyss. Ferny. “Get movin’, lovey, afore I pitch ya over the edge m’self.”

A light shove forward along the treacherously narrow path and Benia began to walk again, grateful that she was used to walking for miles. She had no desire to find out what Ferny and the elf would do to her if she faltered, fearing that it might be something far worse than merely pitching her off the path into the unknown night. Lowering her head, she moved resolutely and silently forward. Naiore waited on a wide rock shelf just on the far side of the jutting bend in the cliff. She had been joined by a scouting party of twelve large orcs, all of them heavily armed with pikes and scimitars. Benia’s heart fluttered with fear.

“Barrold!” exclaimed Naiore, turning toward them with a serene, almost happy smile, her silvery gray eyes shining in the moonlight. “You join us at last. This is Ashnik the Masher. He and his party have been out on patrol for many days now and are looking for a bit of man flesh to fill their empty bellies. Do you know where they might find some?”

All twelve orcs turned toward him, eying him as a band of butchers might eye a fat cow. Barrold Ferny cleared his throat and fell back a step, his fingers tightening nervously around Benia’s upper arm.

Seeing that she had made her point that Ferny should not dawdle if he valued his life, Naiore turned back toward the orcs and addressed them in a harsh tongue that Benia did not recognize. There was a short discussion between Naiore and the one called Ashnik and some muffled quarreling amongst the orcs themselves, then the orcs abruptly moved forward as a group, pushing past Benia and Ferny, to take the path that the three had of them had arrived by. As soon as the orcs had vanished around the sharp bend, Naiore slid her pack from her shoulders.

“We will stop here,” she said calmly. “But only for a few hours. Ashnik and his group have gone in search of our pursuers, but we must not take their success for granted. We move on with the sunrise.”

Ferny nodded and slid his pack from his shoulders as well, taking a moment to bind Benia tightly around the wrists and ankles. Within moments, he lay on his side, snoring loudly, with Benia pinned strategically between himself and the stone face of the cliff.

“Wouldn’t want ya to be thinkin’ ya might try to fly now, would we, little bird?” he had muttered to her as he had pushed her to the ground. Now, as he lay snoring into her ear, one arm thrown heavily across her shoulders, Benia found herself, though exhausted, unable to find the soft refuge of sleep. Instead, she lay on the stony ground and stared upward into the cold face of the moon, grieving for Kaldir, and hoping that Dúlrain had remained in Rivendell where he would be safe and well cared for until his wounds were fully healed. And Gilly...

Benia sighed. “Gilly,” she murmured in a whisper that was barely more than a soft breath against the harsh breeze that lashed the shelf where they rested. “May you be with him in Rivendell and safe...”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

While it was true the hobbit had seen a few hills in her day, she had never come across any such as these. Incomparably high and menacing they were in her opinion, hard and cruel. And she fancied that the mountains must themselves be in league with that wretched elf, to shield such a wicked thing in their rugged arms, keeping Naiore’s pursuers from gaining so much as a glimpse of Miss Benia no matter how fast they had pushed themselves along the hateful pass. As they had worked their way twisting through the heights she had been painfully aware that Dúlrain would likely have been able to travel faster, if not for Mr. Longholes and herself, but imagined that he still was traveling far faster than the elves would have recommended, had they foreseen what was to befall their patient. So fearing that the wound tended to in Rivendell might not be fully healed, she had struggled along admonishing poor Longholes, who watched diligently for orcs that might trail them. Gilly prodded him to hurry, as she tried to keep the ranger in sight. In less urgent times it might have been good for Dúlrain to stop and wait for the hobbits, thereby resting himself, but as it was, it would not do to have him double back to find them. Miss Benia could not afford to have the two hobbits prove a burden to the man, slowing his progress. And without the ranger Gilly saw little hope of finding, let alone recovering Miss Benia from the Ravennor’s keeping. All her hope lay solely in his hands.

Exhausted from their long and steady ascent into the mountains, and the rush to put distance between themselves and the orcs, Gilly reluctantly admitted that she could not go any further without at least a brief rest, for both she and her fellow hobbit had become quite winded in trying to match the ranger’s pace. And now that they had stopped, she could not bring herself to put one foot before the other, let alone attend to making what she had come to call ‘a proper camp’, even though Dúlrain had permitted them a fire against the cold. Her legs had become leaden and her mind just as dull, as she eyed the cave they entered with gloomy suspicion. How could a descent person be expected to rest in the shelter of such a cold conspirator as this mountain! And when Miss Benia was in such straights! Gilly shuttered as she watched Mr. Longholes strike a fire to life, fostering the flame that would defy the cold darkness oppressing Gilly’s already flagging spirits. Where was Miss Benia now that they were sitting idle, and what must she be enduring?

When Toby had finished, shifting back onto to his heels he held out his hands testing the heat of the fire, and saw that Gilly sat considering him in the dim light. In truth she was trying to find the words to ask him what he knew of Naiore Dannan, but could not bring herself to seek an answer. And so she sat mute and staring.

“I can’t think for the life of me what the Ravennor of Mordor would want with her, Mr. Longholes!” Gilly finally managed. “I can’t understand it at all. The world barely knows that she walks these lands, so lightly she passes, harming no one, so far as I know of. What use could taking her be? Any way I look at it, it seems bad for my friend. Either that elf has some plan for her or none at all, and that might be even more dangerous!”

Toby looked up, “I don’t claim to know her mind, you know,” he explained, “but to be sure she has her reasons. She is seems fond of efficiency if naught else. If she has carried her this far over the mountains, she’s some reason for it.”

Gilly shook her head before sadly resting her forehead on the palm of one hand.

“If it’s any consolation, I think she’s got too much on her plate at the moment to trouble your friend much, what with her plans all gone awry.”

“Oh Mr. Longholes, you are a dear for trying to ease my mind, but I suspect that you believe your words even less than I. You must have had a very good reason to risk leaving her, hadn’t you? I won’t ask. I’d be too afraid of what you might have to say, but I think that it must have been a real eye opener, to have you take up with the king’s rangers, given your standing with in Bree.”

Toby looked to where Dúlrain had posted himself at the mouth of the cave. “I know that she looked for their deaths before I left,” he whispered. “And I tell you I’d have none of it!”

Gilly lifted her head following his glance, “Who, the rangers? Gracious, lets have no more of that, please! No more killing of any kind.”

“While I heartily agree, I must make a small exception these orcs," he said smiling as the light reflected in his eyes.

“That does my heart good to hear,” Gilly said. “For I have learned to appreciate what it is the rangers do, first hand. And a better group you’d be hard pressed to find, even in Bywater, never mind Bree.”

After some time the conversation lagged, each lost in their own thoughts. And by the time Gilly felt herself able to think again of a bite to eat, she found that Toby had fallen asleep, his back to the cave wall. But Dúlrain still remained at the cave’s entrance. He turned his head slightly as the hobbit approached offering to take over the watch. Declining the offer, both remained sleepless waiting for dawn to color the sky.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

The night was broken by the noise of the ranger’s heavy footfall as he dashed into the camp, betraying wordlessly the urgency of the news he bore. “Quick, take up your gear,” he directed in a clipped whisper, traveling between his companions to make sure all were awake. “We have company, a band of orcs headed our way. Make haste, we’ve not much time!” Amandur moved quickly collecting the things he found loose about the camp, carrying them to where the sleepy horses raised their heads in greeting.

Menecin arose swiftly. Frowning, he peered through the banks of cloud surrounding them. The Lady Léspheria was not among their number he noticed, though her kit was still lying were she had placed it. Catching the edge of Amandur’s cloak as the he passed, in a hushed voice he queried where the elf maid might be. The ranger turned to meet his gaze, and Menecin saw that no alarm visited Amandur’s eyes. “She has already hidden herself on the hillside, ready to strike in our defense if need be,” he replied. “But we must be quick, for it would be to our advantage if she delayed use of her bow until we are better situated.” Then turning to Avanill Amandur asked to use his dark cloak. In short order the young merchant obliged him, unwrapping himself and handing the deep blue garment the ranger, who throwing it over his shoulder, strode to the pines were Vanwe spoke soothing the horses.

******
All was still as a pale glimmer appeared at the edge the bend. Blending swiftly into the shadow of the mountain it vanished just below the point where Léspheria had stationed herself in sight of the path. In truth it was hard to tell whether it was merely a fleet thickening of mist. But shortly another slipped past the corner and staying close to the hillside crept onto the flat shelf of stone, slowly and silently advancing before stopping abruptly. Standing stock still, squinting eyes swept over the path before the scouts retreated just as silently; back the way they had come.

It was not long before the shadows reappeared slipping around the corner, but this time they were followed by still more. As quiet as death but for their rasping breath, they streamed onto the shelf drawing close to the horses. Weapons drawn in readiness, the orcs awaited noiselessly their commander’s signal to attack. A thin wheezing was heard as the leader of the band drew a deep breath, contemplating the smell of freshly shed elven blood that filled his nostrils. As he approached them, the startled horses rose to their feet, and backing toward the wall they revealed a fair elf of noble bearing, who stepped forward, clothed in darkness, gripping a bloodied sword in her hands.

“My lady Ravenner,” the orc hissed bowing with grudging deference, his gaze never leaving her face as he withdrew a pace. But eyes narrow with suspicion his expression rapidly turned steely, changing from fear to anger. And he brought his sword over his shoulder in a flash, to quickly dispatch this imposter who sought to dupe him in front of his troops. Before he could strike his deadly blow a sharp twang was heard from the hillside behind the pines, and the creature fell lifeless to the ground, a feathered shaft protruding from his eye.

As Menecin reached for a second arrow he heard the gentle call of a southern bird in the night; a sign from Léspheria that all the orcs were now in the camp. Taking quick aim he brought down another who searched to sight him on the hillside and whose arrow, missing Menecin’s newly bandaged arm, glanced off the stone beside him. Just then Avanill managed to drive the horses past Vanwe, pushing the enemy back toward the drop and toward Léspheria and Amandur in great disorder. A few orcs, who guessed what was intended, tried to worm their way forward through the horses, but the frightened animals reared, trampling one, and the weapons of Avanill and Vanwe met the others. Avanill stayed by her, until finding a space open before him Menecin sprang to their side, joining the fray and his daughter, who had, it appeared, embraced a strategy of vigorous defense. Seeing that the bard was there, Avanill broke off to the right working his way toward Léspheria, as had been planned. Vanwe and Menecin closing the circle to the left.

There was great relief when all of the companions met again in the mist, and in tallying the fallen they learned that of the eleven who entered the camp all had perished there. But Amandur remained watchful as they gathered the horses, and left the camp, walking to a cave that he had found a mile or so further along the path. And it seemed he would not relax until on reaching the cave they found the body of a twelfth hidden inside, a deep knife wound in its back.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore roused Barrold Ferny and Benia Nightshade well before the first light of dawn and urged them forward, bleary-eyed and stumbling, onward into the pre-dawn darkness. The path had leveled off shortly before they made camp the night before and now began a distinct and steady decline in altitude. Naiore smiled to herself. They would soon reach the far side of the Misty Mountains and she would be able to make her turn toward the south and safety. Once she had acquired a horse, she felt that her escape would be assured. She cast a glance back toward Ferny, who rubbed his eyes and spat over the side of the precipice. She would move more quickly, too, when she was again alone. Speed was now of the absolute importance.

Throughout the night as Ferny and his soon-to-be-awarded prize lay sleeping, Naiore had sensed the presence of Léspheria growing ever stronger, ever nearer. While ordinarily Naiore would have welcomed the pursuit of her kinswoman, would have savored the notion of a showdown between the two of them, Naiore felt now that the timing was all wrong. For one thing, Léspheria was no doubt surrounded by Rangers bent on Naiore’s destruction, which left the odds heavily weighted against the Ravenner. For another thing, Naiore had been put on the defensive. She preferred to dictate the time and place for her battles, never allowing others to gain the advantage. She would do so again. For the time being, she decided philosophically, let little Léspheria and her rangers follow her trail. She would lose them at the first opportunity, then circle back and attack them under her own terms. Under her own terms. The soft smile that had spread across Naiore’s fair features vanished as she turned forward again and increased her pace. She would control the terms of their engagement. No one else.

Behind her, Naiore heard Ferny swearing loudly as he momentarily lost his footing and slid several yards down the steep path in a hail of loose stone and gravel. As Naiore looked back, he gave the southern woman a sharp push forward as though she had been somehow to blame. He raised his hand to cuff her as well except that the southern woman lowered her dark head and quickened her pace, evading the blow. Naiore turned away and continued walking, knowing it was unlikely, once she left the woman in Ferny‘s hands, that Benia Nightshade would survive even a year. It would not take long before Ferny went too far and killed her in a drunken rage, but such was Benia Nightshade’s lot in life. It was not of any concern to Naiore. She threw her mind backward, into the darkness that still lingered over the west, searching for the presence of Léspheria. How far away was she? Had she gained any ground upon them in the night? No, it seemed not. The elven lady was still back there, but trailing just as far behind as she had been the night before. Naiore’s serene smile returned to her lips. Léspheria presented no immediate threat. Even so, Naiore knew better than to take the narrow lead she possessed for granted. Instead, she sought to expand it, pushing her companions to maintain a terrible pace.

Hiking steadily throughout the day, the three travelers paused only briefly for food and water. By early evening they had reached a distance far into the foothills on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. By nightfall, the flat lands lay spread out before them like an open promise, the Old Forest Road just visible to the south, cutting across the open ground toward them from the direction of the great Anduin River. Gladden Fields, Naiore’s destination, lay only a few days’ march to the south... or an even fewer days’ ride.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

By nightfall of the following day, Amandur, Avanill and the three elves were deep within the foothills of the misty mountains. They had rested only briefly after defeating the orcs in the pass, but long enough for Amandur to decided that it was time to trust the young merchant. He had returned the young mans belongings to him instructing him to have his potion ready as soon as was able before pressing them on down the east side of the mountain. They now rode through the night working their way across the rugged foot-hills that fronted the mountains, Amandur continued to press them on until the dawn light began to creep out of the east and spilled out into the green open plains before them. They rested then for a few hours, each taking their turn at watch. But all was quiet, Naiore had done what she had set out to do waylaying them long enough with the orc’s that she could reach the open plains ahead of them.

The previous day Léspheria and Menecin had taken it in turns to scout ahead. Late in the afternoon of that day Menecin had returned informing them that he had discovered fresh tracks of a second group following the ravennor. Taking them to where he had found the trail both Amandur and Lespheria had instantly realised that the prints were that of a well booted man and two hobbits struggling to keep pace with the rangers longer stride. Dulrain, Master Longholes and Mrs Banks Amandur told the others, there had been an distinct sound of relief in his voice as he had spoken, having found no hint of them since before the pass he had begun to fear the worst had befallen them. But this new sign had shown that not only were they alive but they were somewhere just a few hours ahead. However they had not managed to catch them up as he had hoped and now as he sat in the grey dawn taking the last watch Amandur thought about their next course.

His plan had been to follow the foot-hills southward avoiding the unnecessary hindrance of having to cross the river Ninglor, then surrounding and confronting their elusive prey on the fields of the gladden. But now he was unsure, he was not certain how much distance the elf had managed gained from them and if they could reach the fields before her. He was more than certain if they did not then they would all but likely end up walking right into a trap of the ladies devise. But as he looked out at the vast open plains before them he liked that option even less, following the revennor out into the open would leave them vulnerable to ambush and any number of other dangers. But the danger of the revennor getting to one of them and manipulating them to her will before the young merchant had time to deliver his gift played heaviest on his thoughts.

After a cold breakfast of stale bread and dried fruit the small company again mounted and after much thought and debate with the others Amandur decided they would stick to the foot-hills and follow their course southward hoping to overtake the elf and surround her before she could reach the now deserted forests of Lothorien. He hoped that the revennor still travelling on foot with her two less flighty companions in tow would slow her down enough for them to gain the distance they needed to get ahead of her.

Noon came, As they passed the old forest road to the east of them and steadily wound their way along the rocky foot-hills. The air was now warm and only wispy cloud skittered across the noonday skies. Amandur, Léspheria and Menecin continued to take it in turns to ride to the edge of the hills to make sure their quarry did not make any unexpected turns or stops that they had not anticipated. Amandur had already informed the company that they would ride until dark, Anxious to make up the distance on those they pursued, determined that before they stopped they would find some sign that they had finally over taken the elf. No one argued the point. They rode on silently for the remainder of the afternoon, watching as the small wisps of clouds joined together, expanding and growing menacingly darker then with the coming of early evening the clouds finally burst, the rain coming down on them in fat heavy drops forcing them to once more find shelter.

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

Vanwe

They made camp in a grove of sycamores hidden between the hills, there was fresh water and grass for the horses, they quickly gathered what dry wood they could still find and lit a small fire. As soon as they were settled and had eaten, Lespheria and Amandur left to backtrack their trail and determine how much ground they had gained on Naiore. While the others dried off their cloaks and waited their return Vanwe watched the young merchant over the low flames of the fire. She had not forgotten how he had stayed by her during the battle, However she could not forget that he had been one of those who had helped to hold her against her will and that she had already seen him murder another man. But he had not been rough like Barrold infact as she thought on it he had been courteous well at least till she tried to escape. Would he not have done the same if the circumstances were reversed she wondered tilting her head slightly to consider the young man.

As Avanill feeling her eyes upon him looked up she thought to lower her gaze but could not she wanted to understand…understand why Amandur trusted him when Léspheria did not! Though she carefully hid it from the others, Vanwe could somehow feel the distrust her cousin held towards the young man, she also wanted to understand why he choose the life he did, she somehow felt she owed him that. Slowly she rose and moved to sit nearer the young man his eyes watching her move, as she came around the fire she saw that he had several bottles out before him, a small billy boiled on the fire and a small wooden bowl and mortar sat before him.

“Is that ….” she began to asked hesitantly.

“for you mother” Avanill finished coolly, she nodded still staring at the contains of the bowl with a measure of both wonderment and unexplained anxiety.

“yes it is!” the young man finish and Vanwe look up surprised to hear the sympathetic tone in his voice.

“I mean she is still your mother this must be hard for you!” Avanill continued.

Vanwe thought for a moment then shook her head, “what she does is wrong she hurts people even herself she must be stopped, if ever their was a mothers love within her it is all since gone, one thing consumes her…drives her all else I believe is but an empty shell lonely and hollow.” She stared deep into the flames of the fire as if pondering further then whispered “I cannot hate her but only wish to understand and in the end if it comes to that she shall not be alone.” Suddenly realising that she had spoke her thought aloud and to whom she quickly tried to turn the conversation back to the merchant and why he lived his life as he did.

“Why do you do this… I mean selling your goods to people like my mother and aiding them in their misadventures, surely such skills could be put to better use…. Is profit really everything?” As she waited his answer she softly studied his well tanned features trying to find something that perhaps she had not noticed before something that would assure her that they could really trust him.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

It was only when they had reached the rolling land that lay at the base of the mountains that Gilly found her footing again. And before the hills melted into the plains that ran off at their left, her courage was somewhat renewed. She looked out through the trees to the grassy hills searching for any sign of Miss Benia, hoping that the clouds threatening rain, might pass them by, and they might have a little more time before nightfall. This was landscape the hobbit felt she could better understand. But the clouds that had grown low and heavy broke, and a gentle rain began to fall upon them. The greens faded to grey, and the trunks of the thinning trees to black as the light faded and Dúlrain slowed his pace looking for a place for them to wait out the increasing cloudburst.

When at last they stopped Gilly thought it seemed almost a pleasant place that Dúlrain chose for them. A large elm that had once stood proudly near the edge of the woods lay partially uprooted, the great bole resting on the hillside and its eastward roots reaching up in the air at angle, bare except for dirt and long grass that clung to them. Beneath these splayed rafters a dry den was formed, several feet wide. It was into this deep hollow they climbed as the rain pelted down and the night closed in about them. And though looking out and to the east one would have had a broad view overlooking the plains had the sun been shining, this night they saw only the occasional glimmer of raindrops, like silver brightly edging the grass that hung down at the mouth of the den.

Gilly sat down hugging her aching knees as she stared into the darkness beyond their shelter. It had been quite some time since they had eaten anything beyond the fresh herbs and berries they found upon their way, and she felt it keenly. Having left Rivendell in such a great hurry, the hobbits had not thought to provision themselves, and in this pressed march they had long since finished what supply Dúlrain had left in his bags. And though the ranger provided also a little fresh meat that they happened across along their way, all three were aware that time spent looking for food was time that Naiore could make good use of, and so did not stray off their course to hunt. Besides, Gilly had neither pot nor skillet at hand so she thought it was just as well not to think of such things, the others seemed not to be bothered by pangs as she was. So the hobbit sat listening to the rain, trying to ignore her empty stomach and the accompanying weakness. What she would give now for even for what Kaldir had carried. Benia had always proved to have the better provender among her bags. “Oh, if only we had a pot of Miss Benia’s tea!” she found herself saying, remembering the last time she had savored it. She sighed deeply. Kaldir had still been alive then.

“I could do with a bit more than tea,” she heard Toby confess in the darkness beside her. “Something to chew maybe. Something to fill this hollow under my ribs.”

Gilly thought of a nice roast, set out on the table in her brightly lit and dry kitchen at home, the faces of her expectant family gathered around. “Yes, so could I,” she admitted. “And a little more daylight and a little less rain as well", she added softly.

“A nicely basted chicken, maybe,” Toby mused.

A rattle was heard as Dúlrain who had lain down, shifted his weight. “Mrs. Banks, you should be careful of what you say,” he said. So far away his voice seemed to Gilly, and weary. “I have not the same skill in tracking as Kaldir and the rain will help us, though it may disturb some of what the earth may tell us for a little while. But we must sleep now, while we can.”

“I am sorry, of course you are right Mister Dúlrain. You rest now, I will take watch,” Gilly volunteered, though she too felt dreadfully tired.

“No, Mrs. Banks, you rest a bit yourself, and I will watch,” Toby said standing up as far as the roots allowed him. “I will watch for anything that moves, and provided I find something- but nothing fearsome as would harm us, mind you- well then we might just have ourselves something for breakfast in the morning!”

“That would be wonderful indeed, Mister Longholes. I hope that you find something to your taste,” Gilly said.

“In that case it had better be something large,” he joked as he climbed out of the hollow.

“But if anything is amiss or if the rain stops, do not delay in waking us, Master Longholes,” Dúlrain requested the hobbit.

“Not to worry!” Toby said sticking his head back in the den. “This hobbit knows the difference between a cricket and a chunk of cheese. And I wouldn’t waste a minute fretting on whether or not to wake you, you’d know something is up just as soon as me, but I trust no sooner than that!” With that he was gone, and Gilly was left trying to relax enough to sleep, but her mind would not settle.

“Do you really, trust him Mister Dúlrain?” Gilly asked after a while, not knowing if the ranger had fallen asleep.

“Rest easy Mrs. Banks,” his voice said quietly. “I do not think Master Longholes would risk leaving, and I have long ago grown accustomed to sleeping with an ear open for trouble.”

“But you are tired.”

“And you also, I should think.”

It was true and the hobbit lay down on the bare ground, tucking her feet up under her skirts. “Mister Dúlrain?” she began again. “You haven’t found anything new since I last asked, anything I should know about, have you?”

There was a silence and Gilly thought perhaps the ranger had drifted off despite his attention to trouble. “No Mrs. Banks, I have not,” he answered her after a lengthy pause. “I have not seen any sure sign of a struggle. Now sleep and in the morning light we will speak of what I have and have not found, in great detail if you would like.”

“Mister Dulrain?” the hobbit questioned in the damp darkness. “Forgive me, but I’ve one more question now that Mister Longholes is away. I’ve wanted to ask you for some time now, but honestly I was afraid to hear what you might say,” she admitted. “Of course you don’t have to answer, “ she added quickly, “though I truly wish that you might.”

“Let’s have your question then, and I will answer it if I am able,” Dúlrain said.

It seemed to Gilly much easier to put into words now that she was so tired and could no longer see the his expression. Almost as if she were between sleep and waking. “Tell me, how was it really that Mr. Kaldir died?” she finally asked the darkness. And after what seemed an immeasurable pause she spoke again, “Did he and Mr. Rauthain have a falling out? I had worried it might come to that, you know.”

She heard a deep in take of breath just a few feet beside her, and immediately regretted having broached the subject. It was not easy for the ranger.

“No, it was not Rauthain.” Dúlrain’s voice cut clear through the night. “My brother, though still living had all but left us by the time Rauthain met him at the edge of the vale. I have no doubt that he had finally found who he had been seeking since he left Bree,” Dúlrain stopped for a moment. “This was no longer Kaldir the ranger nor even Kaldir the bounty hunter, Mrs. Banks. It was not the man we know, who fell. It was this man who killed Rauthain and who also had set upon me.”

Gilly understood then, what Dúlrain would not say. “But why? He had fought so very long against her. How could she turn him in less than a day’s time?”

“Benia,” came Dúlrain’s reply through the dark. “He did to help Benia.”

The hobbit, troubled by this answer, thought largely on these three of her friends until she passed into a dreamless slumber, not waking or stirring until it was time to move on.

[Ealasaide]

Barrold Ferny

The chill rain that had begun to fall with the dusk, grew steadily harder and faster as evening faded into night, but still Naiore Dannan pressed onward. Barrold hunched his shoulders against the cold and sunk deeper into his cloak, too wet and miserable to bother with spitting or swearing or anything else for that matter. Stubbornly, doggedly, he continued walking, placing one foot after the other on the slick, muddy path, taking care not to slip, but paying no mind to the footprints he left behind as each step sunk ankle deep into the gray, sucking mud. Barrold Ferny’s mind was elsewhere.

Watching the slender, straight figure of the southern woman walking ahead of him, Ferny’s mind was already in the Dale. According to his fantasy, he had already taken the finest room at local inn and invited his envious friends over to show off not only his prosperity but his prize, the black-haired beauty who would wait on him hand and foot and see to his every paltry, petty want. He could see it all so clearly: the fire crackling in the grate, the wide oaken table laden with every hot and inviting dish he could think of... mutton, spiced beef, roast venison, a roast goose with golden, crackling skin, and, oh.. the poacher’s pie. Pitchers of the inn’s finest ale would wash it all down, the southern woman dutifully filling his tankard each time it ran low, piling his plate with food until he ate his fill, a soft flush rising in her cheeks each time he looked at her, waiting patiently for his friends to go away that they might be alone. Ferny grinned in spite of himself. He was just reaching out to stroke her satin skin when an icy trickle of rainwater penetrated his hood and ran down the back of his neck like the cold finger of death. The rosy glow of the inn vanished instantly and the lovely southern woman, who only a moment earlier had seemed so warm and inviting, became a cipher, a slim gray silhouette, ever just out of his reach, and barely even visible to him through the gloom and pelting rain. He frowned darkly and began trying at once to re-conjure the vision.

“Ferny!” barked Naiore. She had stopped several paces ahead of him and stood pointing at something on the ground at her feet. Grumbling as the cozy vision of the inn disappeared forever, Barrold Ferny slogged over to where she stood and looked down. There at her feet were fresh hoof prints, just filling with rainwater. Whoever it was, the rider was heading toward the Anduin and had only recently crossed their trail. Ferny pushed back his hood and squinted into the east, half-expecting to see the vague shadow of a mysterious horse and rider.

“Get me that horse,” hissed Naiore. “If the rider has any sense at all, he won’t have gone far in this mud and rain. The footing is far too treacherous.” She paused for a moment and grew silent as though searching the night, then nodded. “The rider remains nearby. Bring me his horse.”

“And then?” ventured Ferny gruffly. The happy fantasy of the inn still hovered near the top of his mind. If the elf kept her word, he might be able to make it a reality sooner than he thought.

For an instant, Naiore’s eyes glittered dangerously in the depths of her hood, but when she spoke her voice seemed cool and without malice. “Bring the horse to me,” she said calmly. “Follow my trail due south from this point until you find us. When the horse is in my possession, you shall have the woman.”

“And you won’t need me no more, neither?”

“You shall be free of your obligation to me and may follow whatever path you like.”

Needing no more instruction or confirmation, Barrold Ferny grunted his acceptance of Naiore’s terms. With a final glance at Benia Nightshade, he turned and jogged into the night, closely following the trail of hoof prints. He had not gone more than a few hundred feet when the one set of prints became two. The rider had dismounted. By then, the rain had begun to come down in sheets. Ferny bent nearly double as he ran, keeping his face close to the ground so as not to lose the trail that he followed, glancing up only occasionally to make sure that he would not accidentally overtake his quarry before he was aware of it. Finally, as he rounded a bend in the trail, Ferny’s sharp eyes caught the faint flicker of a small fire. Seconds later the sharp smell of smoke struck his nostrils. The fool has built himself a campfire. Ferny smiled.

Slowing his pace, Ferny drew his dagger. Holding his body close to the ground, he kept to the shadows as he crept closer and closer toward the fire. As he grew nearer, the horse, a mud-spattered brown mare, began to stamp and whinny nervously. The man who had been riding her stood up from the fallen log he had been using for a seat and squinted into the darkness. Ferny froze, holding his breath as the man’s gaze passed over him, not seeing. Ferny studied his prey.

The stranger was a big fellow, as big as Ferny himself, with a broad good-natured face, a trusting face. A farmer, no doubt thought Ferny. Too bad for him that he should be out on such a night. Ferny also noticed the heavy sword he wore at his side, which was unusual for a farmer, at least under ordinary circumstances. He wondered if the farmer really knew how to use it or if he wore it more for the purpose of intimidating any would-be highwaymen or footpads, such as himself. Not wanting to find out, Ferny decided that stealth would be the best option. The shelter the farmer had chosen was nothing more than the shelter offered by the spreading boughs of an ancient oak tree. He had built his sputtering little fire between the roots, and tied his horse to another raised root nearby. As far as Ferny could see, the man’s position was completely exposed. Ferny grinned, tightening the grip on his dagger.

Seeing nothing but darkness and rain, the man turned and gave his horse a friendly pat on the neck before sitting down to warm himself at the fire. As soon as he was settled, Ferny again crept forward, skirting the trail to his right so that he might come up behind the unsuspecting traveler. It was over in seconds. Ferny leapt upon the stranger before he was even aware of what was happening and, in a single fluid motion of his arm, slit the man’s throat, nearly severing the head from the body. A warm rush of blood poured forth over Ferny’s arm, mingling with the rain. Ferny dropped the man’s lifeless body beside the smoldering remains of the fire. Then, he carefully and deliberately searched the man’s pockets, removing among other things, his purse and an old pocket watch. Ferny held the watch up to his ear. Hearing no answering tick, he flung it into the fire and continued his search, finding nothing else of interest but a fairly serviceable pocketknife and packet of pipeweed, both of which he tucked into his tunic, alongside the man‘s purse. Then, with nothing else left to be done, he untied the horse’s reins from the tree root and flung himself into the saddle.


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

Benia

Feeling more like a salmon than a human being, Benia trudged doggedly onward through the rain. With Barrold Ferny gone on his mission to steal a horse for Naiore, Benia found herself leading the way with the elf walking several silent paces behind her. Still they pressed southward. Having overheard the conversation between the two co-conspirators, she knew that she would soon be leaving the Ravener’s company and felt a spark of hope. While she feared Barrold Ferny and what he could ultimately do to her, she feared Naiore Dannan far more. Knowing that her chances of escape would be better once Naiore had gone her own way, Benia felt almost optimistic. She could handle Barrold Ferny. In fact, she had a feeling she could take care of him for good if she could just lay her hands on a few leaves of oleander.

“Or belladonna,” she murmured under her breath, remembering how she had had the same thoughts regarding Kaldir, as she and Gilly had rode behind him and his gray horse through the streets of Bree. How long ago it seemed, although it had only been a matter of weeks. Now Kaldir was dead, having given his life to protect her, and she would have given anything to bring him back. A single tear welled up in the corner of her eye and trembled there for a moment before breaking free and mingling with the rain on her face. How easy it was to think of murder and killing and how hard was the reality, she thought. Yet, at the same time, she knew that Barrold Ferny was no Kaldir. Even when she had feared for her life at Kaldir’s hand, Kaldir had shown that trace of nobility of spirit, that hint of kindness that belied the man beneath the rough exterior and the scars. Barrold Ferny showed nothing of the sort, only ruthless self-interest and greed. She remembered the way he had struck her in the face when she tried to warn Kaldir away from the camp above Rivendell and the way he had swung at her again for no reason when he had tripped and fallen on the rocky path coming out of the mountains. Unless she managed to escape, he would beat her mercilessly. She must do what she could to preserve herself.

Benia shivered and blew on her cold hands that were bound in front of her. She must do what she could...

She was still thinking along these lines when she heard the distant clop-clop of hoofbeats. The rain had slackened to a light drizzle, and the hoofbeats approached rapidly. Benia stopped walking and glanced back to see that Naiore had stopped walking a few paces earlier and now stood in the center of the path with her hood thrown back and her clear eyes focused on the path they had just come by. A look of cold triumph came into her face as Barrold Ferny reined the horse to a halt in front of her. At that moment, the moon sailed out from behind the blanket of clouds and Benia saw with horror that Ferny’s right arm was red with another man’s blood. She lowered her eyes and murmured a soft Haradrim prayer for the dead. Murder. To think, only seconds earlier, she had been contemplating murder herself. Seeing the blood still fresh on Ferny’s sleeve, the crimson evidence of such a crime, she knew that even if she had the poisons she had been thinking of, she would never use them. She could not coldly and deliberately take a life. She must find another way to save herself.

She watched as Ferny dismounted and exchanged a few sentences with Naiore, looking several times toward Benia as he spoke. Idly, he wiped his bloody hands on his tunic and grinned. A clear expression of disgust flitted across Naiore’s fair features, then vanished as she nodded and smiled serenely, speaking some last parting words to Ferny that Benia was unable to hear. Finally, without another glance toward either of them, the Ravener swung herself gracefully into the saddle and rode away into the darkness toward the south.

As the last rumble of hoofbeats faded into the distance, Benia found herself alone with Barrold Ferny.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Straight and tall, Menecin silently watched in the rain, listening. Looking up the elf saw that not even the occasional glimpse of clear sky was to be seen among the fast moving clouds. Yet somewhere before them were Naiore… and the others. That smaller party, which also trailed her, and which he hoped still lay between her and his own traveling companions. It seemed a doomed mission that these few had set themselves upon, unless they might be reached and reinforced quickly. Just how well did this young ranger understand the lady Dannan and her perilous ways? Was he truly prepared to assail someone with her skill having only the aid of two Periannath? A twinge of foreboding overtook him and steeling himself against it, he continued his watch.

In the patter of steady rain, he heard a footfall behind him. And Menecin who quickly recognized the timing of Amandur’s stride in the sound, did not let his gaze waver as the ranger approached him, but still surveying the landscape, he continued to hope for some sign that might direct them on their way. “Are there any new tidings?” Amandur asked as he drew alongside the bard, the rain dripping from his hair. “What might elven eyes see in this downpour?”

“My eyes see naught but fair woods and plains, glad of summer rain. They have not alighted on any that could not rightfully call this place home,” Menecin reported.

The ranger nodded, “Truly a beacon such as a campfire would provide, is too much to hope for in this rain and rolling terrain. But given the danger of unfriendly eyes it is even more unlikely. Dúlrain is not foolish.”

Menecin finally allowed himself to meet the ranger’s gaze. “It has troubled me greatly, Amandur,” the rich voice confessed reluctantly. “It has troubled me that Dúlrain should continue on ahead of us. Surely, he knows that you would not let him face this task alone and that we cannot be far behind. Tell me, what manner of man is this we follow, and that would dare seek her out?”

“It is troubling to me as well that we have not yet caught up with him.” Amandur admitted to the bard. “But do not think he would wait for us. He has much grievance with the Lady Dannan, and would not risk letting her trail grow cold. For she has slowly and completely destroyed Kaldir whom Dúlrain called brother, and now holds captive yet another he holds dear.”

“The Southern woman? That is ill tidings, indeed.” Menecin bowed his head, before raising it once again to search the grassy plains and scanty woods shrouded in darkness. “But what of the Periannath?”

“One is a close friend of Miss Nightshade, but the other Halfling’s presence remains a mystery to me. He had accompanied the Lady Dannan willingly from Bree, but apparently left her company and joined Dúlrain and Kaldir before they had reached the borders of Imladris. I do not know why he has continued onward from there.”

“This also bodes evil to my mind,” the elf said. “Then let us hope, that with the morning light we might ride swiftly now that we are no longer upon mountain paths.”

“And let us hope also that Dúlrain does not meet with the Ravennor of Mordor before we are able to find him,” Amandur added, echoing the thoughts that Menecin left had unspoken. But the elf did not respond to him, feeling a strong dissonance to hear Naiore referred to by such a designation. And though he knew well it was true, he withdrew again within himself and his memories until Amandur said that he would stand watch, and Menecin returned the sycamore grove, and sat apart from the rest.

[Ealasaide]

Barrold Ferny

As the sound of hoof beats faded into the distance, Barrold Ferny realized two things: the first was that Naiore had really gone, leaving him free to go about his own business again, just as he had been before she turned up. He had been so certain that this venture was going to end badly that the idea sunk in slowly. The other thing was that he was still alive and in full control of his faculties, not to mention full control of a set of very valuable mithril book covers and a enticingly delectable woman. While Naiore Dannan had not delivered on all of the power and riches she had promised, Ferny decided that he really had not done too badly for himself. He hefted the pack that contained the book covers higher on his shoulders and looked over to where Benia Nightshade stood with her cloak clutched tightly around her shoulders like a protective cocoon. Ferny licked his lips as a flurry of prurient thoughts flew through his mind. Finally, he sighed. If it weren't such a miserable night, he might have laid her down right then and there and seen about ripping into that little cocoon of hers, but the freezing rain and mud had gone a long way toward dampening his ardor. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow when the sun is shining, I’ll find a place where there’s a cover of trees and perhaps a spot of warm grass...

Ferny jumped as white branch lightning tore the sky over his head, accompanied by a deafening crash of thunder. Cursing under his breath as the rain redoubled in its intensity, he reached out and gave Benia Nightshade a shove. They needed either to find shelter or keep moving, one of the two. No one could ever say that Barrold Ferny didn’t have enough sense to get out of the rain. But the blow had caught Benia by surprise. She lost her balance and slipped in the mud, landing on her knees.

"Get up!" roared Ferny, suddenly furious at the woman's clumsiness. He landed a sharp kick to her backside, which caused her to pitch forward. She caught herself from falling flat only by throwing her bound hands out in front of her. Still cursing, Ferny grabbed her by the base of her thick braid through her cloak and dragged her to her feet. Placing his face against her hooded cheek, he growled into her ear. "You’ll move if you want to live through the night."

Ferny released her with a push in the direction of east. "We need to reach the Anduin by dawn," he shouted at her over the roar of wind and rain. "We’ll ford the river by daylight."

He watched with satisfaction as her hood nodded submissively and she began to walk in the direction of the river and his ultimate destination of the Dale.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly woke to the sound of staccato whispers close by her. It was dark and she could hear a rumbling thunder that broke through the rolling waves of rain. The hobbit had no idea how long she had been asleep, but felt damp and miserable, and considerably less tired. She found her eyes were stuck shut from tears shed before drifting off, and raised a hand to clear them as she lay listening to the conversation.

“Now?” an incredulous voice said. “In this dark?”

“I know where we are headed. We do not need much light.”

“But I could dress this nicely in no time at all, I promise you. We could use something to eat. Later maybe, when you feel we could spare a bit of a fire.” Gilly, tucked away in her den, smiled to hear that. Toby must have had some success looking for a meal.”

“No, we have not time,” Dúlrain pressed. “Quickly now, wake Mrs. Banks. We will leave at once.”

Lightening flashed. Gilly saw the ranger’s tall figure cross in front of the tree roots, and it was dark once again. “Mrs. Banks, Mrs. Banks!” Toby said, suddenly close by and shaking her shoulder. “You must wake up straightaway. It is time we set out once more.” She struggled to collect her thoughts, wondering if something had happened. Sitting up, Gilly crossed her arms over her stomach and asked the other hobbit why they were leaving when the storm seemed to have grown more furious, “I don’t know. He hasn’t said,” Toby replied to her questioning. “He only told me to wake you, and as soon as your up we’re off.’’

“Then I best get moving,” Gilly said, but Toby had already gone, leaving her alone in the hollow. The hobbit tried to remember those things she had cast aside as she lay down, her fingers moving to search the dirt for Benia’s sword. Finding it, she stood up stiffly and slung it over her shoulder before climbing out from under the sheltering roots.

Gilly jogged to where Toby stood at the ranger’s side. “What is wrong?” she asked as she drew up to them. “Something has gone wrong hasn’t it?” Dúlrain looked her way as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“It remains to be seen,” he said hurriedly, as he fastened his pack. “I have stumbled on something troubling, as I searched the way ahead.” He looked at Gilly. “Do not worry, there was no sign of Miss Nightshade there. But I fear it may have some bearing on her situation. We should not tarry here.” Gilly nodded.

The ranger led the small group south along the tree line and over a bluff, before turning eastward to more open country. Through wind and heavy rain they shortly came to a lone oak. It was there among the gnarled roots, the hobbits saw the remains of a small fire, where the ground beside the charred earth shone dark red in the flickering lightening. Gilly quickly turned away. But Dúlrain searched the ground around the tree carefully, “This is Barrold Ferny’s cursed work,” he said. “See his tracks clearly leading west again with the slain man’s horse, the same direction as he had come.”

“The murderous horse thief!” Gilly declared hotly.

“I can vouch for your assessment of him, Mrs. Banks. He is as vile as they get,” Toby agreed, before addressing Dúlrain. “Do you think he is really on his own then?” he asked.

“No. If that were the case I do not think he would have gone back by the same route. Naiore is after a horse. It would serve her well to have one, now that she has crossed over the mountains and the way lies open to the south. At this point we can only hope that the mud might serve to slow the poor beast down,” Dúlrain said.

“But only one horse?” Gilly broke in. “Can all three ride one?” Dúlrain did not answer her, but followed his own thoughts.

“Ferny was here not long ago. We have lost a good deal of time and must make haste,” he said walking up the incline. “Back up toward the trees” he directed. Toby and Gilly obeyed. With the thick mud, the hobbits struggled to keep pace with the ranger who guided them, but after a mile or so Dúlrain slowed and the hobbits had an easier time keeping abreast of him. The horse and rider he had been tracking had met with another pair of prints he told them, and the rider trailing the new prints. Gilly was relived to see Dúlrain point out several narrow ones filled high with rainwater. They looked the right size for Miss Benia.

But it was not long before Gilly found herself running once more, to keep up as Dúlrain raced ahead. It was a mile or more before the ranger stopped and she and Toby, skirting a patch of birches nearly passed him by in the darkness. He had stooped low waiting for another flash of light by which to read the signs before him. The paths she learned had diverged, Naiore’s heading south, but Benia and Barrold’s striking a more easterly course, down toward the Anduin. Fear gripped Gilly as the ranger stood up and looked down over the plains, hesitating which direction to take. She simply could not stay with Dúlrain and Toby if they choose to follow Naiore! She would follow Miss Benia alone if it came to that. They both knew that she had not come all this way to chase after rogue elves! She had a more important matter to tend to. But deep inside her bravado, she was frantic with worry. Worry that she would inded have to gone on her own, unaided.

[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

As Dúlrain looked out over the plains he hesitated confronted with this dilemma. His charge had been to aid Amandur in the capture of the elf Naiore Dannon, who’s countless crimes towards the free peoples of middle earth were too numerous and horrific to recount. The burning need to avenge his brother also burned strong within his soul, but he just could not leave Benia in the hands of that unscrupulous villain Barrold…. Where are the others? He wondered, turning to look back in the direction they had just come. He had hoped that Amandur and the others, if there were any others would have caught up to them by now. But there had been no sign of them and concern had been growing in his mind that they had not survived Naiore’s orc ambush in the mountains. Another flash of lightening streaked the sky illumining for a few minutes the darkness surrounding them. It was then he saw it, a dark shadow in the distance…a figure bent studying the ground before it.

“Get out of sight!” he quickly whispered to the others as he pressed himself against one of the smooth barked birches, Lightening again gave him enough light to get a better look at the stranger reading their trail. Tall and slender like a reed the figure moved gracefully towards them, shrouded from head to toe in a dark cloak that seem to change with the shadows and reflections of the pale moonlight making keeping track of their uninvited companion's movements almost impossible. In fact if not for the lightening he may have never have known anyone was there at all until it was too late. He waited his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of the sword by his waist, but just a few feet from were he was hiding the figure suddenly stopped and was looking straight in his direction almost as though the tree blocking it's view was not there at all. His hand tightened about the hilt as he suddenly grew concerned that he had just lead Gilly and Toby into a cleverly orchestrated trap. Quickly sliding the blade free from its scabbard he stepped out from the tree to face the dark figure that stalked them.

The figure remained still and said nothing as the ranger demanded his name and the reason why he followed them. Slowly the stranger rose two pale long fingered hands to show that they held no weapons. However the bow slung across the figures back and the bulge to his left side showed that he was no stranger to weapons so Dúlrain held to caution and kept his weapon raised as the stranger brought his hands up to the dark hood that concealed his face. Watching him throw the hood back Dúlrain was suddenly surprised to see a cascade of long dark hair fall down about the strangers shoulders and the familiar smile of a friend greeted him.

“Miz Léspheria!” He heard Gilly gasped as she suddenly appeared from her hiding place with Toby not too far behind her. The elf’s smile broadened as she nodded in greeting to the surprised hobbit. “And happy I am to see that you are all alive and well, We lost your trail sometime ago and feared that you had confronted Naiore alone,” she admitted turning again to face Dúlrain. The ranger shook his head, “No we too have been unable to catch up to the Revennor and now I am faced with a difficult decision, one which your arrival has now decided for me, though I have to admit that it would have likely have been the same regardless! But first tell me where are the others, surely you are not alone?”

“No, the others are camped someway off behind us,” she indicated pointed back the way she had come. “Amandur, the bard Menecin, Vanwe and Avanill make up our company, I picked up your trail on my patrol,” she paused for a moment lost in her own thoughts, “Naiore has acquired a horse and cut loose both her prisoner and her hired thug,” she mused as she read between the lines and put together the clues she had found. Dúlrain nodded indicating that she was correct in her assumption.

“She makes all speed south, while Barrold with Benia heads east!”He explained pointing out their watery trails.

“I see,” Léspheria nodded sympathetically, sensing and understanding the rangers need to abandon his charge and strike east to rescue the southern woman.

“Tell Amandur that I am sor…” he began but Léspheria cut him short placing an understanding hand on his shoulder.

“Do not worry Amandur will understand, you must do what your heart tells you is right!” she smiled reassuringly,

“Besides you are without the means to keep up with Naiore never mind catch her, We on the other hand are not. I will return at once and inform the others of what we have found and we will ride out at once to give chase, she cannot elude us forever.”

Dúlrain nodded his thanks and understanding, then after pressing a small glass phial into Gilly's hands with a few whispered instructions, Lespheria said her goodbyes, wished them luck and left to return and wake her companions. While Dúlrain and the two hobbits struck east hot on the heels of Barrold Ferny fully intent on freeing Benia from his villainous grasp!

[Ealasaide]

Benia

With Barrold Ferny encouraging her to keep up the pace with the occasional shove from behind, Benia continued walking eastward through the wee hours of the morning toward dawn. Unbeknownst to her captor, however, and concealed within the folds of her cloak, her hands worked steadily at loosening the rope that bound her wrists in front of her. The rope, being of lesser quality, had stretched upon being soaked by the rainwater and now slid freely around her slender wrists. The knots had already begun to give way under her persistent fingertips. It would be only a matter of minutes before she could work her hands free, she thought, as the first hint of daylight touched the eastern sky. Maybe she could find a way to slip away from Ferny as they forded the river, whose powerful waters she could see already, sparkling in the misty distance.

Focusing her attention on reaching the distant river, Benia was surprised when Barrold Ferny suddenly grabbed her arm and dragged her off of the path into the shelter of a small grove of trees. "Time to rest a bit, sweet’eart," was all he offered by way of explanation, so she followed him willingly to a small and grassy clearing at the heart of the grove. Her legs and feet ached from the forced march over the mountains. She had hardly eaten or slept since being seized by Naiore in the forest outside of Rivendell and longed for both food and rest, yet she did not trust Ferny. Benia remained standing, her cloak held closely around her shoulders by hands that were now barely bound. She watched as Ferny took off first his pack and then his sword belt, laying them down at the edge of the grove.
Then, as he turned toward her with an oily smile, Benia realized that sleep was not at all what Ferny had had in mind. She fell back a pace as he moved swiftly across the clearing toward her. With one sharp motion, Ferny ripped the cloak from her shoulders and pushed Benia’s back roughly against the trunk of a nearby tree. One of his hands closed around her throat while the other caught her around her waist.

"Now," said Ferny, pinning her against the tree trunk with his full weight. "Let’s see ’ow friendly you are, lovey-dovey..."

Nearly overcome with his stench of body odor and dried blood, Benia tried to twist away from him, clamping her lips shut against the foul kiss that he planted squarely on her mouth. Chuckling at her attempts to fight him, Ferny tightened his grip around her throat, effectively cutting off her air. Benia squeezed her eyes shut and let her instincts take over. Without thinking, she drove her knee upward as hard as she could.

"Ungh!" said Ferny, doubling over in pain as he fell backward from the blow. As he involuntarily released his grip on her throat, Benia seized the few seconds that opportunity had offered and twisted away from her captor. She tore her wrists from what was left of her bindings, gathered her skirts into her arms, and fled. Ferny threw out a hand as she passed in the hope of catching her braid or perhaps a handful of skirt, but missed. A stream of invective followed her as Benia bolted out of the trees and ran like a gazelle back toward the west and the Misty Mountains, her hope being that if anyone from Rivendell had picked up her trail, they would not be too far behind and might be able to help her. Within seconds, she heard the heavy pounding of Barrold Ferny’s feet as he raced to catch up with her.

Still gasping for breath from her near strangulation back in the grove, Benia ran as fast and hard as she could but the days of forced marching with very little food or sleep had taken its toll. She stumbled, and it was all Ferny needed to close the gap between them. Benia struck the ground hard as Ferny caught her in a flying tackle. Before she knew what was happening, he had flipped her over on to her back and planted his full weight upon her chest, his knees pinning her arms to the ground. His left hand closed again around her throat as his right struck her a forceful blow.

Benia grayed out, but even through her foggy consciousness, she could hear him speaking to her.

"Listen to me, you evil wench," spat Ferny. "I am yer lord and master. Naiore gave you to me. I decide what you do, 'ow you act, and, in the end, whether you live or die. If I decide yer gonna be friendly, then yer gonna be friendly. You get that? Now..." he leaned forward, his hot breath brushing her cheeks. "Who’s yer master?"

Swimming vaguely back toward full consciousness, Benia tried to shake her head. "No..." she murmured. Her amber eyes looked desperately past Ferny toward the distant mountains in the west. Was there no one to help her? "Help me..." she gasped, as her gaze struck on what looked to be three small shadows racing toward them across the open grassland.

"No. Wrong," answered Ferny. As Ferny sat back and raised his hand to strike her again, the distant shadows began to take shape in her eyes... a man and two... children? Hobbits? A flash of hope lit in Benia’s heart. Oh, please let them be real!

"Who’s yer master?" asked Ferny, his hand beginning its descent toward her face.

Before his blow could fall, Benia summoned all of her strength and threw herself sideways under Ferny’s weight in the attempt to dislodge him. His fist missed its mark and, although the larger, stronger man ultimately over-powered her again, for a few brief seconds, she succeeded in freeing her throat from his grip. In those few seconds, Benia found her voice.

"HELP ME!" she screamed toward the mysterious figures approaching from the west. help me...

[Nerindel]

Dulrain

Although Dulrain was relieved that Benia was no longer in the hands of the Revennor of Mordor he knew that she was not in any less danger. Barrold was a villain know for both his violent behaviour and his womanising and Toby was quick to point out both usually came hand in hand much to the horror of Miss Banks. “If he so much as lay’s a hand on her….so help me I will…”Gilly fumed angrily. The same thoughts passed though the rangers mind as he pushed the hobbits on through the predawn mist the trail was growing fresher with each minute.

“They can’t be to far ahead now!” Toby whispered as Dulrain again stooped to examine the muddy prints.

“No not far we should be able to see them soon!” He answered looking up at the hobbit.

“Look there!” Gilly whispered pointing straight ahead, her eyes straining to make out the shape of the shadows ahead.

“There coming this way!” Toby gasped, drawing forth the jewel hilted sword that Miss banks had given him back in Rivendell. But Dulrain had remained still his eyes also straining to make the figures running…. Suddenly without warning he leaped up and raced forward as he realised that the first figure was defiantly being chased by the latter.

“Benia!” he heard Gilly gasp as the figure trying to escape their pursuer stumbled and was brought crashing hard onto the ground. Dulrain’s anger grew as the domineering figure that he now could see was Barrold Ferny held Benia pinned to the ground. Both Toby and Gilly flinched as the brute struck Benia a right handed blow across her face but Dulrain did not it only fuelled him more and he now sprinted towards Benia his sword in his hands.

“I’m coming!” he whispered through grated teeth as Barrold again overpowered her pinning her to the ground, but even as he rose his hand to strike her another blow Dulrain dived at him knocking him hard to the ground.

As the stunned villain struggled to rise Dulrain chanced a glance at Benia to check that she was alright, “Look out!” she hoarsely whispered her eyes wide with fear, Dulrain turned just in time to see Barrold arms raised ready to strike him with a thick branch he must have found in the long grass. Quickly he side stepped avoiding the blow and as the branch hit the ground shattering in half he moved to kick Barrold under the ribs. However seeing him move Barrold guessed his intent and swung the remainder of the branch upwards and round catching the ranger hard across the ribs. Dulrain grunted and stumbled back a few paces as the pain shot across his side, catching his breath he heard the shouts of Mrs Banks.

“Stay away from her you brute… I’m warning you!” she yelled, unsteadily waving Benia’s heavy sword at the approaching villain. “Get outta ma way!” Barrold snarled easily side stepping the hobbits unbalanced stroke, striking her hard across the face with the back of his hand as she struggled again to raise the heavy weapon knocking her to the ground. But before Dulrain could get to them Barrold had dragged Benia up by her hair and now stood behind her using her as a shield, his face pressed closely to her left cheek.

“Did ye miss me sweet ‘art” he whispered licking the side of her cheek as he watched the ranger advance.

Dúlrain face was red with anger as he rush toward the disgusting brute, but he stopped short as he caught the flash of metal under Benia’s chin.

“That’s it boyo‘, don’t yer be thinking o’ coming any closer. The lady’s mine see, so you’ll just be puttin’ down yer weapons if you don’t wanna see ’er hurt.” Barrold grinned menacingly, pulling Benia tighter to him. “You too Missy!” he hissed at Gilly tightening the blade to Benia’s throat, so that a small trickle of dark red blood ran down the blade.

“No Don’t !” Gilly pleaded throwing the cumbersome weapon to the ground, “Come on now boy’o!” Barrold warned turning back to the ranger, Dulrain hesitated for a moment as he stared towards Benia. Then as tears streamed down her olive cheeks he slowly set down his sword. “And the rest Barrold barked!” Dulrain had no choice but to do as he said so he slowly unfastened his belt and let it drop to the ground.

“Now where it the little rat!” Barrold spat looking all about him. In all the commotion Dulrain had completely forgot about Toby , he glanced at Gilly but she only shrugged indicating that she did not know where the hobbit had gone to.

“Come on now where is he!” Barrold bark impatiently, “I know ’e was with you!” It was then that Dulrain noticed the grass moving not far from where Barrold stood. “I don’t know, He probably ran off somewhere,” he quickly answer at Barrold was about to turn in the direction of the shifting grass. “Yes, the stinking coward that he is!” Gilly quickly added also seeing the unnatural sway in the long grass and realising what Dúlrain was doing.

“Heh never trust a thief Ranger they only think o’ themselves!” Barrold laughed mockingly, but as he laughed Dulrain widened his eyes then looked down Indicating to Benia to be ready, she blinked her amber eyes once to indicate that she understood. “Your sword!” Gilly whispered out of the side of her mouth. Dulrian looked down and shook his head he could never get to it in time. “Not that one, in your pack!” she whispered. It was then that he remembered seeing it in his pack, Gilly must have lifted it in the glade, he had meant to loss it again in the cave but had not had the time and was now glad that he had not for it was now going to come in handy.

“Hey! What yer up too!” Barrold snapped as Dulrain slowly raised his right hand over his head. “We’re going to catch you eventually Ferny!” Dulrain said calmly “So you might as well give up and let her go!” Gilly added “And we will settle this little matter here and now, you and me man to man!”

“Not Bloody likely!” Barrold spat taking a step back, “I’ll do it, I’ll kill ’er if I have too!” Barrold warned again. Too late he heard something behind him but before he could turn round Toby had sunk the jewelled companion sword into the back of the villains left thigh.

With a scream of pain Barrold loosened his grip on Benia who instantly pulled away from him into Dulrain’s strong arms, he gently squeezed her and kissed her forehead before passing her into the care of her hobbit friend while he went to the aid of a brave Mr Longholes.

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

Toby

Enraged that his prize had gotten away Barrold turned on Toby “Why you snivelling ungrateful little rat!” he grunted pulling the blade from his leg and advancing on the unarmed halfling, his left leg dragging a little as blood poured from the wound. “I gave yer friendship when no-one else would and this is ‘ow yer repay me!”

“Pfft Friendship is that what you call it!” Toby scoffed stepping back a few paces, “ I was useful to you that’s all, you have no idea what true friendship is and to be honest neither did I until recently” and as he spoke his gaze drifted passed Barrold to the hobbit woman and her friend to make sure they were alright. This momentary lapse was all that Barrold needed, with a fisted right hand he punched Toby across the jaw. Warm blood filled his mouth as he fell to the ground and several of his teeth had been knocked loose.

“Bwhahahaha yer right yer were useful to me !” Ferny laughed over him as he tried to scramble away on his hands and knees, determined to draw the villain away from the two women. “And now I ‘ave no use fer a treacherous back stabbing little worm! ” he spat raising the jewelled blade as Toby looked back. He tried to roll out of the path of the oncoming blade, but yelled out as the blade sunk deep into his left shoulder pinning him helplessly to the ground. “Toby!” He heard a woman’s voice scream as the world around him turned suddenly hazy , blinking hard he could still make out the dark outline of Ferny looming over him, but even as the pain overcame him and he slipped into unconsciousness another shadow Broad sided the villain sending him stumbling sideways.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Fear gripped Gilly as she saw the fury with which Barrold drove the point of the companion sword down among the grass. “Toby!” she screamed, flying from Benia’s side without any clear idea of what help she might expect to offer. And seeing the festering contempt that distorted Ferny’s face she stopped short. She had no weapon against this man, this wounded animal, not even her pocketknife to wield. It would be foolish. Looking quickly around, searching the ground for the sword she had cast aside, she snatched it hurriedly from where it lay in the wet grass, stumbling as the weight of it dragged behind her.

Toby’s initial cry had waxed into haunting silence, and Gilly squinted hard in the pale morning light, hopeful of seeing any movement at all among the grass. She thought that just maybe she saw his foot move, and scrabbled to her feet, still determined to drive Barrold away from his deadly retaliation. Hearing a muffled thud followed by a groan, Gilly looked up to find that Dúlrain had taken advantage of Barrold’s momentary inattention, charging the brute that continued to hurl abuse as he kicked the small crumpled form at his feet. The ranger drove his shoulder into Ferny’s left side, succeeding in pushing him further away from where the wounded hobbit lay, and engaged him once more to slowly draw him further off.

Dropping the sword, Gilly ran back toward where Benia stood anxiously watching the struggling men. Her friend took a few steps toward them; golden eyes wide with fear and pain as Ferny continued to lunge at Dúlrain in rapid succession. Grabbing Benia’s hand, Gilly tried to pull her away. “Come quick, Miss Benia, I need your help. We’ve got to move Toby, before he has another shot at him. We’ve got to hide him.” The hobbit did not say it, but she had a mind to hide Benia as well. She did not want that monster ever to lay eyes on her friend again let alone use her as a weapon against Dúlrain. But Benia resisted the hobbit’s coaxing, as if she hasn’t heard.

Setting her teeth so that her lips were transformed into a hard thin line, the hobbit pulled with all her might until Benia looked at her exasperated. “Two minutes!” Gilly snapped. “Give me two minutes, and quick before Dúlrain tires and really does need help! Where has all your good sense gone, now that you need it?” A furrow appeared in the southern woman’s brow as she looked from the hobbit to Dúlrain. “Come, be quick!” Gilly urged, pulling the woman along. Heading for Benia’s sword, Gilly stopped to reach down and unwinding the grass that clung to it, she pressed the hilt into Benia’s tattooed hand and closed the ornately decorated fingers around it. “We might need this,” she said, before continuing to lead her to Toby.

The fallen hobbit lay awkward and still in the grass, his shoulder soaked bright red. Gilly’s relief was tremendous as she saw the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and letting Benia’s hand drop she ran to his side. He was still alive! But he was still bleeding and that was worrisome. Tearing her petticoat, Gilly quickly pressed a wad of the material against the wound and tore another length to wrap it tight. “Help me move him,” she said looking up to Benia. “Maybe behind the bushes,” she suggested.

Benia handed her father’s sword back to the hobbit, and lifted Toby in her arms. “Not behind the bushes, Gilly,” the southern woman said. “It is the first place he would look. But I remember that the land dips down over this way. Toby would be well hidden there.”

“Good enough,” Gilly said. “But hurry before the lout notices where we are taking him.”

A stone throw away from where they stood the land rippled deeply, the fold nearly invisible among the wide expanse of grass. As Benia gently lowered Toby down in the valley it formed, they both saw that he was bleeding from his mouth as well. “Oh Miss Benia, he is hurt somewhere else. Inside, I think!” Gilly said.

Benia knelt down beside the hobbit looking closely at his face. Opening his mouth, she gave Gilly a small smile. “It is only his teeth,” she said. But the blood had already begun to seep through his bandaged shoulder, and she sighed, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder above the bandage. “I wish that we had the elves’ help for this wound.”

Gilly brightened a little. “Ah but we do! Lady Léspheria had given me these,” Gilly said pulling out two phials from her pocket and holding them in the palm of her hand for Benia to see. “She said that one helps heal injury and one causes immediate sleep, but I can’t recall which is which.” The hobbit paused, bringing the phials close to her eyes to study them. “I think this bluish one is the one for sleep. I’m nearly sure it is. We don’t need that now, do we?”

An indulgent smile flickered across Benia’s face. And she looked back toward were the sound of the men fighting could still be heard. “It’s been a while now. Perhaps Dúlrain is tired,” Gilly said. “Don’t worry, Miss Benia, I will use this other medicine on Toby. But if you decide to return to the fighting, take this also as well as your sword.“ The hobbit handed Benia the blue phial. “To use on Ferny if you have half a chance!” she said with a wink. But in the depths of her heart she feared that her friend needed to have some defense incase things where to go terribly wrong, and was glad when Benia took the slender phial to examine it.

[piosenniel]

Dulrain

As Barrold struggled to regained his footing with a muttering of curses Dulrain levelled his sword and advanced on the villain, the sharp edge of the Arthedain blade glinting in the soft morning light revealing the dried dark blood that marred it’s sides. But Dúlrain was passed his guilt and self pity, the man before him disgusted him and was one of the reasons he and Kaldir had followed their father’s footsteps and become rangers. Men Like Barrold Ferny prayed on the weak and the venerable and would do anything for a price they had no respect for anyone or anything! He blocked as Barrold came at him fast with thrust after thrust with the jewelled weapon trying to find an opening that the ranger would not give him. Barrold’s approach was fast and aggressive, almost desperate at times but with the heavier weapon Dulrain knew that he would tire first. However his years of experience had taught him many things and these skills would be his ally in this battle. Remembering a distant memory and hearing the voice of a skilled and youthful Kaldir in his mind, counselling and urging him to remember that patience and caution were also a rangers best weapons, he finally held to his old friend and brothers advice and continued to defend letting his opponent believe that he was in control while studying the foot work and swordsmanship of his enemy.

“Is she worth dying for boy ‘o ?” Barrold taunted trying to rile him.

“A popular little fing ain’t she, already one man ‘as died for ‘er… he is dead isn’t ‘e!” Barrold continued to taunt with a toothy grin, that positively repulsed Dúlrain.

“Saved!” He corrected flatly not allowing Barrold’s words to distract him.

“Ah I see!” Barrold grinned smugly. “ So ‘er hero is also the bounty hunters killer ‘ow ironic!” the villain’s laugher so mocking and condescending causing a flash of anger to crossed the rangers face. But seeing the satisfied light in Barrold’s eyes Dúlrain bit back, swallowing hard to oppress the anger that tempted him to forget reason and lunge at the villain, squeezing the very life from him with his bare hands, if he had been alone he just might have taken the risk, but he was not and remembering this he let Barrold’s word pass and concentrated instead on finding some weakness in the villains attack a weakness that he could use to his own advantage.

As he continued to defend Barrold inevitably grew bolder not only in his attack but in his taunts also “she tastes sooo good, you know we could share her!” he grinned oily as the two blades locked at the hilt and he pressed forwards attempting to drive the ranger back. But Dúlrain let Barrold think that his foul breath had had more effect than his actual words. “You know you really should do something about that smell!” He coughed as he pushed Barrold back and pulled away to catch his breath. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t need to force yourself upon women.” he sneered with a look of sheer disgust. With an enraged growl Barrold charged at him again, but this time Dulrain did not defend he had seen how the villainous blaggaurd held his weapon a little to high so as Barrold charged the ranger quickly pivoted left, dropping to one knee then swinging the sharp edged blade towards the charging villains undefended gut. There was little Barrold could do as his own momentum helped carried him onto the rangers blade. Barrold’s dark eyes stared at him with complete shock and disbelief as the ranger pulled the deeply embedded blade from his enemies gut letting him crumple lifeless to the cold ground, his blood and guts spilling out staining the swaying grasses of the open plain.

Lowering his weapon and using it as support Dúlrain breathed heavily his head resting on the pommel of the sword. The finally blow had come not without it’s price the force and strength needed had taken it’s toll on the rangers wounded side and a sharp pain now ripped across his side, the healers had warned him that although the wound was healed the surrounding tissue and muscles would still be weak and now he knew this to be true.

Hearing the soft shuffle of booted feet he slowly looked up. Benia stood only feet from him concern etched on her beautiful southern brow, despite his pain Dúlrain managed a reassuring smile then with an effort he slowly rose to his feet. He felt the tenderness of her touch as she rushed to help him and he stared lovingly at her as she searched him for some injury.

“I am well, but what about you?” he whispered gently cupping her face with his free hand and frowning as his touch on the bluish bruising to her cheek caused her to wince.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

Benia gave the phial a long look, then handed it back to Gilly. "To sleep, perchance to dream," she said softly. "But, I wonder, would it be a sleep of death?" She paused to close Gilly's fingers around Léspheria's phial, remembering the thoughts she had once harbored regarding the use of poison on Ferny. No, she would not resort to poison, not even on herself should things come to such a point.

Gilly took the phial, all the while trying to read the expression in Benia’s eyes. "It is but a sleeping potion," she assured Benia. "In fact, I’m sure of it. Miss Léspheria is not the sort to be trafficking in poisons. You know that."

Distracted by the clash of swords just out of their sight, Benia nodded, looking in the direction from whence the sounds echoed. "Yes, you are right," she admitted. "Of course, you are right. But it was given to you. Please keep it to use as you see fit. Perhaps, poor Toby may have need of it."

Seeing Benia’s attention so divided, Gilly nodded and tucked the phial away into her pocket. "Yes, he may at that."

"In the meantime," Benia added, looking down at the grievously wounded hobbit, her gaze lingering over the blood-soaked bandage on his shoulder. "He is deathly pale. Perhaps we should give him a draught from the other phial. Here, I will lift him up." Benia crouched and gently lifted Toby’s head and shoulders that Gilly might administer the elven healing potion.

"How much should I give him?" asked Gilly with uncertainty.

"I don’t know," answered Benia, with a slight shake of her dark head. "Perhaps only a few drops at first? While I have very little experience with elven potions, I understand that they can be quite strong."

"Perhaps a teaspoonful to start," said Gilly, bending over the barely conscious hobbit. She uncorked the dainty phial and poured as close to a teaspoonful of medicine as she could figure between Toby’s waxen lips. Almost instantly, the color began to seep back into his face. His breathing grew less labored. Benia sighed with relief and lowered him back down upon the grass, glancing again in the direction of Dúlrain and the fighting. Gilly held out Jack Nightshade’s sword, its hilt toward Benia.

"Go," the hobbit lady told Benia rather firmly. "I will take care of Toby now."

"Thank you," said Benia quietly. She took the sword firmly in her right hand. With her left, she squeezed Gilly’s shoulder. "I shall be right back. We shall be right back, Dúlrain and I." She gave Gilly a final, resolute smile and ran out of the sheltering hollow. Immediately, she caught sight of the two men locked in battle.

"No!" she cried as Ferny raised his weapon and charged a flagging Dúlrain. She quickened her pace, believing that she must get there before Ferny’s blow fell, but in her heart she knew the distance was too much. She could never get there in time to help the ranger. As she watched, Dúlrain suddenly made a graceful pivot to his left and threw out his sword. Ferny’s own momentum carried him on to the blade. Benia flinched as Naiore’s odious henchman crumpled over in death, his blood painting the pale green of the meadow grass a deep crimson. She arrived at Dúlrain’s side just as the ranger sank to his knees in exhaustion, resting his forehead on the pommel of his sword. She hesitated, making a soft noise in her throat.

Hearing the whisper of her skirts amongst the now silent grasses, Dúlrain slowly looked up. Seeing Benia, he smiled despite his pain and pushed himself to his feet. She dropped her father’s sword and went to him, helping him to rise. At the same time, she tried to search him for any sign of injury or new wounds. Finding nothing, she threw her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. The intensity of her relief left her temporarily mute. He was safe.

"I am well, but what about you?" he whispered, pulling back from her slightly to cup her face with his free hand. He frowned as his touch on the darkening bruise to her cheek caused her to wince.

"You are safe," murmured Benia, the only words she could find. "Oh, thank eru, you are safe."

Dúlrain smiled gently. "Yes, I am more or less in one piece, but I must know - did this villain harm you? I see he has struck you, but has he hurt you in any other way?"

Benia shook her head. "No, no, I am fine." She leaned her cheek once again into his chest, comforted by the strong, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "He hit me a few times here and there, but otherwise has done me no damage."

Dropping his sword, Dúlrain closed his arms around Benia, holding her closely, but Benia could tell that his gray eyes looked beyond her, searching the distant trees.

"Thank eru," he said at last. "You, too, are safe. And Mrs. Banks? Toby?"

Benia sighed and released him from her embrace. She bent down and picked up the swords they had both dropped, handing him his. "Gilly is fine," she answered gravely. "But Toby is in a bad way. Gilly is doing what she can for him."

Benia waited as Dúlrain sheathed his sword and collected the jeweled companion sword from where Ferny lay. Then, she took his hand and began to lead him back in the direction of Gilly’s and Toby’s hiding place, still somewhat at a loss for words. So many thoughts and emotions swirled through her mind that she found herself unable to express anything verbally. Instead, she curled her fingers tightly through Dúlrain’s and rejoiced quietly at the return pressure of his touch. Leading him back toward where Gilly and Toby waited, Benia found there was one thing that she did need to talk about. Stopping abruptly, she turned toward Dúlrain and looked searchingly into his eyes.

"Is it true what Ferny said?" she asked. "Is Kaldir really dead?"

Dúlrain’s expression darkened visibly. He nodded. "Yes, it is true. He lies back in Imladris."

"How did he go?"

A pained look overtook the ranger’s handsome features, but no answer came.

Benia reached out and touched his face. She needed no further explanation, although a single question remained. "Is he at peace?"

Dúlrain nodded. "He is. Or he will be when his death has been avenged." A cold fire flashed through his eyes that reminded Benia too much of the hatred that had always risen in Kaldir’s blue eyes at the mention of Naiore Dannan. She shuddered, feeling the blood drain from her face.

"No, Dúlrain," she said desperately. "He must not be avenged. Please let the bloodshed stop here. That elf is poison. She nearly destroyed Kaldir with hatred. Please do not let her do the same to you. Leave her to Amandur and the others. I couldn’t bear it if she destroyed you as well."

Dúlrain’s jaw set stubbornly and, for a moment, he said nothing. When he finally spoke, there was an edge to his voice that Benia had never heard before. "I agree, Naiore Dannan is poison," he said. "But she was the ruin of my brother. His death must not go unanswered. I owe that much to him. If it is the last thing I do, I shall avenge his death."

Despairing, Benia sank to her knees. Putting her sword aside, she grasped both of Dúlrain’s hands in hers. "I beg you," she pleaded. "I beg you, don’t do this. I can see that evil creature has begun to poison your heart already with hatred. Please don’t let the poison take root."

Saying nothing, Dúlrain gazed down at her with a troubled expression. Benia could see the muscles tense along his jaw line.

"Please let it go," continued Benia. She placed her forehead against the back of his hand. "Kaldir gave his life to protect me. If you were to die as well, I could never forgive myself. How could I go on, knowing that my hands were colored not just with the markings of my heritage, but with the blood of not one, but two good men? I should die as well." She paused. "I believe that he would rather you walked away."

"How can you say that?" asked Dúlrain, his voice harsh with emotion. "How can you presume to know what was in Kaldir’s heart?"

Benia raised her face again, looking once more into Dúlrain’s eyes. "Did he ask you to avenge him?"

Slowly, the ranger shook his head. "No. His final thoughts were for you. He said that his death was a release."

"Then, I believe he was finished with vengeance. Did you know that he stood within range of striking Naiore down himself, but instead dropped his sword? If he had been wiling to sacrifice my life, he would have had his revenge." Benia released Dúlrain’s hands and dropped her eyes. The memory of those moments back in the enemy camp above Rivendell tore at her painfully. Sitting back on her heels, she hugged her elbows. "It is a debt I can never repay," she added softly. "But I hope to honor him by embracing life in his name. Not death. Please tell me that you can do the same. Please let the bloodshed stop here."

Emotionally drained, Benia waited quietly for Dúlrain’s response.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly sat back gazing at Toby, wondering if she should give him another draught from Léspheria’s phial. The poor soul did look a good deal better than he had just a short while ago, but how Gilly wished that his eyes would open again, and he would speak. It was such a brave thing that he had done to free Benia from that horrid man’s grip. Quite frankly, she had not expected him to take the risk. And though she was glad of his courage, she found herself quite anxious that he should be none the worse for it.

Thinking now that it was quite possible that a teaspoon might not have been a large enough dose, but still reluctant to give more lest it be too much, she racked her brain for anything else she could do. Perhaps a dab of the medicine on the wound itself would help speed the healing. Surely there wouldn’t be any harm in it. Moving closer Gilly gingerly unwound the bandages that she had applied just a few moments before. The bleeding had slowed considerably, but still the gash glistened with fresh blood. She nervously fumbled with the phial unstopping it, and after pouring a liberal amount of the elixir on the bandage; she set down the medicine and replaced the cloth, pressing it firmly over the wound.

The effect was immediate. Toby’s face quickly contracted into a grimace, as his other arm swung around catching Gilly rather tightly. “Eh there now!” he said, struggling to open his eyes. “Are you trying to finish me off then?”

“Oh, goodness, not in the least!” she answered. “But this hurt to your shoulder is a nasty one. I was just trying to fix it up.”

“Ah, I remember it only too well. I thought that it was the end of old Longholes! But what has happened?” he said craning his neck to look around. “Where are Dúlrain and Miss Nightshade? Why can’t I see them?” He sounded worried as he tried to sit up.

Gilly, gently aided him, a bit troubled herself. Realizing that the reverberating ring of weapons no longer echoed over the plain, it was too quiet for her to feel settled. “The both of them were up over that bluff a moment ago,” she whispered, frowning as she looked to the top of the hollow. “But I do not know exactly how it is going for them.”

“Then Ferny…” Toby began.

“Dúlrain had him quite occupied when Miss Benia and I brought you down here. But now that I see that you are all right, I really ought to get back. They may need my help.”

“I’ll go with you,” Toby said, holding his limp arm to his chest with the other.

“No, Mister Longholes, I appreciate it, but you should stay here. If that Ferny fellow is up there, it be best he not see your face peaking over the hill,” she cautioned. “I’ll just sneak a look then, and tell you what I find.” Getting to her feet she climbed slowly to the rim as Toby watched. There, standing on her toes, she peered cautiously over the tall grass. As the warm sun broke through the retreating clouds, she was overjoyed to see Dúlrain speaking to Miss Benia, the wind from off the mountains pulling at the couple before finding its way down the gentle slope toward the hobbit. They seemed deep in conversation but Gilly could not hear much of what was said, try though she might. “Ah there’s a pleasant sight, if I do say so myself,” she finally concluded with a sigh.

Hurrying back down to where Toby sat sneezing painfully in the bottom of the hollow, “All’s very well!” she announced with a smile. “Ferny’s not to be seen, or Naiore, or any other stranger for that matter! Let’s get that arm bound and give the shoulder a rest, so that you can see for yourself, if you’d like.” Toby nodded, sniffing.

After she had secured Toby’s arm tightly to his chest, relieving the pressure on his shoulder, she helped him to stand. He swayed a bit, and Gilly began to wonder if it was the medicine or rather sheer will that helped the hobbit stand up after such an ordeal. “Perhaps this isn't the right time to try. You’re a bit giddy yet,” she said gently.

“No, no! I’m alright, and would rather not sit any longer hidden in this dank shadow.” But Gilly seeing him still unsteady, took his free arm and wrapped it around her neck, propping him up.

“Lean on me,” she said. And together they started up the hill. “We will be there in a twinkling, and you can rest again in the sunshine if Dúlrain and Miss Benia will let us dry out a bit,” but in her heart she wondered what they were to do, now that Toby was injured and no longer able to keep pace with the ranger.

[Ealasaide]

Nerindel's Post - Dúlrain

Benia’s gentle words awakened the truth that lay buried beneath the jaded cloud of hatred and vengeance which seethingly encroached Dúlrain’s heart and mind, darkening the depths and reasoning of his brother sacrifice. Not only had Kaldir given himself to save Benia he had succeeded in defying the elf witch her hold in the end. Dulrain’s eyes closed as he remembered the hesitation of his brother, the hesitation that had allowed Kaldir to die a free man. Never could his brother have lived with the guilt of Rauthain’s blood on his hands so he had chosen death, freely and willingly accepting that only in death would he truly be free. The sudden reality and clarity of his brother’s choice hit him instantly dissipating the dark cloud that threatened to bury him.

“I shall honour and protect all that you held dear in this life.” his own words came back to him then. Looking upon the face of the gentle woman before him, he dropped to one knee and gently caressed her delicate cheek with his hand, she looked up her eyes glistened like crystals, gently he wiped away an escaping tear.

“You are right; I do Kaldir no honour in pursuing this tormentor of souls, but know this Benia he died finally free of her grasp. In this knowledge I can now honour him, up holding the values we once held dear and promising to live my life in honour of his sacrifice.” he smiled reassuringly and Benia fell into his arms. “You do not know how glad it makes my heart to hear you say those words.” She whispered through gladdened tears.

Pulling her back slightly Dúlrain looked deep into her amber eyes if he was to fore fill this promise there was one thing he first must do he must tell this angel this vision sent from Eru how he really felt about her!

“Before your beauty words fail me, my breath grows short and my heart feels weak, but I would live to follow and protect you, if this honour you permit me! You are the light in my darkest night and my shade from the brightest day, though you must think me crazy do not dismiss me, for to me you are my one and only. You fill my life completely and finally we can be together! I can be for you all that you want or need as I always should have and always will be… I love you Benia Nightshade, I always have.” And with that he kissed her deeply and held her in his loving embrace.

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide's Post - Benia

Closing her eyes, Benia let herself melt into the warmth of Dúlrain’s embrace, wishing deep in her heart that she could remain suspended forever in that instant of total and near flawless joy. He loved her. For that one fleeting instant, nothing else mattered. All of the pain and fear and heartache of the previous several weeks vanished like rain clouds after a storm, leaving the world a place of fresh and sparkling beauty, a place where a future was possible. She returned his embrace and his kiss with all of the intense love and longing she had kept hidden for so long. Finally, she drew back, touching his face with her fingertips.

“Crazy?” she echoed, a gentle smile floating at the corners of her lips. “Perhaps, but you have no idea how much I longed to hear those very words. I have loved you since the moment our eyes first met - do you remember? When you lifted my veil back on that dusty side street in Bree. I knew then that you were the one for me. I could think of nothing but how or if we might meet again.”

“I, too, was haunted by the image of your face.” He bent forward and kissed her forehead. “You have no idea how startled I was to find such a lovely creature hidden beneath all of that drapery. Of course, Kaldir was passing you off as his wife at the time. I believed him and, as such, was forced to deny my feelings for you completely, believing that you would remain forever beyond the reach of my heart or even of my hope.”

“Kaldir,” Benia whispered, thinking again of the scarred face and scarred soul of her one-time abductor. “Did you know that he asked me to become his wife?”

“Yes, Gilly told me.”

“He said that since coming to know me, he had begun to wish to be a better man again. All I did was lead him to his death.”

“No.” Dúlrain shook his head. Lifting Benia along with him, he rose to his feet. “It was that evil elf who led him to his death. She used you. You must not blame yourself.” He looked over in the direction of Ferny, Naiore’s deceased henchman, a bitterness passing fleetly over his features. “I was as much to blame as you were in that, anyway. I should have spoken for you the moment I awoke and found you still at my bedside, but I will rectify that now.” With a look of firm resolution, he turned to face Benia again and took her hands in his. “Since I know of no one to ask for your hand,” he said, looking tenderly into her shining amber eyes. “Your father being dead and your family far distant and scattered, I shall ask it of you directly. May I have your hand in marriage?”

“Yes!” Benia answered instantly, without even a second’s hesitation. “Oh, yes, a thousand times, yes.”

They kissed again, but were soon interrupted by the soft sound of coughing off to one side. They parted to discover that Gilly had joined them and stood waiting a polite distance away, coughing theatrically into her pocket handkerchief. A very wan and pale Toby Longholes leaned on her arm. Seeing that her presence had been noticed, Gilly blushed slightly and crammed the handkerchief back into the pocket of her pinafore. For a brief instant, Benia’s sparkling eyes flew back and forth from one hobbit’s face to the other, as if uncertain which to address first. Finally, she spoke.

“Toby!” she exclaimed in delight. “You’re walking!”

“Yes,” answered the hobbit. “It would seem so. I was just saying to Mrs. Banks that I had thought this was going to be the end of me. Happy to say, it’s not!”

“Happy indeed!” said Dúlrain, smiling as well. “Judging by what Benia had told me, I figured you for the very brink of death‘s door. That was a nasty blow. But, seeing as all’s well,” he added with an affectionate glance at Benia, “ we have some happy news of our own.”

“We’re going to be married,” Benia explained, looking quickly toward Gilly for her approval.

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

Hilde's Post - Gilly

“Married?” Gilly asked blinking at the two who stood before her. “Married! Why that is the most promising news I’ve heard in - well, in quite a long while, no doubt about it! It is high time you had someone to watch over you Miss Benia. And you’ve no idea how happy I am that you have chosen this fine man here!” After thinking a moment the hobbit added, “No mistaking, you had me worried there, Mr. Dúlrain. I didn’t know what I’d find when I got ‘round to climbing out of that hollow. But here you are arm in arm, and I see you got the upper hand on that rare scoundrel Ferny. Just where is the brute?” she said asked looking rapidly around her. “You don’t suppose he’s gone to join Naiore again?” Her eyes grew wide with the thought. “We certainly don’t need those two sneaking around us now do we?”

Squinting around and about Toby also searched for signs of his fellow Breelander, and finding what he sought, an expression of disgust twisted his sharp features. “Not to worry Mrs. Banks, a rather definite end seems to have come to that particular problem. I’ll warrant old Barrold won’t be troubling us anymore,” he said to calmly reassure Gilly as her friend and Dúlrain joined them. Gilly bit her lip to see the grim sight and she felt Toby’s hand slide off her shoulder to cradle his arm as he bowed in gratitude. “I am greatly indebted to you Dúlrain, both for your aid as well as your thoroughness. You’ve made more than these ladies glad with Barrold Ferny’s passing, there are many in Bree who would thank you if they only knew of it.”

“Then they should thank you as well, and I am happy to have been of service, but I admit he left me little choice but to oblige you,” the ranger murmured quietly, studying the line of the hobbit’s neck and shoulder. Noticing the look of concern in the ranger’s eyes, Gilly yielded her position. Dúlrain, reluctantly releasing Benia’s hand, took up Toby’s forearm, supporting it at the joint. With a firm touch he ran his fingers over the hobbit’s injured shoulder. “I see that not all is as well as it would first appear. You’ve a bone that has been wrenched awry. I can try to pull it in line again, but it is not sure to stay, and unfortunately can not be done without pain.”

“Ah, that would be why I feel I’m still on the spit,” the hobbit growled. And looking to the pale blue sky he sighed deeply, “I see a buzzard has already found our little crew, and I wager he is eyeing this sorry hobbit thinking to himself that he and his friends may just have room for dessert after their feast, eh? Go ahead sir, and do what must be done, I’ve a mind to deprive that glutton!”

“Hush, don’t speak of such things!” Gilly piped up following Toby’s gaze. “You are not by any stretch a ‘sorry hobbit’ and even if you were, you are not going to die so long as we are here. It is a small thing, only a bone now.”

“I know Mrs. Banks, but just tell that to him!” Toby scowled, waving his good arm as though he would frighten the bird away. “And though, as you say, it is a small bone it is not so very small to me. My livelihood has been in the skill of my hands as much as my wits, so to speak.”

“But my husband is always looking for reliable help, and he’s a good person too. He’ll not let you starve,” Gilly said.

“Now that your future seems less uncertain, let us get you out of the sun,” Benia suggested. “Rest a little while in the shade so that Dúlrain might work on your shoulder without the distraction of a hungry shadow passing overhead.”

But as Benia and Dúlrain helped Toby to the grove of trees, Gilly grew restless wondering how long it might be before she might see her family again, and she wandered away. And she could not figure how they would continue on trailing Naiore with the injured Breelander and no pony to set him on. Idly picking up a few small stones she threw them at the circling bird, considering the options. Yes, she would be willing now to stay behind with Longholes if it came down to that, and together they could try to find their way back to Rivendell and from there the Shire. But what would Benia do with Dúlrain on this chase? If only she would wish to accompany them as far as the elven refuge. That was Gilly’s hope, but how could she ask her good friend to leave Dúlrain, even for her own safety? Suddenly a chill came over her heart as she wondered if they both would even live to return when. So many had perished since they had set out along the way.

As if summoned, Benia appeared at her side with folded arms, and though the day had grown warm, Gilly noticed her friend shiver as she looked over the trampled and crimsoned grass. “I will be glad to leave this place,” she confided. Gilly nodded, curious what course Benia would take when they did leave, and whether she and Toby would be left alone to camp beside the dead man’s corpse.

“I think that we must do something about this,” Gilly said, for even Kaldir had covered the dead orcs with stones, after they had been attacked in the Lonelands. Should they not do the same? “He will smell far worse now that he is dead.”

“Even the foulest of men deserve some sort of burial,” Benia agreed. “In the land of my youth we would burn this body.”

“And right you should too,” Gilly said earnestly. “Such a vile man would make even the carrion fowl sick!”

“Then we should tell Toby he need not worry,” the southern woman said, a faint smile rising to her lips before vanishing suddenly, as her eyes rested again on Ferny. “Shall we gather the wood? I would be thankful to keep busy as long as we are here.”

Walking together to the copse, Benia and Gilly set about gathering fuel for a fire as Dúlrain unwound Toby’s bandage. Glancing up at Benia, Dúlrain asked with surprise why they gathered wood; for he had not planned that they camp here, but thought to continue, leaving the open plain as soon as possible.

“It is not for us,” Benia said, meeting his gaze, “but we thought to burn the body, so that the dead man might embrace his doom.”

Seeing that the ranger was weighing this, Gilly asked Benia to wait for her. Picking up her skirts, the hobbit hurried again to Toby’s side. “Please let us do this Mr. Dúlrain,” she whispered so that the southern woman would not hear. “I think Miss Benia would feel more settled knowing as Ferny’s really gone for good, she’s been through so much you know. And I’d not complain for a short delay, I should think that Mr. Longholes wouldn’t have objections either, seeing his condition.” Gilly was hoping for Toby’s backing, but the hobbit sat back offering no opinion on the matter, and simply watched ranger’s expression.

After making a few more half-reasoned arguments, Gilly managed to persuade him. “Do as you both see fit, Mrs. Banks,” Dúlrain said. “But once the fire is lit we must leave immediately, for the column of smoke will be seen at a great distance,” Gilly frowned hearing this. Her plan to make time for Toby to rest had not worked as well as she had hoped, and she hadn’t considered that the Ravenor or her orcs might see the smoke from their fire. At the present it all seemed so far removed from her now. Those dangers were in the past, and should not return to spoil their respite. Dúlrain called to Benia, “The wood is wet and won’t catch easily. If you both can wait awhile longer, I will tend the body for you.”

“No we will manage this Dúlrain, you are doing far better work seeing to the living,” the southern woman answered gently, gracefully stepping further in among the young trees.

Gilly, still rattled to learn the ranger meant to leave so quickly, reminded herself that this good man would not ask more of Toby than he thought the hobbit could endure. And reluctantly putting aside her plan to dawdle, she asked Dúlrain if she might use his flint and steel. “No doubt Miss Benia knows a thing or two of lighting a fire, wet or no!” she informed him rather proudly. And encouraged to see the man’s gray eyes sparkle at the confidence she had in her dear friend’s skill, she winked at him, “She’d be the one to make you a nice pot of tea on those rainy days when your bones have grown old and tired! Plenty of practice at that, you know. Just as you yourself have had!” Taking the flint he offered, she patted his hand and smiled before starting off to find Benia.

Stumbling over a grubby pack lying abandoned at the side of the grove, the hobbit hoisted the greasy thing up. “What should be done with this?” she called back.

“It belonged to Ferny,” she heard Benia call behind her, “We can place in the fire once it is going.” Dúlrain nodded in agreement, but Toby spoke up straight away.

“Not so quick! There is sommat in that bag there, that don’t rightly belong to Ferny, nor the fire - though Ferny’d argue the point, if he could. I suppose you could say they’re ‘ill-gotten gains’, but I imagine you might be interested in them all the same.”

Gilly set the bag down, untying the flap and drawing it wide open to rummage through its contents. “I don’t see anything worth mentioning, Mr. Longholes,” she declared. “Not so much as fresh linen or comb! Only the very simple or the strange: a well used whet stone, and a fishing hook and some books with carved covers - I can’t think he used them much – see they have no pages!” she said pulling one out. Blackened and smeared with ashes, she set the burnt binding on the ground, and wiping her hand on her skirt. It was no bigger than a man’s hand.

Toby’s smiled, “Ah, there we have it, Mrs. Banks. Only the books binding they are now, for they have tasted fire once before, when Naiore set ‘em ablaze. But the covers now, they didn’t burn did they? And Ferny was right quick in fishing them out once the Ravenor was done with them. I’ve not much good to say about Barrold Ferny, but he had a sharp eye for profit. Maybe you should let our ranger friend here have a look at them.”

Gilly brought the cover and the pack holding the second one to Dúlrain who looked at them with interest, rubbing the corner of the binding until it shone brightly. “Silver!” Gilly said peering over his shoulder. “You were right, but they can’t be so valuable, they’re not heavy at all.”

“Oh but they are, this is elven work and mithril by the look of them,” Dúlrain said. “I wonder what it was that caused Naiore to burn something so rare. Perhaps those in Imladris would remember what had been set down in these exquisite volumes, for they were no ordinary books.”

“And to think I would have pitched them in the fire, knowing so little of such things! Is they’re anything else that shouldn’t be lost?” Gilly asked, handing the bag to the ranger.

After a quick look, Dúlrain set it down, “No,” he answered. “There is nothing else.”

“Not even a few coins?” Toby asked in amazement.

“Yes, there are coins, but we’re not here for spoils.” Dúlrain said. “The covers are a different matter, and may help those who would stop Naiore should she elude them. We will not be keeping them.”

Gilly saw that Toby looked a bit crest fallen, working to resign himself to the fact that what Ferny had owed him was now to be an irretrievable loss. “Those books certainly didn’t seem to bring about good for their owners, now did they?” she mused aloud. “First stolen I suppose, and then Barrold passed too. Let’s hope they bring Naiore similar bad fortune.”

“Mrs. Banks, you’re making me think I dare not touch them!” Toby said sullenly.

“Not to worry since you don't own them! But I must go help Miss Benia, and you must grit your teeth and let Dúlrain try to fix you up, so he and Miss Benia won’t leave us behind.”

“Leave you behind?” the ranger echoed. “Even if I have to carry you half of the way, I would not depart without my stalwart companions.”

“But you are in such a hurry,” Gilly said. “We will slow you down now more than before.”

“Yes, I am in a hurry, “Dúlrain smiled to himself as he returned his attention to Toby’s shoulder, “But not the same sort. I no longer intend to pursue Naiore now that Benia is free, and will not now willingly lead us within the elf’s reach.”

Overjoyed by this revelation, a weight of worry was lifted from Gilly’s slight shoulders. “Does Miss Benia know this?”

“Indeed she does,” the ranger said as he gently pulled the injured hobbit’s arm. “I believe that she is the only one who could have shown me so well that I need not continue.”

Toby flinched with pain, grimacing as the ranger worked swiftly on his shoulder, easing the bone back in place before the hobbit had second thoughts. But Toby clearly had had enough for the moment, and muttered that he wished that he could convince Dúlrain that he need not continue this pulling. But when the ranger asked if he had changed his mind, Toby only requested a brief interval in which to ‘steel himself’ once more. “The worst is over. I have only to bind your arm to keep the weight from your shoulder,” Dúlrain reassured him, before turning to Gilly, who was hovering around them. “With Master Longholes injuries, I think it would be far better for us to see him back to Imladris, don’t you?” he asked her.

“Oh most assuredly Mr. Dúlrain!” Gilly said smiling at Toby who suddenly brightened, not only because Dúlrain had stopped tugging, but apparently as happy as she, to learn of their new course. “If you will excuse me then…,” she said as Dúlrain, began sorting through Toby’s ragged bandages. “I’ll not hang about here letting Miss Benia do all the work when I have said I’d do otherwise.” As she left she exclaimed, “Rivendell! Perhaps if I could just settle down enough to make myself useful, we could leave this very morning! ”

With that the hobbit bolted to where she saw Benia emerge from the trees holding a long bundle of branches tucked under her arm. Without thinking Gilly threw her arms about the southern woman’s waist causing her to take a half step back, regaining her balance. “Miss Benia, Dúlrain is not going to die and neither are we!” she pronounced with enthusiasm. “Not for a long while yet anyway, I should hope. You didn’t tell me that we were going back to Rivendell!”

Benia looked up, and following her friend’s gaze Gilly saw that Dúlrain and Toby were watching them with amusement. A smile blossomed on Benia’s face as she met their gaze. “I did not know, where Dúlrain would choose to go now,” she said quickly casting her warm eyes on her friend once more. “But I am glad that it will be Imladris.”

“I had better get busy then, and help you instead of simply talking of it!” Gilly said. And true to her word, she labored hard alongside Miss Nightshade so that together they heaped a sizable collection of fallen limbs and brush about Barrold Ferny’s body. Fetching his pack, Gilly quickly placed it at the man’s feet while Benia knelt beside the pyre with flint and steel. The southern woman’s lips moved, giving voice to words from a far distant land, as she patiently struck sparks amidst the wood. It was a wonder to Gilly to hear her friend speak in such a strange language, though it brought with it long forgotten memories of Benia’s mother when she had lapsed into her native speech.

Before long, a small light appeared glowing among the tangled debris, and Benia fanned it carefully before, assured of its strength, she stood up again to watch. “What was it you said just then?” Gilly asked her softly, watching the reflection of the small spreading flames in her friend’s eyes. “It sounded like a poem, though I dare say I don’t see that you would want to recite poetry to that one.”

As Benia explained that it was a simple prayer for the dead, Dúlrain drew up, followed closely by Toby who now walked unaided. The ranger stopped to stand beside Miss Nightshade observing the growing blaze in silence before looping his arm about her. She leaned her head back against his chest, still staring at the flames. “We are ready now to leave,” she told him.

“Yes, let’s put all this behind us and head west again,” Gilly broke in. “I’ve always been more fond of weddings than funerals, anyway! And just maybe, I will live to see you both married if we don’t keep standing beside this beacon here!”

“Come, let us go then,” Dúlrain said. And together the four of them put the Great River to their backs. Toward the line of the trees they went, and the mountains beyond.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As the column of smoke from the pyre of Barrold Ferny dropped farther into the distance behind them, the small party of man, woman, and two hobbits moved leisurely toward the west and the steep trails through the Misty Mountains back toward Rivendell. With Toby still not in peak form and the rest of them tired to their bones despite their lightened spirits, they traveled only a short distance each day, camping in the late afternoon and getting underway again well after sunrise the following day. Evenings around the campfire were spent merrily in storytelling and song. On more than one occasion, Benia wished for the little brass finger cymbals that remained in her pack back in the Elven refuge of Rivendell, letting her voice rise unaccompanied as she sang songs from the Southern deserts and her childhood for the first time since that unfortunate evening in the Forsaken Inn. Nonetheless, despite her joy, Benia watched her companions closely with a mixture of affection and concern as they traveled. Toby seemed to be mending well, though slowly, and Gilly’s mood seemed to improve with each step as every mile drew her that much closer to a reunion with her beloved husband and sons.

One evening, Benia found Dúlrain standing on the edge of their camp, gazing into the southern distance where his captain and the others no doubt still pursued the Ravener to whatever end, his dark brow clouded with worry and deep thought. At a touch from her hand, he smiled and rejoined the rest of them at the fire, but she could tell that his thoughts still strayed to the chase. He had agreed to relinquish the idea of revenge, but she knew that the knowledge Naiore Dannan was still at large troubled him deeply. His sense of duty was strong and, while other obligations -- and perhaps his heart -- kept him with her at the moment, she knew that he would feel the inescapable pull of duty so long as Naiore remained free to wreak her havoc upon the peoples of Middle Earth. He was still not fully recovered from the wounds he had received in the Lone Lands and the weeks since then had been demanding on both his body and his soul, but Benia was determined not to release him from her sight until he had fully regained his strength. When that time came, she knew she must let him go to pursue his duty in the service of his king, but she also knew that she would follow him as far as she could and wait for his return to her arms with the unshakable faith of her love.

Seeing her looking at him, Dúlrain reached out and touched her shoulder. She smiled. A long road lay between them and Rivendell, and the future that would take him away again. She would enjoy the moment, she decided. After all, there was no point in frittering away a happy present in worry about the future. Gilly, on the other hand, was already looking to the future, prating away happily to an interested Toby about Bywater and the Shire. She wondered if Toby would return to the Shire with Gilly and cash in on his status with the hobbit ladies as the One Who Got Away, possibly even settle down with one of them, or if he would return to Bree and his old ways. It would be interesting to find out. She was certain that Gilly would keep her informed to the best of her knowledge as to what the good Mr. Longholes was up to. Quite a friendship seemed to have taken root there. As for herself? She was happy. The future could descend upon them all, however and with whatever tidings it chose to bring along, once they reached Rivendell, but for the moment? With the exception of her finger cymbals, Benia had all that she required.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Amandur, Léspheria & Vanwe ----- Nerindel

The gentle chirping of crickets and the low crackle of the slowly dieing camp fire were all that Avanill could hear as he pulled his cloak tighter to ward off the cold bite of the night air. It was again his turn at watch, but as he peered out into the darkness he thought he saw movement, a brief shadow in the distance just to the left of their small camp. He kept completely still and peered deeper into the obscured darkness, but he could see nothing and soon dismissed it as a fox or some other creature of the wild. They were all edgy and the frustration of not sighting their goal was beginning to have its toll on them all. Shaking his head he rubbed his eyes and resumed his watch, “keep focused!” he muttered to himself remembering the cunning and guile of the elf that they hunted .

Both Amandur and Menecin appeared to be sound asleep but off course neither fully was, each accustom in his own way of the importance of keeping one eye open and one ear to the ground when out in the open hunting such a deadly foe. As he rested Amandur thoughts were of Léspheria, she had still not returned and he was beginning to worry. He did not like that she put herself at risk by taking upon herself these night time excursions, but as she had reminded him she was the only one suitable for the task. Neither he nor Avanill could hope to cover the ground that she could and Menecin with his fragile mental state could not be fully trusted, which only left Vanwe, young and inexperienced in the ways of the wild. So he had been forced to relent to her logical thinking despite the misgivings of his heart and thus far his fears had been unfounded. ‘She is smart and strong!’ he silently reminded himself assuring himself that she would be back soon and if not she would have some good reason for returning late.

While Amandur’s thoughts were of Léspheria and their current situation Menecin could not help but replay in his mind his last encounter with Naiore, his inability troubled him what if he could not act when relied upon to do so. His eyes opened slowly as he looked across to where his daughter lay, so very alike but very different they seemed, would he be able to protect her as was his want? Closing his eyes again he struggled against his doubts and searched for the strength to see his convictions through.

Vanwe unlike the others was the only one in their group truly asleep exhausted not only from the long journey but also from the twists and turns her life was taking, all her illusions of her mother were truly shattered and the sordid truth of her mothers life lay bare before her. But Vanwe saw not the horrid monster the others saw but a tormented tortured soul corrupted by the need for knowledge, that nothing else mattered and for this reason Vanwe could not find it in her heart to hate her mother for her abandonment. Instead she pitied her, she had let her life slip away, in fact shunning it in search of something she could not hope to understand! Vanwe’s eyes suddenly snapped opened, was that it….. Did her mother lack fear… was that her flaw and why she pursued the answer to where fear dwelled so relentlessly???? Letting her eyes flutter closed again she pondered this and looked within herself for some answers.

Léspheria sensed the uneasiness of the others as she hurriedly skirted the left edge of the camp, Avanill started at her sudden appearance jumping to his feet, but before he could speak she stopped him placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Her eyes still narrowing slightly as she addressed him still unsure of the young merchants true intentions.

“Your poison it is ready?” she asked. The young merchant nodded pulling out a small dark bottle. “good! It is time to go!” she said quickly stepping passed him to wake the others, but both Amandur and Menecin were up before she reached them and waking Vanwe.

“We must hurry! Naiore has cut loose her companions and now heads south on a newly acquired mount, if we leave now we may be able to head her off at the river!” she quickly informed them as she snatched up her gear and kicked out the fire.

“You have sighted her?” Menecin asked as he helped his daughter to fasten her gear to the saddle of her mount.

“No,” Léspheria answered shaking her head, “the trail diverges, two sets of prints heading east on foot and a set of hoof prints heading south, but you will be glad to know I did find Dúlrain and his companions, they head east in hopes of freeing Miss Nightshade.” she told them turning to specifically address Amandur.

“Indeed that is good news!” Vanwe exclaimed as she climbed into her saddle. “I should not like to think of any woman in the hands of that vile thug!” she shivered visibly remembering the uncomfortable way in which the villain would leer at her.

As they rode out from camp Léspheria relayed to them what she had found and what she had discovered from Dúlrain assuring Amandur that the young ranger was in good health albeit filled with deep concern for the southern lady which was more than understandable. Amadur then kick his horses into a fast gallop and the others followed the final chase was on, if Naiore crossed the river and made it into the southlands then they would likely loose her… it had to finish here!

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

It was not long before one by one they congregated at the point where Dúlrain chose to leave the shelter of the wooded foothills; together with his halfling companions pursuing the eastward course toward the river Anduin. Léspheria had already slid off her horse as the others drew up, and calling for a brief halt she left to quickly survey the area. Only Amandur rode ahead.

Remaining seated on their mounts waiting, Menecin glanced at Vanwe. His daughter’s eyes were closed, and as the morning sun caught her stray gossamer hair, she struck him as luminous. Like the swan of Belfalas at daybreak. Like her mother. As the poignant remembrance rose to his consciousness, Menecin pushed it aside. His daughter was worn and tired, vulnerable. Looking past her, he pondered what Avanill vulnerabilities might be, as the man dubiously scanned the trees about them as if even now Naiore were at hand. It was right that the young man should be watchful. They should all be watchful, yet keep at arm’s length that precipice of pain and fear where he knew Naiore stood poised waiting for them. Consciously the bard again drove back his inner discord. And as he became distant, removed from its pull, his bearing took on a noticeably colder mien.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Avanill looked to Menecin, and catching his steady stare, the merchant let his eyes drift to the horse that bore Vanwe. The animal shook its mane impatiently, halter creaking as it arched its neck earthward. The young elf’s eyes fluttered open, and she flashed a faint smile to find the two posted solemnly on either side of her. Menecin pulled a small flacon from his saddle and offered it to her, quickly withdrawing his hand as she took it. It was as his daughter raised this bottle to her lips that Amandur returned, and the young merchant spurred his horse forward to meet him. “What has Léspheria found?” the ranger asked as Avanill approached. “Is there any sign of the others?”

“She has not said,” the young merchant replied looking around for his fellow traveler.

A soft voice was heard though she could not be seen. “There is no sign that Dúlrain or the others have returned to this place,” Léspheria announced as she appeared, emerging from the brush. “And a smudge of grey smoke rises above the Vale of the Anduin where their trail leads.” Turning to face Avanill, she added, “It is a good sign. I believe Barrold Ferny to have fallen at the hand of our friends. For though I can not see anyone near the pyre, Barrold has not the respect for life or the for the living to allow such niceties, and if any other had been slain the smoldering fire would still be tended.”

The merchant nodded, “And Naiore?” he said looking to Amandur. “What of the Ravenor?”

“Naiore has lost no time here,” Amandur said. “She has not confidence in her allies, be they orcs or men, but guesses rightly that she is still pursued. To be sure, we five together would be unwelcome guests in her camp,” he said gravely. “All the more reason to press on, she was here but a few short hours ago.”

So close, Menecin thought as he looked at his companions. “Friends," he entreated. "I ask that you cling not to hope, for it will betray you to her. But meet her instead armed with a hardened heart. I pray you, still your minds so that she might see naught but her own refection, having no hold over you.”

A shadow fell over Vanwe’s face at her father’s words. “Would you have us all become so callous?”

“There is no other way. Does an arrow consider mercy as it speeds on its errand? No, its course is set for good or ill long before it finds its mark, and so it must be for us.” With this Vanwe became silent, and Menecin’s resolve wavered as he saw through her eyes. He had so many times hunted Naiore in hope, but he now knew in the end what horror it was that might come to pass.

Sensing the tension, Avanill tugged at the reins of his mount heading for the trail that lead away south along the skirts of the mountains. “I know that I’d give quite a sum to have a bow and quiver now! For settling this at such a range seems preferable,” he quipped over his shoulder. “Better to shoot arrows than be one. But I will do as I’m told, for now at least. And take note, we will see this though together or not at all.”

Amandur turned his horse to follow the merchant. “When Naiore Dannan is safely held in Minas Tirith awaiting the king’s judgment, the peoples North and South will rest knowing that a shadow of Mordor no longer passes among them. Though we all have our own reasons for being here Vanwe, what we do ultimately is for those people. Let us not fail them!”

Pausing a moment, Léspheria waited so that her kinswoman might ride beside her, but the young elf was lost in thought, and her father still spoke to her seeing her distress.

“I took a vow to both love and honor your mother before we were betrothed, Vanwe,” Menecin said to his daughter. “I have not forgotten it. It is because of love and honor that I would stop her now.” But he saw a glimmer of sadness in her sapphire eyes as she raised her face to meet his, and he knew that she saw past this veil of words.

“I know you try to do what you think is right,” she said softly before leaving him to join Léspheria.

Trailing behind as the group spurred their horses to thunder though the wooded foothills, regret found Menecin once more. And it was rueful to him that he had not succeeded in bringing Naiore before her kin while they were yet plentiful in Middle-Earth. Now she would face trial by men, and they would not remember what she had once had been. Short lived and stern, she would be judged solely by her crimes.

As they traveled, so the sun also crossed the field of pale blue above them. Too soon it seemed the afternoon had grown old. And approaching a clearing in the trees that afforded a wide vista, they chose to halt, their horses now sweating and spent.

With the height of the mountains rising sheer to their right and the flatlands leading off to the rain swollen Anduin on their left, there they saw spread before them a broad fen. Here the swiftly flowing Gladden left the mountains, slowing and widening before it met the Great River.

“Sîr Ninglor,” Menecin said solemnly. “Gladden Fields. Perhaps our last chance to capture Naiore before she crosses the Anduin, slipping from our grasp among the boughs of the Greenwood.” But not wishing to be seen by her he led his mount away from the edge to find Amandur and Vanwe had gathered at Léspheria’s side. The elf was poised on her horse, looking blankly in front of her, deathly still.

Menecin heard Avanill take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “And so it begins,” the young man said. “I’ve seen this stricken expression before now.”

Dropping his reins Menecin passed by him, going instead to Amandur. “We can not stay here,” he said firmly. “She knows now were we are. We must go at once.”

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore had pushed the sleek little farm horse hard on the ride south and now, as the waters of the Gladden River rushed through the darkness beside them, she slowed her pace, allowing the animal a slight respite from the headlong flight. Reining the mare to a halt, Naiore suddenly dismounted, a slight frown creasing her fair brow. She turned, looking toward the north and, for the perhaps thousandth time, cast her mind back in the direction of her pursuers. They were close now, so close that she could distinguish each individual consciousness from the next. There were only five of them who dared pursue her so closely, five very familiar minds, five well- known souls.

“Like the fingers of a hand,” whispered Naiore, looking down at her own gloved hand. “Shall I let that hand pursue me and collect me like a canary from a cage?” A smile touched her lips. “Or shall I sever the fingers from the body, one by one? Shall I be like the scorpion and sting them unto to death even as they reach for me?”

She reached out and stroked the side of the brown horse with one hand as the other touched the Noldorian dagger sheathed at her waist.

“Yes,” she whispered. “One by one, they shall fall.”

Naiore turned and took her pack from the back of the horse and with slap to the animal’s flank sent the horse trotting onward along the river bank. Careful to leave no footprints of her own, Naiore turned and moved back in the direction from whence she had come. Finding a hollow beneath a bush, she knelt and concealed her pack, taking from it only her bow and a handful of gray arrows. Her two curved swords already hung ready at her sides, but her fingertips lingered over the fletchings of the fine elven arrows. She would use no orcish arrows for this errand. Her prey must know who it was that sought to destroy them. Let their fear grow...

Flitting like a shadow across the moonlit ground, Naiore moved purposefully in the direction of her pursuers, throwing her mind ahead of her as she ran. Finding Léspheria’s consciousness in the misty distance, Naiore formulated an idea and sent it onward into the mind of the dark-haired elf-lady who dared to follow her.

Yes, purred the voice of Naiore into Léspheria’s waiting ears. Come, little cousin, if you dare. Come and find me. We have much to talk about, if you’ve the stomach for it.

There was a hesitation and a slight ripple in the other woman’s consciousness before the accustomed wall fell into place, blocking Naiore’s melodious voice. Nonetheless, Naiore smiled, knowing that she had gotten through to her pursuer. Come, she continued to beckon enticingly. Come, cousin, come and find me. I’ll wait for you and your friends by the river, where the One Ring was lost and found again. Shall I do that? Don’t forget to bring your fear...

Naiore continued on her northward course, and, as her sense of her pursuers grew stronger, she pulled back the tendrils of her mind to listen for the sounds of their actual presence. Before too long, her sharp elven ears were greeted by the sound of approaching horses and the soft murmur of voices. Moving with a feline grace, Naiore pulled herself high into the branches of an ancient oak and fitted an arrow to her bow.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Watching the members of this small group as they descended from the sheltering foothills into the Gladden River’s valley, Menecin shared in Avanill’s growing desire to keep at a distance from Naiore if at all possible, and deeming the risk too great the tall elf that had once proudly fought in Gil-galad’s forces now counseled both Amandur and Léspheria to abandon this plan that Léspheria had proposed. All where of single mind, desiring to cut off any attempt Naiore might make to reach the Anduin by surrounding her and pushing back toward the mountains if need be, until they could subdue her. But Léspheria knew that Naiore would not be easily ensnared and intended to tempt the Ravenor of Mordor in the hope that through this they might gain an advantage over her. Menecin’s eyes hardened with sudden recognition. Léspheria knew she held the unique pull that could challenge the Lady Dannan.

Both Amandur and Menecin protested but speaking as if from a distance, Léspheria admonished them in a gentle but strained voice. Indeed the Ravennor already knew of her close proximity, and had spoken to her seemingly set on leading them to her, but more of it she would not say. Now was not the time to take any move that told of fear or weakness. They must strike swiftly, or risk falling victim to persistent forays into their awareness. But above all Naiore must not be allowed to cross the river.

Not satisfied with this answer, Menecin looked to Amandur, that he might help prevail upon Lady Léspheria. With his military skill, he too would no doubt recognize the necessity of choosing ground more suitable than this. They must not be pressed to act prematurely. But the ranger did not offer up any assistance or explanation. And as the gaze of the Dúnadan met his, Menecin could see in his face that he was deeply concerned. Menecin quickly reined in his dun horse to drop back where Vanwe and Avanill followed. Seeing that the bard did not pursue his point any further, and had fallen in line with the others, Amandur’s saddle creaked as he turned round and continued on soberly. With his horse close by Léspheria’s and a set expression, he resumed his careful study not only of the path before them, but also the fleeting waves that had begun to wash over the Ravennor’s kinswoman.

Once behind them, Menecin did not allow himself to think long on how Léspheria‘s determination provoked sharp memories of her mother in this. He was the only one perhaps, to see this echo of Valaindon, and who truly understood - the only one beside Naiore. Slipping the bow from off his shoulder, he handed it to Avanill, resolving that they should not fail to protect her as he had once failed her mother. “If I am not mistaken, Avanill you have both motive and means to put these arrows to better use than I, for though I might wish it, I may prove unable to hunt the Lady Dannan in such a manner.” But Avanill hesitated to take hold of the weapon, asking if Menecin intended then to walk the marshland unarmed. Reaching over his shoulders the elf withdrew two daggers with long and bitter blades, saying that he chose to rely on these old and well known companions for his defense, but asked that in exchange for the bow the merchant might watch over Vanwe, shielding her from Naiore’s sight for as long as might be. Truly, as much as he wished to be at Vanwe’s side to protect her, he wished also be free to draw Naiore’s attention away from either his daughter or Léspheria if the plan were to sour.

Eyeing the fine bow, Avanill reluctantly admitted that perhaps Vanwe would not feel safe in his company. “For I do not know who would rest the better if I hung from a gibbet, your daughter or her mother!” But Vanwe, after silently searching her father’s face told him that she would go with Avanill, if he now wished it. And as the elf gravely nodded, a smile flickered across the young man’s face, and he eagerly snatched the bow and quiver from Menecin’s hand.

Stopping his horse, Avanill briefly examined the elven arrows, and choosing carefully those with broadest heads, he placed their shafts between the fingers of his fist. Dousing their points with thin liquid from a vial among his belongings, he held them thus splayed in one hand to dry as he caught up with Menecin and his daughter. Several more times along the way Menecin noted Vanwe watching intently as Avanill repeated this procedure. But it was not until they neared the river, Amandur silently giving them a sign to spread out as he and Léspheria drifted off the path to the right, that the merchant at last returned the arrows to the quiver at his back, with tangible satisfaction.

Menecin guided his horse downstream toward the tall reeds and clumps of yellow gladden flowers, not hearing what it was that Vanwe whispered so quietly to Avanill. But had he heard the man’s answers, it would quickly have been clear she pleaded with him. “I must defend myself," the young man said. "And I can’t let her walk out of here either. I’ll not live my life looking over my shoulder; for she knows where it is I come from. What poison? I must only nick her flesh…no, that was a crude concoction she chose, and this one I’ve brewed is excellent. Tallas earned all the respect credited him for herb lore, his stores and knowledge of that was faultless.” The shadow on Vanwe’s face deepened as she recalled Avanill’s hand in the old man’s murder, and the merchant looked away to find that Menecin could no longer be seen. “Ah, I know now your father is mad after all, sending you with me,” he said sighed. “But what a stroke of luck, it could be quite useful to have you along, and we could help each other out if things go wrong. That is, if you yourself choose to stay with me.”

Meanwhile Menecin, his keen eyes scanning the way before him, quickened the pace of his mount, riding further away from Vanwe. The soft ground by the river had betrayed a lone horse passing downstream in the gloom, and without seeking aid or counsel, the elf pursued it with dagger drawn.

[Nerindel]

Lespheria

Lespheria sat erect and alert upon her white mare, the noble baring of her birth apparent, but within her mind she could sense the first stirrings of the beast within, a discord in the song of the world that once before she had been forced to banish to the depths of her heart soul and mind, she alone now in this world knew where it dwelt and what it craved! But she would not give into its hunger. No it would remain buried in her determination and strength of will, but in all Irony it was most likely the only bait she knew Naiore could not resist and the one thing that in the revennors control could completely destroy them all!

‘Come, little cousin, if you dare’ Naiore’s alluring taunt echoed again and again in Lespheria’s mind as she let her sharp elven eyes searched out her quarry and her acute elven ears listened for even the slightest murmur of her cousins presence. However nothing stirred, but the chirping of crickets and the whisper of the night winds through the tall grass and leaves in the tree tops, something suddenly felt strangely wrong. Signalling to Amandur she slowed her mount to a gentle stop. “something is not right!” she whispered as the ranger reached her side, he nodded but said nothing as he waiting for her to explain. Slowly and cautiously she opened one of several doors in her mind and pressed outwards searching out the Revennor.

“Ah there you are!” she whispered in Naiore’s mind. “ I have come, not only do I dare cousin but I defy you and will always be here to stand between you and what you seek!” she pressed defiantly and with strength of conviction that challenged Naiore.

Naiore’s humourless laughter filled her mind in response, “you foolish child, you are strong but not nearly strong enough hardly worth the effor…” There was a sudden pause in the revennors retort as a ripple of something hidden washed over Lespheria’s mind, something she was quick to guard against and as another wall went up Naiore’s interest grew, “what do you hide little cousin? what is it you do not wish me to see?” she pondered to herself . “ Your mother” She purred to Lespheria‘s waiting mind, “ now she was a challenge… a pity I did not get to finish what I started with her!”

Lespheria grinned the first bait had been taken, “Yes she was strong, Strong enough to beat the great revennor of Mordor! she kept her greatest secret from you, you are the one who failed Naiore and she is not your only failure now is she ….” sensing an irritated ripple of anger wash over the usually well controlled mind of the Revennor she went on, “ they all seem to get away, don’t they? Kaldir, Menecin, Vanwe and still you have not the answers you seek!”


“You presume to think you know me cousin , I may have been too hasty with the Ranger, but whoever said I was finished with the rest!” Naiore seethed and as the words echoed in Lespheria’s mind another thought of intent slipped through.

“Nooo!” she cried out urgently as the Naiore’s intent gave fuel to the beast that now thrashed violently at the walls of it’s prison longing to at last be let loose. Cracks began to appear in walls of her defence as she struggled to contain and overpower the fear Naiore’s intent had awoken. “Avanill! Vanwe!” she cried as she kicked her mare sharply and turned in the direction of the merchant and his charge. Her face flushed with anger at Naiores deception, she bent low over her mare urging the creature on while the fear within her continued thrashed violently against the walls of its prison. Naiore’s Laughter echoed in her mind “ You can’t save them Cousin ! It will be you who fails Just like your mother failed!”

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

A cold smile of satisfaction touched Naiore's fair lips as she felt the tremor of a familiar emotion flicker across Léspheria's consciousness before another wall fell into place, hiding her cousin’s fear. Fear. Yes, Naiore had sensed its presence even as Léspheria fought to conceal it. She was afraid. Fear in one of the Eldar sounded to many like discord in the Music of the Ainur, a false chord, strident and misplaced amongst the deep strata of overlapping harmonies, but to Naiore it carried an echo of beauty. From whence did those notes spring? Withdrawing her mind from that of her cousin, Naiore’s beautiful smile faded as the question that had haunted her for nearly the whole of her long existence, rose again in her thoughts. Where does fear spawn? Someday, the answer to that question would lie within her grasp. Perhaps soon.

Hearing the distant voices of her pursuers growing ever closer, Naiore turned her attention to matters of more immediate concern. She would come back to Léspheria later, when the time was right. But now, two of her own erstwhile traveling companions approached the very tree in which Naiore had concealed herself. She removed the gray arrow from her bowstring, and slid silently down from her vantage point in the tree to a place of concealment on the ground.

“...help each other out if things go wrong,” said Avanill softly to Vanwe, as the two of them rode slowly along the wooded path. “That is, if you yourself choose to stay with me.”

Naiore’s gaze flicked coolly over the two, assessing their weapons, their state of readiness. She saw instantly that while the young merchant was armed with both bow and sword, he foolishly carried neither at the ready. The bow was carried loosely in his hand, with no arrow nocked to the string. Vanwe wore only a small knife tucked safely into her belt. It took but an instant for Naiore to cast her mind outward, to determine that the others were far enough distant not to present a threat to her. Menecin, the closest one to her location, was moving away, in the direction of the river, following the trail left by her abandoned horse. These two were alone. As Vanwe murmured her response to Avanill, the merchant suddenly dismounted and walked to the base of the tree in which Naiore had so recently been hiding. He gazed upward. Vanwe grew suddenly stiff and silent as Naiore’s voice pierced her consciousness. Be very still, my daughter, my dear, purred Naiore. And no harm shall come to you. Say not a word and no harm shall come to you...

Unaware, Avanill turned toward Vanwe. “As we rode up, I thought...” his voice trailed off as he caught sight of the stricken expression on the young elf’s face. “What is it?” he asked, reaching over his shoulder for an arrow to put to the bow in his hand. He stopped in mid-motion as Naiore stepped out from her place of concealment, her bow now slung and one of her curved swords ready in her hand. She watched as he blanched at the sight of her, the blood draining tellingly from his face. He regained his composure quickly, but the damage had already been done. Naiore could feel his fear rise. His arm still raised over his shoulder, he twisted the nock of one arrow thoughtfully between his fingertips then slowly, very slowly, drew it from the quiver. His dark blue eyes met hers in a plucky attempt at fearlessness.

“My lady!” he exclaimed. “You gave a me fierce start. I didn’t expect to find you here.” He nodded toward Vanwe. “See what I have brought you? I got her back. The others suspect nothing.”

Vanwe’s blue eyes widened in surprise at the young merchant’s treacherous words. Her mouth dropped open to cry out, to object, to accuse, but no sound escaped other than a soft, wordless moan, like the coo of a dove.

Naiore smiled. “For me? How kind.” Still holding her curved sword at the ready, she stepped between Avanill and his horse, effectively separating him from a chance at flight. To Vanwe, she said, “Dismount, my dear. It is so good that my loyal friend, Avanill, has seen fit to re-unite us.” As Vanwe silently slid from her saddle, Naiore turned once again to Avanill. “You are loyal are you not?” she asked smoothly. “Or is it something else you have brought for me? Tell me. Tell me everything.” She stepped nearer.

Nervously, the young man licked his lips. As his eyes flicked to the arrow in his hand and back to Naiore, the Ravenner suddenly knew all. His words meant nothing. The arrow was what he had brought for her. A sudden flare of anger rose in her breast as the full extent of this young man’s hubris became clear. He meant to lie to her, to deceive her as he might some poor, backcountry farmer. Then he meant to kill her, not openly in battle, but by deceit and treachery, by mere sleight of hand and the use of a poisoned arrow. Naiore would simply not allow it. This no one, this pretender, would not be the one to destroy the dire Ravenner of Mordor. Subduing her sense of outrage, Naiore also felt a spark of excitement as she studied the young man’s handsome face. It would be a pleasure to kill him, to bathe in his fear as the realization struck him that he had failed.

Avanill smiled. His expression was ingratiating and confident. “I had planned to break from the others as soon as I could separate Vanwe from the group. Now that I have her, it is fortunate that you have found us. It had been troubling me as to how I would be able to find you, that I might deliver your daughter into your hands once more.”

“Troubling, indeed,” said Naiore mildly. Her eyes lit on the bow he still held loosely at his side. “I know that weapon,” she said. Abruptly, she held out the gloved hand that did not hold her sword. “May I see it?”

Avanill hesitated, then handed over the Bard’s heavy bow. His other hand tightened around the haft of the arrow.

“A beautiful thing,” said Naiore softly, as her graceful fingers closed around the carved wood. “And so deadly in the right hands.”

“I would think that is part of its beauty,” said Avanill suavely. His voice still sounded calm and pleasantly ingratiating, but Naiore could feel the current of tension and fear that rushed like a rain-swollen river beneath his cool exterior. Her sharp eyes caught the ghost of a tremor in his hands, as he suddenly proffered the arrow. “See... see even the artistry of the arrow maker. The arrow, too is a thing of beauty.”

Artless, thought Naiore. His effort to get near her with the point of the arrow was clumsy and sadly transparent. She smiled and put aside the Bard’s beautiful bow, so similar in design to her own, leaning it against a nearby tree trunk. Then, she sheathed her sword.

“The arrow is indeed a thing of beauty,” said Naiore. “Even more so when it is in flight.” She reached out to take the arrow. As her hand moved toward the shaft, Avanill suddenly lunged forward, flicking the point toward her face with a viper’s quickness. Expecting the move, Naiore fell to a crouch, the arrow’s point missing her by a safe margin. As she dropped, she struck out with one of her legs, sweeping the young man’s unsuspecting feet from under him. He landed in a heap on the forest floor. Naiore sprang and, before he knew what had happened, she had him pinned with her knee on his chest, one hand holding her Noldorin dagger to his throat. With surprising strength, her other hand forced Avanill’s arm and the hand that held the arrow to the ground. Behind her, Vanwe released a sharp cry of horror and surprise.

“Quiet!” snapped Naiore, her clear eyes never leaving Avanill’s terrified face. Instantly Vanwe fell silent, but Naiore knew she had to dispatch the merchant quickly. Sadly, there would be no time to explore the depths of his fear. Watching Vanwe from the corner of her eyes, Naiore saw the young elf hovering just beyond the Ravenner’s left shoulder, trapped in hesitation between flight and coming to her companion’s aid. Suddenly, Vanwe came to a decision.

“No!” she cried and sprang forward. Forgetting the knife in her belt, she picked up the heavy elven bow that belonged to her father and, wielding it with both hands like a club, swung it wildly at her mother’s head. Deftly, Naiore ducked the blow and with a face serene as that of a marble statue, plunged her dagger home. The blade entered Avanill’s throat just above his Adam’s apple and cut upwards toward the place where his spine joined his skull. As a warm gush of crimson spurted out to stain Naiore’s inky leathers anew with blood, Avanill’s body shuddered once and was still, his face frozen in a mask of horror and disbelief. The hand holding the poisoned arrow fell impotently open.

Vanwe struggled to regain her balance, having been thrown off by the momentum of her swing. Snatching the poisoned arrow from Avanill’s dead hand, Naiore rose to face her daughter. Knowing that she could not defeat Naiore hand to hand and that her companion could no longer help her, Vanwe lowered the bow and fell back a step toward her horse. Still holding her blood-stained dagger at the ready, Naiore added Avanill’s arrow to the quiver on her back, knowing that she could identify it by the touch, the fletchings being oddly notched and different from her own. Smiling again, but with eyes as cold as starlight, Naiore moved toward her retreating daughter.

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

Hilde Bracegirdle's Post - Menecin


The elf reined in his horse. The sound of something stirring at the water's edge had reached his ears, now still as the mountains behind him he listened, a darker silhouette in the night. And though the breeze bore with it no additional warning, chariness prevented Menecin from moving further along the river. Dagger in hand he slid from his mount, drawn to the water's edge.

There under the clear sky, he came across a sleek mare that had dared slake its thirst by a dark pool and was unable to free itself. Though neither tethered nor tied, Naiore's weary mount was held fast, its tangled reins dripping with stagnant water. The discarded creature bowed its head, sadly watching the slow moving Gladden with resignation.

Nowhere could Menecin see Naiore, or the least sign of her passing. Had she then chosen to wait and watch hidden among the reeds? Or perhaps enshrouded by the night, she still continued this hurried journey? And as he searched the terrain for her, his eyes fell upon the dimly glinting Anduin, flowing ever south in the distance, and with sadness he recalled Lórinand of old, like a reflection of light from the west, a jewel concealed beside the Great River. But beyond that once fair realm, he knew lay dusty Dagorlad; bordered by the treacherous marshes where so many of Lord Gil-galad's forces had become lost. And others, returning, whispered tales of a beautiful elf maid who had ridden at the forefront, captain of a host of Mordor. Naiore's appearance had inspired fear, as The Dark Lord sought to drive a wedge of mistrust deep into the alliance. Would she then seek to retreat behind the stonewalls of Ered Lithui as had her master, awaiting a siege, or plan reprisal as she roamed blighted Gorgoroth, remembering?

The horse blew in excited greeting as the elf waded into the water to free it. Quickly sheathing his knife, he deftly unwound the strips of sodden leather, speaking in low tones to the creature as he listened for the least crackling among the weeds. All was deceptively peaceful. If Naiore had fled, crossing the water, she would not long be idle. And in his heart Menecin with dread knew she would not flee. Not without ensuring that they would no longer pursue her. She would cripple them if she could, and they had played into her hands. "Vanwe," he whispered. How blind he had been, following this false trail away from her!

With great noise and haste Menecin led the mare to where his own horse waited. And still grasping its lead, he swung into the saddle pulling the dun's nose back in the direction he had come. Naiore's mare might be required to bear her yet a little while longer. Gripping its reins in his left hand, he kicked his mount sharply and set off, threading his way rapidly though the fen.

When the moon had climbed high and Menecin had almost reached the spot where he thought to leave the water's edge, he heard a cry far upstream. Brief and troubled, it was Léspheria he recognized, calling out to Vanwe and Avanill. But where then was Amandur? Immediately Menecin let go the spare horse, sending it galloping forward along a deer's path that led away from the bank, while he followed a short distance behind. But he had only gone a few yards when a clear whistling bird called out, as though disturbed. It was a signal such as he had heard before in Ithilien, a warning from Amandur. And he knew then the danger was not to be found with them, but with the others.

His heart became stone as he veered off the path, and his horse's hooves churned the earth, galloping with all speed over the soft ground at the river's edge. Menecin did not slow, not until he heard to his right, his daughter's voice and Naiore rebuking her. Only then did he allow the beast to rest as he suddenly stopped, closing the last stretch on foot.

Silently approaching with weapon readied, he saw Naiore standing with her back to him, effortlessly slipping an arrow into the slender quiver poised between her shoulders. It was the heavier arrow Avanill had prepared, his own arrow that she placed beside her own, so finely fletched. And at her foot lay the merchant, unblinking and unseeing. Menecin was staring down at the young man with regret, when he felt a familiar intrusive presence slip like a shade through his mind, searching. Even as Naiore stepped over the body to stop in front of her daughter, Menecin felt he had been expected. The bard looked up to see Vanwe's surreptitious glance, her eyes quickly darting to her mother at the sight of the gleaming blade in his hand.

Barely distinguishable from his own at first, a persistent thought broke through catching hold of his reluctance, So this is love, Menecin? What is it that you have come to do? But Menecin stilling his mind, stood mutely behind the Ravennor, looking slowly from the bloodied dagger held firmly in Naiore's hand to his daughter who stood just an arm's length before her, a mirrored image of Naiore in her youth. What stays your hand? the Ravennor taunted him in silence. Is this ignominious ending, not to your taste? You know it is in your power, Menecin, to choose another, but do you have the strength? You can avert this bloodshed, if you so wish. The coils tightened for a moment, stirring old and pleasant memories before vanishing altogether as Naiore quickly slipped her free arm around Vanwe, walking her away from Avanill's body to more sheltered ground. Then gently spinning her around, side by side they both faced Menecin. "There is a strong resemblance, is there not?" she asked smoothly.

A grim smile rose to the bard's lips, as he followed them. "Sadly there is little resemblance, Naiore. For you have ripened to cruelty having had every advantage, and she, though born to cruelty has grown to possess great strength of heart and a noble spirit." He shook his head, a piercing glance still fixed on Naiore, "But such traits are of no account to you, though I would that it was otherwise."

"You too have strength of heart, Menecin. But did you not at first show me this path I have set my foot on? And now there is so very little time left to prove yourself. Your fledgling family will soon be scattered once more, beyond all reconciliation. Yet perhaps not all is irretrievable, there remain a few moments still. You must choose quickly."

Then Vanwe spoke softly, seeing her father's quandary. "Father, Amandur is a honorable man, he does not seek my mother's death."

Menecin addressed her earnestly, "Yes, he is a good man. But I cannot speak of the others she would encounter, even were the King and Queen themselves to moderate their judgment. And your mother prefers her own methods of defense. I see no good thing would come of the path." Then hearing the dull pounding of horses approaching he turned quickly to Naiore, "I will go with you, if you so wish."

With a smile, the Ravennor nodded directing Vanwe to recover Menecin's bow and arrows. But the elf stopped his daughter, announcing in a commanding voice, "No Naiore, we will go into the east alone and unarmed. Vanwe has served her purpose for you."

With the horses almost upon them, the Ravennor's smile broadened, and grabbing Vanwe she placed the red smeared dagger against her fair throat. "No, Menecin, she has one last function to perform, and you, one last chance to save her. Kill the ranger, Menecin. Kill Amandur and I will go with you as you said, alone and unarmed."

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur’s rich hazel eyes, hardened by the passage of time and the evils he had been unfortunate to witness peered through the strands of loose dark hair that stubbornly blew across his rugged features, quietly scanning the surrounding night as he waited for the ladies explanation as to their sudden halt. After a moments silence he turned back to regard her, a pained look reached his eyes as he looked upon the blank expressionless features of the elven lady, a trance like state he had witnessed many times on their adventures together. While he knew that in this manner she could searched out their elusive quarry, he worried, it often troubled him greatly how much on this journey she had struggled to control the emotions that made her who she was and if Naiore; as was said indeed share Lespheria’s gift what harm might the elf witch inflict upon this noble women he would so willingly protect with his own life. But against such an enemy all his strength and wisdom might yet prove useless, a sudden feeling of helplessness washed over him as in his heart he knew he may not be able to save her from the true might of Naiore’s malice. For once in his life he would have to have faith in another, he had to believe that the strong ,determined, Just elf he knew and loved could defeat this evil in her own way.

“…But not alone” he murmured, not with piercing arrows nor tempered steel could he help but with trust and faith, love and friendship would her armour be and he would not desert nor betray her no matter what manner of witch craft Naiore decided to inflict upon them. Reaching out he gently squeeze her gloved hand in his, but started as she suddenly cried out.

As she turn to look at him he was surprised to see the briefest glimmer of fear in her eyes, a look he would never forget, Dark and foreboding like a shadow of evil fogging the gentleness of her heart. But as quickly as it had appeared it was gone, almost as though it had never been.

“Avanill! Vanwe!” she cried urgently her hand slipping from his as she kick her white mare to a gallop, quickly gathering his wits he turned briefly to whistle a signal to Menecin only to hear the thunder of hooves denoting that Léspheria’s fearful cries had already alerted the elven warrior, then he too kick his horse to follow.

It was evident by Lespheria’s haste that she felt the elf maiden and her companion were in danger, he watched as Lespheria abruptly reigned her mount leaping agilely from the saddle to the ground drawing forth the great bow she carried, fashioned from the wood of the great Mallorn trees of Lorien, the intricate gold leaf inlay glistening eerily in the moonlight. Seeing her falter as she reached into her quaver he rushed to her side. “No! I will be ok!” she protested, The pain etched on her gentle features changing almost instantly to a look of defiant determination.

She grasped an arrow and knocked it securely in place, then pulling herself tall she quietly cautioned that Naiore was near. With a slight nod of her head she signalled him to break off to the right to cover her advance, leaving the horses to gaze were they stood. His sword now firmly in his hands Amandur moved off easily matching the elven ladies pace listening for any hidden dangers that may lay ahead.

After barely a few feet she stopped drawing back the string of her bow so the feathers of the arrow gently brushed her cheek, at first Amandur could not see the ladies intent but as he stepped closer he saw the reasoning behind her haste. He blinked twice to be sure he was not seeing double. Two elven women almost double in likeness stood beneath the arching boughs of two great oaks, only the inky dark armour of Revennor of Mordor distinguishing them apart.

But unlike a mother holding her child protectively close Naiore held Vanwe to her with the cold steel of death. A dagger glinted dangerously close to the young elves throat, he knew that neither he nor Lespheria could never reach her in time if Naiore really intended to carry out this threat. Keeping his sword raised he glanced to his elven companion to see what she intended, but her bow arm remained locked and her silvery grey eyes set intently on Naiore. He followed her gaze to see that both elves stood firm like two old warriors locked in unseen battle, neither flitching. His gaze then fell sorrowfully on young Vanwe an innocent caught up in this age old battle; a participant simply by birth. Tears filled those bloodshot sapphire eye as she meet his gaze but not from fear, the look was one of pity and sorrow and as her eyes slowly shifted he followed to see a dark form lying only a few feet to his right. Suddenly remembering the young merchant he cautiously moved off to examine what he had already guessed he would find, Cautious all the time never to drop his guard or the turn his back on this most dangerous enemy.

Holding his sword firmly in his right hand he slowly crouched down beside the body of the young merchant searching for a pulse with his free hand, but as he had assumed none was to be found. The young man was already dead and even he who had had misgivings about the young man and his part in Tallas’s death felt sorrow. As he glanced down to see the fear etched into the wide lifeless pools of the young merchants eyes disgust and anger filled his heart, this elf fought and killed with no honour or regard for life. Hate and vengeance her allies feeding off her enemies fears and using them against them. well she will find no fear here! he muttered silently behind clenched teeth. Unclasping his cloak he laid it over Avanill’s broken body muttering a quick prayer. Filled with new resolve and determination that this elf should be brought to justice he rose quickly turning in the direction of the revennor and her hostage his sword raised and his eyes locked with hard determination. He had barely taken two steps when he found Menecin blocking his path, his eyes quickly shifted between the bards sapphire eyes and the half raised weapon in the elf's hands. What madness is this? he thought has the bard finally lost all reason or is this more of Naiore's doing?

"Move aside Menecin, The time has come for this elf to surrender and face the consequences of her actions!" Amandur commanded his words leaving no room for debate, but the Bard remained his eyes level and his sword in readiness.

"Look Bard I have no quarrel with you but if you do not step aside you will leave me no choice!" he added, frustration and impatience now tracing his voice as he stepped back to raise his own sword. But still the bard remained fixed as though rooted to the spot his eyes betraying no emotion.

"On the kings honour I mean you nor your family any harm but Naiore must face judgement surely you must know this?" he questioned changing tact and pressing the elf hoping to reach what if any good judgement or reasoning that yet remained.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

“You must decide Menecin,” Naiore hissed softly behind him. “See, with his own mouth the Dúnadan says he does not wish you harm, yet his sword is raised.” And though her speech was calm, Menecin was much grieved at heart at the condition she had set before him, for he counted Amandur a friend. But he had taken an oath and could not endure to see Naiore consigned to a cave deep under Mindolluin for the ages to come, abandoning her to derision under the shadow of the Citadel. And his oath and his pain she would use against him. Must he then choose the death of Amandur or that of his daughter?

“Surely friendship is a lesser bond,” the Bard whispered to himself, his ire rising as Léspheria began to engage Naiore. The chance of extricating the Ravenor from this net without cost to his friends, grew more remote as each moment past. But focusing again on the weather beaten ranger before him, he saw that Amandur had indeed brandished his sword, and a cold fire kindled in the elf’s eyes as he steeled himself. “Both the Lady Dannan and I know what judgment awaits her in Minas Tirith,” he said with a chilling restraint. “Too heavily would it lie on one of our kindred.” He paused renewing the grip on his own weapon. “I will not let you pass, while there is yet another way,” he declared stepping toward the ranger.

Menecin noticed the man’s muscle’s tighten as Amandur studied him closely through narrowed eyes. “What course are you considering Bard?” he asked with caution now tempering his speech.

“No doubt, you question my faculties…. I assure you that I am in my right senses, quite painfully so. But what is it am I considering?” the elf mused. “Truly it would be madness!” Lowering his weapon he looked steadily at the ranger as if he would read his thoughts. “What of exile?” he questioned. “A new life…or perhaps death if it should find her upon the way. There are too few of us to make the trip safely to Gondor, but without your hindrance, I would see Naiore passed the wilds of Rhûn, and mete out my own justice. For what fragile hope I have found in Vanwe stands ready to be extinguished by Naiore’s own hand. And how does one live without hope? Let my daughter not know what becomes of her mother. Better that she say she has known no parents.”

“Though you are an elf, I believe that your death would not be long upon that road, and the lady would return unchanged and unscathed” the ranger said frowning. He looked past the bard to where Naiore stood with Vanwe still caught up by her deadly embrace. “I can not permit it!” he said shaking his head as if to dispel this nightmare. And the ranger’s whisper was harsh to the elf’s ears. Amandur’s gaze soon returned to Menecin. “But if you would find comfort in exile, return with us. Once pronounced, if the wisdom of men displeases you, could we not petition the King that you might be allowed to seek the Undying Lands, and be granted it? Then prevail upon Manwë and your kindred for their mercy and judgment if you so wish, pledging only that the Lady Dannan will not return to Middle-earth. Surely there would be both justice and wisdom in this. For King Elesser would not relish such a captive to become the inheritance of his house, and perhaps the Lady Dannan will find greater understanding among her own people. But we must act now, Menecin!”

“No, I can not do as you desire, and neither can I carry out Naiore’s wish, but I must find my own way. For I will not willingly bring such discord to The Blessed Realm by delivering such a one, even in chains, to the feet of those I hold dear. The peace of Aman was too dearly bought.”

But as a crushing hopelessness began to press down upon Menecin, so that with growing effort and strength of will he fought the darkness in his mind, Amandur drew still closer facing Naiore, even as the tall elf's own back was turned to her. And Menecin did not hinder him, but raised his eyes to see Léspheria, and despair took him.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria

Léspheria’s timeless features appeared hard and her starlit grey eyes cold as they fixed on her kinswoman, the quarry she had so ardently hunted these past few weeks. Her bow arm taunt and unwavering as she stared down the arrow shaft into the steely eyes of the elf that haunted her dreams giving face at last to that dark and ominous shadow! It was true that Vanwe shared her mothers beauty but not the malice and darkness that lay behind those stone like eyes staring back at her, cold and calculating, even now as Lespheria’s arrow marked it’s target. A sudden and unexpected wash of hatred and resentment coursed through her mind as she recalled the cruel and malicious torments of her mothers last year, Vanwe and Menecin’s current torments adding to her desire to just let loose the arrow in her hand and rid the world of this darkened and disillusioned creature, letting Mandos cast his judgement in the halls of the dead where perhaps she would find the true meaning of fear!

Perhaps sensing the sudden change in her cousin Naiore pulled Vanwe closer raising the blooded dagger threateningly close to the young elf’s bare and exposed throat. Naiore twice attempted to move out of bowshot but found that Lespheria countered each movement as if it were her own. However no concern nor fear crossed the cornered elf’s lustrous features instead a sly grin curved her lips giving those grey eyes a deceptively convincing glint of interest and intrigue. Ripples of discord tugged at the corners of Lespheria’s mind and she resisted the urge to turn to witness Naiore’s latest play. She could feel the bards struggle and Amandurs hesitant recourse but chose to block it out. She had faith in both and Naiore’s attempt to feed her these doubts not only failed, but added to her resentment.

“I will not be cowed by you Cousin!” she issued with calm defiance in her voice, but Naiore’s grin only broadened as if a challenge had been sent out and only too eager she accepted. Her eyes fixed on the arrow still nocked in her cousins bow she lowered her head slightly to whisper in her daughters ear. “See now your friend my daughter she means to take her revenge and separate us once more!” a look of triumphant satisfaction crossed the revennor’s face as a mixture of fear, confusion and horror swept over the young elf, Lespheria felt it too as was intended but refused to look into young elf’s eyes, she could not afford the distraction of the pleading look she knew she would find.

“I wonder daughter if you would avenge me so keenly?” Naiore cooed stroking her daughters hair with her free hand. Vanwe hesitated as she searched Lespheria’s hard set eyes hoping that that choice would never be hers to make. Sensing her daughters fears Naiore pulled Vanwe’s head back and glared towards Léspheria.

“Well Cousin what do you wait for!” she issued all the smoothness gone from her voice. “Is this not what you wanted my death in retribution for your mothers? it must have been agonising to bear her pain knowing that you could do nothing to save her, the fear must have been intense” and with that Naiore bombarded her with more memories of her mother imprisonment, Causing the fear within to writhe an twist trying to break free, But Lespheria would not give into it pushing the memories aside with shear force of will keeping her focused.

But at the back of Léspheria’s mind a fierce struggle battled as the elven warrior within filled with anger and bitterness compelled her to let loose her arrow and exact her revenge while the gentler more neutral healing side that cherished life weighed up the cost of her actions, could she willingly forfeit Vanwes life for vengeance, killing Naiore without finding out why? Why had Naiore chosen this path? What answers did she seek? Why had she killed her mother? Why would she kill those who loved her?

“WHY!” she questioned taking a threatening step forward her bow arm slackening but only a fraction, as she waited for the Revennor’s reply.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

"Why?" echoed Naiore. Her lovely eyes sparkled with a false merriment that sent chills trilling down the spine of the Elven woman opposite her. "Why, indeed. You might well ask yourself the same question. Why, cousin, do you pursue me so relentlessly? What is your motivation? It seems to me that Revenge guides your feet and, indeed, nocks the very arrow to your bow. Revenge, cousin! A vile and base pursuit, more suitable for orcs and misguided men than those of the Eldar race." Leaning forward to place her cheek against that of her daughter, Naiore tuned her comments to her daughter’s ears, though her eyes never left Léspheria’s face.

"You see, my daughter, this creature would slay me for no better reason than the misguided belief that it was my hand slew her mother."

"It was your hand," objected Léspheria softly, her fair features darkening at the memory of her mother’s pain.

"Was it?" Naiore’s expression grew sharper, the feigned merriment vanishing abruptly. "If my memory serves, and I believe it does, your mother was still alive when I was forced to flee Barad-dûr. She still drew breath when the Rangers entered the fortress of the Dark Lord. Ask yourself," purred Naiore. "Or, better yet, ask the Ranger who would fain be your lover, how it is that Lady Valaindon should die after leaving my hands and entering into his?"

Léspheria winced as though she had been struck. For the fleetest instant, her arrow trembled from its mark and the clear gray eyes flicked toward the tall Ranger who remained some distance away, his way blocked by Menecin. "It is not possible."

"Is it not?" Naiore smiled, feeling the tiny ripple of doubt that flashed through Léspheria’s emotions. "Ask yourself, how well do you know his heart? His mortal heart. And how well do you know mine? That of one of the Eldar and your own kinswoman, no less." The Ravener’s smile faded to be replaced by an expression of calm equanimity. "All I sought from your mother was knowledge. There were certain questions of lore and the heart that I sought answers to. Granted my means of interrogation were not easy..."

"Yet you hold a dagger to your own daughter’s throat."

"And you aim an arrow at mine. Have I a choice but to use my daughter as a shield if I wish to evade your murdering intent?"

"Young Avanill lies dead at your feet."

"He sought to kill me with a poisoned dart. Is it wrong of me to defend myself? It seems - " the smile appeared again at the corners of Naiore’s lips, though it fell short of her eyes " - that I am indeed more sinned against than sinning."

"And Kaldir?" Léspheria continued to press.

"He was alive when he left my sight. Ask yourself at whose hand he met his end." Naiore turned her head to speak softly into Vanwe’s ear. "You see how she twists things to blame me and prove me guilty of horrors that would serve to justify her murder of me? Have you seen me murder anyone, my child? No one, no one, except those who would kill me first." Yet, even as she spoke, Naiore’s mind drifted toward the poisoned arrow she had taken from Avanill’s dead hand. If only there were a way to put aside her dagger and nock that arrow to her bow. A mere scratch, almost a miss, and Léspheria, too, would lie dead, no longer barring the Ravener’s passage. Menecin had only to slay Amandur for her, if he did not fail her, and she would be free. She would deal with Menecin, and Vanwe, too, when the time came, but for the moment she needed them.

Without taking her eyes from Léspheria’s face, Naiore cast her mind toward Menecin and, to her profound disturbance, found a waver in his resolve. A wall, perhaps some remnant of his madness, blocked her from knowing his thoughts, but she sensed an aura of doubt. She sent a thought to his mind, do it, my love, do it, along with the renewed promise that they should go into the East together when the Ranger was dead, but the Bard’s doubt still did not diminish. Perhaps the doubt echoed from the Ranger instead? If so, Menecin should take advantage of the Man’s hesitation and move against him while he was vulnerable. If you ever loved me... urged Naiore. Strike him down!

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

Vanwe stood frozen in her mother terrifying embrace shrouded in the darkness of her own fears and doubts, they suffocated and clouded threatening to leave her a numb shell devoid of any thought or feeling, a shadow caught in a void longing for something that it could not quite remember to end. A sudden pulling and the cold bite of the blade at her throat yanked her back to herself. At first she thought that her mother had meant to end her life but as she became aware of the voices around her, her mothers and the Elvin lady Léspheria’s she realised that Naiore had only merely tightened her hold. It frightened her how easily she had accepted that fate almost welcoming it. She pushed the thoughts roughly aside as the voices filtered into her mind and she realised that her mother was speaking to her, the words no longer as honeyed as her mother had intended as sharp hardness edged every word as they echoed in her ear.

“I wonder daughter if you would avenge me so keenly?”

Avenge? What does she speak of? If she could have she would have gasped as her eyes raised to see the hard faced determination etched on the Elvin hunter before her, no not hunter the woman she had thought her friend…Léspheria! What of your promise??? She screamed silently in her mind her anguish awash anew as Léspheria refused to met her gaze. What of your mother she would not have wanted this…….remember…. Please remember! she thought suddenly feeling a wrongness in her Elvin friend that caused her concern it was a wrongness that she also sensed within her mother.

“Why?” Léspheria had cried out and in her mind Vanwe sighed a sigh of relief as the woman stepped forward her bow arm loosening if only slightly but for now it was enough as they waited for Naiore reply she to was interested to learn why her mother had turn enemy to her friend.

She Listened silently to the arguments passing between mother and friend at times her mothers lips brushed her ear as she directed certain question through her stirring the fear and doubt she knew was ever present. Was she correct was she more sinned against that the sinner everyone believed her to be?

"You see how she twists things to blame me and prove me guilty of horrors that would serve to justify her murder of me? Have you seen me murder anyone, my child?

She could not deny her mothers words it was true she had not, but neither could she forget her mothers relentless methods of questioning it had changed her as she now assumed it had the others, the bounty hunter, Lespheria’s mother, her father and inadvertently Léspheria it had changed them all shaping them to her mothers will or driving them to madness was this what was to become of her was she to be subverted to her mother will or go mad in the process? No her mother had not put her hand to those who had died except in defence… she had done things far worse!

The pain of this truth struck her like a sharp blow as her despair again resurfaced, had it been all for not? what had she found? Yet another prison from which this time there seemed no escape except perhaps in death!

NO! the survival instinct that had kept her alive all these years cried in her mind, she had discovered herself who and what she was she was, an elf with kin and family not abandoned as she had believed but found. She had discovered a purpose for her gift. Her eyes raised to find Léspheria’s, it had been she who had shown it to her in the halls of healing. What legacy had her mother given her, yes undoubtedly her life and her gift both for which she would ever be grateful but the Cage the prison her mother constructed and placed around her, the bars not wrought iron but those affected by the Revennor of Mordor terrifying reach, instilling the fear and distrust that had closed her to the truth of what she was, she was a healer and healing was what was needed.

A sudden calm swept over her and as Naiore thoughts turned to her father Vanwe realised what she must do.

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

Léspheria

Naiore’s words brought neither the answers Lespheria wanted or needed, nor did they lead her to any better understanding of the reasoning behind her cousin’s treachery. Instead they left her wondering and questioning herself ,did she really haunt her mothers cousin so unjustly? Was it not her own curiosity of knowledge kept from her that brought her on this haunt to begin with? Was it the same with Naiore? Did her curiosity regarding the nature and purpose of fear and pain drive her thusly? Where they as different as she once believed? Who was she to decide and dispense such justice? Her hand wavered uncertainly, Had she not promised herself after the encounter with the bounty hunter that stalked Vanwe in the stables at the green dragon that she would see no unwarranted harm come to the young elf, yet here she now stood having in Naiore’s words place Vanwe into the very predicament she had vowed to avoid. Was she no better than the haunted elf before her?

Too late she realised what was happening to her, the walls she had carefully constructed not only over the past few weeks but most of her life where being carefully stripped away, one at a time revealing to her the flaws and mistakes of her past. Forcing her to see the events of her life that she would rather forget, but also showing to her all the good she had accomplished in her lifetime, the lives she had touched and saved, the people she had loved and respected. It all fell away until at last in her mind she stood completely alone!

No not alone, something else remained a shadow dark and ominous, it’s touch cold on her very soul. She could feel its elation at finally being free, it swirled and danced drawing together to take form as she attempted to look away. You must face your fears! a soft and comforting voice in her mind urged. Yes this is what this creature was! she could hear it now the discord in the music of her being, a thing that was born with the making of the world, something she now knew she could never escape. She could lock it away but never banish it completely. It was a part of her, a part of them all laying dormant in the souls of each and everyone of them until the time came when they must face it and either defeat it or ever be ruled by it.

Drawing the last of her resolve she raised her eyes to look at the face of her fears, while all her outward appearance remained serene and impassive revealing nothing of the confrontation going on in within. But nothing could have prepared her for want she saw, from the inky darkness of her fears a figure stepped forward, clad in the very darkness from whence it had come a cold chill marking each step. Naiore! she thought unsurprised that her fears would take such a form, but as the figure drew closer she saw that a pale hands wrapped around a bow of finest mallorn and in the other a short sword that she instantly recognised as her own. No she thought drawing back a few steps, It can’t be! She panicked seeing the dark blood dripping from blades stained edges. The figure laughed coldly seeing her revulsion and with a sweep of the blade it drew back more of the darkness to reveal lifeless unmoving figures sprawled at it’s feet.

Noooooooooooooooo! She screamed wordlessly in her mind as the forms were suddenly given faces. Vanwe, Menecin, Amandur they all lay dead at the feet of the dark figure. Who are you? she cried now uncertain that Naiore was her greatest fear. The figure ceased it’s advance and laughed mirthlessly. Do you still not know me? It issued coldly. Then with another quick sweep of the bladed hand the figure drew back the dark cowl that had hidden it’s features and Léspheria suddenly found herself face to face with herself!

She wanted to flee, escaping the face of her fears; recede to the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind, but she could not something… no someone held her in place. Time to heal a soft voice whispered and this time she recognised it as Vanwe’s . It comforted and gave her strength to stand her ground and face the truth of the thing before her. It was a manifestation of her fears, a fear that her gift like a double edged blade could either be used to serve, preserving life or it could consume; Manipulating and taking life till its purpose is Fulfilled. Lespheria feared the latter and the consequences if she could control it! She feared she would become the very elf she hunted

Suddenly everything disappeared and all she could hear was a strong but steady bu bum bu bum bu bum. She gasped horrified, realising that she held Naiore's life in her hands. ‘Just one thought and we could stop it all here,’ a smooth velvety voice whispered, a voice eerily her own, ‘strong we are, stronger than anyone, even this the great revennor of Mordor’ the voice trilled, the abhorrence dripping from it, echoing her own revulsion. 'no!' she cried shaking her head, ‘But she killed her!’ the voice hissed angrily ‘she killed your mother, tortured her for knowledge and for no better reason than that she could!’ The pain of those words chilled her right to her marrow. But still the voice went on enticing her, urging her to take the life of the elf before her and for the briefest moment she actually contemplated just closing one of those great valves that feed the woman’s heart. ‘One thought and it would all be over’ the voice cooed again. ‘No, no I can’t do this! It is my choice it will always is my choice and I choose not to carry the sins of our fathers, I will not kill one of my bloodline, I shall not dishonour my mothers memory with such a vile act and I will never become that which I detest! No Naiore will not die by my hand.'

Léspheria came back to herself suddenly. What had felt like hours locked within her own mind had been merely moments. Her eyes searched out Vawne’s and found unspoken a silent understanding. Before she could speak Menecin had moved between them unaware of his daughters intervention and as he prayed her put aside her bow she did so, now knowing that spilling Naiore’s blood that of kin would only hasten her fears to reality, no if Naiore was fated to die it would not be by her blade or bow.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

A thin voice spoke breaking through a rush of thoughts, reminding Menecin how simple it would be to end this suffering, offering a refuge but one viewed only as if at a distance. And Naiore’s words wound through his consciousness. If ever you loved me, strike him down! What right had he to delay, and so hold all of them trapped in this decisive moment, when the days of a man seemed only slightly longer than that of a flower growing wild in the field? Truly what was life but cares unending, and suffering endured? How mercifully short were the sorrows of the Edain!

Yes love her he had, and deeply, but now a much larger burden overshadowed that love. Menecin would not raise his hand against Amandur, but staunchly held fast as Naiore sought to influence him, skillfully bringing to bear a thorough knowledge of his character. And looking with dismay at Amandur, Menecin backed away quickly sheathing his sword, lest he weaken. Standing thus, between Léspheria and her mark, he effectively safeguarded Naiore and his daughter from the threat of her bow. But the dour elf’s blue eyes, glinting under his darkened brow, did not miss Amandur’s subtle advance, even as he stood watching Léspheria. Nor was he all unaware of Naiore. The rustle and sharp intake of breath behind him, betrayed her movements. And he knew that she had shifted, pulling Vanwe even tighter as she slid quite close behind his left shoulder. "This madness must not come to be!" he cried to Léspheria, "For all that she is and was, Naiore is undeniably your kin! I pray you, put aside your bow."

Amandur then spoke to him conciliatory words the elven warrior did not hear, but with one fluid motion Menecin reached over his shoulder and snapped his arm forward again, releasing a long bladed knife. Coming to rest with its tip buried deeply in the ground before Amandur, the weapon’s haft swayed forward lightly touching the ranger’s boot. "I entreat you Amandur, for the sake of us all, come no closer!" the elf warned. An unspoken voice tore at his mind, as he reached over his left shoulder as if to grasp his remaining knife, and he noticed Amandur’s body flex as the ranger prepared to dodge the blade. Now! Do it now, my love! Naiore’s melodious voice urged from within the deep recesses of his thought, almost as though issuing from his very being.

For one final instant, Menecin wavered. Then, abruptly, he spun on his heel and flew toward Naiore. Caught off guard, the Ravenor pulled back, dragging Vanwe with her, but, hampered by the awkwardness of her stunned captive, she could not move quickly enough. Springing forward Menecin threw out a hand and coiled it in Naiore’s long braids, jerking her fair head backward as he sought to upset her footing. Enraged, Naiore loosed her grip on Vanwe and struck wildly back toward Menecin with her dagger. The blade flashed in the moonlight as it sailed wide of its mark.

"Flee now, Vanwe!" ordered the Bard between clenched teeth as he arched his body to avoid Naiore’s murderous attempts to free herself. "Do not look back!" Without a sound, Vanwe did as she was told and slipped free, running blindly toward the safety of Léspheria and her bow. Just then, Naiore brought her dagger around low and struck for Menecin’s leg. An immediate burn informed him that she had succeeded in grazing his knee with the point of her blade. Grabbing for her wrist, Menecin sought to disarm her before she could do him more grievous hurt, but Naiore proved too quick. With a single stroke upwards, the dagger's keen edge severed her braids just above Menecin’s grasp. And as the Ravenor twisted gracefully away from him, Menecin was left with nothing more in his hands than rapidly unwinding ropes of gold silk.

"Do not suppose that you can prevail over me, Menecin," she whispered sternly. I know you far too well. I can show you peace... but you must follow me. "

"You foretold long ago that my passions would prove my defeat. Would you now bring it to pass?" asked Menecin as her plaits he let fall from his fingers. "You have never known peace, Naiore, nor would you acknowledge its worth. But the peace you would promise is only to be found in the Halls of Waiting. For years in Imladris I longed for even such peace, to sit in my shame beneath those of Vaire’s tapestries that proclaim your ignoble deeds, and thus feel closer to you. But even those days you have taken from me.

"Are you then grown greater than those profane of the Ainur after whom your heart follows, that you would hope to avoid their fate?" Menecin raised a scarred hand, as though intending to touch the Ravenor’s lips and coax the words he wanted to hear from them. "Still with a word you and I will leave this place, but do not ask this thing of me again." He looked over his shoulder toward the ranger, "He is but an unfortunate witness to something that should never have been known among the firstborn, and I will not dishonor you by doing what you would have me."

"You have changed very little Menecin," Naiore sighed. "And unfortunately you still allow those you call your friends to divide us! I do not know why you choose to cleave to them when it is plain that they disregard your wishes! Did you not tell Vanwe to leave?"

And turning, Menecin discovered that Vanwe indeed had not left them as he had urged, but stood now at Léspheria’s side. This posed difficult for him, but he could not ponder it long, for quite suddenly Vanwe grew uneasy, and Valaindon’s daughter quickly pulled her bowstring taught, pausing as she searched for a clear shot. For a fleeting moment Menecin felt as if she would slay him, but turning his head he saw in an instant the cause of their alarm. Naiore had raised her own weapon, and leaning into the grip as the arrow took flight, he knocked it off its course, so that the heavy dart, indeed one he recognized as his own, flew hissing among the grasses.

In great anger Menecin turned on Naiore, his eyes smoldering. Meeting his gaze, Naiore lowered her bow. A smile as cold as the morning frost touched her lovely features as she looked at him. Then, putting the bow aside, she drew one of her curved swords from its scabbard. Without hesitation Menecin took a step toward her.

"Whose life would you have, pray tell me?" he asked. "Léspheria’s? Vanwe’s? Or perhaps mine, in time." He watched her with piercing eyes.

Naiore did not respond, but listened impassively, as though indulging the outburst of a froward child.

Menecin continued angrily. "Know, Naiore, that the blood you would now spill is your own! This is the choice you have set before me and at long last I stand ready to accomplish it." Menecin drew his own sword and raised it in challenge to Naiore. Her expression remained untroubled, but Menecin knew that if she felt him incapable of harming her, then that was to serve to his advantage, for he knew her well.

"Menecin, you once held that there exists a deeper strength which fear could not corrupt, yet look at what you have let yourself become," said Naiore coolly, a predatory light growing in her clear eyes as she observed the small droplets of blood the arrow had freed, that were now trailing down his arm.

"I remember it well," he said gruffly. "In those days you preferred to surround yourself with far softer stuff." His war hardened eyes lowered as he searched her perfect frame for a weakness in her armor. "Truly I have never seen one arrayed for battle with such graceful elegance." A sad smile rose to his face, as his gaze returned to meet hers. He felt suddenly weary, and the sweat beaded upon on his brow though the evening was mild.

But Naiore was no longer in the mood to humor the bard, and in one flowing motion stepped forward, swinging her sword level so that Menecin was forced to spring back in order to avoid the blow. Quickly brandishing his own weapon he charged at her recklessly. After a few fruitless attempts it became clear to him that she anticipated his every stroke, countering him so effectively he thought that to overpower her was his sole option, for each feint and thrust was met with one of equal artistry and skill. It was only then that he became aware that his mind had begun to reel strangely. And his reactions slowed as he sought to ensnare her, so that he was forced to change his technique, and discovered that Naiore had only limited success when he moved less intuitively. Finally with great effort was he able to overwhelm her, sending the sword in her hand spinning to the ground. Even as this sudden sickness threatened to overtake him, he seized the opportunity that fate had given him and as she reached for her second sword, bridged the distance between them closing her in his embrace, so that her arms were held behind the quiver at her back, pinned close against his brigandine armor.

There breathless in the night, he dropped his sword clumsily as Naiore sought to free herself in vain, and holding her tight, he reached for the last of his knives, a thin and deadly bodkin. In the darkness he found two ornate arming points at her closely fitted waist. Slipping the bitter edge behind them he snapped their leather cords; so that Naiore’s armor lay open at her side. With trembling hand, he held his arm outstretched prepared to drive the dagger home. "Forgive me Vanwe," he cried glancing up quickly, struggling to focus through tear rimmed eyes, hoping against hope that his daughter had flown free of this unhappiness.

[Nerindel]

Vanwe

Events unfolded so fast that Vanwe was barely aware of what was happening. She had barely managed a faint smile of assurance for her cousin when her fathers broad shoulders blocked her view, she was pulled roughly forwards till both she and her mother where mere inches from the bards left shoulder. A stifled gasp escaped her lips as her father reached over his shoulder and threw the blade that landed at the rangers feet effectively halting his advance. What is his mind? she thought wildly, but her initial fears were dispelled and replaced with shock and horror as her father suddenly spun round and flew at them, obviously as stunned as she her mother clumsily tried to drag her backward attempting to avoid Menecin’s grasp. Then with a sharp jolt she felt her mother grip loosen.

“Flee now, Vanwe!” her father urged through clenched teeth as he strained to avoid Naiore’s attempts to free herself, “And don’t look back” he added. His words and actions frightened her but she did as he asked, running blindly towards Léspheria, were she fell into the elf’s waiting arms. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Léspheria instantly asked, a concerned frown arching her soft grey eyes. Vanwe did not answer as she looked back to where her mother and father were locked in terrifying battle. “This is not what I had hoped to find,” she sighed mournfully, “In truth I knew not what to expect, but not this.” A pained look reached her eyes as she wearily shook her head. “His fears drive him and will consume him if he lets them,” she whispered turning so that her tear filled eyes met her cousins.

“Do not worry so, our fears can also give us strength, you showed me this,” Lespheria counselled a gentle hand coming to rest assuredly on her left shoulder. But Vanwe merely sighed shaking her head, “I fear it is not so with him his pain is great, the madness has stifled his strength, anger and fear now guides his hand.” “He may yet survive you should not give up hope.” Lespheria urged “And then what!” Vanwe replied sharply shrugging free of her cousins consoling hand, “When guilt and grief consume him, will only death then free him?” a sullen silence ensued broken only by the sounds of battle before them.

Vanwe closed her eyes wearily contemplating the enormity of her own words, how had it come to this? What was the flaw that drove her mothers hatred of them? As her eyes slowly opened she was surprised to see her father looking at her his dark features etched with pain and sorrow, but even as her own sorrow again began to fill her heart, her eyes widened in horror behind her father her mother drew forth a dark bow and nocked an arrow firmly in place, she shifted uneasily and turned to Léspheria only to see that the elf had already again nocked her own bow and held the string taunt looking for a clear shot that could not be found. Turning back she gasped as her mothers arrow took flight, breathing only again when her father harmlessly knocked it aside. Her relief was short lived as in a fit of anger her father again turned on her mother.

“We must stop this!” she declared turning back to Léspheria and to her mild surprise the elf nodded her agreement, “What do you intend?” Vanwe thought for a moment, “They must face their fears and learn the truths hidden from them, but to do this I must get close. I do not have your gift nor my mothers, I sense a wrongness and I am able to heal.”

“You sensed fear as a wrongness?” Léspheria frowned, “Yes” Vanwe nodded, “ a discord within, that is how I sensed it in you and it is so with my father and will be the same with my mother no matter how deep she has chosen to bury it” she gestured towards her battling parents. “The ranger he is different though he does not bury his fears nor does he let them rule him, he uses them, awaking a greater strength born from the basic instincts such as survival and need.” she watched as Lespheria’s features softened and her gaze sought out the man she had fallen in love with. “Indeed we could learn a lot from men?” she sighed . “Perhaps” Vanwe replied still finding the rangers presence frightened her, perhaps it was that of all of them he was the only one who’s hands where not tied in this matter. She did not know why, but his presence unnerved her and reassured her at the same time.

“This thing, this answer my mother seeks you know it don’t you?” she asked shrugging off her doubts regarding the ranger. Léspheria looked at her for a long moment then nodded “I do, but it will not avail her it’s master, the one who planted this seed of discord is no longer, shut out beyond the mortal world by Manwe the greatest of the Valar after the final battle for the Silmarils, banished to the void without, alone with his own hatred and malice, he can never return while the Lords of the west remain enthroned.” Vanwe nodded, not fully understanding the extent of the history of her people, but sensing enough to be certain that Léspheria spoke the truth. Touched by her cousin’s trust and honesty she assumed to asked no more.

She had sensed the source of fears stirrings within Léspheria as she had helped the elf face them and she knew how to awaken it, this? she mused, is this the real power her mother seeks to understand, would this answer satisfy or would she go further. Perhaps even as far as try to dethrone these Valar these beings that Both Léspheria and her father hold in such reverence. To free fears creator for her own selfish needs, is her pride that great that she believes herself above all else? Vanwe felt almost sick at the thought as she watched her mothers dark figure counter and press her fathers attack, she frowned realising that his reactions were steadily slowing.

“The arrow” Léspheria uttered reading her thoughts. Yes, off course she mused, the one meant to subdue not kill. Her eyes searched the ground and found the dart nestled in the grasses immediately to their left. But as she moved to retrieve it Léspheria grasped her wrist and she turn to see that her father now stood with Naiore firmly in his embrace the moonlight glinting off the blade in his raised hand.

“No!” Vanwe cried already moving forward, her hand catching her fathers wrist mid-thrust, “the dart” she called back to Lespheria her eyes not moving from her fathers as the blade cut into her lower arm, “This is not the way, the pain and guilt will destroy you!” she whispered softly “A guilt that is not yours to bear, you loved her, there is no crime in that. You said yourself that the flaw was hers, she made her own choices!” her eyes softened with compassion and understanding as she broke down the walls of his defences and laid bear his fears and the truths that for so long had eluded him. “Please father, I need you!” she whispered pleadingly.

“It is too late for him my daughter the madness has taken him, he would kill us both. See now how he does not release the very blade that draws your blood! If you really love him you will end his suffering now and quickly.” But even as her mothers words cut into her thoughts her fathers pain turned to a tired weariness that etching his battle worn face. Finally aware of the blood trickling down his daughters arm and in a mix of shock and dismay he released his grip and the blade fell harmlessly to the ground. He Lowered his head partly in shame and partly due to the subduing effects of the potion mixing with his blood. Vanwe let go his wrist and brought up her hand to gentle raise his head, “I will need your strength for a little longer, do you think you can give it” she whispered softly gazing into his glazed eyes, he nodded and brought his other hand about Naoire’s waist holding her fast.

“You foolish ungrateful child, I give you life, made you strong by letting you experience and see the terrifying realities of this world. Yes I could have raised you myself, but you would not have survived !something darker would have used you as a weakness against me or made you their plaything if you proved weak, I saved you from that and this is how you would repay me!” Naiore issued through clenched teeth as she again struggling to break free of the bards embrace.

Vanwe‘s steady gaze shifted then to her mothers and she smiled gently “and for that life I am forever grateful,” she answered truthfully.

“I once feared and hated those forced by you to be my keepers, but now I realise that their actions were a mere result of their own fears and superstitions, a lack of understanding that I can now forgive. For what comparison did they have to show then any different, the only elf they had ever know was the great Naiore Dannan, Revennor of Mordor right hand to the devil himself!” sighed Vanwe heavily the truth of her own words sending a cold chill down her spin.

“I never wanted to believe the rumours, even though they hunted me relentlessly, Umbar, Gondor, Rohan they all had their stories each more terrifying than the last, but I had to believe that it was not true, I had to have hope! But they were all true or at least versions of the truth! I had hoped to find a family I thought I had lost, but instead I found myself. ” A small tear escaped her eyes as she smiled sympathetically.

“You accuse Léspheria of vengeance yet the thought is ever in your mind, you say you are more sinned against than sinner yet your own trail says otherwise, you make bargains with my father that you never intend to keep and this…” she said holding her left hand out so that Léspheria could place the dart in her open palm, her long fingers curling around the shaft she brought it before her mothers face, “this was never intended to kill, though the young merchants fears may have caused him to wish it!”

“No, my father is not dieing,” she whispered seeing her mothers anger mixed with a fleeing look of disappointment, “I am surprised you do not recognise it’s effect’s they are similar to a draught you once had me drink!” then with a quick flick of her wrist she scratched her mothers flesh with the tip, “I’m sorry” she whispered, but your sins are many and you must see the truth!”

Tossing the dart harmlessly aside and sensing both Léspheria and Amandur protectively at her left and right she tore away her mothers armour and placed her left hand on her mothers chest. Instantly she felt her mother throw up protective walls of defence in her mind, but it mattered not for Léspheria had shown her that there fears steamed much deeper and that’s what she searched for. Not finding what she was looking for she closed her eyes concentrating harder looking for the wrongness she had sensed in the others, but she could not find it, It has to be here! she thought pushing deeper within her mothers dark soul.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she staggered backwards her hand pulling away as if it had just been burnt, “No, that can not be!” she whispered her eyes widening as she stared unbelievably into her mothers grey eyes. “without fear, there can be no regret… no compassion…no true love,” she whispered to herself, tears now flowed freely from her eyes. “I am sorry, I hoped to help you but I can not, no one can.” she sighed, then turning to the Ranger she nodded “If apprehending Naiore Dannan is your charge then so be it, though I warn you she is without fear and nothing can be done in this world to fix that wrong.”

Then turning back she saw a strange gleeful look in her mothers eyes like she was close to finding the answers she sought, but pity filled Vanwe for she knew that her mother no matter what she believed would never truly understand the fear she lacked. “It is not a gift to be without fear,” she whispered her hand coming up to touch her mother’s bare cheek, “but a curse! You will never fully know or understand the beauty of life, the strengths bestowed on us in life for life.” with a final sigh of pity her hand slipped slowly away and she turn with a heavy heart and walk away to allow Amandur to take his charge.

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore felt a sharp flush of anger as Menecin's grip tightened around her. Her armor now hung open on one side where he had cut the bindings, leaving her vulnerable to attack as she never had been before. Fury threatened to overpower her reason as now Vanwe thrust a hand into her clothing to lay it over Naiore’s heart, daring to make the attempt to read her emotions and, to Naiore’s mind, manhandling her like a common criminal. How dare they take such liberties! Daughter or no daughter, former lover or not, the two of them touched her as no one had ever dared to touch her before. She fought off a rush of murderous fury, knowing that she must think clearly now in order to free herself else all would be lost, but her pride reared up inside of her, all sulfur and brimstone, like a cornered dragon.

Pity! The stupid lot of them. Who were they to pity her? Had they no idea who they had before them? Naiore was the Ravener of Mordor. She had led fell armies and sat at the right hand of the Dark Lord himself. She had seen things, nay, perpetrated the very acts that haunted these petty creatures’ worst nightmares. And they had the audacity to pity her, to lecture her on the value of fear, whose only real value was as the answer to a philosophical, forever enigmatic riddle, which had eluded her for years. Fear had never been anything more than the root cause of their failure. Naiore narrowed her eyes and looked sharply from Léspheria to Vanwe and back again. That was why it had fascinated her so over the years, and now, her captors sought to gain strength from it. Such irony! And the irony would be even thicker as again they failed, captives of their fear.

“It is not a gift to be without fear,” whispered Vanwe. “But a curse! You will never fully know or understand the beauty of life, the strengths bestowed on us in life for life.” As Vanwe withdrew her hand and began to walk away, Naiore let out a mocking laugh.

“Since when have you become such a sage, daughter, that you think you may explain the complexities of knowledge or understanding to me?” she hissed. “You are like a mortal child and see things with a mortal child’s eyes. Yes, I saw to it that you were raised in darkness, but does not the memory of the dark make the sun shine so much brighter for you now? One must love both," she added, turning her fair eyes toward Léspheria. "And not be restrained from examining both by such a thing as fear.”

“And you!” Naiore now addressed Léspheria directly. “Have you seen the enemy? Does she trill her cold fingers down your spine even now as we speak? You know then that I am not the enemy. She is someone you carry with you in your heart. You cannot destroy her by striking me down, nor can you bring back your mother, whose doom you persist in laying at my feet. I see you have put aside your bow. That is good. Vengeance is dangerous game to play at, and you, my dear, haven’t the stomach for it.”

Her eyes still on her kinswoman, Naiore twisted gently under Menecin’s hold, testing his grip. He was weakening, his mind growing foggy under the influence of the drugged dart, his muscles less purposeful. She knew it would not take much to slip away from him, but she waited to make her move. With the ranger standing so close by and edging ever nearer, she knew she would not have much time and must make every second count if she had any hope of escape. She cast her eyes around for a weapon and a way out. Yes, yes, she could see both. Her own sword lay at her feet only slightly to her right, and, just a few paces beyond stood a riderless horse, perhaps Menecin's, the reins looped loosely over the saddle. The animal had wandered up at some point on its own. If she made a clean break from Menecin’s grasp, she could reach the beast and make her getaway. The serene smile returned to her face.

“Come closer, my kinswoman,” she said softly to Léspheria, a new idea having entered her mind. She would create a diversion. The few seconds she would gain while her remaining captors coped with their shock would be enough. Her beautiful eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Come closer that we may speak to one another as kin,” she continued. “Tell your ranger to stand down. We have much to talk about that would lie far beyond his understanding.”

Obediently, perhaps confident in her own righteousness, Léspheria moved in closer, her bow held low at her side. Her other hand raised in a mute signal to Amandur to keep his distance. Naiore’s smile widened as the ranger ceased his slow advance. It was the opportunity she had been counting upon. Catlike, Naiore sprang into motion. With a graceful turn of her slender body, she slipped from Menecin’s grasp, pushing him away from her with one hand, while the other hand reached out for the sword at her feet. His reactions clouded from the effects of the drugged dart, Menecin staggered and fell to the grassy forest floor, his dagger dropping from his hand as he fought in vain to right himself. Naiore closed her fingers around the hilt of her sword. With a chilling fluidity of motion, she raised the weapon and swung it toward Léspheria’s unsuspecting and unprotected throat.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

Amandur had not been idle in his slow advance, his keen warrior instincts cautioning him to be wary of this most cunning of foes. So while the women parleyed words he listened to those instincts and watched intently the bard and his enchantingly dangerous prisoner. So it was that he noted the beads of sweat rolling down the bards face as he doggedly tried to blinked away the effects of the drug stealing at his strength and clarity. It was too that he caught the slight twisting of Naiore as she also came to realise the bards weakening hold. She was biding her time! He knew, waiting like most accomplished warrior’s for the most opportune moment, then she would make her move.

In that very instant he could not help but admire her skill and cunning, in some other life she may have made a very valuable ally, but as it was she was the enemy and he did not forget this as he stole about the elf’s reach. Her sword lay glittering in the starlight close to her feet and in easy reach, she would make for it when the chance arose. Menecin’s horse also stood nearby fully accessible and ready for a quick and easy get away, if needed or intended.

It was then when Naiore with false civility bade her cousin come close that Amandur knew the time had come. He tested the grip of his sword in his right hand drawing his dagger with his left as he continued his advance, only to be halted by the raised hand of Léspheria. He stopped but only to allow Naiore to relax in her believe that her design was assured! Her Arrogance would be her mistake! He thought coolly.

So it was as Naiore graciously slipped from the bards grasp and the others hesitated in the resultant confusion Amandur moved, with a swiftness that belied his size he cutting in front of Léspheria forcing her back as he positioned himself, sword raised ready to receive the Ravenor blow.

Sharp and heavy it came crashing off his blade with an almost deafening ring, surprised to find metal and not the soft flesh of her cousin’s throat, as she had planned Naiore hesitated. Amandur knew he had but only and instant and he acted pushing down forcing her weapon to the ground, but he did not stop there he could not let her regain her composer, so pulling back quickly he smashed his elbow into her pretty face sending her stumbling back, then without so much as a pause he lunged with his left hand and it was done!

He watched detached as Naiore, blood still flowing freely from her nose looked down in stunned disbelief at the black hilt of the dagger protruding from her left breast, ‘how can this be? I the Ravenor of Mordor defeated by…this…this….mere Mortal….’ she looked up at him her eye’s glittering one last time with a malevolent hatred and anger and as she fell slowly into death she raised her hand and with the last of her strength she struck out at the ranger, a glancing blow that caught his sword arm cutting it to the bone.

Dropping his sword and grasping at his wound Amandur fell to his knees leaning over the lifeless corpse of the elf once believed to be one of the last great threats to Middle earth!

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

Lespheria

“One must love both”

Lespheria shivered as a chilling tingle ran down the length of her spine, The thought of embracing the darkness with the light…the discord with the harmony seemed totally abhorrent to her and again her fears washed over her , Vanwe had opened her to them and shown her truth….but what if…no she would not entertain such thoughts, the choice was always hers.

“And not be restrained from examining both by such a thing as fear.”

She looked up then to find Naiore eyeing her intently, those deep emerald pools filled with unbridled loathing and contempt . did she know... did she sense…Then as if in answer to those unspoken questions Naiore addressed her directly.

“Have you seen the enemy? Does she trill her cold fingers down your spine even now as we speak?” Lespheria resisted the urge to shiver as another cold chill took her, hoping that none of the effort showed on her face, but the sudden light and subtly curve of the other woman’s mouth said that it had.

“You know that I am not the enemy.” 'Not true!' She thought bitterly, 'The choice was always hers!'

“She is someone you carry in your heart. You cannot control her by striking me down, nor can you bring back your mother, whose doom you persist in laying at my feet.” Lespheria knew this but hearing it from Naiore irked at her soul , if it was the elf’s intent to anger her it was working. Naiore still could not see, yes it was true it could not be control, not completely but neither could it control, yes it could coheres, tempt or even deceive, but never control the choice inevitably was always yours, a remedy to the greatest of sins, she thought grimly.

“I see you have put aside your bow. That is good. Vengeance is a dangerous game to play at, and you, my dear, haven’t the stomach for it.” If Naiore’s words before had irked her these now infuriated her… Haven’t the stomach…does she think I am afraid…. Does she think I would not….her knuckles whitened as she gripped the bow tightly, but still she did not raise it. No, she would not be goaded so.

There were still things Naiore could tell her, things she would know that no others would…things….. Naiore’s sudden smile distracted her from her thoughts, unsettled her casting suspicion as Naiore bade her come closer. She hesitated a moment. Apart from Amandur Naiore was the last to speak with her mother alive, what was it that Valaindon knew, what was it that Naiore so ardently wanted that she did not let the woman die no matter how close to death she took her, what other secrets had they shared?

“Come closer that we may speak to one another as kin,”

She considered Naiore a moment longer. The woman was dangerous and not to be trusted she knew, but the lure was enough. Besides Menecin held her and Amandur was close by, Naiore was not going anywhere, what harm would there be in just speaking to her, perhaps she would even learn something useful.

“Tell your ranger to stand down. We have much to talk about that would lie far beyond his understanding.”

She had barely noticed Amandur’s slow advance , but curiosity now had her in its throws and moving closer, she raise a hand in muted signal to the ranger, glancing only briefly to see that he had stopped. A mistake, and in that instance she realised it, sensing too late the other elf’s satisfaction. Naiore’s hands were round the hilt of the fallen sword before even she thought to react. Too close for her bow to be any use she let it fall and reached for her sword, but before she could even curl her long fingers around the hilt she felt the wind knocked out of her and she fell to the ground.

Unsure of what had just happened she scrambled backwards, struggling to her feet and ignoring the fresh bruising to her ribs, she reached for her sword pulling it free. Looking up in time only to see Amandur plunge his left hand towards Naiore’s chest.

Her eyes widened as the ranger stepped back a pace and she could see the black hilt of the dagger protruding from Naiore’s breast. she watched detached as the stunned elf stared down at it disbelievingly and sensed the roiling anger and hatred as her eyes rose to take in the one who had defeated her. Even as Naiore mustered the last of her strength to strike out at the Ranger, Lespheria gasped Naiore’s blade cut deep into Amandur’s right shoulder and as they both fell she was certain that through her tears she saw Naiore look at her with that ever present serene smile curving her blood covered lips as she finally fell into death. She shivered and for a second she merely stood there in stunned silence. It was finally over, the bonds that tied them to Naiore were finally severed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vanwe

After she had overcome the initial confusion of her mothers distraction Vanwe had gone to her father. He was still struggling to get his feet when she knelt beside him. “Father are you hurt?” she whispered anxiously, laying a restraining hand on his shoulder.

His shoulders slumped in defeated resignation as he shook his head, “I’m sorry my child I could not hold her….I tried…you should have…” but he did not finish that thought and instead sighed deeply. Then looking up at Vanwe he smiled, not the thin and weary smile she had seen in the past but the warm and loving sort that most fathers bestowed on their precious daughters from time to time, filled with pride and warmth. “Oh My Daughter if we are to die this day know that I am ever glad that our paths have crossed and proud as any father to know that without any other help but your own you have grown into a kind and virtuous woman.”

“Now hush,” Vanwe frowned “That is the drug talking, we are not done for yet and if you hold still a bit I can….” but she did not get a chance to finish as her father suddenly let out a stunned gasp, his eyes widened as he stared at something behind her. She turned slowly half expecting to find Naiore right on top of them but what she saw suddenly turned her blood cold and drained the colour from her cheeks.

It was her mother, but not so close, yet dark against the shadow of the first line of silver peeking out over the eastern horizon. The hilt of a Dagger sticking out from her chest as she fell forwards. Vanwe turned away then burying her face in her fathers chest as hot wet tears ran down her pale cheeks, she had know in her heart that there had been no hope for her mother and had resolved not to cry when the time came, but the grief and pain was too real and as her father wrapped his arms around her consolingly she wept openly and freely, for he at least would understand her loss, if others did not.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

All was quiet, as Menecin stared blankly at the utter stillness of Naiore. The light breeze, which had risen with the approach of dawn, descended from the mountains riffling the dead elf’s ragged hair with gentle playfulness, adding to the emptiness that gaped inside the bard’s chest. He harbored no doubts then, knowing from that very emptiness that she was no more among them.

But the stillness of the living was a fleeting thing, for as they each realized that this threat had been turned aside not only from them, but all they held dear, they quickly came to life again. Léspheria hurried to Amandur, as he knelt beside the elf’s body, and Vanwe, Vanwe turned and clung to her father, her thickly falling tears, a balm to his sorrow, effectively washing away his sense of isolation. He wrapped his arms about her, for truly she needed him.

Grateful he was to his daughter for this, yet not only this. For when he had stood with Naiore, grappling with his own heart as much as with the Ravenor, Vanwe had brought a measure of light and order to his darkened mind. He had realized that his place was neither that of Naiore’s intercessor nor executioner, as long as his heart was governed by guilt. No more then did Menecin seek Naiore’s life, but obediently he had held the Ravennor as fast as his unruly muscles would permit. And when Vanwe’s influence had so steadied him, his daughter did not leave him undefended. Despite Naiore’s claim that Menecin intended to kill them both, Vanwe had returned his dagger without fear, though her arm ran scarlet from it. Soon after that Menecin had felt Naiore’s body stiffen in her pride, as Vanwe sought for her own particular understanding of her mother, finding only dismay.

But now Naiore was dead, and in the security of his sheltering arms, Vanwe released a sadness of heart that pulled at Menecin, so that he could think of little else. After a moment he lifted his grieving daughter’s chin, speaking softly to her. “Don’t let her cast an enduring shadow across your life, my daughter. It is a cleansing wind comes from the west, and the morning speaks to me of a new beginning. Do you not see it?” Vanwe raised head at this, and her father with a trembling thumb, wiped the tears from her cheek. “The past must recede with her.”

“A beginning?” Vanwe asked cautiously, renewed apprehension creasing her brow. “But where will that new beginning take you?”

Her father looked toward the mountains as though he would look through them. “I will no longer follow her. It is clear that my place is with you now, on this side of the Sundering Seas.” Turning to her, his eyes where full of concern. “But you and I, we must find the strength to let our regret be your mother’s traveling companion. We must unravel these ties we are bound with, for they will cripple us if we hold them too tightly, thinking always of what should have been.” Menecin tried once more to pull his feet under him in order to stand. A frown a disappointment visited his face. “But see now, apparently it is too late for me,” he announced with a weak laugh. “Your father has become lame, and a burden for the healers!”

“No, no,” Vanwe said quickly, wiping the dampness from her face as she stood. “You mustn't think that! It is only the drug.” Placing her hand under her father’s arm, she explained as she assisted him, “Here I will help you, but do not move too suddenly. If Avanill's mixture is anything like the one whose effects I know, you must move slowly and without hurry if your legs are to obey you. After a few attempts, and under Vanwe’s direction, Menecin rose unsteadily to his feet. Greatly relieved, though his head swam from the effort, the bard smiled again at his daughter, admitting that Avanill had done his work well, and rueing the fact that he had not lived to see it or undo it.

Vanwe’s eyes drifted to where she knew the merchant’s body lay in the shadows, and Menecin seeing her, placed his hands on her shoulders “Oh my daughter, all my life has been spent looking for glimmers of light in the midst of darkness and composing verse telling of them. Such things I viewed as proof of the sovereignty of the father of us all, for they shone bright against this backdrop of dissonance. But never have I found such a jewel as you. Of those traits lacking in the Lady Dannan, you have been given a double portion, and you are all the proof I require. Your mother named you Vanwe, but Mírëasëa shall be your father name, for your kindness is to be treasured, always.

“Come, help me to your mother side, that I might bid her farewell.”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

As the sun’s disk rose out of the east and the shadows of the night fled, the morning light found Léspheria and Vanwe at Amandur’s side, tending to the grievous wound that had been Naiore’s parting blow to the man. And while in concert the two elves labored to heal the ranger’s sword arm, Menecin did not trouble them, but rather he moved about, working to master his peculiar condition, as he slowly prepared the bodies of Naiore and the merchant as best he could.

Her face washed, Naiore’s ageless form looked pale and vacant despite the rich raiment and stern expression she wore. And her familiar black leather armor, no more to inspire dread, now hung securely fastened to the same horse that had borne their owner across the skirts of the mountains. These stained tokens of Naiore’s defeat the elf would have accompany them on their return.

A stone throw away lay Avanill, his face hidden beneath a dark shroud. For the bard had removed the ranger’s mantle from the corpse, choosing rather the young man’s cloak of darkest blue, to wrap tightly about him. Naiore’s one time hireling had fallen far from the green hills of his home in Pinnath Gelin, but further yet in spirit was he from the ill-fated day in Bree when he joined the Ravenor, unwittingly sealing his doom.

With Amandur’s cloak draped over one arm, Menecin finished gathering the weapons strewn about, bringing the last of them to the greensward where the ranger sat with his two caregivers. Removing the cloak, he placed it beside the man, laying the dagger that proved fatal to Naiore there also. But seeing it, Amandur caught the bard’s arm, for now that the crisis had passed he would know what was in the elf’s heart.

Perceiving Amandur’s concern, a gentle smile rose to the bard’s lips as he assured the ranger that he held no ill will toward him, but only gratitude, and he craved only forgiveness for his own actions. Indeed, the Lady Dannan had brought about her own death, by forcing the ranger to act quickly, so that Léspheria might remain unsullied. Menecin in truth believed that Naiore’s final stroke had been aimed at Léspheria’s heart as much as at the ranger. And with that thought, his eyes met those of Naiore’s kinswoman and he expressed his earnest hope that the Lady Dannan had not been successful in this. Léspheria let her eyes fall toward the ranger in quiet contemplation, before she answered. The Ravennor had no triumph to claim in her, she declared, looking back to the Bard who smiled broadly at her words.

He then moved to Vanwe’s side as she busied herself binding Amandur’s arm. Crouching beside the elf maid, he removed from the crook of his arm the two finely wrought Noldorian swords that had been her mother’s, presenting her with them. Beautifully they shone, gleaming and bright in the clear morning air. And seeing them, the Ravennor’s daughter quickly shook her head, refusing to take possession of them. And without a glance to her father’s face, for fear that she might offend, she returned to her work. But rather the bard seemed pleased that his daughter had declined to keep the swords for her own, and he caressed her shoulder reassuringly before rising to deposit them carefully alongside Naiore’s armor.

Avanill’s body they buried that morning, as was befitting his change of heart, but Naiore’s they burned. Menecin wouldn't move from beside her pyre until it had burned low and he had taken all that remained pouring it into the Gladden where it dispersed, swirling in the murky, slow moving current while he watched in silence.

It was midday before they left that place, hoping to gain a few miles before making camp at the foot of the mountains. But their hearts were less burdened now, all the fragile screens of defense that had been vital when seeking out the Ravennor, were now drawn aside. And the chill heaviness covering the small company had swiftly disappeared, so that they rode easily until nightfall, when they deemed the horses would need to rest. And so it went along their way, all were eager to return to Imladris, and they stopped only briefly when they must.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

It was as Gilly stood beside the ancient wall of the garden, picking those soothingly fragrant blossoms that Toby’s caretakers had suggested she gather for his bedside, that she saw an elf breeze past her. Indeed she would not even have known this much had she not paused to sniff the sweet smelling flower in her hand, so quiet and quick was his passing. But as it was, she saw the scout’s return quite clearly, hurriedly winding his way through the garden to the chamber where earlier in the day, Elladan and Elrohir had summoned Benia and Dúlrain, and where the four still sat immersed in somber discussions. Only the swaying branches continued to betray the fleeting presence, hinting at the hurried atmosphere that enveloped the valley.

Indeed, they all had become aware of that atmosphere even as they had neared the elven refuge the previous evening. For while they were descending through the high mountains, an elf had appeared out of the swirling mist, to join them on their way. Dúlrain had seemed relieved as he spoke at length with the newcomer in an elven tongue, while together they threaded their way down the steep pass. Toby was still very weak, and when they where forced to rest, for the hobbit could go no longer, the elf had run on ahead of them, quickly bringing their tidings to the lords of Imladris.

Gilly learned afterward, that when Dúlrain’s horse, bearing the bodies of the two fallen rangers, had appeared on their borders, Elrond’s sons had straightaway resolved to send aid to the remaining company that still pursued the Ravennor. But they would not leave Imladris unguarded. It was just two days ago that Fintár had returned with his forces after both rangers and elves had run the remnant of orcs out of the valley. Up the River Bruinen they had driven them and deep into the northern mountains close upon the Mitheithel. After only a day’s rest, a core group were now preparing themselves to move south with Elladan riding at their head.

But when the report reached them that the four companions drew near the sheltering valley, the brothers delayed their plans, eager to take into account what they could learn from the travelers. They seemed particularly interested in the remains of the mithril book. And as the healers had told Gilly and Toby this morning, the lights in the great library had burned all through the night, as the brothers searched through tome and scroll for mention of the book.

Beyond that, Gilly knew nothing. Dúlrain and Benia had been called away long before the hobbit had managed to roll out from under her soft coverlet and pad down the corridor, contenting herself to check on Toby. But finding him sitting propped up on an ample supply of pillows, eating his breakfast; she found Master Longholes the very picture of leisure, so much better he looked. Stationing herself at his bedside all the same, she passed the morning filling him in on what he’d need to know if he were to settle in Bywater - including a number of lengthy and humorous asides - and straightening his bedclothes when they needed it. At length Celebnariel suggested that the patient should try to sleep. Even then, Gilly remained, saying that she would not peep until he woke again. But Toby, acknowledging her good intentions remained skeptical, and laughingly he confided to the elves that he could not sleep peacefully with Mrs. Banks perched like a hawk ready to swoop down and attack any rumple in the blankets that he cared to make. And so the healers quickly devised a plan to send her on her present mission to the garden. Mind, it was not an entirely useless errand. She was told that the flowers did have some sort of special property, and she enjoyed the beautiful surroundings even though she found herself reluctant to stray to their further reaches, as Miss Benia had done.

And so, having been encouraged not to hurry, though she knew the valley to be all a-bustle around her, she thought about her return home as she picked the blossoms, and she thought too, with a twinge of trepidation, about Mother Banks. She could only imagine what her mother-in-law would find to say upon her return. But Gilly realized in her heart, that if she could fight an orc she could very well contend with a shrew. And that shrew, though her words often stung, was not the least bit evil. Gilly had seen what real evil did.

She had to admit that full grown as she was; she had still learned a lesson or two in the last few weeks, and not altogether painlessly. True she and Miss Benia seemed no worse off than on the day of their reunion at the Forsaken Inn, and fully thankful she was that both of them were all in one piece, but Mr. Kaldir…. What a hard lesson. It was just days ago she had upbraided him here in this place. And it seemed a lifetime since she had viewed him as evil personified, just reeking of sinister malice as he sat there at the bottom of the staircase, with his ropes and threatening aspect, waiting for poor Miss Benia to show her face. But she knew now, that the man had not been evil. He was the result of evil. And it had hung about him as thick as smoke, so that he seemed seeped in it. Dangerous he had been, to be sure, but not evil. Gilly shook her head sadly as she dropped the flower in the basket she held in the crook of her arm. She would miss him tremendously.

All through the morning the hobbit had allowed herself to revel in a measure of gladness until now, thinking only of Benia and Dúlrain’s happiness and knowing that even if Naiore hadn’t been caught, she at least was rapidly heading far away. But remembering her friend, it dawned on her that that was just when Kaldir had been so mistreated. Naiore and Kaldir both had been so very far away, and life in these parts had for a short time gone on as if nothing was wrong. And yet things were terribly wrong, and eventually everything had ended up at her own back gate, so to speak. No wonder Dúlrain had been pleased when he heard that the elves were intending to send help. He understood better than anyone, they could not afford to leave things as they were once again.

But what had changed their minds? She looked back toward the gracefully arching buildings that nestled in the valley. Back when she had first found out that Léspheria, Vanwe and Menecin rode with Amandur; Gilly had considered it curious that the wise leaders of Imladris had chosen to send as their representatives, only two maids and an odd gentleman, who she gathered was touched in the head. But when she had pressed Dúlrain about this, trying to understand why they had not sent even one of their many men-at-arms, he had simply said that the elves had their own reasons that ran deeply into their past. Those that had chosen to pursue Naiore had done so of their own volition. And since the ranger had accepted it easily, so then had the hobbit. But now she wondered, had the elves also learned something new, just as she had?

And as she puzzled over what this could be, Gilly saw a familiar figure hurry down the same flight of steps the scout had ascended not ten minutes before. It was Miss Benia, and she was rushing toward the garden. Gilly put down her basket and waved her arm over her head so that Miss Benia could locate her among the abundant greenery, all the while fearing some bad news had arrived. And the closer the southern woman came; the more the hobbit convinced herself that this was the case, for her friend seemed quite anxious to reach her, as she whisked gracefully past stately stones and around the ancient bushes.

“The others are returning, Gilly!” Benia called out as soon as she was within earshot. “A watchmen has spied them descending the mountain.”

“What others?” Gilly asked, though she had already guessed who it was that Benia referred to. “Amandur and those others?” she questioned. And seeing her friend’s nod, she turned an incredulous face toward the craggy peaks behind them. “Returning here? But weren’t they to go straight to Minas Tirith?” she continued, her burgeoning multitude of questions spilling out unchecked. “I reckon that the watchman could be wrong, don’t you? And where is Mr. Dúlrain?” She added suddenly ill at ease in the garden, as she wondered if the approaching travelers were chasing someone, or perhaps where being chased themselves. Gently taking hold of Benia’s arm, the hobbit tried to guide her, slowly edging her back toward the security of the buildings.

“No Gilly, the watchman has made no mistake. It is Amandur and Léspheria and two of the three that had set out with them,” Benia replied. Moving easily forward, she picked up the basket that lay on the moss, and attempted to return it to the hobbit who was looking longingly far across the garden to the stairway and the door. “Don’t worry he will not be long,” Benia assured her. “The lords Elladan and Elrohir, are only now speaking to him of the books whose covers he carried here. And of them they said they know precious little. But they have promised to join us shortly, so that they might also greet their guests when they arrive.” And just as she spoke, a group of elves emerged from the rambling house, to stride past them with their fine long bows slung over their shoulders, and Gilly relaxed just a bit.

“Even so, Miss Benia, I’d don’t like the idea much of your being out this far in the garden. We’ve been in this place before, and I hope that I’ve learned a thing or two since then. One of them is that gardens aren’t no place for Miss Benia Nightshade to tarry about in! No not at all, not as long as that Naiore person is out and about! It ain’t safe, no matter how keen eyed those elves are.”

Benia smiled at the staunch little matron before her. “If it will make you feel better, I would be only too happy wait for Dúlrain, before venturing any further.”

“Ah, that does my heart good to hear, in so many respects!” Gilly replied. “But if we were to wait a just bit further back, that would so very much better.” Then taking up Benia’s arm once again, she sought to guide her out of the garden altogether.

[Ealasaide]

Benia

As Benia let Gilly lead her back inside to a quiet corner where they could await the arrival of Amandur's party in safety, she knew that her friend remained haunted by the events that had been set into motion mere days earlier in that very garden. Benia was haunted by them too, knowing full well that her own naive carelessness in that garden had led to the deaths of two, possibly more now, good men. In fact, she was happy to escape the beauty of the garden, although not for the same reasons as her friend. While Gilly was concerned for their safety, for Benia, the place simply harbored too many ghosts, chief among them a tall man with pale blue eyes and a shattered face.

shattered soul

Upon returning to Imladris with Gilly, Toby Longholes, and Dúlrain, Benia had discovered that the Elves had been quick about laying the two Rangers to rest in the halls below the foundations of the Last Homely House, entombing them alongside their own battle-slain kin. As those tragically touched by an evil of Elven making, the Elven folk had claimed both Kaldir and Rauthain as their own and provided for them in death. On the eve of the first day, Benia had slipped away to visit Kaldir’s grave.

It was in a cool and quiet place, at the end of a short hallway, unmarked other than by a simple, yet stately white marble slab that bore no inscription other than his name, Westernesse, and the dates that bound his life at either end like parentheses. What else was left to be said? How could all the pain, the strength, and the horror that had been Kaldir in life ever be distilled into a line or two of doggerel etched upon a tombstone? She knew that to the Elven Bards who would compose the song cycles that told the Saga of Naiore, Kaldir would be little more than an aside, his part in her story, ultimately, a small one. The affairs of Elves were of a different fabric and, to them, a man’s life bore little significance, like the mere shadow of a cloud, passing windborne over the face of the sun. To Benia, however, it was different.

She stood there for a long time, tracing her fingers over the freshly carved letters of his name. She would not forget. Finally, she reached into her pocket and closed her fist around the spangled chain that she had worn for so long across her cheek, that Naiore had ripped from its place and left for a clue that would lead Kaldir to his death. Dúlrain had returned it to her as they had traveled across country, and it still bore traces of Kaldir’s blood. Taking it from her pocket, she smoothed it out and laid it across the narrow ledge that ran below the tomb’s inscription, hoping to leave it for him as a token that she would never forget him. She would write a song for him, too, if the Elven bards would not, and she would sing it at dusk on evenings when the air was clear and the breeze blew in the direction of Imladris. Perhaps then he would hear it and know that she had not forgotten.

Now, sitting with Gilly, she waited anxiously for the return of the other travelers, hoping that they brought with them tidings of Naiore’s demise. The notion that Elven Witch still lived and that her pursuers returned home in defeat sat ill with her. Unconsciously, she reached over and squeezed Gilly’s hand. If Naiore still lived, then Dúlrain would undoubtedly rejoin his captain for the continuance of the hunt. He and Benia would marry as planned, yes, but any hopes for a cottage in the Ranger kingdom of Arthedain would be delayed, as would any hope of starting a family. Although in the field following the death of Barrold Ferny, she had counseled Dúlrain rather passionately against the pursuit of revenge, she had since come around to the decision that should Dúlrain follow his duty and go off again in the pursuit of the Witch, she would go, too. Left to her own devices and with the help of her tribal kinsmen, scattered and hunted though they were, there was surely something she could do to help. What she sought, however, would not be revenge but expiation for her own tragic blunders. It would be a hard sell to Dúlrain, who harbored the expectation that she would sit in Imladris or elsewhere and await his return, but she had not entirely made up her mind whether even to tell him of her plans. After all, he could scarcely forbid what he did not know about.

As though reading her mind, or perhaps merely responding to the pressure of Benia’s hand, Gilly gave her a studied look. “What will you do?” asked the hobbit lady quietly.

“If she has escaped?”

Gilly nodded.

Benia shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I suppose it depends on what happens next. I would like to travel with you as far as the edge of The Shire to see that you are delivered home safely to your husband and boys, for I imagine you will be heading home, regardless. I should very much like to apologize to your loved ones for dragging you away on this misadventure and to tell them what a heroine you are.” Benia gave her friend a gentle smile. “For I know you well enough to know that, left to your own telling, you would play down your role to that of a mere piece of baggage with passable cooking skills.”

“Oh, no!” protested Gilly, laughing. “I shall be the very image of old Bullroarer Took! Riding about on great, snorting horses and slaying orcs left and right with naught but a frying pan and a paring knife!”

Benia laughed as well. “Tease if you must, Gilly, but you are a heroine and an exceptionally brave hobbit.”

“No,” rejoined Gilly. “A very average hobbit, I’m afraid, who was terrified nearly every step of the way. I wrack my brains and can scarcely come up with a single moment when I didn’t believe that the next moment might be my last.”

“Nonetheless,” Benia reminded her. “I shall never forget the way you followed Kaldir into that grove of trees, not knowing who or what awaited in their shadows, just as the orcs were closing in and we were making that last desperate dash for the stair. It was surely one of the most selfless acts of bravery as I have ever seen.”

“Well,” grumbled Gilly. “I couldn’t very well let him go in there all alone.”

“Of course not.” Benia was just opening her mouth to remind Gilly of yet another stalwart act of courage when she was stopped by the arrival of Dúlrain, who had jogged up from the direction of Elrohir and Elladan’s counsel chambers.

“So they have returned!” he said slightly out of breath, but pausing long enough to give his beloved an affectionate kiss on the cheek. When the women had both acknowledged it was true, he nodded and moved decisively in the direction of the door. “We should go forth to meet them.”

“We should indeed,” answered Benia, rising. She was an eager as anyone to know the fate of the Ravener, since so many of her future plans depended on the success -- or the lack thereof -- of the returning party’s grim mission. She looked questioningly toward Gilly, who shook her head.

“No,” the hobbit said softly and picked up the basket of flowers she had gathered in the garden. “I really should be getting these blossoms back to the healers before they are completely wilted and useless. I’m sure the healers are already beginning to wonder what has become of me as it is. Besides, Toby may be awake again by now and need something. My guess is that I’ll find out more sooner than later, anyway, what has become of that awful Elf.”

Once Benia had re-assured her friend that she would seek her out and tell her all tidings as soon as they were known, the two took leave of one another, Gilly scurrying off in the direction of the Halls of Healing, while Benia followed Dúlrain outside. By the time they arrived at the top of the stair, the travelers had already gained the lower end and were slowly ascending. Benia stayed back with a party of Elves who had assembled at the top as a welcoming party while Dúlrain bounded down the stairs to greet his weary captain. Reading the facial expressions of the returning party, Benia found it difficult to determine at first whether the mission had been a success or a failure, but, as they grew closer she saw that, while weary and emotionally drained, they carried about them an aura of calmness and peace that told her all that she needed to know. The deed was done. A flood of relief swept through Benia’s slender frame. It was over.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Several days after the travelers’ return, the Lord's of Imladris held what when measured by the yardstick of hobbit sensibilities, was a very grand feast indeed. The stately hall, which Gilly had made a point to visit several times through out the day, had been transformed into an altogether warmer, livelier place once the night drew itself close about the valley. Not only were the members of Elrohir and Elladan’s household to be found there, but most of its guards and guests as well. In fact everyone who happened to be in close proximity to the refuge seemed to be milling about. Gilly naturally assumed that she and Miss Benia had been called to a victory celebration of sorts, one that had been put off until all were safe or hale enough to enjoy themselves properly; or perhaps it was a farewell party, for several of the many guests who had descended from the Misty Mountains over the last week or so, were making there preparations to depart, both hobbits included. But whatever the reason for the gathering, Gilly sat in a corner, taking in all the fineness of it. And savoring it with all her senses, she concluded with a great degree of satisfaction that the tales old Mr. Baggins had told long ago weren't half as fanciful as she had imagined them to be.

Had this been the Shire, given the quality of the available fare she had sampled at supper, she would have been more apt to find her way to the kitchen upon cleaning her plate, in hopes of gleaning what she could from such excellent cooks. And perhaps from that vantage point, she would have listened to the hum of conversation in the other room. But as it was, Gilly was held mesmerized, captivated by the music and the lilting tongues whose babble she did not understand in the least, but which she quite liked the sound of. Admiring the brilliant company, and listening to the many songs played in the course of the evening, her eyes frequently wandered to the dais that lay at the other end of the room, to the table Elrond's sons had commanded to be set there.

Such folk there were all about her! Beautiful in a strange sort of way, tall and strong they all seemed, and old, though they weren't old at all to look at them. But the most magnificent were seated at the head table, and there was Miss Benia presently ensconced among them, deep in conversation. Wouldn’t Jack Nightshade be proud of his daughter! The better part of an hour had past since Dúlrain had successfully persuaded her to come away from the quiet corner Gilly still occupied, saying that Elrohir wished her to be introduced to a sort of historian, a minstrel. And though the ranger tried most gallantly to have the hobbit accompany her, he could not tempt Gilly away from her chosen chair. The hall was not the place for her she protested, let alone a seat anywhere near the dais. And what could she possibly have to say of worth? Gilly simply could not imagine engaging in small talk with an elf of stature, be they whole elf or part. And she dismissed the idea without a second thought, saying that she would only put them all to sleep with her blather, nodding toward Toby to emphasize her point. Mr. Longholes, who had settled in comfortably early on, taking a chair beside his fellow hobbit and had proceeding to roundly enjoy every indulgence his elven caretakers had afforded him, snorted loudly in his sleep as if to validate Gilly's assessment. It had been some time since he had tucked his pipe back into his pocket. Lulled into the depths of quiet contentment his head had soon nodded in slumber. Now he was far a field in his dreams, waking for neither song nor story. Not even to dispute Mrs. Banks' theory.

Left to her own devices, Gilly passed her time in quiet observation, feeling much like a contented spider in her shadowy corner, until her attention was caught by Miss Benia, whose amber glance had begun flitting here and there throughout the hall, avoiding the stare of the tall and questionable looking fellow who sat beside her. And though this same elf seemed to be held in high regard, seated as he was at the head table, Gilly began to have serious doubts about him. Her eyes narrowed, wasn't he the mad fellow who had until recently been locked behind a stoutly guarded door? What could he possibly be saying that might trouble Miss Benia so? After questioning one of the attendants, her doubts where multiplied substantially by what she learned. "He was in the old days a pupil of Maglor," the elf whispered with reverence, before adding almost as an afterthought, "and sadly, a long time companion of Naiore's". The hobbit's eyes widened instantly at this, and she was full of regret for not following Dúlrain’s leading. Horrified she stood up, a stricken expression replacing that of concern. But the attendant assessing the effect of his disclosure was quick to reassure her. “Both associations were long ago, rest assured. Menecin would brook no part in Naiore's more recent interests. You and your friends are quite safe here.”

“I have no doubt that it was extremely far in the past, if an elf says so,” Gilly declared a bit too briskly. “But from what very little I know of him, keeping the past alive is his business.” Then after craning her head to the left in order to find a clear view through the forest of people, she turned back to the elf beside her and whispered conspiratorially, “He wouldn’t be a vengeful sort, would he?” She hadn't thought of that before, but it was a worry. And family…oh dear! Just what sort of stock did Naiore come from exactly? The apple falls close to the tree they say, and though Naiore had seemed a highly peculiar sort, one could never be too careful. She didn't relish the idea of any more harm coming to her friends, or her own family for that matter. "Did the Lady Dannan have any relatives?" she asked, bracing herself for the worst.

The attendant scanned the room. "There," he said gesturing toward where Léspheria and Vanwe spoke with Lords Elrohir and Elladan. "Save two, that is all that is left now of the house of Finarfin, and I think you must know of them already. The Lady Léspheria Denfëa does have a twin brother, Lóthaniel, who you would not have met. The other is the sister of My Lords Elrohir and Elladan, Arwen Undómiel who now lives in Minas Tirith. But if there are any others of close kinship left on these shores, I have no knowledge of it."

"Is that so?" the hobbit mused aloud. Now Gilly had thought Léspheria a well balanced and disciplined person, and so the attribute was easily extended to her brother, but to learn that the Queen was a relative as well! No wonder the orders had been for nothing less than carting Naiore all the way to Minas Tirith! Visibly uneasy, Gilly was at a loss what to think. Undoubtedly, the attendant had left an opening for unknown relatives which did nothing for the hobbit’s comfort. On the contrary, her world seemed to have shifted its moorings slightly over the course of the last few minutes.

Guessing aright that Gilly’s misgivings were not put to rest, the elf tried again, and this time Gilly turned her full attention to him hoping for some solid information to grab on to. "We all may well learn more of such things before the evening is out," he explained. "It is rumored that Menecin works on a new song. And it is to this end, I believe, that he has sought out Miss Nightshade and the others as well. For you may have noticed, many have been called to him."

And though she nodded her understanding, for she had noticed the procession, she still highly doubted that a new song, let alone one from so biased a source, would help matters much, so she settled herself down again, looking back toward Toby's sleeping form. Now HE would be sure to have a truer word or two to say about Naiore, but he hadn't the opportunity to speak with the minstrel all evening. Ah well! He had had a much more agreeable time this evening then if he were to have hashed over all the rubbish of his former ways. It was a comfort to know what Menecin was up to, though. And an even greater comfort came shortly after she had taken her seat again, when Dúlrain broke away from his conversation with Amandur and both he and Miss Benia returned to the table. Wasting no time hinting at her discoveries, Gilly was amazed to find that Dúlrain was well aware of those connections she had found so disconcerting.

So the evening was passed pleasantly, until at last the time came when Elrohir stood up announcing that Menecin would sing a new song for them. But Gilly had grown weary by that time, and listened only half realizing what it was, other than exceedingly long for so late at night. Still when she heard far into the tale the name "Kaldir" pronounced amidst all the foreign words, she perked up considerably. And seeing that Benia had heard it too, Dúlrain offered to translate. Onerous a task for him it seemed at times, but it was one he did dutifully. And he continued to softy whisper the meanings, there in the shadows at the back of the hall, until at last the minstrel’s voice fell silent. The hobbit was left enthralled, and grateful, as she came to the realization that this wasn’t a victory celebration at all, but marked something bigger and more lasting. She had learned many things not only about elves over those few hours, but things about Vanwe and Menecin, Léspheria and Amandur as well as Kaldir that she had not realized up to that point. And all were left moved in their hearts, by the tale of Naiore's descent into treachery and ruin. Not among the least, Elrohir and Elladan seemed well pleased with Menecin's work. But it was late when the spell of words ended, and so they roused Mr. Longholes as the hall slowly emptied, leaving in the hush that had fallen as the people dispersed quietly into the night that was quickly fading.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Less than a handful of days after the crowd dispersed, leaving the great hall to resume its quiet repose, a small company was found leaving it surrounds. Wending their way back along the familiar path, one by one the company emerged from the High Pass, as if emerging from a dream. And a blackbird perched high in one of the many trees that grew there, interrupted its survey of the former battlefield to observe them with interest. The casual onlooker might well have assumed that they had sprung from the earth, so well concealed was the path leading from the refuge of the elves to that ancient road of dwarves and men, the road that led west, and to the Shire.

The first of the travelers to enter into view was small and slight in form. Pausing, she briefly checked on the progress of her companions before leading her pony past the tree where the bird still sat, carefully examining the hobbit with bead-like eyes. But Gilly was unaware of the attentive inspection above her, for she was wading through the rather deep waters of her own emotions. True, she was exceedingly happy to be heading home at last, but she found her joy unexpectedly tempered by gloominess. After their departure was delayed to allow Toby full recovery from his indulgences, she had bid farewell to the elves with a reluctance she found quite astonishing. And now that it was becoming clear that she must soon also say goodbye to the unvarnished, rootless life she had adopted, one where duty and friendship seemed described by a less tentative hand, she found herself unwilling to put it behind her. And her thoughts along these lines, while she gingerly picked her way down the hillside, had proved as troublesome to her as the fly that now buzzed around her ears in the golden light of the early morning.

Waving her hand about her head, to brush the nuisance aside, Gilly guided her pack pony further off the rocky pathway that led from Rivendell. Beneath her feet, the churned turf held a chill that promised an early fall, as it sloped gently away before her, only to drop off sharply at the water’s edge. She stopped, overtaken by an odd sensation. Shutting her eyes, she breathed deeply. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was in Bywater in the springtime and not on a battlefield. The scent of the air immediately threw her mind back to her youth, and her father's field, well tilled and ready for planting. The hobbit arched her feet, opening her eyes again. No this was the field where Kaldir had nearly been overcome by orcs, and they were closer now to autumn then to spring. Fighting the impulse to search the ground for his familiar footprint, she raised her head and squinted at the glinting river in the distance, it was the same river that would have swept her away to drown, but for her having been plucked out of it's current by the ranger. ‘Course that would have been a bit further upstream, she reminded herself.

A gentle voice spoke next to her, stilling her turbulent thoughts. “So much has changed since we last saw this place,” Benia sighed as she looked out over the vale. Gilly nodded. The picturesque landscape that spread out before the two of them might have been an altogether different place now that it was peaceful. It seemed so empty. Fierce and desperate as the struggle against Naiore’s orcs had been, little sign was now left of it, and only the scuffed earth under foot lent credence to Gilly’s vivid memories. She felt it as a pang in her heart, for she knew that in the same way, once they reached the Shire Carl might find his wife strangely different. At first he would think her a little tanner and perhaps thinner. But that didn't worry her so much for soon enough she, like this place, would appear just the same as she had before; like the day Benia's letter first arrived at her doorstep. No, the real history, the real work wrought through all this, would stem from the burgeoning storehouse of memories inside her head. The ones that even now, were impinging on the simplest of thoughts. That was a far messier affair, for it would take more than a good broom or stiff brush to set it in order. And at the moment, they seemed just as likely as that river to whisk her away!

“To be sure it has,” the hobbit spoke at last. “And it looks like they have done a thorough job tidying up here. But I am afraid that even though the elves have swept all trace of those orcs from their doorstep, there is still that river!”

“Are you afraid then, that there might be a band of orcs left on the other side of it?” Benia asked.

“Oh my! No, I hadn’t thought of that,” Gilly said frowning at the grey ribbon of water in the distance. “But try as I might I cannot forget how the last time we attempted it, that river came closer to being the end of me than any orc.” She paused briefly; drawing up her courage like an efficient hen gathers her adventurous offspring. Then seeking to nudge the conversation to a more comfortable subject, she continued. “And what of Mr. Longholes?” she ventured, twisting around to search behind them for a glimpse of the hobbit. “Do you think he is yet up to such a crossing?”

Now both Miss Nightshade and the hobbit knew full well that the elves had taken great care to heal Toby of his injury, and that he had quickly mended, but being made aware of Gilly's doubts regarding the river, the southern woman sought to dispel them. “Oh Gilly, that was a frightful day" she said, her face expressive. "But remember that we had no other option but to traverse the water were we would. Now that we have our choice of crossings, apparently we will find the river a great deal easier to ford. Dúlrain has said that we will easily ride across,” she said reassuringly. “Toby need not even get his feet wet.”

“Surely that is more welcome than Lalia Took’s dinner!” Gilly burst out, glad that this rather weighty worry had been banished. She turned just in time to see Toby and his pony appearing from behind the brush, the ranger close behind them. “What do you think of that, Mr. Longholes?” she shouted. “It seems there’s no swimming required of us today!”

“I think I’ll wait to tell you what I think, at least until we are on the other side,” he replied without hesitation. But hazarding a glance at Mrs. Banks, he saw that she appeared crestfallen at his lack of enthusiasm, and so he straightened up, pulling down the edges of his waistcoat, adding, “I’m not disappointed, that much I’ll say. But you’d be better off asking your pony there how he feels about taking to the stream again,” he said looking toward the little pack pony fairly blossoming with cuttings and herbs, colorful tokens that Gilly sought to bring home. Following his gaze, the petite matron turned to the animal that she had learned to appreciate all the more for her walking trip over the mountains. Looking at the beast with fondness, she took hold of its bridle searching the doleful eyes. How dearly she would miss him if she had to follow the Great East Road on foot. “I had quite forgotten that this fellow might have his own misgivings!” she admitted.

By that time, Dúlrain was near enough to follow the exchange. “Ah, but do not let his looks deceive you Master Longholes. Like his mistress this pony is capable of the most courageous feats, though you would not know it from his current appearance,” he said. “And even from here I have no doubt that as he waits; he listens, gauging the rumor of the water. That sound is good news for both horses and their riders. The river is running slow and shallow in its banks; we’ll have no need of ropes.”

Thoughtfully running her hand over the side of the animal waiting patiently beside her, Gilly searched for a new topic that might occupy her thoughts, regretting that they had exhausted so many promising topics on their way to Rivendell.
But nevertheless one must still exist that was sufficiently interesting to everyone, at least enough so to fuel the kind of longish sort of conversation needed to keep her mind off the river. But before she could come up with something suitable, the creak of leather and jangling stirrups told her that her companions were climbing astride their mounts, and she felt pressed to follow suit.

Deciding that her pony would brave the river well after all, even if she wouldn't, the hobbit hopped on one foot in an effort to catch the stirrup with the other. Once she was firmly perched in the midst of her bundles, the pony hurriedly toddled after the others, Gilly calling out after them, “What ever came of those book covers you brought back to Rivendell, Mr. Dúlrain? With all the excitement of the past few days, I never did find out if they were important after all.”

“Ah yes, the books,” Benia echoed. And seeing that the hobbit was looking for distraction, she joined in encouraging Dúlrain to tell them what he had found out about them. Truly it had seemed unaccountably strange that such important works had been burned. Surely they were of more value whole.

Dúlrain obliged them, guiding his horse closer to the two friends while Toby lagged behind. “Well...as you no doubt recall, at the time we arrived there, no one in Rivendell had knowledge of them, though they bore the device of Imladris. It was a mystery, even to the current masters of that place. But fortunately after she arrived, the Lady Léspheria who is a respected source as well as an emissary for her kindred spoke of seeing them at the ranger Tallas' abode. And Menecin was able to shed some light on the matter when asked about them, though he said he had not seen these particular books himself.”

“Menecin you say? Now there's a first class busybody if ever I saw one, elf or no!” Toby piped up from behind them. “He would know now, wouldn’t he!”

“A busybody, is he?” Dúlrain declared, with raised eyebrows. “But I suppose even busybodies can prove helpful. This one at least has been.”

“And well respected he is,” Benia laughed, “But before you speak disparagingly of him Mr. Longholes, it might behoove you to know that you have been thoroughly immortalized in a song of his!”

Toby's head shot up at the remark. “That confounded elf!” he exclaimed hotly. “I told him to leave me out of it when he came around to visit my sick bed with his bundle of questions! I suppose I was painted as Naiore's miserable henchman in his blasted poetry. And shall be thought of as such, for all time!”

“Quite the contrary,” Dúlrain assured him. “Toward the end you were shown in a very favorable light.”

“Then mind you don't say another word, or I will think him all the less credible for it!” Toby joked, his indignation softened considerably. “Charitable was he, in his opinion of me? Imagine that will you.... But I'm steering us off course here, aren't I? What did that elf have to say about the books then, Dúlrain?”

“It seems that his kindred, the branch of elven-folk who call themselves the Noldor, have through the ages kept written notes - accounts of many things, as well as themselves and their people,” the ranger explained. “These were two of such books.”

“Is that the honest truth of it?” Gilly murmured. “After hearing all those songs the other night, I thought for sure that everything must be put into verse.”

“Yes, I would have thought the same and a great deal has been to be sure, quite beautifully so.”

“But then how do you suppose the old man came by them?” Toby wondered aloud.

Dúlrain winked quickly at Gilly before he turned to answer Toby’s question, his saddle creaking once again as his horse plodded on. “Before I tell you that Mr. Longholes, I must assure you that any market for such books would be quite small, so you've missed your best opportunity for reclaiming your former ways profitably. Menecin has said that these were the first mithril covers he had seen on such books.”

With an exaggerated indignation befitting the poorest of actors, Toby playfully feigned offense at the presumption, and succeeded in making his companions laugh at his antics. But he concluded his speech in a more serious tone. “Rest yourself easy, I have no plans on going back to that wretched excuse for life I had in Bree. Even so, you should not tell me if you think it better. I understand.”

“I am glad to once again be reassured of your resolve,” the ranger said, growing serious as well. “For it might also do much harm, if you were to speak freely of mithril books in one of the Shire's many alehouses.”

“Don't you ever fear it!" Toby answered him. "I had more than my share of keeping quiet, and have proved better at it than most. Anyway, they'd just think I'm off my nut! And if they don't, I could rattle on about that bucketful of elven jewels I've found scattered about the banks of the Brandywine.”

Dúlrain smiled warmly. And as Gilly took the warning to heart, thinking herself far more likely than Toby to mention the books, the ranger said, “Well then, with that assurance!”

Reaching over to catch Dúlrain's sleeve, Gilly leaned toward him, whispering urgently, "Perhaps you shouldn't." And seeing the ranger concerned how Toby might react to this, she hurriedly explained that she seemed to have this habit of rambling on about the worst things. “I don’t see that I’m up to my neck in it, until I find myself wishing I might disappear altogether!”

"Mrs. Banks, though your neighbors will no doubt make many claims that you been cavorting with all manner of outlandish people of late, myself included among them, I have it on good authority that you have a proven and spotless reputation for guarding the secrets of others.” He said glancing toward Benia. “So I charge you also without hesitation, to keep this to yourself, knowing that you will guard it closer than any dragon would, if you but firmly set your mind to it."

Her courage suddenly renewed by this confidence, Gilly bowed slightly, "And gladly too!" she promised him most earnestly.

By this time the small group had neared the river's edge, but none moved to enter it. Instead they gathered about the ranger, listening closely to his words.

“Then to continue... At some point and to what purpose I'm not certain, the authors of these books deemed it unwise to keep all of the volumes together in Imladris, for the Noldor's past has been a troubled one, and not all of their history is deemed worthy of song. And so the books were entrusted to others, several falling into the hands of the Dúnedain for their safe keeping. But if there was a reason why Tallas was chosen to be the guardian of these particular ones, I have not yet discovered it. ”

"The Noldor have not been the only people with a troubled past. Perhaps the books were given for others to study,” Benia suggested. “Could these books have held some observations or wisdom from ages past?”

“Perhaps,” the ranger agreed. “In all honesty, news of this transfer came as a surprised to me, as I have come to think that only we Dúnedain were apt to keep our most treasured relics safely in the hands of friends! But it would indeed be of value to study, for the history of the elves and that of men are intertwined, and our stumbling blocks similar, though we may see them from differing vantage points.”

“But haven't their songs traveled west with them? I know that I haven’t a life or memory long enough to pass that sort of history on forever, however long I may carry it in my heart. Perhaps they simply did not want to be forgotten,” Gilly offered. “And as for entrusting others with things of worth, it shouldn't surprise you that hobbits do that as well as men and elves. As you have seen, I am only too happy to have my good friend here in your safe keeping, Master Dúnadan!” the hobbit reminded him. Then looking to Benia she added, “And our ranger friend here in your dear hands, as well!”

“So have I become a relic then Gilly?” Benia said. “A relic of what, do tell?”

“No, no! Of course not!” the hobbit laughed. “Not a relic, but certainly a treasure! And because of you I have found many new friends, like Mr. Longholes for example!” Toby agreed, conceding that she had indeed made at least one friend to his knowledge, and perhaps many others.

As the conversation slowed, Benia brought up the remark Gilly had made. “Gilly, before when you mentioned Lalia Took's dinner, I admit you left me rather curious who she is, and why you would use her name. Is she a friend of yours?”

Toby's grin was full of mischief as he waited to see how Mrs. Banks would respond. But Gilly avoided meeting her fellow hobbit's gaze, and she fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Who she was, for she died a few years back,” Gilly answered carefully, her tone formal. “Lalia the Great was a much revered matriarch of the Took family, almost as famous as Old Took himself. She was a great lady, great in wisdom, great in age and ...”

“And great in girth!” Toby blurted out, unable to contain himself. “Did you really say that? I wouldn't have thought it of you, Mrs. Banks!”

“Oh hush now,” Gilly said with a barely repressed smile. “That won't do at all, even if it is true!”

And so went their banter as Benia and Dúlrain eased their horses into the river to test it. The ranger proved as good as his word, for despite its position at the foot of the Misty Mountains, the river was broad and easy to cross at this point, and so the promise held true. They wouldn't experience any of the trials that had faced them before.

Finding her fears all but evaporated, Gilly paused on the shore, her pony alongside Toby's. Turning back to look at the mountains, she half thought she might see her worries sitting there dark and foreboding, like a Mewlip watching her from afar, but instead she saw a quite a different thing, a fair and lonely figure standing on the hillside. A slender wisp of a person was watching them from the heights, her long hair trailing in the breeze. Spontaneously, Gilly waved, alarming not only the bird who had followed them and took to the air scolding the hobbit as it went, but Mr. Longholes as well. Toby grabbed hold of Gilly's arm gently, and firmly guided it back to her side. “It may look like Vanwe has come to see us off,” he whispered gravely, “But then she's the spitting image of her mother, now isn't she?”

“You know that she isn't her mother, by a long shot." Gilly said lightly, patting Toby's shoulder. "Anyway, you need not worry yourself about her mother anymore.”

“Oh but Naiore was so cold hearted a person, if the fire went out in her, it's hard to believe it would have made a bit of difference!” Toby said with a shutter. “Elves, they're not like you and me, you know. And Avanill was sure that if we killed her, she would torment us to the end of our days. Out of sheer malice, he said!” Raising her glance Gilly looked to see if the elf waved back at them, but it was too far for her aging eyes, and she missed seeing the slender arm that gracefully bid them farewell. She only saw the elf turn to go, disappearing from view.

It wasn't that she hadn't heard what Toby said, but she dismissed it easily, thinking it just the sort of tactic the old women in Bywater would use to keep children from doing something they thought inadvisable. Still it didn't fit what she had learned of Avanill’s character. Mulling it over she thought that perhaps in a way there was a kernel of truth to it, no matter how superstitious it seemed. “Well, I suppose Avanill was right in his way. It looks as though she's haunting you already!” she said sympathetically. “But still I think you should ask Dúlrain for his opinion. It's an honest shame that you missed that song! I think you'd be far less worried if you heard it. Even if Naiore did manage to stay on after her death, I think she had larger goals set for herself then to trouble over a single hobbit.”

“Let's hope so,” Toby said. “But she impressed me as being a thorough sort, and vengeful. She didn't leave Kaldir or Léspheria or Menecin alone now, did she? And it's not like she has bigger turncoats like Avanill to take care of, before looking to me now, is it? So if you don't mind, Mrs. Banks, I rather not bring any unnecessary attention to myself. I've had far too much excitement in the past few months, and it will last me quite long enough!”

“So have I, so have I," Gilly agreed. "It's time to brave a quieter life now isn't it? Though I imagine it will be more difficult for you than me, at least at first.”

A faint grin spread across Toby's face. "Well I admit, it IS good to know that I won't be the only person in the Shire to have heard of Naiore. I'm bound to be viewed as some mad Breelander as it is, but to be one that is worried about a dead elf sneaking up on him!" He shook his head in frustration, “I'll be lucky to get a job mucking out stables!"

"A very vengeful elf," Gilly corrected him, "who just happens to be dead. But never mind, don't worry about the job, we will take care of that. And if ever you have reason to suspect that Naiore is still around somehow, and that you are in danger, day or night you come right to me! I won't think you at all mad."

"But the danger to your family..." Toby protested.

"We'll just have to cross that bridge if ever we get to it!" Gilly said firmly. "But right now it feels like I can't see my dear boys and Mr. Banks soon enough! And if we spend any more time here, gracious, but I think we'll end up growing roots on this very bank, like a pair of scrub willows!"

"Then by all means, on we go!" Toby said.

Pulling their ponies noses around toward the river once again, the hobbits guided them cautiously down the steep bank and into the water. Benia and Dúlrain were already a third of the way across; their mounts poised side by side waiting, as the water bent in smooth arcs about the horses' legs. Benia's tattooed hand rested lightly on the ranger's forearm, as if to stay him from needlessly helping or hurrying Gilly and Toby. "They will do well without our help," she whispered, raising her eyes momentarily to smile warmly at him.

"Indeed, they will," the ranger said returning her smile. But both Dúlrain and Benia continued to remain motionless, their eyes riveted on the progress of the ponies. It was not until the two hobbits reached them, that they continued on, their horses finally stepping out of the river and on to the stony shingle of the far bank.

From there the small group of travelers headed West, up the grassy slopes. No orcs met them there on that far side of the river, no merchants or other travelers of any sort. But the Great East Road lay before them, ancient and wordless, promising to lead them across the Wilds toward the horizon. The fruit of skilled hands long since withered, those of Men and dwarves in ages long gone, it would guide them still and unerringly, on that long road toward home.

[piosenniel]

Sending this thread to Elvenhome.

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~*~ Pio